#and I just came into the world against my own will and now I have to pay bills?

[menagerofmischief]

Nugget Update (MV1)

sumary: y/n's always giddy after getting a nugget update, sure she loves her best boy, but it also has something to do with the cat sitter sending the updates

driver!reader x cat sitter!max verstappen -> habs incoming... series masterlist

cw: not fia approved words, a bit of lance hate (I don't actually hate him), mutual pinning, the grid teasing the reader, lot of appearances from the reader's cat, kissing, kinda mean!reader (to the grid)

wc: 4.1k

a/n: this is my first time writing in 2nd person so bear with me. also, I low key hate this and it may be shit. not proof read!

“Well aren’t you a ball of sunshine?” A voice called out, disturbing the peace - or the closest thing to peace you could have near a Formula 1 track.

Your gaze snapped up, eyes narrowing as you took in the man standing on the entry of the RedBull garage. “Hello, Charles,” you replied, a teasing bite obviously heard in your voice as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I know you wanted to experience what a successful garage looks like but I thought Ferrari had a better hold on you.”

Charles laughs, his eyes crinkling as his lips stretch into a smile. Teasing Charles was always a fun time but that’s all it was, just a bit of fun. It never stretched into something meaner, just two people showing affection by teasing each other.

Charles had been your very first real friend on the grid. The first to offer his hand with a smile and genuinely mean it. The first to congratulate you on a win after getting out of the car or the first to say that the next race would be better. Really, he was your best friend, but you would never tell him that or it would go to his head.

“Funny, very funny.” He said, his accent thick. His eyes slid around the motor home until finally meeting your own. “Lot of drivers are going out for drinks, came by to invite you.”

“I don’t Charles,” you started to say, going through your mental list of excuses, searching for the best one to use to avoid this social interaction.

“Oh come on!” He whined, rolling his eyes. He gave you a look that let you know you could stop thinking about an excuse because he wasn’t going to be buying it. “We won’t stay that long and it’s night race tomorrow so you don’t need to wake up at the crack of dawn.”

You pressed your lips together, the lip gloss previously applied making them slide against each other easily. 

Charles kissed his teeth, nodding his head along. Fine, he’ll play the game. “Some of the WAG’s are coming as well.”

“Are you really trying to lure me out by promising female company?”

“Is it working?”

“Eh,” you shrugged your shoulders. “Will you pay my tab?”

Charles scoffed. “Pay your tab?” He asked, sounding as if you had asked him for his firstborn. “You’re filthy rich! You have a bigger salary than me!”

“Yeah, they do pay world champions a bit extra, comes with the title.” You replied, grinning at him, a wide teasing grin, your eyes twinkling. 

“Fine whatever, I’ll pay your tab.” He said, raising his hands in surrender. “Now go take that suit off and shower, you look disgusting.”

“You look like a trash can threw you up!”

“It threw me up because it saw you!” Charles shouted back in response, his back already turned to you as he walked away, back to the Ferrari garage. 

And that’s how you ended up in the bar, an hour later. Squished in the not too comfortable and definitely not meant to sit so many people, booth. With George’s girlfriend Carmen on your left, and Pierre’s girlfriend Kika on your right, and deep in conversation with both of them. 

You feel your phone vibrate under your hand on the table, and the screen lights up, showing off your wallpaper, a picture of your beloved cat Nugget.

You tune off from the conversation the moment the message arrives, grabbing your phone and pulling it in towards you. Your face lights up, lips stretching into a smile as your eyes focus on the sender ID. Maxie.

Or rather Max. The very cute guy who was your cat sitter whenever you were out and about in the world, chasing the racing track. 

With a quick move of your fingers, you swipe up, opening your phone and going into the message app. Fingers quickly tapping along the screen of your phone as you type out your reply.

With a smile you closed the messages app, pressing your fingers against the button on the side of your phone, watching the screen go black before setting it face down onto the table. As you looked back up, Lando’s amused yet teasing expression caught your eye.

You leaned forward against the table, pressing your hands to the wooden surface as you attempted to get a bit closer to the driver on the other side of the table. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh nothing,” he said with a laugh. “Just wondering who you’re texting, that’s all.” He intertwined his fingers, elbows pressed against the table and leaned forward as well. “You were all grumpy cat but then you get a message and suddenly you’re all smiles.”

“Grumpy cat?” You scoff, rolling your eyes at the McLaren driver. “I’m not a grumpy cat. And for the record, that was Nugget’s babysitter and he was sending me a picture of Nugget.”

Lando laughs, there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he wants to say more but he holds himself back. “Can I see? I haven’t seen the orange gremlin in so long.”

“That’s very mean,” you say, opening your phone to show him the picture, that Max had sent you. “Nugget would never say that about you.”

“That’s because Nugget can’t speak.” He looks at the screen and his lips twist upward in a smirk. “Who’s Maxie?”

You breathe out through your nose, teeth digging into your bottom lip. When you speak your voice is sharp, it leaves no room for questioning things or an invite to ask more questions. “The cat sitter.”

“I’m sure that’s all he is.” Lando laughs when you show him your middle finger before settling back into your seat and returning to the previously abandoned conversation with the two WAG’s.

The race went pretty smoothly, as always. Starting from pole, keeping the lead the whole race and with a 20s gap to car in P2. Everything after that was pretty much a blur, the interviews, partying through the night with the grid and boarding the jet early in the morning.

The sun already started setting by the time you made it to Monaco. With a sigh you rummaged through your bag, blindly feeling around the stuff inside before your fingers finally wrapped around the keys.

Opening the apartment door you walked inside, gently laying down your suitcase as your eyes settled on the scene in your living room. Right there, laying on your couch, in deep sleep, and cuddling your cat is Max Verstappen. 

His hair had fallen over his eyes and the position he’s in looks rather uncomfortable, you’re sure his body will be aching when he wakes up. His chest was raising and falling with each breath he took, little sighs slipping past his lips. Nugget was cuddled up to him, curled in a ball.

You looked at him for a few moments before starting to move around as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake him up. 

Max had been cat sitting for you for a while now. Half of last season and now half of this one so almost a year. He was a sweet, kinda shy, mostly nerdy guy you ran into in a coffee shop and spilled his coffee. You offered to buy him a new one and he joined you for the coffee and you got to talking when he said he was looking for a job so you offered him to become your pet sitter.

At that point you really did need someone to look after your cat while you were gone, since you had broken up with your ex who usually took care of Nugget while you were away. And you couldn’t leave Nugget with your parents since your father was allergic to cats.

Now, your best friend who had been working in a different country had returned to Monaco and said she’d be more than happy to look after Nugget - but you wanted to keep Max around. 

Already having grown used to coming home after a race weekend to find him there, just existing in your space.

Nugget’s whiskers twitch, his eyes opening and he pulls himself away from Max, stretches out and then trots over to you, rubbing his head against your leg affectionately while purring. He let out a happy, albeit a bit too loud, meow when you picked him up and on the other side of the room Max began stirring from his sleep.

He opened his eyes, a bit confused, and rubbed his knuckles against his eyes to wake up, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light filling up the room. 

“You’re back,” he says, his voice is gentle, still sleepy and a bit quiet. His eyes meet yours and he offers you a sweet smile that has you immediately smiling back at him. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep, sorry about that.”

“Oh no, it’s no problem,” you reply, running your hand over Nugget’s fur as the cat lay happily in your arms. “You can use the guest bedroom if you’re tired, you know. The couch may be expensive but that doesn’t mean it’s comfortable for sleep.”

“I didn’t want to overstep,” Max said, pulling himself up into a sitting position. You approached the couch and sat down, the cat nestling in your lap and purring in content. Max smiled, reaching out his hand and petting Nugget.

“Nonsense Max, you’re not overstepping.” You cut him off, leaving no room for argument. You always told him to feel at ease in your apartment, that he was welcome to any food in the fridge and free to use the guest room as he pleased but even after all this time there was still a slight air of awkwardness backed up by the fear of going a bit too far.

Max’s eyes settled on you, your own focused on your cat so you didn’t notice him looking. He watched the way you cooed at Nugget, asking if he was a good boy while you were away and petting him gently, and his lips stretched into a small, careful smile.

He spoke before thinking. The words left his mouth before he even finished the thought inside of his head. “I watched the race,” he said, and your eyes instantly snapped up to meet his. He swallowed, already too deep to back down. “It - “ he licked his lips, trying to decide his next words, feeling like his tongue had tied itself up in a knot. “You were spectacular. It was lovely … simply lovely.”

You let out a breath, the corners of your mouth twisting upwards and you gave him a thankful look. Max swore he could feel his heart beating in his throat, and felt his cheeks heat up. “Thank you,” you said, your voice gentle, holding a comforting tone. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. And it’s nice - knowing you watched.”

“It is?”

You bit your lip, teeth scraping against you bottom lip as you looked at him, your brain running faster than the Sauber (like it’s hard) as you tried to come up with a response. “It’s kind of comforting,” you finally said, after what felt like a small forever.

You hummed, looking down at your nails. “I was thinking about bringing Nugget with me to the next race. It’s been a while since he was in the paddock.”

“Oh,” Max said, an edge of confusion noticeable in the tone of his voice. “Does that mean that you don’t need me coming over next week?”

“Actually, I was hoping you would come with.” You say, before you can talk yourself out of making the proposition.

Max tilts his head to the side, kind of like a confused cat and you try your best not to giggle at the mental image. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

“If you wanted to attend the Grand Prix,” you tell him, running the edge of one of your nails along your skin. “Cuz’ I’m still gonna need someone to look after Nugget, and you do that in general so this would just be an added bonus of traveling.”

Max is silent for a few moments and you think he’ll decline. You wouldn't fully blame him if he did, you know what the pressure of the paddock can be like. You’re about to open your mouth, tell him that ‘never mind, it was a stupid idea anyway’ and put him out of the trouble of finding a polite way to decline when he finally speaks. 

“I suppose, if you want me to then yeah, I’ll come along to watch Nugget.” He says, trying to ignore the nervous feeling building up in his chest when you smile at him, a wide happy smile that makes him instantly smile back.

“Great!” You said, the excitement evident in your voice. “Someone from the team will contact you in a while to arrange the tickets and leave the rest to me.” Max nods, he doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with the way his throat is closing up and it makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

“Look at you all giggly,” Charles teased, gently pushing your shoulder with his hand. He wiggled his eyebrows, a laugh slipping past his lips as you glared at him.

“Charles, why don’t you turn around and flash your pretty face to the crowd.” You said, rolling your eyes. You looked at the stadium full of people who were shouting out for their favorite drivers, waving banners and cheering happily. You smiled towards the stadium and lifted your hand up, waving your fingers to the public. “Give them a wave.”

“See, I always knew you thought I was pretty,” Charles replied, waving at the public. The two of you and the rest of the grid were in a wagon, going around the track for the drivers parade, so essentially you were stuck with him for at least five more minutes. “Now, do tell who’s got you smiling like that.”

“Is it Maxie?” Lando asked, the teasing tone evident in his voice. He pushed himself closer to you and Charles, inserting himself into the conversation. 

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to eavesdrop?” 

“No, no!” Charles said, shaking his head as he waved his hand dismissively as you, his full attention now focused on Lando. “Who’s Maxie?”

Lando smiled at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “The cat sitter,” he said in a sing-song kind of voice. 

“The one you brought to your garage?” The Ferrari driver asked, his attention back on you. “The pretty one.”

“Hold up!” Lando almost shouted, raising his hands. “You brought him with you to the Grand Prix?!”

“I didn’t … well I did bring him.” You said with a sigh, there was no escaping this now. “But it’s not like that. He’s here to watch Nugget.”

“And for you to watch him - because boy that is one good arm candy.”

“Charles, your homosexual is showing,” you warned.

“But you’re not denying it,” Charles noted, giving you a smirk.

You rolled your eyes at him but finally gave in. “Yes, I’m not denying it.”

You stepped back into the motor home, your eyes immediately searching for Max and finally you found him talking to your lead engineer. As you approached the two you could start to hear their conversation and quickly realized they were talking about how the car worked and what went on behind the scenes at a Grand Prix. You found it cute that Max was interested in that.

His eyes met yours and his face lit up, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards into a smile. “You’re back!” He said, “After terrorizing everyone around and getting pets, Nugget decided to settle down for a nap. He’s in your driver's room.”

Max gave you a wink after saying that and you had to hold in a giggle. You excused yourself to go to your driver’s room, with Max following behind you. The first thing you noticed when you went inside was Nugget, curled up on the massage bed and sleeping without a care.

The next thing that grabbed your attention was a dozen pastries lined up on a small table next to the couch. They were all individually wrapped in tissues.

“Max,” you said, picking up one of the pastries and unwrapping it. “I really did mean only one pastry, you know?” You bit into the chocolate filled pastry, moaning at the taste of a treat you weren’t usually allowed to have when it was race week. “My trainer will strangle me if he sees.”

“I swear, no one saw anything.” Max said, shuffling over to the couch and sitting down. “I was sneakier than Nugget when he’s stealing my food.”

“Oh, now that’s a very serious claim.” You told him with a laugh, his own laugh echoing back. You picked up one of the wrapped pastries and offered it to him. “Take one, or five. There’s no way I’m eating it all.”

He takes the pastry you’re offering him, his fingers brushing against your own as he takes it from your hand, sending sparks of electricity down your spine. After a second of hesitation you sit down next to him, the two of you eating the treats in comfortable silence.

His thigh nudges against yours and you turn to face him, finding that he’s already looking at you. He smiles and you don’t hesitate to smile back.

The practices go great, P2 in FP1, P1 in FP2 and P1 in FP3. 

The qualifying is where a slight setback shows up, with quali being ended early due to a crash and a red flag, putting you in P10 for the start of the race tomorrow.  

Once the car had rolled back into the pits you wasted no time getting out, putting the steering wheel back into place before storming into your driver’s room. 

You pulled your helmet off, fingers curling into the bottom of your balaclava as you pulled it off, throwing it next to your helmet before bringing your hands up to smooth down your hair. 

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Pepe.” You said without turning around, assuming it was your race engineer coming to talk about the outcome of qualifying. “Fucking Lance and his fucking money made seat - if that little frog screws up another quali, I’ll be the one crashing him out.”

“I’m not Pepe,” the other person in the room says and you instantly turn around, your eyes wide as they meet Max’s blue ones. “And I’m certainly glad I’m not Lance.”

You looked him up and down, eyes trailing over his figure. You took notice of Nugged, cuddled up in his arms and looked at you curiously, and reached your hand out to pet the cat, a long breath slipping past your lips. 

“Sorry,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “I didn’t really mean for you to hear that.”

Max barely heard what you were saying. Too distracted by the sight of you for his brain to properly register your words. Your skin was slightly glistening with sweat, an imprint from where your helmet and balaclava had dug into your skin still visible on your flushed cheeks. Your messy hair, and your chest raising and falling with each breath you took as you were still working on catching up your breath.

Max blinked, finally snapping out of his thoughts and focusing his attention back to what you were saying. “They should have let you finish the lap.” 

“I agree but sadly that’s not how it works.”

Max nodded along, not really knowing what to say to that so he switched to the next topic. “I ran into your friend. He invited you, and me, out for drinks. I think it would be nice to go, you seem like you need a drink.”

“Yeah, I definitely do.” You replied, taking Nugget from his arms and into your own, stroking down the cat’s body. “Which friend?”

“Uh,” Max started, thinking of a way to describe the guy since he couldn’t remember his name. “Wears red, pretty, sounds French.”

You laughed, smiling at him. “That’s Charles. I hope you didn’t tell him he sounds French, he gets offended by that.”

“Then it’s great I kept it to myself.”

You laughed in reply, putting Nugget down to the floor, the cat immediately moving to a cozy corner and curling up into a ball on the floor, shutting his eyes. “The hotel is right next to the track, you can take Nugget back while I shower and then we can go - if you want to.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Max replied with a smile.

You showered and put on a clean set of clothes just in time to meet Max after he finished dropping Nugget back to the hotel, leaving him with toys, food and water. The two of you made your way to the bar to join the rest of the grid for a night out. 

Some of the drivers were playing pool while their girlfriends were engrossed in a conversation so that left you and Max sitting together, sharing drinks and talking.

“I just …” you started, cracking your fingers. “I don’t know, this quali really messed up my mood and I was riding on such a high after the practices going well. It all feels shit now.”

“Maybe you just need more motivation for the race.” Max offered, drinking the rest of the liquor from his glass in one go. 

“You have something in mind, Maxie?” You asked, the nickname slipping past your lips without a thought now that you’ve had a few drinks. 

“How about a kiss if you get on the podium?” He said, his voice suggestive. Normally he never would have dared to say something like that but the alcohol courage really worked wonders. 

Your eyes widened, clearly not expecting him to be so bold or to suggest that. He took your reaction as a bad sign, immediately straightening up as a wave of dread quickly sobered him up.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, the expression on his face shifting into a panicked one. “That was stupid. It was thoughtless. It was -”

“A great motivation,” you cut him off, putting a finger up against his lips to silence him. “It was a great motivation.”

His cheeks burned as his eyes met yours. He looked so vulnerable, his bright eyes impossibly wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“One more corner to go but you’re in the clear,” Pepe’s voice echoed over the radio. You blinked, your eyes focused on the track before you, the checkered flag already visible along with your team gathering in the front. “That’s P1, Y/n. Phenomenal drive today, you deserved it!”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice breathless as you moved your hands, going through the last corner and speeding towards the finish line. “Thank you, Pepe.” You repeated, swallowing your spit. “It was lovely, simply lovely.”

You put the car into P1, getting out and posing for a picture on top of your car. You could hear the shouts, the cheers, the celebration. You took off your helmet, ripping off your balaclava and putting them both into the car before turning around to face the team, eyes searching for a particular face. 

Finally, you spotted Max. Standing besides your engineer, a proud expression on his face as he looked at you with a wide smile. You didn’t hesitate, feet moving before you could think and then you were in front of him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down, smashing your lips into his.

The kiss was desperate, both of having waited long enough for it. He wrapped his arms around you, the best he could with the fence between you, kissing you back with need. 

You finally pulled away when you felt your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, learning your forehead against his. Nothing else mattered, not the public, not the team, not the celebration. Only him, finally yours.

“Simply lovely, right?” You asked, your voice breathless.

“Simply lovely!” Max repeated back to you, before kissing you once again. And he really did mean it - everything was simply lovely.

tag list: @formula1-motogpfan @misty-inferno @thelemonque3n @marvel-hotchner @strangemaximoff @folkloresreputation @pippyth3hippy @adharacambridge @theseerbetweenus @sebastianstansblog @tellybearryyyy @six-call @grussellsprout @oikarma @justcharlotte @annimausi

i hope i tagged everyone who said they wanted to be on the tag list. hope you enjoyed this one and keep an eye out for the poll about the next part of the series <3

[kaleidoscopewritings19]

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Title: Ruin Me

Warning(s): language and SMUT! MDNI!!! If you are under the age of 18, you should not be here on this particular reader. I have warned you, and therefore am not responsible for what you’re about to read. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Prompt Credit are in bold and go to: @ rent-white, @ dumplingsjinson

—————

Slowly, you opened the door to your assigned house in Jackson, Wyoming. The freezing air made you shiver, and you kicked the snow off your boots.

You pulled your coat off and hung it on the hooks hanging by the door. You had made your home as cozy as possible with decorations you would find when out searching for supplies. Any time you walked into your home, you felt at ease and at peace. Another pair of boots on the floor caught your attention when you were taking off your own. “Joel?” You called out, and a creak on the floor board made you whip your head around.

The familiar pair of eyes made you breathe out a breath of relief, “You knew those were my boots, and yet you were nervous.” He said and you looked down at your feet.

“The last time I trusted a pair of familiar boots, I was kidnapped.” You said and Joel took a step closer to you. A while back you were taken by raiders; you never talked about it, and Joel understood that- he could only imagine what happened to you. “I would never let that happen. Not now, not ever.” He said as he pulled you into his body.

You were twenty years younger than him- gentle and fragile. The both of you had gone through the most fucked up things before finding solace in Jackson. When Joel had met you, he knew he had to protect you at all costs. Despite the hellish things you had been through, you were still kind.

You were far different from Tess and the women he had met along the way. It was a warmth Joel hadn’t felt since before the outbreak, and he was drawn to you. He didn’t trust anyone (other than Ellie and his brother), but he trusted you.

You were told of Joel’s past; he had murdered, he tortured people for information, and often times he would torture people to death. But just as he was drawn to you, you were drawn to him. He seen the ugly of the world, but you only found the good and the beauty in this world. Joel found it fascinating and you were addictive.

This little arrangement happened a year ago- the two of you would fuck each other to release built up emotions and stress, and that was it. But one of you was bound to get burned, and it just so happened to be you. You had fallen hopelessly in love with the ruthless and complicated man.

“What’s going on in the pretty little head of yours?” He asked, tearing you from your thoughts.

“Nothing.” You lied.

Joel pressed a kiss to your forehead- he was different around you. The man that was deemed as lethal, was gentle when it came to you. He was always the one to initiate things, but this time, you decided to be brave. You grabbed Joel’s hand and led him to your couch; he had lit the fire prior to even coming home, but you were glad he did.

Warmth filled the room, as you straddled Joel’s lap. Your legs were on the side of his, and he stared at you a gleam in his eye. His hands wrapped around your waist, and your shaky hands rested against the scruff on his face. No words were ever used when things would get sexual, both of you had agreed less talking was better, because this was nothing.

His dark eyes stared up into yours- he knew you wanted to take control, and little did you know this is something he had dreamed of. You had needs too, and he wanted you take advantage of him and these needs, but you were always too shy.

Joel did not want to rush you. Slowly, your face inched closer to his, and your lips brushed against his. His breath tickled your lips, and there was no time to be shy, so you pressed a kiss to Joel’s lips.

A few months back, the two of you agreed to allow kissing in these moments, but they were never filled with passion. They were just necessary to make things more steamy and to get things moving along. You pulled away from his face to see his expression.

He gave you a small smile, trying to encourage you to keep going- the waters were fine and did not need to be tested. You deepened the kiss and slid your tongue between his lips, and he pulled you closer to him.

Joel hummed in response to you, and he leaned his head against the back of the couch. His lips were puffy and a lazy smile made its way across his face, “Kiss me like that again and I’m gonna think you’re in love with me.” He said breathlessly, and you froze above him.

Joel noticed the look on your face and he sat up straighter, and before you could stop yourself, the words left your lips, “But what if I am in love with you, Joel?”

His breath hitched in his chest, and he (gently) pushed you to the side of him. “I’m gonna need you to stop right there. Don’t you dare bullshit me with that.” He gruffed, and he pulled on his boots.

He did not even bother to tie them, instead he turned to you. His finger pointed at you, “We promised each other that this wouldn’t happen.” His Texas accent was thick; it always was when he was angry, and man, he was angry.

You stood up from the couch and stood toe to toe with Joel. Being quiet and letting things slide, that was expected of you, but you couldn’t remain quiet anymore. “Yeah, Joel, we did. But it happened. What do you want me to do about it?” You asked as you looked in eyes for an answer, and when you didn’t find one, your hands rested on your head. “I can’t un-love you, Joel.”

Joel twinged at the word love, and he looked down at his feet. “You need to stop.” He said as he walked to the door, but you blocked him. You stood at the door with your head held high, “Y/N, move.” Joel stated and you shook your head.

“No.” You responded and Joel’s jaw tightened. “Move. Now.” He said again, and you folded your arms against your chest. “What’s stopping us from becoming more than this?” You demanded and Joel stepped forward.

He kept stepping towards you, until your back was pressed firmly against the front door. You held your ground, you stared up at him and he looked down at you. His face was emotionless- it was like chiseled stone, and with a monotonous voice, he responded to your question.

“You don’t want to love someone like me, Y/N.” Joel’s hands went to the side of your head, resting on the hard wood. He barred you in and he looked into your eyes, “You have no idea who you’re falling in love with.” He said, and his big, strong arms were making you weak in the knees. You gulped as his face was inches away from yours, “I have murdered people without a second thought, especially if it meant survivin’, and protecting Ellie.”

His eyes darkened, “I’m a dangerous man, Y/N. I’m not capable of love.” He said and you shivered underneath his gaze. But you remained steadfast, “I don’t care about that, Joel.” You said.

“You should.”

“You are capable of love.”

“How?”

His responses were quick, but yours were faster. “The way you protect Ellie. She’s no longer cargo. I know what you did to those fireflies when you knew what they were going to do to her.” You said and Joel pulled back from you. “How do you know about that?” He questioned.

You stared into his eyes, and you brought your hand to his cheek. “Because you talk in your sleep when you are able to sleep, Joel.” You said and he took a step back from you.

Joel turned around and he was looking at the ground, “You stay up and watch while I sleep. You protect me, Joel. You’re gentle with me, and I am fully aware of what you’re capable of.”

He remained silent and you remained against the front door. “You care about me, Joel. I think you feel what I feel too and it scares you. You are capable of love, otherwise you wouldn’t protect me and shield me the way you do.”

Joel turned back around and he hovered over you, “I am afraid to hurt you. Do you not understand that? I have this darkness that surrounds me. You’re like sunlight to me- somethin’ I have never experienced. I- I don’t want to… I’ll poison your light. I will ruin you.” He whispered and you looked into his pain filled eyes.

You moved out of his way and he opened the front door; tears stung your eyes, and you gulped back a sob, “Then ruin me, Joel. Because I can’t keep doing-”

The front door slammed and in one swift step, his hands were on your face, and his lips smashed into yours. Your hands gripped his strong arms, trying to steady yourself. His calloused hands held your face- making it impossible to pull away from him, and you didn’t want to pull away.

His kisses made you feel weak and dizzy; he knew that when your body swayed. He lifted you up off the ground and took you to the couch and laid you down.

Joel’s body hovered over yours, and his hand traced down from your neck all the way down to your waist. “Every time I touch you, it’s like I can feel ya unravelin’ under my hands.” He whispered before pressing another kiss to your lips, earning a moan from your lips.

You couldn’t wait any longer, you sat up and wrapped your arms around Joel’s neck, your legs wrapped around his waist, and you used all of your strength to flip him over. Now you were on top, and Joel was in shock.

His arms were resting well above his head, and he had a smirk on his face. He sat up and pressed a kiss to your lips, and you helped him shimmy out of his flannel. All that was left in your way, was his white t-shirt, and his jeans.

Joel removed his t-shirt, and then reached over and ripped open your button up blouse. Buttons hit the floor, and you began to work on his belt; Joel was letting you take full control.

He wanted to see this part of you, and when you got his pants off, he sat on the edge of the couch, and removed the jeans that clung to your legs.

As he pulled them down, he began pressing kisses from your navel, to where you wanted- needed him, and then pressed kisses all the way down your legs.

Instead of letting him do what he wanted to do, you pulled him up and pushed him back on the couch.

His back was resting in the cushions, and you pulled down his underwear. Joel’s eyes darkened as he watched you straddle him; your panties were black and lacy- he didn’t know how you got your hands on a pair like these. But he was glad you had them. He could feel how wet you were, and he wanted nothing more than to pin you down and fuck you. Hard.

You rubbed yourself against his length and he groaned into your shoulder, gently biting down on your warm skin. Joel couldn’t help himself; his finger traced down from your arm to your laced panties, and he hooked his finger underneath the thing fabric.

His finger slid between your wet folds, and he pushed the lace to the side. You were entranced by Joel- the way his rough finger felt between your legs ; it made you want to unravel right then and there.

Instead, you led his thick cock to your entrance, and slowly slid down until he was fully inside you. A moan left your lips, and Joel ripped off your bra, leaving you completely exposed underneath his gaze.

You were already cock drunk on Joel- he had this effect on you no other man has or could ever have on you. The hunger for Joel was insatiable, after he fucked you once, there was no turning back.

He thrusted his hips up into you, clearly impatient for you to come to your senses. His thrusts were slow and even, then you remembered, gentle. Kind. Fragile. That’s how Joel viewed you, and these slow movements were not longer feeding the need of him. You pressed a kiss to his lips, and leaned in towards his ear, and whispered, “Ruin me, Joel.”

When you pulled back to look at his face, he held your cheek. “Are you sure? Do you even know what you’re asking for?” He questioned. All you could do was nod as he continued to thrust up into you. His hand went to your hair, and gently pulled it back, “I need to hear you say it, baby.” This time you were moving yourself up and down his cock, “Joel, I want you to fuck me. I’m tired of you treating me like I’m going to break.”

This was all the confirmation he needed. Joel flipped you over and now you were laying on your back, staring up at him. He shoved himself back inside you, the sensation overwhelming your senses.

The sight of you made Joel thrust even harder. You fit so perfectly around him; your walls clenched around him. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, and you took this opportunity to wrap your legs around his waist.

Skin against skin, his hand hovered over your throat, and his thumb gently pressing into it. His hips snapped into you, and finally you started matching his thrusts. Joel was no longer holding back with you; his thrusts were rough and sloppy- not his usual slow and rhythmic thrusts.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, making you moan at how sensitive you were becoming. A new feeling had taken over your body; Joel felt you were coming to the edge of breaking. His fingers went down between your legs and began rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Joel…. Joel…. Joel!” You were chanting his name like it was going to be the last time you were going to say it.

“I’m about come, baby girl.” He whispered gruffly in your ear. His thrusts became quicker and messier, the sounds coming from the living room were erotic. You silently prayed no one could hear the sounds your bodies were making, but then again, you didn’t care.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful— finishing all over my cock” he said as he pressed a kiss to your neck. “Wantin’ me to ruin you… You belong to me now.” Slowly he pulled his cock out of you and slammed back into you. “I want everyone to know who you belong to, Y/N.”

Small, love-bite bruises were forming all over your neck and collar bone, and with one finally moan of his name, “Joel!” You came undone on his cock.

Joel continued to thrust into you until he finished deep inside you. It took everything in him to pull out of you; your bare chest heaved trying to catch your breath.

He reached for the quilt on the back of the couch, and pulled it down to cover you both. You moved over to give him space, and then you rested your head on his chest.

Joel’s fingers ran through your hair and he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “I do care about you, Y/N. It’s hard for me to let my guard down, ‘cause when I do, it never lasts.” He said and your finger gently traced his lips.

“I’m not going anywhere, Joel. I promise.” You whispered and his lips locked onto yours. It wasn’t too long before he had you pinned down on the floor, and made love to you like it was going to be the last time he could love you.

————-

I hope you guys enjoyed that… I’m not the best at writing smut, but I am working on it. 🩶 kinda scared to post but oh well.

[shitsndgiggs]

Heyyy

What about something very cutesy where Kenan and reader are on vacation(where he went this summer with his friends) and reader is waiting for Kenan to get ready on their bed to go out for dinner and when he finishes he goes to her and they kiss etc and Kenan doesn’t want to leave anymore but the reader obliges him. Little messy I know😔

STAY IN? - KENAN YILDIZ

Kenan wants to stay in

Kenan Yildiz x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

The hotel room was softly lit, the sounds of waves crashing on the beach outside filling the air with a peaceful rhythm.

I was sprawled across the bed, my legs dangling off the edge as I absentmindedly scrolled through my phone.

Kenan had been in the bathroom for what felt like forever, getting ready for our dinner reservations.

I sighed dramatically, calling out to him, “And you say I’m the one who takes forever to get ready? What’re you doing in there, applying a full face of makeup?”

From behind the closed door, I heard him laugh. “Patience, woman. I’m almost done,” he teased back.

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across my face. I was honestly just excited to spend a night out with him after our long day exploring the island.

It felt like we were in our own little world here, with no schedules, no responsibilities—just each other.

Finally, the bathroom door creaked open, and Kenan stepped out, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

My eyes traveled over him, taking in the sight of his sun-kissed skin and how ridiculously good he looked in that fitted shirt. He smirked when he caught me staring.

“What? You like what you see?” he asked, his voice a low tease as he crossed the room to me.

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “You clean up alright, I guess,” I said, though the way my eyes lingered on him gave me away.

Kenan’s smirk widened as he leaned down over me, one hand resting on the mattress beside my head. “Just alright?” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Yeah,” I teased, my heart skipping a beat as he brought his lips closer to mine. “But you really took your time in there.”

“Maybe I was trying to look good for you,” he said softly, brushing his lips over mine in a quick peck.

I let out a small, satisfied hum, intending to sit up and head to the door, but Kenan had other ideas. He caught my chin between his fingers, tilting my face back toward him.

Another kiss—slower this time, his lips lingering on mine like he was savoring the taste.

I sighed into the kiss, melting under his touch as he deepened it, turning what was supposed to be a quick peck into something that had my toes curling.

The kisses came one after another, each one slower, more drawn out than the last. Kenan’s hands slid around my waist, pulling me flush against him as he tilted his head, capturing my lips in a passionate kiss that left me breathless.

It was the kind of kiss that made the world outside fade away, the kind that made me forget about dinner reservations and everything else.

“Mmm,” Kenan hummed against my mouth, his hands sliding down to rest on my hips. “Maybe we should just stay in tonight…” He mumbled the words between kisses, his voice husky and warm.

I let out a breathless laugh, pushing lightly at his chest even as I felt myself giving in to the way his fingers traced circles against my skin. “Kenan,” I protested weakly, but he only kissed me again, his lips finding that spot just below my ear that made my knees go weak.

“Seriously,” he whispered, his lips brushing my ear, “I don’t think I can leave this room now.”

As much as I wanted to just melt into his embrace and forget all about dinner, I knew we’d regret missing it. I placed a hand on his cheek, pulling back just enough to look into his darkened eyes.

“We have a reservation,” I reminded him, though it came out in a breathless whisper.

Kenan groaned dramatically, leaning his forehead against mine. “Who cares about food when I’ve got you right here?”

I laughed, gently detangling myself from his hold and stepping back. “We can come back here after dinner,” I promised, giving him a cheeky grin. “But first, we eat.”

He gave me that adorable pout, but there was a glint in his eyes that told me he wasn’t giving up that easily. “Fine,” he sighed, grabbing my hand as I started toward the door. “But you owe me dessert when we get back.”

“That can be arranged,” I said, my heart fluttering at the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 21

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"If we died tonight, I'd die yours,"

summary: joel found you

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 21

masterlist!

previous | chapter 20

The cold seeped into your bones, icy and unyielding against the concrete floor, and you could feel every bruise, every cut, every ache in your body.

The pain was an unrelenting, throbbing reminder of everything you’d endured, but that wasn’t the worst part. What tore at you now was the horror of seeing Emma, your best friend, taken from this world in a way you wouldn’t have believed possible had you not witnessed it with your own eyes.

Her life, her laughter, her warmth—gone. Because of you.

A sob caught in your throat as the weight of it crushed you. Emma hadn’t deserved this; she had a whole life stretched out before her, full of hope and love.

She had just started it, a new chapter, a new promise. And now, because she’d tried to save you, it had ended in unimaginable horror. The images wouldn’t leave you, wouldn’t stop replaying in your mind.

Jim—God, he was probably gone too. Gone, because of you.

Desperation clawed at your chest, leaving you empty and hollow. You could feel yourself slipping, hope draining out of you like a slow bleed, and something bitter was taking its place.

A deep, aching question clawed at the edges of your mind, one you’d never dared ask before, but one that refused to stay silent any longer: 

Why would God let this happen to you?

You’d loved Him, stayed faithful, tried to be everything you were taught you should be. And yet, here you were, in the darkest pit, left to rot. 

Why?

Tears blurred your vision, and somewhere between the sobs and the silence, you felt something break inside you.

You stopped praying, stopped hoping for anything good. The words, the comfort, the promises—all of it felt hollow.

You were empty now, just a shell of everything you once believed.

The door creaked open, and in he came—Negan, his footsteps echoing like the toll of a death knell. He looked at you, pity mingling with something else in his gaze, a twisted satisfaction.

A smirk tugged at his lips, and he shook his head, his voice dripping with mocking sympathy.

“Aw, look at you,” he cooed.

“See, doll, I didn’t want it to come to this. But you had to go and make things difficult. If you’d just listened to me—if you’d been my good girl—none of this would’ve happened.”

The rage bubbled up, scalding and raw. You looked at him, every ounce of hatred burning in your eyes. “What did you do to her?” The words barely made it past the tightness in your throat, but they were laced with venom.

You could feel it, the sickening truth—whatever he’d done, it was something worse than you could imagine.

Negan chuckled, an unholy sound that made your skin crawl. “Don’t you worry about her,” he said, a dark glint in his eye.

“I took real good care of her.” The words lingered, taunting, but before you could say anything more, he pulled a medical kit from his bag, the glint of a syringe catching your eye.

Panic shot through you, and you scrambled backward, heart pounding. “Don’t… don’t touch me!"

Negan’s eyes softened, his tone suddenly too gentle, too calm. “Relax, princess,” he murmured, reaching for your arm. “I just need you to play along for a bit.”

But you jerked back, thrashing against his grip. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Your voice cracked, fueled by the horror churning in your chest, the feeling of his hand on your skin like a brand.

The gentle smile on his face vanished, replaced by a cold, dangerous stare. His grip tightened, bruising, and in one swift motion, he struck you across the face, the impact leaving stars in your vision.

“Listen to me, you stupid little bitch,” he hissed, his voice low and deadly. “I’m done asking nicely. You’re going to be a good girl and do as I say, or you’re going to wish you had.”

You barely registered the sting of the needle as he plunged it into your arm. The world began to blur, darkness creeping in from the edges, and you fought it, clawing for consciousness, desperate not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

But the drug took hold fast, dragging you down, down, until the world was nothing but darkness.

***

The address Negan gave led Joel to an unassuming neighborhood, quiet and tucked away, where homes lined the street like silent sentries.

Everything here was normal, almost obscenely so, and the ordinariness of it all set his nerves on edge. How could something so terrible be hiding behind these closed doors?

How could neighbors go about their days, clueless to the horror lurking so close? He took a long, deep breath, steeling himself, fingers grazing over the cold metal of his pistol holstered by his side.

He wasn’t a fool; he knew this was a trap. But nothing—nothing—would stop him from stepping into it if it meant the chance to see you alive again.

Before he entered, Joel slipped his phone from his pocket, sending his location to Tommy, leaving the device outside on a rock by the front gate.

He couldn’t afford distractions; whatever came next would be a fight to the end.

As he made his way up the steps, he felt it in his bones, that tether connecting him to you, stretched thin but unbroken. He knew you were here, somewhere behind these walls, waiting, needing him.

His heart ached at the thought of what you’d endured. It wasn’t right—none of this was right. 

Inside, the air was thick with rot and rust, the scent of decay seeping into Joel’s lungs as he moved through the shadowed house.

Every step felt like a descent deeper into hell, each room echoing with the silent horror Negan had constructed within these walls.

The quiet was suffocating, pressing against his senses as he advanced with tense, deliberate steps, the weight of his weapon a cold comfort against his side.

The metallic smell of blood seemed to seep through the walls, thickening the air like rot as Joel moved down the dim corridor, his gaze fixed on the heavy big metal door at the end.

Blood was smeared across its surface, a dark, cruel stain, like the mark of some unholy ritual. He forced himself to breathe through the nausea rising in his throat, steadying himself with a muttered plea.

Please, God, let her be alive.

With a rough, trembling hand, he pushed open the door, entering a space so silent and hollow it felt like stepping into a tomb. The walls were metallic and gray, shimmering faintly under the dim, flickering light.

A hulking freezer stood in the corner, and around it lay instruments of terror—chainsaws, rusted wrenches, and knives coated in dried blood.

This was no ordinary room; it was a pit of nightmares.

He barely took three steps before his gaze froze on the horror ahead—a headless body hung from a butcher’s hook.

With a dress dangling from her shoulders, hair matted against blood-smeared fabric. For a sickening moment, his heart stopped, every nerve screaming as he tried to push down the dread that it was you.

But it wasn’t.

He knew you. The shape of your body, the softness of your shoulders, the line of your arms. Relief coursed through him, but only for a split second.

Desperately, he moved toward the freezer, steeling himself for whatever horror he might find. Inside, jars lined the shelves—heads frozen in twisted, agonized expressions.

Women. Girls to be exact. They don't look older than 20.

His stomach churned violently, but he couldn’t look away. And there, in a fresh jar, he saw Emma’s familiar face, her eyes closed forever in a peaceful, sickening slumber.

His chest tightened as the desperate, icy panic surged within him. He’s taken them all.

As he backed away, his gaze landed on a large object draped in thick canvas, its edges sagging like a dark secret. Swallowing, he approached, slowly pulling back the cover, revealing a small dog cage, lined with soiled fabric and stained in red.

It's you.

He could barely breathe as he took in the sight, disbelief warring with hope. Inside, you lay motionless, your body crumpled and cold, pale in the dim light, bruises shadowing your face and arms.

Every inch of you looked fragile, lifeless. Joel’s heart shattered, the pain so raw it made him stagger.

"No... no," he whispered, stumbling forward. "No.” His voice cracked, shattering the silence.

He dropped to his knees, frantically reaching through the bars, hands trembling as he fumbled with the lock.

It wouldn’t budge, metal biting into his hands as he yanked, pulled, and beat at it in fury until finally, with a final, desperate heave, it gave way.

He pulled your body in his arms, a wave of coldness seeping through his skin as he held you close, brushing a shaking hand against your cheek, as if he could will the warmth back into you.

“Baby…I’m here.” His voice was barely a whisper, as fragile as he’d ever been, a man torn open.

He pressed his ear to your chest, desperate for any sign of life, but your skin was cold, your pulse faint to nonexistent, the quiet threatening to consume him.

"I'm here now… open your eyes, babygirl," he whispered, voice raw and trembling, searching for any flicker, any faint sign of life.

He leaned close, brushing his thumb over your bruised skin, trying to will you back to him. "Doll… please… open your eyes. I'm here."

His own heartbeat thundered in his ears, his body trembling with the weight of the moment, and yet—somewhere, deep in his bones—he felt you.

You couldn’t be gone. Not you. This couldn’t be happening.

Desperation clawed at him as he murmured again, “I’m here… please, please… doll…” The sound of his voice, broken and laced with grief, shattered in the silence.

He clutched you tighter, pressing you to his chest, a hollow ache blooming in the very marrow of him. "Please… don't do this to me, baby…"

"Don't do this to me..."

For the first time in years, Joel prayed.

He’d long forgotten how to ask for mercy, how to whisper words into the void and hope something beyond him might listen.

But here, in this moment, he found himself clinging to the last, fragile remnants of belief, calling out to a God he’d long turned away from, begging—pleading—that you be spared.

His lips moved in a silent prayer, the words barely more than a broken murmur, all his hope wrapped into each fractured plea. Please… don’t take her. Don’t let her go.

His world collapsed into this single, unbearable moment. Everything—the pain, the emptiness, the years he’d spent buried in his own grief—shrank down to this: holding you, willing you to stay.

A part of him whispered that you were gone, that he’d come too late. It sliced through him, the pain cold and merciless, tearing at him from the inside.

But he couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t. He held you tighter, as if he could pull you back to life with sheer, desperate force.

"Come on, babygirl," he whispered, his voice a soft plea, thick with tears. "You promised me… remember? You promised."

His tears fell onto your skin, mingling with the blood that marred your face, his grief seeping into every inch of you. He bent his head, pressing his lips against your forehead, his tears hot and relentless.

Every memory, every moment with you flashed through his mind, a lifetime of love condensed into seconds. The laughter you’d shared, the softness in your eyes when you’d look at him—all of it now hung in the balance, slipping through his fingers like smoke.

Joel's grip tightened, his arms wrapped around you like he could shield you, even now, from everything dark and vile in this world. "Please, come back to me," he choked out, his voice barely more than a breath, the words pulled from the deepest part of him. 

Come back.

His chest ached, his heart beating against a wall of sorrow so thick it was suffocating. And still, he held you, as though love alone could tether your soul back to him, could fill the silence that had swallowed you whole.

Suddenly, the silence between you shattered as you gasped awake, air flooding into your lungs in a desperate, rattling breath.

Joel’s heart jolted with such force he almost pulled back, but instead, he held you tighter, his relief an overwhelming wave crashing over him.

You thrashed weakly in his arms, vision blurred, disoriented and terrified, your voice breaking in panicked cries. "No! No! Don’t touch me!"

"Hey, hey… it’s me. It’s me," he murmured softly, his hands gentle on your shoulders as he tried to calm you.

His voice was thick, a rough whisper, barely holding back the tears of relief as he drew you closer, feeling the steady warmth of your breath against his chest.

"Joel?" He felt you relax, and slowly, as if afraid you’d disappear if he let go, Joel wrapped his arms tighter around you, silently thanking whatever force was left in this world for bringing you back to him.

"Thank you...Thank you God," he whispered to God, to bring you back.

Your blurred vision cleared, and as your gaze fell on his face, the tears came, spilling over in a torrent of relief, of exhaustion, of love.

You clung to him, like a child, letting out every fear, every longing, until the weight of his presence seemed to ground you, to make you feel safe again.

“I thought… I thought I’d never see you again,” you whispered, your voice trembling, breaking.

He pulled you close, pressing his lips to the side of your head, his words soft and steady. "I got you. You’re safe now… I’m here now." His heart clenched as he felt you collapse against him, trusting him to carry the weight of this moment.

The horror of everything he’d witnessed, everything he’d feared, lingered on the edges of his mind, but with you here in his arms, he could finally breathe.

He then kissed you, you kissed him back.

The warmth of Joel's embrace, that kiss—long, desperate, everything unspoken between you poured into it—all of it felt like salvation, like drowning in relief only to be pulled into air and held there, safe.

Your lips pressed together in a fierce, shared need to feel every ache, every moment of fear, longing, and love—the kiss deepening as if it could carry every bit of pain you’d endured and let it dissolve in his arms.

For a moment, it was just the two of you against the horror, the emptiness that had swallowed you whole.

Here, with him, you are finally feel alive again.

But then, the moment split open. A shadow loomed behind him, and a chill ran down your spine, the dread slithering into your heart before you even turned.

You pulled back, eyes wide, breath catching as you saw Negan standing there, his mouth twisted in a cruel, dark smirk.

In his hands was that familiar bat, glinting under the dim light, raised with lethal intent.

"NO, JOEL—" you managed, your voice breaking as terror surged through you, but it was already too late.

The bat crashed down with a sickening, brutal force, and Joel’s body crumpled beneath the blow.

“Joel!” Your scream tore through the silence, raw and desperate. His form lay motionless, blood slowly trickling from the wound on his head, staining his face as his eyes fell shut.

The sight shattered you.

Negan grabbed you, yanking you away with unyielding strength. You kicked, you clawed, but it was no use. “NO! Don’t do anything to him! Please, don’t hurt him, don’t—” But your pleas fell on deaf ears.

He threw you back into the cold, unforgiving cage, the door slamming shut with a merciless clang.

"NEGAN, NO!" You pounded against the bars, fists slamming as you screamed. He only watched, amused, as though your desperation was an orchestra he enjoyed conducting.

Across the room, Negan dragged Joel’s limp body to a chair, binding his hands and legs with thick, rough ropes. He worked meticulously, each knot tight, his gaze never leaving Joel's battered face.

Blood dripped from the wound on Joel’s head, trailing slowly down his neck, and you felt a crushing helplessness as you watched him, your voice cracking as you screamed.

“Joel! Joel, please… wake up…”

You clawed at the bars until your nails split, your hands bloody, but the steel held fast.

The reality of the moment sank into your bones like ice, each second stretching with dread. "NEGAN, PLEASE!" you begged, your voice breaking, but he only turned toward you with a mocking, cold look.

"That’s the last time he’ll get to touch you," Negan sneered, disgust twisting in his voice as he gestured back at the spot where you’d kissed Joel, where you’d clung to him like he was your last hope. “Disgusting.”

***

Joel’s world flickered back to life in fragments, his mind swimming as he fought the waves of blackness pressing against him.

His head throbbed with a searing pain, and his vision blurred as he forced his eyes open, seeing only flashes of movement and shapes at first.

Then, bit by bit, his sight cleared, and he could see you through the haze, slumped against the bars of a cage, tears streaming down your face as you called his name, desperate and broken.

His heart twisted at the sight, fear tearing through him as he tried to reach for you, only to feel the bite of ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles.

He was bound to the chair, unable to move. Panic settled into his chest, sharp and unforgiving. “Doll…” he managed, his voice hoarse and shaky as he struggled against the restraints, the blood from his wound still warm, trickling down his neck.

Negan’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and cruel, like the edge of a blade scraping against bone. "Well, look who’s finally awake,"he jeered, stepping into Joel’s view, his eyes gleaming with a sick, twisted pleasure.

Every word that left Negan’s lips felt like an assault, each syllable laced with venom.

The sight of him, standing there so casually, was enough to stir something inside Joel that was deeper than fury—it was primal, raw, a burning hatred that ignited within him.

Every muscle in his body screamed to break free, to get to you, to tear Negan apart. He pulled at the ropes, feeling them bite into his skin, but they held fast, as immovable as the horror that had unfolded.

"I'm going to kill you," Joel growled, the words thick with rage and the promise of retribution. The air around him seemed to crackle with violence, his every word a threat, his every breath heavy with hatred.

Negan’s laugh was low and cruel, a sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Without warning, he drove his fist into Joel's stomach, and the sound of it—the sickening thud—echoed in the room, a sharp crack of pain that sent a wave of terror through you.

“No!” you screamed, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands reaching helplessly through the bars, as if you could stop the onslaught with your mere presence.

Negan wiped the blood from his knuckles and smiled. "You think you can save her, huh? Think you can play hero, Miller?" he mocked, his voice dripping with scorn.

"C’mon, you can’t be that stupid. You really think I’d kill her? Please… she’s way too much fun to kill." He sneered, another brutal punch landing on Joel’s face, snapping his head to the side with a sickening crack.

Joel’s eyes were darkened with pain, his mouth now filled with blood, but the fire in him didn’t waver. "I’m gonna fucking kill you," Joel spat, the blood dribbling from his lips, his voice hoarse with fury.

Negan tilted his head, studying Joel with a twisted grin. "Tough guy, huh?" he said, mocking the very idea of Joel’s strength. "Well, let’s see how tough you are when you can’t do a damn thing about it."

Joel’s heart was thundering in his chest, the pulse of his veins matching the brutal rhythm of the punches he endured.

But his spirit didn’t falter; it only burned brighter with every insult, with every blow that landed on his battered body.

Negan circled him, like a predator sizing up its prey, leaning in close, his voice thick with venom as he whispered into Joel’s ear. "What were you thinking, huh? That you could just walk in here and stop me?" He chuckled, shaking his head, his voice dripping with mocking pity.

"We were fine without you. Hell, we were thriving without you." His eyes flicked over to you in the cage, a dark glimmer in them. "She was happy, you know. Didn’t need you to be in her head. But here you are, playing the white knight, trying to save the girl you don’t even fucking deserve."

Negan's voice was like poison, dripping from his lips with a slow, deliberate cruelty, each word laced with venom meant to tear Joel down, to twist the knife deeper.

He knew the weight of Joel's guilt, the shadows of his past, and now, he was going to use it against him.

"You think you deserve her?" Negan’s tone was mocking, cruel, his eyes glinting with a sadistic pleasure. "You? You think you can be her hero, Miller? You’ve known her since she was a little girl, right? Since she was three? And now you’re fucking her?" His voice rose with each word, the venom thickening, as if he could make Joel choke on the very idea.

"Disgusting."

Joel’s stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t respond—not yet. Not when Negan was playing with fire, fanning the flames of his mind, trying to ignite a spark of doubt in his heart.

Joel remained silent, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his gaze burning holes into the floor beneath him.

Negan was trying to gaslight him, make him feel like the monster, make him believe the lies about his relationship with you.

Negan leaned in, his breath hot against Joel's ear, like a shadow whispering sweet poison into his soul. "You really think you’re a hero, huh?" He chuckled darkly.

"You think you’re saving her? You’re just like them, Miller. Just like Ben. Just like that goddamn pedophile you killed. And don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it—taking matters into your own hands, playing God, playing judge, jury, and executioner. You’re the same fucking monster they were. You’re just too stupid to see it."

The words sent a cold shiver through Joel’s veins, like ice water splashing against his skin.

The ghosts of his past clawed at him, the blood-stained memories that had been haunting him for years now bubbling up to the surface. He had killed Ben and Jamie. Killed them to protect her. 

"You killed them because you want her to be all yours. Not because you want to protect her,"

Joel’s jaw clenched, but his mind started to churn with the doubt Negan planted, each word a tiny crack in the wall Joel had built around himself.

He had been justifying everything, hadn’t he? His actions… the things he did for you. It was all for you, wasn’t it? To protect you.

But Negan was playing with fire, and his words were like gasoline—burning through the edges of Joel’s sanity, forcing him to look at the truth through a new, ugly lens.

“God,” Negan’s voice dropped to a low murmur, almost conversational, “I watched her for a long time. Long before you even fucking noticed her.”

He stepped closer, his breath sour, smelling of something rotten, something foul. “The first time I met her father… I was going to repent. I was going to change. Hell, Naomi told me to visit Reverend Gibson, to clean up my act, to find some peace. I was gonna find salvation. All those other girls—bored me. But then… I saw her."

"She was in that white sundress, innocent, pure. I thought—" He let out a dark laugh, shaking his head. “I thought God wanted me to have her, Miller. Maybe she was my redemption. To have a pure, sweet, innocent soul to redeem my sins."

"But then you showed up. Like a fucking rat you have to showed up for God's sake!"

Joel felt his breath catch, like he was drowning in the weight of Negan’s words, each one pressing down on him, pushing him deeper into a pit of guilt and self-loathing.

Negan’s laughter was sickening. It clawed at Joel’s chest, and the air felt thick, choking. “You… you played the fucking hero, huh? You couldn’t leave well enough alone."

Negan walking circled him, "You thought you could save her from her misery just because her father disciplined her. So what, Joel? Girls need to be fucking taught!"

"I agree with her father on that one. She was a brat! and oh she still is!"

The silence was deafening after those words. They hung in the air like smoke, choking the life out of Joel, filling him with a slow, creeping dread.

His mind spun, the thought of you, so innocent, so pure, now tangled in his web. Negan was poisoning everything, every memory of you, twisting it into something ugly, something perverse.

Negan didn’t stop, his words like chains tightening around Joel’s neck, dragging him deeper into the muck. "You led her to you, Joel. Don’t even try to pretend you didn’t."

"You acted like you could protect her. But you can’t even protect yourself from your own past, can you? You’re so goddamn broken, so messed up. And now you’re just taking advantage of her. 

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, a storm of guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave. Was he—had he really led you here? Was he really just as bad as Negan said?

Negan’s voice dropped to a mocking whisper, dragging the words through Joel's mind like claws on glass. “She was your daughter’s friend, Joel. Ellie’s friend.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against Joel’s ear.

“Don’t you feel disgusted? You’ve fucked your daughter’s friend. That’s how far you’ve fallen.”

Joel’s head swam, the weight of the words crashing over him, drowning him in a sea of doubt and self-loathing.

His grip tightened on the ropes, his knuckles white, but there was something else now—a spark of something dark, something cold in his chest.

"What do you think Jane would say, huh?" with the mention of his late wife, Joel's body tighten up.

"You think she’d be proud of you, molesting Evelyn’s daughter? Evelyn, Jane’s best friend. You’re disgusting, Joel. All of this? It’s on you."

Negan continued, his voice a low, mocking growl, pushing Joel to the edge. “You’re no better than any of us. Look at you, Miller."

"You took advantage of her. She was just a little girl who needed someone to teach her. And you? You saw an opportunity, didn’t you?”

"You are pathetic," Negan's word hit like a snake's fangs, stung through Joel's heart.

Joel clenched his fists harder, his body trembling with rage, fear, and a deep sense of self-loathing. His throat burned as he fought to keep the tears back, to keep from choking on the agony of his own thoughts. The floodgates were closing, but they were trembling, about to burst.

What has he done?

Joel’s thoughts were a maelstrom now. He couldn’t focus. His mind was torn between the images of you—so sweet, so innocent—and the cruel words that Negan kept throwing at him, one after another.

But then, through the haze of doubt, through the suffocating weight of Negan’s venom, Joel heard your voice.

“No!” You screamed, your voice breaking through the madness, a raw, desperate plea.

“Joel, don’t listen to him!” The words trembled on your lips, an echo of everything you needed to say, everything you wanted Joel to hear.

"Don't listen to him!" you screamed again, your breath ragged, your throat burning from the effort. The sound of Negan’s poison lingered in the air like smoke, heavy and thick, but you couldn’t let it smother the truth.

You needed him to hear you. He needed to hear you.

"Joel, look at me!" you pleaded, your hands gripping the bars of the cage so tightly your fingers turned white.

Every word Negan had said felt like a bullet to your heart, but you couldn’t—you wouldn’t—let Joel fall into the same trap. He was better than this. 

He is better than them.

"You’re not like them, Joel. You never were!" The words spilled from your mouth, raw and desperate, desperate to break through the fog that was clouding his mind.

You needed him to see the truth—the truth that was you and him, the life you shared, the love you both fought for in the darkest corners.

"You love me. In your own way, but you love me, Joel! You saved me! You gave me a life I never thought I deserved." Your voice cracked with the weight of everything you were feeling, the deep well of emotion that surged between you both.

"Joel, I love you."

"I love you, Joel. and you love me, you are my savior, you saved me."

"Look at me! Look at me, Joel! Don't let him under your skin, please,"

Negan, on the other side of this fragile moment, stood grinning, eyes glinting with amusement, as if watching a puppet fight its strings.

He saw Joel waver, saw the flicker of doubt and fear, and he thrived on it. His smile was nothing short of wicked, enjoying the chaos he had stirred.

He had set his trap, and now he watched, savoring the confusion that was slowly chipping away at Joel’s resolve.

You could see Joel, fighting against the chaos in his own mind, the weight of Negan’s twisted words pulling at him like a chain.

His eyes flickered, lost, haunted, caught between his past and the present, between the lies and the truth. But then—then—he looked at you.

For a moment, it was like time stopped. The world held its breath, and all that existed was you and him.

His gaze locked on yours, and in that instant, you saw everything—the raw, unspoken love, the pain, the guilt, the shame, but also the fight.

The fight to break free, the fight to protect you, the fight to keep you safe.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice soft but steady now, as if you were trying to calm the storm that raged inside him.

"You are so much better than this. You’re not like them, Joel. You’re not a monster. You are the best father Ellie and Sarah could ever want, Joel. They will be proud of you, she would have. The best man I have ever wanted, you're my protecter, the love of my life, you are my soul, Joel."

But as you cried out to him, Negan’s smile twisted into a sneer, his patience running thin. "Enough with your fucking mouth!" he growled, turning to you with fury, his hands reaching for the cage, yanking the door open with a violence that made you flinch.

"Shut up already."

Before you could react, Negan was on you, his hand slapping across your face with a sickening force, sending your head whipping to the side.

The sound of the slap echoed in the room, louder than your scream. The sting spread like fire across your cheek, your eyes filling with tears that blurred your vision.

For a moment, the world spun—his presence, his cruelty, all of it was too much to bear.

With that, Joel—Joel is awake.

In that instant, the haze lifted from his eyes. The fury, the protectiveness, everything that made Joel Joel came rushing back.

His muscles strained against the ropes, his eyes flashing with an intensity that would have burned holes in the walls if he could.

He was no longer the broken man Negan had manipulated, no longer the victim of his words.

He was the man who had fought for you, the man who had saved you.

"You son of a bitch!" Joel roared, the raw anger in his voice like a clap of thunder. His body surged forward, every instinct screaming to protect you, to break free from his restraints.

"Don't you fucking touch her!" He screamed, his hands were shaking with rage, but that was the only thing that kept him grounded—the unrelenting need to destroy the man who had dared to lay a finger on you.

The rope binding Joel's wrists strained as he twisted, trying to force the knot loose, his mind ablaze with fury. Every word Negan spoke chipped away at his restraint, his heart hammering with hatred.

The sight of you in Negan's hold—his arm around your neck, the gleaming knife pressed to your throat—made Joel’s blood boil.

But he knew he had to keep his wits; one wrong move, and you’d be lost.

Negan grinned, tightening his grip around your neck. His voice was dripping with mockery as he taunted, "What’s the matter, honey? Scared now?" He leaned closer, his sneer twisted with sadistic pleasure.

"Oh, Joel, why’d you have to ruin everything? If it wasn’t for you, she and I—" he paused, savoring each word, "we’d have lived happily ever after."

Joel’s hands shook as he worked against the restraints, his heart pounding. Negan’s twisted words were knives slicing into him, each one crueler than the last.

"She’s delicious, Joel," Negan sneered, his voice sickly sweet as he ran his tongue along his teeth. "The way she tastes... can’t get enough of her." He licked his lips exaggeratedly, taunting Joel, mocking him with every vile syllable.

"You should’ve known," Negan laughed, pressing the blade closer to your skin, just enough to draw a thin trickle of blood.

"Stop it, Negan, please," you whimpered, tears spilling from your eyes, the despair twisting in your voice.

Negan only tightened his hold, his voice low and cruel. "What’s the matter, honey? You were enjoying it too, right?" The words crushed you, and you turned your face away, unable to look at Joel, a sense of shame sinking into your soul.

Joel's fingers scraped against the ropes with renewed desperation, his fury almost blinding.

Negan’s voice slithered through the silence, every word laced with cruelty. "You know," he continued, "I thought of sharing her around with the others. She made me good money, after all. She knows how to entertain… they paid well. Maybe you’d want a turn, too, Joel. She’s… profitable." He laughed, a dark, rasping sound that reverberated in the room, tightening the coil of hatred in Joel’s chest.

"I’m gonna kill you," Joel growled through gritted teeth, his voice a low, venomous promise.

"Ah, ah," Negan teased, pressing the blade harder against your skin, making you wince. "I’m not finished yet."

Negan’s voice softened, a calculated cruelty in every word as he continued. "But I started thinking... she can’t stay young forever. Thought maybe… it’d be a shame not to pass on those… charming qualities of hers."

"And wouldn’t you know it, Joel, she was carrying a piece of me inside her. That's right, My child!"

"She didn’t agree, of course… but a little force never hurt, right?"

Joel’s heart froze at Negan’s taunts, every word tearing open old wounds he’d buried deep.

Each sentence was a twisted knife, slashing at the walls Joel had built to keep the pain, guilt, and memories at bay. Negan’s voice was venomous, slithering around the broken dreams Joel had long since given up on.

He felt the darkness creeping back—the part of him that, years ago, had once loved fiercely, only to lose everything in one brutal instant.

But pregnant? His mind reeled, the word pounding in his skull like a drum. The image of you, scared and vulnerable, carrying his child—his child—pierced through the numbness in his heart.

He could barely breathe, the thought of you enduring such horror while he was oblivious igniting a fury so primal, so fierce, it nearly drowned him.

Rage tangled with a crushing sense of failure. He wanted to rip Negan apart with his bare hands, make him pay for every ounce of pain he’d inflicted.

Negan’s twisted laughter cut through his thoughts. “Yeah, she wanted a family, Joel,” he sneered, lips curling in a malicious grin.

“She had this fucking unrealistic idea, delusional bitch. You. Her. Playing house. Kids. The whole perfect life fantasy. But she knew, didn’t she?” Negan’s gaze pierced Joel, mocking him with each word.

“You were scared of it, scared of screwing it up like you did the last time. I mean, how could she not know? You’ve got ‘haunted’ written all over you. Lost control, didn't you? When you killed your own family,” Negan laughed, as if savoring each jab.

Inside, Joel’s heart twisted. He remembered the night like yesterday. Now he was left with nothing but ashes and guilt that hollowed him out from the inside.

Every part of him was screaming to shut Negan up, to wipe that smug look off his face. But it was true, wasn’t it? Deep down, he was scared—scared of losing again, scared of failing you the way he’d failed before.

But you, you were different. Despite everything, you stayed.

Despite the darkness he carried, the broken parts he tried to hide, you’d somehow found something worth holding onto.

That fierce loyalty of yours was like a light in the pitch-black cave of his heart, something so pure it almost hurt to look at.

You were stupid, he told himself, but the truth was you were braver than he ever could be.

You had this impossible, relentless hope—the dream of a life together, a family, even though he’d told himself it could never be.

You had loved him, flaws and all, even when he couldn’t love himself. And now, the thought of what Negan had done, the way he’d shattered that hope, drove him to the edge.

"But this stupid bitch killed my baby before they could feel their daddy's voice,"

Negan's words echoed in the dim room, each one twisting deeper into Joel's heart. The pain surged through him like wildfire. You'd done the unimaginable for him, sacrificing more than he could comprehend, and now here you were, your hope and loyalty used against you like weapons.

It was more than he could take—Negan was tearing away the last pieces of himself, bit by bit. Joel's fists clenched tight, knuckles white, straining against the binds holding him back, desperate to shut Negan up, to take back what had been lost.

Negan’s voice grew sharper, each taunt slicing like a blade. "You see, Joel? this bitch is loyal and fucking crazy, she killed her own child for you! just to make a new baby for you!"

"She killed her own kid—for you. All that love, all that loyalty, wasted on you."

"But it’s over, you hear me? You and her? Done. I’ll make sure she forgets you. And when I’m finished with you, there’ll be nothing left."

The world narrowed to this single moment. Negan, too consumed with his taunts to notice, didn’t see you move.

In a swift, silent motion, you grabbed a jagged tool from the ground behind him, the weight of it heavy in your hand. You swung it, heart pounding, and plunged it into Negan's chest with everything you had.

Negan gasped, staggering back, his eyes flashing with fury and shock. In an instant, he retaliated, plunging his knife into your side.

The pain ripped through you, a white-hot flash as you felt the blade sink in, stealing the air from your lungs.

"Joel..."

Time slowed, the world narrowing to the throbbing ache and the look on Joel's face—his eyes wide, pure horror carved into every line, as he screamed for you, voice raw and desperate. 

"NO!"

Your name fell from his lips, a broken prayer, just as you stumbled back, collapsing onto the cold ground. Negan kicked you aside with brutal force, your body sliding across the floor as you fought to keep your vision steady.

You could barely hear Joel’s cries over the rushing in your ears, his desperate shout, the anguish that filled every word, but you felt his presence as if he were right there, holding you.

The sound of wood splintering filled the room as Joel threw his weight against the chair, shattering the binds that held him. In one furious motion, he was on his feet, lunging at Negan with a force that seemed to shake the air.

They collided in a storm of fists and fury, each punch landing like thunder. Blood smeared the floor, echoing the carnage that seethed within Joel’s heart, his fists fueled by a rage that seemed boundless.

Every blow was a release, a reckoning for the agony and fear Negan had unleashed.

Through your blurred vision, you saw them—Joel, relentless and unyielding, his fists raining down on Negan, every punch charged with a love he’d never put into words, a love you could feel, pulsing through every beat of your wounded heart.

The scene before you felt like a twisted nightmare, each moment a struggle to stay present, to push through the pain as blood seeped from your wounds.

You clutched your side, feeling the warmth slip between your fingers as you pressed down, refusing to give in. You had to stay awake. You had to stay with him.

Joel was still fighting, his fists relentless, fueled by desperation and a love that spoke louder than words. But Negan’s laugh rang out, mocking, dark.

“Tough guy, Miller? Is that all you got?” Negan’s face was bruised, bloodied, but he still smirked through it, as if even this pain was just another game to him.

"Bring it on!" Negan said. Joel didn’t let up, his fists a storm of anger, of love, of every unspoken promise he’d made. He was protecting you with everything he had.

But in a flash, Negan’s hand found his bat, and with a brutal swing, he sent Joel flying backward, his head colliding with the floor.

As Joel’s head slammed against the cold ground, a sickening thud reverberated through the room, a sound that echoed in the hollow of your chest.

But Negan loomed over him now, his eyes alight with a sadistic joy. “My turn,” he sneered, swinging the bat down again and again, each blow ringing out, a sickening thud that filled the room.

"NO!"

Joel tried to stand, tried to fight, but he was slowing, his strength waning. Blood pooled around him, and when he looked up at you, his eyes were glazed, his face pale.

Blood ran from his temple in a dark, winding river, and you could see the light beginning to fade in his eyes, the haze of consciousness slipping further with each ragged breath.

His gaze found yours, as he tried to smile, to offer you one last reassurance. You felt a surge of panic rise in you, raw and consuming, as you screamed, “NO! STOP IT!" you saw Negan bash his bat to Joel over and over again.

But Negan laughed, a deep, sinister sound that filled every corner of the room. “Look at you, Miller,” he sneered, swinging the bat down again, the force of it making Joel’s body jerk, each strike ripping pieces from your soul.

“You really thought you could win?”

Your vision blurred as hot tears slipped down your cheeks. The pain in your side was blinding, your own blood pooling beneath you, but nothing compared to the sight of Joel—your Joel—bruised, broken, and bleeding, his life slipping away with each heartbeat.

“Wake up, Joel,” you whispered, a plea laced with desperation, but your voice cracked as you saw him begin to fade.

"WAKE UP!" you screamed, “Please, Joel. Wake up!” You tried to rise, but agony shot through you, your body weakening under the weight of your injuries.

All you could do was lie there, helpless, watching as the man you loved was torn apart before your eyes.

Negan paused, his cruel smile widening as he noticed Joel’s lips moving, a faint whisper escaping.

“What’s that, tough guy? what did you say? oh my God! tough son of a bitch! look! he tried to speak to you!” He laughed looking at you as Negan point to Joel laying in the ground blood all over him, mocking, stepping back just enough to give Joel room to speak.

Joel’s head lifted, his bloodied face turned to you, his voice broken but determined.

“C-close… your eyes, doll…” His words were barely audible, each syllable a struggle, blood trickling from his mouth as he tried to form the words.

He lifted a hand, reaching out to you, trembling, his fingers stretching to bridge the aching space between you.

You shake your head crying, "No...Joel...", The world closed in around you, the weight of your love for him too heavy, too fierce, to bear the thought of letting go.

Tears blurred your vision, and you choked back a sob, heart shattering as you whispered back, “You can’t… I can’t lose you.”

"J-just, c-close your eyes, you're gonna be okay," he said again, blood now coming out from his mouth again.

Your chest heaved, your vision blurred with tears. No, you thought, this can’t be it.

The man who’d become everything to you—the man who’d fought against his own darkness just to hold onto yours—was fading. You couldn’t lose him. You wouldn’t lose him.

Then, as if by divine intervention, your gaze fell to the floor.

It's your gun. Your bible and your gun you hadn't see in a long time.

The gun and the Bible Frank had given you, lying just within reach beneath the table. A fire rekindled within you.

A fury as deep and fierce as your love for Joel, you need to save him. This man would fight to his last breath for you, and you'd do the same for him.

Then you began to crawl, inch by painful inch, toward the weapon. Negan, too caught up in his victory, hadn’t noticed, his laughter grating on your raw nerves.

“Oh, don’t worry, Joel,” Negan sneered, leaning over him with twisted delight. “I’m gonna take real good care of your girl here. Good night.”

But before he could swing, before he could deliver that final, sickening blow, you rose to your knees, aimed the gun, and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

The sound shattered the silence. Negan froze, the shock evident in his wide, stunned eyes as he stumbled, blood blooming across his chest. You fired again.

You didn’t stop. Y

He looked at you, eyes narrowing, but you held your ground, staring into him with a steady, unyielding gaze.

Again and again and again, you pressed the trigger, feeling your breath hitch with each pull, each impact sinking deeper, as if each shot was tearing away the chains he had wrapped around you.

You are screaming as the fury poured from you, pouring all the agony into each pull of the trigger, trying to emptying every last round into him, watching him fall, watching his face twist in horror as his strength faded.

Finally, the gun clicked, empty, but you weren’t finished. Dropping the weapon, you stepped forward, picking up his bat.

The weight felt righteous in your hands. Standing over him, you paused, staring down into his eyes, watching the realization settle—he knew he’d lost.

Negan’s bloodied mouth twisted into a smile, his laughter hoarse and fading. “Look at you,” he rasped, his voice broken, taunting to the very end. “All grown up now.”

Those were his last words.

You raised it high and swung the bat with everything you had, unleashing everything he’d taken from you, every wound he had caused, every hope he’d tried to crush.

The sound of cracking bone echoing in the room, a raw, primal scream tearing from your throat as you brought it down again and again and the bone shattered beneath you.

The world faded, reduced to the rhythmic, furious release of pain, until nothing was left but silence, his broken body beneath you.

You dropped the bat, chest heaving, the weight of it all crashing down on you.

And then you heard it—Joel’s voice, barely a whisper, calling your name, grounding you, reminding you of who you were beyond the fury.

You turned toward him, your body swaying with the weight of pain and exhaustion. Every step you took felt heavier than the last, as if the ground itself wanted to hold you back, to stop you from reaching him.

But you pushed forward, collapsing beside him, your trembling hands finding his blood-streaked face, brushing against his stubbled cheek with a gentleness that defied the violence you’d just endured.

"Joel… hang on," you whispered, but the words barely escaped your lips, thick with tears.

His head lolled against you, his brown eyes finding yours, and the blood pooled in his hair shimmered like some tragic halo.

You could feel the strength slipping from his body, a slow ebbing tide that pulled him further away with every heartbeat.

"Look at me, doll," he murmured, his voice a threadbare whisper, his hand lifting with a tremor to brush your cheek, his thumb sweeping away the tears that blurred your vision.

"You’re… you’re gonna be okay."

You shook your head, gathering him closer, your blood mingling with his as you pressed his head to your lap, cradling him as though you could shelter him from the world that had dealt you both such cruelty.

"No, we’re gonna be okay," you insisted, your voice breaking under the weight of it, a plea wrapped in promise.

"Don’t leave me… please, Joel. I can’t do this without you."

You could see the struggle in his eyes, the quiet resignation in his bruised face as he tried to smile, each line etched into his skin telling stories of a life spent fighting—and now, his final fight slipping through his grasp.

He lifted a hand, pressing against the wound on your side even as his own blood stained your fingers. Every breath was shallow, every word a strain.

He leaned his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin, his eyes barely focusing but still on you, clinging to this moment, to you.

"I’m sorry, babygirl," he whispered, as if the words themselves could bind you together just a little longer.

“No. Don’t… don’t do this to me, Joel,” you begged, pressing your hand harder to his wound too, as if the pressure alone could stop the flow of time, of everything that was slipping away.

You cupped his face, tears falling onto his skin, mingling with the blood that soaked you both. "We’re gonna be okay. We have to be."

But even as you spoke, darkness edged into your vision too, the room narrowing to the beat of your shared breaths, slow and unsteady.

His fingers held yours, entwined in a desperate grip that softened as his strength faded, his pulse a faint echo in your hand. “I love you,” he whispered.

The words raw and cracked, filling the hollow spaces between you, the ache and loss that could never be spoken. “I’ll always be with you.”

The world blurred, the pain and fear blending into a strange calm as you traced your fingers over his face, memorizing every line, every scar.

"I love you so much, Joel," you whispered, voice barely a breath, pressing your lips to his forehead, grounding yourself in the warmth of him, the man who had become your salvation, your strength.

He looked at you, his gaze softening, his hand falling to rest against your cheek one last time. "I found you,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips as the darkness began to claim him.

In the distance, a sound broke the silence—a wail of sirens, voices muffled and faint, calling yours and Joel's name.

You heard your own name echoed, felt the vibration of the world rushing toward you, but it felt so far away, unreachable.

“Joel?” you whispered, weak and fading, your vision blurring as exhaustion pulled you under. Joel didn’t respond, his head resting still against your lap, his breathing shallow, slipping away from you.

Your name rang out again, closer now, a voice that you knew—a voice that felt like home.

"Tommy," you managed, a faint smile softening your lips as your gaze lifted, catching sight of his familiar face before the darkness claimed you.

“He found us.”

And then, like the soft closing of a book, everything faded into black.

HANG ON PEOPLE, WE STILL GOT ONE MORE FINAL CHAPTER!

[wethotcrazy]

Parallel Lines

pairing: Yuki Tsunoda x Olympic Figure Skater! Reader

word count: 6638

i've had this marinating in my brain for a bit. i just think that racing and skating have such interesting juxtaposition so here it is.

Sagamihara always had a sleepy kind of charm, but Yuki and YN felt something else in the quiet mornings and late nights, the stillness only broken by the hum of dreams in motion. Growing up here meant routines and rituals, like early morning alarms and empty streets, the cold air pinching at their cheeks as they walked out to different but parallel paths.

They’d seen each other countless times over the years: two kids with big dreams crossing paths by chance, brushing against each other’s lives without ever truly touching. YN was always the girl with the figure skates slung over her shoulder, eyes bright and posture poised even at dawn. Yuki, in contrast, was the scrappy boy with an endless supply of karting posters and racing memorabilia, always dashing toward the next practice with the fierce focus of a kid who already knew his path.

When they passed each other, there was always a nod, a polite “Good morning” or “Good night,” exchanged in those shared spaces—two people who understood the solitude of dreams.

The first time Yuki saw her was on his way home after a long day at the track, dirt and oil streaked across his cheek. YN was on her way to the rink, her skates glittering in her hands, her hair pulled back in a tidy ponytail. She looked ready to take on the world, and he couldn’t help but admire that, even as he ducked his head slightly, embarrassed by his own disheveled state. She’d simply smiled, nodding in that small, knowing way, and gone on her way.

Yuki didn’t know it at the time, but that look—the look of someone fully consumed by a dream—was something he’d come to recognize again and again over the years.

As they grew older, they kept moving in the same direction: toward ambition, toward something beyond Sagamihara. But they’d drifted apart in other ways. Yuki’s weekends became filled with karting, and then, one day, with plans for Europe—his sights set on Formula 1. YN’s weekends were consumed by rink hours, the constant, punishing quest to perfect each routine, each jump, each spin. They still crossed paths, sometimes outside the ice rink or the train station, exchanging those same fleeting nods.

It was strange—Sagamihara wasn’t large, yet somehow, they’d managed to orbit each other like planets, moving along parallel paths that never seemed to converge.

One summer evening, just after dusk, they crossed paths again, older now, YN carrying a gym bag and wearing a jacket from the national team, Yuki carrying a helmet, his clothes scuffed from a day of karting. They stood there, paused on the quiet street, and he couldn’t help but break the usual silence.

“You’re still skating, then?”

She nodded, her eyes warm with a familiar determination. “And you’re still racing.”

“Planning to stop anytime soon?” he teased.

Her smile was small, but it held a kind of fierceness. “Not until I make it.”

“Same here.”

The weight of their dreams hung in the air between them, the invisible wall that had always been there but that they’d learned to accept. There wasn’t any need for explanation, just that shared understanding. They were alike, but separate, and they knew the sacrifices and loneliness that came with chasing something so big.

Years passed like that, each of them watching the other only in passing—Yuki catching glimpses of her in news clips, her routines sharpened with an artistry that almost seemed untouchable, while she’d see photos of him in magazines and on TV, headlines proclaiming his meteoric rise through the ranks of motorsport. Every success felt like a nod to each other, a reminder of the dreams that had been born back in Sagamihara.

One winter, when Yuki was back in Japan for the off-season, he found himself walking through their old neighborhood, a rare moment of quiet for him. Snow had settled on the streets, muffling the sounds of the city and creating that same early-morning hush that he remembered from childhood.

At the ice rink, he spotted her just coming off practice. She noticed him, her eyes widening a bit in surprise, then softening in recognition.

“Yuki,” she said, her voice warm in a way that held their shared history, even if they’d never shared much more than a nod. “You’re here.”

“Just for a bit. Off-season,” he replied, feeling that same familiar ease, as though they’d just picked up an old, comfortable habit.

They didn’t need to say much; that was the thing about two people who’d been chasing dreams their whole lives—they’d run out of words long ago. Instead, they sat side by side on the cold metal bench outside the rink, their breaths visible in the chilly air. For a moment, it felt as if they were kids again, those same two quiet strangers in the early hours of Sagamihara, bound by something unspoken but unmistakable.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Yuki murmured finally, glancing over at her. “How we’ve always been here, but never really…here.”

YN nodded, looking out at the snowy street, her skates resting by her side. “Maybe we’ll always be a little like that. Parallel. Just…passing each other.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Maybe. But I think I’m okay with that.”

And in that moment, they both knew it was true. They’d never really needed each other to understand. Their connection was there, solid but silent, like the hum of the early morning streets of Sagamihara that had once seen them both grow and rise, side by side.

As Yuki settled into his off-season routine, blissfully unaware, an unexpected storm was brewing on the internet. It began when a fan account posted an old, grainy yearbook photo that seemed to have no apparent significance—just two kids from Sagamihara, tucked into a corner of the page. Yuki Tsunoda, grinning with that familiar spark in his eyes even at a young age, and right beside him, YN, with a shy, focused look that hinted at the grace she’d later bring to the rink.

The photo alone might have gone unnoticed. But within hours, more yearbook photos appeared, retweeted and reshared by fans who’d pieced together the fact that these two seemingly unrelated athletes had shared more than just a hometown.

One especially dedicated fan managed to dig up an old article from a Sagamihara newspaper, “The Rising Stars of Sagamihara,” a feature highlighting young, local talents. In it was a tiny column dedicated to a 10-year-old Yuki Tsunoda, “the lightning-fast karting prodigy,” and a paragraph further down, highlighting YN, “the local ice princess.” The two write-ups were paired with side-by-side photos: Yuki in a helmet, hands on his karting wheel with that mischievous grin, and YN in her skating attire, her posture proud and determined even at such a young age.

Fans started to piece it together: the fact that they’d grown up in the same neighborhood, gone to the same schools, and even shared the same early mornings and late nights, each in their own world yet strangely intertwined. And it wasn’t long before the discovery of an old, archived video from a local TV broadcast surfaced online—a brief segment from years ago that fans began to pass around excitedly.

In the clip, the young, wide-eyed Yuki stood outside his local karting track, excitedly describing his dream of one day becoming a Formula 1 driver. The interviewer had asked him, “What’s the best part of racing?” Yuki had grinned, eyes lighting up in a way that was still familiar to his fans today. “Going fast,” he’d said simply. “And getting better each time. I want to be the fastest in the world.”

The video then cut to the local ice rink, where a young YN was carefully lacing up her skates, so focused on the task that she barely noticed the camera. When the interviewer asked her what drove her to skate, she’d answered with quiet conviction, “I just love it. I want to make it to the Olympics someday. It’s…where I need to be.”

The segment was barely two minutes long, but it captured two kids with dreams that stretched far beyond Sagamihara, two kids who, even back then, had an uncanny sense of direction and drive. Fans, both of Yuki and of the Olympic skating world, couldn’t help but feel like they’d uncovered a rare glimpse into a shared story—two kids from the same neighborhood, their paths woven together by dreams, even if only in the way they passed each other.

Social media blew up with fan theories, speculating on how often their lives must have intersected, how many times they might have passed each other on their way to training. Photos surfaced, sent in by locals who had watched them both grow up in Sagamihara—some just vague, fleeting memories: “I remember seeing them both at the train station on winter mornings!” or “I used to watch Yuki at the track and YN at the rink. They were both so intense, so dedicated, even as kids.”

Yuki had been mostly offline during his break, enjoying a rare stretch of quiet, until one of his friends finally texted him about it. Amused, he clicked through the screenshots and articles, surprised by how far fans had gone to piece together these memories. He hadn’t even remembered half of them himself. One of the photos, an old class trip snapshot, brought a small smile to his face—YN and him standing near each other, neither of them smiling for the camera, both distracted, probably thinking about their next practice.

Meanwhile, YN caught wind of it from one of her friends, who sent her a link with a message: “Look! You’re practically trending!”

She’d laughed at first, scrolling through tweets and posts, memories flashing back like scenes from an old movie: her hurried mornings at the train station, those late-night practice sessions when she’d sometimes catch a glimpse of Yuki heading home from the karting track, their nods and polite hellos. She couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgic—she hadn’t realized how much those quiet moments had mattered to her, how they’d become part of the story of her dream.

One night, not long after, Yuki texted her.

“Have you seen the whole internet making us childhood rivals or something? Lol”

She smirked, fingers tapping quickly to reply.

“Or ‘childhood sweethearts,’ depending on who you ask.”

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed with his reply:

“They’re not totally wrong. Not the rivals part, anyway.”

She chuckled at that, surprised by the warmth the message brought. There was a comfort in knowing that he remembered those early days too, that those moments of passing each other had meant something, even if it had been unspoken.

“Maybe they’ll call us ‘parallel dreamers’ next,” she replied.

And as she lay back on her couch, scrolling through the old photos and shared memories, she realized something: maybe their paths had been parallel, and maybe they’d drifted apart in pursuit of those dreams, but Sagamihara had left its mark on both of them. It was their shared starting line, the place where they’d both learned to dream and to fight, even if their paths had rarely converged.

A few days later, Yuki was in Tokyo for a media event, and on an impulse, he texted her again.

“Coffee? For old times’ sake?”

When they met at a small, tucked-away café in the city, there was an ease between them, as if the years and distance hadn’t changed a thing. They laughed over the fan theories, traded stories about the yearbook photos and old video clips, and shared some of the strange, wonderful feeling of seeing their quiet little corner of Sagamihara suddenly brought to light.

“I always thought you were so intense back then,” Yuki teased, raising an eyebrow. “Every time I saw you, you looked like you were going into battle.”

“Look who’s talking, Mr. Formula 1,” she shot back, rolling her eyes. “I’d see you at the track, looking like you were in some kind of racing trance. You know, you used to scare me a little.”

He laughed, a sound that was so warm and familiar. “Guess we were both a little intense. Guess we still are.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, watching the bustling street outside, each of them thinking back to those early mornings and late nights in Sagamihara, to the unspoken connection that had somehow brought them back together, even in the vastness of their separate worlds.

“Do you ever miss it?” she asked quietly, her gaze softening. “Sagamihara, I mean. Those early days?”

He nodded, his expression wistful. “Sometimes. I think I miss the simplicity of it. The way it felt to just…dream.”

She looked at him, and in that moment, she felt the weight of all those years, of all the mornings and nights they’d shared in passing, two strangers who had never truly been strangers at all.

“Me too,” she said softly. And for the first time, it felt like they weren’t just passing by—they were here, in this moment, together.

The whole thing still felt surreal to YN. Figure skating had always been a quiet pursuit, one that seemed to exist in the background of mainstream attention—until the Winter Olympics came around, when suddenly, the whole world seemed to tune in. But this recent surge of attention felt different. It wasn’t just about her skating career anymore; it was as if her whole childhood was being reexamined through this strange, nostalgic lens. Fans couldn’t seem to get enough of the idea that she and Yuki had spent their earliest years unknowingly sharing the same road.

And, somehow, the more the fans uncovered, the more it actually brought her and Yuki together.

They began to message each other regularly, trading stories from their childhood that they hadn’t even realized they shared. YN would find herself laughing as she read Yuki’s late-night messages, recounting moments she’d almost forgotten—like the time they’d both been late for school on the same day because they’d each missed the early train, or the little neighborhood shop where they’d each spent their allowances on sports magazines and energy drinks, practically standing side-by-side without knowing it.

One evening, YN received a message from Yuki that included an old photo she had completely forgotten about. It was a group photo from a school field day, and there they were, standing a few feet apart in their gym uniforms, each of them looking off in different directions, probably already thinking about the next practice, the next goal. The caption he’d written was simple:

“Look at us, already daydreaming.”

She found herself smiling, typing back:

“I think we were both always somewhere else.”

To her surprise, Yuki replied almost immediately.

“Maybe we were just waiting to catch up.”

Something about that made her pause, her heart giving a small, unexpected flutter. She hadn’t expected this sudden closeness—hadn’t expected to find herself confiding in him so naturally, like they were picking up a conversation they’d started years ago but never quite finished.

Something about that made her pause, her heart giving a small, unexpected flutter. She hadn’t expected this sudden closeness—hadn’t expected to find herself confiding in him so naturally, like they were picking up a conversation they’d started years ago but never quite finished.

The fans, meanwhile, were relentless. More photos and old stories kept surfacing, and every new discovery seemed to send the internet into a frenzy. Some old classmates even came forward with their own memories, adding to the charm of it all. One of the most popular was a story from a girl who remembered how Yuki and YN would always be the first ones out the school gates after the last bell, each headed in different directions, both of them racing the clock to get to their practices on time. “They looked like they were in some kind of secret competition,” the girl had written with a laugh. “They never even knew they were competing.”

The two of them found it all endlessly amusing, and they often texted each other late into the night, reminiscing and teasing each other about the memories fans kept unearthing.

Then one night, YN found herself scrolling through her messages with Yuki, reading back through the familiar exchanges that had slowly become part of her days. She felt a pang of nostalgia, and on a whim, she texted him:

“Hey, do you remember that old café near the train station? The one with the melon soda floats?”

He texted back almost instantly.

“The one where I spilled a whole soda on myself? Yeah, I remember. Want to meet up there?”

The next afternoon, they found themselves back in that cozy, faded café, sitting across from each other with melon soda floats, just like they had years ago. She watched as Yuki took a sip, and they both burst into laughter as he wrinkled his nose, clearly not used to the sweetness anymore.

“Wow, it tastes exactly the same,” he said, putting the glass down with a mock grimace. “How did we drink these all the time?”

YN laughed. “Guess we didn’t know any better.”

They sat there, talking easily about their childhood routines, each one of them filling in gaps in the other’s memories. Yuki told her about the hours he’d spent working on his kart at the local track, about the old man who used to stop by and offer him tips, and she found herself captivated, imagining the younger Yuki she’d only ever seen in glimpses.

She told him about the hours at the rink, practicing spins until her legs shook, the evenings when she’d watch the last of the sunlight filter through the windows and think about what it would feel like to one day skate for an audience that stretched far beyond Sagamihara.

As she talked, Yuki looked at her with a softness she hadn’t quite seen before. “I remember,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of awe. “I remember seeing you after practice, with your skates hanging over your shoulder. You always looked…so focused, like you were in a world of your own.”

She smiled, feeling a warmth blossom in her chest. “I always thought you looked like you were ready to take on the world.”

They sat there, a comfortable silence settling between them, and for a moment, it felt as if they were back in Sagamihara, just two kids chasing their dreams, both of them trying to make sense of a feeling they hadn’t quite had words for back then.

But this time, it was different. This time, they were here, and the world wasn’t pulling them in opposite directions.

That night, after they’d said their goodbyes and gone their separate ways, YN found herself thinking about Yuki long after she got home. She scrolled through her messages, re-reading the conversations they’d shared over the past few weeks, the memories they’d uncovered together, the fragments of their shared past that had slowly pulled them closer.

And as she lay in bed, her phone buzzed with one last message from him.

“Thanks for today. It was…good to be back. With you.”

She smiled, her heart warm with a quiet happiness she hadn’t quite felt before. She typed a quick reply:

“Good to be back, too. And hey—don’t forget, I beat you to practice every time back then.”

The next morning, as she headed to practice, she found herself smiling as she passed by familiar streets and old buildings. For the first time in a long time, she felt a kind of peace settle over her, a sense that maybe, just maybe, she’d finally found a piece of home in the most unexpected of places.

And perhaps, she thought with a quiet hope, this time their paths wouldn’t just cross—they might actually find themselves walking side by side, together.

At first, it was subtle, almost like a game of hide-and-seek played by two people who didn’t really want to hide. YN’s posts were usually quiet, focused on her routines, her performances, the ice rink early in the morning or late at night when it was empty and calm. But lately, fans had noticed a difference. There were little hints—a second coffee cup on the table, a shadow beside her in the mirror at the rink, a half-smile that seemed directed at someone just out of view.

And then, there was Yuki. His own fans, well-attuned to his habits, noticed he was a little more active online than usual, sharing bits and pieces of his days that were uncharacteristically… soft. He’d always had a down-to-earth presence, but now there was something more thoughtful to it—a kind of quiet happiness that seemed to radiate from even the simplest posts. A casual photo of him at a cafe would have a book next to his coffee, open to some obscure passage about ambition and the journey to reach it. In another post, he was on a quiet Tokyo street at dusk, the caption a single kanji: “帰” (home).

Most fans brushed it off as coincidence—until the first fan sighting happened. It was a quiet Tuesday, and Yuki and YN had snuck away to a tiny ramen shop tucked into one of the side streets of Tokyo, hoping to escape the city’s usual rush. They were deep in conversation, heads bent close together, laughing at some shared joke as they slurped noodles. Neither noticed the two fans a few tables over, both of whom sat in stunned silence, glancing at each other with wide eyes.

Photos surfaced on social media within hours. The fandom went into an instant, thrilled frenzy as fans dissected every detail—the relaxed way they seemed to sit together, the way Yuki had looked at her while she laughed, the unmistakable ease and familiarity that only came with years of shared history. And as more fans pieced together the clues that had been scattered across their social media, the internet’s interest in “the childhood rivals” reignited in a big way.

Some fans were quick to pull out old screenshots, examining the places YN had been posting about recently, pointing out landmarks that seemed to match up with places Yuki had been seen as well. Others dissected old interviews and clips, spotting the subtle changes in their expressions whenever their respective childhoods in Sagamihara were brought up. It was as if, now that fans knew what to look for, the hints were everywhere, woven quietly through both of their lives.

One day, YN’s manager pulled her aside, gently asking if she’d seen the fan reaction. She had, of course, though she’d tried not to look too closely, letting herself stay in the bubble of their quiet, everyday moments. But curiosity got the better of her, and that night, she found herself scrolling through post after post, watching fans piece together their shared past like some kind of romantic detective story.

There was one thread in particular that made her pause, an almost absurdly thorough breakdown of all the times YN and Yuki had likely crossed paths as kids. It included everything from their school schedules to their practice times, even a speculative timeline of when they might have seen each other at the train station.

One of the fans had written, “I think what I love most about this whole thing is that they were just… there, for each other, all those years. Even if they didn’t realize it. It’s like they were connected without ever needing to say anything.”

As she read, she found herself smiling, remembering those long, quiet mornings, those nods exchanged across empty streets. And when her phone buzzed with a new message from Yuki, she almost laughed at the timing.

“Guess they’re onto us, huh?”

She typed back, fingers moving almost without thinking.

“I think they like it. Us. All those years we kept passing each other.”

A few seconds later, his reply appeared.

“It’s kind of nice, actually. I didn’t know it’d mean this much to people.”

“To me, either,” she replied, pausing, feeling the weight of those words. “But I think they see it now—how we’ve been part of each other’s lives, all this time. Even if it was just little things.”

And that was the heart of it, wasn’t it? She’d grown up knowing his silhouette from across the street, his familiar nod, the way he’d look at her with a small, tired smile after a long day, as if they were acknowledging the quiet cost of their dreams. Those small gestures had added up, building something she hadn’t fully realized until now.

A few weeks later, when the off-season was almost over, Yuki suggested they meet at the old track in Sagamihara. She was surprised—after all, they’d both moved on, their worlds much larger than they’d been as kids, but something about the idea felt perfect.

When she arrived, Yuki was already there, leaning against a guardrail with a nostalgic grin on his face. The track was empty, just as it had been in their childhood, and he waved her over, his smile widening as she approached.

“Welcome back,” he said, his voice soft, filled with a quiet happiness she’d grown to recognize.

They walked around the track, sharing stories from their childhood that felt both old and new. Yuki told her about his first time racing there, how he’d stayed up all night the day before, too excited to sleep. She laughed, admitting she’d once done the same thing before her first competition, spending the entire night pacing around her room, practicing jumps she’d already perfected a hundred times.

They ended up sitting side by side in the stands, looking out at the track, lost in memories. After a while, YN spoke up, her voice barely a whisper.

“Do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like if we’d actually been friends back then?”

Yuki tilted his head, considering her question. “Maybe we were, in a way. I mean, we were there for each other, right? Even if we didn’t talk much.”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “I think we were, too.”

He looked over at her, a gentle warmth in his eyes. “Well, we’ve got all the time in the world to catch up now.”

The simplicity of his words settled over her, filling a space she hadn’t realized was empty. She smiled, reaching out to lightly nudge his shoulder. “Guess we do.”

The fans, of course, noticed the Sagamihara track photo she posted later that night—a wide shot of the track at dusk, golden sunlight pooling over the asphalt. No sign of Yuki in the frame, no hints in her caption, just a simple line: “Sometimes, going back means moving forward.”

But to her, it felt like a quiet declaration—a way of honoring the years they’d spent running toward their dreams, passing each other like strangers on a shared road. And even if the whole world knew about them now, it didn’t change the fact that this was, at its heart, theirs alone: two kids from Sagamihara, two dreams that had always run parallel, finally side by side.

The end of the break came faster than either of them expected, and with it, a quiet sense of loss that lingered as Yuki prepared to leave for Europe. For years, leaving home had been easy, almost routine. But this time, Sagamihara felt different. It was as if his small hometown was charged with a new kind of energy��one that came from having someone there who felt like home in a way he hadn’t fully expected.

But, even though they couldn’t be in the same place, Yuki and YN settled into a rhythm of staying close despite the distance. Texts flew back and forth, little jokes and stories from their days. The hours spent on FaceTime became a kind of ritual, each call bringing with it a familiar warmth and comfort that reminded them both of those shared streets and the quiet dreams of Sagamihara.

One evening, on a call, Yuki mentioned an idea that had been buzzing in his mind for a while.

“You should come to a race,” he said, his voice casual but his eyes bright. “I mean, if you’re interested. It’s not exactly like a skating competition, but… it’s something you’ve got to experience live.”

Her face lit up on the screen. “Are you serious? I mean, I’ve watched some races since we started talking, but I’ve never seen it in person.”

He grinned. “Oh, it’s totally different live. The sound, the atmosphere… it’s like nothing else.” He paused, then added, “Besides, it’d mean we get to see each other again.”

It didn’t take long for her to say yes.

The day of the Grand Prix arrived, and as YN stepped into the bustling paddock, she was hit by a mix of excitement and nerves. She’d seen glimpses of this world through Yuki’s stories and posts, but nothing could have prepared her for the sheer intensity of it—the colors, the noise, the energy crackling through every inch of the place. There was a sense of purpose everywhere, a buzzing energy that felt so different from the serene calm of an ice rink but somehow familiar, too. It was the feeling of athletes chasing something, pouring themselves into every detail, every second, every breath.

And then, there he was. Yuki spotted her from across the paddock, weaving through the crowd with a wide grin, looking more animated than she’d ever seen him. They met with an easy hug, as if no time had passed since they’d last seen each other. She couldn’t help but laugh, taking in his racing suit, his excitement radiating off him in waves.

“It’s even crazier in person,” she said, glancing around, trying to absorb everything at once. “I didn’t know it would be like this.”

He laughed, looking both proud and a little sheepish. “Yeah, it’s… it’s a lot. But you’ll get used to it. I wanted you to see it, though. This is… well, it’s my version of the rink, I guess.”

They walked through the paddock, with Yuki explaining everything from the intense setup behind each car to the team’s relentless preparation. She could see the pride in his eyes, the way he moved around his car with a sense of ownership, a reflection of the countless hours he’d spent on tracks, working toward this dream. And she could feel it—this was where he belonged, where every step and sacrifice from their childhood had led him.

He introduced her to a few members of his team, laughing as they teased him about finally bringing a friend to a race. She watched as he interacted with his team, realizing for the first time just how much responsibility he carried. The boy she remembered from Sagamihara had grown into someone steady and sharp, someone whose determination had molded him into a presence that filled the space around him.

When the race started, she was in awe. The sheer speed, the roar of the engines, the crowd’s cheers—all of it combined into a visceral thrill that went beyond anything she’d ever experienced. She found herself gripping the railing, watching Yuki’s car flash past, feeling every twist and turn like it was happening to her. She hadn’t expected to be so captivated, but here she was, heart pounding as if she were skating a program of her own.

After the race, when things quieted down, Yuki found her in the paddock again. He was exhausted, his face flushed, but his eyes sparkled with the high of it all. She threw her arms around him, feeling a surge of pride she hadn’t expected.

“That was incredible,” she said, still breathless from the excitement. “I didn’t know racing could feel like that.”

He grinned, a little bashful. “It’s different when you’re here, right?”

They spent the rest of the evening wandering through the emptying paddock, the buzz of the race still lingering in the air around them. As they walked, she told him about her own competitions—the nervous energy that would settle over her before she stepped onto the ice, the strange kind of stillness that would take over the rink just before she launched into her first jump.

And for a moment, they were just two kids from Sagamihara again, two dreamers who’d spent their lives working tirelessly toward something that felt bigger than themselves.

She looked over at him, her heart warming at the honesty in his expression. “I get that. I always felt the same way about skating. But I think… I think it makes a difference, knowing someone else understands it.”

They found a quiet spot near the track, sitting on a low wall overlooking the grandstands. The stadium lights cast long shadows over the empty space, and for a while, they just sat there, letting the silence fill the spaces between them. It was a kind of peace they hadn’t realized they’d been looking for.

“You know,” YN said, her voice soft, “when I was younger, I always wondered what it’d be like to actually talk to you. To know you, beyond just passing each other on the way to practice.”

Yuki looked over at her, his gaze steady. “Guess we’re finally getting that chance now.”

They sat in silence again, a comfortable warmth settling between them. And in that moment, with the empty track stretching out before them, they both felt it—the quiet realization that they’d found something here, something that had always been there, waiting for them to finally catch up.

As they sat there, Yuki reached out, a small, tentative movement that spoke volumes. She took his hand without hesitation, their fingers lacing together easily, naturally. It was a small gesture, one that felt both familiar and thrillingly new, like finding home in a place they’d both thought they’d left behind.

And in that quiet, empty paddock, with the echoes of the race still hanging in the air, they found a kind of peace they hadn’t known they were looking for—a sense that, no matter where their paths led, they’d always be able to find each other, side by side.

By now, Yuki and YN were inseparable, no matter how many miles lay between them. It was a connection that felt both effortless and profound, the sort of bond that didn’t need big declarations or elaborate plans to make sense. They’d found something in each other that went beyond their childhood familiarity and beyond the worlds of figure skating and racing—something that was uniquely theirs, a relationship that had grown quietly and steadily, almost as if it had been waiting for them all along.

Anyone who spent time with them could see it. Fans had a field day piecing together every time YN was spotted near a racetrack or every time Yuki happened to be in the audience at one of her competitions. There were moments when fans speculated wildly, building romantic theories out of mere glimpses, but Yuki and YN never fed into it. For them, what they had was too precious to make a spectacle of; this was theirs alone, and they were happy to keep it that way.

Friends and family saw it too, though their reaction was less of a surprise and more of a quiet understanding. For years, everyone who knew them had seen that glimmer of connection, the kind that didn’t fade with distance or time. Their friends laughed about it sometimes, joking that Sagamihara must have woven their destinies together before they even knew it themselves.

Even other drivers, those who saw Yuki at his best and his most vulnerable, couldn’t miss the subtle shift in him. There was a calmness to him now, a steadiness that came from having someone who understood the cost of his world, someone who’d been chasing dreams just as big. In the garage, Yuki would occasionally have a little grin on his face as he read a text, or he’d walk into the paddock with a quiet happiness that his team members hadn’t seen before.

“You’re different these days, you know?” one of the drivers remarked one afternoon, a teasing smile on his face as they sat together after a race. “You’ve got that… settled look. Like someone who finally knows where he’s going.”

Yuki didn’t deny it. Instead, he just shrugged with a slight smile. “Guess I do.”

And then, there were moments when they found themselves together in the same place, and it felt like the whole world disappeared. No matter how loud the roar of the crowd or how many people surrounded them, they had this ability to turn everything else into background noise.

One weekend, after one of Yuki’s races, they found themselves in a quiet corner of the paddock, hidden away from the bustling crowds. They had little moments like these, stolen pockets of time when the rest of the world felt a million miles away. YN leaned against the wall, watching Yuki as he recounted moments from the race, his eyes bright with excitement. She knew she’d never tire of seeing him like this, his passion shining through every word.

“It’s funny,” she said, smiling as he paused to catch his breath. “When we were kids, I’d see you after a long practice, and you’d look just as exhausted but never as happy.”

“Back then, we were both just pushing, you know?” he replied, a nostalgic glint in his eyes. “We were both fighting so hard to get somewhere, to make something of ourselves. I think we both forgot it could be this… good.”

She nodded, understanding completely. There was something different now—a balance, a kind of peace that came from knowing they’d reached the places they’d fought for, and that they had someone to share it with.

He reached out, his fingers finding hers, lacing together in a way that had come to feel so natural. “Do you ever think about how many times we must have passed each other? Back in Sagamihara, at the train station, or even just walking down the street?”

“Yeah,” she replied softly, a smile playing at her lips. “It’s like we were both so focused on our own paths that we didn’t even realize we were following the same one.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying the moment, their hands still intertwined. There was a quiet magic to these moments that no audience could ever see, a depth of understanding that went beyond words. In each other, they’d found a quiet kind of solace, a shared understanding that had blossomed into something more, something as vast and unshakable as the dreams they’d chased all their lives.

When she finally had to return to Tokyo, they shared a hug that lingered a little longer than usual, the unspoken promises between them clear. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, his voice soft but sure.

“Soon,” she echoed, knowing that, wherever they were in the world, they’d always have this unbreakable thread tying them back to each other.

As she walked away, he stood there for a moment, watching her go, a feeling of certainty settling over him. What they had was beyond the limitations of time zones and stadiums. It was something far bigger than Sagamihara, beyond racing circuits and skating rinks. It was something timeless, something that was just theirs, waiting patiently for them all these years.

And as Yuki turned to head back to the track, a quiet smile on his face, he knew that whatever twists and turns lay ahead, he’d always have this piece of home with him—something that had started long ago, on quiet mornings and late nights in Sagamihara, and had grown into something far more beautiful than he’d ever expected.

[molotoph]

I feel sick. This is fucking horrible and incredibly tone deaf… I really have sam the benefit of the doubt despite knowing he’s a nepo baby whose father worked for Bill Clinton. Afaik the two times dropout spoke out as a company were in regards to George Floyd’s murder and the rampant escalation of AAPI hate crimes following&during Covid. It’s “unsustainable” now?! He wants to “play a civilian” but he’s not just a civilian like us. He’s a CEO. D20 especially is explicitly anti fascist and dropout built a lot of its platform off providing a space where a diverse community of all those who would fight for a better world feel like we can have silly guy watch tv time and relax while still being seen in our media. People like stories and we’re people and we need stories.

I’m so… does he like not understand how much worse he made it sound. How much he didn’t bail the mods out of this by defending these actions? Your father was in the White House during the Clinton administration but the concept of the Balfour Accord and the history of a tightening noose that came after it is “too complicated” for you?! I’m an actual college dropout. I’ve been unemployed for years with philosophy skills nobody wants without running me through the higher education pay to play endurance gauntlet of college and grad school. It sure as shit ain’t too complicated for me to understand what fascism is, what it does, how to recognize it, and how to fight what mandatory participation in it our government rips from us. How we can’t just not pay taxes or stop working because we are not CEOs, we are civilians. How the term “civilian” is a fragile and flimsy agreement between the working class and the ruling class that could turn to devour us gleefully and brutally any moment it pleases, rendering us martyrs (dead) and terrorists (alive.)

Concern for Israelis? Concern for people in a colonial fascist empire waking up and realizing they have to fight knowing what ghouls do to their enemies and knowing it will NEVER be as barbaric for them as it is for Palestinians. I feel concern for my American comrades in a country that for the record to his father’s statements on voting, was already fascist, Robert, there is no freedom on the line to choose, there was just the caste stratified levels of protection from the full reality of being considered outside of whiteness completely, and even white people who choose to leave and who ally nearly without flaw KNOW they will never truly see the same hell. I do not feel more concerned for labeling someone pro-genocide and it making them think or confront themselves. I am not here to dispense moral purity certificates for other white and/or Jewish people in other imperial cores like me. I do not care. There is no time and that is not how we cultivate moving into direct action and in loving each other and caring about each other as human beings waking up.

Bugles is owned by General Mills, which as a corporation that handles the production of among other things chocolate, has been under investigation for child labor and slavery abuses against mankind, and has recently been sued by workers for its practices: “Cereal giant General Mills is facing a federal lawsuit filed by several of its Black employees who claim that one of the company’s plants in Georgia has “embraced a racially hostile work environment” controlled by “white supremacists.”

Race IS Bugles’ fucking business because they made it their business to be racist. Liberal corporate rainbow washing or black washing or green washing like Bo talks about is what consumers generally understand about these things, so it can look irrelevant and pandering when corporations try to virtue signal about issues they have no intention of addressing and the harm of which they directly contribute to, but from the business side it looks quite different. Sam’s on the business side.

Politics is everything when fascists make our lives and our existences and freedom explicitly forbidden by their praxes. When their praxes kill us on purpose and en masse. And nobody targeted by these forms of dehumanization wanted their life as a finite reality to be made someone else’s politics. They didn’t DO anything to cause fascists’ ire— other than establish their own humanity and the boundaries and rights of being human. There is no acceptable amount of humanity to destroy in order to make members of a death cult feel comfortable because they’re uncomfortable being human and nothing we do can ever make them feel comfortable while death spiral ideologies rule them.

Does Sam KNOW there are nazizio who watch dropout that would pull their funding? Why would he want their money? Does he think we or his staff or actors wouldn’t understand scaling back and grassroots fundraising for taking one of THE MOST BASIC STANDS POSSIBLE IN HUMAN HISTORY, AGAINST THE MOST DOCUMENTED GENOCIDE IN HUMAN HISTORY?

This is who my stupid tucchus gave the benefit of the doubt to?

Sam you work with people who are a lot smarter and a lot less liberalpilled than you are. Take the fucking hint that you don’t need to walk on eggshells about not wanting to be associated with genociders, and that delicate footing is more ominous of who you have let be in the crowd with us than anything else. We gathered here because of trust for our safety, because anarchist etc. storytelling spaces are sorely needed and hard to find and difficult to protect.

This isn’t like. A game. We aren’t kidding.

Free Palestine, Free Lebanon, Free Yemen, Free Congo, Free Sudan.

What the fuck.

@dropoutdottv ‘s newest episode of Dirty Laundry platforms Noah Grossman, a liberal Zionist who has shown public love of and endorsement of the isrotten terrorist and American imperial projects.

Proof and sources https://x.com/HorrorHijabi/status/1790749434822672600

[saddleups]

𝐏𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃.

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 3k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . drabble , complete. ARTHUR MORGAN X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . mid/low honor arthur . spanking . p_rn without a plot !

★ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 . . .   arthur is gruff and often irritable. despite his tough exterior , it's become a running joke that he'd do anything for you. so one day you decide to reward him.

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . one of my fave things to do is intentionally bump into npc's and hear a low honor arthur morgan get all dramatic about it lmao. pretty self indulgent drabble that's much needed considering, ugh, recent world events, smh. let's just relieve some stress with our fave cowboy :')

"Arthur, the damn horse got out again."

"Arthur! Go fetch meat for the stew, or we’ll be eating air tonight."

"Arthur! For heaven's sake, take a bath!"

"Arthur? Are ya even listenin' to me?"

Arthur. Arthur. Arthur.

The sound of his own name twisted through the air like nails on a chalkboard. The way you said it—a sharp, clipped tone that hovered between scolding and command—set his teeth on edge, feeling less like a partner and more like a child caught in mischief. No matter how much it grated on him, he obeyed, if only to spare himself the prolonged nagging… and to give himself a chance for one of his well-timed snarky comebacks.

"Arthur, did you get what I sent you for?" you asked, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Nope," he deadpanned, but then, almost as an afterthought, pulled the small inkwell from his satchel and placed it in your palm.

"Thank you kindly," you said, though the hint of exasperation bled through.

He cocked a brow, smirking. "The way you say that, darlin', doesn't sound all that kind."

You rolled your eyes, but a faint, grudging smile betrayed you.

It had become a running joke around camp that, grumpy attitude and all, Arthur would go to the ends of the earth if you asked him to. You’d often hear, “Hell, that boy’d wrap a lasso 'round the moon and bring it right to ya' if he could!"

No matter how reluctant he might act, he’d always come through—whether it was fetching supplies from town or bringing you something from across camp, you knew you could count on him. His grumbling had become a ritual, the begrudging look only making it clearer: when it came to you, he’d always show up.

Maybe it was time to pay it forward.

Arthur sat on a rock by the lake, hat tipped low, listening to the steady, calming rhythm of the water slapping against the shore. It was a warmer day, the first few buttons of his work shirt came undone, exposing the curly hair underneath.

The murmur of camp life floated faintly from behind him, but he couldn't care less about what they were fussing over now. The weight of responsibility hung around his shoulders like a yoke, dragging him down. Hungry mouths, Dutch's endless plans, your constant badgering—it was all just so damn relentless.

He tried to focus on his journal, but the words blurred on the page, his eyes drifting to the lake’s glassy surface instead. Out here, alone with the quiet, he could almost forget.

“Arthur!”

He groaned, snapping his head around. “Goddamn it! Woman, can’t you see I’m tryin' to relax?”

Ignoring his grouchy tone, you sauntered over, a teasing smile on your lips. “Well, maybe if you didn't run off, I wouldn’t have to come find you,” you replied, slipping in behind him. With a practiced touch, you set your hands on his shoulders, kneading the knots beneath the dusty fabric.

“Poor Arthur Morgan. Carryin' the weight of the world on these big strong shoulders, huh?”

He tensed, half-tempted to shrug you off, but he couldn’t deny that your touch felt good. Still, he wasn't about to let you off easy.

“Seems like 'yer mighty concerned 'bout my shoulders all of a sudden,” he muttered, trying to sound gruff even as his eyes drifted closed.

“Apologizin’ for all that naggin’, are ya?”

You leaned in close to his ear, a playful tone slipping into your voice. “Well, I know you like the attention, Arthur. If I left you alone too long, who knows what trouble you’d get into.”

He snorted. “Trouble? Woman, I can barely take a piss without you findin' some reason to come yellin' after me.” A faint smile tugged at his lips, even as he tried to keep his expression set in a scowl.

“Somebody’s gotta keep you in line,” you said, your fingers pressing firmly against his tense muscles. “Otherwise, you'd be a mess—and you know it.”

After a beat of silence, Arthur let out a reluctant sigh. “Maybe,” he grumbled, “but don’t go thinkin’ I need ya hoverin' over me all the damn time.”

You press into his back harder, attempting to release the tension stored there. "Goodness, Arthur your back is in knots."

"Wouldn't be so damn knotted if I didn't have to hear my name in that god-awful tone of yours every damn day."

"Oh?" you teased, leaning forward to rest your chin lightly on his shoulder. “Maybe you just need to hear it said differently.”

You shifted your hands down his shoulders and towards his chest. Your own pressing firmly against his back, meanwhile your fingers pressing in a slow, suggestive rhythm, just enough to make him squirm.

“Would that help?”

Arthur’s jaw clenched, fighting the twitch of a smile. “You really think that little trick’s gonna work on me?” he said, turning his head just enough to catch your mischievous grin.

Abandoning your previous position, you decide to swing your leg over Arthur and settle your frame onto his lap. "Maybe," you replied, voice dipping lower, your fingers looping around his suspenders, pulling them off his shoulders in one go.

“Or maybe you just don’t want to admit you like the sound of me sayin’ your name at all.”

A reluctant chuckle escaped him, though he tried to bury it. “Keep talkin’ like that and maybe I’ll get used to it.”

You continue to press his shoulders, his arms. Arthur's initial scowl began to soften, lashes fluttering as he struggles to keep his eyes open. You could feel him loosening up, his breathing evening out, and the smallest smile breaking through his mask of irritation.

You leaned forward, letting your fingers trail down his arms. “Guess that wasn’t so bad, huh?” you murmured, voice low and teasing, your lips just grazing the edge of his ear.

His breath hitched imperceptibly. Arthur shot you a sidelong glance, a warning smirk tugging at his mouth. “Watch it. I ain’t exactly a gentleman right now."

“Good thing I don’t need you to be,” you replied, letting your fingers slide down to lace through his, guiding his large hand to rest at your thigh.

Without waiting for another word, you closed the space between you, capturing his lips with a boldness that matched his own rough edges. Arthur’s hands settled firmly around your waist, and his grip tightened, pulling you closer with a possessive intensity.

His mouth was warm and demanding, a low hum rumbling in his chest as he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment a lot longer than he’d let on.

Your fingers tangled in his collar, pulling him closer to you, and he responded by pressing in even harder, his hand slipping to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

Arthur's lips parted against yours, deepening the kiss as if he were staking his claim. The lake, the distant murmur of camp, everything around you faded until there was nothing but the two of you, wrapped in each other, the simmering heat between you spilling over.

You felt his length twitch against your core, the thought of it makes you moan, "Arthur," it's softer this time. It was that girlishly lewd moan men like Arthur dreamt about.

"I like when you say it like that."

"Do you?"

He kisses you harder, hips buck into your core. You clench his collar.

"Arthur," you whispered in a sultry purr. "You like it when I say your name like this, don't you?"

He growled lowly, a deep sound in his throat that vibrated through your bones. "Damn woman, you know I do. Now stop teasin' and give me more."

You bit your lip, a wicked smile playing on your mouth. Leaning in, you captured his earlobe between your teeth, nibbling gently before whispering, “What if I don’t want to? What if I like having you needing more?”

Arthur’s eyes darkened, his grip on your waist tightening almost painfully. “Yer askin’ for trouble, darlin’.”

You arched an eyebrow, hiking up your skirt to bundle at your waist. You met his gaze with a challenging glint. “Is that so? And what are you going to do about it, Arthur Morgan?”

Before you could react, his hand slid up to cup your cheek, forcing you to look into his intense eyes. “This,” he rasped, and with a swift motion, his other hand landed on your ass, giving you a sharp spank that made you gasp into his mouth.

The sting spread quickly, mingling with the heat pooling between your thighs. You whimpered, biting back a moan, but Arthur wasn’t done. He repeated the action, firmer this time, his fingers digging into your flesh as he punished you for your teasing.

“Arthur…” you breathed, your voice shaky with arousal. “More… please…”

He smirked, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “I already do so much for you, might as well have you start beggin'" his voice is rough, commanding.

You swallowed hard, your pride warring with your desire. But the way his hand lingered on your ass, the way his thumb brushed over the spot he’d just spanked, sent jolts of pleasure through you.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please, Arthur… again…”

His intense gaze meets yours, full of desire. He gently lifts your chin and lightly traces the outline of your lower lip with the rough pad of his thumb, savoring the moment. Arthur murmurs, "my beautiful girl, you say my name so sweetly, I just might eat you right up." You’re caught in his trap, surrendering your prideful nature to please him.

With a swift, deliberate movement, he brought his hand down again, a firm smack that echoed in the quiet of the lake. The burn ignited a fire deep within you, and your body instinctively pressed against him, craving more of that delicious friction.

“Is this what you wanted?” he breathed against your lips, his voice low and teasing as he reveled in your reaction. “You ain’t too proud now, are ya?”

The question swirled around you like smoke; the answer lay heavy on your tongue. “No,” you murmured, barely able to muster the words as he continued to trail his fingers along the edges of your bloomers before pushing them up your thighs, the fabric snatching between your wet folds.

Arthur’s gaze flickered with something instinctual, a hunger that painted his features with shadows. “Good,” he murmured. “Now let’s see how far I can push ya.”

With that, he thrust his hips upward, pressing against the solid heat of you. A cry escaped your lips—a mix of pleasure and surprised urgency—as you felt him coaxing every quiver from your body. His hands were everywhere—exploring, claiming—and you responded eagerly to each touch.

“Goddamn,” Arthur muttered, his voice thick with desire as he settled into a rhythm that was both punishing and pleasurable. Each caress ignited flames that licked at your skin, demanding attention and coaxing moans deep from your throat. “Yer a temptress, you know that?”

“Only because you make it so easy,” you replied breathlessly, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, seeking more grip as he pushed you closer to the edge of sanity.

With every thrust, every firm touch, Arthur was unraveling something inside you, a tangled knot of need and yearning that had long gone neglected. Each whisper of his name became a prayer, a plea for him to sustain this blissful torment. The sound of his name on your lips sparked a fire inside of him, something he hadn't felt in a long time. He was no longer the troubled man caught up in mischievous acts, but a devoted lover who had complete control over you.

“Can ya’ handle it?” he teased, slipping one hand back to squeeze your thigh possessively while the other found its way under your chin, tilting your gaze upwards. “I ain’t holdin’ back anymore.”

Without waiting for an answer—knowing all too well that any attempt at defiance would only further stoke his desire—he surged forward with reckless abandon. His lips crushed against yours, raw and insistent as that spark ignited into an inferno between you.

You could barely think as he plundered your mouth and coaxed every ounce of passion from you. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, and for a moment, time seemed suspended in the heated silence between heartbeats.

Arthur's hand shot down, fingers digging into the delicate fabric of your bloomers. With a savage tug, he ripped the seams, causing you to gasp and shriek his name in surprise. The sound was abrupt and high-pitched, a sharp contrast to the low, rumbling growl that escaped his throat as he moved quickly to cover your mouth with his palm.

"Shhh," he whispered fiercely, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "The camp's only a few miles off, darlin'. You want them to hear?"

You shook your head frantically, feeling the heat of his hand against your lips, the roughness of his skin contrasting sharply with the softness of your own. His gaze never wavered, and you could see the fire burning in those blue depths, a testament to the control he was exerting over both himself and the situation.

Assiting his undress, you reached for the buckle of his pants, your movements swift and determined. He watched, breath hitching in his throat, as you unfastened the leather strap and opened the fabric, freeing his large, hard cock from its confines. It jutted out proudly, thick and throbbing, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.

Your mouth watered at the sight, the desire pooling low in your belly. You reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as they wrapped around his shaft, stroking him slowly, savoring the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

Arthur's breath hitched, his hips bucking instinctively against your hand. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice ragged. "You keep doin' that, and this is gonna be over before it even starts."

He shifted his weight, positioning himself between your legs, which you had spread wide in anticipation. He didn't waste any time, guiding the head of his cock to your slick folds. The sensation was electric, hot and wet, and you couldn't help but moan against his hand, biting his calloused palm while your body arched up to meet his.

"That's it, darlin'," he murmured, his thumb brushing across your clit in slow, deliberate strokes. "All that work I do for ya, this is how a bastard like me likes to be reward."

His words were like fuel on the flames of your desire, and you nodded frantically, desperate for more. He removed his hand from your mouth, he holds his cock, sliding the length of him along your drenched slit. The friction was maddening, a tantalizing mix of pleasure and frustration that left you panting, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Arthur," you whimpered, the sound torn from your throat. "Please…"

"Sing my name," he commanded, his voice rough and urgent. "Sing it loud and clear, and watch what it does to me."

You obeyed, letting out a soft, melodic cry as he pressed deeper, teasing the entrance to your core. Each thrust of his hips brought him closer, the head of his cock dipping between your folds, mixing his wetness with yours. The sensation was intoxicating, a dizzying blend of heat and pressure that made your head spin.

"Arthur," you chanted, your voice growing stronger with each repetition.

"Arthur, that feels so good."

"Arthur, please..."

"Arthur, harder."

His thrusts became more forceful, his grip on your thighs tightening as he drove into you with relentless determination. The sound of your voice seemed to fuel his fire, his breathing growing harsh and uneven as he pummeled into you, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Yes, that's it," he growled, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "Keep sayin' it, darlin'. Keep sayin' my name."

You did, your voice rising to a breathless plea as he plunged deeper, his cock hitting all the right spots inside you. The world narrowed down to just the two of you, the sounds of the lake and the distant camp fading away until all that mattered was the feel of his body against yours, the raw, primal connection that bound you together.

"Arthur, please," you cried, your body trembling with the effort of holding back your orgasm. "I can't take it anymore…"

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue plunging deep as his hips snapped forward, burying himself inside you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure that crashed over you, leaving you gasping for breath.

"Almost there," he whispered against your lips, his voice strained with effort. "Gonna come with you, darlin'. Gonna make sure you feel everythin'."

You tightened your grip on his shoulders, your body straining towards the edge of ecstasy. The rhythm of his thrusts was driving you closer and closer, each powerful stroke pushing you further into the abyss of pleasure.

"Arthur, I'm so close," you gasped, your voice breaking with the force of your desire. "Don't stop… please…"

"Never," he promised, his thrusts becoming almost frantic now, his body straining with the effort of holding back his own release. "Gonna make it perfect for you, darlin'. Gonna make sure you remember this."

With one final thrust, he pushed you over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You shout his name, the sound echoing across the lake as waves of pleasure rippled through you, leaving you trembling and weak. So much for being quiet.

Arthur followed you over the edge, his own climax crashing over him with a roar. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body shuddering with the force of his release as he emptied himself into you, filling you with his warmth.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the steady thump of your hearts beating in unison. Then, slowly, Arthur pulled back, his eyes meeting yours with a look of raw, unadulterated satisfaction.

"Good girl."

Your eyes are shut, but you can feel his gaze, searing and unrelenting, tracing over you. His cock is still warm inside you, the sensation feels…homely. Slowly, your lashes flutter open, confirming what you already knew—his soft blue eyes are fixed on you, brimming with pride and satisfaction. You give him a playful slap on the chest, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Oh, shut up.”

[aventurineswife]

Hey !!! How are you?? I love what you write so much so ure so talentedd !!

Also could u do an aventurine x reader where like they started dating not long ago and like aventurine notices self harm marks on reader’s arms ?? (If ure comfortable w/ that ofc)

“You Drew Stars Over My Scars”

Summary: In the early stages of your relationship, Aventurine notices scars on your arm. With quiet compassion and understanding, he addresses it gently, offering his support without judgment. As you share a vulnerable moment, he reassures you that he’s there for you, bringing lightheartedness and warmth to ease the conversation.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Emotional Support, Fluff and Angst, Healing.

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm, References to past emotional struggles

A/N: HELLO!!! I'm doing alright and I hope you are doing alright as well!! Thank you for appreciating my work! I put my best effort into writing each character as accurately as possible, even while balancing my personal life, so your support means a lot to me! 🤭💖🫶 Don’t worry about your request—I’m comfortable with it. But for anyone struggling with something similar, please reach out to someone you trust completely. It may not seem like much, but sharing is better than keeping everything to yourself. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here! Don’t hesitate, and remember to love yourself more! ❤️

It was one of those rare, quiet evenings. Aventurine had cleared his typically packed schedule, something he was only too willing to do since the two of you had started dating. After a whirlwind start, tonight felt like a pause – a chance for him to simply be with you, away from the risks and wagers that often defined his world.

You sat beside him on the couch, your arm resting casually against his. Aventurine noticed a faint change in your body language – a hint of self-consciousness, a slight turn of your wrist. The faint movement caught his eye, and he saw them – the small, faded scars along your arm.

He glanced up, meeting your eyes with a gentle look, saying nothing at first, allowing you the space to choose whether to share or to stay silent. But his hand reached out, fingers brushing along your forearm. The gesture was soft, free of judgment or expectation, just a comforting presence.

"Can I ask about these?" Aventurine asked softly, his tone inviting but unintrusive.

You hesitated, not used to this level of openness, especially when it came to scars from a part of your past you were still trying to make peace with. You shifted slightly, averting your gaze, but Aventurine’s hand gently anchored you there, his thumb brushing softly over your wrist. His eyes, usually so full of confidence, held only a quiet, calming sincerity.

“It was… it’s something I went through,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. “It’s… something I still struggle with, sometimes.”

Aventurine listened, his hand never leaving yours, his gentle touch reminding you that he was there, that he was listening and would wait as long as you needed to feel safe in sharing. After a beat, he spoke, his voice thoughtful and warm.

“You know,” he began softly, “I can’t pretend to know exactly what you’ve felt, what led you here. But… I do know about hiding things that hurt. I’ve got my own scars – maybe not the kind you can see,” he added, his smile faint but real, “but they’re there.”

The weight of his words settled around you, and you felt something shift – a wall you’d kept up out of habit, slowly lowering. You exhaled, feeling a bit of the tension release, as though you were finally in a space where you didn’t have to hide this part of yourself.

He leaned closer, his hand now holding yours firmly but gently, grounding you in the moment. "I'm here with you, okay? Whatever you’re going through, I want you to know it doesn’t make me see you any differently. You’re… important to me." The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, and it softened something deep within you.

“Thank you.” you said quietly, squeezing his hand back.

Aventurine tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “How about this – every time you feel like you’re slipping, like things get too much, you let me know? We can talk, or… not talk,” he said, a hint of his usual humor breaking through, “or we can find some ridiculous way to distract ourselves. I’ve got these mooncake cats I haven’t introduced you to yet.”

That earned a soft laugh from you, breaking the lingering tension in the room. He caught the sound, grinning as he pulled his phone out and showed you a photo of his silly, mooncake-shaped cats. He held it up with a playful smirk.

“These little guys reminds me every day not to take life too seriously. So, any time you need them, They're just a text away.” he added with a wink.

The lightheartedness lifted the weight from your heart, and you looked at Aventurine, grateful for his presence, his understanding, and his unspoken promise to be there, both in laughter and in the moments that were hard.

And as he pulled you into a gentle embrace, you felt it – the quiet assurance that, whatever scars you both carried, you didn’t have to bear them alone anymore.

[mullermilkshake]

Satoru gets back late

MINORS DNI - Tags: Yakuza AU, Fluff

Satoru huffed the long day away.

The traffic away from Ryomen headquarters was stifling, a sea of red car lights in tandem with each other as though the world just knew that Satoru was trying to come to see you.

He trudged out of the elevator and made his way down the hall to your front door. It wasn't unusual for Satoru to let himself in seeming as he had his own key.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Doll," he opened the door looking down at his feet just as low as he felt. "I got called into an emergency meeting that I couldn’t get out of. My boss is an asshole.”

You said nothing, he noticed you standing right there in the hallway by the living area with a look on your face.

“What?”

A raised brow should have told Satoru everything he needed to know, but he was an idiot right now.

"What's wrong?"

Taking three steps towards him, your eyes darted around at his neck. “Have you been fighting again?”

“Huh?" holy shit how did you find that out with one glance? "No… No course not, baby.”

The glare you gave him was one that screamed 'don't take me for an idiot, Satoru Gojo.'

“There’s blood on your collar.”

Shit.

"Uh..." quick fucking think of something.

The thing was, you knew Satoru's position in the Yakuza, you just didn't approve of it. And yes, you got into a committed relationship with him knowing this, but that didn't stop you from voicing your concerns every now and then.

"Be honest with me, Satoru. How did that blood get there, because I know it wasn't a cut from shaving."

"Shit. I can't lie to you," Satoru slumped and leant against the closed front door, the guilt of even trying to hide anything sank like concrete.

"I can't stop you from doing what you're doing, but I care about your well-being. This fighting isn't healthy. What if-" you stopped yourself and bite down on your lower lip.

"I'm not gonna get injured if that's what you're thinkin' about, Doll."

"You don't know that. You just don't," shaking your head solidified that fact.

Satoru didn't know, however he adopted the whole live fast die young gig long before he ever met you, way before he even joined the Yakuza. It was just how Satoru operated.

Still, your large welling eyes stopped Satoru right where he was. "I'm sorry."

What else could he say right now that wasn't going to make you cry further? Nothing really, so he came over and pulled you close to him.

Maybe he could tone it down a bit, try this stupid method Sukuna suggested at the meeting and gather intel before smashing skulls. It just wasn't as fun though, was it?

However Captain Yaga would be back soon and then Satoru really would have to behave.

"How can I make it up to you?"

Looking up at him, he could see how red your eyes actually were. "It's not about making up, Satoru. It's promising to take care of yourself."

He nodded without hesitation. "Alright, I promise."

In honesty, you were the perfect person to balance out his pointed edges. And despite how far he wanted to go with people sometimes, most of the time it was only really you he wanted to impress and keep happy.

Everyone else could suck it.

[smilesatdawnmain]

ETERNAL LMK AU (Part 6) (Interactive Story)

Time for some answers

The rules are simple.: I will give the written passage, and then at the bottom there will be a vote on how the characters act next!

Story: Eternal Au

Ships: Shadow Peach

Digging his heels into the dirt to try and slow his speed, realizing the farther Wukong went so did he, Macaque called back angrily to the collectors,

“What is going on? What isn't good??" he demanded.

The collectors cringed, glancing at each other. Rushing to keep pace with Macaque, wearily eyeing the sky in case somehow Wukong did spot them, they nervously smiled. Normally they would never fear, but that golden vision of his- it was rumored to even view the dead if he was looking close enough.

One of the collectors, a stout figure with a chipped jaw and a nervous twitch, cleared his throat. “You see,” he started, his voice wobbly, “That connection you’re feeling? And uh, seeing? It’s… complicated.” He shuffled back a step as Macaque glared, spitting out words like venom.

“Complicated? Explain! I don’t have time for riddles while that fool flies off with me!”

The second collector, a more slender figure, leaned in closer. “It’s the bond,” he whispered, as if saying it too loudly might make his presence known to the flying King above. “Remember before how we said souls can get held up from moving on? One being, their soul is stuck or trapped like yours was?"

“Okay?” he grumbled, slipping his hand just a tad through the ropes these collectors insisted on keeping to hold onto him. Shifting between them he grasped the golden string around him. As much as he tugged and wiggled, it wouldn't loosen. It felt hot to the touch.

It felt like Wukong- his very essence and power.

It gave a strange sense of both comfort and discomfort considering Macaque’s own emotions were torn by the man.

The burly collector continues, "There are other reasons that can stop a soul from moving on. The other two are they have some lingering connection to this world that is preventing them from leaving. Or... a living connection is tethering them down. Honestly, it could be both cases for this one." the two nodded knowingly to each other.

"What does that mean?!" Macaque snapped, standing to try and pull and remove this rope from him, only to gag as it dragged him further rightward to follow after Wukong.

The Collectors followed, “Soulmates,” they summarized.

Macaque blinked, confusion flashing across his features before morphing instantly into indignation. “Soulmates? Are you out of your minds? Wukong and I?” He spat the name like it was poison. Such a thing would once thrill him. Perhaps even now it… still kind of did.

A soulmate was something rumored in the demon community. The thought of something so pure and wonderful was a dream he himself had when he was just a cub. But now, tainted by blood and betrayal, the very idea sent a shiver of revulsion coursing through him. It was horrible. It was impossible!

Something so sacred couldn’t possibly be. A soulmate came once. Not just in a lifetime. As the name implied, it was the one intended for your very soul. To find this person took more then luck.

Wukong was his soulmate??

Wukong was… his?

And he didn’t want you.

The thought made him seethe to avoid the pain that followed, “If that fool is my soulmate, then I’d rather be bound to the netherworld!” With every protest, the golden thread seemed to pulse brighter, almost as if responding to his anger. The more he wrestled against the bonds, both physical and ethereal, the stronger the connection felt. It tingled through him—a sensation that flickered between distaste and a kind of reluctant warmth. Ignoring it was becoming increasingly difficult.

"Well this doesn't often happen with mortals but well uh- demons are a little different." the smaller collector admits weakly, "Certainly makes our job harder, let me tell you. As a demon you live a long time, thus the connections you make are always stronger. Sometimes the magic of demons and their soul mates even mix together making a literal tether-" they gestured to the rope.

Macaque slowly looked down, his eyes flarring. NO.

No no no.

“What does this mean for me? Is there any way to remove this?" he couldn’t be Wukong’s soulmate. He couldn’t continue to be forever tied to that King- that jerk. The man who cared so little for him he would choose everyone else over him!

One of them shrugged, nonchalant to Macaque’s despair, "Soulmates are tricky? Honestly, maybe not until he moves on."

"Moves on??" Macaque repeated. "That doesn't- eleborate!" he barked, kicking his feet.

They held up their hands, "Chill! Chill man." they sigh. "Regrets, lingering desires, many of these things some people can let go once they come to terms with their death. A trip you never got to take, a hobby you never got around to trying- simple things that could easily be put aside. Love and soulmates, that is where it gets tricky. People could mourn all their life and never truly move on or let go of those they have lost. A person soul knows who they are destined to be with, and tend to have an issue with letting go."

Macaque's mouth felt dry. "What does that mean for me?" his mind was reeling, "Are you saying that until Wukong "lets me go" or whatever bullshit like that, I can't move on?"

The two stepped back out of Macaque's range when he tried to swipe at them, "Basically?" they offered sheepish smiles. "Same could be said for you. Sometimes those who are dead can't let go of the living people they are leaving behind.”

Macaque felt his face heat, quickly barking, “I have no issues letting that man go!”

They blinked once, then at each other, not believing him for a moment. “Rightttt.” they trail off. “Either way, usually this problem can be solves by the person eventually moving on, or... the person keeping the tether dies."

They all glanced at the very much immortal Monkey King. Macaque's eye brow twitched. He rushed over to Wukong, yelling, "Move on from me you son of a-!!”

The diyu collectors covered their ears as Macaque let out a long set of slurs.

"I wait and wait and wait- and you never had any problem letting me go before! Ditching me for years- and NOW suddenly you got an attachement issue?!"

He held onto the string attached to his waist, feeling it pull him in different directions like a puppet on a string. Peng had always made fun of him, asking if there was anything Wukong could do to break his grip over him. Well, murder sure felt like it should have done the trick!

So how was he possibly still tied to him??

….he knew how…. But he would rather not say.

Previous

[trippygalaxy]

Sky isn't First's reincarnation, Warriors is.

Heads up, this is just a headcanon! I am using LOZ canon in parts to help fortify my thinking but again, this isnt to prove a point!

Also tagging people below! I was going to reblog my og post but this came out too long and would just be better as its own post!

I believe that Sky isn't the reincarnation of Hyila's chosen hero, but instead the hero's incarnation. While both the fandom (loz and lu) and the canon use the two words interchangeably, they truly do have two different meanings, even if they are considered 'small.'

So does this mean I believe Warriors to be the hero's direct reincarnation? In a way, yes I do. I believe that there are some threads in canon that can stablize this idea, but most are based on personal preference and headcanons.

If you wanna know more, ill be going more into it under the cut!

Firstly, the difference between reincarnation and an incarnation!

Reincarnation, defined as “a person or animal in whom a particular soul is believed to have been reborn”

an example of this would be Sky, Sun and Demise. We see many of these reincarnations, but most notably and factual would be Demise’s reincarnation to Ganondorf. They share the same soul, at least the one from OOT does.

Incarnations, Defined as “a person who embodies in the flesh a deity, spirit, or abstract quality.”

Now, there arent any solidly proven instances in LOZ but most can assume that Nayru, Din and Farore from the OOS and OOA games/mangas are incarnations of the deities they are named after. But a more well rounded example would be to look at mythos in the real world, specifically Greek mythos with their gods Gaia, Thanatos, Nyx, and more.

Sky, or SS Link, has been believed to be the reincarnation of the First hero (“First”), is it even easier to prove him to be a incarnation. Sky, in the canon of Skyward Sword (“SS”) is not proven to be the direct reincarnation of the chosen hero- he is said to be the chosen hero, and plays such roll in the story of SS but there is nothing that says he is the direct reincarnation of First. Perhaps there is evidence that states otherwise, that is likely in the vast canon of Legend of Zelda, but it feels (and is stated) that the cycle of ‘reincarnation’ starts with SS link and his Zelda.

An incarnation feels like the better fit for the character of Sky. He is, and would be, the incarnation of the Chosen Hero, a heroic spirit known for his courage and loyalty to the divine. Hyila in the uncanon manga stated that she would meet First again, but again we do not get any notion that this refers to any reincarnation like the goddess takes.

Now for Warriors, or Hw Link, there are obviously the visual similarities that connect Warriors with First as both are the only one seen to wear scarves, as well as the one shoulder pauldrons. But it should also be noted the similarities in the stories both partake in. The main concept is very similar to the rest of the courageous heroes, but these two seem to be the only was who have fought in war of sorts, both battling against a dark army as the only hero able to fall the mighty leader.

Now, most of the rest of these thoughts would be based on the frames of headcanons rather than facts, as the idea behind this thought was of the poetic similarities between the two characters rather than facts within the LOZ or LU canon

Warriors and First being the 'leaders' of a war, neither being ready for such responsibilities yet being forced to none the less because they are the only ones able to hold such responsibilities

Both feeling unworthy of holding such power for being 'unpure' (First; being imprisoned for 4 years, Wars; encounters with Cia and/or having Dark Link being created)

Being experienced, infield fighters compared to dungeon crawlers, both of which are used to working with others in planning/fighting

First has been characterize within the fandom (and canon) as a recluse, naturally from his trauma of imprisonment yet even then he still has this authoritative status and energy to him. And while Warriors is seen as anything BUT a recluse in the fandom, it is still canon within the canon that he was infact a mute. So, its interesting to note how similar the two's nature would of been if certain characteristics in canon werent there (ie, HW link getting overconfident and prideful, which First shows little to no traits of in his appearances)

Back to characterization, both tend to be depicted as chivalrous men, either because of their roles as important 'military' figures or their natural personalities.

These are really just my beginning thoughts on this! Im....I like this idea a lot- as you can tell!

@xxbuttercup @doodlesbf @plateapus @sleepy-spam-reblog-things @fictionnotfantasy @lostlinkmx @shadowy-suitcase-herring-neck @cannibalgremlin

[hearts4werka]

NNN day 10 | Newborn Miracle

summary: the time has finally come, you and chris are going to become parents. Both of you are filled with joy and nervousness at the same time since this is a big step both of you have to make now and you’re ready more than ever for the adventures that lay ahead of you.

warnings: none, just child birth but besides it’s just chris becoming a proud father

authors note: this idea is so adorable I love the concept of babydad!chris and I need more people to write about it, so this is your sign to go do that rn 🫵 luv yall silk and hope y’all enjoy this one

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

The sun had now began to rise, casting a golden color across the sky as I sat nervously in the passenger seat of Chris’s car, my hand clutching the hospital bag like it was a lifeline. Today was the day we had waited for, the day our lives would change forever. After months of preparing ourselves, endless conversations and debates about baby names and painting the nursery a soft shade of orange we were about to meet our little one. Chris was driving with a focused gaze I hadn’t seen before, his knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel.

Every so often he would spare glances at me, his blue eyes shining with excitement. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, his voice being a mix of joy and disbelief at whats going to happen today. I turned to him, my heart racing as I speak. “I think so. I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life,” I replied, feeling butterflies fluttering in my stomach. The thought of actually becoming a parent was almost hard to believe . When we finally arrived at the hospital, the adrenaline kicked in.

We rushed through the automatic doors, our hearts pounding all together. The bright lights and the familiar smell of sanitary welcomed us as we checked in and were hushed towards the maternity section. The atmosphere was filled with anticipation but not just ours but from families around us, each with their own maternity story. After what felt like forever, it was time for me to be called in. Chris held my hand tightly as we walked together into the delivery room. My heart raced as I settled onto the hospital bed and feeling the cool sheets under me.

Nurses huddled around while preparing equipment for the delivery while Chris stood by my side, whispering soft words of motivation. Hours passed with the soft rhythm of contractions guiding us through the whole experience. Chris was never far from me and his presence felt like a warm blanket of comfort. He kept running his hands through my hair, his calming voice reminding me that we were in this together. “You’re doing amazing,” he softly whispered, his faith in me growing by the second. Finally, after what felt like an ongoing battle of will and strength, the moment arrived.

I could feel the overwhelming urge to push, and with each contraction, I used every ounce of strength I had left. In those intense moments, Chris’s eyes became my own. “You’ve got this, ma,” he reassured me, and I leaned into that support. With one final push and an intense surge of energy I didn’t know I had, we heard the most beautiful sound-our baby’s first ever cry. It was like music to our ears.

Suddenly, everything else faded away around us, the pain, the noise, the world outside. In that instant, all that mattered was the life that had just entered into our world. The doctor gently handed our baby to me, and my heart twisted with joy. I looked down and there they were, our little bundle of happiness in soft white blankets. Chris’s breath caught in his throat as he came closer with his eyes wide, filled with emotion all kinds of emotions. “Can I hold them?” he asked, his voice trembling with excitement. “Of course,” I smiled, shifting so he could take our baby.

Chris cradled our little one against his chest, and I watched as he radiated with pure love. He kissed their tiny forehead, an expression of shock shadowing his face. “You did it. You brought us this miracle,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion coming straight from the heart. Chris looked down at our baby as if they were the most precious treasure in the world. “I want to do skin-to-skin,” he said and I could see the excitement radiating from him. The nurses smiled approvingly and helped him gently remove his shirt, placing our baby against his bare chest.

The warmth of the moment hugged us as Chris’s skin touched our child’s delicate body. He looked at me, letting the little one into his now vulnerable heart. “Can you believe this?” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. Our little one squirmed, their little hand reaching for where Chris’s heartbeat lies. I could see a connection forming, a bond that would last a lifetime. Tears filled my eyes as I watched the two of the most important people in my life together.

It was a moment of pure beauty, one I will cherish forever. Chris looked at me and grinned, as his face radiated with joy. “We’re parents,” he said, still star struck, “and this is just the beginning.” In that room surrounded by the warmth of new beginnings, we held each other close, both over the moon and overwhelmed by all of it. Our family was here, and we were ready for the wonderful adventure ahead.

@hearts4werka

Guestlist!

| - @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - |

[romanestuffsposts]

Hi there love!

Ohh of course I can that really sounds lovely!!

I hope you enjoy the read love

Enjoy <3

*****

Warnings : tickle attacks, laughter, playful, pet names, kisses, cuddles, a little part of the aftercare

Pairings : Daddies!Stucky ; Daddy!Bucky x Papa!Steve x Little!Reader

Summary : you start a game you couldn’t win

*****

Your world is your Daddies.

And your Daddies’s worlds is you.

They will do anything to make you happy and to make sure you’re getting everything you need and want.

Every days they played different games with you. One day they do puzzles all day, another day they polish your toes nails, they love drinking tea with you and your plushies and staying under the sun all afternoon with you by their sides.

They will do everything to spend most of their times with you.

That’s why, when your Daddies came back from work, you hide.

After a quick talk with the babysitter, they start wondering around the room “where is she ?” Bucky asks, confuse as to why you didn’t run into their arms as soon as you heard their feet on the ground.

Steve shrugs “i have absolutely no idea” he quietly says as he trails his eyes around the living room. His eyes stop on the little table where a little piece of paper patiently wait.

He opens it and a big smile grows on his lips, making Bucky frowns “what is it ?” He asks walking toward Steve.

‘Find me’

Steve peers at Bucky with a grin “know what that means ?”

“Of course I do” he smirks before looking at the stairs. He just knew you were up there, you always are when you play that game.

“Baaaabyyyy” you daddy sings with a teasing voice “i hope you’re well hidden, little one, because we’re coming for you”

You hide your mouth with your hands to hide your squeal. You just love it too much.

“Princess” your Papa sings “my love” he adds “come to us baby we want to see you”

You wiggle a little on your spot after hearing your Papa in the room where you are currently hiding right now.

He’s getting sooo close.

“Come on baby we will go easy on you if you come to us” he grins. You will definitely have to go through what they prepared for you so you at least have to make it hard for them, no ?

“Oh you don’t wanna come” he keeps teasing “be ready for your punishment then”

Hearing those words made you gasp out loud without wanting to. There is a moment of silence where you just wait, wait until your papa finds you, wait until you hear his voice again, wait until you see his shadow behind the door of his closet.

“Hello there”

You look up to find two deep blue eyes looking down at you with hunger. You gulp and before you can react, your Papa grabs you “you thought you could stay hidden forever ? Huh ?” He teases, already squeezing your thighs.

Your Daddy enters the room, your laughters leaded him to where you were. “Good job, Stevie” he grins as he approaches you

“So where should we do it ?” He asks as if you weren’t there.

“Mhh i don’t know, maybe the bed ? Could be good to be comfy while doing so” your papa proposes as you watch them both with wide eyes

You squirm and yell as they approche the bed while they just laugh at you. They know it’s just an act, you wanted it and you’re gonna get it.

You Papa settled you against him and right after, before you can react and do anything, his fingers are on you.

They curl and shake around your ribs “you’ve just been waiting for this all day” he teases with a grin “am i right, baby ?”

You squeal at his teasing and keep shaking around while your Daddy just smile, watching the scene before him “you’re just too cute when you smile and laugh, babydoll”

You blush from his words and the fact that you know both of them are watching you make you even more shy.

He keeps your arms pin against his own chest as he moves his torture. “You like it better here ?” He asks tickling the space between your armpits and your side ribs making you scream from the ticklish sensation

“I think we already have our answers” Bucky chuckles as he keeps your ankles pin against the mattress

Steve laughs as he watches you getting more red the second he keeps tickling you. His fingers shake and squeeze the little spot that made you scream your little lungs out as he keeps laughing along with you and your daddy

“Why don’t we do another party ?” Bucky proposes “you can’t be the only one who has his fun here” he jokes, shaking your ankles.

You giggle and peer up at your Papa “of course we can” this one grin before looking at you “you have one minutes to run and hide, princess” he says, tracing his finger on your cheek “and make it hard this time” he whispers making you giggle.

You didn’t wait any longer before leaving the bed and running away from the room. You quickly find another hidden spot in your daddies office, right under their desk.

Some seconds after, you hear their voice in hallway as they search you. “I hope you’re ready, babygirl because we’re back” your Daddy teases, a big grin on his lips. He can’t wait to tickle you.

They both search every rooms on their way until there’s one left, the office. You hold your breath when you hear the door cracking and the wooden floor whining under their steps

“We know you’re here beautiful” your Daddy teases “no need to hide anymore” he makes his way toward the desk “especially when we know where you are”

He kneels down and sees you curled up against yourself “found you” he smiles “again”

Before doing anything, he looks up at Steve “you help me holding her ?” He looks back down at you “she’s gonna love a lot when her feet will be tortured”

Your eyes widen and without thinking about it, your fingers wrap themselves around your toes as a protection against his words. He tilts his head and grins at you “cute move” he winks.

You blush more when your see both of your daddies looking at you “i will be gladly to help you” Steve grabs you and hold you down, dropping a sweet kiss on your head as your daddy approaches your wiggly feet.

“Nervous, beautiful?” Your Daddy teases, playfulness ringing in his voice as he talks to you

You blush and nod your head, causing your daddies to chuckle.

Your daddy blocks your ankles in between his legs as he sits down on the ground “take a deep breath baby. Because you will soon won’t be able to” he winks

You flinch when his fingers touch your feet and he laughs “i didn’t even start”

Your papa laughs as well “she’s just too sensitive”

Before you can blush even more, your daddies fingers start dancing against your soles. You throw your head back, screaming as you try too take your feet back against you

“Waw, each time i forget her reaction and each time it’s a pleasure to be reminded of it” your Papa laughs as he hold you pin “you were right, you definitely needed my help”

His big and long fingers keep playing with your toes, your heels and of course, your soles, even the bottom of your feet has the attentions of your daddy’s fingers.

“What’s going on, babygirl ?” He teases “you can’t take it anymore ?” He chuckles, a few tears running down your cheeks because of how much you’re laughing

A few moments of torture later, your daddy’s attack slow down and is now just light tickles “you hates those, no ?” He chuckles

“Pease stoppp” you cry between your laughters.

He immediately stops the tickles and kisses your feet before rubbing them gently wile your papa caresses your temple and hair, dropping sweet kisses on your head and face “you handle it so well, baby”

“We’re so so proud of you beautiful” your daddy smiles

You smile and wiggle a little

“Did you had fun ?” Your Papa asks and you nod “lots of fun” you exclame making them chuckle “perfect then”

“Why don’t you go take a bath with Daddy while I cook dinner, after that we’ll watch a movie in bed. How does that sound ?” Your Papa proposes

You nod “oki” he smiles and kisses your nose. You’re soon lift into your daddy’s arms and carry upstairs for a warm bath after your playful moment

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → soulmate AU, angst, sadness, fluff

Summary → Peter reconnects with his rejected soulmate, rekindling hope and love.

(gif not mine)

Peter Benjamin Parker, a sophomore at Empire State University, was a lonely soul. Even after spending a year here, he hadn’t made any friends, nor did he want to. The risks were too high, and he couldn't bear the thought of someone else getting hurt because of him.

In a world where almost everyone had a soulmate, Peter was an anomaly. Yes, he had a soulmate too, but the very thought of her made him uncomfortable. The idea of soulmates had lost its charm after Uncle Ben’s death. He had witnessed Aunt May’s slow descent into grief as her soulmate tattoo faded, a painful reminder of the love she had lost.

Peter had met his soulmate just two months after Uncle Ben's death. But grief-stricken and lost, he wasn’t ready for a connection like that. He rejected her without a second thought, without even sparing a glance. She was heartbroken. Unlike Peter, she had always loved the idea of soulmates. The pain of his rejection was unbearable, and she moved away from Midtown High during their sophomore year, thanks to her dad’s job transfer. It was a bittersweet relief—seeing Peter at school, knowing they were meant to be together but couldn’t be, had been too much to bear.

Peter felt guilty after she left, but his apology was never voiced. Over time, with the weight of being Spider-Man and the pressures of his studies, he gradually forgot about her. He dated MJ in their senior year, then came the supervillain chaos, Doctor Strange’s spell, and the aftermath of it all. And now, he was alone.

That night, after an exhausting patrol, all Peter wanted was to collapse into the cramped studio apartment he called home and fall asleep. But as soon as his head hit the pillow, the word "soulmate" and your face unexpectedly floated into his mind. It was strange, after so many years. He drifted off with thoughts of you lingering.

The next day, Peter went to the university as usual, walking absentmindedly through the crowded hallways. That’s when he saw you. Never in his dreams he thought he would see you again, but here you are. You were standing at a corner with three of your friends, laughing and chatting. His breath caught in his throat. You looked the same yet different. Still the same height—Peter had always loved the idea of having a shorter lover. You still wore glasses, but now you looked more mature, more beautiful. A wave of regret and longing washed over him. He hoped, against all odds, that you had forgotten your first interaction. He wanted, no, needed a fresh start.

Without knowing why, Peter found himself walking toward you, his eyes locked on your face in awe. When you and your friends noticed him, you asked with a small smile, "Can I help you?"

"Um—I…" Peter stammered, lost in the moment.

"Are you okay?" You asked again, concerned a bit.

Suddenly, Peter’s grip slipped, and he dropped the book he had been holding. The thud of it hitting the ground broke the spell he was in. Both of you bent down to pick it up, and as you handed it back to him, your eyes caught sight of his wrist. The same soulmate tattoo that adorned your wrist. Time seemed to freeze.

You were shocked, elated. Without a word, you closed the distance between you and wrapped your arms around him, your head resting against his chest. Peter hesitated for a moment before enveloping you in his arms, holding you tight.

"It’s you. It’s really you. I thought I’d never find you after so many years. I thought I’d never meet my soulmate," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. Your friends cheered behind you, their voices distant in Peter’s ears. You pulled away slightly, but your arms stayed around him. Peter gazed into your eyes, tears brimming in his own.

"I’m sorry it took so long," he whispered, apologizing for more than just time. Apologizing for the past.

"You’re so pretty," you said, your voice filled with wonder.

"So are you. You’re beautiful," Peter replied, his voice soft and sincere. He hugged you again, this time with a newfound resolve.

"I’ll never leave you," you promised, unaware of the weight of your words. But Peter felt it. In that moment, he swore to himself that he would protect you with everything he had. He would fight every battle, face every enemy, until his dying breath, to ensure your safety. You were his future, his hope. Destiny, or whatever force had brought you back into his life, had its way, and Peter was ready to embrace it.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[prettywhenicryyyyyyyy]

What are we?

park sunghoon / one shot

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖.

★ pairing : sunghoon × fem reader

★ content : f! reader x sunghoon, high school situationship, making out, out of jealousy

★ gnere : situationship, friend with benefits

★ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 : smut- 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, nipples licking, bite fetish, 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 and 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈n, emotionally unavailable and cold hearted sunghoon. D𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀.

song suggestions (while reading this):

friends by chase atlantic

house of balloons / glass table girls by the weeknd

You were like two opposite ends of a magnet, drawn to each other but always repelled. He was emotionally unavailable, closed off and guarded, while you were an introvert who craved connection. And yet, despite your differences, you found themselves in a messy, complicated whirlwind of a situationship.

There was something about Park Sunghoon, He was a man who could charm any woman with his smile alone, his chiseled features and striking eyes drawing them in like moths to a flame. Yet, beneath that handsome exterior lay a heart of ice, cold and unyielding to any who dared to try and break through. One look into his steely gaze and you knew that love was not something that came easily to him, if at all. Despite his cold-hearted nature, he was fiercely possessive of you. Whenever he saw other guys paying attention to you, a dark anger would rise in him, and he would glare at them with a steely intensity that made them scurry away. But when he looked at you, his expression softened, and it was like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. He may have been popular in school, but when it came to you, he was utterly captivated.

in the evening

"excited to see me tomorrow?" he texted

"you wish" you replied.

"Is that a challenge?" he teased "Because I am pretty sure i can make you admit that you can't resist me" he said

*sighs*

"You're so full of yourself" you retorted with playful sarcasm "As if i'd ever admit something like that to you"

"You will tomorrow." he replied

"huh? Alright see you tomorrow"

"don't be late, I dont want to waste my time waiting for you" he said

"yes, i won't be late"

As you lay in bed that night, your thoughts kept drifting to sunghoon with the captivating eyes and the possessive demeanor. You couldn't help but wonder what he was doing right now, if he was thinking about you too, if he cared about you like you cared about him. Despite his aloofness, you couldn't deny the undeniable pull he had on you, the magnetic force that drew you in despite you better judgment.

in the morning

You arrived at school with a mix of nervousness and anticipation swirling in your stomach. As you made your way through the halls, your eyes scanned the crowd for any sign of sunghoon. You tried to act nonchalant, but you couldn't help feeling a flutter of excitement at the thought of seeing him again.

As you walked through the crowded hallway, completely lost in your own thoughts, a voice suddenly spoke from behind you "Hey, what's up?" Sunghoon, had sneaked up behind you, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched you startle. As he hugged you, your body pressed against his, you were just about to start telling him about a problem you were having when he suddenly interrupted you. "Not now," he said tersely, his tone making it clear that he wasn't interested in whatever it was you had to say.

He held you tighter, as if trying to shut out the world and keep you all to himself.

You took a deep breath and summoned up the courage to speak her mind. "Can we discuss something serious for a moment?" you asked, your voice steady despite the nerves gnawing at your insides.

He looked down at you, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "What is it?" he said, his tone a little less dismissive than usual.

"I was wondering if we could talk about our relationship," she continued. "I feel like we care about each other, and I think it's time we take this thing further."

His eyes darkened at your words, his irritation apparent. "Why are you rushing things?" he repeated, his voice laced with annoyance. "We're fine the way things are now. I don't see why we need to change anything." The discussion quickly escalated into a full-blown argument.

"I'm not happy just being your casual fling," you said, your voice rising in volume. "I want more than just physical contact. I want an actual relationship."

He clenched his jaw, his expression tight with anger. "That's all this is to me," he snapped. "A casual fling. I don't do relationships, I've told you that from the start. If you can't handle that, then maybe you need to find someone else" and he left.

You couldn't help but feeling a swirl of emotions - sad, angry, and confused. You couldn't understand why he wouldn't even consider a real relationship with you, why he was so intent on keeping things casual. It hurt you to know that he didn't value your emotional needs as much as he did the physical aspect of their connection.

in the classroom

As you entered the classroom, already feeling vulnerable and upset from your fight with sunghoon. As you took your seat, jake from your class who had been crushing on you for years approached you with a sly grin on his face. "Hey, beautiful," he purred, leaning in close and making your skin crawl. His eyes roamed over your body, taking in your every move and making it abundantly clear that he was undressing you in his mind.

"Back off, you creep" you replied through gritted teeth

"what's the matter, sweetheart?" he asked in a mocking tone.

He stepped even closer, invading your personal space and making you feel cramped and claustrophobic.

Sunghoon had been lurking in the background, watching the entire interaction between you and jake. He had seen your discomfort and fear, and it enraged him. When jake tried to touch your waist, his eyes narrowed, hands clenched into fists as he felt the intense primal jealousy and possessive desire to claim you as his own. .He strode over, anger etched across his face, and delivered a hard punch to Jake's jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor. Jake staggered backward, stunned by the unexpected attack. He brought a hand to his aching jaw, his eyes wide with disbelief and anger as he stared up at sunghoon who stood over him. His lips curled up in a sinister, cruel smile.

Jake: "So what's your deal, Sunghoon? I see you're all possessive and protective over her, but you're too emotionally unavailable to actually make her your girlfriend, right?"

Sunghoon's expression darkened at Jake's words, his eyes narrowing as he clenched his fists.

Sunghoon: "Shut up, Jake. You don't know anything about us."

Jake: "Oh, I think I know enough. You act like you care, but you're just too scared to commit."

Sunghoon grabbed him by the collar, his eyes widening with fear. his voice was cold and dangerous as he spoke, his eyes gleaming with anger.

"Listen to me, you little scumbag," he hissed through gritted teeth. "You've got two options. Either you get the hell out of her sight right now, or I'll kill you. Understand?"

Jake pushed sunghoon back, his eyes gleamed with mockery as he continued to goad Sunghoon.

"You're a goddamn coward, Sunghoon," he hissed. "You act like you're so tough and strong, but when it comes to committing to a relationship, you're nothing but a weak-ass coward.

"You're lucky I don't kill you right now," Sunghoon growled, his eyes filled with rage. Then he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Jake lying on the ground, clutching his bleeding nose and nursing his bruised ego.

As Sunghoon stalked away, the other students parted like the Red Sea, giving him a wide berth. They knew better than to get in his way when he was in this kind of mood.

You were frightened by Sunghoon's sudden outburst of anger. It was a side of him you hadn't seen before, and it raised questions about his true nature.

You reached out to Sunghoon as he started to walk away, feeling a mixture of worry and anger.

"What the hell was that?" you said, your voice sharp. "You can't just go around attacking people because they say something you don't like."

He stopped and looked back at you his expression a mix of anger and frustration.

"You don't understand," he said, his voice gruff. "He was being a dick, and he had it coming.

You questioned "Why do you care so deeply? What are we?" sunghoon found himself speechless. You demanded, "If you care so much, why can't you just accept us and what we have?"

Without answering your question sunghoon silently walked off to the school game room, his thoughts swirling with the conversation just had with you. He couldn't ignore the growing questions about undefined situation and the need for clear boundaries, you followed him your curiosity about him and the complicated relationship driving you forward.

As you entered the game room, you spotted him near the pool table, a mixture of anticipation and nerves coursing through you. Desperate to avoid the inevitable conversation, you grabbed a pool stick, feigning interest in the game. Your fingers trembled slightly. He looked at you with a playful grin and said, "You're holding the stick all wrong, sweetheart." His voice held a hint of flirtation that sent a shiver down your spine. He took a step closer, holding the pool stick in one hand. "Let me show you how to play pool y/n" His tone was smooth as he positioned himself behind you, adjusting her grip on the stick, his touch sending a jolt through your body. You could feel his breath on her neck, stirring a mix of nerves and excitement. His dick was hard, As he stood near you.

As his lips inched closer to your neck, your pulse quickened, betraying the effect his proximity had on her. His hands encircled your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your breath hitched "What are-"

"shhh" he whispered "no more questions, no more rules." His touch sent a shiver down your spine, he turned your face towards his, catching your lips in a passionate kiss. She melted into the kiss. He wrapped his arms around you, lifting you effortlessly onto the pool table. your legs hugged his hips as he closed any remaining space between bodies, his hands roaming over your curves. "I get defensive and insecure because you're mine, mine to have and to hold" he said as he grabbed your throat "He nipped and sucked your neck, leaving a trail of hickeys that marked you as his own. Your body trembled, strange desire to submit, to surrender, to be owned by him, flared within you, making it difficult to resist his dominant possessiveness. You could only manage a breathless "Yes" in response. His touch was making you weak. You let out a soft moan *unnghhh* unable to resist the sensations he was stirring within you.

He smirked at her response and whispered, "Yeah, that's what I like. Let me hear you," his voice a seductive drawl "I'd pin you against the wall and kiss you right in front that fucker jake, just to remind him you're mine"

"Please," she whispered, her voice a mix of pleading and desire, "claim me, make me yours, I don't want anyone else, I just want you. Sunghoon's hands moved to your shirt, unbuttoning it slowly, revealing your perfect cleavage with each button undone. His touch was light but firm. "I guess now i know why i have canines" he whispered. He leaned in and bit your boobs, his teeth leaving a mark on your boobs your body arching towards his as you gasped in response. His tongue traced the mark he left, soothing the burning sensation before nipping her again, harder this time. You were aware of Sunghoon's bite fetish now, and it only heightened the sensations you felt as he continued to leave bites and hickeys all over your skin. Each bite was a claim, making you feel more and more like his possession. Despite the slight pain, you found yourself arching towards his mouth, silently begging him for more, her body craving the mixture of pain and pleasure that his bites caused.

Sunghoon, watching your reactions with dark satisfaction, didn't hesitate to slide your bra down, leaving your boobs completely exposed. His eyes roamed over your boobs "Fuck" he said with seductin in his voice. Sunghoon leaned in, his tongue swiping across your nipples, a mix of claiming and taste. He couldn't get enough of your nipples, wanting to memorize every inch of her body with his lips and tongue.

"You taste sweeter than I imagined, " he whispered, his breath against your skin making you shiver, "You're mine and I'm taking every part of you that I can," he growled, his voice rough and possessive. When you moaned his name, Sunghoon felt a burst of possessive satisfaction. Your submission to him only served to fuel his possessive desire further.

"That's right," he muttered, his mouth moving along her skin, leaving a trail of kisses and bites. "Say my name again, I want to hear you moan it, I want to hear you begging for me." As you lost control, your body was completely in sync with his touch, her every thought and action driven by your desire for him.

"I need you, Sunghoon," you whispered, your voice a hoarse gasp. "I need more, I need all of you, do whatever you want with me, I'm yours." He grabbed your boobs taking a firm gentle hold. As she lost control, her body was completely in sync with his touch, her every thought and action driven by her desire for him. "Say it," he ordered "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours." you said in a breathless whisper "That's right" he murmured.

His face was now buried in between your boobs, his breathing heavy and hot against your sensitive skin. He inhaled deeply, as if he was trying to capture your very essence. His hands continued their possessive hold on your body, his grip tight and unyielding.

"You're mine," he muttered again, his voice muffled against her skin, "Completely mine, every last inch of you."

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ

hope you enjoyed! let me know which part made you giggle.

[anghraine]

this is entirely unprompted on your end, but i love your darcy and faramir takes and wanted to get your opinion on aragorn/faramir as a ship.

i'm salivating over it and nobody. cares. but i just love how it can show the possibilities of book faramir being a "threat" to aragorn's kingship in a way that nobody else is...how they can relate through their shared ancestry but the entirely different ways it impacted them in their respective lives - something about aragorn being the heir of isildur, growing up surrounded by elves, arnor. something about faramir being distinctly aware of the legacy of the stewards, his numenorean heritage and how it's fading away in the world of men, gondor (my fav world in lotr, you are so under-appreciated, gondor.) i personally adhere to the stewards-were-most-likely-also-royalty headcanon because of that extra juicy tension. throw in the i-knew-your-father-as-a-young-man aspect, the whole steward-quite-literally-serving-in-wait-of-the-true-king aspect? it's everything.

i dunno. the natural cause and effect of "return of the king" & "departure of the steward" is so interesting to play with in a romantic context, especially if it keeps both of them in the limelight when naturally, it should only be one of them? i think it's the aragorn ship that pushes his character and ambition the most, and in the same way, it can push faramir to show more machiavellian traits, more of him utilizing his political power and/or personal strengths. especially since his canonical fate is extremely satisfying but also...very conclusively an *ending* if that makes sense.

i might just want to see faramir clashing with aragorn wanting to wage more war. let him cook! let the man speak about "queen among other queens: not a mistress of many slaves"!!!!

also must admit that it's my contrarian ass wanting to rebel against the fanon "aragorn never ever wanted to be king" + "faramir is a pathetic meow meow" headcanons. the existing faramir x aragorn fics i've read all adhere to it which is frustrating.

anyways, any thoughts on this ship i randomly latched on to?

Anon, this is my #1 Tolkien ship and actually one of the only m/m ships I've ever been super into. I used to guiltily sneak-read Aragorn/Faramir as a teenager because I grew up in a conservative community and hadn't come to terms with my own queerness at the time, and was still figuring out how to get by in that community just as a Democrat, much less a lesbian.

Anyway, I got a huge kick out of your ask because it's basically point-for-point my own feelings about them. If you haven't seen it, I even wrote a ship manifesto for them over ten years ago.

And unfortunately I do also agree that the (very PJ film-inflected) fanons around both characters have made it very difficult to find fic for the ship that isn't deeply OOC for the original versions of the characters (tbh the last time I looked, it was hard enough to even find F/A fics where Faramir had black hair, much less his deeper canon characteristics). Add in the fanon depictions of Gondor and the Stewardship, and a lot of what appeals about the pairing is lost for me. I read some good ones a longggg time ago, but wouldn't begin to know where to find them now.

(I know I should be the change I want to see and write some myself, but apart from the AU f/f and m/f/f versions, I think the closest I ever came to it was this post about a mostly-the-same-as-LOTR AU only with Faramir/Aragorn and this feeling explosion about "Faramir actually does accepts the dream-visions obviously intending him to be the one going to Rivendell but also it's Faramir/Aragorn.")

And if you haven't found it yet, my ship tag is #otp: love was kindled.

I hope you enjoy <3