#hoping to post that thing before chapter 2 but we'll see

[sakuraryomen01]

Valentino /Sukuna Ryomen x Fem! Reader/ .11 [Slight Nsfw]

warnings: asshole sukuna, college prep. school (aka bitch u at an expensive ass school), former friends to lovers, slow burned love, yuji is sukuna's little brother, ec project with Nickolas the transfer student, drunk sukuna shows up at the dorm(!?), a small makeout session, some sexual touching and mentions of grinding/humping at readers thighs, caring for this stressed out man-slut, ooc sukuna.

reader: female reader; 23 years of age, college prep.

plot: It's been years since you've moved from country life, since you've forgotten about all the things you used to love about your hometown and where you grew up from... you didn't think it'd chase you to college in the city after almost a decade..

words: 5.036k

fanfic masterlist: .o1 .o2 .o3 .o4 .o5 .o6 .o7 .o8 .o9 .10 .11 .12 .13 .14 .15 .16 .17 .18 .19 .20

a/n: hey guys! sorry for the delay ^^ i've been wanting to get some chapters drafted before posting them! ty sm for the patience i hope u enjoy and r ready for the upcoming drama between sukuna and y/n!

a/n 2: so so sooooo sorry for being three days later after saying i'd be posting right away!!>< I was with family and the wifi was being iffy the last few days. I couldn't access many of my socials and much less work on the final draft of the chapter!! i powered thro until i was satified and it's finally here! i hope you enjoy!!

chapter/idea cred to: @misslauravillanueva i needed to give credit for the help! i was struggling on what to do!><

. . .

Thank you for reading this! Enjoy!

“Achoo!”

“Ah, are you alright?” Geto’s cool tone echoed from the kitchen, his brow raised with a curious expression written on his face. “Coming down with something? I told you to relax from studying for a while–”

“It’s not that!” You huff, cheeks burning with embarrassment. ”I just sneezed. I don’t know why though..”

“Okay, relax. I’m not gonna get upset.”

With a pout, you leaned against the armrest of the couch. Bowl of mac and cheese with little hot dogs in hand and a Coke on the coffee table. Eyes returning back to the TV screen and watching the current crime show playing, listening to the crimes that the murderer committed as he was handed a death sentence. 

Sometimes, when I let my mind wander to Sukuna.. It feels like that.

The idea that he’s now stuck on your mind despite all the anger he had towards you. The almost strange obsession and addiction to the idea of him. While you’ve been repetitively trying to control these new emotions and thoughts, you couldn’t help it. Seeing Sukuna that day in Ec class all those days ago. Having to tutor him. Even dealing with his weird smirks and teasing.

..That kiss too..

“Your face is doing that thing again, Y/n,” Geto’s voice chirped out of nowhere, causing you to jolt in your spot. “So jumpy over a guy? You know therapy exists, right?”

Returning a rather poorly chosen burn, Geto stood from his spot on the couch and waved a hand at you. Grabbing his things and his shoes from the carpet near the door, he sent you another telling look.

“If you're this upset, just ask what's up. Seriously, seeing you get stressed over this is kinda.. sad.”

There was a stabbing pain in your chest. You knew.

“Good night to you too, Suguru,” You hum, leaning on your fist as the door closed with a click. Leaving you alone in the dormitory for a few moments.

Your thoughts clouding your headspace until you decided to go to bed. Unable to understand this dreadful lil thing people called love, unable to understand why Sukuna Ryomen had crawled his way into your heart just by being an ass.

Tomorrow is another day.. Right?

. . .

“Today we'll be picking partners for class projects!”

Eh?? Ehhhhh????

You blinked a few times at the announcement, looking down towards Toji as students began to groan and complain a little. Quickly these were silenced as Toji lifted a stack of papers and chuckled deeply in his husky voice.

“It's not my problem, just get them done. You have two weeks to do it, so get your partners. The class is uneven so be ready for one of y'all's groups to have an extra person. It's a self-pick topic type of thing so start discussing today or tomorrow your topic and go with it!”

Toji tapped the papers on his desk and sat, letting his tie loose as he started relaxing for the rest of the period.

“If you need suggestions for your topic, there's a list in here along with your presentation requirements. I expect all names and correct citations with these as well.”

You let out a small groan and rub your temple. Not only were you stressed, now you had to deal with this? Extra shifts at work couldn't save you from this type of annoyance. It's not that you hated group projects, it's just a small tick when half of them throw the work onto you.

Pros and cons. Pros– none. Cons– work was usually tossed onto you.

You stood from your desk and began making your way down the steps to grab a paper. A strange chill ran up your spine as you passed Sukuna’s. Sparing a glance over, your cheeks warmed almost immediately.

Some bits of hair were pinned back and a pen rested on an ear. His shirt had a few buttons undone with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Black pants tight enough to have made a bakery spawn on the seat he sat upon. He looked really handsome, daring to battle even Toji’s good looks, and it was getting to you. 

What hit the nail in the coffin is when he just so happened to catch you ogling with your tongue practically hanging out of your mouth. His eyes sharpened at your expression as a smirk curled at the corners of his lips.

An almost playful yet teasing smile you weren't used to seeing on his face caught you off guard. It made your face hot, and your shame grow a few beats in that moment.

“Stop creeping” was basically what his face was saying.

Letting out a strained cough, you covered your face and made your way back up to your desk. Positive that his eyes had followed you all the way up the stairs before you sat in your spot. Hiding behind the paper and some random book you grabbed from your bag.

You couldn't be more obvious, could you?

While fellow students started to shift in their seats and partner up with friends and just random buddies from in the room, Sukuna was swarmed with a small audience of girls as he stood from his seat to also fetch a paper. The guys that sat around him gave him annoyed side-eyes and snorts as he absorbed the attention from all the women in the room. 

“Sukuna, do you wanna partner with me?” One asked, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and letting the blush on her cheeks show.

“Me too, we could all do it together!” Another spoke up, poking her button nose into their conversation. Her bright green eyes staring up at Sukuna with a needy gleam.

It makes you confused to an extent, making you press your brows together as you look to the side. Sukuna probably thought that's what you looked like every time you saw him. It makes your heart ache and head throb, another grand headache to your already upsetting day.

Just let your mind be normal for once in your life.

You begin to gather your things and part from the room, the hustle and bustle of the classroom quietly fading into the background. Letting out a relaxed sigh as the sight of your bed creeped into the corners of your mind– oh, how you wished to be relaxing in bed with your favorite stuffy.

“Hello, miss? Would you like to be my partner for the project?” A voice suddenly called from behind you, somewhat echoing throughout the quiet hallways. It startled you since you didn’t expect anyone to follow you out of the classroom asking such a thing, it piqued your interest.

Lifting your head, you come face to face with someone you didn’t know.

His dark hair was up in a bun with his undercut showing behind his pierced ears, a kind smile flashing behind yet another piercing on his lip. Tanned skin that seemed to glow like it was pampered with the best beauty products around, not a scar or pimple in sight. Cute dimples at the corners of his lips adding to his boyish charm while his honey eyes gleamed at you. It reminded you of Yuji in a sense, but this was not Yuji.

You’ve never seen this guy before– a really cute one at that.

“Hello,” you say, momentarily stunned at the stranger, letting your hand weakly wave. “Uhm, partner?”

There was an adorable chuckle that furthered your stunned silence before you heard a response. “Yes, I saw you walk out here alone and thought you might need one.”

You take in a deep breath, regaining your composure quickly and patting yourself down. “Ah, right. I actually don’t like having a partner, my past experiences have led me to conclude that they’re not the best option for a project. Besides, I’m a big girl, I can handle one on my own.”

“I can see why,” He starts, looking back at the classroom with the still clamoring students before returning his attention to you. “That horde in there was after one guy, they don’t care about this project. I was actually about to do the same as you when I saw my choices were so low.”

Rubbing a big calloused hand over his nape, the strangers’ almond eyes looked from the empty halls and to you, his smile sheepish. “Please? Don’t make me beg now.”

There was a small silence between you and the stranger as you considered walking off and letting him go with his original plan before the Economics class erupted with whines as Sukuna and a girl walked from inside. The color left your cheeks, seeing the girl’s arm wrapped tightly around Sukuna’s. Looking as if he was protecting her from the growing crowd of the class, engaging in an active conversation as they walked on by.

Your heart sank sharply, seeing Sukuna letting someone else into his circle. He used to be so cold, so annoyed with people when he was younger. Only letting you really hold him that close, giving you nuzzles of appreciation since he didn’t like to say it aloud.

Now, he gives you the cold shoulder and holds others that aren’t you close.

Without letting your head finish its last thought and your eyes still trained on the back of Sukuna’s head, you gave a nod and looked back at the stranger. “Sure. I’m Y/n L/n, by the way.”

“Really? That’s great!” He smiled, the warmth of his company lightening your mood sufficiently more than it was a few moments ago. “My name’s Nickolas Alveres, it’s nice to meet you, L/n.”

The both of you share a smile for a second before Nickolas nods down the hall, motioning for the both of you to head to your next classes. He doesn’t wait for you to join him, but you do anyway. Trying to make small talk with him as you try to get to know your partner, letting the smile on your lips stick.

While you wore a smile, someone else had a frown. A deep scowl, if you will. You didn’t feel it, but Sukuna’s partner saw it.

She raised a brow, cheeks tinted a slight color as she cast her gaze in the same direction. Seeing you close to another man, only escalating the befuddlement.

“What’s wrong, Sukuna?”

A disgruntled look was plastered all over said man’s face, his frown so prominent it was a waste of time to even attempt to hide it. A chasm of wrinkles forming on his forehead as his brows pressed together at the sight before him. Watching the way you and some kid walked side by side with a smile on your face, not a care in the world.

When did you get so chummy?

“It’s nothing.. Let’s go, Haru,” He said, not sparing a second to look back at you. With a huff, he pulled his work partner, Haru, with him to the nearby library to find a good subject for this project.

It’s what he wanted anyways.. right?

. . .

“Wait, wait.. He punched Gojo in the face?!” Nickolas laughed, holding his cup up to his lips quickly to cover his giggles and chuckles. His nose crinkled up as they continued despite his obvious resistance. “He must’ve been drunk too to get so defensive!! I thought he was just a jerk most of the time.”

“Usually he is,” You start, crossing your legs under the coffee table. Looking over some of the notebooks the both of you had sprawled out onto the wood to look for any good topics to talk about in the presentation. Quickly, you scribbled out one, taking a sip from your cup and looking back up to Nickolas. “Recently though, he’s been alright. Not as mean as he used to be, but not one-hundred percent rude and annoying.”

A calm silence filled the air as Nickolas rested his work in his lap, taking a moment to look from them to you. “Speaking of, how long have you known this guy? You talk about him like he’s an old friend.”

The corner of your lips twitch upwards for a short second before you let your face relax. “He was. Not really interested in joining forces again recently.”

Nickolas nodded his head in understanding, eyes glazing over somewhat on what response to give. Seeing that the idea of this guy somehow hurt you, it got him concerned. Why bother letting him get to you so deeply if this is the result? It doesn’t make sense.

“Don’t let it get to you too much, Y/n,” He mustered after a short silence, placing his cup on the coffee table and letting his ring tap against the plastic. “If he’s still letting you be this close, even helping you care for a friend, that’s gotta be something.”

You nod numbly, knowing the obvious has been said too many times. Talk to him, ask him how he’s doing about the relationship, what does he want from you? The same three things that you always wanted to say when you were with him, but how. Other than tutoring, other than being near each other in class, you and Sukuna spent little to no time together.

All you remember about him is that he was the tough kid in school with home problems that liked to play tag and hide and seek. That he scared you with bugs and frogs while at the lake or near the Willow tree. The fond memories you shared with him couldn’t be the only factor that you had to use to judge what you wanted, you had to be around him more.

How was going to be the hardest puzzle to solve.

“Oh well,” Nickolas yawned, stretching his arms over his head. “It’s about time i get headed to my dorm. I have an early class tomorrow. I’ll leave you my number so that we can plan meetings for the project!”

Jokes and laughter filled the room as you and your partner exchanged information when there was a loud commotion at the door. You glanced from Nickolas to the dorm door and let out a light hearted chuckle, waving your hands next to your head.

“Ah, I’ll go get that! Gather your things, okay?”

Nickolas nodded and turned to his open binder and mess of notebook paper splayed on the coffee table, humming to himself as you rushed over to the front door. Hair stood at attention when you opened that door, seeing a messed up man laying on the hallway floor. A big wine bottle squeezed tightly in his right hand, the other placed next to his head on the floor.

His voice came out in gentle hums of some random rock song, lyrics jumping out from his mouth every second or so in a drunken daze. His fluffy hair was messy and almost unrecognizable until you realized who it was.

It was Sukuna.

“Wh.. What are you doing here?” You shout, shocked at his arrival, but there was not really a response. Only his hand raising to wave his finger around to the hum of his song. “Sukuna, answer me!!”

“..rather be.. Than lonely..”

Letting out a sigh, you look back at Nickolas and see his confused face staring at the gap between you and the door down at Sukuna. He stood there ready to go with his bag strap on his shoulder and keys in hand, giving you quick glances for some semblance of an answer. You give a small shrug, looking back to the immobile man on the ground.

Gently, you kick at one of his legs to try and get something out of him. “Sukuna, get up!”

Not a single thing, just a grunt and a tussle before your eyes finally connect with glazed ones. Maroon pools that were foggy beyond belief, not having a thought behind them. Nickolas tilts his head to the side and shakes it, giving you a pat on the arm and a sheepish smile.

“I'll get out of your hair, Y/n. Good luck!”

You step out of the man’s way, looking down at the disgruntled Sukuna and give a weak chuckle. Parting ways with Nickolas for the evening and kneeling down to Sukuna and shaking his shoulder. “Sukuna, you’ll get sick, get up.”

“..Doesn’t matter,” Sukuna mumbled, closing his eyes and taking a sip of his drink. “F’m sick, I’ll just be sick..”

“It does matter, now get up.”

You did your best to pull Sukuna up by his arm and into a sitting position, hooking the limp appendage over your shoulder and lifting him up onto his feet. It was a struggle since Sukuna was so heavy, but you managed. The stench of alcohol reeked from his breath and shirt, mixes of dirt and some stains that you didn’t feel the need to ask where they came from. 

Stumbling into your dormitory you freed the near empty beer bottle from Sukuna’s grasp and pulled the door close. He wasn’t giving much fight– probably due to the amount he drank– and just leaned his weight onto you. Mumbling to himself about things you weren’t going to pressure him into answering. Still, it made you wonder.

What the hell drove him to come to my place?

Surely, he wouldn’t mind answering that.

With a huff to your lips you plopped Sukuna’s heavy ass onto the couch and folded your arms. The beer bottle in your hand swirling around as you rotate your wrist ever so slightly, brow raising at Sukuna’s nearly asleep form. It was odd to see the big, strong and mean Sukuna Ryomen on his last leg from intoxication. 

Despite this, you found it cute.

“I’ll go get you some water and maybe a change of clothes,” You announce, tilting your head to see if that gauges a reaction. Sadly there was nothing but a huff and some finger taps on the couch’s cushions. Letting your arms fall to your side, you grunt and place the beer on the table. “Whatever, I’ll be right back.”

You grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and some extra sheets from your bedroom before making your way back into the living room to Sukuna. A fresh set of clothing was provided, thanks to Geto’s many late night bang sessions with Shoko, and some cooling pads were placed next to Sukuna on the couch. He didn’t do much but glance at the items, turning his face away in– what you assumed– was a quiet protest.

Sukuna never acted this petty and spoiled before. What’s gotten into him?

“Let’s get you changed, yeah?” Gently, you press your hands to his chest, earning a reaffirming nod and proceeding to undo the buttons of his collared shirt. 

It was strange to be in this position. On your knees, undressing the man you’ve pinned for for so long, only to be seeing this messy and unkempt side you didn’t like to imagine him being. The feelings in your chest that you wanted to put away were making your heart race once more, every glance you got to see from the mess you called Sukuna.

His hair made him resemble his brother more than anything else now, hanging over his sweaty forehead and tattoo. Arms hanging loosely at his sides, man spreading for all of the world to see. Shamefully, you enjoyed the calm attention. Even though it was unsightly, you liked getting to touch all over Sukuna’s body.

“There,” You mumble to yourself, having officially released Sukuna from his shirt. “N-Now, onto your..”

Trailing off, you look down at Sukuna’s pants. Swallowing thickly at the idea of pulling off his trousers, you took a deep breath. I’m never going to live this shame down!

Gently, you began to undo his belt. You face burning ever more as the air began to tense, wishing that anyone but you would be this bashful over something so silly. Still, regret hit you harder than the embarrassment or shame ever could.

Sukuna was watching you. Watching your hands slip the belt loose, pulling his button undone and pulling at his waistband. You tugged, unable to yank them down and free his lower half.

“Sukuna.. Can you lift your hips?” You ask in a soft voice, startled by the quick response. But what was it really, he was watching your every move. You felt like you were being examined in some office and not helping Sukuna undress. “Thank you.”

“Mm.”

Making haste of the situation, you pulled down the fabric of his trousers and grabbed the loose shorts you had found from earlier. Ignoring all thoughts of Sukuna and how perfect his legs looked, the thick black hands of his tattoos on the fat of his thigh. The way the bulge in his briefs was much a cause for distraction, even denying that it twitched once freed from it’s confines.

Yep, never happened.

“There, all better,” You sigh, satisfied. “Now that your ready for bed, I’m going to do the same.”

It took a few minutes, but you had completely reclothed Sukuna and he now looked more sleepy and ready for bed rather than drunk off his ass and about to black out on the couch. You had struggled to even get him to take a sip of water and sober up, but to no avail. You figured you’d have to try again tomorrow morning and explain the situation once he woke up in a confused fit.

Getting him comfortable on the couch too was another ordeal you didn’t think you’d go through, but you did. Tucking in the large male until he was all cozy and warm, safely resting his head on one of your spare pillows.

“I’ll see ya in the morning, Ryo,” You mumble, letting your mind wander for a moment and tracing the outline of one of his tattoos on his bicep. Feeling the muscle twitch under your touch momentarily.

“Mgh,” Sukuna muffled out, cheeks warm to the touch.

Letting out another sigh, you stand from your spot next to the couch. Only to be pulled back towards the culprit at hand, falling ass first next to his lap. Sukuna didn’t make a sound, just grasped onto your hips and pulled you in for a hug. His arms anchored around your lower stomach, pressing into the arch of your spine and forcing you to press against him as well.

His nose was pressed into the crook of your shoulder, but you continued to crusade for answers from the sudden affection. “AGH! Sukuna, that was highly uncalled for!! What the hell do you think you’re doing?! Answer me, dammit–!!”

“Who was that guy?”

You flinch, caught off guard. The clarity and conviction in Sukuna’s voice was strange, seeing as he had been stumbling and leaning into you for the last few moments. “Uhm, my Economics partner Nickolas. It shouldn’t matter, you need to sleep!”

“I don’t need sleep,” Sukuna grunts out, lifting himself off of the couch and trapping you underneath him. Using his big arms like a cage, eyes locking you in place with a vice on your heart. “What was he doin’ hanging here?”

“Sukuna, this is childish,” You start, ready to defend yourself for a confrontation. “He’s my class partner, you shouldn’t be upset over it.”

Wait.. why was he upset?

Previously, he had never seemed to give a flying fuck what you did or whom you did it with. What’s with the sudden change of heart? It made yours ache at the possibilities, wondering what could it be that made him so hostile all of the sudden over Nickolas.

“I barely know him anyways..”

“And you let him sit here on this couch?”

There was a small slap sound as skin met skin, Sukuna’s palm and fingers grasping your chin and cheeks. A gentle but firm squeeze sent shivers down your spine, your hand reaching up to try and pull Sukuna’s off but to no avail. His eyes scanned your face for anything, a sign.

Something. Anything that would make this ache in his chest stop.

“What is he to you, huh?” His voice came out rough, deep. Intimidating. 

It was scary, but a shudder was sent up your spine. A lustful and unneeded shudder, one that sent ideas to your brain. That made your mind wander, but you held them back. 

Even as Sukuna’s lips captured yours, as his teeth grazed and nibbled at your lower lip, your hands reached up to tangle themselves in his pink locks. You had to deny, because the Sukuna that was here wasn’t really him. It was a drunk and dissociated version of him, a side that you normally didn’t see. 

A side that he probably didn’t like showing.

“Did you let him do this, mh?” Sukuna muttered, pulling away from your mouth. A string of saliva connecting the both of you for a moment as your lungs fought for breath. Chest rising and falling heavily, your hands hold onto Sukuna’s arms, trying to find something to stabilize yourself in this mess of kisses.

“N-No, we just.. Talked about class–”

“Talked? About class? Me? You?”

Sukuna retreated his touch from your face and instead placed them on your thighs. Laying beside you on the couch, keeping you trapped against his chest and making sure to dress the blankets over you.

“Sukuna, seriously, this isn’t funny anymore,” You whimper, covering your face. How could you push this away? You’ve wanted nothing but to be closer to him, haven’t you?

Desired, pleaded. You wanted everything.. But this wasn’t the way.

Feeling Sukuna’s hands wrap around your waist, having his hot breath on your neck and shoulder as he rutted his hips against the fat of your ass. You felt utterly guilty, like trash. Wanting to crawl away from Sukuna and save him the little grace he had, to avoid giving him something to wake up and regret tomorrow.

“Y/n.. look at me.. Look at what you’ve done,” The man in question ordered, hooking your top leg over his elbow. Letting the bulge in his pants grow more and more, his voice becoming ragged and deep as he got harder and harder. “You’re making a mess of me, can’t you tell?”

You nod, wanting to pull away and sleep in your bed. But the desires in you only wanted you to fall deeper. The strings of your heart being plucked as Sukuna’s lips found the sensitive skin of your neck. Marking and sucking, lewd sucking sounds erupting from his lips as he made harsh hickeys form on the skin.

Mewl after moan escaped you, your pussy wet and slick under the confines of your panties and pajama bottoms. Sukuna could tell, releasing your leg from his hold and slowing his hips for a moment until his hand migrated to your front.

Grinding the flat surface of his palm against your clothed cunt, whispering naughty words into your ear that you had to drown out. Even if the wants in your belly wished for Sukuna to be there, to fill up your insides and make a mess. To be closer than he’s ever let you been for the last month or so, you had to stop this.

And you did, with much regret.

“Sukuna, stop,” You whimper, pulling Sukuna’s hand away from your body. Breaths coming out in baited huffs, you sat up. Not taking a moment to let yourself get lured back in, feeling Sukuna’s hand find your waist again as you resisted further.

“Stop what?” He mutters, annoyance in his voice. Laced with an emotion you wished to unhear. “Didn’t you want this too?”

“Not like this.” Cold, respectful. You had to be this way, to give Sukuna another chance. Letting him have his way now in such a drunken state, you wouldn’t be able to recover a good relationship. “If I was like anyone else, you’d be taken advantage of.”

Sukuna’s touch softened, his glazed eyes clearing for a moment as he looked at the back of your head. Seeing a shimmer of something on your cheek, his fingers trembled. He desired to reach up, to brush those tears away. It was against his very nature, his very being.

He didn’t like the idea of being all cuddly and cozy, being soft and vulnerable with someone. The idea of it made his stomach churn and made the urge to vomit impending. 

But, with you. Seeing those tears form, for his sake. He felt irritated with himself. He caused it. Him.

“I’m going to bed now,” You say, voice shaken up. “Get some water, sleep.”

You stood from your place on the sofa and walked over to the small hallway, entering your bedroom and letting out a shuddering exhale. A weight was now firmly sitting on your chest. It ached, it hurt, it burned.

Everything that pain felt like was exploding in your chest. Reaching up a hand to try and comfort yourself wasn’t worth the effort either as you slid down the wood of your bedroom door. Curling into a feeble position as the tears fell from your eyes, finally free after holding them the whole time.

What you wished you could do about the man on your couch.

. . .

a/n: y'all i literally have a crippling addiction to crime videos and all that shit it's just so interesting for no reason oml (crying inside) also sorry for the month long pause (i say sorry too much) i was creating new characters and working on ideas for the next few chapters!

Chapter Song Them: — Granite - Sleep Token (Lyrics)

taglist: @mageyboo, @mzladyd , @mysticwonderlandangel, @sukunaspersonalfleshlight, @kawaiipenguin20, @k-indie, @okkotsufav, @cafeinthemoon93, @pulchritxde, @bontenbunny, @deepinballs, @kleebloomed, @fiierytearzx, @wo-ming-bai, @instantgalaxysheep, @watyousayin, @z3r0art, @sukunaobsessed, @lik0, @sukunasfirstlove, @princesstiti14, @nemoyr, @ladywolf44005, @cat-mak20, @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn, @hxlalokidottir, @domainofmarie, @the-moongoddess, @dark-n-dirty-duchess, @agentdedf1sh, @sukunastoy, @lyn-soso, @bao-yu-sarah-morningstar-wang-9, @heyitstacy, @lost-in-tokyo, @marksassybanana, @bozos-r-us , @p-3-4-c-h, @chaoticqueen33, @dxxny-loves-u, @l0tus-in-l0ve , @jiordeci, @opossum0-0, @gumisgirl, @mommasbigd, @heyitstacy, @misslauravillanueva, @fallenlostarchives, @infinitivesearch

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[burning-academia-if]

Burning Academia: Chapter 2 Release

Play Here | Intro Post

Burning Academia is a 17+ paranormal dark academia IF about family, magic, school politics, and the ghosts which haunt you.

Total Word Count (w/code): 89.2k

Words Added (w/code): 47.9k

Chapter 2 Features:

Have a weird encounter at work

Enjoy an almost normal day for once, or another bad one

No really, if you have a bad day this time it's on you

3 endings, each with their own lasting consequences

3 achievements, if that's your kind of thing

Content Warnings:

Severe: Discussions and depictions of death, gaslighting, emotionally unstable parent

Moderate: Scopophobia (eyes/staring), references to alcoholism, references to unhealthy coping mechanisms

Mild: possession

Chapter 1 Change log:

Added piercing and facial hair options during the customization screen

a handful of variable fixes

gonna be honest, I edited this chapter a few months ago and I don't remember what else I fixed, but I remembering fixing them

Upcoming in Chapter 3:

Consequences for your actions...or not

Go to your magic elective and listen to the voice in your head roast your professor

Pop quiz, because said professor hates you

Hit up the town, go to the freshman party, or break into one of the school buildings. You can even do two of those things, if you're lucky

Notes:

Chapter 1 saves might not work, but if you have any saves from the end of the prologue, those should work so you don't have to start completely from the beginning if you don't want! I'd recommend keeping a save for a chapter prior from now on, ie keeping a chapter 1 save for chapter 3, since there's always a possibility I will need to fix or adjust things in chapter 2.

Also I just wanted to give a vague update schedule. So 3 things: Zoe's backstory is going to be released in July! This is the only thing with a set time frame for release. Next, I want to focus on updating/fixing the UI before anything else, just because it's kinda been bothering me. This will be the next "game update" for BA. After the UI release will come Chapter 3. I'm hoping chapter 3 doesn't take 5 months this time, but that's up to life which has had a sniper riffle on me for the whole of 2024, so we'll see.

Lastly, as always, if I broke something feel free to send an ask or submit it through the google doc here!

[adamsrcnan]

OKAY OKAY here we goooo an annoyingly long-ish post about all my thoughts on The Sunshine Court

Spoilers Spoilers Spoilersss you've been warned

First things first it is so interesting to see Nora writing from not one but TWO new people's perspective. Jean's perspective is just devastating being inside his head is heartbreaking the constant fear and panic and how much of his energy is used on just pushing down every memory of what was done to him. His coping mechanisms are terrifying and i truly do hope by the end of book 2 he has a healthier way of dealing with it bc baby boy stop hurting yourself :( Every sentence was so painful to read. But also his resilience the entire time to get through it no matter what, god i fucking love him!!! He is a fighter.

Jeremy's perspective is sooooo refreshing. He is such a little sweetheart i could cry. The fact that he sends hand written letters and he's so caring and genuine but he can also be so stern. When he dropped that "i asked you a question" to Lucas fkehdjdfjdh OK SIR. I'M SAT. His relationship with the family butler is so endearing as well i need more background on that for sure! My only one criticism is that he didn't have enough pov chapters and i'm hoping we'll learn more in the second book of course because there's still so much about him and his (dysfunctional? toxic?) family dynamic that we don't know yet but also i'm greedy and i wanna know EVEYTHING about him !!!

Kevin and Jean are so just tragic it actually breaks my fucking heart like "you didn't have to slit my throat on the way out" JEAN??? and "promise me you won't try again. I can't lose you." KEVIN??? And the fact that Jean to this day is still keeping that promise. Also Jean's obvious but secret long term crush on Kevin the way it's subtly dropped every time Jean has to stamp down on his desire's and "temptations" GOD PLEASE I CAN'T STAND IT

SPEAKING OF!!! BISEXUAL JEAN ??? BI JEAN??? BI JEANNNN !!!!

Neil and Jean oh my God like where do i even start?? The guilt Jean feels at what happened to Neil in the Nest and him finally calling him by his name after Riko's death and telling him his game was good. And Neil seriously needs to give himself more credit for how much of a caring person he is because the way he indirectly told Jean that he thinks he is worth saving and didn't even hesitate before asking Stuart to send someone after That Guy after what Jean told him. Neil Josten the man that you are!!!

Jean's little sister Elodie what a beautiful name. Them being so close and him reading to her. The way he found out about her death jolted me differently. It was so awful and i'm so sorry Jean didn't get to see her grow up and meet her again.

Renee and Jean oh my god. Jean thinking she's beautiful (bitch me toooo) And the whole right person wrong time ugh i can't stand it. Him wearing her necklace all the time, enough that Jeremy always notices it. And unabashedly stealing her picture from the foxes lounge. Like he did not give a fuck. He said this one is mine. One good reason to stay alive being rainbows i'm gonna FKSJSKDHDH. Theirs would be such a soft love.

Speaking of soft loves Laila and Cat are EVERYTHINGGGG. God they are so cute with their little domestic life and their rich gay boy son who crashes on their couch with his cardboard cut out dog. That whole friendship dynamic is beautiful. Their fierce protectiveness and care over Jean as well and the patience they have with him even after the little kitchen incident. When Cat took Jean out for a drive on her motorcycle god that was such a heart warming moment and Jean helping them cook as well and becoming the girls' little sous chef it's so cute so endearing !!!

FINALLY FINALLY THE JEREJEAN DYNAMIC

PLEASE I'M GONNA SCREAM

Jeremy being the one who told Jean that Riko was dead i don't even know what to begin with THAT like hhhhhhh. The way they're both stupidly attracted to each other but won't/can't do anything about it. THE WHOLE "say yes Jeremy" SCENE WTF WAS THATTT I WAS GOING INSANEEEE. Both of them having to stop mid sentence when they catch the other looking FINE as hell. Jean being so obvious that even Lucas picks up on the way he looks at Jeremy. Jeremy being there to ground Jean in a Moment and helping him come down from it. Grabbing his face and telling him he's okay. Moving into the room with him to make him feel more comfortable !! The way Jean grabs Jeremy's chin (boiiiii). Jeremy constantly reminding Jean that he is NOT A RAVEN ANYMORE no matter how many times he has to say it. Jeremy saying he'll wait as long as it takes until Jean speaks to him. JEREMY GIVING HIM A HUG AND JEAN CLUTCHING DESPERATELY TO HIS SHIRT FUUCUFHDHSJHSSUHDH and then the "will you help me?" And the "Anything you need" AND THEY'RE GOING TO TAKE A CERAMICS CLASS TOGETHER?!?!?!!!! i can't i can't i can't i caaan'ttt

There's so much more to say but i'm gonna leave it at this for now because i need to go re-read it again and take my time with it this time round but i really could not have asked for anything better Nora truly outdid herself here !!! I'm forever grateful she blessed us with this after so long.

[motherofagony]

A HEART FOR EATING // vol. 2

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: post outbreak!joel x f!reader setting: jackson, wy (think tlou pt. 2 minus the golfing) rating: mature, 18+, minors dni word count: 8.7k series summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing. chapter summary: you take care of joel after a patrol injury, but you suspect there's more to it than he's telling you. the atmosphere shifts as you and joel grow (begrudgingly) closer. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), protective!joel, brief masturbation (f!reader), praise kink for two seconds, blood, bodily injuries, needles (reader gives joel stitches), dissociation/triggers, alcohol, angst, sexual tension intensifies, The First Kiss™, soft!joel vol. 1 // vol. 2 series playlist a/n: we're picking up speed, folks. world-building is my weakness, so i hope you enjoy this nonetheless. honorable mention goes to the readers in the trenches, waiting patiently for joel to [redacted] reader senseless until she [redacted] all over his [redacted]. thank you for the love on the series so far. taglist: @ghostwritesthings, @widowssbite, @p3rkerr, @eternallyvenus, @punkshort if anyone would like to be added/removed to the taglist (or if i missed anyone), please send me a DM!

You’ve always hated flying.

In the great before, the stone ages of family vacations and things to look forward to, fears were singular and planes were yours.

Your family never had a lot of money, not really, but on the special occasion of a death in the family, you’d find yourself trapped to a seat in a metal tube. Going nowhere but up. Sitting through safety instructions that came from smiling, lipsticked mouths that were only hypotheticals until they weren’t.

It’s like a rollercoaster, your dad would say, amused in the way only a dad can be and sleeping through damn near anything in the same fashion. It did nothing to calm the knocking of your knees, to quell the flip of your stomach as you climbed higher and higher until you couldn’t see anything but cotton ball clouds.

It was always unnatural to you that something so heavy could float, that you were supposed to go on doing human things and drinking your ginger ale and munching your pre-packaged snack option. As if you weren’t being hurled into the sky with no one walking you through it.

As if the plummet onto tarmac meant no harm, just completely normal erratic braking that felt a lot like the moments before a crash.

There was no control — it was in someone else’s hands that you never saw. And as you fell, you were supposed to say thank you, that’s exactly what I paid for.

This is your version of the oxygen mask. This is you putting yours on before you help Joel.

You’re on your knees digging through your med bag, thumbing through bandages, checking for a quick count of gloves, antibiotics, wash cloths. You fumble with the zipper, fighting with the tremor that starts in your forearms and liquifies into your wrists. There isn’t much in the way of supplies unless you ransack what’s kept in storage, but there’s no time, and you’re not sure of what you’re about to walk into.

Waiting any moment for a scream, or the blast of a gun when they realize Joel’s not Joel anymore.

And it isn’t really a big possibility in the grand scheme of things, if you consider that he would’ve likely turned on the route home. But it’s still there, tickling the back of your head, nudging your navel uncomfortably. Nothing’s impossible.

You of all people know that.

You linger in your living room, giving a final sweep. Worst case, you can run back for what’s forgotten, but something about the idea of abandoning a vulnerable Joel – if only for a minute – doesn’t settle right in your stomach.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re shoving a bottle of whiskey into the bag, the only anesthetic on hand. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you need to score back some points.

The steps leading up to Joel’s house are sturdy, and you imagine it’s because of the pride he takes in what’s his. Before this, his house was just another skeleton of roof, foundation, windows, and siding.

The kind of houses you pass by every day that are rife with familiarity but you don’t know what it’s like to see the people inside eat dinner, brush their teeth. Fight. Fuck.

Fresh paint from only two seasons ago, reinforced porch posts. A swing. It’s weird to see permanence in this day and age, but his intention to anchor himself and grow roots here flutters meaningfully inside you.

It’s always been a sacred thing to you, you don’t know why. A place you’d never dreamed of entering, but dreamed about what it would smell like. A pair of boots haphazard by the front door, small piles of organized chaos, of collected tangibles. A you never know if you’ll need this in one corner, a saving that for a rainy day shelved in another.

So when you raise your hand to knock, you feel like an intruder, an unwelcome invasion of privacy. And you don’t know why you knock at all, you nearly think better of it given the circumstances, but you’re testing the atmosphere, hoping for voices inside instead of a struggle.

Ellie’s swinging the door open, relief smoothing out the lines in her forehead when she sees you. Her presence seems to answer any unspoken questions you had about Joel being infected, and you don’t voice them to her when you can see unrest in her antsy legs.

“Hey. Sorry for the wait. He alright?”

Her teeth are worrying her lip, probably more traumatized by the sight of him than anything. A few strands of hair have freed themselves from her lazy half-bun at the base of her neck, caught in the crossfire when she ran her hands through it, you think.

“Yeah,” Ellie breathes, committing to it. “Yeah, he’s okay. Bleeding stopped, nothing seems broken. Just needs stitches, I think.”

It sounds more to convince herself than anything else. There’s a foreign fragility to her, and you hate it.

“He tell you what happened?”

The question strikes a nerve. Ellie’s shaking her bowed head, scoffing in a half-laugh that doesn’t touch her eyes. Her hand wraps around her knuckles, cracking slowly in an effort to alleviate the tension that’s reached a fever pitch inside her.

“He won’t tell me, says it doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t have gone alone anyway, he was bein’ a dick. ‘I wanna think, kiddo - need t’clear my head,’” she mocks in a gruff, rolling pitch, the perfect dosage of Texas.

It levels you, potent. Are you the thing Joel needed to clear his head of?

You’re weirdly longing for it, but being flicked away like a bug, peeled away layer by layer from him isn’t something you want.

There’s hope that you’re contagious. That you’re haunting him and lurking in the darkest corners of his mind like an apparition like he has yours. And maybe there’s hope after all, something left to salvage.

But you play dumb, furrow your brow a little too expertly.

Ellie’s measuring you, and there’s a glimpse of worry but she hides it in a way that you wouldn’t know what you were looking for if you hadn’t already found it.

“Anything you wanna tell me about the other night? He was pissed when he left,” she tacks on quietly.

You go a little slack-jawed. You don’t even know how to put it into words, and you couldn’t tell her what it meant even if you tried.

What’s there to even say?

“You know what, none of my business,” she says, her hands lifting in tired surrender when you don’t answer, ignoring your near-sputter. “But you’re not off the hook, just make sure the old man doesn’t croak. And tell him he scared the shit outta me.”

You exhale and hope it doesn’t read too much as relief. You’ll have to answer to her later, but at least you might have an answer to give.

“Handful of salt in the wound, rub in circular motions – got it. Tell Tommy I’ll catch up later.”

Your shoulders scrape affectionately as you nudge past each other, and you cast a wide look at the periphery of Joel Miller’s house. The feeling of unwelcome disappears, and if anything, you’re being tugged further inside. Imagining what it’s like to be a fixture, an adornment in his weird little life.

Nooks that you assumed would be messy are neat, coiffed even. There’s that unavoidable smudge of secondhand all over the furniture – mottled ever so slightly, aged uneven in places that only an apocalypse can do. But it’s an otherwise tidy existence. Another surprise from Joel that you’d never pick up on if you only witnessed him nursing a drink at the bar.

An oak bookshelf props itself at the bottom of the stairs and it rivals your own, dust gathering in thin lines where he’s repeatedly shelved this, reread that. There are paintings hung decisively on most of the walls, breathtaking rural landscapes of wherever.

You’re lugging the bag upstairs, counting your breaths with each step. The whiskey rattles mutely against the first aid tin, and it’s a toss-up now of who you really brought it for.

The landing mirrors the ground level, a purposeful littering of tchotchkes. Doors line the second floor, some closed, some ajar but not inviting, and you realize you have no idea which one you’re looking for. You sway uninvited by the bannister until you hear the unmistakable hiss of breath between clenched teeth, then a soft moan as his weight shifts.

And you’re stepping inside a room – his bedroom – warmed in the soft beginnings of sunset. Joel’s sprawled asymmetrically on his bed, eyes pinched shut, delirious with blood loss but already looking substantially less like a corpse. A damp rag settles just above his brow, and the handiwork of Ellie.

There’s an unrecognizable hurt in him, wounded in ways that he shouldn’t be capable of.

He doesn’t give any indication that he knows you’re here until he’s rasping out something weak disguised as stern.

“I ain’t bit. Shut the door behind you.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“How did you –?”

Joel just huffs in response, as indignant as his body lets him be.

“You see anyone else here? They might as well’ve jumped out the window, as fast as they dumped me ‘n left. I ain’t stupid.”

You accept that and drop the pretense, pursing your lips with a nod. He doesn’t seem that offended, knows it’s just the nature of the beast.

You move over to his bedside, unpacking the bag quickly on a side table, looping your metaphorical stethoscope around your neck and switching gears into a mode that’s strictly doctoral.

Yet, there’s still that hum beneath your skin, the fizzle of unfinished business. It’s thick in the space between you, in the way he flicks his gaze at you lazily. You’ll let him foster the anger, giving it a home. You can be the martyr he says you are.

This new lens feels calmer, almost professional. Your nerves are still firing rapidly, and your composure is forced, but it’s better than nothing.

You drag a chair from the corner up to Joel’s bed, not letting your eyes wander too far into the depths of the space. You don’t have time to dissect the idiosyncrasies of his life. Not yet.

He still hasn’t opened his eyes, but you get the sense that he’s tracking your every move. His limbs are concrete, the tendons in his forearms so tense and coiled like any and every movement is forbidden.

“Joel.”

He grunts, a pained translation. Still no effort to move.

“I need to take a look at you,” you say patiently, bargaining like you would with a kid. “Wanna tell me what hurts?”

Another grunt, softer this time. He motions vaguely, weakly to his head, then the left flank of his abdomen.

You already know what you’ll find under the rag on his head, and it bodes well that the bleeding looks to have stopped. His stomach wound, on the other hand, was enough to bleed through two layers.

“Alright. Lemme see.”

A muted whimper echoes in his throat, so uncharacteristically that it tugs on your heart. Still statuesque, unmoving.

Your fingers are deft, careful as they unbutton the first, second, third buttons of his flannel. Joel’s stock-still, and his breath comes in sharp, slow waves through his nose. Your own breath kind of sits in the back of your throat, and you pretend with a hurried exhale that you weren’t just holding it.

Your fingers reach his navel on the last button, and you’re gently tucking each panel of his shirt under him on either side, focusing too hard on not touching him. It feels like something is somersaulting low in your stomach.

You can’t even dare yourself to look at his chest, his stomach. The patch of hair leading down to the band of his pants.

Get it together. That’s not what this is.

An angry gash looks up at you, thankfully clotted with dried patches of blood. It’s about two delicate fingers long, a nasty slice. It looks clean, abrupt in shape but suspiciously manmade. Not too deep, but not superficial enough to heal without some assistance.

And thank god, not nearly as bad as you thought it would be.

Joel’s looking at you now through heavy lids, wary of you, but something like fear touches the corners of his eyes. You fight to stay medical, methodical in your diagnosis. No emotion slips out, nothing allowed in.

You sit back calmly, letting loose a sigh. Not letting yourself bathe in the intimacy of the moment, in the way he’s staring.

“You need stitches,” you announce simply.

“Like hell.”

“Joel.”

He’s scowling, a hurt animal pissed at its own vulnerability. Silence passes like a ship between you, and for a moment, you think he’ll really fight you on this. He can’t hide anything when he’s like this, the weighing of his options evident in the tick of his jaw, the pathetic pinch just in the center of his brows.

“Fine,” he grits out. “Make it quick.”

This fucker.

You’re rolling your eyes, unceremoniously tugging the rag from his forehead. The cloth is red but not soaked, just twinged pink around the edges. Joel curses, just an octave above unintelligible.

His hand is shooting to the cut near his hairline and you’re smacking it away before he can pollute it.

“Lay still, fuck’s sake,” you chastise. “An infection’ll put you out longer than a few days. Unless you have a puzzle you been meaning to get around to?”

The faux-threat calms him immediately, and the shift in restraint doesn’t go unchecked. He doesn’t say another word, but you catch a glare and a twitch of his mouth.

You make quick work of cleaning him up, squeezing rubbing alcohol on a clean towel and scrubbing patient circles through the mess of dried blood. Joel releases sharp noises you can only describe as growls when you get too close to the border of his cuts.

It’s primal, a dog asserting dominance with his leg caught in a trap.

You try to lose the attitude, and it’s difficult when your patient hates you, doesn’t hate you, won’t clarify either way.

There’s a hint of purple that’s developing like fresh film on the mountains of his knuckles that doesn’t go unnoticed. Places on the most taut peaks of flesh where his skin has split, marred with scrapes that look like indents of teeth. And in the right light, there’s a discoloration of something in the same family splayed on his ribs.

And that… you know that when you see it. Even if everything else can be explained away.

“You wanna talk about it?” you say quietly.

There’s an intermission where he doesn’t respond. Too long to be the truth, too short to come up with a lie. And you know he’s been waiting for this question, might’ve already thought of a story.

“Got clumsy,” Joel recites. “Tripped on some stairs that were caving in, hit my head.”

“Bullshit.” And it’s a statement, not an insult. It doesn’t cover why he has a certified stab wound in his side.

Another stretch of silence, lack of defensiveness, makes it clear that he knows you know. But he doesn’t elaborate, and for whatever reason, you don’t push it.

And maybe it’s enough to acknowledge this sort of thing for now. You can stow it away, let it keep you up at night. Draw parallels where there possibly aren’t any. If he’d run into a human thing, he’d be much worse off, right?

Just like you were.

You take care in lining up the supplies to stitch in neat order beside you, mulling over each step in your mind. Stalling, maybe.

You pull the whiskey bottle out of your bag by the neck and nudge Joel with the cap.

“Something to take the edge off.”

He kind of hesitates, but there’s a tenderness. Recognizing it as an act of mercy, a peace offering.

There’s nothing said, but he takes the bait, spinning off the top and swallowing a messy mouthful. A drip escapes through the corner of his mouth and slips into his beard.

You can feel the taste of it blossoming on your tongue.

He grunts his thanks and keeps a steady grip on the neck of the bottle, and the network of veins in his forearm unwind.

You clamp the needle, laced through with something thicker than thread but not quite medical grade. Joel exhales a shaky whine when you pierce the skin, and his fist grips the sheets when you twist clockwise to push the needle through to the other side.

“You’re doing great,” you murmur.

The needle weaves over the cut, greeting the other side. You pull it through and up, and his lower lip trembles, sweat beading his forehead.

“First one done,” you say, praising him but also yourself.

Joel’s still clenching the linens on the bed, ignoring you and hiding out in his own mind somewhere.

You don’t tell him that you’ve only ever practiced on fruit, that your suture knowledge comes exclusively from the one medical text you have and endless hours of TV you grew up on.

Silence envelopes you again, heavier than before if possible. The pressure waxes and wanes like nighttime waves, licking the shore between you. And it’s not angry, just something… else.

“Some house you got,” you note casually as a distraction, like you’re commenting on the weather. It comes off relaxed enough, though any conversation between you feels like flossing a crowded mouth.

His eyes sharpen, and you think it’s in excruciation, but there’s a twinge of apprehension. You straighten for a moment, hands fixed mid-stitch, and roll your eyes.

“Okay, cool it, Home Alone, I’m not casing the place.”

Joel takes a turn rolling his eyes. You swear that you see his mouth twitch again, but you hang your head, dabbing a cloth where pinpricks of blood form.

You try again.

“I like your paintings.”

You dare to look up, and his mouth is in a tight line.

“You like my paintings.” he repeats dully, not a question. Joel’s as cynical as you, and he thinks it’s a jab, not sincere.

“You’re not gonna make this easy on me, are you?”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

Now’s as good a time as any. You sigh at that.

“Look, the other night wasn’t my finest moment. It didn’t need to go that way,” you mutter, leaning on the concentration of sewing up Joel’s skin. Otherwise, you might feel too strongly, dissect your word choice with an uncomfortable linger. “Sorry. I know you were trying to help.”

He goes rigid as your second stitch meets a third. The bottle tips to his lips again, and you wonder if it’s an act of liquid courage. You boldly hope so.

“Nah, I shoulda kept my mouth shut. Been thinkin’ I needed to apologize anyway,” he admits, and you know he’s happy you made the first move. You can already feel him loosen, but maybe it’s the alcohol. “You ain’t a martyr, y’know.”

Oh.

The needle hooks into the final sliver of skin, your handiwork tightening into a neat line. You sit back, wiping your brow with the ungloved section of your wrist. It’s a treaty, a handshake at the very least.

“Actually, I think you hit the nail on the head with that one,” you smirk, olive branch fully hanging between your teeth now. “Keeping up the charade is so exhausting.”

Joel presses out a pained half-laugh, and you feel something crumbling between you.

You tie off the last stitch, trimming the excess thread off the knot. The clamp clatters into the tray, and you give it a final once-over before peeling a large rectangle of bandage from your kit and pressing it gently over the wound.

“All done,” you quip, peeling your gloves off. “Didn’t even have to amputate.”

“Not too bad,” he grunts.

“I’ll add it to your tab.”

While you’re riding the high of approval, you stand and move to the foot of the bed. Joel’s boots are still on, laced messily.

And for some reason, you don’t even ask permission, you just start untying, tipping them off and lining them next to one another on the hardwood.

He doesn’t say a word. Out of confusion, maybe.

You scoot your chair and makeshift flatlay along with you, positioning yourself at Joel’s head. That look is back, a side-stare that steals your breath.

That look that knows you could absolutely ruin him, and he’d either thank you or kill you.

The pads of your fingers brush back the hair from his forehead, still slightly matted with blood. It’s a surface cut, but crescent-shaped and easily hidden by a curl of brown, peppered with grey. Butterfly closure it is.

No signs of a concussion show themselves. At least there’s that.

“You might have a scar,” you murmur. Being this close to Joel makes you feel like you’re wearing two layers too many.

And he hasn’t broken the stare, not even minutely.

“Add it to the collection,” he says lowly, not an ounce of self-pity.

Your eyes flash to the scar near his temple. You’re exercising full-on restraint not to ask him about it. But it’s not the time, something you could try to pry out of him later. And knowing there’ll be a later makes you relax your shoulders, unclench your jaw.

He’s nice enough to pretend not to notice, or he’s in too much pain to mention it.

You dab the damp rag around the border of his cut again, mopping up any excess. You reach for the isopropyl.

“You might wanna take another swig,” you warn. And he obeys, down the hatch and white-knuckling through it.

“Good boy,” you’re murmuring automatically, and it just slips out.

Your mouth falls open just so, and Joel’s coughing, clearing his throat against the burn of whiskey. You’re pleading with the universe that his cough was close enough, loud enough to cover the words, but his face has turned a shade of red that’s probably rivaling the heat that reaches your ears.

Good boy? Jesus Christ.

If there was ever a heightened moment of being fucking touch-starved, it’s this.

You make haste with the disinfectant and place the closures over the cut. The bloodied towels and scraps from the DIY surgery are cleaned up, tied neatly into a plastic bag. And now, this is the part where you run and never face him again.

You’re already making plans to board up your windows, maybe have Ellie deliver your meals solely through a slot in the door.

But Joel’s pain is overriding everything, and he’s sunken even further back into the pillow, his head lolling to prop on his shoulder. He’s whispering a weak thanks that’s incoherent at best. You tug the blanket up and over him.

You grab a glass from downstairs, fill it to the brim with water and bring it to him. He groans at the sight, petulant.

“I’m not leaving until you finish this.”

His lifts his arm for it, scowling. “Gimme the damn thing.”

Satisfied, you hand it over and watch him drink it down, his throat bobbing in a hearty gulp. Your gaze can’t help but snag on it.

You have got to get the fuck out of here.

You come back with a refilled glass and sit it on his bedside table, close enough within reach. The medical bag is packed up and ready, sagging slightly in areas where you’ve emptied it. It knocks against your already-knocking knees, and you’re grateful to use its weight as an excuse for how blurred you feel.

“I need to talk to Tommy. You gonna be alright for a bit?”

His eyes are closed again, on the outskirts of rest, but his mouth pulls up in the ghost of smile.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.”

And you hope he means it.

—

You track down an unsettled Tommy, finding him pacing in the back of the general store. He’s restocking some shelves but not quite – there’s an gross pairing of tinned fish and fresh eggs sitting on a display that’s unappetizing at best.

“He’s okay. No bite,” you add lowly, acutely aware of how many pairs of ears are in the store. “But he needs to be monitored.”

Tommy slackens, rubbing his eyes that are full of exhaustion and bruised with worry. Index finger and thumb stroking the respective tails of his mustache one, two, three times as the gravity of that strikes him.

He loops you into an embrace, and it’s kind, full of ease. The smell of firewood and smoke tickles your nose. His worry evaporates then, and honestly, so does yours.

“He doin’ alright?”

You chew on that for a moment and nod. There are complications, but nothing to do with Joel’s health.

“He was pissed about the stitches, but I didn’t have a choice. Cut was pretty deep.”

“So… he tell you what happened, then?”

There’s that question again. You feel like you should have an answer, but if he wouldn’t clue in Ellie, you sure as hell wouldn’t be.

Like squeezing blood from a stone, your dad used to say.

“No,” you lie instinctively. You don’t know why.

But it isn’t really. Not if you don’t know the full truth yourself. There’s just something about Joel’s omission that makes you feel entitled to find out first.

“He said he fell down some stairs,” you amend, “just didn’t say where or how.”

Tommy offers you the same look that Ellie gave you – a raised brow coupled with a touch of disbelief.

“If you say so.”

You shrug, playing it as cool as’ll come natural to you. “You know Joel. Doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

He chuckles, shaking his head and rolling out his shoulders that you know have been holding tension. He believes that, at least.

“Sounds like you know him, too.”

—

A few days come and go.

Ellie takes on a lot of the recovery, but she doesn’t like messing with stitches — creeps me the fuck out that you did that without puking all over him, she claims — and she’s eager to substitute for the patrol routes while Joel’s down and out. You offer to step in, with a totally normal and selfless motive.

If she thinks anything else of it, you’d be the last to know.

Your new itinerary consists of changing Joel’s bandages, cleaning up through his hissed breaths and every goddamn it. Twice a day, morning and night and sometimes in closer intervals, but never approaching the cusp of any boundary.

Joel’s fiercely independent, swatting your hands when you try to help. Donning a clean flannel in the space between your lunchtime visit and your nightcap, despite you telling him that he shouldn’t be pushing his mobility.

That said, he’s marginally better about following doctor’s orders, drinking the water you leave on his nightstand but neglecting the pills that would stop him from coiling in on himself like a ready spring. And he doesn’t say it but you know it’s because he thinks it’d be a waste.

You trade regular formalities at first, each of you standing behind your respective walls, daring the other to toe a bit closer.

Joel doesn’t ask, but you bring him some short stories to pass the time and he devours them. You didn’t think much of it other than just straying past the point of being nice, but your heart sings a bit at how he leaves his shell at your coaxing.

You learn Bradbury is his favorite, but when he finishes The Most Dangerous Game, it’s the most he’s ever spoken to you in one sitting, astounded at the perfectly tied bow of an ending, asking you questions that only the author could answer. But it’s a marvel to witness, something you think about when you’re cleaning stables or washing dishes.

He’s unraveling for you, a loose thread tugged too hard on your favorite sweater. He talks of the places in the paintings, sometimes abruptly, like he isn’t sure what his cue is or if he has one.

Mentions of pre-Jackson when there was so much uncertainty and isolation, but it was coupled with those types of watercolor skies that you couldn’t paint if you tried.

These little pieces of him that make him whole – it’s like you’re both in on the same secret. And Joel isn’t doing it to lighten the tension, to be nice; that isn’t his brand of politeness. He just revels in the holy act of confession with you as his witness.

You come to learn that his room is modest, different from the rest of his house. Clues of hobbies sprawled on his desk – leatherworking tools and hand drawn blueprints that you can’t get a good look at with just a sidelong glance.

There’s a dusty stereo tucked at the back towards the wall, and you picture a content Joel, sketching new plans for a porch swing or some small addition while old bluesy country croons from the speakers.

You like this daydream, placing him in something lighthearted where his only worry is that he’s losing daylight on yardwork.

The two of you talk about little bits of everything and nothing. Reminiscing about sending snail mail, discussing what you think places like Italy look like now. How close you came to crossing an ocean in another life.

Tonight, you have a night terror that clings to you like wet denim. Stop-motion, nonsensical. Your head ricocheting into concrete, hitting your temple just so. Flashes of the people that used to be your parents, your friends.

And just as the life drains from you, blood seeping onto the floor and into spidering cracks, you wake up a flailing mess.

You practice your routine, twisting on knobs of lamps and plugging in the twinkling lights hanging around the perimeter of the living room. You press your cheek to the floor, checking under your bed for monsters for good measure.

Bleary-eyed, you’re climbing back under the covers, pulling them snug up to your chin.

There’s a neediness crawling its way through your organs with a one-way ticket south. The juxtaposition of fear mingles with an otherness, and it anchors itself to Joel.

You never cared for a protector, still don’t, but the eagerness that sprouts from him to defend your honor — and for nothing in return — magnetizes you on a cellular level.

Your fingers are dipping into the band of your already-damp underwear, taking inventory of what the thought of him does to you. Body on auto-pilot. A pool of dripping neediness, so slick that you’re coating your clit in excess and rubbing in tight circles.

He doesn’t even have to touch you, and it’s pathetic.

Images of Joel’s beard scratching your thighs swirls behind your eyelids, your hand gliding between the glistening of your folds. Fingers crook inside you, dipping into the last knuckle, and you’re choking on a gasp, already on the edge.

You wish they were more calloused, thicker, with length that can hit the spot that’s desperately out of reach.

You wish they were Joel’s.

It takes only a minute, some curling and pumping of your wrist to make it quick in case it’ll only ever be a fantasy. The wet noises of your arousal are nothing short of obscene, and you’re coming loudly, sharply on a string of moans.

In some ways, you think, you have already died.

And fuck. It’s so poetic it makes you sick.

—

On the fourth day, Maria sends you to Joel’s with some stew — two hearty containers that're meant for the both of you.

She’s been taking her shift at his place, carrying over containers of this and that to keep him fed. You wonder how often she takes on that role anyway, sans injury. You don’t peg Joel as the type to eat three square meals a day of his own accord.

Tell Joel I can’t make it tonight. Gotta do inventory.

She makes no room for elaboration, so you don’t ask. But you thank her with a hug, and you could swear that she’s giving you a conspiratorial smirk.

When you knock on Joel’s bedroom, he gives a new, warm invitation, coated in subtle hospitality. It’s a far stretch from the unaffected what? you might’ve received a week ago.

You place the stew down on the bedside table, along with some bowls and spoons you plucked from his kitchen. He just looks up at you from his bed, uncertainty reaching the lines of his forehead.

“It’s all Maria,” you explain and he hums, catching up.

“Explains a lot,” he mutters.

You eat quietly for a little over ten minutes. Joel’s flannel today boasts a rich navy, buttoned up to the top but not far enough to hide the sprinkling of hair that peeks through.

He catches you staring and pins you with a dark glance.

“You afraid of the dark or somethin’?”

Joel’s ask cuts through the air, and your spoon stops mid-route to your open mouth. It’s so out of the blue that it stuns you momentarily.

“Sorry?”

“You turn the lights on at night.”

What you thought to be private moments of fear were actually on display for all to see.

For Joel to see.

And the memory of your thighs trapping your hand as you came over and over again on your fingers… you’re grateful to at least have had some decorum to draw your bedroom curtains.

“Um.” You dig for a way to say nope, I’m actually just a pussy and I see things that aren’t there. Also, I was touching myself thinking about you last night. “No, just nightmares.”

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s searing. A bead of sweat makes a slow descent down your spine to your tailbone. You laugh lightly to deflect.

Joel’s mouth thins into a tight line.

“It’s nothing,” you promise.

“Ain’t nothin’,” he snaps. His brows are knitted in fury, misdirected. But you get it.

Your stomach is rumbling, but you’ve effectively lost whatever appetite you had. The bowl finds a space on the side table, and you’re pulling your knees to your chest protectively, thumbing at the fray on the cuff of your jeans.

You don’t mean to scowl, but you can’t help it. You can’t even meet his eyes.

Joel’s sighing, his own bowl discarded on the nightstand, grazing the lip of yours.

“Look, it’s not my business,” he starts, choosing his words carefully, “but that kinda shit worries me.”

When you do look up, he’s rubbing his beard with rigid fingers. You should feel nice and fuzzy that he cares enough to point it out, but it’s just embarrassment instead.

That, on top of everything else, you can’t even get through the night without waking up in a cold sweat.

“I know how it looks,” you say in surrender, “but I swear I’m fine.”

You can imagine what it would feel like to really mean it; it’s just on the tip of your tongue. There is a defiance there, it’s just struggling to find a way out.

“You sure about that?”

You let your feet touch the floor, straightening out your legs and busying yourself with smoothing the creases in your pants.

“You worry about everyone else like this?” you muse, hoping to redirect.

Joel’s scratching the back of his neck, eyes fixed anywhere else.

“Always worried about you.”

If you were any farther away, you wouldn’t have heard him.

Outside, kids are yelling, playing tag. You watch in jealousy, can almost hear the crunch of their boots and their tiny, inconsequential conversations. It takes you longer than intended to give a response, and he waits, patiently. Just trickles a look from the crown of your head to your hands to your face. Searching for a reaction.

“You’re about ten months late, Miller.” And you’re smiling briefly. You mean it as playful, but it’s colored with sadness.

His eyes glaze, and the wheels are turning, wondering if that also means too late.

“Didn’t want you to think I was takin’ advantage of the situation. And I thought Max —” Joel bites down on the name.

“Fuck Max,” you spit in disgust. “That was never a thing.”

You don’t have to make eye contact to see that he’s pleased by that. He hums in the back of his throat. Resists a shit-eating grin. From the looks of Joel connecting the dots, you don’t need say much else.

“Yeah, well. We all failed you,” he insists. “I failed you.”

It sets an incredulous spark in some hidden part of you. Nails cut into your palm, your fists balling harshly. Everyone else? Sure, you’d give him that. Jackson spit you out, with the exception of a select few.

But Joel?

“You saved me.”

“Not good enough,” he says under his breath.

—

The next day, you let yourself inside, already learning the language of Joel’s house when you press a little extra weight against the door to seal it shut when it sticks.

It’s quiet, on the cusp of 8, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Joel’s on the brink of sleep.

The sun’s long settled over the mountain, so there’s not much in the way of guidance.

It’s dark, but you expected it to be. You draw the curtains one by one, moving blindly from room to room yet knowing exactly where your feet are. It strikes you as odd, a visitor keeping pace with an unfamiliar house.

But if Joel’s anything, it’s predictable. Unfussy in the way he keeps out of the way, even in his own space. Takes pride in it, sure, but lives in a way that demands nothing but cherishes everything, even the absence of something.

Meaning there’s nothing too unexpected, too risky in its placement. He doesn’t take up too much room in the event that it’s gone tomorrow.

When your hands fumble for the switch of the living room lamp, the bulb springs to life and bathes a wary Joel in light. Sitting on the couch, slouched with residual soreness, but waiting.

For you.

“Jesus, fuck — what the fuck, Joel —”

“You’re late.”

“— sitting in the fucking dark like a lunatic —”

He puts a hand up to stop you, as if to press your mute button.

“I didn’t fall down any stairs.”

Your hands have risen to your chest in the shock of him there, and you’re gripping your shirt in the way he had almost a week ago. You don’t miss that little detail, so much so that you struggle to piece together what he’s saying.

It punches you abnormal; you kept so busy with leaving the subject alone that it slipped your mind that he lied.

“Sit down.”

You’re obedient and you don’t know why. You find a seat across from him, pulling up a stool that’s meant for feet, not your ass. Something crackles beside you, and the embers of a dying fire glow and warm to the left of you.

Your leg crosses over your knee, creating a 45-degree angle that you rest your elbows on. “Yeah, I gathered as much, thanks. You’re a terrible liar.”

Joel’s just eyeing you. And it’s not in a way that sizes you up, more of a calculation of what to say next. What to give away. There’s a beat of this, then another, then another.

“I thought ‘bed rest’ was pretty self-explanatory.”

You’re growing impatient, filling the room just to do it. You both know what happened, and maybe that’s what’s needling at you. That you’re the one person who’d understand the most, but the one person he doesn’t want to know.

It feels wretched and seething, knowing something but not enough.

“I’m gonna need you to cut to the part where you tell me what happened, Joel.”

At that, Joel drags in a breath and leans deeper into the couch. His gaze has moved to somewhere far off, burning into the drawn curtains like he can see outside, can see directly into the window of your kitchen. And with sudden clarity, you realize that he could — it’s a clean diagonal stare.

Are you afraid of the dark?

How many times has he sat in this very spot, taking in the show, watching you make tea, watching you read, watching you stutter and shake with sobs? Witnessing the onslaught of a nightmare?

Touching yourself? Watching you undress?

You aren’t the voyeuristic type, just uncaring to the point of defenseless. But Joel keeping an eye on you in this way is the coup de grâce that does you in. There’s no question now of whether he cares.

“I took Mountain View, headed for the outpost. Not much up that way lately, maybe one or two infected every once ‘n a while,” he says, and it’s unsettling that he’s talking in a way that could be to anyone or no one at all. “Thought I’d stop at the pharmacy on the way up, check that off, too. ‘Cept I wasn’t the only one with that idea.”

He pauses only to crack his knuckles for effect. Fingertips splay on his spread knees, and what seemed so fragile earlier, watercolors of bruises stretching from ligament to tendon, seems threatening now.

“One was lootin’ in the back, didn’t hear me come in. I thought he mighta been alone ‘til his friend followed me in,” he pauses, lost in thought. “Got into it with him.”

As if on cue, the gory split-skin of his hands flexes. Offensive wounds.

You were right, but you wish you weren’t.

“His friend came up from the back, ‘n they took turns for a minute. Long enough for me to get a good look. I ended up takin’ out the shorter one, other one was gone before I could get up.”

Joel doesn’t lift his head, just his eyes. The skin around them crinkles in sinister shapes, lids disappeared, lashes nearly touching brow. You know it’s not anger directed at you, but it’s shrinking you back down into an armchair, your fingers digging and clawing at the fabric without recognizing it.

“Know what’s funny about that?”

You don’t think you can answer with the desert that runs through your mouth. And whatever it is, it’s anything but.

“Not a lot of activity along the outposts this way, unless it’s infected. Everyone else comes straight through to Jackson. The logs say we’ve only run into two groups of raiders in the last five years along the patrol route,” another pause for emphasis. “And one of them was ten months ago.”

Something catches in your chest.

And then there’s a dam that breaks, pure relief. Relief that Joel’s seen the thing you’ve been pointing and screaming at while everyone else shrugs their shoulders and squints.

Then — panic.

Ice sneaks into your veins. The tips of your fingers run numb. It strikes you that you’re standing, that the foot stool is tipped on its side.

He doesn’t move, but there’s a contained rage in his eyes and his voice. A temper bubbling now that you’ve confirmed what he suspected.

“He have any tattoos?” Joel asks roughly.

There’s a flash of stars, hand-poked, bordering on downright sloppy.

“Who?” You say dumbly, but it’s obvious what he’s referring to. He’s seen it, too, and he’s seen it this week.

“You know who.”

You do.

You could draw it from memory if he asked.

Your weight becomes too much for your legs, and you collapse back down, this time into a chair that supports your amoeba-like state as everything in you turns to jelly.

“They’re getting closer. We were in Teton, so if they made it this far —” you jumble out, not sure if it’s just meaningless vomit to his ears. By his solemn nod, it isn’t.

He’s up and out of his seat with a wince that’s not as severe as before, his eyes careful on you, on your hands that you’re gripping together tightly to keep them still.

The isolation of his side is evident in the way he closes the space between you, but he masks the grimace as best he can. There’s a reprimand in you somewhere that he should be resting, lying down at least, but you know it’s pointless.

“Hey.”

He’s kneeling as much as his flank will allow, a pain in his eyes that isn’t for himself. Those fingertips scale the cliff of your jaw, ghosting as if he’s afraid to overstep. They’re prodding you to meet his eyes, and when you do, he drops his hand like he’s been burned.

It connects fiercely to a memory that you try to hold in your hands. A snowy, reminiscent one that slips through like a ribbon of smoke.

“Ain’t gotta worry about him. I’ll take care of it.”

You laugh, a real one that’s stained with sarcasm.

“What does that mean?”

Joel softens now, and the shift startles you. He thinks for a beat before answering.

“Whatever you need it to mean.”

It feels incomprehensible that anyone would willingly put themselves in danger for you, even adjacently, but then who noticed you were missing that day? Who led the pack, found you bleeding out?

The weather was violent, incoherent — a lost cause, a needle in the proverbial haystack. He already toed the line of a dangerous, potentially fruitless rescue mission.

And you never even thanked him.

“Why?” You ask it for the second time in as much as a week. It’s disjointed in conversation, but he knows that you need this answer.

“You remember how you were before?”

And for a split-second, you try.

There are glimpses, a rickety reel of kids tugging on your pant leg as they beg you to join them during recess, a glittering spray of laughter with Ellie as empty beer cans and discarded guitars litter her living room floor.

Of your friends’ faces on too many relaxed, sunny patrols, sometimes forcing them into a detour into the abandoned record store through Alpine so you can see what’s left.

Dinner in warm houses like Tommy and Maria’s, so full to the brim of love and potatoes and mead that you stumble on down to your house with cheeks burning and tuck yourself in with all of the lights off.

Visions of Joel that are fleeting, taped in frames on a film strip, but friendly exchanges.

But it’s a faceless narration. The accident wiped clean of any room for interpretation. Any visitation with these memories. You can place yourself in them, but can’t for the life of you feel tethered to her.

Frustrated, eyes watering, you shake your head.

“That’s why.”

Now he’s holding your jaw like he would some fragile thing, slotting his thumb just under the pulse thrumming in your neck, feeling the echo of it in his hand. There’s a silence, as if he’s straining to hear, to know the sound and syllables of your livelihood. You wish he’d press harder, bring you to the precipice of pleasure and death.

If only to know what it feels to be glass in Joel Miller’s hands, to be given the taste of death after he’d given you the gift of life all those months ago.

Your heart is hammering against your ribs. You know he can feel the adrenaline in your pulse point.

“Joel,” it falls out as a whisper, and you hate how good his name feels in your mouth.

He’s looking at you with empathy, thumbing through the pages of every agony you’ve succumbed to. It’s new and buzzing, knowing that there’s nothing you’d ever have to explain to Joel. No reasoning or fine print for how you are, he just knows. And he stays anyway.

A tear tracks a salty line down your face and it meets the pad of his thumb, an easy swipe.

And there’s a surge low in your throat, seesawing with satisfaction and the tell-tale lump of more tears if you lean in hard enough. Joel never shows his hand, the last to fold, but it feels a lot like you’re the prize he was waiting to throw cards down for.

So, you lean. Concave cheek into his calloused hand, tears without sobs leaking between his fingers down into his sleeve. The weight of only the world — your world, plural and shared — pushing you into him. The cataclysmic release that you’ve been aching for.

Your head is against his chest, cheek pressed against flannel because he’s guided you there. And it’s nice, you think, nice that he’s being a gentleman about the whole thing.

A gentleman just finger-combing through your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

It’s serene, and you’d happily make a home there and fall asleep if it wasn’t for the hammering of your heartbeat. You know he can feel it, and your quickened breath is the cherry on top.

Joel levels your faces, and his fingers are deja vu on the braille of each ridged cheekbone. He’s waiting on a cue, a line to be given to him from offstage, but you see flames licking through each darkened iris.

Something keeps holding him back, keeps holding you back. He’s too careful, afraid of cutting his hands on you. And in exploring every facet of that, it’s because he doesn’t want to bleed on you, not because the sharpest parts of you could hurt him.

You keep telling yourself it’s foreign and you’re strangers to one another.

But is it? Are you?

As if he’s reading your mind, Joel closes the distance in one fell swoop, and he kisses you.

It’s clumsy at first, in the way that clumsy is when you’re learning each other’s mouths. You taste the dregs of whiskey, of something wanton, and every unspoken word that’s ever misted between you. Years of forming smile lines and the prickle of his unkempt beard against your chin, taste the stories of every scar.

You’re tangling with him, lips pressing urgently against Joel. His tongue’s expert but gentle when he dips it inside your mouth, and you’re swapping breathless sighs. You can only imagine what he’s tasting of you, what flavor he’s been dreaming of.

His hands are still at either side of your face, thumbs pressing sweetly into the bony part of your jaw. Joel’s stilling the unrest in you that’s put its bags down and refused to leave. It quiets, tips a hat and walks out, leaving a welcome calm in place.

There’s a chasteness, but you know he’s just as desperate and hungry as you are. Wanting to claim, to devour each other entirely. And it’s not lost on you that he’s on his knees, hands clasping your face in prayer like you’re some communion he’s drinking from.

He engulfs you, and you’re moving together, fitting together like you were poured from the same mold. Joel’s fingers have moved to thread through your hair, one of his hands cradling the back of your head and tugging just barely.

Enough that magma pools in between your hips.

But he slows, letting loose a low groan into the heat of your mouth. It’s helpless, like he’s accepted he can’t swim and has submerged his head underwater.

And when you finally break apart, Joel’s pupils are dilated, on the cusp of black. Your collective breaths are uneven. He looks at you in awe.

“Been wantin’ to do that for a long, long time,” he’s saying, but you can barely hear him. Not when your heart is catching up with the rest of you, roaring above everything else. His thumb skates over your bottom lip, and the instinct to unhinge your jaw for him shouldn’t be there, but it is.

Maybe this sort of suffering is worth it, if it’s Joel you’re suffering for.

If you weren’t in trouble before, you sure as fuck are now.

[cutesyscreenname]

A Cowboy Like Me : Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Series summary:

I've had some tricks up my sleeve

Takes one to know one

You're a cowboy like me

Javier Peña is a playboy, sleeping his way across Bogotá, never settling down. And he's used to being the only one. What happens when he meets his match? A friendly challenge between friends couldn't hurt, could it? Unless that friend is you...

Chapter Summary:

Javi is your friend, your coworker, your neighbor and a royal pain in your ass. He always thinks he has the upper hand but he doesn't know you have a little secret.

Pairing: Javi Peña x f reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: language, allusions to sex, drinking alcohol/being drunk, not much really

Notes: This is my first fic, I actually started another one but this Javi idea snuck into my head and we'll here we are. I just kept thinking, what if Javi was down bad for a fem reader who is as much of a slut as he is? A little turning of the tables? And what happens when they finally collide 👀 I don't have a concrete plan for how things end up where they're going so bear with me. I hope you enjoy it!

Playlist:

Rain assaulted the panes of your bedroom window seemingly from nowhere, a blitz attack to break through the standoff between humidity and air pressure. If it wasn’t so frenzied it would feel like a release.

You couldn’t take your usual leisurely stroll to the office this morning, considering the current weather. You silently thank the DEA’s preference for efficiency and budgeting as your corner apartment was sandwiched between those of your fellow agents, Murphy across the hall and Peña to your right.

Your appreciative mood sours when you get no answer from Steve Murphy’s door, realizing he likely had left already to afford his wife the same respite you were seeking from the rain and drive her to work at the clinic. You knew Peña would still be home, the catch was you didn’t know if his (very noisy) overnight guest would still be lingering this morning. Maybe it was just the expected awkwardness of meeting a coworker’s hook up or perhaps it was having to stifle the urge to look at them with pity when they practically purred to him “call me, Javi baby” as they carried their heels down the apartment staircase; either way you didn’t exactly enjoy meeting his conquests.

Preparing for whatever scene lurked behind his door that it was still too early in the morning to witness, you rapped three times on the wood beneath the peep hole. The tension in your shoulders subsided when, as soon as your hand pulled away, there he was in the threshold fully dressed and seeming to be on his way as well.

“Buenas, chiquita. Looking for a ride?” his small smirk and the spark in his eye letting you know he was expecting you.

“I don’t know, Peña, did you tire yourself out giving someone else a ride last night? Your friend sounded so grateful."

"Oh I’ve got plenty of energy, muñeca. You looking for a different kind of ride?” He stepped what would appear, to the layman, uncomfortably close to you but you don’t waver. It’s all a part of the game.

“En tus sueños, Javi,” you almost whisper before turning on your heel and bolting down the stairs as you yell behind you. “Last one to the car buys coffee!”

“Mocosa…” he mutters to himself, following behind you. He slides two fingers into the pocket of his button down shirt to find nothing there. You lifted his smokes before bolting to the car.

He sighs and shakes his head when he slides into the driver seat of his car that you’ve already let yourself into, both of you drenched just from the sprint to the vehicle. You think you catch his eyes gliding over your soaked blouse but quickly decide it’s more likely a glare of annoyance at your early morning antics. Javier didn't see you that way.

“You sure about that energy, Peña? Better hit the coffee shop post haste.” You tip the pack of smokes toward him in an offer, as though it’s yours, a lit cigarette already dangling lazily from your lips, a small smile tugging at one corner of your mouth.

Javi plucks the whole pack from your fingers and lets out a low chuckle, lighting one for himself before slipping them back into his shirt pocket.

“Fine, pendeja. The first round tonight is on you, though.”

And this is the way it was between you, a never ending game of wit and sarcasm, playing chicken and skirting the edges of propriety. Always in jest, always reigned in long before invisible lines were crossed, made easier by Steve playing mother hen to the two of you.

Always just a stupid game.

Sliding into the curved booth that evening at your favorite watering hole, you finally took what felt l like the first full breath of the day since stepping into the agency this morning. The moment your toe touched the speckled tile you and Javier’s easy expressions turned to grimaces at the mountains of paper work on each of your desks.

“Settle in, kids,” Steve grumbled from behind his own paper piles, “we’re gonna be here a while. I made coffee.” Endless stacks of red tape redundancies and dead end phone tips had your neck sore, eyes strained, and a dull ache settling between your temples.

You take a deep, cleansing breath as the time worn cushion gives way to your form and the dim lighting offers reprieve to your tired eyes. This is just what you needed after today.

“First round on you, kid, don’t forget.” Javi chides as he observes you sinking into the booth, Steve taking a seat next to you.

“Tell you what, Peña. I’m not moving for at least 20 minutes so why don’t you be a lamb and go grab those for us?” you say. It’s a statement, not a request and he rolls his eyes as you slide a few crumpled bills to him at the end of the table. “Quick like a bunny, sweetheart, or I won’t tip ya.”

Steve does nothing to hold back his laughter at his partner’s expense and Javi sends the both of you a death glare before snatching the cash and walking away to the bar.

“You sure know how to ruffle his feathers, man.” Murphy shakes his head lightly and chuckles, lighting a cigarette.

“Ah it’s too easy, he’s such a delicate flower.” Your eyes drift shut as you take another deep breath, enjoying the soft upholstery beneath you and inhaling the pleasant mix of liquor, leather, and smoke that permeates the small bar.

“Maybe more than you know.” Steve mutters quietly. You couldn't even be sure you were meant to hear it until you crack an eye open and see him looking at you with an expression that’s almost…solemn.

You open your mouth to ask what the hell he means by that but the words die on your tongue as Javi reappears, three whiskeys in hand and confusion painted across his strong features.

“Damn, Murphy, I leave for two minutes and she hurt your feelings already?” he throws a conspiratorial wink at you and slides into the booth on your other side.

The blonde agent’s face softens and he recovers from the moment so quickly you think you must have imagined it.

“Ah you know I’m sensitive, Javi. And this one’s just so damn feisty.”

“Yeah she is.” Javi pinches your cheek and you swat him away.

“Hey man I was napping!”

“Ah, ah, ah, cariño, I need my wing man awake.”

“Oh so I’m just dead weight?” Steve gasps, feigning offense.

“Second string, Murphy. I’m the MVP.” You jest, taking a generous sip of the amber liquid in your glass.

“Well now you’ve both hurt my feelings.” He pouts while you and Javi snicker.

The truth was, Javi didn’t need a wing man. Women seemed to clamor for a chance to fall into his bed; a never ending parade of Bogotá’s finest ladies rotating in and out of his apartment, keeping you awake with their…appreciation. It annoyed you endlessly, your precious sleep stolen as you lie awake thinking there’s no way he’s THAT good.

This is why you never brought your own conquests home. Why deal with the intrusion of your space, the prying eyes of your nosy partners, and the inevitable task of shooing them off? No reason to when you could simply whisper ‘lets go back to yours’ and get a night away from Javi’s theatrics before sneaking off to work early and slipping into the fresh shirt from your desk before Thing 1 and Thing 2 arrive to the office.

While Javi’s reputation was public knowledge, your escapades remained confidential and you preferred it that way. It kept things easy between you and the two men that had become your closest friends, maintained the dynamic that worked so damn well. Not to mention, you didn’t need it to be broadcast around an agency of frustrated men that you were no stranger to a one night stand.

You don’t consider yourself a centerfold by any means, but you know you must have a certain allure from the way that you never had to go home alone if you so chose. No need to give cause for the DEA bachelor’s club to start making pit stops at your desk to ask the time and look for files that don't exist.

You liked your little secret night life anyway, always one to keep your cards close to your chest, but after a couple more whiskeys (and a shot of tequila somewhere in between) your lips become looser.

“You know the more you two drink the more you start soundin’ like me.” Steve teases from his spot in the booth. As the alcohol warmed your cheeks and loosened your vocal chords, you and Javi both let your Texas drawls slide thickly over your words like honey from a road side stand.

“Hey now-“ Javi starts, but you cut him off.

A little more sauced than your cohort, and somehow even spunkier than you usually are, you point your finger at Steve with purpose. “Look it here, pal, we don’t sound nothin’ alike. Texas is a whooole different ball game. Did Tennessee used to be it's own country? Hmm? I didn’t think so.” You said with determination and a slight slur, ending an argument you were having with no one.

“I reckon she’s right.” The brunette man slung his arm around your shoulders in solidarity. Steve raised his eyebrows and smirked at the spectacle of drunken Texas pride before him, entertained by his friends that were much more inebriated than he was.

“Should we tell him?” Javi whispers to you loud enough for anyone to hear.

“Well bless his little heart, he don’t know?” You don’t know either, but you can see that it’s a part of the bit so you’re going to play along anyway.

Javi takes a dramatic breath before looking at the other man solemnly, “I didn’t wanna offend you, bud, but…”

He steals a glance at you and throws another wink your way, “turns out everything’s bigger in Texas.” Javi waggles his brows suggestively and you dissolve into a fit of giggles together.

“That’s what they say, isn’t it?” Steve leans back in his seat and sips the beer he’d switched to earlier in the night.

“Oh it’s what they ALL say, I hear ‘em every time I try to sleep at my place.” Both of the men next to you shoot you a surprised look, wondering what would come out of your mouth next.

“That can’t be true, I don’t have a guest every night,” Javier offers, “gotta sleep occasionally.” He's quipping back, playing the game as usual, but you’re just getting started.

“Well, seems like. I guess your nights off are just the ones when I’m not home, Casanova.” You tease, casually taking another pull of your drink that was mostly melted ice now.

“Not home?” Steve looks at you with his head cocked. “What’re you doin', playing secret agent without us? Girl’s out to catch Escobar all on her lonesome.”

“Nah, nah, naaaah. I’m doin’- like Javi does,” you stumble over your words, “entertaining my companions. He’s a cowboy. Like me.”

You miss the way that Javi’s jaw nearly hits the floor, unable to control his expression with the liquor coursing in his veins. Steve doesn’t, though.

“Well I’ll be damned, chica, who woulda thought it.” Steve laughs, still keeping a steady eye on his partner’s reactions.

Javier didn't expect you to be celibate, and maybe it was bit archaic to assume, but he never imagined you to get around like he did. And he really didn’t want to. Pushing the imagery from his mind, Javi set aside his shock and the little antagonistic twinkle forming in his eye has Steve standing up to try and wrangle you both home before something stupid falls out of his friend’s mouth. But it’s too late.

Neither of you are moving to follow him and before Steve can start his rounds of ‘its getting late’ and ‘let’s call it a night’ Javi pipes up.

“I don’t fuckin believe you, cariño.” He takes a thoughtful drag from the cigarette between his plush lips before tapping it on the edge of the ashtray. After a brief but pregnant pause he continues. “In fact I think you’re home every night. Ear pressed to my fuckin wall, apparently.”

Anger bubbles up hot and sudden in your chest. He was still playing, still jesting. So why did red suddenly paint your complexion and creep over your field of vision? This cocky bastard. Pendejo. You’ll be damned if Javi gets the last word here, especially if that last word insinuates that you sit like a sad puppy next to your shared wall eavesdropping on his sex life.

You lean in close to the man, catching the musk of cologne and sweat radiating from his warm body. His shirt is unbuttoned into a deep v, skin glistening from the humidity and the alcohol. Javi watches as your pupils expand just so, the slightest shade of blush blooming across your cheeks.

Doubling down, you poke his exposed chest with two fingers. He shivers and you think it must be your hands, cold from wrapping around your low ball glass.

“I’ll prove it to you.” You reach up to pat his cheek before leaning back into the booth with resolve. “After this next drink.”

When you stand to cross the room and falter it’s Javi’s strong hands that fly to your waist to steady you. A burning sensation flutters beneath your skin where he holds you in place. It feels like a leather car seat on a summer's day back home. The sear of the supple material, jarring at first on the skin that peeks out from cut off shorts, soon absorbs and melts into you, sweet like sunshine, until you have to peel yourself away at your destination. Like you have to peel away now from his grip.

Seeing his opportunity Steve takes your hand and begins ushering the two of you out towards his car. Javi, seeing that his ride is leaving, gives in as well.

“Come on, sweetheart. We can have another drink when we get home. Tell Connie all about your secret love life, how’s that sound?” your friend coos to you in an effort to put you in the car willingly.

“Steve - I fucking love your wife.” You manage as you all but fall into the back seat behind where Javi already sits in the passenger.

“Same here, kid. ‘swhy I married her.”

Before Murphy can even choose a radio station a faint snore floats up from the backseat, your eyes glued shut as sleep takes you. The men stay silent on the drive home.

Let me know if you wanna be tagged for this series, I'm starting a list ☺️☺️

[jinnie-ret]

MY YOUTH | SKZ NINTH AU

stray kids x ninth member!reader (platonic)

<---------- back to my youth

<---------- back to main masterlist

chapter 2

genre: fluff content warnings: swearing (?) word count: 0.9k

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Lou was exhausted.

She didn't know if she was built for this. As she stood in the corner of the practice room sipping some water she was feeling a headache coming on, eyes wincing shut as a vision appeared in her head.

"If you don't stay away from our oppas, we'll post that photo online," a girl with a pointed nose said in Lou's face as she shoved her against the wall.

"I'm in the same group, I can't just leave, and, what photo...?"

"Oh you know, caught it clear as day, the one where you-"

"Flo you good?"

The girl looked up to see Changbin sat with her, wait, when did she sit down?

"Yeah, just got a bit of a headache, think I need to drink more water or something..." Lou trailed off.

"Ah, you need to look after yourself more, you sure that's all?" Changbin tilted his head at such an angle to keep eye contact with Lou who was looking down at her lap, confused.

"I think so," Lou nodded, after all, it was hard to make sense of her thoughts when something had entered her brain and interrupted them.

"Okay, you've just been a bit more quiet than normal. Is it those girls again?" Changbin said in a protective tone.

"No, no it's all good, don't worry Binnie," Lou smiled lightly to reassure him.

"Let's go then," Changbin stood up, still cautious that Lou wasn't revealing something to him.

Lou stood up with him, thankful that practice is over and that he didn't keep asking questions. Don't get her wrong, she loved Changbin, in this reality and as a fan too, but she couldn't keep up with trying to always think of answers when she didn't know what her past was here. At least she knew one thing and that Changbin was someone she could talk when she needed, they were just like what she saw on YouTube. The amount of videos she'd watch, all the two kids rooms, the vlogs, she loved it. She guessed that was something she'd have to prepare for too when the time comes.

"We're going to work on some songs now, wanna come with us or you going to your studio?" Chan turned to Lou as they joined the rest of the group.

"I think I'll work on my own, got some ideas I want to use," Lou nodded happily. She had her own studio?!? This was her dream. She loved making beats and her own songs from her current reality, so she was happy that aspect carried over to this one too.

"Well, let's hope you can whip up another 'My Pace'," Felix proudly said to Lou, hauling his bag over his shoulder.

Holy shit she made My Pace?

She wondered what else she had helped to produce for the group.

This day just keeps getting better and better.

"I'll try my best," Lou bashfully said, scratching the back of her neck as she smiled back at him.

"Wow, I get what Stays mean now, you two really do look alike when you smile," Jeongin pointed out.

"Oh wow they do, wait, turn this way guys," Hyunjin commented holding his phone up.

However, with the way Felix and Lou both turned to him in sync, it gave more of a creepy effect than a cute one. Their eyes widened and grins lasting for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"No not like that!" Seungmin burst out laughing at the image whilst Hyunjin dramatically widened his eyes and pretended to faint in horror.

"It's so scary!" he whined from the floor.

"Whyyy?" Lou walked over to Hyunjin and grabbed his phone, before seeing the image and bursting out laughing too, her whole body crumpling from her giggles.

"What is it?" Lee Know raised an eyebrow at his members in fits of laughter.

Lou held up the phone like a white flag in surrender, and when the other members finally saw the photo they understood too. If this ever got out to Stays, they'd have a field day.

"We need to change their name from sunshine twins to devil twins," Han chuckled at the photo.

Their manager suddenly returns from a coffee break to see the group still in the practice room.

"Why are you kids still here? You have free time now," the manager, Sejun, raised an eyebrow.

But that didn't stop their laughter as Changbin and Seungmin recreated the faces of Felix and Lou in the photo.

"I'm out," Sejun left.

•••

Finally in her own space, Lou took in what her studio looked like. It was perfect, soft tones of green dotted around the room, the comfiest wheelie chair that she could spin in, and recording equipment to die for.

The other thing on her mind was that she needs to find some sort of journal. There must be something here or at least at the dorms that she wrote her thoughts down in. If she liked producing at home and here, then surely she'd have a diary like she did at home too?

Opening a draw at her desk she found a book, but written on the front was lyrics. Well, it wasn't a diary but she could worry about that later. Now it was time to be in her element.

As if.

As if it was her same notebook from home. This is perfect. She really has things working out for her here.

Turning the page to the one she knew had a song needed finishing, she found the start of some lyrics to 'She Plays Bass'. She couldn't wait to finish it and share it, she guesses it would be uploaded as a SKZ Player.

Flicking the book to the next page she grips her pen ready to write more words down, yet there were some already there.

I hate hearing the knocking, the warning that they're waiting

What does it mean?

Knock, knock

Oh shit.

<-- previous chapter next chapter -->

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tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @kai-lee08 @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari @lixie-phoria

[louroth]

Hello everyone :> 

It's been a month! it's incredible how much my life has changed- while I'm still adjusting I'm just...still walking on clouds. it feels unreal. the patreon took off and I can almost make a living wage on it which is frankly fucking insane, and the discord is so vibrant it scared me for a moment (not anymore- shooting the shit with the people there is the favorite part of my day, even if I sometimes just leave a trail of emotes lskjdhajksdhkjasd.) I couldn't have asked for a better community. YES I am crying about it. Thank you, so, so much. I am cradling your face in my hands. crying.

But as always, enough of my bleeding heart. Let's get to it!

The first two weeks after posting the update, I took a sort of quasi vacation and only wrote a handful of story-words each day, and spent some time fooling around in the discord + brushed off my smut archive to refine for Patreon. There are already 4 stories up, and a new one coming tomorrow- though I haven't decided yet whether it will be possessive/jealous L sfw short or one very nasty short where you come across a particularly insistent species of vines while trekking the forest. hehe. we'll see. >:3

But, even though I had to rest not to combust after work, I am very pleased to say that the next chapter is coming along great, with the skeleton finished for its entirety, and about 45% and some change already written (it's very hard to gauge because I jump around a lot when I write.) This is the final chapter before the forest, filled with action and the heart wrenching drama of offering tenderness to a certain someone, and deciding for your hunter when enough is truly enough. I have teared up writing certain scenes and I genuinely cannot wait for you to experience this next part yourselves. 

It is so funny reading things I wrote for this chapter six months ago, or longer, because I knew exactly what emotions I wanted to bake in and couldn't really nail it, but now it is coming together beautifully! Sure, it will still be wonky first draft writing, but the core is there and that is all that matters for now. I'm saying soon™ for the update for now, because I am allowing myself to adapt to writing full time- I didn't quit my job to become my own nightmare boss, and I truly want to enjoy this process. I think, in the long run, it will result in a better story. Patience is my mantra. All in due time- I cannot force quality creative work. But by everything wretched and sinful, I cannot wait to share this next part with you!!! I'm frothing at the mouth!!!

In other news, y'all. I need to get organized. I get heartburn thinking about all the different variations of files and notes and notebooks and scraps of paper and variables and branches of plot and just generally, the things to keep track of is getting to the point of a dragon hoard of scary 'oh no I forgot about that part'. I'm gritting my teeth through it until this chapter is out, but after it, I am going to spend some time to

 1) get my shit together in gorgeous, beautiful spreadsheets

2) get serious about finding beta- and proofreaders. (me @ u: 🥺)

But that's it, my friends! I scrapped an entire progress report because I started sounded corporate and listing points which was just... sad. I really hope I evolve into writing these in a more fun way, which would make them more fun for you to read too! But for now, I think this will do. I hope you have a beautiful day/night, and if you would like to see more in depth dev-logs of my writing life, or random sneak peeks, I post those weekly on patreon!

Or join our discord, which. It's just the nicest place, I can't even come up with words that do it justice. It's my favorite daily newspaper.

Until next time! x

[ageless-aislynn]

Title: “15 Minutes” (8/?) Author:  @ageless-aislynn​ Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: You've got work to do. John worries. Things get a little more intense. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating:  T (PG13) Length: 1,945 (this chapter, 19,693 total so far) Spoilers/warnings: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N:  Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Halo season 2 has finally arrived! However, this fic continues to zip along in the AU Party Warthog, so, while we began with season 1 way back when (and you'll see a few more things from s1 along the way 😉), we'll not be venturing into s2 territory at all. Unless s2 is going to take some verrrrry interesting twists, lol! Chapter 9 is still in progress by hand but I hope to have it ready soon. 🤞😣🤞The next chapter will also see us entering into some hurt/comfort for a bit but I tend to lean heavier on the comfort, in case you're worried. Or, you know, would be disappointed. 😉 If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger​ @mysardencut​ @laurenstacy610​ @sporadicbelievernightmare​ @ultrablackwidower​ @bxmxtx​ @jellotherelol

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7

The Troop Transport Warthog hit a particularly rough patch and you held on for all you were worth to keep from being ejected.

"Sarge," Private Taylor yelled. "Where are we?"

"That's need to know and none of you need to know, marine," Sarge shouted back from the passenger seat. "Just keep your head down, do your job, and you'll be home 15 minutes before your mama has breakfast on the table."

You couldn't particularly tell if it were dusk, dawn or high noon, the air was so heavy with the greasy remains of mortar rounds. In the distance, a nondescript cityscape occasionally flared with either continuing pockets of active combat or just the remnants of the devastation that had passed through.

Wherever you were, it felt like you were barreling at top speed through a graveyard of vehicles: Warthogs, Mongeese and even the odd Scorpion, some overturned, blackened and smoldering, others weirdly intact as if their drivers had merely stepped away for a moment.

This was a salvage and recovery mission, tasking your unit with marking vehicles as repairable, recyclable or a total loss to be abandoned.

The next hour or so, that had been your focus, moving from Warthogs and the occasional Mongoose, conducting a quick evaluation, then using your spray gun to mark a green circle on the hood to send back to Reach for repair, a white slash to send it to be stripped for usable parts or a red X to abandon, not worth salvaging.

You marked a Mongoose with a red X, though the gun sputtered and you had to give it a few whacks before it sprayed properly, then you moved on.

Next up was a Warthog that seemed in decent condition from the outside, short of the rear antenna twisted until it resembled a curly tail. But the electronics were fried and the entire undercarriage looked like it had plowed over a series of flaming spikes, all major parts gouged out and burned. There might have been a few nuts and bolts reclaimable but since you'd just recently been writing up requisition for needed parts, you judged that it was more effort than it was worth.

You made the call to abandon it but as you tried to spray the red X across the hood, nothing emerged, even after shaking the sprayer and giving it a few more hits with the heel of your palm. With a slightly frustrated noise -- who was checking to make sure that the sprayers were in working order before they were sent out? -- you headed to get a replacement. Along the way, you caught a private going in the opposite direction.

"Hey, see that 'hog there? Would you red X it for me? Thanks."

"Um, sure," the blond man said and headed where you gestured.

You were still looking for somebody who had a spare sprayer when Sarge drove up in the Troop Transport again.

"Wrap it up, it's about to get hot," he shouted.

You quickly joined the rush back to board the Pelican and scrambled into a seat just as it lifted off. A split-second after you'd clicked the restraint down, the Pelican rolled to one side, shuddering from an impact.

Alarms began blaring, mixed in with the pilot calling out coordinates, and you automatically tried to look forward, as if you'd somehow be able to spot what was shooting at you. All you could really see was the anxious faces of the other marines around you. You spared a couple of breaths to be glad that neither Maria or Jamie had been called in for this.

The Pelican took a second, more glancing blow and the resulting shudder rattled your teeth.

"Covvies?" somebody asked over the engine whine and the private across from you shrugged.

"Who else?" she said. "But that felt like surface-to-air to me. What about you?"

She met your eyes and it was your turn to shrug. "I'm not sure. Never been hit by any sort of missile before."

"Oh well, congratulations on your first missile salvo," she returned with a crooked grin.

The Pelican rolled once more, this time in an evasive maneuver, then thankfully smoothed out and made its escape without further incident.

Your unit was taken to the covert off-world depot known colloquially as The Pit, where everything that had been marked for repair or recycle would be delivered for further sorting. In the center of the large warehouse area was a compactor pit for all of the scrap to be sent into. Several cranes were already busy moving the smaller vehicles like Warthogs and Mongeese into berths to be stripped down while the still operational vehicles were lining up to be loaded onto heavy transport carriers to be returned to base.

You finished stripping your second Warthog for salvageable parts and signaled the nearest lift operator. The clawlike crane clamped onto the 'hog's shell, picking it up and carrying it towards the compactor while you moved on to a Mongoose with a crumpled left rear wheel.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a Warthog with a particularly distinctive twisted rear antenna being dropped off into the line to be loaded up and returned to FLEETCOM.

Frowning, you wove your way through the other mechanics, avoiding the occasional flying part, and found a green circle sprayed onto the hood.

Shit, the private must've heard me wrong when I told him to red X it. It seemed like an odd mistake to make but things had been hectic.

You grabbed a sprayer and neutralized the green and sprayed over it with a red X, then went to the nearest crane operator.

"You see that 'hog with the X on it? Drop it in the line for the compactor, please."

"Got it," the woman said and you waited until she'd picked it up and deposited it appropriately before you returned to work.

You were elbows into a Gauss 'hog's engine bay when you heard your rank and name called. Looking up, your heart gave a little skip: John in full helmeted Mjolnir strode your way with thundering steps you could hear even over the rest of the cacophony.

"With me," he said tersely, passing by and disappearing through a doorway at the back of the warehouse.

You had to hustle to catch up and he had already stopped by the time you joined him in the otherwise empty hallway. He turned, removing his helmet with a slight pneumatic hiss.

"Are you okay?" you both said at the same time.

The angle of the hallway meant you were shielded from most of the work floor. He set his helmet down and very carefully took your hands in his gloved ones.

"Insurgents took the field," he said, looking you over from head to toe. "Did you see combat? Intel was unclear."

"No, we got out but the Pelican took a few shots. Somebody said it felt like surface-to-air but I didn't remember Covenant using anything like that. It was insurgents, then?"

He nodded distractedly, glancing away to mutter, "I'll be right there." Then he looked back to you. "I have to go. Your unit's being sent back to Reach but if they divert you into combat..."

He trailed off, clearly realizing there was no way to finish that sentence the way he wanted.

"Tell them, nah, I'd rather not, thanks?" Your mouth twitched and you squeezed his fingers.

He gave a resigned chuckle. "Yeah, try that, please."

"You're the one who'll be much more in the thick of it," you pointed out. "You be careful, okay?"

"Always try," he said, bringing your hands up to press a kiss to the back of both.

Kai leaned around the door, her visor glinting green. "Chief, sorry but we've got to go."

"Copy that." He released you with clear reluctance and picked up his helmet. "Stay safe. I'll see you soon."

He vanished through the doorway and you took a breath, exhaling slowly. John suddenly appeared right in front of you again, leaning down to cup your face in one hand.

You were just about to ask if something was wrong when he kissed you.

For a moment, for forever, the universe shrank to just the two of you, his mouth on yours, a little frantic at first, then slowing, steadying out.

You felt like you were hovering off the ground and then realized you were; he'd picked you up at some point, pressing you gently to his chest plate. Your hand dropped to the 117 etched near his heart and it was gritty with sand and dirt. You were both grimy and sooty but it didn't matter. It couldn't have been more perfect if you were in a flowing ballgown and him in a tux, slowly spinning together on a glittering palace floor.

He set you back onto your feet but you only parted a breath away from each other.

"I... I'll get better with practice," he mumbled.

You smiled at him, feeling wobbly, lightheaded and more grounded than you'd ever been before, all at the same time. "John, if you were any better at that, I'd have to show you how fast I can get a Spartan out of their Mjolnir with my bare hands."

He was near enough to see his pupils dilate and that was incredibly gratifying. "I'll hold you to that," he said, his voice dropping an entire octave, making your toes literally curl inside your boots.

Then he put his helmet back on and left. You took a moment to compose yourself, then exited as well. There was no sign of Silver Team. No doubt, the Pelican waiting for him had taken off the second he'd boarded.

Cutting through the busy deck, you looked for any vehicle marked with a white stripe, still waiting to be stripped. On an impulse, you diverted to the line being dropped one at a time into the compactor. There was no sign of the curly tailed Warthog.

It could've already been compacted, you were thinking when you saw it going by overhead, clutched in a crane claw and heading back towards the line to return to Reach.

You didn't stop to think, you sprinted for the crane's operator booth. "Hey, put that 'hog down!"

The operator looked at you and you realized in a burst that it was the blond man you'd originally told to mark it with the red X back on the battlefield, who'd apparently designated it instead to come back to The Pit.

No, to go back to FLEETCOM.

Recognition went across his face at the same moment and he bolted from the booth. The lift automatically stopped, the Warthog swaying over the crowded deck.

You knew. You just knew.

You ran as fast as you could and slammed the alarm on the wall. "Bomb!" you bellowed over the shrill klaxon. "Bomb! Clear out!"

Jumping into the operator booth and grabbing the controls, you quickly scanned the area as marines scattered everywhere. There was only one place you could think to go.

You swung the arm around, guiding the curly tailed 'hog firmly clasped in its grip towards the compactor pit. It felt like it was taking a year to get there but you couldn't release the controls or the safety would bring it once more to a stop. Once the Warthog was finally in position, you opened the grip.

What if I'm wrong? you thought as it began to fall. I'll feel like such a fool if--

There was a saying that if you were close enough to an explosion, you would never actually hear it.

It was true.

end note:

If you want to, you know, imagine that Sarge's full name is, sayyyyyy, Avery Johnson, well then, who am I to tell you that you're right or wrong? 😇

If you don't know the Troop Transport Warthogs, here's one in action from Halo: Reach. It's on the level "ONI: Sword Base" and is scripted to be destroyed but there's a way to save it and the marines in it and take it with you for a great deal of the rest of the level! I love saving the Troop 'hog, even if it always still looks like it's on fire. Nah, it's fiiiiiine, no worries! 😎👍😂😉

[coloradocharmiegirl]

Chapter 41 here --New 2/5/24

Summary:

The universe brought them together, then pulled them apart, then brought them back together...was it trying to pull them apart again? Not if either one of them can help it! (AKA the one where Timmy realizes some things and faces some difficult truths, but time might not be on his side to make things right before Armie leaves for Murphy Creek.

Excerpt:

"Ian mentioned you got orders for Murphy Creek.” Armie simply nodded, glancing to the elevator as it dinged its arrival, then looked back at Cash once he was sure Timmy wasn’t a passenger.  “Does he even know? Have you talked to him?” Armie bit his lip and shook his head slowly. “I tried…I texted, and called and left messages. But I’m hoping he hasn’t seen or listened to them.”  “What?...why?” Seeing Cash’s confusion, Armie clarified. “I mean, it’s better if he hasn’t, right? Because if he knows I’m leaving and didn’t reach out? I don’t…I don’t know if I could come back from that. I don’t know if we could come back from that, you know?” 

Or start from the beginning here

Hi all! I'm happy to post this one--by the end of the chapter we'll see the resolution of the relationship angst of the last few chapters. And for those of you who were waiting for a resolution to even start reading the angst, go ahead and catch up! ♥️

Thank you for reading! 💙💚CCG

[im-akira]

Joel Miller x F!Reader | 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 | 🌿

Chapter 1 : The Present | Chapter 2 | Summary

Series Summary : Joel Miller is no longer the same man after losing his entire family, except his little brother. A few months later, after saving Ellie from the Fireflies. He now lives in a community of survivors with Ellie and her younger brother, Tommy.

He has only one goal, to ensure his own survival and that of those he loves. Until the day he crossed paths with a young woman and her son in the community. The young woman’s face was particularly familiar.

Are you and Joel strangers or are you a lot more than that ?

Warnings : Mature content angst, smut, romance, blood, violence...

Do not : Claim, Repost, Copy, or Translate my stories anywhere else.

Notes : This is the first chapter. I apologize in advance if my writing is not perfect, but I will do everything in the future to make you cling to their story. We all deserve a chance, don’t we ?

PS: Sorry if I couldn’t tag everyone but I didn’t expect so many likes on my post, thanks again you’re all adorable!

Good reading anyway! 😊

I apologize in advance but English is not my mother tongue. 💙

~*.♪。★*・゜・＊♪*.♪。★*・゜・＊♪*.♪°~

Joel and Ellie have been in a big community for a few months now. Since the end of the trip, the relationship between them has deteriorated slightly. What happened to make these two sometimes bother to talk or even smile? Joel lied to Ellie, the young teenager said that Joel’s words didn’t seem very clear, not even sincere. Because of her choice, Ellie who wanted to be the vaccine for all mankind could not be. Joel sees Ellie as his own daughter, he couldn’t help but put his fears first. The fear of losing someone again, for him that would not have been possible, not now, ever again.

Now let's talk, how is it in the community ?

Although Ellie sometimes dodges Joel, the young teenager continues to do her best to help people in the community. She also joined the patrol team responsible for protecting this unique place. Every day, every morning or every evening, Ellie and the other young people of the community go out in groups to fend off the infected they encounter on the way or those who try to approach Jackson.

Joel does pretty much the same thing to her as Ellie, he helps others improve and keep this place safe. He always watches Ellie when she goes on patrol, even if it turns out that she avoids him, Joel does not let go. He does everything not to break this special bond. It is perfectly clear that being forgiven in her eyes will be very long, if not impossible when she faces the truth. But he would rather have hope than have nothing to cling to.

~*.♪。★*・゜・＊♪*.♪。★*・゜・＊♪*.♪°~

As soon as the sun rose, Joel and Tommy went on patrol. Apparently, a group of infected has settled in an old abandoned town not far from Jackson. The two brothers have the responsibility to take care of it. It has been several weeks that the infected seem to be more and more numerous. After a few kilometers through the great forests of the region, Joel and Tommy are finally at their destination.

- « Damn, they seem a little more than the number we were given before we left. » Joel leaves his horse first, he crouches down and hides behind a concrete wall. He doesn't take his eyes off the infected group and at the same time he makes a plan.

- Tommy joins his brother near the concrete wall, he equips himself with his rifle and watches his brother come back to him. He crouched down and whispered so as not to draw attention to them. « We should try to take them out one by one. Going for it won't work this time. »

- « Sometimes you shouldn't be afraid to face fear. But today I choose to pass my turn. » Joel lets show a slight smile and comes in turn to equip his shotgun.

- « Well, here's what we'll do. I'll take the infected on my right, you take care of those on your left. » After he finishes explaining his plan, Tommy gets up and looks over the concrete wall so he can observe the infected.

- « OK, I'm walking for your plan. » With a quick movement, he straightens up and comes to the left of the concrete wall. The infected do not seem to have noticed their presence, for the moment in any case.

- « I go first. Go a few seconds after me. » Tommy met son rifleon his back and then comes to equip himself with his hunting knife. It moves slowly and stalks an infected who seems quite agitated but far from others.

- « Okay, let's go. » Joel in turn leaves the concrete wall, he keeps his shotgun in hand in case of emergency because the situation could turn around at any time. He equips his other hand with his knife, with a light step he advances towards an infected person who has moved away from the group, he seems motionless. The infected that Joel hunts is called a Clicker, he's not the worst infected but if Joel makes the slightest noise the Clicker won't hesitate for a single second to jump on him and kill him.

- Tommy comes to attack the first infected he's been tracking for a while. With a quick gesture, he comes and puts a knife in her head. The infect's body falls to the ground, near Tommy's feet. « And one. » He glances quickly at his brother's direction, because now everything seems normal. He retraces his steps and takes back another infected by killing him too.

Joel comes to put his shotgun on the ground, clenching his fist and still keeping the hunting knife in hand, he slowly approaches the Clicker. This one is back to Joel. The more he advances, the more the pressure builds in him. It may have been 24 years that he fights against his horrible things, Joel is still afraid of ending up like them one day or another. He gets up slowly so as not to make a noise and moves forward a little. When he put his foot in front of him, the silence broke. A small branch is under his shoe sole. The noise resounds with the hearing of the Clicker, this one turns quickly and comes to turn his head from right to left. Joel doesn't move anymore, he gently points his hand towards his pistol. The Clicker screams and quickly lunges at Joel. "Shit !"He quickly aims his weapon at the Clicker's face and fires.

- Tommy finishes eliminating his fifth infected and comes to wipe his knife against the fabric of his pants to remove the blood there. That's when he hears a shot coming from the side where Joel is. Tommy doesn't waste a second and runs to join his brother. « Because of this shot, the other infected will move towards us. I have to join him quickly. » Tommy arrives on the scene, aims his gun at the head of an infect who comes up behind Joel and fires. The infect's body falls behind Joel.

- « Thank you, little brother. »

- « You're welcome. Next time, try to be quieter. »

- « We're going to have visitors in not very long. »

- « I think so, thanks to you. » Tommy hears not far from them screams of infected which seem to come in their direction.

- « Now is not the time, little brother. » Joel also hears the screams coming from the town. So Joel equips himself with his rifle again and puts his hunting knife away.

The infected people leave the city one after another. Fortunately for the two brothers, there do not seem to be very many of them. But that should in no way let their guard down. Joel and Tommy stay away and each uses their shotguns to end the infected. After firing a few rounds, Joel grabs his rifle from his back and takes his pistol to his hand. As for Tommy, he also puts his rifle on his back and comes to take his bow. The two brothers have stayed far away and face the group to infect. After a long fight, the two brothers decide to land in one of the houses in town.

- « This one seems safe, stay on your guard anyway. » Joel advances slightly crouched and his weapon ready to fire. He enters the first room that comes to him.

- Tommy walks around the house. To be sure that no surprises await them, whether outside or inside. « I think I've done the rounds of this house correctly. » After observing the perimeter, Tommy returns to the horses. He takes the reins in each of his hands and leads them to the house where Joel is.

- « I think we can install them inside the garage, what do you think ? » Joel demands.

- « Yes, they will be safer inside than outside of this city. » Tommy comes to give Joel the reins of the horse, then he takes care of his own in the garage of the house. « Stay here, big boy, I won't be long. » He stows his gun and his bow in the saddle of his horse. Taking to finish his bag with him and returns after his brother.

- « You need a cleaning plan. » He keeps it in his hands and then goes to the garage door which leads inside the house.

- « Let's go to the living room. I have something important to tell you, Joel. » Tommy walks up behind Joel into the living room, sees a small table, and decides to sit there. He puts his bag near him, at his feet.

- « What do you want to talk about ? » Joel takes his turn, a couch facing his brother. He puts his guitar right in front of him so he can clean it properly. Then taking an old rag out of its bag and begins the dusting. His attention was entirely dedicated to Tommy.

- Tommy moves his fingers in all directions. He tries to relax a bit and throws himself. « A week ago a group of survivors surfaced in Jackson. Some people suffered only minor injuries, but no bites. With the exception of one young woman, she suffered a fairly serious leg injury. »

- « And so, who is so important in what you are telling me ? » Joel continues to clean parts of his guitar using his rag.

- « The young woman's name is Y/N, she also has a son, James. She has a lot of physical resemblance to your wife, Joel. » Of course, he insists on the pronunciation of first names and ends his sentence in a dry tone.

- Joel suddenly stops what he was doing. His eyes don't leave his guitar and the rag. « What are you trying to tell me, Tommy ? That my wife and son might still be alive ? »

- « Maybe it's just a coincidence. But my intuition tells me that they are not just anyone. » Tommy had his eyes straight on Joel, he wanted to make him listen to reason. Even if it wasn't his family, he still had to try and make sure.

- « You know as well as I do that they are unlikely to be alive. Y/N took James to the hospital and I never saw them again. » After getting a big inspiration, Joel resumes cleaning his guitar.

- « Joel, you have no proof that they are dead, nothing. » Tommy doesn't look away from his brother. Like Ellie, he knows he has suffered a lot, losing loved ones. Seeing this opportunity for his brother, Tommy can't help but be happy if it's ever true.

- « I don't need proof to prove that this world is violent and harsh at the same time. People like me don't have the right to that kind of luck. » He shakes the cloth faster and lowers the guitar to continue cleaning.

- « I have something for you. When we come back to Jackson, if they're there, you'll see for yourself. Y/N stayed in the infirmary all week because of her leg injury. She should normally be outside today. »

- « If I accept what you tell me, will you drop the case ? »

- « I'm not doing this to annoy you, Joel. I'm doing this to help you. »

- « I know this very well, little brother, but understand me, believing in this kind of hope in this world leads to nothing but false hopes. » He lifts his guitar and gets up from the sofa where he was sitting.”Well, it's getting late, we should get out of town." He tucks his rag into the back of his jeans pocket.

- « Yes you are right. Let's not hang around. »

The two brothers leave the living room of the house and go to join their horses. Both gallop through the town, it seems very calm now. Calm, Joel is only asking for this at the moment because the patrols are sometimes over several days, which gives him little time to rest and take time for himself. On the way back, the two brothers did not speak to each other. Tommy there well seen and understood, Joel is a little disturbed because he has just learned.

- Joel pulls away from Tommy slightly and mutters to himself. « It is impossible, impossible that they are still alive. After all this time, how ? Why now ? »

- Tommy trots forward, turning to look behind him. He notices that Joel has stepped aside. He pulls on the reins of his horse and waits for Joel to come back to him. « And ! Joel ! Jackson is over there ! » Tommy tries to get his brother's attention.

- Joel hears Tommy's words and comes to after getting lost in thought. « Yes I'm coming. » Giving a stirrup, Joel's horse accelerates and manages to join Tommy again.

- « Everything's good ? » Tommy asked with a slightly worried look.

- « Yeah, don't worry about me. Let's keep going, Jackson's not far away. » Joel walks past Tommy and lets a slightly lost look appear on his face.

22 years without news, and overnight he learns that perhaps the rest of his family is alive. Even if it's Joel, this kind of news can change any man.They finally arrive in Jackson after a few round trips through the local forests. Joel sometimes likes to stop and just observe the landscape around him, it reminds him of the good old days.

They each imprint the big door to be able to return to Jackson. Tommy descends first, Joel does the same and dismounts. Tommy takes the two horses to put them in their cabin. Joel still keeps his guitar on his back, he comes to get his bag that he had hung on the saddle of his horse.

- « Are you going to take a trip to the infirmary ? »

- « You really aren't giving up. Yeah, I'll take a look. »

- « Well, I won't bother you anymore then. If you ever look for me I'll be at the stables. »

- « Okay, that's noted, see you later. » He leaves the entrance to the city to go to the infirmary. Once there, Joel's gaze focuses directly on the entrance to the place. A mother with her son comes out of the building, it must be them.

- « You should watch your leg, mom. »

- « Don't worry about me, James. Your health is also important, this is the week when you have eaten almost nothing and have not even had time to rest. »

- After hearing the conversation, Joel's eyes can't help but touch the little family. He slows down so as not to lose sight of them and get noticed. « I have to stay away. » Muttered Joel under his breath.

- The young woman puts her arm on her son's shoulder and sticks to it so as not to fall. « If you don't mind, I'll use your shoulder so I don't strain my leg. »

- The teenager smiles at his mother and shakes her hand to help her stand. « Home isn't very far anyway. We'll take care of the boxes later, right ? » He asked his mother.

- « Yes, the cards can wait. I have an idea, to kill time. You just have to play me the song on the guitar that I taught you last time."

Joel remains quiet and aloof so as not to arouse suspicion. His hearing tried as best he could to understand some words, but nothing, it was too far.

- « Mom, you know I still have trouble playing. »

- « Yes, that's why I'll be here to help you. »

- « All in all, I prefer to put myself in the storage of boxes.» The teenager laughs lightly after finishing his sentence.

- His mother comes to join him and also lets out a laugh after what he has just said. « It's up to you, the boxes or the song. »

- The little family finally arrives home. James pushes the door open and lets his mother go first. Then he comes back and closes behind him. Jacques felt a strange sensation, like a gaze directed towards him. The cool wind is blowing, he looks up and sees a man a little further away. « Mom, that guy over there, do you know him ? »

- The young woman turns around with difficulty but succeeds. She looks at the motionless man who is not far from them. « No, he is not a member of our group. »

- Joel backs up and retraces his steps after being noticed. « Damn, I'll have to try another approach. » He leaves the area with a normal attitude, even after the scene that had just occurred.

- « Maybe he had to look for something or someone. » The young teenager does not dwell on the presence of this man. He walks to the front door and takes the house keys. He inserts them and opens them. « Do you want help climbing the stairs, Mom ? » He asked.

- The young woman advances with difficulty but manages to join her son at the entrance despite his leg injury. « As you can see, I did it alone. » She smiles at her son and enters.

On Joel's side...

- Joel walks on the way back to his house. He's got his mind busy since he saw that woman and her son « I have to find a way to get closer to them. » He mutters and finally goes home. Passing in the back, Joel sits on a plastic chair and equips himself with his guitar. His fingers caress the strings of it, a sweet tune comes out.

If I ever were to lose you

I'd surely lose myself

Everything I have found dear

I'm not found by myself

Try and sometimes you'll succeed

To make this man of me

All my stolen missing parts

I've no need for anymore

I believe

And I believe 'cause I can see

Our future days, days of you and me

- Joel finishes his song, keeping his guitar against him he comes to caress the wood, a sigh escapes his lips. « It was the song of our little family, Y/N. »

~*.♪。★*・゜・＊♪*.♪。★*・゜・＊♪*.♪°~

Tag : @wolfieellsworld @rosemirrors @dayane245love @bronwennsblog @mel9151 @lafemme-nk @elwrotes @celebficsnooneaskedfor @cyrusandhiscollaredahirts @aestheticallyboys @hummusxx @brebrehaynes @mikimambo @venusbee4 @hotshotbuttercup @introvhurts @sweetly-yours-and-mine @yunhospuppysblog @charlesalexgeorge @swagmobile-420 @bruhzzzsworld @mooomeadows @yartsthecarts @superflymaterial @acuumulated @valvebone @ourprisma @paige96 @sugasugamybeloved @julkaamazing @lol-im-done @hazeharrington @spideyromantic @rickysgrimes @ida444 @lex0613 @a-mean-lesbian @melssra @fandom-addict19 @s-ajia @thebluesloth98 @twinklecheeks @becca193 @the-last-shiv @forest4les

If you want to be marked on my future stories, let me know in the comments. Thank you again for reading ! 😊

[beautifulpersonpeach]

I relate to that anon who misses your Jimin posts. I always wondered why you wrote more about non-rapline members than the rapline who you biased. Esp JM, JK, V, and sometimes Jin. But now that Jimin is your bias I notice you posting more about Taekook than Jimin so now we’re Jimin deprived 😭

It sucks cos I like how you write about him. I’ve been going back to your posts about Face and even your posts from before his releases Face. You were one of the first bloggers who said Jimin’s music was the one you were most looking forward to. When other people doubted him you shut that shit down with “he’s Park Jimin for goodness sake”. Is there anything you can add about his music making process though BPP? Anything at all? Maybe some screenshots like you just did for Minimoni? Thank you.

***

Sigh. Y'all...

Okay, I'm going to use a lifeline and 'phone a friend'. We'll call her N.

She's the friend I've talked about before. Below is the result of a conversation I had with N before BTS's chapter 2 began. Consider it an abridged summary of why we were looking forward to Jimin's solo work the most, as well as what we think about his creative process. I'll tie it back to FACE at the end...

--

Jimin writes the dopest melodies.

Dis-ease bridge (I still can’t believe he came up with this in less than 5 minutes)

Blood, Sweat and Tears

Friends

Christmas Love

Promise

The first time I heard Dis-ease, before I even knew Hobi wrote most of it, I just knew it was a Hoseok song from the disk-scratches and very retro old-school hiphop vibe. And so I expected it to flow a certain way, and it did. Until it got to the bridge. Dis-ease could have been a very different song and you really see this if you listen to the version with JK’s bridge which keeps a somewhat faster tempo and lower notes.

Jimin’s bridge, quite literally, elevates the whole song - it starts in a completely different octave. If you’re actually singing this song, like singing out loud, when you get to the bridge you’re forced to belt out “SICK AND TIRREEEDDDD” and “THROUGH THE FIREEEEE”, up high, real loud, with heart and feeling. The melody Jimin composed in 5 minutes is simultaneously soulful and energetic.

This is the same with other melodies he has composed such as Friends and Blood, Sweat and Tears, and others.

Jimin writes some pretty dope melodies that make me want to sing out loud.

He seems to write plain but beautiful and honest lyrics

Jimin has said writing lyrics doesn’t come easy for him and I think this is because he writes the way he speaks.

Even Namjoon who we all know writes incredibly beautiful lyrics has said this too, but I think Jimin might want or aim to write more artistically like Namjoon, but (I think) he writes lyrics the way he speaks, which is plainly and directly but carefully and very honestly. He sparingly uses metaphors unlike Tae and RM who can wonder about snow and flowers individually or uses colors like Blue and Grey to convey struggling with burn out or how the world pauses at 0 O’clock.

When people write songs the hope is to convey certain ideas or emotions. If those things are very personal, heavy or dark, songwriters often use metaphors or analogies in their lyrics to communicate them. This way, the songwriter’s personal feelings are somewhat obscured and protected by artistic interpretations. If you write literally however, there’s nowhere to hide. Everyone knows exactly what you’re thinking and I think this is why Jimin struggles with lyrics.

Jimin writes very literally and this personally appeals to me a lot. Take for instance, how Jimin wrote Lie:

“순결했던 날 찾아줘 Please find me who was innocent

이 거짓 속에 헤어날 수 없어 I can’t free myself from these lies

내 웃음을 돌려놔줘 Please bring back my smile

Caught in a lie

이 지옥에서 날 꺼내줘 Please take me out of this hell

이 고통에서 헤어날 수 없어 I can’t free myself from this pain”

(translation credit: Doolset)

There’s nothing metaphorical about this. He’s literally going through hell and he tells you that very plainly as much. The only way to maintain some ambiguity in the whole song is to never mention what the Lie actually is. And so he never does.

*

Jimin seems to write more songs than we think. For example, when talking about how Friends came to be, he mentioned he was working on 3 songs which he casually showed to Bang PD just for kicks while they were touring three years ago. Two of those songs were mostly finished and the most incomplete song was the third one which PD liked most and worked with Jimin to complete, and that song became Friends - track 15 on the Map of The Soul 7 album.

For their BE album Jimin mentioned how he wrote three new songs for the title track but they weren’t selected. So, Jimin has likely just got these songs sitting somewhere, much like how Yoongi was sitting on Telepathy for years before releasing it with BE.

Whether we’ll ever hear these songs is another story, but if he ever does release them I’m sure I’ll be singing my heart out alongside him.

--

Of course, since Jimin released FACE, you can judge for yourself how many of these points hold up. It's especially striking for me how Jimin wrote the lyrics in Alone, Set Me Free Pt 2, and Face-off mostly literally. For anyone who hasn't read it yet, here's some selected posts on FACE.

[teaberrii]

Chapter 2: Not Friends

You and Dan Heng are a match made in heaven until fate takes him away from you too soon. Years later, you think you moved on with a mutual friend who shared your grief and stuck with you during tough times until you meet a mysterious man with a striking resemblance to your past lover and a hidden motive. You’re determined to get rid of him, but how are you going to get rid of a god?

Dan Feng/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on Ao3

Genshin Impact and Honkai: Star Rail crossover

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

Support my writing

The hospital room is quiet except for the soft beeps of the sensors; the lights are dim as if not to disturb you, but you've been unconscious since the operation has finished. Your forehead, wrists, and part of your hands are wrapped in bandages, but your breathing is steady. Dan Feng stands beside your bed, his hands behind his back, looking at you with skepticism and curiosity.

Dan Feng and the rest of the dragon gods stood on a rocky terrain where the sky above was the galaxy. Not too far stood a large, metal circle where all the Chinese zodiac animal signs were engraved on the outer rim. The rabbit symbol was lit as it was still the Year of the Rabbit, but as soon as the clock struck midnight, the light flowed like liquid to the dragon. Its eyes were the last to light but shone the brightest. Then, a thunderous roar echoed in the distance as the gate shot beams of lightning toward its center before dispersing to the other animal signs. Now, there was a watery surface, and one could see images of the human realm—seascapes, landscapes, and cityscapes—slowly transitioning from one to the next.

“Sorry, I’m late!”

The dragons turned and saw Bailu wearing a padded coat, making her look like a walking marshmallow. While Zhongli was wondering why she didn't have knitted covers over her little horns on the top of her head like she sometimes did, that wasn't the first question on his mind. Bailu was riding something that no one recognized… but Dan Feng had an inkling of what the mysterious, rolling, box-like object was.

“...Is that a suitcase?” he asked.

“Yup! Ten points to Brother Moon!” Bailu got off her self-driving suitcase and looked at her other brothers. “Quiz time! Can any of you guess what this is for?”

“Please don't tell me humans use that to get around," Neuvilette said flatly. “It’s incredibly tacky.”

“Yes and no… and it’s not tacky! Do you know how expensive this is down there?”

“It seems like a convenient way of moving things from one place to another,” Zhongli said. “You’re very prepared, Bailu. But"—he pointed to her horns—"aren't you forgetting something?"

"As soon as we poof down there, we'll look like everyone else! So, I hope you won't miss your horns and tail too much." Noticing Neuvilette's curiosity on her padded coat, Bailu patted herself. "It's to keep warm! Who knows what the weather is like down there?"

Neuvilette gently poked it. "The design sure is something."

"Don't worry. I'll take all of you shopping when we get there. The last thing I want is for one of you to fall sick."

Dan Feng nodded toward the activate gate. “Well, now that everyone's here… Shall we go?”

“Wait!” Everyone turned to Bailu. Then, she snapped her fingers, and four journals appeared around her. “I’m the one with the most experience down there, so…” With a wave of her hand, the journals distributed themselves amongst her dragon brothers. "You’re going to find this handy!”

“...Bailu’s Guide to Thriving with the Humans?” Neuvilette wasn’t sure what to think of the title.

“It has everything you need to know to survive down there. I even included how you make some quick money because”—she flipped her hair—”I’m nice like that. And…!” Her face turned serious. “It’s not a guarantee that we’ll end up at the same place when we step through that portal. It’s pretty exciting, isn’t it?”

“...I question your definition of exciting,” Zhongli said. “That’s a problem if we aren’t together.”

“You said that the longer we stay down there, the more human we become,” Neuvilete said, looking at Bailu. “So, surely we can still use our powers if we are separated.”

“Mm…”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Dan Feng said, not surprised.

“It’s true our powers won’t go poof right away, but it won’t be as strong. Based on experience, we have one chance to use them however we like. But, if you do something too powerful, you'll be completely drained.”

“Drained?”

“Ahem. If you could kindly refer to page two of your handy dandy journal…”

The three exchanged a glance before Zhongli’s journal flew open in front of them, and then it was Dan Feng who read: “After landing in the human realm, your godly powers will slowly start draining. It's like an oxygen tank of a scuba diver."

"...Oxygen tank? Scuba diver? Do I want to know what those things are?" Neuvilette asked.

“Keep reading,” Bailu deadpanned.

“Your power will start strong, but the more you use it, the faster it’ll drain,” Zhongli said. “Small tasks, such as telekinesis, will make it drain slowly. Bigger tasks, such as teleportation, will make it drain faster. Even if you do nothing, your power will still drain bit by bit.” Then, the journal closed itself.

“If we end up in different places," Bailu said, "you’ll want to use the last bit of your godly power to teleport to the Luofu House.”

“...The what now?”

Bailu pointed to her journal. “Page five, if you will.”

So, once again, Zhongli’s journal flew open. This time to page five.

“The Luofu House is Bailu’s home away from home,” he read. “Since none of you have a home to go to, Mistress Bailu will be honoured to have you in her humble abode…”

“Mistress…” Dan Feng began skeptically.

“...Bailu?” Neuvilette deadpanned.

“Y’all should be thankful that we have a place to stay when we get there!” Bailu said, puffing out her chest. “If it weren’t for my relentless hustling every dragon year, who knows what we’d have to resort to? Anyway, just remember: Don’t waste your power on something dumb.”

If it weren't for the sensors, Dan Feng would think you're dead, which means his efforts would've been wasted.

Dan Feng was the last one to step through the gate. The world around him spun and spun, and he heard overlapping sounds getting louder and louder until everything went quiet. Then, he heard the sound of rain. He opened his eyes and saw he’d ended up on a pedestrian bridge. It was dark but the street below was lit. There were shapes of mountains and buildings in the distance. Dan Feng was about to teleport to the Luofu House when he noticed a young boy, holding an umbrella, staring at him.

Dan Feng stared back until the kid finally caved and asked:

“Are you a cosplayer?”

A… what?

The kid looked at him and up and down. “It’s a really good costume! You look like I.L!”

Who?

“Don’t tell me you don’t know him!" the kid said, almost offended. "He’s that super cool character from the popular video game…”

The rest fell on deaf ears as Dan Feng glanced down. He was still in his usual outfit: a white sleeveless shirt with a cutout in the shape of a diamond on his chest. His long sleeves are unattached and have gold and green-coloured accents. Around his waist was a green sash with a teal seal adorned by golden leaves, and he wore black, fingerless gloves. The only normal thing about his outfit was the black pants, but the knee-high boots with white and golden accents would instantly draw someone's attention.

“I’m spending my allowance money to get him for sure!”

“It’s getting cold,” Dan Feng said. “You should head home.”

"Here." The kid held out his umbrella. "I'll give this to you because you did him justice!"

“...I’m fine.”

“Trying to act tough, are you, Mister?”

Dan Feng wasn’t expecting the cheekiness, but he slightly smiled out of amusement. "You need it more than I do."

“Well, okay, if you say so. Bye, Mister! It was cool seeing you!”

After the kid ran off, Dan Feng suddenly heard a deafening bang. He turned to the road below and saw a car on the highway below swerving to avoid a truck that had lost control.

“I spy with my little eye... not a soul to take but a god?"

Well, great. Everything was so much better with Sampo around.

The Reaper hopped off the ledge of the bridge. “How convenient that you happened to end up here. I know you dragons have your agenda… but care to join me for some soul-taking before you leave?”

“No.”

“Ouch. Not even a 'maybe'?" Sampo shrugged. "Well, suit yourself.”

Then, he was gone.

Dan Feng was about to snap his fingers when he suddenly heard a voice. A female voice. It was faint and weak, but it was what she said that made him stop.

“...Dan Heng.”

After he and Sampo saved you, Dan Feng was left to fend for himself. He lied to the people dressed in uniform, which he now knew as paramedics and law enforcement (thanks to Bailu’s guide), and was allowed to be in the room with you after your surgery.

Without thirty minutes of being in the human realm, Dan Feng had broken one of the biggest rules known to gods. Getting involved with humans is one thing, but saving their life? At least Sampo also bears some responsibility. It couldn’t have happened without his help, which makes Dan Feng wonder why Sampo had agreed to it. Just for kicks? For entertainment? Or… Do you have something to do with Dan Heng’s untimely death?

Dan Feng leans closer to you. Who are you…? And what relationship did you have with his brother? Can you be her reincarnation? Dan Feng has to know. Because if you are, he will be the one to kill you. He clenches his fists as he thinks of her, the cowardly woman who betrayed him and his brother. The woman who robbed Dan Feng of rationality because he was so hopelessly in love with her. But, his brother had been no different.

Suddenly, the door swings open, and a dishevelled-looking man runs to your bedside. He immediately takes your hand and says your name with tears in his eyes.

“...Can you hear me? Can—” He stops as soon as he looks at Dan Feng. He stands upright and his eyes go wide as if he’s seen a ghost. “...Who… Dan Heng?”

Oh? Does this man know his brother, too? 

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” the man asks. “Who the fuck are you?”

“The man who saved this young woman’s life,” Dan Feng says calmly. “Now, let me ask you the same question. Who the fuck are you?”

“Her fiancé,” is the bitter reply.

“Fiancé? Then, you should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” The man walks up to him. “Seriously. Who are you? Why do you look… Why the hell do you look so much like Dan Heng?”

Well, Dan Feng can’t tell the truth, but as he knows next to nothing about his brother’s life in the human realm, he doesn’t want to be caught in a web of lies.

“Can’t tell you,” Dan Feng says, a little snarkily. “Care to tell me who that is?”

The man is about to say something but your weak, faint groan interrupts him. Dan Feng glances at you while the man is immediately back at your side.

“You’re awake…! Oh, thank the heavens! Let me call the doctor!”

Dan Feng is mildly amused when your eyes land on him, and your eyes widen in alarm, staring at him as if in a catatonic stupor. Your face grows more ashen—if that's even possible, and your mouth slightly opens and closes as if you’re a fish out of water. Dan Feng almost smiles at what he’s seeing. How cute.

Finally, he hears your soft, weak voice:

“You…”

Your fiancé steps in front of Dan Feng and says:

“...I appreciate your help, but you can leave now.”

The door opens, and a young doctor walks in followed by a nurse. After he and the nurse conduct a few tests, he says:

“Your vitals are stable.” He smiles at you. “You’re very lucky, judging from the state you came in.”

“Is there any medication she should take?”

Your fiancé glares at Dan Feng, but he ignores it.

“Oh, yes. We’ll prescribe those to her soon. She should also stay at the hospital for a few days so we can monitor her condition. She may be stable now, but there might be some internal issues that will arise.”

“You might want to check as soon as possible. She was looking quite pale earlier… like she saw a ghost,” Dan Feng says, looking at you. “I hope I’m just being overprotective, and it’s nothing serious.”

“You...!”

Dan Feng gives your fiancé a deadpan look. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Before Dan Feng walks out the door, he briefly hears the nurse explain to your fiancé how Dan Feng had pretty much saved your life.

Dan Feng is outside of the hospital when he takes out Bailu’s guide. Now… What in the world is he going to do now? He has no money, plan, or connections to get out of his current situation. He glances at the hospital. Well, maybe he has a connection or two. But right now, he's a homeless god in the human realm. He can imagine the look on Neuvilette’s face. Skimming through Bailu’s guide, he finds something interesting. Let’s see what he can learn about making quick money and something called hotels and motels…

◆◆◆

You can’t get that man’s face out of your mind. You’ve been staring at the white ceiling for the past thirty minutes. But every time you close your eyes, you see Dan Heng. Or… so you think. The door opens, and your fiancé walks in. After closing the door, he walks up to your bedside and pulls up a chair.

“...Still awake?”

“Who…” you say quietly. “Who was that man?”

“...The one who looked like Dan Heng?”

“It can’t…” Tears are streaming down your face. “It can’t be him. I—”

Your fiancé holds your hand. “It’s not. He’s… He’s just someone who looks a lot like him. That’s all.”

“I thought… I thought I was dead.”

“You’ll never see him again.” You slowly turn your head to see a hard look in his eyes. “Trust me. I promise you won’t.” He looks down as if guilty. “I… It’s my fault that this happened. This shouldn’t have happened!”

You watch as he breaks down in front of you, too tired to console him. But, should you even?

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “It’s… I see that necklace, and it feels like you haven’t fully moved on.”

“...Dan Heng will always be someone special to me,” you say, and he slowly looks up. “That’s not ever going to change. But, I chose to move forward with you.” You look back at the ceiling, too tired to chide him again for pawning the necklace. “Whatever is on your mind, I hope you’ll be open and communicate with me instead of doing something so childish. It hurts both of us.”

“...I know. I understand.” After a small pause, he slightly smiles. “The police are already launching a full investigation into the accident.”

You turn back. “What about the other driver?”

“He’s also hospitalized, but his injuries aren’t as severe as yours."

You look back up at the ceiling, remembering the voices you heard. One of them sounded exactly like Dan Heng's doppelganger. Was it just a coincidence that he was there? Why was he there?

“It’s getting late.” Your fiancé kisses your head. “Try getting some sleep, okay? Let’s talk in the morning.”

You think about asking him to stay, but you know he has work in the morning as do you.

“...Did anyone find my phone?” you ask.

"It's on the nightstand, but... I doubt you'll get it to work. It's damaged pretty badly." He gives you another kiss. "I’ll call in about your condition to your boss tomorrow. Don’t worry about anything, and just get some much-needed rest, okay?”

You wish you can. But, you want to scream as the only person you can think about is that man. Who is he…?

◆◆◆

As soon as Dan Feng walks up to a set of glass doors, they immediately slide open. The large jewellery shop—with a white and beige colour scheme—is lit with LED lights in the ceilings. With his hands behind his back, Dan Feng slowly walks while looking at the diamonds and gold displayed on the necks and hands of mannequins in glass cases. It oddly reminds him of home.

“Um, hello…” Dan Feng faces forward and sees a tall, well-dressed, young man. His hair is slicked back, and he has bright blue eyes. The man looks Dan Feng up and down as if curious and internally questioning the strange outfit. “Can I help you?”

“I have something I’d like appraised.”

“Appraised? Oh, well…” He looks over his shoulders where there are female employees who are also well-dressed. They slightly shake their heads.

“I guarantee it'll be worth your while.”

“Then, can I see what it is?”

Good thing Dan Feng didn’t come to the human realm completely empty-handed. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small ring made out of pure gold and white jade. As soon as he hands it to the man, the female employees—out of curiosity—walk over.

The man tosses the ring into the air. After catching it, he pulls out a coin. Then, he gently tries scratching it. Getting no marks, he holds it up to the light. Throughout all of this, Dan Feng watches him carefully.

Finally, the man hands the ring back with both hands. “Would you please follow me to the back room, sir?”

“...Who is he?” Dan Feng hears one of the female employees whisper to the other.

“I don’t know… but he looks quite young.”

“Does this mean that ring is genuine…? His family must be rich.”

“Must be nice… to be young and rich.”

"He doesn't look half bad either..."

Dan Feng continues walking, pretending he heard nothing.

Past a dark blue curtain was a treasure shop that many knew about. A warmly lit chandelier was the shop's main light source, but the pastel glass window—in the shape of a green, diamond—also allowed in natural light. Everyone, including those not from Sumeru, knew about Khalid, the jeweller. But not many knew of his other talents. It was after hours, but one could hear the sound of metal on metal in a small room at the back of the shop. Then, it stopped. A young Dan Feng sat upright and lifted the ring, which was once a piece of gold, into the lantern light.

“My, great piece of work you have there, Master Dan Feng.” A tall man with slicked-back, short brown hair and an angular face walked up to him. “You learn fast! All we need to do now is to put in the jade!”

“It’s thanks to your teachings that I was able to improve in such a short time, Khalid.” Dan Feng put the ring on the table. “I appreciate this.”

“Well, it’s not every day you hear a young prince wants to learn metalsmithing. At first, I thought you were joking!”

“Yes, well... One must continue learning new skills to keep up with the times."

" But… I have to ask… Is this for a woman, perhaps? Or, why so much effort for a jade ring?”

Dan Feng slightly smiled and looked down. “Perhaps one day I’ll give it to a woman I love. Perhaps not." He looked at Khalid. "For now, I only wish to learn the skills.”

“So mysterious, Master Dan Feng. Is your brother like this, too? Why don’t you bring him next time?”

“...Perhaps.”

Dan Feng sits on a black chair as he watches the man do a complete appraisal of the ring. Once the man is finished, he turns and gently puts the ring on the glass counter.

"24K gold and imperial jade... It's not every day you see this combination."

“...I’d prefer if you get to the point. How much are you willing to pay for this?”

“R-Right…! Well…” The man says a number: "Shall we wire you the money?"

Dan Feng briefly remembers reading something about that in Bailu’s journal, but considering his circumstances, he says:

“...I have something else in mind.”

And that's how Dan Feng leaves with two large metal cases filled with stacks of money.

◆◆◆

You’re still feeling groggy by the time morning comes. You didn’t sleep well, but you’re still feeling more upbeat than yesterday, so you take that as a good sign. That morning, you’re talking to the police officers investigating your case. They’ve just finished their questioning when you ask what’s been on your mind for almost the entire night.

“Is there any CCTV footage of the accident? There’s something I want to check.”

“Unfortunately not. What is it that you want to know? Maybe we can provide an answer for you.”

“...That night… before I was found, I’m certain there were other people with me. Two men to be exact.”

“Men? Were they passengers?”

“No. I heard their voices right before I passed out. I’m sure of it.”

The officers glance at each other. “...Well… There was a man who found you. But he was the only one.”

“By man… was he dressed like… like he just came out of a video game?”

“Yeah, pretty much. There was no one else around.”

“If we find out anything, we’ll be sure to let you know,” the other officer says.

After they leave the room, you reach for your phone—where the screen is cracked—but no matter what you do, it won't turn on. You're about to call for a nurse when the door opens, and March cries your name.

“Oh, thank God you’re okay!” Her hug is a little too tight, but you welcome it nonetheless.

Stelle closes the door behind her and walks up to you. “Your man was kind enough to let us know what happened since he figured we’d try to get in touch with you. How are you feeling?”

“Better than yesterday,” you say, letting March go.

Your friends each pull up a chair. “It’s all over the news… the accident,” March says.

"They found out he was speeding," you say, reiterating the details of what the police told you earlier. "...And he lost control of his vehicle."

"At least he'll get slapped with a fine," Stelle says.

“They… They were saying it’s a miracle that you survived,” March says quietly.

“...It does feel like a miracle, honestly.”

Again, you remember the voices from yesterday:

“...Save her.”

“And here I thought you didn’t like getting involved with humans.”

“...Hey!”

You turn to your friends.

“Are you okay?” Stelle asks.

“Yeah… It’s just… When the accident happened, I don’t think I was alone.”

“Not alone…? What do you mean?”

“I heard voices,” you say quietly. “Two different voices. And one of them… One of them sounded like... Dan Heng's doppelganger.”

"Who?"

You aren't surprised that your friends spoke at the same time. Then, you tell them about the mysterious man last night.

“...He saved you?” Stelle asks as if unable to believe it.

“If I’m right… he was telling another man to save me.”

March looks around the room as if he may be hiding somewhere. “Where is this guy now? Did he come back?”

“I doubt he’s going to come back,” you say. “...And that’s for the best.”

Suddenly, the door opens. Thinking it’s a nurse or doctor, you turn, and your face goes pale.

“You’re looking a lot better than yesterday.” The footsteps get closer. “More… alive, I should say.”

March’s jaw drops. “Holy… shit.”

The man is no longer wearing his eye-catching outfit from last night but a white, slim-fit shirt with a black blazer and gold buttons. He looks like he's ready for a business meeting with matching black pants and shoes. He also has a silver watch on his left wrist.

“Don’t come closer!” You make a gesture for him to stop, and he surprisingly does. You’re afraid to look at him. What in the world is he doing here?

Dan Feng glances at Stelle and March who are staring at him like they’ve seen a ghost.

“Did I come at a bad time?” he asks.

“Dan…” Stelle chokes out. “Dan Heng?”

Dan Feng slightly narrows his eyes at them. Are these people his brother's friends, too?

Finally, you look him in the eyes. Dan Heng's eyes are blue. This man… This imposter… His eyes are green.

“What do you want?”

Dan Feng looks at you. “A favour. In return for me saving your life.” Then, he walks up to your bedside and extends his hand in front of you. “My name is Dan Feng.” You almost want to pinch yourself. Is this a dream? It has to be. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Dan… Dan Feng?”

"Is there something wrong with my name?”

March quickly shakes her head. “Ah, no… It’s… um…”

Dan Feng looks at you “...And you are?”

Instead of answering him, you ask: “...Do you… Do you know someone named Dan Heng?”

Dan Feng smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Never heard of him. Is he the reason why you’re so jittery?”

“...He was a friend,” Stelle answers for you. “A friend of ours who passed away a few years ago.”

“...Is that so? I’m sorry for your loss.”

“You look exactly like him,” March says. “Even your names are similar! This… This can’t be a coincidence!”

“Oh, but I assure you it is.” Dan Feng looks at you. “So… Am I getting a name, Sweet Pea?”

“...What did you just call me?”

This man may look like Dan Heng, but his personality makes you believe you’re talking to a completely different person.

“Well, what else am I supposed to call you? You haven’t given me your name.” After reluctantly introducing yourself, Dan Feng slightly smiles and says your name. “Seems like you’re not a fan of nicknames.”

Just like the woman he wants to kill.

“No,” you say coldly, glaring at him. “I’m not. Especially from a stranger.”

"I suppose we still are." Then, genuinely: "I apologize for my actions.” You turn away from him just as he slides a hand inside his pocket. “So, I’ve been answering all of your questions. It’s only fair if you start answering mine.”

You glance at him. “What could you possibly want from me?”

Before Dan Feng can answer, he hears: 

“Get away from her.”

Dan Feng calmly turns around and sees your agitated fiancé. Even as he hurries up to you, Dan Feng doesn’t move.

“Looks like you also didn’t get a good night’s sleep.”

Your fiancé glares at him. “I told you to stay away from her.” Then, he leans over to check on your injuries when Dan Feng notices a woman’s lipstick in his back pocket.

“Did you?” Dan Feng asks, and your fiancé leans upright. “I can’t recall… Maybe you dreamt about it instead.”

Stelle and March glance at each other.

“What do you want with her?”

Dan Feng smiles. But again, it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks at you. “I’d like her to be my tour guide. I’m new to the city, you see. Just landed yesterday… and witnessed that terrible accident.”

“Tour guide?” March asks in disbelief.

“No,” your fiancé answers. “Not happening.”

Dan Feng almost rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you let the lady answer for herself?”

“...Could all of you give us some privacy?”

"Yes," your fiancé says sourly while shooting Dan Feng a nasty look. "Leave."

You look at your fiancé. "I meant you."

Taken aback at your statement, your fiancé is about to retort when Stelle says:

“Let’s give them some space, okay? Might be easier for them to talk and sort things out.”

As Stelle gently pushes your fiancé out the door, March is behind them, mouthing what’s on her mind:

“Details! Deeetails!”

Once the door closes, you say:

“Let’s not play games, shall we?”

“Games? I’m not playing.”

You scoff. “Tour guide? Really?”

“All right, fine. I’ll let you in a little secret.” He slightly leans closer, surprising you. “Just like I remind you of someone you used to know, you remind me of someone I used to know.”

You narrow your eyes. “...Who?”

“Can’t reveal all my secrets, can I? But, I can tell you that she was someone dear to me. Though it’s been a very long time, I haven’t forgotten about her.” Your hands clutch the blanket. “As I’m new to the city, I just like to make a friend or two. And, I just happened to save your life that day, so… Why can’t we be friends?”

You finally manage to hold his stare. “...You say you saved me that night. How? Frankly, I don’t think I’m supposed to be alive right now.”

Dan Feng leans upright. “You have a good head on your shoulders.” You almost roll your eyes. When he stays quiet, you cross your arms. “I’m not going to just take your word for it if you can’t explain what happened that night.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

You frown. “Answer the question.”

Dan Feng gives you a deadpan look. “I heard a crash. I called for an ambulance before heading over and seeing you half-dead in the driver’s seat. I picked the lock and managed to get you out of there right when the paramedics arrived.”

“...Someone was with you. Another man. He said something about getting involved… with humans. What was that all about?”

Dan Feng slightly tilts his head. “...Ah… Just an inside joke. He helped me carry you out of the car. Is that a good enough answer for you?”

“The car went down a small hill,” you say, remembering what the police told you. “You’re telling me you went down a small hill on a dark and rainy night on foot to save a stranger?”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t?”

“That’s…”

“Compassion… Kindness… Is that not human nature?”

“You’re taking things a bit far.”

Dan Feng slightly leans closer. “...Or is it human nature to only act out of their own interests?”

There’s something in his eyes that you can’t put your finger on. Something… personal?

“...I don’t want to be friends,” you say as he leans upright. “I’ll show you around the city. After that, we’re even.”

“Deal.” Then, he reaches into his shirt pocket “...Here”—he hands you a brand new phone—”you could use this.”

“...I can’t accept—”

“Oh, stop acting polite.” He takes your wrist and puts the phone into your hand. “You need a new one, anyways.”

You press a button and it turns on. It’s already fully charged.

“See you when you're better.” He walks halfway across the room before he looks over his shoulder. “...By the way, do you wear lipstick?”

“Um… not often. Why?”

Dan Feng turns around. “...Just curious.”

And then he walks out without turning back.

Chapter 3

Tag list: @lunavixia

[fair-city-reporter]

Whumping in Wordgirl

Please forgive the atrocities I'm going to write!

As a current Whumptober participant, I figured why not talk about the newest Wordgirl fic because it's a little disaster. Becky's our unfortunate whumpee in this, and it's a bit... mature (meaning darker depictions of things than the canon-). This fic will not be for everyone, but the idea simply wouldn't leave me alone tbh,

Though let's get right to it, yes?

Wordgirl Whump Ramblings;

Everything begins after Becky defeats a villain, but finds herself extremely winded and tuckered out which unfortunately leaves her vulnerable for other people. Due to the involvement of an organization, which doesn't have Fair City's best interests in mind, Wordgirl unexpectedly goes missing. Of course, the city falls into a literal uproar because of villains still being on the loose. Though... crime suddenly stops as Fair City's villainous citizens suddenly embark on a mission to find her, but... the damage is already done.

Let me just say one thing: the villains do see Becky as a member of their family; at absolute best, they're work colleagues who respect each other, and are mindful of one another. To see if one of their own suddenly vanish without a trace - well, it's not going to end well.

Of course, on top of the fact Wordgirl's missing, another very unrelated incident has gone down. Becky Botsford also went missing. Her family is now freaking out - having filed a report on their daughter, hoping she'll come home. No one is certain of what's going on, and well, to say the least... Sally Botsford will stop at nothing to bring down the fools who kidnapped her daughter.

Read below the cut for more information!

Headcanons/Rambles (Pt. 2)

Becky is going to be around 14-15 within the context of this universe. As it is major whump, the themes are dark and heavy which I will not be doing to a ten (and a half) year old Becky

Her powers do get stronger upon hitting the Lexiconian version of puberty; however, excessive use of powers does tire out the user and it's what's being used to weaken her for the fic (among other things, but we'll get to that later)

As mentioned before, the villains view Wordgirl as an adoptive member of their odd, little family. They are highly protective of their super-heroine (at least when it doesn't have to do with their criminal activities!)

The organization is an independently run facility. Being a little too curious on how superpowers work, they decide Becky's the perfect way to see this and, well, you'll just have to read the rest

Becky is an orphan back on Lexicon. This won't be relevant to the fanfic in the slightest, but I wanted to bring it up 'cause why not?

D2B has mixed thoughts on Wordgirl, esp. considering their history. It's just tense all-around but this man would level a building if something happened to her lol

The Butcher, Chuck, and Wordgirl have more of a sibling thing going - although Chuck's kind of like the awkward uncle at a family reunion; and because there may be Cheese Sandwich shipping here but I'm not sure yet

I'm not including every villain, but let me just say things will go very, very south once it becomes apparent what happened to the missing heroine

Tobey's crush on Wordgirl has simmered down over the years, and it did nearly vanish. He sees her as more of an equal - the plans, of course, a little different

This is whump. Becky's the chosen wet cat of the hour, unfortunately and is still a delight for me as writer - I'm going to break her in this, but this does have a happy ending, I swear. Just be patient with me lol

I might make this a multi-chapter, or there's a chance I write a lengthy one-shot. Reader Discretion is advised when reading this because it's going to deep into the prompts and I'm definitely mean when it comes to writing angst/whump

I would definitely say this is 'canon' in a very vague sense. It is set post-canon, but it still wouldn't have anything to do with it; it's just my own interpretation, woof but I'll leave this for now!

[cherryfennec]

Hey I been thinking how would a au of Mr l joining the heroes would look like?

Hiya! There actually have already been some posts and even a fic considering this topic, which I'll link below! As for my perspective, we'll have to start at the obvious stuff.

When could Mr.L join the heroes?

We have 2 glorious encounters with The Green Thunder, one in the Whoa Zone and the other in the Sammers Kindgdom. These are really the only times he'd have a chance of changing sides. If we go with the Whoa Zone, Mr.L gets to go on around two adventures, if we go with the second option he'd only get join the heroes for one trip to Flipside.

Would Mr.L join the heroes willingly?

Well yes, and no. So Nastasias brainwashing isn't really explained but we as a community have agreed that she basically has to ability to sort through and remove whatever memories she sees as unimportant. She can also add behaviours and forge events as she sees fit so they remain utmost dazed. During the cutscene before Chapter 6 we see that Mr.L, despite being 'disciplined', is able to rebel which means there is potential.

With these two questions answered we have the possibilities of:

The heroes decide to take Mr.L by force back to the Flipside in Chapter 4. Basically they fight, catch him by the scruff and drag him away. Once back they could try to convince him to switch sides. My favourite continuation of this would probably be that he declines, and since they can't just leave him at Merlons they just tie him around the waist to Mario so he doesn't run. In shorter terms: they drag the chihuahua around on a leash. I just think the picture would be funny. He'd have to learn to cooperate with Mario in battle so they don't die. He could slowly question his current beliefs and change his mind over the span of the small adventures but by the time he'd be ready to fully switch he meets his and the heroes canon demise.

If you'd want to see a more detailed scenario where he does actually agree to join Mario, Peach and Bowser I can recommend you:

The Mr.L Hero AU made by brendathedoodler that takes place after the battle in the Whoa Zone and is based on that specific idea. They've made some art posts, writing work and even a short comic for it. Here's one:

https://www.tumblr.com/brendathedoodler/702687904346030080/hi-about-your-mrl-au-thing-what-would-tippis

The second possibility is they get to the next battle with Mr.L in the ruined kingdom and do a similiar thing from there. Maybe they didn't know it was Luigi during the first battle but by the time they realised he had already ran off, so they want to use this second chance. Now again it's either take back by force or convince with a good argument.

I'm going to be honest though, I think there is one great, already existing portrayal of this scenario. And it's all written in:

'Grey Lies', a fic by SnowyFrostShadow that takes place after the battle in the destroyed Sammers Kindom.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43425892/chapters/109168240

I think it went with the best route when it comes to getting Mr.L to join the good side at that point in the story. It could use some small tweaking but I think it's a good read, at least I enjoy it!

I hope I managed to answer your question. I maybe could try to go into more detail with the first one but I think this about covers the general idea.

[frost-felon]

I aim to accomplish three things in this post:

1. Make an argument for why I believe Gojo Satoru's death and afterlife scene don't give his character arc a satisfying resolution.

2. Argue why Tsumiki would be crucial for advancing Satoru's character and giving her more of a role than "Megumi's Motivation™", whilst working within the confines of what JJK has been written as, previously.

3. Give Yuji-lovers more hope that we'll see our little guy give an earnest smile again.

Because this post is pretty damn long, here are the effective starting and ending points of each argument. Please note that no words in this meta are meant to be extraneous, other than some light-hearted asides.

1. "Personally, I think that the airport scene only makes sense/can be consistent with Satoru's portrayals throughout the story (even right before the fight, in Chapters 222 & 223) if it's meant to highlight an internal struggle."/"While key characters like Geto and Nanami show up, with Amanai shown seated separately, there is one crucial absence:"

2. "Fushiguro Tsumiki."/"And I just...I want some real depth to Tsumiki, be it in service to another character for the 50th time or not."

3. "Because somehow, I don't think that what Yuji wants right now is for someone to take away all the boo-boos and make his situation better; I think he wants to go home and relax with the people he cares about, and he'll do anything--eat anything--to accomplish that."/"So depower Satoru, but let him live, so Yuji can finally get out of this misery porn and into his loved ones' arms."

So, without further ado!

248 really made a lot of people excited for the possibility of Gojo Satoru coming back, while making others groan. Why? That actually requires a nuanced answer--but the gist is that many people adore Satoru's character; some people think his character arc was abruptly ended (even spat-on, in some cases); the fallout of 236 left a lot of people angry and/or divided on the story's direction (for more than just Satoru's character, but in many cases, focally so); some fans got really annoying about it; and some people just don't want to hear about Satoru Discourse™, regardless of how they feel about his character. All of these are valid reasons for a cocktail of reactions to the knowledge that Ui Ui and co. have been snatching bodies from the field. If you think Satoru's story is over, then giving this hope to the people who wish to believe he's going to be alive can be quite irksome. And if you want Satoru to live, then the uneasiness of not knowing how Satoru living will affect the narrative may be eating at you, too.

Personally, I think that the airport scene only makes sense/can be consistent with Satoru's portrayals throughout the story (even right before the fight, in Chapters 222 & 223) if it's meant to highlight an internal struggle. Nanami's words are...suspect¹, let's say, in 236, but he discusses clinging to your past versus becoming anew, betting on the future. This, I think, is the main conflict of Satoru's character arc:

The struggle between keeping to what you're familiar with and remaining within expectations, in opposition to taking risks and trusting who you are and what you want to others around you, working with them. Effectively, shedding Satoru's superficiality and being fully open to new ideas.

Satoru's goading, jocular personality has been noted to be fake before, but the intensity he occasionally shows has never been doubted, even if what the intensity is for has. Like in 222 and 223, with Ijichi's long-running guilt and self-doubt. In 222, Satoru says, "Now it's just the three of us, huh?" when alone with Ieri and Ijichi. When he expresses his thought on Nanami's death, this exchange occurs:

SATORU: "I thought Nanami was the type to survive no matter what."

IJICHI: "I'm sorry."

SATORU: "What do you have to be sorry for, Ijichi?"

IJICHI: "I thought you were implying why did he die and not me?"

SATORU: "Is your opinion of me that low?!"

SATORU: "You still have a big job to do..."

SATORU: "...so stay sharp."

Notably, throughout this exchange, Satoru is first looking away at the ground from his elevated, but seated position, when commenting on Nanami's death. However, when Ijichi reveals that he thought Satoru was disappointed that Ijichi had lived 'in place' of Nanami (which is a false mutual-exclusion serving Ijichi's guilt complex), Satoru turns to Ijichi, looking directly at him. As he admonishes Ijichi, he raises his left hand to point at the man, with what looks to be an irritated expression of his own. It's pretty uncommon to see Satoru express any form of anger, severe or not, though we've seen him do so here, in Shibuya, in parts of Hidden Inventory, and most importantly to Satoru and Ijichi's relationship, when Satoru revealed his rage at Yuji's death in Ieri's morgue.

Before I go further, I'd like to acknowledge that Satoru's personality is significantly mellowed-out from his pre-unsealing demeanor, though he's still not emotionally-open, even if he isn't quite evasive in his answers. He's a lot more visibly serious, but his writing still suggests that he's keeping some of his thoughts and feelings close to his chest. If you know me, you know that I despise the timeskip for robbing us of several opportunities for character growth and exploration, including Satoru's change in mentality after being stuck in solitary isolation with a bunch of suicidal skeletons, in what he describes as,

"Like when work is insanely busy."

"A week would pass in a flash..."

"...but it's so draining that you'd never want to do it again."

"Like that."

However, I must ignore the majority of the 34-35 days that were skipped, harder than even Gege has, in order to stick to what JJK canon has given me. At the time of this writing, no further flashback sequences during the timeskip involving Satoru have been revealed. So pretty much all I have are from scenes in the chapter shortly before the battle, as the battle itself doesn't really give any indications on why Satoru is acting the way he is. Thus, I'm going to continue to look at some of these scenes, including the 223 conversation with Ijichi, the 223 confrontation by Gakuganji, and Ieri's words in 220.

First, with Gakuganji:

Here, Satoru expresses what appears to be relieved amusement at Gakuganji's change of heart. Interestingly, his behavior here does get evasive in his body language, and clipped in his dialogue; by turning away, he makes it harder for Gakuganji to judge his reaction to Yaga's last words. He also acknowledges his responsibility in having let down his allies by being sealed. To Satoru, fostering "strong and intelligent allies" has been his dream since well before we came to know him in JJK proper. Ieri's flashback in 220 shows him talking about his dream in an intense manner as he removes his JJK 0 blindfold; when we see him discuss this in Chapter 11: A Dream, he's shown with his eyes obscured, either by his then-current blindfold, or with his hand, as in the chapter cover. So it's pretty important to him, and this moment, along with his discussion with Ijichi before this scene and mere pages afterward in 223, suggest a regret for having been unable to support his allies, and a responsibility to those left in the wake of his presence or absence.

In the scene before, after Ijichi has received his answer for what it's like in the Prison Realm, Satoru asks,

"What happened to the people on Floor B5?"

Notably, he is looking forward while walking to their destination, instead of at Ijichi when he raises this question. Ijichi answers with,

"That was² the epicenter of the Shibuya Incident where the Cursed Spirits were released."

"Non-Sorcerers all over Tokyo were less likely to survive the closer they were to Shibuya."

"However, thanks to the remnants of Gojo-san's Cursed Energy³, the Spirits never came near B5."

The next lines come with Satoru striving forward on stairs and to Gakuganji and Utahime, still not slowing down to look at Ijichi, who is trailing behind Satoru.

SATORU: "Any after-effects of Unlimited Void?"

IJICHI: "No. Everyone's lives have returned to normal.⁴"

SATORU: "That's good to hear."

Here, Satoru stretches, before changing the subject.

SATORU: "Well, shall we do this?"

In the later scene with Ijichi, right before Satoru deploys on the field, we get these pages:

This scene is mostly focused on Ijichi's perspective of himself, while touching upon his relationship to Satoru. Satoru's assurance that Ijichi is necessary and someone that he trusts shakes Ijichi, who is plagued by self-doubt. Now, he's striving to "live up to [Satoru's] words", pushing past his own insecurities to aid Satoru in creating a safer world. Like with Gakuganji, Ijichi can't read Satoru well, which is a consistent pattern with other characters; largely through Satoru's own behaviors and cagey control over what he allows others to see, other members of the cast are kept at arm's length.

Enter Ieri Shoko, his longtime friend and classmate (who doesn't get nearly enough to do), and consider her words from 220:

"But you idiot, who's alone? I was there all along."

"There're a bunch of monsters now...awaiting your return. Come back, Gojo."

This scene, where she reflects on her relationship with Satoru, as well as her reminiscence on both of her classmates and Satoru's intensity with his dream ("I will foster...a strong and intelligent group. I won't leave anyone alone."), are pretty revealing. Both to Satoru's emotional distance from others driving his ambitions, as well as how he hurts his potential relationships with others. Ieri reflects on her presence and support going unappreciated (or simply underappreciated) by Satoru, since she can't reach through the walls he's built up over the years. Largely because she doesn't get to actually matter outside of her usefulness as a medkit in most scenes, sadly.

Then 236 comes along, and has Satoru just. Die, suddenly, and an afterlife scene that feels cheesy at best, and actively hampering the narrative, at worst. While key characters like Geto and Nanami show up, with Amanai shown seated separately, there is one crucial absence:

Fushiguro Tsumiki.

Tsumiki is more of a plot device and source of motivation for Megumi than a character. That's disappointing, but she's served her purpose in the narrative. Except...I can't remember ever seeing a scene where she talked to or interacted with Satoru, especially not as the focus. My understanding is that Satoru is her legal guardian/provides her with shelter, utilities, and likely food, with everything else being speculation, because...they've not been explored together. On the other hand, Tsumiki and Satoru are crucial to Megumi's character.

I have no illusions of Tsumiki being a vital character to Satoru's development, but damn, I wish she was. Or that she had a presence, an acknowledgement; and there's really only one last chance to do this, barring Megumi getting Mega Murdered.

Yet, she's missing from the airport. It could just be that even now, developing Tsumiki and her relation to Satoru (as his ward/former ward) is a cardinal sin that Jujutsu Kaisen cannot indulge. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that a woman character was treated poorly, and left on the wayside⁵, though Tsumiki has always blatantly been more of a tool for the narrative than a character to me. Which is why I think this may be her last real chance at having a character with fleshed-out relationships, and could also provide a satisfying ending to Satoru's character arc.

I'm angling for a scenario in which Satoru is pulled from the suffering of the past to the suffering of the present. In which Tsumiki coaxes Satoru out of his isolationist grip on his heart with hard-hitting questions. Finally, Satoru could let go of his failures, and the discord in his soul, to do what he does best: providing unexpected and vigorous support to the people he believes in. The next generation, the competent allies--be they ones he had already become attached to, or ones he'd in some way overlooked. If nothing else, I truly believe that Gege could pull off a scenario of Satoru overcoming his baggage, and renewing himself to turn intense, conflicted feelings and hard-to-read value in others into full-fledged devotion. Because she was there from the beginning, wasn't she? A teenager walked into her life and her brother's, and gave them the aid the children's parents would not or could not, and throughout it all, she's watched the people she loved grow, until she was robbed of years of her life to a coma.

She'd know so intimately, wouldn't she? Of never being enough, of losing time.

And even in her minimal character, she has never struck me as a character so chained to the past. But to expectations? Sure.

So. While I don't think that it's likely that Jujutsu Kaisen will prominently showcase a woman's inherent value, I do think that a woman's value being tied to the men in her life has a shot. Even if it's a dream, I don't think it's far-fetched, a mere fantasy, to have Tsumiki play a large role and help make this messy, jarring afterlife scene stand better with the rest of the work. And I just...I want some real depth to Tsumiki, be it in service to another character for the 50th time or not.

As for how Satoru's revival could not be an irritation? Have him sacrifice his Cursed Energy and Six-Eyes. To his students, and to those who trust him, his value can't be so simplified as "The Strongest". Geto asked him a silly question once, when struggling with his own demons. This time, ten years and at least twice as many bonds later, Satoru will finally have an answer.

He's not the Strongest. He is Gojo Satoru, and his loved ones need him, wholly and honestly. Whatever it takes.

Because somehow, I don't think that what Yuji wants right now is for someone to take away all the boo-boos and make his situation better; I think he wants to go home and relax with the people he cares about, and he'll do anything--eat anything--to accomplish that. But it wouldn't hurt to let him know that he isn't alone. That his loved ones aren't full of regrets bleeding from their hearts (but never their mouths, because "I can't say that to him"; "It wasn't so bad!"; "That's what you should do."⁶) as he watches them die, over and over again. So depower Satoru, but let him live, so Yuji can finally get out of this misery porn and into his loved ones' arms.

Really, I think we should come full circle. Sukuna self-admittedly doesn't have an ideal, or a higher purpose to pursue. A dream. Other than in 220's flashback, Satoru can't be seen with visible, open eyes when discussing his dream, and even then, he's looking up and away. I'd like to see Tsumiki help him achieve his dream with earnest, open eyes. To leave the airport a changed, fully-realized man, and with unseeing eyes wide open to a future of strong and intelligent allies achieving their own dreams.

↓ Notations and my closing paragraph/mid-leak edit, lmao.

¹They're not consistent with Nanami's portrayals as an adult, but are consistent with how Nanami thought of Satoru when enrolled in Jujutsu High. In general, the characters in the airport resemble the incarnations (largely teenagers, around 10-11 years in the past) they are shown as, but with the knowledge and some of the mentality of their older selves. Nanami most resembles his later self when discussing Mei Mei's advice. If this is going to connect with Satoru leaving the airport (and thus, his past) behind, then this can work. As it is, it's very jarring.

²For most of the analysis, I use the VIZ lines. However, this set of dialogue has a mistake, so here, I have switched to a scanlation group's work (if you know, you know). This is the only time I will be doing so. That said, I have tweaked the start of this line to say "That was...", as in the VIZ version, since the present tense used by the scanlation group feels off, given the context.

³"Residuals" in VIZ translation.

⁴We're back to the VIZ lines now, with this line and the preceding one.

⁵I don't like the direction of Maki's character at this point, and I think Hana's narrative role has probably been fulfilled, but I'd really like to see them get important scenes that flesh out their characters. Kirara (who I am assuming is a transwoman or she/they; my apologies if I'm wrong), Nishimiya, and Miwa are dying in the streets, though.

⁶I'm using the VIZ line, but this has wildly different translations, and seems to be...very left open to interpretation in the original wording. Alternatively, the "My role..." line could work here.

Edit: The fuck you mean we got 249 leaks early?! I was just finishing up after a bad week! Which explains part of why this post is disjointed--I may have to go into more detail on certain parts at another time. If 249 ends this meta and myself, so be it. Thank you for reading!

[charlie-lec-stories]

Dirty Little Secret - Part 2: Guilt // CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Original Female Character

Series Summary: Charles' wife went to The Other Side and came back, but her past did too.

Chapter Summary: After going back home, Charles and Max notice that Y/N is acting strange, is it all PTSD or is there something else?

Series Warnings: Death, descriptions of CPR and a car crash, sexual comments and implied sexual acts, mentions of blood, mentions of suicide and depression.

Author’s Note: This is a special I decided to write inspired by Halloween and the Qatar GP, it's five parts long. It's the first time I write something for this page instead of editing thing I have written before, I hope you guys like it. Rate: +16 (descriptions of medical procedures).

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After two days at the hospital, Charles ended up not only taking his wife back home, but Max too. The Dutch lived alone and he was specifically told not to be unsupervised for at least a week. That's how Charles ended up back in Monaco, his wife sleeping on next to him and her best friend snoring in the guest room. Physically, they were both as good as one can be after a car accident, their bodies were sore, they had some cuts and bruises but nothing major. Max had passed out from heat exposure and dehydration, so once he was recovered from that, he was better, his legs took the worst part of the crash, they hurt a lot and had a lot of cuts covering them, three had to get stitches. He had some trouble walking and for his own safety Charles invited him to stay as long as he needed. Y/N got the worst part with the concussion, she ended up with some swelling and a lot of pain. The doctors did three MRI and everything seemed to be fine, nonetheless, no one could ignore the fact that she died, so she had to rest and be under extreme supervision. There were a few symptoms the doctors told Charles to stay alert to because they could indicate that late brain damage could be developing: black-outs, dizziness, nausea, disorientation, persistent headache, confusion, and worse, convulsions or seizures, sensory affections, slurred speech and severe episodes of loss of consciousness. Charles and Max agreed to keep an eye on her and make sure none of those symptoms were showing.

"Hey, good morning, mon amour. How are you feeling?". Charles kissed her nose when she stirred on the bed.

"Better". She simply answered and moved closed to him, hiding her face on his chest and sighing contently. He hugged her closer and stayed quiet for a moment. He wanted her to say more, but since the accident, she started talking less, always answering monosyllabically to everything he asked. She wasn't like that and it pained him to see her like this. The doctors told him that many patients of resuscitation suffered from depression, anxiety and some from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). He knew that he had to patient with her, and he will, because he loved her and he had her back, he wasn't losing her again.

"Do you want breakfast now or later?". He ran his hand up and down her back and he felt her relax against his body.

"Later".

"Okay, amour, later then". He felt her tense up again. "What is it?"

"Worried". Her word muffled by his chest.

"About what?". It was so hard for him to understand her sometimes since she answered giving so little information.

"Max". He kissed the top of her head.

"What about him?"

"Guilt". The wetness he felt in his chest was all the proof he needed to know she was crying.

"Don't worry, Max knows it wasn't his fault. It was FIA's and if he ever forgets that, we'll remind him. He's your best friend, he would never hurt you on purpose, he knows you know that".

"Okay".

An hour later Charles was in the kitchen making breakfast for the two convalescent drivers. Max was the first one to get up, walking to across the apartment with the help of his two crutches. He sat down at the kitchen table while Charles served him his breakfast. The monegasque was a terrible cook, but his childhood rival choose to ignore that and eat anyways, after all Charles was kind enough to let him stay at his home and cook for him. The truth is, even though they liked each other now, they didn't have a friendship and it was kind of awkward whenever Y/N wasn't there with them. For Charles there was something strange about Max's friendship with his wife, like they both shared this huge secret that Charles wasn't part of, which made things kind of uncomfortable. For Max was this guilt that stung at the depths of his chest for such secret, he was fully aware that Charles suspected something and all he could wish for was for the monegasque to never find out. Their time alone together was so weird, the atmosphere so charged with unspoken words that the air felt heavy, literally heavy. But there was also moments when they genuinely liked each other and Max was notoriously happy that his best friend married Charles.

"This is great, Charles. Thank you". Max lied through his teeth, praising the awful breakfast. Charles clicked his tongue, accepting the lie.

"You're welcome, mate". He placed two other plates at the table and then the mugs, sitting down and waiting for his wife to join them. "How are you feeling today? Is the pain any better?"

"Yeah, I think that the medication is working". Max took another sip of coffee. "But I think I'll feel a lot better once I finally get rid of this dreadful stitches. Can't stand them anymore".

"Give it time and keep them clean and you'll get rid of them before you know it". They both heard some muffled sounds coming from the main bedroom, Y/N getting up and ready for breakfast.

"How's she doing? Anything weird?". Max whispered at Charles, trying to find out how his friend was doing.

"She's fine". Charles answered on the same tone as Max and then continued. "She's worried about you. Maybe you two should talk".

"She's not speaking, mate. That's the problem". Max sighed. He really wanted to talk to his friend, but she wasn't doing any talking with him.

"I know, Max. Be patient with her. I know that she's not speaking, but just try. Okay?". Max nodded his head and then they heard the footsteps getting closer. "Morning, mon amour. Breakfast?". He asked once she was at the kitchen's doorway. She nodded and sat down, mumbling a soft 'morning', which Max mimicked.

"I need to get some things from my apartment". Max started after a few moments of silence. Charles looked up and Y/N just picked on her food. "I was thinking that maybe we all could go together and get some fresh air. What do you guys think?".

"I think that's a good idea". Charles instantly agreed. Y/N barely nodded her head. "Fresh air will do wonders for you two".

After Charles' horrendous lunch attempt and the take-out he brought to compensate that, they all changed out of their pijamas and started their long process to get down to the garage of the building. Between Max's difficulty to walk and Y/N not being allowed to be unsupervised, going out took time to do it right. After twenty minutes of Charles helping Max putting on his jeans and sneakers, while they both bickered at each other in the process, they were ready to go. Charles helped Max in the backseat, making sure that his legs were comfortably placed across the seat, then he watched Y/N get in the passenger's seat, always keeping an eye on her to see if she did alright on her own. Charles' Ferraris had little room for three people, so he ditched the sport cars and switched to a SUV for them all to have more space, specially Max. The drive to the Dutch's apartment was not long, but the traffic on Monte Carlo was pretty bad that day. They were at stop light when Charles felt his wife's breath change next to him. It became irregular and she looked pale, her eyes big and focused. Max felt the change too and Charles saw him sit straighter in the backseat through the rearview mirror.

"Everything alright, Bunny?". Max asked and Charles took her hand to try and calm her down. Her eyes were looking at the corner across the street, but Charles couldn't see anything that could have freaked her out like that. The light changed to green and Charles kept driving, Y/N following the corner until it was out of sight. She spent the rest of the drive looking at her lap, notoriously shaken up.

At the apartment Y/N seemed to have calmed down and Charles made the mental note not to take that street driving back home, she didn't need to be more stressed out after everything she went through. Max showed him the clothes he wanted to take to the Leclerc's household and they started packing everything up in a suitcase. Charles had been at Max's apartment a few times, but never in his room. It was everything Charles expected though: messy and full of Red Bull's merchandizing. There were a few pictures hanging off the walls, mostly from his childhood, he would have never guessed for Max to be the melancholy type, but he always knew that he was a family guy. He could see the young and cheerful face of his wife's teenage and child versions in some of the pictures, both her and Max posing with trophies and toothless smiles in some. He took the time to admire them while Max looked through his closet and Y/N waited in the living room, relaxing on the couch. He noticed that there were a few familiar faces, like Alex, George and Pierre, he himself was even, in one picture. Fate had made it impossible for Charles and Y/N to cross paths when they were kids, but there was a girl in the pictures that he remembered from a few races when he was kid. He didn't remember the girl's name but he remembered her helmet, pink with a dog's paw draw on it, it was a peculiar helmet, that's why he remembered it.

"I remember this girl". Charles said out loud, Max just hummed without looking at him. "I can't remember her name...".

"Which one?" Max asked, still not looking at Charles.

"The one here with you and Y/N, with the pink helmet". Charles was met with silence, the sound of Max moving things inside his closet no longer in the air. He waited and waited, but Max never spoke up.

"She's a Dutch driver". Max said after a while and before Charles could ask more about her, Max continued. "I have everything I need. Let's go". The blond grabbed his crutches faster than the speed of light and limped out of the room like his life depended on it. Charles stayed behind, frowning at the door of the room, his mind racing with thoughts. He knew that Max and Y/N childhood was a sensitive topic, but he didn't expected to be that sensitive. With one last look at the picture, he walked out of the room.

Max's mood didn't get better after that. He asked to go back to Charles and Y/N's apartment right away, even though he was the one that suggested they went out in the first place. Once back at the apartment, Max went to his room and stayed there till the next day, not even coming out for dinner. In the morning, the Dutch acted as if nothing happened and Charles decided not to bring back the topic again. After a week, Max was getting better, his stitches healing great, but Y/N was getting worse. Every day she would get scared looking at literally nothing and Charles and Max started to suspect that she was hallucinating. They constantly asked her what was wrong, but she always dismissed their worries. 'Nothing', she would say every time and even thought they didn't believe her, she refused to tell them what had her so frightened. Charles knew that she had mandatory therapy and hoped that she was at least telling her therapist what was happening inside her head. Worried about his wife, Charles called her parents back in Netherlands and told them everything.

"She gets so scared out of nowhere, Mr. Y/L/N". Charles explained to his father in law. The older man hummed at the other end.

"Did you tell that to the doctor?". Charles sighed.

"Max and I believe that she could be hallucinating, but since she denies it, I'm not sure what to do. I can't force her to go to the doctor if she insist that there's nothing wrong". The older man hummed again. "Maybe she needs to go back home and spend some time with you two. Maybe I can take her there and we can stay for a few days".

"She doesn't like it here, never comes back when she feels alright, not gonna come home feeling unwell, Charles. But maybe we can go to Monaco". Charles found that strange, she went back every year.

"What do you mean? She goes back with Max every year on summer break". He heard the man scoff.

"Here? It's been years since she last came home". The silence that followed was so thick that it could almost be touched. "Charles, are you messing with me boy?"

"I think I need to talk to my wife, Mr. Y/L/N. I'll talk to you soon. Take care". Charles didn't even give the other time to say goodbye before he quickly hung up.

What the hell was his wife doing with Max then? Was she cheating on him? He never expected her to do something like that. He was sure that they had a sick friend or something when they told him that they were visiting an old friend, but now he didn't know what to think. She always told him that they stayed in her childhood home but now it turns out that they weren't? He never talked to his in-laws unless it was necessary, he didn't had a bad relationship with them, but he wasn't close either. He never thought about bringing up those trips to them, not wanting to talk bout such a delicate topic while they were having a nice time. Maybe he should have. He respected Y/N's privacy and it turns out that she was lying to him. He heard the living room TV from the bedroom, knowing that the movie Max and Y/N were watching was still on. He let Max in his home, gave him a bed, cooked for him and he had been screwing his wife behind his back all these years? He felt so betrayed that he could break something, probably Max's legs but before he could actually decide what he wanted to do, he heard his wife's scream like she was right next to him. He forgot about everything he was mad about once he set foot in the living room. She was sitting in a corner, crying her eyes out, while Max did the best he could to limp towards her.

"What happened?". Charles asked, Max looked at him panicked.

"I don't know! She just screamed and ran to the corner". Charles walked to Y/N, curled up with her face hidden on her knees.

"Y/N, what's wrong?". He tried to speak as softly as he could, not wanting to scare her more than she already was.

"I'm sorry". She mumbled between sobs. "I am so, so sorry. Please, forgive me!". She said louder this time, rocking back and forth.

"We'll get though this". Charles told her, not even knowing he could be so forgiving, for fuck's sake, she shamelessly cheated on him for years. She looked up, but instead of looking at him, she looked past Max, to the other side of the living room.

"I'm so sorry, Maud!". She cried. "Please, please, please!". Charles frowned, she wasn't speaking to him, she wasn't speaking to Max. Who the hell was Maud? There was no one else there. He looked back at Max and saw him pale, his eyes with a hint of hurt as they got glossy with tears. He had never seen Max cry before.

"Max, what is she talking about? Who's Maud?". But Max didn't answer him, he kept looking at Y/N, not moving a muscle as the tears kept falling down his face. "Max, answer me!"

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Second part is here! I hope I can finish this before Halloween.