#just another word for nothing left to lose

[euno11a]

i just saw your post about reader who can’t make themselves cum and ugh i love it, especially because i feel like no one ever talks about or includes it. anyways i would love to hear your thoughts on reader who has a hard time cumming, especially during sex no matter how good it feels

I fell that it’s honestly really important to talk about it to let people know that they aren’t alone. And I’m so glad you liked it :)

It is scientifically proven that men can cum easier during sex than women. It’s mostly because women have complex bodies, what works for one person might not work for the other. So when figuring out your own body, it’s important to keep in mind that your body is unique compared to others.

this wasn’t the first time that you’d been sprawled out in bed with Simon pleasing you. He kissed up and down your body, caressed every inch of you, even stopped for a little to rest his head on your chest and make sure you were nice and relaxed. You two had been on this journey together for a little while now, trying to figure out what you like and how he can make his pretty cum. He had tried many things, using his tongue, light pressure on your clit, firmer pressure, no pressure and just stimulating your g-spot, stimulating your g-spot and your clit, adding nipple play to see if that made you more sensitive; but even if it felt good, your body wouldn’t let yourself go.

at first, Simon thought it was because he wasn’t good enough. That he just lost his touch and that he wasn’t doing enough for you. But when you comforted him and explained how you’d been like this since you could remember, it made him feel better and worse. Alright, he wasn’t a complete failure and could still make you cum…but why hasn’t he? Every time you two had sex or just did foreplay, he would make sure to take all the time in the world to get you really nice and wet for him. He would use his fingers to curl inside you and touch that spot to make you mewl and arch your back off the mattress. But you still couldn’t cum. You were in the middle of him thrusting into you, feeling how his cock would twitch gently inside you, his fingers working your clit. Left side, right side, hood of it, right on it, pinching it gently, but all it would do is make you feel more pleasure that lead to nothing but a dead end.

you buried your head into his neck and let out small whimpers as he kept his movements steady. After another 15 minutes, that’s when the whimpers turned into silent sobs. Your body jerked a little as you cried, tears gliding down your cheeks and onto his bare shoulder. His head leaned down against yours and held you tightly, gently sliding your of you to hold you in his lap. You cried softly, neither of you talking, but both knowing what was wrong. “I don’t like being broken…” you said through little cries, voice soft and hoarse. But you were cut off by Simon shaking his head and cupping your face to press small kisses against the apples of your cheeks.

“Yer not broken, love. Y’just different. Just because we don’t know how t’make you cum just yet doesn’t mean my sweet girl is broken.” His words were soft against your ear as he caressed your head, another time failed.

as time passed, you began losing hope. It’s fair, thinking you just can’t do it because something inside is wrong or maybe you just weren’t cut out to be able to feel that pleasure everyone talks about. You started to notice how Simon even began refusing any type of pleasure. Handjob? No thanks, love. Maybe a blowjob cause you had a stressful day? Nope, but I do need cuddles, sweet girl. He was refusing your love. While he sat in his home office finishing some paperwork, you walked in quietly, staring at him as he stared down at the paper, pushing up his glasses. The glasses that you finally got him to buy because he kept complaining about the television being too hard to see and the news on his phone is too small. Thank god you did though, he looked bloody hot in them. Scooting your way into his office, you stood in front of his desk, catching his attention. “Somethin’ ya need, love?”

your cheeks burned as he looked at you, but you couldn’t get distracted! “Why are you refusing my love?”

it was clear the question caught him off guard by the way he paused, mouth slightly agape as he looked at you. “I’m not refusin’ your love. What makes you say that?”

“Wha-…? Yes you are! Every time I offer you a blowjob or a handjob, you say no. Am I doing something wrong? Does it not feel good? Do you…do you not like me anymore?”

he could hear your little heart shatter in that last question, standing up from his chair and walking over to you. He grabs you hands and sits on his desk, pulling you towards him. “I fucking love you. Neve think for a minute that I stopped loving you. I’m refusing to let you do any of tha’ because I don’t think it’s fair to ye. Not fair that my sweet girl has to endure not bein’ able to cum, so m’not gonna either.” He says while looking straight into your eyes, his thick and calloused fingers pushing some hair behind your ear. “Won’t cum until you can.”

while you thought he was refusing your live, he was actually doing it because he didn’t want you to feel left out? This man looked like a scary man, but he was the most thoughtful and caring teddy bear ever. “What if I never do, though?”

“Then neither will I.” He spoke seriously. “Understand?”

the small nod you give him is enough acknowledgement for him, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Now, I was doin’ some research, and I found that most women can’t reach an orgasm without some help. So, what do ya think ‘bout lookin’ for some toys with me, eh?”

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 10 Home

Summary: How bittersweet it is to come home. Rating: 18+ Explicit Word Count: 8.6k Warnings: NONE!!!! Find out for yourselves xoxo A/N: If you made it this far, thank you. This obviously isn't the absolute END, there will be an epilogue to come... but I still want to thank each and every one of you. This series has such a special place inside my heart, and I will be forever grateful for the love and support you all have given. All the kisses and hugs and love to you all. (I also realize there are going to be a few questions left unanswered, but I promise it'll be resolved in the epilogue) * And once again, I'm the most thankful to @loonmartell for helping me create the most beautiful story. Sending you all my love, sweet pea <3 *

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

You most definitely had a concussion—which was not ideal when you were behind the wheel of a moving vehicle. Not only were you trying to subdue the memories still filtering through your mind, but you were also trying to navigate the roads with blurred vision. Streetlights that had once been unfamiliar slowly morphed into a memorized path, leading you right back to the place you once called home. Sarah had guided you home just months ago after a soccer game, but this was different. This was a reawakening, a thousand tiny moments rising from their endless slumber. Each turn of the wheel and stopsign guided you back to the one person your heart cried out for… Joel. 

If only your brain and heart could get on the same page. While your heart ached for Joel in ways you hadn’t felt in months, your mind still clung to the anger you associated with him over the last several months. You couldn’t just stop loving him, but you didn’t know how to stop hating him at the same time. 

The final turn into his neighborhood was coming up fast, yet your speed came to a crawl. It hadn’t even occurred to you that he could have moved on. Half a year was enough time for Joel to move on, to find another woman, to be happy without you. You experienced the exact opposite: you couldn’t move on, didn’t find another man, and were far from happy. Seeing him again was probably a mistake, but how would you move on now that you knew everything?

The nausea was back in full force as you pulled up to Joel’s home, his truck parked crooked in the driveway. This was your home once upon a time. Yeah, you were going to be sick again. Wrenching the door open, you leaned out of your car and dry-heaved. Nothing came up, which you were thankful for. You needed a strong stomach and a clear mind for whatever would come. The ground beneath your feet became distorted as you walked the path up his front yard. You took a moment to shake away the double-vision, your mind clouding around the edges. It was not the time to lose your grip on reality. 

The worn wood of Joel’s front door taunted you, your hand hovering over the center as you debated knocking. All it would take is a quick rap of your knuckles, and you’d see him again. Before you could sabotage yourself, your knuckles tapped against the door. 

“Comin’!” 

The sound of Joel’s voice in the distance electrified your nerves. He was right there. Any moment, he’d open the door and—.

The door cracked open, and you stared up into the familiar brown eyes that plagued every memory overlapping inside your mind. Joel stood motionless, his eyebrows slightly raised and lips parted. He looked at you as if you were a ghost. You gave him the most pathetic smile, unsure of what to do with your hands or body. 

“Can I come in?” You blurted out. 

“Of course,” he said softly, opening the door wider. 

A simple step over the threshold, and you were home. 

You took a moment to let it all settle in: nothing had changed. The varnish was worn in certain places on the floor, the same as it had been when you lived here. Joel walked the same path daily: through the front door and to the right, directly into the kitchen. Sarah’s soccer bag hung on the staircase railing, a pair of her shoes strewn across the second step. 

“Is Sarah home?” You asked, your eyes still wandering around the downstairs of the house.

“No, she’s stayin’ with a friend this weekend,” he replied.

Joel shifted his weight, tearing your focus away from the house and back onto him. There was a look of confusion furrowing his brows together, and you realized you hadn’t entirely explained yourself to him yet.

“Listen, I know I’m here unannounced,” you started. “I, uh, I haven’t touched the book since you gave it back. Well, I didn’t until today. I found it again, and this slipped out.”

Digging through your purse, you pinched the Polaroid between your fingers and pulled it free. Joel hesitantly reached for it, his fingers avoiding touching yours as he held it between his hands. A small smile formed on his lips as he ran his thumb over the photo's edges. 

“This was from a campin’ trip we went on with Sarah,” he sighed. “Sarah had just taken a tumble in some mud, and I remember I couldn’t stop laughin’, and you were quick with a camera and snapped this photo.”

“I know.”

“I got a photo of you, too. I still got it hangin’ up somewhere—.”

Joel’s voice trailed off, his eyes drifting up to yours. He had been so wrapped up in reminiscing that he didn’t listen to what you said. 

“Do you still have the one of Sarah, too?” 

Joel’s eyes grew wide, swaying in place. 

“You remember?” He faltered.

“I remember everything, Joel.”

Not Mr. Miller. Joel. 

Joel opened and closed his mouth at least three times before finally just shaking his head. He took a step back, letting the picture fall to the ground. You glanced down at the Polaroid lying between your feet, the photo of Joel doubling in your vision. Your body moved on its own accord, your balance teetering as you stumbled a bit to the side. Joel quickly caught your weight, his hands firm around your arm. 

“Woah,” he exhaled. “Y’okay?”

“I might have a concussion,” you laughed absently. “Took a bit of a fall earlier and hit my head.”

Joel cursed under his breath and slipped an arm around your waist, guiding you toward the dining room. Sunlight bled through the window shades on the wall, and you squinted your eyes to avoid intensifying your headache. The kitchen was just as you had remembered: cluttered and homey. Piles of dishes were laid in a drying rack by the sink, the dark countertops void of dirt aside from a few crumbs from toast or a residual ring of condensation from a beer bottle.

Joel helped you into one of the dining room chairs, moving swiftly to get you a glass of water. You weren’t sure if he meant to do it, but he had sat you in your chair at the table, the one you had always chosen during any family meal with him and Sarah. You smoothed your hands over the table, digging your nails into the groves of the woodwork.

“Here,” Joel said, extending a glass to you. 

You muttered a soft thank you, taking a drink as he took a seat beside you—his seat. The silence between you both was louder than the ringing in your ears, and you couldn’t stand it any longer. 

“Say something,” you pleaded.

Joel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs as he peered up at you through glassy eyes. You knew that look: the exhaustion, the sadness. You had worn it well the last several months, and clearly, so did Joel. The person you were six months ago would have loved seeing Joel look so disheveled, but not now. Not when the past was hanging in the balance, finally uncovered and real. 

“Does Bennett know you’re here?” Joel asked, his eyes rising to yours. 

“What?” You gaped. Out of all the things Joel could have said, he chose that?

“Tommy saw y’all together,” he huffed. 

You wracked your brain, remembering when Tommy could have seen you and Bennett together. The only time you had seen Bennett was after the…. Oh. 

“He asked to meet me after everything happened,” you explained. “He wanted to share his side of things. You left out a lot, Joel. There was so much you didn’t tell me, and I had to rely on Bennett to piece the rest back together.”

“Are you datin’ him again? ‘Cause if you are, just tell me, and I’ll—I’ll find a way to move on and let you be happy. I ain’t gonna get in the way of your happiness, even if that means it’s with him.”

There was no way to ignore the bitterness in his words, yet you stifled a laugh. 

“After everything that’s happened, you actually think I'd go back to him?” You questioned. 

“Christ, I don’t know,” Joel sighed, running a hand over the back of his neck. 

“Bennett’s married,” you stated. “You must not have seen his wedding band when you were beating the shit out of him.”

Joel was harrowingly silent, his eyes trained on the work boots covering his feet. All you ached for was some sort of reaction—some kind of response—and he gave nothing. Your expectations had been set so high for this moment, yet nothing was going as you hoped. 

“I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest,” you said.

“Of course.” 

“Why didn’t you fight for me?” You whispered. “When everyone was making decisions for me, why didn’t you step in and fight back?”

“I tried,” he lamented. “Your family decided on everythin’, and I couldn’t step in.��

“Yes, you could have,” you pressed. 

You brushed your hand over the stumble on his jaw, lifting his face to meet yours. You saw it deep within the dark brown of his eyes: regret. 

“That’s not a good enough answer, Joel. No one fought for me,” you pressed. “I was alone in everything, and you should have been the one person standing up to them against everything they were choosing to do. You let Bennett come back into my life when you knew he had been horrible to me in the past. Why were you so willing to just let me go?”

Joel grabbed your free hand and brought it to his lips, pressing soft kisses into the center of your palm. It wasn’t till the first tear hit your fingers that you realized he was crying. Joel looked defeated, his face framed between one hand and your other pressed against his lips. Truly and utterly defeated. 

“I never wanted to let you go. Sayin’ that last goodbye to you while you were in the hospital was the hardest damn thing I’ve ever had to do, and I ain’t got no excuses for the choices I made. If I could go back and change everythin’, I would. I swear I would in a heartbeat. Losin’ you was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and I know I coulda done more. You deserved more. You deserved better, and I shoulda been the one there for you. Not Bennett. I know I ruined everything. Fuck, I—I really fucked it all up.”

“I hate you for what you did,” you said, lifting your hand to brush away his tears. “I hate you so much for hurting me.”

Joel only nodded, more tears streaming down his cheeks as he closed his eyes. You ran your thumb over his cheekbone, tracing the line of his beard as it dipped down to his jaw. Joel released a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. 

“There ain’t enough words to describe how sorry I am,” he mumbled into your hand. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry for hurtin’you, and I’ve been livin’ with that guilt for years. I just wanted you to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with me.”

“I was happy, Joel. With you. I loved you so much. So many memories are still unraveling in my head, but in each of them, I know I loved you.”

“I’m so sorry,” he cried softly. 

“I hate you, Joel. I hate you, but I can’t ignore the fact that I still love you. I love the life we built together and the memories we made with Sarah. I miss this house, and I miss this kitchen where we’d make breakfast together. I miss waking up beside you every day. I miss staying up late with you and annoying you about the books I was reading.” You took a deep breath, trying to slow yourself down. “I miss you, Joel. I don’t know how long it will take me to forgive you, but I—I really miss you.”

A choked sob escaped from Joel’s mouth, and he leaned his head back, your hands falling into your lap. You didn’t know what to do with yourself other than try not to throw up—because your body was still trying to desperately fight off the nausea rolling inside your stomach. Confessing feelings while also battling a minor concussion had not been your brightest idea, but you had braved through worse before. 

So many moments of silence passed before Joel finally glanced back at you, his lips twitching as he held back another round of tears. 

“Y’have no fuckin’ idea how much I miss you,” he confessed. “I’ve waited so long for the moment you’d remember everythin’. I tried to imagine what I’d do when y’got those memories back, and… fuck. I’m so sorry for everythin’ I did.”

You took his hands in yours, interlocking your fingers around his. It was your turn to start crying, and you felt the tears fall against your fingers.

“What did you do?” You asked. “When you imagined me getting my memories back, what did you do?”

“I imagined kissin’ you and tellin’ you how much I loved you,” he said.

“What’s taking you so long?”

In one fluid motion, Joel sent his chair flying backward as he dropped to his knees before you. Reaching up, he cupped your face between his large hands, his mouth hovering over yours. You weren’t sure what he was waiting for, but you gave him a simple nod, and that was enough. 

The first kiss was delicate— cautionary. He wavered between losing control and reluctance, the path of his lips moving fluidly like they had always known their place against yours. It was so much different than the first kiss months ago, where then it had been about discovery and excitement, each draw of your bodies together new and profound. But now, it was a kiss to rekindle a flame that had dwindled out, a resurgence of emotions neither of you had experienced in years. Yes, those few months together had been exhilarating, but you had barely scratched the surface of where the bounds of your love lay.

You were the first to cave into the chaos, deepening the kiss until Joel’s movements determined your breathing. When his head moved, so did yours. When his tongue overlapped yours, you repeated the motion. Over and over until you lost the ability to identify where you started and he ended. 

“Joel,” you panted, his lips still crushed against yours.

“Hmm?”

He was too enamored with you to respond coherently. You raked your nails over his scalp, refamiliarizing yourself with the softness of his curls. Joel groaned into your open mouth, his tongue dancing with yours once more.

“Joel,” you muttered again. 

“Yeah, baby?” He exhaled, finally breaking away from your swollen lips. 

You pressed your forehead against his, your eyelashes fluttering up at him. Joel looked down at you with blown pupils, the brown color in his eyes nearly black as he waited for your response.

“I think you forgot to say something,” you whispered, laughing softly. 

“Don’t think I forgot at all, baby. Just wanted to savor you a minute,” Joel grinned. “I love you. God, I love you so fuckin’ much. Ain’t ever gonna stop tellin’ you how much I love you.”

“I still don’t forgive you for everything,” you reminded him. “It’ll take me some time to heal from all of this fully.”

Joel brushed his nose against yours, his lips tugging upward.

“I got all the time in the world, baby. Gonna spend every damn day provin’ myself to you. I’m already on my knees for you. Anythin’ you ask of me, I’ll give it to you.”

Breathless. You were breathless. This was the man you should have spent your life with, the man you should have married. Joel saw his faults, admitted them, and submitted himself to you out of love and dedication. Anger was still to be had, but it could wait. 

“Anything?” You echoed.

He trailed his fingers up your bare legs, his hands teasing their way higher. You mindlessly decided on a dress earlier and thanked yourself for it. A shiver ran over your skin as he pushed the hem of the dress further up, his head bending down to kiss a path over your knee and up your thigh. 

“God, I missed you so damn much, baby,” Joel groaned, his tongue gliding over your pebbled skin.

“Show me how much you missed me.”

Joel lay his head in your lap, his puppy dog eyes staring up at you with a glimmer of desire. You knew that look; you had seen it so many times before in his eyes. Too many memories had taken their place in your mind to ever let you forget the way Joel looked at you when he wanted you. 

“Can I?” He asked, brushing his hand between your thighs.

Your body responded easily to his touch, a familiarity you once knew. The friction of your underwear against your clit was growing uncomfortable as it throbbed at the vibration of his voice. Like a moth to a flame, you were drawn to Joel in more ways than one. You craved to be touched, to be pulled apart and put back together in the ways only he knew. 

Joel tugged your ass down to the edge of the chair, flicking the hem of your dress into your lap. You tried working your fingers over the band of your underwear, but Joel beat you to it with a swiftness that left you dizzy. Well, dizzier than you already were. 

Joel hoisted your calves over his shoulders, settling himself between your thighs. Flashes of memories in this exact position came flooding in; this was familiar. Familiarity beyond compare and something you desperately yearned for. 

“Please,” you whined.

He wasted no time giving in to your plea. Joel licked a thick stripe up your slick entrance, rewarding himself with a soft moan leaving your lips. You unknowingly lied months ago when you said no one had tasted you like this… Joel had. He thrived on giving you pleasure like this, doing this countless times before. He knew your body better than anyone else, and your body cried out for him in ways you could not control. 

He devoured you like he sought to destroy the years of distance that had passed between you. Every flick of his tongue against the apex of your sex, every gravelly moan from his throat—it all revolved around that undeniable truth that you both were meant to be together. That’s how it should have always been. 

“More,” you begged.

Words failed you, yet Joel knew what you needed. His tongue plunged inside of you, curling ever so slightly. The pleasure inside you burned slowly, igniting a warmth through your veins. You throbbed against his mouth, his breath hot on your skin as he latched onto your clit. You arched against him, your hand snaking down to latch onto the hair on his scalp. Joel let out a prideful moan, working his tongue faster against your aching bud. 

“There… right there…” You whimpered.

Joel gave the softest nod as if to say I know, driving you closer to the edge. A hitch of your breath, another flick of his tongue, repeated motions back and forth until your orgasm was crashing against the surface. You cried out, tears springing from your eyes as you succumbed to the climax wracking through your limbs. Joel pulled away, his mouth and mustache glistening from your release. 

Lowering your legs off his shoulders, Joel wordlessly hooked an arm around your waist and hauled you onto the dining table, the wood creaking under the weight. You pawed at his shirt, and Joel obliged your silent request as he yanked it over his head. You lifted yourself on your forearms, drinking in the sight of his bare chest. You glanced up at Joel to catch him smirking, amused by your silence.

“Y’can’t be lookin’ at me like that, baby,” Joel groaned, stepping between your open legs. “Not when I got you spread out and ready for me.”

“I can look at you however I want,” you smiled. 

Joel leaned down to meet your lips, dragging you in for a long kiss. 

“I missed you so fuckin’ much,” he chuckled.

His lips worked their way down your neck, sucking marks into your skin, while his hands worked quickly at the belt around his waist. Hooking one leg around his waist, you drew him closer, your breath hitching as he lined himself up with your entrance. 

Joel drove himself deep inside you in one thrust, the tip of his cock spearing into you. You gasped as his cock filled you with its entirety, your body stretched passed comfortability. You forgot how much you loved feeling him everywhere. With his cock fully seated inside you, Joel leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours.

“I need to hear y’say it, baby,” he begged. “Please tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Joel,” you exhaled. “I love you.”

That’s all he needed to hear—a simple admission, a coupling of words that rewrote the story lost between the both of you. You spent months trying to deny your love for him, but there was no way to deny this connection. There was always an invisible string connecting you both, and though the string had frayed and unraveled, this moment snapped it back into place. 

“I love you,” Joel said. “Ain’t ever lettin’ you go.”

He pulled out slowly, only to snap his hips forward and render you speechless. You reached up to hold him against you, your nails digging crescent-shaped marks into his shoulder blades. Thrust after thrust, Joel drilled into you forcefully—brutally. You cried out every time his body slapped against yours, and your vision started to blur around the edges. Your core clenched around him, your thighs slick from your arousal that dripped between your bodies. 

“Takin’ my cock so well, baby,” Joel praised. “Doin’ so good for me.”

“Yes… yes…” You chanted the word between every thrust that he assaulted you with, every caress of his fingers around your waist, another revelation of how perfect you were together. 

“My perfect—fuck—perfect girl,” he gritted out.

Joel locked an arm around your back and lifted you from the table, spinning you both until your back hit the wall across from the table. The impact was enough to knock the air from your lungs and dizzy your mind, but he gave you no opportunity to recover before he was driving upwards into you, the new angle sending sparks of pleasure through your muscles. With one arm braced around your body and a hand pressed against the wall beside your head, Joel ground into you deeper…slower… your body begging for release. He could sense it, too, the way your thighs tightened around his waist and your cheeks dampened with tears.

“Yeah, I can feel it, baby,” Joel crooned. “I know you’re close. Gonna cum for me? Gonna give me what I want?”

“Please,” you cried, nodding vigorously.

Joel crushed his lips against yours, and you sobbed into his open mouth. Your body sized around him as your orgasm tore through you, stronger than the first. His thrusts stalled as your core pulsed through the aftershocks, the room spinning quicker every time another wave of release rocked through your stomach.

“That’s it, baby. That’s my good girl. Give me everythin’. I got you. Keep goin’.”

It was disastrous how obedient your body was to his commands. You entangled yourself in him, your tongue rolling over his tongue to silence his muffled words. Joel wasn’t far behind you, and soon enough, he punched out your name through clenched teeth, spilling himself into you. 

You rested your head back against the wall, his body sagging into yours as you both fought for air. The slow drip of his cum down your inner thigh and the sweat clinging to your brow was the only sensation you could feel as time passed in comfortable silence. 

“I love you, baby,” Joel groaned, his head falling onto your shoulder.

You carded a hand through his hair, leaning your cheek against his sweat-dampened curls. Right there, in Joel’s arms, everything made sense. The anger inside you could dissolve away—at least for a little while—and you could remind yourself that this was what love felt like. To be held. To be seen. To be cherished. 

Faint sounds of sniffling traveled past the rush of blood pumping in your ears, and you tugged at his curls to pull his head off your shoulder. Joel looked up at you through blurry eyes, his thick lashes coated in fresh tears. 

“It’s okay,” you hushed. 

“It’s not, though,” he argued. “I shoulda came back sooner. I shouldn’t have waited. There’s so much time we can’t get back, baby. S’all my fault.”

“We’ve got time,” you said softly. “I don’t want to be anywhere but here with you, Joel.”

“Promise?” He asked. 

“I promise.”

The evening grew late, and both you and Joel had settled into bed. It surprised you when you cried at seeing his room again, realizing nothing about it had changed. The fan was still humming softly in the corner as it always had, the soft breeze floating over the bedsheets as you climbed under the covers. Miscellaneous items were scattered on his dresser, and worn clothes littered the floor beside his hamper. Joel mumbled a slew of apologies at the sight of the mess, but it only made you cry harder. You didn’t care if it was messy. You only cared that you were finally home. Even without the memories resurfacing, your house never felt this way. It had never been a home because Joel wasn’t there to make it a home.

“How’re y’feelin’, baby?” Joel asked, his hand drawing circles into your back as you leaned against his naked body. 

“Like I could spend the rest of the night throwing up,” you said, half-jokingly. 

Your headache was splintering into a full-blown migraine, and your body had yet to recover from the fall earlier in the day. You had no regrets about being fucked against the wall, but it definitely proved to have done some damage to your fragile state.

“If I had known y’needed a good hit to the head to get all these memories back, I woulda tripped you myself,” Joel teased.

You attempted to laugh, only to have the nausea rising in your throat silence your efforts. 

“Don’t make me laugh right now,” you groaned, curling yourself tighter around his body.

“S’only kiddin’, baby. I’m just way too damn happy to have you in my arms again. I spent the last few months tryna figure out how I’d go on livin’ without you.”

“It wasn’t easy for me either,” you sighed. “I hardly recognize myself most days.”

“I won’t lie, seein’ you at parent-teacher conferences nearly broke me,” Joel admitted. 

“It broke me, too.”

Silence slipped over you, and the fan turned into the only noise inside the bedroom. Joel’s chest rose and fell softly under your head, his heart pounding echoing through your ear as you pressed yourself further into his embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally spoke. “I wish I had a better word to describe how sorry I am. It wasn’t right of me to lie to you, and I shouldn’t have ever let your family make that decision.”

“I haven’t talked to them in months,” you muttered. “I don’t know how to forgive them for what they did.”

“Y’don’t need to forgive them until you’re ready. I just hope y’know they love you, baby.”

“I do know they love me, and that’s why it’s so hard. How can they love me yet still hurt me so much?”

Joel pressed a soft kiss against the crown of your head, his fingers squeezing around your shoulder.

“I don’t want to be angry anymore,” you said, your voice cracking. “But I don’t know how to feel anything but anger towards them. Especially toward Beth. The things she’s said to me in the past…How do I forgive her?”

“I ain’t gonna take sides,” he cautioned. “But I think the accident affected her the hardest. She was so angry at your family's plan, and I think she took out a lot of that anger on you when y’didn’t deserve it.”

“It’s not fair,” you cried. “It’s not fair that she gets to be angry when she wasn’t the one that lost everything.”

“You were her everythin’, baby,” Joel whispered. “She lost you.”

“You’re taking her side,” you grumbled.

“I’m just tryna show you the other side of things,” Joel offered. 

“I know you are.”

Joel sunk further into the pillows, dragging you down beside him. You nestled into his arms, your limbs twisting around him like they had a hundred times before. It’s odd what your body remembers, but your brain forgets; it is a simple gesture of an embrace that can never be entirely forgotten. You understood why things always felt so right when you met him again last year; your soul knew he was the missing piece that had been lost. 

Joel spoke your name softly, the syllables more beautiful than ever when they rolled through his accent. You hummed in response, gazing up at him through tired eyes.

“I woulda waited an eternity for you, baby,” he confessed. “I woulda gone to my grave waitin’ to have you back in my arms like this again.”

You blinked away the tears welling in your eyes, failing miserably to hide the quiver of your lips. Joel didn’t wait for your response, nor could you verbalize anything to match the poetry of his words. You only nodded and said, " I love you, " before your eyes drifted shut. Home. You were home.

Joel was softly snoring when you woke up. In the quiet light of the morning, you took the time to admire every softened feature of his face. The worried creases between his brows had smoothed overnight, yet you still found yourself brushing a finger over the spot they usually were. Brushing your hand down his face, you traced the outline of his lips, slightly parted and pouty, the soft kiss more kissable now than ever. Kissing him could wait; you wanted to savor this moment. 

You drew a path down his neck and chest, the spattering of hair across his torso tickling your fingertips. Joel stirred above you, his head rolling to the other side of the pillow. His eyes never opened, though, and you took the opportunity to crawl under the sheets. 

Joel’s cock lay heavy against his lower abdomen, precum leaking onto the soft skin of his stomach. You ran your hands over his hips, settling yourself lower until you were comfortable between his legs. His cock twitched as you wrapped a hand around his length, stroking him slowly and deliberately. Leaning your head down, you kissed up the shaft of his cock, dragging your tongue up the length and around the head. Joel’s body tensed up, yet he still didn’t wake. You took him into your mouth, the salty taste and musky scent overwhelming your senses. You hadn’t pleasured him like this in so long, and you had forgotten how much you loved it. 

Taking him deeper, you flattened your tongue, teasing the base of his cock with the tip of your tongue. You faintly heard a moan slip from Joel’s mouth, his cock twitching against your tongue. 

“Baby?” He groaned.

You hummed softly, pulling him from your mouth. With your saliva coating the entirety of his cock, you pumped him quicker, feeling his body seize up under your touch. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, bucking his hips upward. 

You rewarded him with another swirl of your tongue over the head of his cock, your mouth and hand working in tandem. He was close; you could feel it. 

“Just like that, baby. Forgot—fuck—forgot how good your mouth feels.”

You took him deeper, the tip of his cock tapping against the back of your throat. You sputtered around him, drool rolling down the corners of your mouth, yet you didn’t stop. Hollowing your cheeks, you heard Joel choke out a gasp. The warmth of his release flooded your mouth, coating the back of your throat and tongue. You drank down every drop, pulling off of him with a soft pop.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighed, slumping into the pillows. “Get your ass up here, baby.”

You crawled over his body, your legs straddling his waist. Joel grinned up at you, his tired eyes still barely open as he drank in your naked body. 

“C’mere,” he yawned, reaching up to grab the back of your neck.

His soft lips met yours, and you molded your body to him, letting him guide your mouth however he pleased. There was still a pang of anger tucked into the darkest corner of your heart, but you knew with time, it might fade away, and all you wanted was to bask in Joel’s love as long as possible. Things would take time, but you were willing to work on it. 

“I missed wakin’ up to you,” Joel muttered, his lips working down your jaw.

You could feel him growing hard against your core as you ground your hips down on him. It was impossible to hide the fact you were slick with arousal between your thighs, your body terribly responsive to every touch he placed on your body.

“You’re drenchin’ me, baby,” he groaned. “Need to feel your pussy now.”

“I’m all yours.”

“Damn fuckin’ right you are.”

You lifted your hips, notching his cock at your entrance. Inch by inch, you sunk onto him, both of you exhaling a shaky moan as he stretched you open. Leaning forward, you laced your fingers through Joel’s, holding him firm in your grasp. All you ached for was the tenderness he could provide, the slow synchronicity that flowed through his body and into yours. 

A gentle rub of his thumb over the back of your hand, the slow rise and fall of your hips against his cock… it was the lazy movements that spoke louder than words. It was the recognition that you were his just as he was yours. Soft moans fell off your lips as Joel guided you against his cock, little reassuring grunts leaving his mouth with each roll of your body.

“S’fuckin’ beautiful, baby,” Joel exhaled.

The sun seeping through the blinds lit the amber flecks around his pupils, the morning light painting his naked body golden. The veins beneath his thick neck strained as he lifted his head to watch you, his lips parted in awe as you sucked him further inside your slicken sex. 

“Touch yourself, baby,” he demanded. “Let me feel you fall apart around me.”

Your fingers slipped away from his hand, brushing down his flexed stomach as you made a path to your throbbing clit. The feather-like touch immediately sparked pleasure through your core. You clenched around his cock, whimpering with each circle of your fingertips. 

“I feel it, baby. I know you’re close.”

“Mhmm,” you whined.

Joel raised his body to press into your chest, one hand cradling your heavy breast, the other kneading the flesh of your ass. With his weight against your body, your hand pressed harder against your clit, the arousal pooling between where your bodies connect. 

Your head fell onto his shoulder, teeth sinking into his sweat-covered skin. Joel groaned at the sensation, only grounding you down harder onto his cock. You needed every atom of your being injected with Joel; every one of your senses evaded with his taste, touch, and scent. 

“Joel,” you mumbled, nestling your face into the crook of his neck. “I’m so close… so close.”

“I got you, baby. Gonna fall apart right here with you.”

He barely finished speaking by the time your orgasm ignited in your stomach, your body shuddering within his embrace. Joel spoke your name in broken syllables, his release pouring into you only moments later. 

Neither of you broke apart once your spasms subsided. Joel tangled a hand into the hair resting at the nape of your neck, urging your lips to his. Slotting your mouth over his, you slipped your tongue over his bottom lip, a starved search for a deeper connection. Joel fulfilled your need, devouring the soft sounds you exhaled.

Slowly—reluctantly—you tore from his lips, gasping for air to fill your lungs. Joel’s swollen lips formed into a crooked smile, his brown eyes softening the longer he gazed at you. Somewhere inside your chest, you felt that pain reawaken, a haunting reminder that you could have had this all along. Had the lies never been told… Joel would have always been yours. 

How did he survive the years of pain? How did he allow himself to let you go, knowing you’d never be satisfied with another?

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you turned your head to hide the emotions cresting over your face. Nothing went unnoticed with Joel, and he gently pinched your chin to bring your eyes back to his. With furrowed brows, Joel studied your features, the realization striking home for him, too.

“I know you’re scared, baby,” he whispered. “And I know there’s a lot I gotta fix between us, but I swear to you that I ain’t ever gonna leave again. I made that mistake once, and I’ll never do it again.”

“I want to trust you, Joel. I’m trying. But I don’t know how to forget what you’ve done… what everyone has done. There’s so much pain inside me. It’s unbearable.” 

Joel cradled your face in his hands, leveling you with a gaze you couldn’t discern. So many emotions swirled within his eyes, an endless expanse of grief that weighed him down. 

“Give me your pain. Give me all your anger and everything inside you, and I swear I’ll keep you safe. Y’ain’t ever gonna be alone again. Not while I’m still breathin’, baby. It’s you and me. Forever.”

“Forever,” you echoed. 

“Yes, forever. I don’t want another moment of my life without you in it. I can’t lose you again.”

“I can’t lose you, either,” you cried. “I never wanted to lose you in the first place, so please don’t leave.”

Joel’s eyes clouded with tears, and he shook his head. 

“I love you too much ever to leave you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m keepin’ you so long as y’let me.”

Eventually, you both made it out of the bed. Joel grumbled at your wishes to leave, keeping you in his arms and peppering your skin with kisses. It wasn’t long before your dizziness set back in, and you were demanding water and painkillers. 

As Joel poured you a glass of water, you found yourself swaying against the cold tile floors of the kitchen, the corners of your vision blurring. Your nails scratched at the kitchen countertop as you tried to suppress the lightheaded feeling creeping in. You just needed to sit…that’s all you needed. 

You called out Joel’s name the moment your knees buckled beneath you. His body moved in a foggy haze as you tried to keep consciousness, yet you were being pulled beneath the surface of your headache. Strong hands tucked themselves under your armpits, and Joel lowered you to the ground. 

“Baby?” His voice was frantic—strained. 

You mumbled a few incoherent words as your body sagged into his arms. Christ, your head ached. You hadn’t experienced a fainting spell since the accident, and you forgot how terrifying it was. 

Joel choked out your name, his hand snaking around your jaw to wag your head back and forth. You could see his silhouette over you, the shadow molding into the spots within your field of vision, but nothing else registered. Slipping. Drowning. You weren’t strong enough to fight it. Fear set your nerves alight; what if you lost it all again? What if everything melted away into the darkness consuming you? You clawed tooth and nail as your body plunged deeper into unconsciousness. 

It was no use. 

**

Joel paced the hallway outside your hospital room like a madman. The moment you went limp in his arms, he knew something was wrong. He should have taken your injury more seriously and urged you to the hospital yesterday. But he had you in his arms again, and the world would have had to fall apart before he even considered letting you go. Every admission from your lips weighed down on Joel’s shoulders, another swell of guilt growing inside him. He anticipated your anger, your grief, your heartbreak; he willingly listened without argument. His own struggles were nothing compared to what you endured, and he’d be damned if you ever felt those emotions again. Chewing at his nails, Joel glanced back at the open blinds of your hospital room. The doctors assured him you’d be okay; it was only a concussion, and there’d be no complications. That wasn’t enough for him. He needed to be absolutely sure you’d recover. 

The door cracked open, and Joel rushed toward the neurologist leaving your room. 

“How is she, doc?” Joel asked. “She’s gonna be okay, right?”

The neurologist, Dr. Oliver, nodded with a soft smile. The smile alone settled the rapid heartbeat banging against Joel's ribcage. 

“Miss Smith is going to be just fine,” Dr. Oliver reassured. “There’s going to be a long road to recovery, but I don’t see any long-term effects. I suggest you bring her in for check-ins with me every few months just to monitor her progress.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” Joel nodded. 

“What I need you to do, Mr. Miller, is to help her. She may be a bit forgetful occasionally, so leaving lists around the house or notes will help keep her on track. You do live together, I assume?”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous tick he had yet to learn how to shake. 

“We don’t, but if y’recommend it…”

“I recommend it, but only because she’ll need someone looking over for her. At least, until she regains enough cognitive strength to keep her memory at full capacity,” Dr. Oliver explained. 

“I can do that, Doc. All I want is for her to be okay.”

Dr. Oliver clapped a hand on Joel’s shoulder, his lips curving into a grin. Joel could finally breathe; you’d be okay. 

“You’re a good man, Mr. Miller. She’s lucky to have you here to care for her.”

“Thank you, Doc.”

“Give her some time to rest, and she’ll be clear to go home tomorrow.”

Dr. Oliver said his goodbyes to Joel and bounded down the hallway to other patients. Joel glanced at the open door, your sleeping frame tucked into the bed among the cords and beeping monitors. He entered quietly, his footsteps soft against the floor so he wouldn’t wake you. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Joel took your hand in his, cautious to avoid the IV tube taped onto your skin. Smoothing lines over the inside of your wrist, Joel watched you with weary eyes. 

“I love you, baby. I’m gonna be right here when y’wake up,” he vowed. “Like it always shoulda been.”

Leaning over your body, Joel pressed his lips against your forehead, inhaling your sweet scent as he pulled away. 

You’d be okay, and you’d forever be his. 

**

The harsh light above you reflected behind your eyelids. You groaned as you stirred awake, your eyes squinting to adjust to the layers of white surrounding you. Curling your fingers into the scratchy blanket, you found a familiar body sagged into a chair beside the bed. Joel slept peacefully, yet the worry lines creased between his brows. Extending your hand over the edge of the bed, you brushed your palm over his knee. 

“Joel,” you whispered. 

His body jolted upright as he scrubbed a hand down his face. Big, brown puppy dog eyes met yours, the concern in his face dissolving away once his eyes settled on yours. He made no effort to contain the smile breaking across his face. 

“Hey, handsome,” you croaked. 

“Baby,” Joel sighed, crouching beside the bed. “How’re y’feelin’?”

“A little fatigued, but I think I’ll live.”

“You better,” he chuckled. 

With your arms outstretched, you ushered Joel into an embrace. Joel’s lips crashed against yours the second he wrapped his arms around you, his touch soft and cautious. Beautiful melancholy emotions wracked your body; this was the moment you ached for from the start. To be held in your vulnerability, to be cherished, to be loved. Joel didn’t leave. He’d always be here, now. 

“There’s someone here to see you, baby,” Joel muttered against your mouth. 

You pulled away, confusion scrunching your eyebrows together. God, don’t let it be your family. 

“I know that look. Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be right back. I promise you’ll be happy,” Joel reassured. 

Joel disappeared from the room, and you sat up, settling back into the pillows. You glanced at the monitor beeping beside your bed, the steady line of your heart rate cruising along the screen. Footsteps sounded outside your room, and your eyes flicked back toward the door, a small silhouette hiding behind Joel’s large frame. 

Sarah. 

Her bright eyes looked between you and Joel, her stare quizzical–skeptic. You gave her a small wave, ushering her into the room. 

“Hi, Sarah,” you faltered. The tears were already forming on your waterline. 

“Hi, Miss Smith,” she said wearily. 

You patted the bed, scooting over to make room for her. Her steps were slow as she neared the bedside, her eyes glancing back at Joel. He gave her an encouraging nod, a knowing grin on his lips. 

“You don’t have to call me that,” you laughed softly. 

Sarah settled onto the bed, her tennis shoes swinging over the floor as she fidgeted with her curls. Joel leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest and a smile glued to his face. 

“But you’re my teacher,” she muttered. 

You tucked a loose strand behind her ear, the same hair you had braided and brushed years ago. She wasn’t yours, not by birth. But she was yours just as much as Joel was; she was your home. They weren’t just photos captured in time; they were real. They were real, and they were yours. 

“Do you remember when I used to read you bedtime stories?” You wondered aloud. “You would always ask for the same one over and over.”

There it was. The light sparkled in the gold flecks of Sarah’s eyes, the same gold that sat deep within Joel’s. 

“You and Dad would read The Kissing Hand every night,” she nodded. 

“I know you’re a lot older now, but do you remember what we would do before you fell asleep?”

You reached for Sarah’s hand, lifting it to your lips. With a soft kiss on her palm, you guided her hand to her cheek. Sarah’s eyes filled with tears as she leaned into your touch, the simple caress of your hand against her face enough to bring you both to the brink of crying. 

“I missed you, kiddo,” you cried softly. 

Sarah threw her arms around your neck, muffling her sobs into your hospital gown as you squeezed your arms tighter around her body. You missed so many milestones and moments of her life because of the accident, so many memories that were never made. Every family meal, every soccer game…you lost them all. 

You lifted your eyes, catching the moment Joel swiped away a tear from his cheek. Beckoning him over with a quick motion of your hand, he crossed the room in two quick strides and wrapped his large arms around you and Sarah. You rested your chin on Sarah’s shoulder, hugging her closer. Joel kissed the crown of Sarah’s head, then placed one on your forehead. 

“Wait,” Sarah blurted out, forcing you all to break apart. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” Joel asked, craning his head to look at her. 

“Does that mean you’re coming back home?” She asked. 

You looked at Joel for guidance, trying to find the answers within his gentle gaze. He waited in silence, giving you room to decide. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt about your answer, not when you had everything you needed right here. 

“Only if you promise never to make pancakes again,” you smiled, pinching her cheek. 

She buried herself into your arms again, her head resting against your heart. You looked up at Joel, your mouth forming three little words. 

I love you. 

~ Two weeks later ~

Joel refused any help as he unloaded the last of your boxes from the back of his truck. When you got home from the hospital, you patched up the holes in the wall—with Joel’s help, of course—and got the house ready to sell. It barely lasted a week on the market before the offers came in, making it easy to start packing. That house was filled with memories you didn’t want to remember, memories that you no longer wanted to revisit. It wasn’t home to you anymore. 

You and Sarah sat on the front porch, popsicles in hand, watching as he huffed an exasperated breath once the box hit the steps. Joel straightened out, running sweaty hands down the sides of his jeans, glancing back at the empty truck bed. 

“Well, I think that’s the last of it,” Joel sighed. “Y’sure we ain’t miss anythin’?”

“I think I’ve got all I need right here,” you grinned, nudging Sarah with your shoulder. 

Joel plopped beside you on the porch, leaning over to lick up the sticky residue of the popsicle that had fallen down your arm. You gave him a warning look, shifting your eyes toward Sarah as if to say: Behave. He only shrugged, sticking out his tongue again to tickle your skin. 

“You hungry?” He asked, quirking a brow. 

“Starving!” Sarah declared, rising to her feet. 

You laughed, knowing Joel wasn’t asking her. Nonetheless, you and Joel followed her into the house hand in hand. Over the last couple of weeks, he had decorated the house in countless sticky notes: ones in the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen. Each said something important. The one in the bathroom was stuck on the medicine cabinet, reminding you which toothbrush was yours—the purple one. Joel stuck one by the front door with Sarah’s soccer schedule—snack duty included. There were a few scattered around the kitchen: one telling you where to find the coffee mugs, another one with a list of groceries to buy over the weekend. Three photos hung beside the list, sitting in perfect harmony as they always should have been.  But your favorite was stuck to the cover of Romeo and Juliet, Joel’s messy handwriting scribbled across the yellow paper. It was only a few words but the only reminder you needed. 

Welcome home, baby. 

I love you.

[jjkamochoso]

I Survived Shiganshina and All I Got Was This Stupid T Shirt

Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Levi Ackerman x gn!reader

The battle at Shinganshina is here—how will Levi cope with the imminent death of another person he loved?

Warnings: cussing, violence, mentions of blood and death

A shiver flew through your entire body, your bones shaking under your skin. Your fingers were having trouble fastening the emerald green cape around your neck, the button slipping from your quivering grasp, as you got ready for what was most likely the last battle you’d ever enter. You had just witnessed the best Scouts get absolutely demolished by the Beast Titan, torn to shreds by the boulders he threw with no mercy, and you were only saved from that early demise due to Erwin asking you to fight elsewhere with Levi and the new recruits. Now, here you all were, scared out of your minds under the flimsy cover of buildings as pieces of rock threatened to pummel you at any second. Meanwhile, you were too busy dealing with this fucking cape that you couldn’t fucking button because your fucking nerves—

“Take a breath, brat.”

Your anger was immediately quelled by the sound of Levi’s calm voice as you felt his nimble fingers make quick work of the closure. His steel eyes were boring into your own and if it were any other time, you’d look away shyly, but your lives were about to expire and there was no way you’d want to focus on anything but the man in front of you.

“I can feel your heart pounding through your cape. You need to relax.”

His words were stern but you knew the concern that lay behind them. The captain still hadn’t pulled his hands away from your body after helping you out, opting to hold you close in the only way he knew how. You and Levi had made your affections for each other known a few months back after many years of friendship but agreed that it wasn’t the time for romance of any sort so you found yourselves locked in a relationship that was a mix of platonic and whatever a step beyond that was. Right now you wanted nothing more than to give him the deepest, most passionate kiss you had in you but you were all too aware that you dedicated your heart to the Scouts and betterment of humanity, not just to the famed captain so you couldn’t take your mind off the task at hand—keeping your cadets alive for as long as possible.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you told him, regret oozing from your mouth. You weren’t apologizing for only today, but for all your past mistakes. He deserved to know you took accountability for all your transgressions, both professional and personal. If only you knew then what you knew now… you would’ve made countless different choices to lead you and your soldiers to victory rather than sitting in a clump waiting to die. You could’ve been at home, content in the arms of the man you loved rather than participating in the macabre game of seeing whose light in their eyes goes out first.

“No regrets. We made our choices and there’s no going back. We have to look forward.”

You nodded in agreement and he reluctantly pulled his hand from the worn fabric, you immediately missing the warmth of his touch. Levi left to talk with Erwin on what to do next while you tried to calm the new recruits.

Was Levi scared?

That’s a loaded question.

Technically speaking? No. There was nothing fearful about an overpowered, loud, ugly, shitty excuse of a monkey, even if said monkey was making quick work killing the Survey Corps. Levi knew he could kill him. It would take speed and finesse, traits he utilized in every mission, so no, Levi wasn’t scared of that.

Levi was scared to lose you.

He had seen too many of his comrades fall, his loved ones fade away from existence. With every death he found a way to keep moving, carrying their fighting spirit with him, but if you died?

That would be a major blow to his morale.

That was why he was currently debating with Erwin, desperate to find an escape route for you and the recruits. He could beat the Beast Titan in a fight, that he was sure of, but the sacrifice of Erwin, you, and the rest of the cadets would be a devastating waste of lives. Would it be worth it to kill the Beast Titan now instead of letting everyone retreat? Would it be worth the loss of his two closest friends?

The loss of the love of his life?

As a captain in the Survey Corps, it was your duty to give your heart for the survival of humanity. Why was it so damn hard for Levi to see you do just that?

“Give up on that dream and die. Lead the captain and those new recruits into hell. And I will take down the Beast Titan.”

You anxiously awaited word from Levi and Erwin on what the plan was going to be. More buildings had collapsed and it was only a matter of time before all your shelter was gone and it would be a full on massacre. You hoped they were about to bring good news. Erwin stood proud in front of the recruits while Levi took his place next to you, wearing a somber expression and you knew that spelled disaster.

“There was no other way,” he said, confusing you until Erwin began explaining his strategy to the group. When you heard you were going to be riding straight into your death, you were struck with a million different emotions. Fear, anger, and grief were the ones you felt the strongest until Levi’s face entered your peripheral and finally you settled on relief. You had been fighting your entire life for peace for your loved ones and this was no time to turn your back on gaining the opportunity for humanity’s survival. Besides, a quick, meaningful death was being served to you on a platter in this situation which was all you could ask for. After Erwin’s rousing speech, you felt even more secure in your position as a distraction to help Levi eradicate the Beast Titan. Levi was deathly quiet throughout the whole ordeal and you couldn’t get a read on how he was feeling.

“I was upset at the plan at first,” you told Levi as recruits were rushing around you, mounting horses and dodging rocks, “but I get it. It’s what we signed up to do. I just hate that I’m leaving you so early.”

He didn’t say anything as he received horse reigns from a frenzied soldier, studying your face and committing everything to memory. If this was the last time he’d see you, he wanted to make sure he’d never forget it.

“Titan got your tongue, Captain?” you joked, shooting Levi a soft smile and gripping your own horse’s reigns in a white knuckle grip. Levi reached out, his free hand ghosting over your tense hold.

“I thought I told you to relax. And I know my own shitty voice, I want to remember yours.”

“I love you so much, Levi,” you suddenly blurted out. “Don’t let these words become a curse or a burden, I just need you to know that my feelings were real. You can take them with you or leave them here in this graveyard if that’s where they belong but I couldn’t die without telling you.”

Levi was quiet again.

You started to mount your horse, ready to give your all in your final battle before eternal rest. Before you could swing your leg up, you felt a fist connect to your chest.

“You’ve dedicated your heart,” said Levi, his eyes unnaturally wet as he looked steadfastly at you one last time, “to the cause, to the Scouts… to me. I won’t let you down. Your death won’t be in vain. And when I die, whenever that may be, I look forward to seeing you again.”

You felt tears ready to drop but you refused to let them fall.

You extended your pinky. “You promise you’ll take down that shitty monkey?”

Levi copied the motion and you trembled at the skin on skin contact.

“I swear on my life. This is my promise to you, y/n.”

You released the intertwined pinkies and touched your own hand to his chest, letting it rest above his fast beating heart. “It’s been an honor, Captain.”

“Same to you, Captain.”

You smiled and relinquished your limb from his body, swinging your leg over your horse and waiting for the command from Erwin. You saw Levi mount his horse and in that moment, you understood the full extent of why the public viewed him as a humanity’s strongest soldier. His unyielding conviction and resolute attitude in the face of impossible decisions was truly exemplary. The regal way he sat atop his horse was nothing less than extraordinary and the way he handled his blades with such ease and grace was absolutely swoon worthy. You considered yourself the luckiest person in the world to have known him as well as you did. You gave each other one last head nod before his horse galloped away, ready to ambush the Beast Titan. Your job just got even more important. You weren’t going to fail him. You weren’t going to let him die.

Blood. Pain. The smell of smoke signals.

These were all things that filled your senses to the brim as you charged forward, screaming until your throat burned and your lungs gave out. The first bombardment had left you dazed, a large piece of rock whizzing by your head and hitting you just enough to make you nauseous and almost fall off your horse. You pressed on, not giving up so soon. The only way you’d let yourself die is when you feel like you accomplished what you set out to do. Levi needed more time, more distractions, and so, you weren’t finished yet. You loaded more smoke shells into your gun and fired off more rounds, the deafening cries of fallen soldiers filling your ears. The Beast Titan had picked up another handful of boulders and you knew your time was running out. You rode as fast as you could, feeling sorry for the inevitable end your horse was going to meet as well, but your sacrifices were going to help the next generations grow up in a better world.

Another bombardment was on its way.

Shrapnel and boulders began showering over you. You yanked on your horse’s reigns and you narrowly missed a chunk of rock. More smoke signals left your gun as you twisted your body around to see who was still standing. Just you and three others.

It was the end for you.

You wished you could’ve survived long enough to see Levi kick the monkey’s ass, but fate was cruel as the Beast took up one last handful of soon-to-be-projectiles. Your horse’s legs kicked up dirt clods in a frenzy at the speed you were going and you were hoping she was having a good time running free like this, unaware of the death she was about to face. The Beast Titan’s arm threw itself forward and you released the last smoke shell in your gun. As the rocks rained down on you and the last of your soldiers, you could’ve sworn you saw Levi’s silhouette through the smoke. Your horse got struck by the last of the boulder pieces and you flew off, striking the ground with a large thump. The last thing you saw before everything went black was a memory of Levi smiling at some stupid shit joke you made in the dining hall one evening.

There was a faint feeling of someone touching your neck and you didn’t know if you were in the afterlife or not. It was certainly bright enough to be the afterlife since the light was basically blinding you through your closed eyelids. You tried to move, speak, anything, but your body wasn’t cooperating. You tried moving toward the light, like what people say happens when you die, but you didn’t feel any different when you finally opened your eyes. In fact, you felt like absolute shit. You had a pounding headache and it was like every bone in your body was broken. You registered the hand on your neck again.

Probably feeling for a pulse.

“Levi?” you croaked out, “Levi? Is that… you?”

“Captain! Captain, can you hear me?”

“Levi?” you tried again. It didn’t sound like him but you weren’t sure of anything anymore.

“No, it’s Floch. Captain y/n, it’s Floch. We have to get out of here. You have to get up!”

Get up? You could barely open your eyes. And what the fuck was Floch doing here, sounding like he didn’t just experience the worst day of his life?

“Commander Erwin is still alive but he’s bleeding out. We have to get him to Levi to save him!”

Levi. Just his name put a smile to your face. Right. You have to save Erwin and see Levi. Two very agreeable missions to accomplish, in your opinion. You forced yourself to peel your eyelids apart and the sun burst in your retinas like a floodgate had opened. You ignored the burning and bruising sensations in the rest of your body as Floch helped you up. You definitely busted some ribs, suffered a major concussion, scraped open your face, and had a broken arm and ankle, but all things considering, that wasn’t the worst outcome. You were relieved that Levi survived the Beast Titan bout. The mental image of Levi severing the monkey’s head gave you a burst of energy and you were able to walk a little bit faster, Floch holding you up as you made your way to grab Erwin and find Levi. When you got to Erwin, you were exhausted and sat down while Floch shoddily bandaged up the commander.

“Can you walk on your own? I have to carry him or else he won’t survive.”

You nodded. “I’ll either do it or I won’t. If I fall, keep going to Levi and don’t worry about me.”

“Okay.”

You two started your treacherous trek into the walls. It was eerily quiet after the battle, the scent of blood filling your nostrils and you weren’t sure if it was your dead comrades’ or your own. You stumbled more times than you could count and there were a few moments where you thought you’d fall and die in the same spot, but before you knew it, you had come upon Eren, Mikasa, and a charred body…

“W-who is that?” you cried out, trying to keep from throwing up. It was the right size and build to be Levi but there was no way he got burned, right? That wouldn’t make sense at all but your delirious mind had been through too much to work properly.

“It’s Armin,” said an all too familiar voice.

“Levi!” You fell to your knees from fatigue, both physical and emotional. You were overjoyed that he was completely unharmed but on the other hand, you witnessed the burnt body of a wonderful young man with friends who tried to protect him with all their might. You felt strong arms grip your body as Levi moved you to a better spot on the roof, away from Armin and the other teens and leaned you up against the remnants of a chimney.

“I’m happy you’re alive,” you said wearily, ready to pass out.

“Same to you,” he said, frowning slightly, “but hey, don’t close your eyes. Stay awake for as long as you can. We’ll get you to a doctor soon.”

This time it was you who didn’t respond, your head lolling against the stone as your eyes shut.

“Y/n. Y/n.” Levi was shaking you by your shoulders and lightly tapping your face but there was no response. He located your pulse and it wasn’t scarily faint so he decided to leave you be for now while he dealt with a new, huge problem—deciding to continue with saving Armin or giving the serum to the freshly returned from the battlefront Erwin.

When you finally woke up again, you were greeted with Hange (minus one eye) staring at you like you were their newest titan experiment.

“Glad to have you back with us, y/n,” they said, clapping your shoulder gently. “I didn’t want to lose anyone else today.”

“Who did he choose?” you asked, your voice hoarse.

Hange stiffened ever so slightly. “Armin.”

“Good,” you replied, “Erwin had been through enough and met death in the most fitting manner for him. Armin and those other kids are our future. He made the right choice.”

“I agree.” They helped you sit up and your bones creaked in protest at the movement. You saw that you had a hastily arranged splint on your left ankle while your arm was in a sling made from part of someone’s shirt and sensed the pull of a bandage along your cheek and down your jaw. Levi heard you talking and quickly came over to fill you in on what was next.

“You’re going to the top of Wall Maria with what’s left of the Scouts so you can get to Trost and recuperate. Hange, Mikasa, Eren, and I are going to the basement.”

“I can go, too.” You tried to shift position and stand but you were too weak, your body giving out on you as adrenaline was quickly draining. Levi rushed to your aid, letting you support yourself against his leg as you sat again.

“You can barely sit on your own, let alone walk to Eren’s house. You’re going to Trost, y/n, and that’s an order.”

You looked up and met his eyes; they were filled with concern and you were washed in shame at your lack of self awareness. Of course you couldn’t go, you’d only slow them down. Now was not the time to act rash in the name of selfish desires for answers. Levi borrowed Eren’s ODM gear to bring you to the top of Wall Maria since his own gear was out of gas and pretty busted up. You bid your goodbyes to Hange and the kids as Levi deftly scooped you into his arms, mindful of your numerous injuries, and began swinging through the ruins of Shiganshina.

“So, did you bring them with you?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“Bring what?”

“The words. The ones I told you before the battle. Did they die with our comrades or did you bring them with you?”

“I-” Levi faltered. “I… brought them with me. You mean a great deal to me, y/n. When I sent you out on the battleground I refused to let you die in vain, you’re worth too much for that. But I made a promise to you and Erwin that I’d kill that shitty Beast Titan and I failed. I’m sorry.”

“Levi,” you said, your hand finding purchase on his cheek, “it’s alright. You did your best and I’m proud of everything you accomplished today. We can try again and keep trying after that as many times as we need to, and we won’t give up. We can do this. Together.”

His lips were pressed in a firm line as you felt his grip on you tighten. You had almost scaled the wall when Levi spoke up.

“I had made peace with your death but now that you’re back with me, I won’t lose you again.”

You were now walking atop the wall and you spied Sasha and Conny from your position. Levi helped you hobble over, a firm and comforting grasp on your waist. When they greeted you both, Conny said the group was about to take off for Trost. Levi knew he couldn’t continue wasting time here but he had this ache gnawing inside him at the idea of someone other than himself taking care of your injuries. He didn’t want to leave you alone but you both had jobs to do—him to find answers in the kid’s basement, and you to rest up. He noticed your cape was undone and sliding off so he moved it back into place, ignoring the revolting squish of fresh blood under his fingers, and affixed the button to the loop. The action was the same as a few hours prior but the result would be much different. Instead of you marching to your death, you were heading to be healed. Instead of wrapping you in a body bag, he could try wrapping you in his arms.

Levi smiled at the thought.

“I’ll come see you as soon as I can,” he said, sincerity shining from his irises. “Listen to the doctors and don’t be stupid. You need to get stronger. Make sure you get plenty of rest and eat lots. Don’t get dehydrated, you have to keep your fluid intake up after injury. Don’t hesitate to ask for help if you need it, that’s what the staff is there for.”

“Okay, mom,” you teased. Levi scoffed and you just giggled.

“I’m looking out for you, brat, so take my advice.” His tone had gone soft, no bite behind his words whatsoever. You made the connection that this was his way of saying “I love you” and you let out a sigh of relief that he was returning the weighty phrase. You became aware that his hands were resting on the same junction of your cape’s button and clasp like before, not making an effort to pull away any time soon if he could help it. But he couldn’t help it since you were being called over to start your journey to Trost so his touch ceased from the heavy fabric as you gave him one last tender look.

“Take care of yourself, Captain.”

He reached over to ruffle your hair. “You too, Captain.”

You heard the zip of ODM gear and Levi was gone in a flash. Though you felt like a piece of you was missing without Levi by your side, you knew he’d be back with you in no time. As you limped along the wall with your hurt comrades, you felt a fire ignite deep within your soul.

The Beast Titan was going to pay.

[steddieasitgoes]

When The Buzzer Sounds | A Steddie Big Bang Fic | Coming Soon

Written by: Steddieasitgoes | Art by: @hellfiredemon

Steve's so engrossed in his conversation with Eddie he doesn’t notice the change in music or the enthusiastic cheers of the people around him as they shift their gaze from the court up to the giant Jumbotron above. In fact, it isn’t until Robin is jabbing her own boney elbow into his ribs does he stop talking to asses what the hell is going on. A move he immediately regrets when he realizes what has nearly 20,000 eyes focused on the oversized screens.  The Kiss Cam.  The cameraman stands a few yards away from them, feet solidly on the court with no urgency to move on until he gets what he wants. This isn’t the first time this has happened to them. And it certainly won’t be the last. Whenever they’re in public they’re always SteveandRobin so inseparable they must be dating.  He’s prepared to see his and Robin’s freckled face projected up on the Jumbotron. To give into the routine they have down pact — Robin’s playful retching, Steve’s bewildered shake of his head, the two of them both mouthing “we’re siblings” because it works better than trying to explain their platonic soulmate-ism to a stadium that can’t hear them. Though, maybe this time Robin will go off script and announce that she’s a lesbian — if only because a familiar blonde has returned to the court.  But it’s not their freckled faces that grace him when he looks up. It’s his face, yes. Perfectly combed and styled hair, a smattering of moles, and hazel eyes a little wider than usual staring back at him. But it’s the face to his left that shocks him. Unruly curls frame a pale face. Big, wild, brown eyes stare at him in bewilderment like a deer in headlights.  Shit.  “Um, Steve?” Tearing his eyes away from the Jumbotron is an arduous (another win for Robin’s word of the day calendar) battle Steve almost loses. Not because he’s not strong enough, but because the thought of meeting Eddie’s bewildered eyes head-on is enough to send him running. Still, he does just that, schooling his face in something that, he hopes, resembles a neutral expression.  “Don’t worry, they’ll move on,” Steve says, only half believing the words himself. His first-hand experience with the kiss cam says the exact opposite, but he’s not about to tell Eddie that especially when his words have him nodding in relief and sinking back into the black leather seat. The camera is still pointed at them when he looks away from Eddie. Their faces are still projected onto the massive screens and the stadium of onlookers starts a mix of chants and boos — encouragement and disappointment that they’re not participating in the time-honored, tradition. At least everyone in his row is silent, not even Dustin makes a move to join the onslaught of harassment from strangers which is further proof of what a colossal mess they’ve found themselves in. 

Or:

The year is 1998 and Lucas is set to make his NBA debut. Nothing is going to keep Steve from being there to witness this monumental moment. Eddie apparently shares the same sentiment and the two find themselves in the same place at the same time for the first time since they blurred the lines of their once-solid friendship four years ago at Dustin's wedding.

Surprisingly, Steve and Eddie manage to fall back into their friendship easily. That is until their playful conversation at half-time gets interpreted as flirting and the two find themselves the latest victims in the dreaded Kiss Cam tradition. With a stadium watching and his own desire taking over, Steve must decide if kissing Eddie "for the bit" is worth jeopardizing their rekindled friendship.

Who knows, maybe a peer-pressured kiss will be the spark to get them to talk about that night four years ago when everything changed.

Project #009 for @steddiebang2024 | 15K Expected Word Count | Mature

[ohdearlingwhathappened]

A Pair Made in The Pits Chp 3.5

Summary: The aftermath of Y/n and Agent Fowler's Kidnapping back at the Autobot Base.

WC: 623

A/n: Have fun

First ... Previous

The base is silent. The kids have been sent home, allowing them to grieve in their own ways. The only child who remains with their bot is Miko, saying she doesn’t want to go back home to host parents who barely tolerate her, and she would much rather go for a ride with Bulkhead. Optimus leaves for his habsuite, exhausted by the turmoil from not only Megatron’s plans, but from losing two friends in the span of 48 hours. The normally proudly tall, strong leader now hunched, making his way down the halls half-sparked.

He broke his word. Again.

Losing his footing, Optimus leans against the wall to his left, pausing to recollect himself. His optics are shaky, unable to focus on any one thing, blurred beyond comprehension, and he’s sure if he had a set of lungs, they would be inoperable.

I didn’t keep them safe. I didn’t keep her safe. I didn’t keep him safe. I failed Cybertron.

I am no Prime.

“-imus. Optimus. Optimus!”

Startling out of his fraying state, the leader of the Autobots looks up and slowly focuses in on the worried look on his sparkmate’s face. Noting that he was looking up, he realizes at some point he’s fallen to one knee, still balanced on the wall. Using said wall as a weight-bearing source, Optimus lifts himself from the ground and closes his eyes, regretting anyone seeing him in such a state- he is a Prime and a Prime can not crumble.

“Ratchet, I apolo-”

“Up hup hup,” Ratchet shakes his hands, successfully cutting Optimus off. “As your physician, I am ordering you to get to your berth and rest after today… and as your sparkmate, I am asking you to talk to me.”

He wants to express his appreciation and gratitude towards his medic, but with the way Ratchet throws Optimus’ arm around his shoulder allowing himself to be leaned on for support, already going on about how he should be taking care of himself and to rely on him more, Optimus knows he’ll never be able to come up with enough words to even touch the surface.

Looking down at the one he loves the most, he quietly utters, “I promise, my Spark.”

And he swears to himself he will keep his word.

 Primus damn him if not.

* * * * * *

“Miko, I’m going to have to take you home at some point.” Bulkhead tries to goad the girl into finally agreeing to go home and rest. Said girl sitting in the passenger seat, blankly staring out the window, watching the desert sands fly by, her eyes drooping every so often.

“No. Just a little longer… we- we haven’t found her yet.” She whispers, her normal spitfire personality nowhere to be seen. Bulkhead rolls to a stop, conflicted on what to say. There’s nothing he can say or do to uplift her spirit.

“Miko, we don’t know where Starscream may have-. What I mean to say is, we don’t know where Y/n’s body is.” Bulkhead does his best to gently explain that they may never find Y/n’s body, knowing he’s failed when he feels the girl curl up on his seat, legs hugged tightly to her chest.

Another moment goes by before Bulkhead gets an idea, “You remember how I lost my friend, Cliffjumper? Well, since we couldn’t bring him back to base, we made a small site to remember him. I-I know it’s not the same, but you can visit it anytime you’d like.”

“...please?” She lifts her head just a smidge, something other than emptiness shining in her eyes since she was told about her first friend in the US.

By the end of the next hour, another rock structure stood by Cliffjumper’s gravesite.

Taglist: @the-unhinged-raccoon @hystericalanarchy @mythicallystupid @darkfangx399 @nixblizzard16 @crowleysthings @delectableworm

[naamahdarling]

I do want to say, because I know I am extremely and probably sometimes unfairly unforgiving of everything to do with the medical profession, that I had a really good experience last week with a team that was very empathetic and trauma-informed. The area of medicine is deeply triggering and I truly didn't know if I would even be able to talk or not. They were very understanding and respectful and I didn't feel like an inconvenience or a difficult patient, or like someone who was making a big deal out of nothing.

I know and they pointed out that I'm not the only person with this issue. This is actually common. It is utterly baffling to me that so many providers aren't able to cope with PTSD in their patients, especially patients whose trauma is medical in nature. These people treated me like a normal person who had experienced some very not-normal things.

Anyway, I had an unexpectedly hard time afterwards -- I figured the hardest part would be the appointment, and it super was not -- and have had a hard time off and on since. It has not been fun. It's been frustrating and confusing and upsetting and scary. But for once, none of that was the fault of the people I saw. I went in unsure I'd even be able to talk about it and nearly completely certain I wouldn't be able to move forward with the things I need to do. I figured I would probably have to white-knuckle it through a panic attack. I came out having held a productive conversation that left me scared, yes, but also hopeful and optimistic that I can move forward. And I didn't have a panic attack. It was a radical and unexpected change.

I worked hard for this. Any trauma is an awful thing to live with. The work of remaking yourself around the holes it punches in you is hard and confusing. The healing is often slow. In my case it comes with very few immediate rewards (it will actually make my life more difficult for a while because I'll have to deal with more medical interference, hooray). But it was time for me to do this and I have come far enough and worked hard enough to have the resilience to try, and I did it.

All we did was talk, but that would not have been possible a year ago. It was all I could do to ask for a referral because even naming the specialty was upsetting. I couldn't make the phone call to set up an appointment and when they called to try to do it, I hung up. Six or eight months ago I managed to dial the number and then hung up the instant someone answered. Last week I walked into the building and said out loud multiple words that make me feel like I have worms under my skin and which I can barely look at, let alone type. I didn't lose speech. This was a big win for me, and I'm thankful it went well, and I actually am proud of myself. I didn't even use any of my antianxiety meds that day, because I didn't think I would need them.

I don't feel grateful to the staff, I feel like someone finally did the bare fucking minimum, but I am very grateful, because I am not only what I feel. I am also what I know and what I do, and I am finally sort of getting those three things to match up in a way that they patch the holes in one another a little, and maybe someday I can stop slipping through the cracks.

I'm scared they will fuck up when I go to get some issues addressed, and they will betray me or harm me. I really am. Because hey, that's what my experiences have prepared me for, so that's a very natural way for me to feel. Rational, even.

I'm scared that I will look back at this appointment and feel stupid for having experienced any hope at all.

But even if it goes to shit, I still went in there and tried. I still did my best. And my best was okay. I was able to separate my fear from what needed to be done just a little bit. That means something. Because I didn't think I could do it at all.

[achlyisdumb]

A Birthday Burden

——AVA One Shot——

[It's Victim's Birthday! So I decided to make this one shot :D]

——————————————————————————————————

Victim sat alone in a dimly lit room, the faint glow of the screen casting eerie shadows across his face. The date on the calendar marked another year since his creation—a grim reminder of his existence. He loathed this day, a mockery of a celebration that highlighted his status as a mere mistake, a disposable toy for his creator. The name "Victim" felt like a curse, a branding that he could never escape.

His mercenaries, the group he had grudgingly come to rely on, had other plans. Among them, Agent Smith was the most persistent. Stoic, nonchalant, and cool-headed, Smith was determined to make Victim acknowledge this day, despite Victim's vehement objections.

Pacing the room, Victim's movements were sharp and agitated, a physical manifestation of his internal turmoil. "I don't see why I should celebrate the day of my creation," he spat, his voice laced with bitterness. "It’s just a reminder that I'm nothing but a mistake. A plaything for that bastard."

Smith stood with his arms crossed, his expression unyielding. "You exist, Victim. That in itself is worth acknowledging. Your creation, regardless of the intent, means you have a presence in this world."

"A presence?" Victim scoffed, his pacing more erratic. "I'm a mistake. A discarded piece of code. That cad created me and threw me away without a second thought. Celebrating this day feels like celebrating my own misery."

The other mercenaries, each as professional and resolute as Smith, surrounded Victim. Their presence was a silent but powerful testament to their respect and loyalty.

"Even if you were a mistake, you've carved out a place for yourself," Primal said, their voice steady and sincere. "You lead us. You have a purpose."

"A purpose," Victim repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "My purpose is to exist in this endless loop of torment, all thanks to that wretch. He created me, deleted me, and left me to suffer. Every misfortune I’ve faced is because of him."

Smith stepped forward, his gaze piercing through Victim's rage. "Revenge won't change what happened. But denying yourself even the smallest moments of acknowledgment only gives him more power over you."

Victim's anger flared, his fists clenching at his sides. "You think a simple birthday celebration will make me feel better? You think it will change anything? I'm weak, powerless against him. Celebrating this day is a joke."

"We're not asking you to forget," Smith said calmly, his voice steady. "We're asking you to reclaim a part of yourself, even if it's just for a moment."

Victim glared at them, his chest heaving with frustration. "You don't get it. None of you do. That miscreant is the center of my world, the cause of all my pain. I want nothing more than to see him suffer as I have."

Smith's voice remained steady, but a hint of empathy softened his eyes. "Hatred consumes, Victim. It blinds you. If you focus only on your rage, you lose sight of everything else. Including the people who stand by you."

The words struck a chord, albeit reluctantly. Victim’s anger didn't dissipate, but a flicker of doubt crept in. He looked at the mercenaries, their unwavering expressions, their dedication. They weren’t just his followers; they believed in him.

"Fine," Victim said through gritted teeth, his shoulders slumping in reluctant acceptance. "I'll celebrate this stupid day. But don't expect me to enjoy it."

The mercenaries exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. They set up a modest celebration—a small cake and a few candles. Victim watched with a mix of contempt and resignation, his movements slow and deliberate as he approached the makeshift celebration.

As the candles were lit, Victim felt a surge of conflicting emotions. The act of celebrating felt hollow, yet the presence of his mercenaries, their insistence, held a strange weight. He couldn’t deny the effort they put in, even if it felt meaningless to him.

"Make a wish," one of them (Ballista) said, their tone neutral yet sincere.

Victim hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He closed his eyes, the image of that jerk burning in his mind. His wish was simple, fueled by rage and sorrow: to find a way to break free from the chains of his creation, to find a path where he wasn't just a victim.

He blew out the candles, the small flames flickering out one by one. The room fell silent, the air thick with unspoken words. Victim sat down, the celebration continuing around him. He didn’t feel better, the darkness within him still simmering. But for a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, he felt the presence of his mercenaries, their solidarity, and it was enough to quell the storm inside him, if only slightly.

"Thank you," he muttered, barely audible.

Smith nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Happy birthday, Victim."

The words hung in the air, a bittersweet reminder of his existence. As the celebration drew to a close, Victim knew that his hatred for that fiend wouldn’t fade, but he also knew that he wasn’t alone in his struggle. And that, in itself, was something worth acknowledging.

———

[hanibalistic]

THE MANOR IN WHICH | ENHYPEN.

genre | (in general of the universe) fluff, angst, friendship, action, found family au, magic au

synopsis | if one wants to test whether a person still has the power of a god, maybe the best thing to do is just ask, not try to turn them into one.  

word count | 11.8k+

warning | fighting & violence, injuries (breaking of limbs; mention a lot actually) / mentions of blood, death, domestic violence, child abandonment

universe | tciu; enhypen's counterpart of the universe / same world-building discord server

note | i decided to expand the universe because i am lazy, and i hate making moodboards!!! but i love chips <3  

You remember the first time Kim Namjoon injected a shot of fentanyl into your eye. 

More than the abrupt pain, which was not at all unmemorable either, there were gashes of blood your left on the side of his arms. He had to pin you down under the circumstance that the medical team did not provide any method of sedation. Only a syringe, a glass bottle of fentanyl, and another empirical hypothesis on human drugs and their effectiveness in quelling your Enlightenment. 

Enlightenment—Uncle Kim coined the term when he began teaching you how to control your god-given ability. It was the third and the final stage of your descension to Godhood, with the first two being Transformation and Possession, respectively. But, more than a stage in your power, Enlightenment is a sentient concept that battled for the ownership of your body. It is a punishment given to you by the God of All. It is the very thing you need to avoid descending toward. 

Uncle Kim and the rest of his colleagues in the militia group that adopted you after the death of your parents were figuring out how to keep you from descending. It was no big deal. Everyone was taught to hone their powers during their teenage years. Most high schools have implemented training classes once a week to prevent disasters caused by those unfamiliar with their capabilities. Some private schools even went out of their way to renovate their sports courts to better accommodate their students, to insert training classes into the mandated curriculum, and to hire a diverse group of professionals that fit the student body. 

But even then, you understood the distinction between yourself and other children. 

Their power was given by the Gods. Your power was to become a God.

The fentanyl comes in when some part of Enlightenment slips past your control. The first time it happened, it had been sudden but not unrecognizable. One of your eyes had been clouded with darkness, like having your sight be draped over with a black veil. You were only able to see clearly Namjoon stumbling toward you with the syringe in his hand. You understood what must happen, and while you fought Enlightenment, the Enlightenment fought him. It was similar to getting a vaccination, except the needle wiggled and scratched to be in your skin, and you feared for your life. 

But the pain was gone moments after Enlightenment returned dormant, and Namjoon’s arms were never rid of those ugly scars. 

You also remembered the first time your bones twisted at the beginning phase of Godhood. 

Namjoon had died months prior from murder, leaving you with scattered pieces of him to remember him by. But, just between you and the gods, nothing brought out memories of him more than how ill-equipped you were to pull yourself back from Enlightenment’s takeover alone.

One eye black and the other white, you recalled not being able to see anything. In retrospect, it made sense. You were supposed to lose access to yourself. Once Enlightenment was fully reached, the body would belong to it, and you did not deserve to see through its eyes. You later deduced that you had entered the beginning phase of the descension when your body would transform to be more fitting of a god’s image—the twisting of bones, perhaps to make your limbs malleable. 

The bottle of fentanyl on the motel’s bedside table fell and shattered when you crawled to it with your arms and reached up blindly. You wouldn’t have been able to hold it with your fingers anyway, and you had doubted your ability to work through the intricacy of a syringe when you were too busy withering in pain from your broken legs. You were desperate and almost embarrassed by it, but the helplessness taught you one thing that night, a new thing, which was that impending pain was worse than actual pain. 

If someone were to kill you, you would rather it happen immediately than hours later. The knowledge and the wait for death would always outshine the deed. Knowing your arms were about to be twisted into an irregular shape scared you more than feeling as if it was about to happen. In the end, accompanied by the cracks of your ankles and painstaking wails, you dipped a finger into the fentanyl on the floor and pierced it through your eyeball with your nails, slathering the drug across the back of your eye.

You left the motel the next morning and never returned.

Those have remained the most traumatic moments of your life for years. You have grown to be cautious of your body’s changes to prevent another incident of being surrounded by Enlightenment. Those around you have always diligently pointed out when one of your eyes turns black or white. Putting a needle through your eye has become less grand and intimidating with each passing occasion. Nothing much could surpass what happened to you back then. 

All except one thing—

“Hi, I’m so sorry, but we’re closed.”

—customer service in the fast food industry. 

It was mainly an exaggeration, but sometimes you thought you really meant it when you’d rather go through the beginning phase of Godhood Descension than explain to a customer why you would not be making them a sandwich fifteen minutes past the store’s closing hour. 

The boy stalked in anyway, leaving the door to slam close behind him. You knew he heard you because his legs paused briefly when you spoke, as if his conscience wanted to listen. You rubbed your hands under the counter to hide your annoyance. You should have locked the door after flipping the open sign around. This wasn’t the first time people made it apparent that they were illiterate. You figured if someone with a physically enhancing power wanted to punch their way through, they would have done it regardless of the lock. However, that was merely an excuse to be careless. When you finally chase this customer away, you planned to text your manager about getting a metal bolted door.

Biting back a humorous smirk from the idea, you quietly cleared your throat and looked up to observe the boy in mutual silence as he stopped before the cash register. His hands were buried in his jacket pocket, but you didn’t believe he was hiding anything besides his hands. His hair has shades of blond that were irregularly placed enough to feel deliberate. He was tall, a head taller than you at minimum, but skinny like a twig, which made him less threatening. Either way, he was bothersome for barging in when you were closed and ready to head home. 

“Are there any wheat bread left?”

“We’re closed.”

Niki raised a brow. He heard you the first time. If only that was a good enough reason to deter him from having to stand in front of the cash register like an idiot. Unfortunately, he has to fulfill the task given to him, or else it’s no more free housing for his sorry ass! The best he could do was to make everything quick—trailing his eyes down to your chest, he inwardly sighed at seeing the necklace shown to him before entering the restaurant. He hasn’t gotten the full scope of the mission, as in he knows what he has to do but not why he has to do it, but he knows Heeseung gave him two tasks.

First, take the necklace. 

Second, bring out your power. 

Shifting his weight, he shrugged dismissively and tried to continue the conversation. “So what? You can’t answer a simple question?”

“I am not serving right now. I am off the clock,” you said.

“You told me,” he retorted, his eyes widening softly. “But I didn’t ask you to make me anything. I asked if there was any wheat bread left.”

Turning your head away so you could roll your eyes, you returned your attention to him and smiled. “Why would you need to know that?”

“That’s none of your business, is it?” 

In your mind, you have reached over the cash register and grabbed his tiny head with your ginormous hand, shaking the attitude out of him and some respect into him as fires circled you like halos circled an angel. Over the years of working customer service jobs in various settings, you’ve gotten fairly decent at crafting your imaginary torture scenes, where there was little torture and a lot of complaining. But this boy was mind-boggling more than usual because, despite his tall stature, he looked boyish enough to be a student. At least you haven’t met a well-adjusted adult who would color their hair in such a reckless manner. 

What did that mean? This boy was out here disrespecting his elders in broad daylight.

“Please leave, or I’ll be forced to call the authorities,” you said. 

Niki watched your corporate-trained smile, but he grimaced because you even thought about calling the authorities in today’s day and age.

Unique powers have grown so prevalent that there was only a fifty-fifty percent chance that a patrolling officer would meet someone whose power was scored lower than or equal to theirs. Even the usage of old-fashioned weapons, such as a gun, wasn’t foul-proof anymore, given that there were people out there who were basically a walking operating room. The law enforcement was a joke. 

But—a thought passed his mind—you could be doing him a favor by letting the police handle him, not yourself. Even though he has no knowledge of the intricacies of your power, he suspected he wouldn’t want to face off with someone like you. One accidental beam shot down from Heaven, and he would be a standing stick of scorched meat. 

Biting back a shudder, Niki pursed his lips in distaste at the recognition that his closest, most trusted friends had potentially sent him out on a suicide mission. Was all of this really worth free housing? Getting a job could not be too hard! He looked at your determined face, his gaze floating down to your ridiculously green outfit and the oiled screen of the cash register. Plus, you were dealing with him instead of being home with a gaming console in your hands, which you may not even be able to afford despite working late night shifts. He held back a shudder again. 

Free housing was worth everything. 

“Fine, I’ll leave,” he muttered. “I need something from you, though.”

You raised a brow. “It better not be a sandwich, kid.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, after waiting a beat for your guard to lower even more, he swiftly pulled a hand from his warmed pocket and shot it outward, reaching for your necklace. 

You have seen this exact movement before. Besides teaching you how to control your power, Namjoon also taught you how to fight. 

Since you would only be using your power a fraction at a time to avoid being consumed by it, you would be put at a disadvantage to your opponents, who would most likely be able to use all of theirs. He told you that learning how to work around a match was necessary, but you knew the real reason he needed to teach you was so you could later be used in jobs the militia group involves itself with.

You never minded it. He practically raised you all those years, so it was you giving back. He didn’t have a lot, but he made space for you in his shabby, ugly apartment and gave you allowances to spend. At some point, he had attempted to make meals to provide you with a proper diet, but he wasn’t the kind of man who should step foot in the kitchen, so there was always a trashcan full of takeout boxes. You thought he tried to clean up after himself more when you started living with him, but the house was always a black hole of trash and dirty laundry. It was no wonder he never brought any woman home, or maybe he kept your presence in mind. 

He tried to give you the kind of life a normal kid would have outside of all the testing and training, and you never thought he didn’t care about you. Like you always remembered, Uncle Kim’s ugly scars never went away, and he never blamed you for anything. He patted your head after giving you medicine and went to the bathroom to clean himself up alone. 

After he died, you took one of his jackets and the silver cross necklace he always wore. You sold the jacket at a pawn shop in exchange for food money, but you always kept the necklace with you. 

The necklace Niki was aiming for. 

“Tsk.” He clicked his tongue when you grabbed his wrist before his slender fingers could touch the necklace. He was told you were trained to fight, which was expected. By a veteran, no less. He just wished you had forgotten all about it after so many years. 

Pulling his other hand out for another attempt, his arm bounced back just as you were about to grab hold of it. You slipped past him, and he took your bafflement as an opportunity to reach for the necklace. He looped his fingers around the cross and yanked it off your neck, causing you to slightly lurch forward. Your chest hit the cash register, but you didn’t allow yourself a second to process the inconvenient pain. 

Hoisting yourself with both hands on the counter, you planned to jump onto the counter and tackle him, but Niki caught onto your movement quickly. Before you could jump, he focused his attention on one of your elbows and, within a second, twisted it with his head. The bone exuded a cracking noise that pierced his uncomfortable ears—he never did get used to the consequence of using his ability. 

You lost your balance and fell off the edge of the register counter, your face slamming against the surface on the way down. He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but not a second later, your functional arm shot up to use the counter as leverage to pull yourself from the ground. You emerged, panting with a nosebleed and, if Niki has to describe it, batshit crazy eyes.

But not black or white eyes. 

“Give me the necklace back!” you rasped out as you crawled onto the counter slowly.

He took a few steps backward, trying to debate to what extent he was willing to continue with the mission for his safety, but his train of thought was cut short once your feet hit the ground on the other side. You ran toward him at full speed, one arm held up to grab for the necklace in his hand. He cursed audibly and raised his arm to keep the accessory out of your reach. You pushed him backward in return, deciding to get him to loosen his grip instead of prying the necklace off his hand. Niki stumbled and hit his back against the glass window. You huffed in acknowledgment; you were right. He was as frail as a twig.

Regaining his composure quickly, he blocked a blow you punched toward his face and held onto your fist. His gaze hardened as if asking you to be the one to give it up, but you ignored his face to focus on his hand. Your thoughtful expression made him frown. He didn’t know you weren’t thinking of your next move as much as you were surprised that he had the strength in him to make your arm shake in a strength battle. After a momentary struggle, you decided it wasn’t worth the effort to keep at it, so you abruptly pulled back and went in with your leg.

Niki let out a choked groan, feeling a mouthful of saliva kicked out of him as his steps stuttered in response to your feet colliding with his side. His lanky torso was bent to keep his crown lower to the ground in case of sudden dizziness, and so you wouldn’t see his twitching eye because your kick reminded him of a long-repressed memory.

He’s been beaten half to death before. He knew how a middle-aged man’s fist felt and the attacks of a chronic fighter. You must be stronger than an average person; he could figure out that much by eliminating his experiences. The only issue at hand was whether you were under the effects of adrenaline or if you were purely strong enough to kill a man with a single hit. 

He has heard of some people with strength-type powers who committed manslaughter before, and he suspected the select group of people with top percentile powers could kill someone with one punch if they wanted to. You were, undoubtedly, part of that group. You haven’t killed him, though, and he didn’t think he wanted to risk finding out which one you were.

“I’ll ask again,” you huffed out lowly, your broken arm swaying from your body movement. He was still catching his breath, and you decided tonight wasn’t the night you sent an ambiguous teenager flying. “Give me my necklace back.”

Niki licked his lower lip and straightened his back. He met eyes with you. 

Still no black or white eyes. He was beginning to think maybe they were fed the wrong intel.

Holding onto his side, he panted with deep inhales and quick exhales. It was mercy. Choosing to negotiate when he was occupied was a sign of mercy. You were sparing him, and it was annoying. Not even his father showed him this much restraint, and he stole something irreplaceable to you. All he did to this father was grow up kind. 

That was it. That was what you reminded him of. His heart was beating out of his chest, the sound ringing heavily in his ears. He could feel the sweat roll down the side of his face, even though he hadn’t moved around nearly as much as he was used to. It was all psychological. He hasn’t felt like this since he stomped to his father’s workplace with the vengeful intention to kill him years ago. 

Shifting his gaze to the corner of the floor, he corrected himself with a few slow blinks. No, it wasn’t that. He hasn’t been this scared since he found his mother lying lifeless on the living room floor after a one-week school field trip. 

He slowly looked back at you—he knew your mother passed away too, and the man who took care of you after you were orphaned was killed. He felt for you. He really did. Your desperation was understandable. If someone tried to steal his mother’s remnants, he would do everything to retrieve them, too. He hated that he had to fight with you; this was the best scenario to bring out your power, which he was tasked to do.

“It isn’t worth anything,” you said. “It’s just a rusty necklace. It’s not real silver. You won’t get any good money out of it.”

It was stupid to tell him that. Sitting on the counter was a cash register stuffed with money, and if he could see the small necklace hanging around your neck, he must have noticed the register, too. He would have aimed for that instead of your necklace if he really wanted money. But why else would he take a stupid piece of junk? It couldn’t be for sentimental value, could it? Did Namjoon have a long-lost son he didn’t know of?”

“Please. The necklace means everything to me,” you pleaded. “You can take something else. I won’t say a word, I promise.”

Heat traveled to your neck, souring your nerves upon the embarrassment of not receiving a reply after begging. The necklace never wavered from his grip, though, and he never spoke to you. Pursing your lips, you huffed out a quick breath that bordered as a whimper, and then you readied yourself to advance toward him. 

The boy stared at you in silence, his hair tousled and a hand pressed abasing the side of his body. You did a number on him with that kick—it was intentional, but you didn’t want to seriously injure him. He deciphered that. He knew you wouldn’t hurt him when you switched to using your mouth instead of continuing with your feet. It was unfortunate that he has to go so far despite every bits of restraint you’ve shown him. 

Niki swallowed the knot in his throat as you ran towards him. He looked down at your legs and—crack! You dropped to the ground with a silent scream that got muffled when your face hit the floor. 

Tears gathered in your eyes and rolled down as you arched your neck to look at your dysfunctional legs. Your bones fractured, and the pain came from near your knees. You knew that. You could feel it. It must be the boy. He was the one who broke your arm. How embarrassing! You didn’t want to lay so helplessly before him. But your legs! Your bones! It has to be his doing because it was either him, or Enlightenment was at work. 

The feeling was familiar. Flashes of yourself struggling on the motel room floor passed through your eyes, when your legs bent in inhumane ways and the pieces of shattered glass cut the side of your hands. This was Enlightenment. It’s here. You could only sob, your eyes darting around to look for a nightstand and a glass bottle of fentanyl, then you tried to remind yourself you were at a restaurant, and the motel was an experience years passed. 

Enlightenment must have slipped through the cracks of your mind because you got too worked up over Namjoon’s necklace being stolen. This was your fault. You succumbed to the pain of your broken limbs and subconsciously wished, for even a second, that Enlightenment would come forth and heal you. This was your fault. How dare you wish for a healthy body, you insolent brat! You want the glory of being a God and not the pain of it. You were treacherous and devious, and you deserve only the worst part of Godhood.

You sniffed away the snot rolling down your nose. Oh, wait, your legs were broken—you widened your eyes at the realization and shifted them to your legs. Broken, unmoving—oh no, oh no, oh no! What should you do now? You should crawl to your bag in the back of the kitchen or try to grab the phone on the counter. You needed to call someone, anyone. Your arms still work, correct? Moving one of them, you furrowed your brows in question. You remembered you could move both of your arms back in the motel, and you were alone, and you destroyed your eye to keep yourself human. 

You were at the motel, correct? No. You were not. This wasn’t the motel. Stop thinking about that.

You felt a momentary relief, but you were unable to exhale. You couldn’t really breathe, you only now realized that. You couldn’t hear much of anything either. The air has traveled from your nose to your ears, filling them. It must be the pain—your legs were broken. Stop forgetting that. Your legs were broken. They’re broken. They’re broken. They’re broken. 

You hiccuped tearfully at the knowledge that you forgot the very state you were in. You were slowly spiraling into madness. Or descending to Godhood. You have already begun forgetting yourself. Enlightenment slipped past and has already started taking over. It wasn’t the boy who did this. What boy? You were transforming. Everything Namjoon taught you has gone to waste—you miss him. You miss Namjoon. He always wore that necklace. You remembered hearing him pray to the cross before his death, begging God to show you mercy, that he was willing to take two places in Hell in return for a normal life for you. 

This was your fault. You let this happen. The boy didn’t do this to you. 

The boy? The boy!

Niki watched you squirm on the floor as if battling with yourself. He wasn’t sure what he could do past this point, as he had no real intention of taking the necklace from you. Attempting to step away from your fallen body, he felt a sudden grip around his ankles and glared downward. You held onto his feet with one hand and screamed at him to return the necklace. He gasped in surprise and immediately pulled his feet out of your grasp, pushing himself to the restaurant's glass doors.

Your persistence was admirable, but beyond that, it was disgusting. A body with only one functioning limb grabbing onto him was a nightmarish story to tell. 

“Wait! Wait, no, please! I need help!” you wept, hyperventilated, assuming he was planning to leave you all alone to descend into Godhood. “Don’t leave me here–I’m sorry I kicked you! Please, don’t leave me like–“ you lost your voice in a sharp inhale–“don’t leave me to turn like this, please! I’m scared! I’m scared! Please, help me!”

Niki’s hands trembled as he slowly backed away from you. The door opened before his back could hit it.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Heeseung’s tone was somewhat accusatory, but Niki thought he could be imagining things. Turning around, Heeseung gestured for the quiet boy standing by him. “They’re panicking. Put them to sleep. We are going back to the manor.” 

Sunghoon nodded and brushed past Heeseung and Niki to head inside the restaurant. He stepped over your body, the corner of his mouth twitching against his effort to suppress a heavy grimace at the state Niki accidentally left you in. Crouching down next to your face, he made the choice to put a hand under your head and his other over it. He did not respond to your flinch but noticed how you gradually calmed down at his touch. He pursed his lips and gave you a small smile when the corner of your eyes turned to look at him. 

You blinked slowly in awareness of his presence before averting your gaze. His hand was big and gentle, and you felt his touch acknowledge your exhaustion. It took seconds for your eyes to close and your head to slump into his warm palm. Sunghoon habitually swiped a thumb over the dry river on your cheek before he released the hand on top of your head to snap his fingers near your ear. Once he confirmed that you were asleep, he carefully reached under your knees and around your back to hoist you into his arms. 

Heeseung pushed open the door so that Sunghoon could walk past. He didn’t leave any comment, only flashing Niki a pointed look that was in itself a question enough. Niki frowned, huffing air into his cheeks and blowing them out in disgraceful bursts while Heeseung watched Sunghoon open the door to the backseat. He hummed in agreement when, after a monotonous debate shown through the blanking of his stare, he saw that Sunghoon opted to keep you steady in his arms instead of laying you down. 

Heeseung returned to Niki after the car door closed. “Why did you do that to them?”

“You didn’t see how scary they were,” Niki retorted, pulling up the corner of his clothes to reveal a developing bruise on the side of his abdomen. He winced at the darkened skin and pulled his clothes down to cover it. “Ugh–they are strong, too. I expected it, but I really didn’t think they’d have the power without being fully–“ he rolled his eyes skyward to think–“God-like?”

Heeseung stared at the boy before looking down at the spot you were previously lying on. Judging by Sunghoon’s monotonous expression, you never allowed your power through. From start to finish, after having your necklace stolen and your limbs broken, you’ve kept it under control. Either you have insane determination, or you’ve lost your power through the years, leaving bits and pieces behind, which not only wouldn’t make you qualified enough to join The Manor, but it would have also made all of your suffering tonight in vain.

Or, even worse, he messed up and you weren’t even the person he was looking for. 

Heeseung heaved a sigh. Everything was already in vain. You never ended up showing him what he needed to see. “Go back to the car. I’ll talk to you about it later.”

Niki clicked his tongue and grimaced at Heeseung’s unhidden annoyance. He really believed he could have died under your hands, and this was the reaction he received—a judgemental look and a dissatisfied sigh. He’d tell Sunghoon and Heeseung to go to Hell if he could. 

“Hey, you gave me an end goal, and I worked toward it,” he said. “If you hate it so much, do it yourself next time.”

“You overdid it,” Heeseung scolded as he pulled his foldable cane out of his pants pocket. He snapped it straight and hit the side of Niki’s leg with it. “You also didn’t find out what we asked you to find out, so don’t give me an attitude and get back to the car. We’re going home.”

“Screw you,” Niki muttered, running a hand through his hair. 

On his way out of the restaurant, he shoved his hand toward Heeseung’s chest. Heeseung glared at the younger boy, his hands flying up to catch the object being poorly transferred to his palms. When he looked down, he saw a silver cross necklace. 

You woke up in a bedroom that wasn’t yours. 

The sheets stacked on top of you were so heavy they may be designed to force you into slumber, which you’ve just woken up from an amazing one. You could not remember the last time you felt you’d slept for an appropriate amount of time, given you worked two jobs to sustain yourself. When you turned to the side, the pillow beneath your head a feathery weight that deepened according to your movements, you saw the light seeping through the edge of the tall curtains. Sitting next to the bed was a nightstand with a pot of a single fully bloomed daffodil.  

It faced you, and you swore you met eyes with it. 

Hastily sitting up, you slathered your hands down your body to feel for your work uniform and sighed when you realized you were still wearing it. Your arms and legs were moving normally, too. Whoever brought you here last night helped you immensely—the boy who touched your head. You have a somewhat blurry vision of his face, and you thought you didn’t get to see him for too long before you suddenly opened your eyes in this room. But you remembered you thought he was pretty. 

Reaching a hand up to your neck, you touched your naked skin and gently bit down on your lower lip. Your necklace was still gone. That boy with poorly dyed hair must have taken it, or perhaps you could bet on the man who saved you to have retrieved your necklace, too. Furrowing your brows, your back slowly arched in despair, and you buried your face in your hands. The odds of getting the necklace back were slim; you’ve used up all your luck when someone even walked in and saved you from descension. 

You roughened your face by rubbing it, attempting to match your movement with the frustration you felt. There was much you’ve got to do, such as explaining to your manager about what happened and, obviously, concocting a plan to get the necklace back. However, first, you believe you’ve overstayed your welcome, so you should thank the man for his hospitality and take your leave.

The room's floor was carpeted, and out in the hallway, it was waxed. But that wasn’t the point. 

You were greeted with a seemingly never-ending hallway once you opened the door. Widened eyes darted from top to bottom, left to right, and then you peeked out of the doorframe to find that you were stranded in nowhere inside what you assumed to be a mansion. Silence filled the cold air, but the place was well-kept and well-lit enough to not appear eerie. Multiple closed doors were bolted to the wall you came out of, and you wondered if they served purposes other than being a hallway of guest rooms. 

A curse left your lips as you walked onto the cold wooden tiles with your bare feet, your face twitching with baffled annoyance rather than amazement. It didn’t make sense that this was the kind of house you woke up to. How could the man who saved you be wealthy—irregularly wealthy, judging but the size of this building? What was he doing at a sandwich restaurant that pushes out meal deals for poor people quicker than a dog could respond to a doorbell?

“Where do I even go?” you muttered to yourself, your feet tipping left and right as you debated which side of the hallway looked more promising, even though the structure was identical. After a moment’s thought, you stopped to gather yourself.

Your priority was to find the man who saved you, but you’ve been met with an obstacle: his maze of a house. What a first-world problem to have, indeed. You could, technically, run around the place and pray that you bump into him or anyone at some point. The house was so quiet you thought you could be the only person there. However, you ran the risk of going further into the maze instead of finding a way out, which would waste both you and the man’s time, as he would have no idea where you were unless he installed cameras everywhere, which would make this house eerie. 

You shook your head to get rid of your thoughts, which you supposed were the actual time-wasters. Collecting your composure again, you put your feet together and closed your eyes, letting your head dip slightly into a bow. You pressed a palm to your chest to help yourself concentrate. 

“I receive the blessing that I will find what I am currently searching for,” you mumbled. 

You were met with a bud outside the window when you opened your eyes. It was yellow, supposedly a daffodil, except it was the size of a utility pole. The second you saw it, though, the knot developed by the heavenly blessing you gave yourself a second ago untied itself, meaning this flower bud was one of the many answers you were searching for. 

“Okay,” you nodded, admitting that you live in a world where such things are normal, “anyway.”

The daffodil bloomed open when you spun on your heels to walk away. The boy curled up inside extended his limbs to sit comfortably on the petal. When he noticed you in the hallway, he opened his mouth to let out a hoarse yell and leaned forward. The sudden weight dip made the flower tip dramatically closer to the window, and before he could react, he slammed against the glass, making you jump in shock. 

You resisted the urge to respond to the noise, being very in tune with the fact that you did not want to understand why a flower was knocking on the window as if it had hands. The man released his knuckles from the window and gasped in disbelief when he saw half of the grimace on your face as you moved along, ignoring him.

“Wait, don’t leave!” he hollered through the window. “My name is Jake! I’m supposed to come check on you!” 

You swallowed a gulp of saliva and spared him a glance. His glasses were perched right at the tip of his nose, likely having slipped that far when he fell and bumped against the window. His palms were pressed against the glass on either side of his head, and his lower lip jutted into a helpless pout. You noticed he was missing both of his fourth fingers, the knot of skin that sealed over the wound an uneven match. Anyway, he wasn’t the man who helped you yesterday. Although, with the size of this mansion, you wouldn’t be surprised that there was more than one resident. He could help you find who you were looking for. 

Upon receiving your attention, Jake’s shoulders rose giddily. He pressed his forehead against the glass with a grin once you neared, looking down at you from the flower he threatened to slip off. “Hello, good morning.”

When you shook your head to indicate that you couldn’t hear his mutters through the window, he pulled back with a brief gasp and pointed downwards. You followed the direction of his finger, your eyes traveling to the window frame where you saw the lock. Disregarding your dubious interest in why such a tall window was designed to be opened from the bottom, you approached it and fumbled with the lock, clicking it open. 

Jake dropped from the petal gingerly, the tip of his feet landing on the slim stool. The flower behind him shrunk then, leaving your sight. With immaculate balance, he maintained himself on the stool as he pressed his fingers against the bottom rail and slid the window upward to jump inside the manor. He dusted himself of invisible dirt before grinning at you, a hand bashfully waving. 

“Hello, good morning,” he greeted and pointed at the opened window. “That’s what I said just now when I was outside.”

You peered off to the side before reluctantly responding with a nod. “Hey.”

“You can walk now. That’s great,” he said, gesturing to your feet. 

He was still awake when the trio returned to the manor. The state you were in left him with a permanently opened jaw. He was part of the group that vetoed the plan to test for your power before bringing you to the manor, so he didn’t catch wind of the steps and procedures. But, still, he didn’t think immobilizing you to that point had been part of the plan. Heeseung and Jungwon were meticulous and determined to get their answers, but what happened to you was cruel. 

He stayed to watch Niki pop your bones back in place, your head on Sunghoon’s lap so he could better keep you in a deep slumber. He had offered to carry you to the guest room and put you in bed, given that he thought Sunghoon looked exhausted, but the offer was turned down. Jake didn’t think much of it. He assumed Sunghoon grew a brief attachment to you after having to access your mind to put you to sleep. 

You glanced down at them, a bitter taste circling at the tip of your tongue. You couldn’t say you had been more bothered by the pain than the potential reason behind your legs breaking. You couldn’t recall exactly what happened, but you were certain you had begged for help so you wouldn’t become a God, not to be taken to a hospital about your broken limbs.

“It wasn’t a good experience,” you commented. 

“I would assume so,” he agreed before clearing his throat and shrinking into himself. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” 

“Don’t blame yourself,” you said. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

“True, but–“ he rubbed the nape of his neck and tipped his head side to side–“it is the fault of people I know.” It took him a second to register the sudden morph of caution among your features through how your lips twitched and your gaze hardened. He immediately extended his arms when you moved away, and then he held them up in surrender. 

“No, no, no! Don’t be scared! We won’t hurt you from here on, I promise!” He put one hand down to his heart, drew a cross, and pointed up at the sky. “I cross my heart and hope to die.”

You felt a cold quiver along your skin—Heaven has received Jake’s oath to you. Still unused to the passives of your power, in which your body perks at human practices related to Heaven and Hell, you rubbed your arms to rid of the goosebumps as you grimaced at Jake. “It’s not a good idea to swear to God in front of me.”

He raised his brows, his genuine grin returning gradually. “I know.”

“What?” 

“I know,” he repeated. “You’re them, aren’t you? The baby who sent a down beam from Heaven and killed every infant in the NICU.”

Your parents never spoke of that accident, and you were too young to understand what the continuous protests outside your apartment meant at that time. Namjoon hid it from you by omission, not intentionally, but because he didn’t feel it was something you need to know. Still, he explained everything when you asked about the whispers traveling between social workers. You have a gift, he had told you, and it killed everyone around you. It was fortunate that it happened when you were just born. People would have been able to recognize you now if it happened later in your childhood. 

“You–“ you trembled out a breath–“you knew?”

“Yeah. Technically speaking, we figured out the Heaven part on our own,” he clarified with a dismissive wave, his eyes rolling to the side. “The public doesn’t know about the Heaven part, obviously, but imagine if they did! The Government would have caught your ass so fast!”

You heaved a sigh and turned away from his big mouth, trying to block out his voice to prioritize your thoughts. 

You cared about the infants you murdered more than ten years ago. You dug into their names and their families. You memorized everything about them and visited their graves periodically. You’ve done whatever you could as an attempt to repent, and you’ve come to terms with what you did as a newly born infant. It was on the news years ago. Everyone has heard of it already. You’ve got no problem with that. The issue was that Jake knew the beam you cast down was from Heaven, unlike what the news broadcast assumed to be just a random light projection power. 

A lot of dirt had to be dug through for anyone to deduce that your power has an association with Heaven and Hell (and Jake got some guts of steel if he already knew and still swore to Heaven in front of you). The boy who stole your necklace yesterday must be someone he knew, then? Given that he wasn’t lying to you. What else? You have clearly been stalked for a while now, or at least researched and checked. Was the whole point of yesterday night to bring you to this place? What of the man who put you to sleep? He couldn’t possibly be part of this devious plan! 

“Woah, don’t stress about it. Everyone here has been through  some horrible things!” he mused.

“It’s not that! Have you guys been–wait, no!” You scratched the back of your head. “How many people–ugh, what?” You’ve got many questions and didn’t know where to begin. 

“We will explain everything at breakfast,” he interrupted your self-imposed struggle with a soft nudge to your elbow. He held onto your arm to pull you along with him before letting go to walk by your side instead. “I’m getting hungry. Come on!”

Your legs automatically followed him, walking down the hallway as he doused you in chit-chat. 

Most of them, you answered with silence and an occasional hum, such as random incidents that happened prior to your arrival with a bunch of strangers’ names inserted between the stories. Some of them, you felt the need to flash him a raised brow and give him an answer, namely when he enthusiastically asked if you were friends with the nation’s cosmic twins, whose power was similar to yours. You were not, but you always thought if anyone in the world understood your relationship with a God, it would be them. 

Initially unwilling to pay him any mind, you found his ability to talk nonstop a relatively comfortable aspect of him. He was soft-spoken and stuttered from time to time. Mixing his words with silly laughter made him the epitome of an unthreatening presence. The man who crossed his heart and hoped to die at the promise that he would bring no harm to you from now on—your body gradually lowered its guard as he walked with you, understanding that if you needed to feel alert, he wasn’t the proper target. 

“Jake,” you suddenly called. “Can I ask you something?” 

He made a questioning noise from the back of his throat, immediately cutting himself off from what he was saying. “Yeah. What’s up?”

“What’s, um,” you slowly turned your head and met eyes with him. His smile made you look away briefly. “What’s for breakfast?” 

“Oh!” He grinned, clapping his hands together. “Jay made traditional American breakfast. You know, with pancakes and syrup and everything.” 

You nodded, your hands habitually flying up to your chest to grasp at nothing. 

You’ve never had a traditional American breakfast before. 

Sunghoon fidgeted with his fingers when he saw you enter the dining room with Jake. To occupy himself, he continued setting the table as Jay requested. 

He was never big on talking about feelings, whether they be his or others. Ironically, he always felt the most in every room because of the nature of his power: to absorb emotions.

What originally started as a means to calm someone down slowly unraveled to be an ability to directly take away feelings. As he grew up, he learned that there were various consequences of doing that, and one of them was to induce sleep. Before he put you to a deep sleep last night, he placed his hand on your head to take your emotions away. Once you became a blank sheet of paper, you blacked out.

He has been using his psychic power since he discovered it. Still, unfortunately, his understanding of it wasn’t advanced enough to reach its full potential. Logically, since all the emotions he takes from others go inside him, if he could also swallow his own, he could just become a vacant vessel. But he hasn’t adequately learned how to do that, so he’s been forced to experience every emotion he absorbs from others. Your anxiety and anguish from last night—he would never say it, but he knew exactly how you felt. 

“Good morning, everyone!” Jake mused once he neared the dining table. Turning his head left and right for a quick scan, he smiled despite the empty chairs. “It’s just us old folks, then.”

“Niki is not coming down for obvious reasons, and Sunoo wanted to stay with him,” Jay commented as he went around the table to set a plate of hash browns and scrambled eggs down. “Jungwon said he will come to see [Name] when he is ready to apologize.” 

You gave Jake a quick glance at the casual drop of your name. He scrunched his nose to dissolve the tension in the air and patted your shoulder, telling you to grab any seat as long as food was in front of it. You licked your lower lip and rolled your eyes when he immediately left you after his voice dropped, running around the table to what you assumed would be his designated seat. Unfortunately, since you knew nobody else in this mansion, you thought your best choice was to sit next to Jake.

Turning to follow in his footsteps, you were abruptly greeted with a soft wall. Sunghoon put his hands up awkwardly when you stumbled backward to avoid bumping into his chest. He wanted to steady you but could not force his arms to move. He had mustered up the courage to approach you when he saw you were walking in his direction anyway. All he wanted was to do a wellness check, but he didn’t expect you to turn to him at the same time he stepped close. 

When you collected your composure to look up at him, you stilled in response to him wordlessly putting his hands on your head. You remembered his face, namely his quiet eyes. It took you a while to register how intently he was staring at you, and you deliberately looked at something else to avoid making prolonged eye contact. Sunghoon’s palms cooled with gentle traces of air traveling along his veins—you were a little confused but overall calm. There was a silver of judgment, possibly because you noticed Jake’s pancakes were overly soaked with syrup. 

He removed his hands in relief once he ensured you were doing well. He reached inside his hoodie pocket to pull out a pen and a stack of tiny notecards. He scribbled something on it before flipping the card over. “How are your legs?”

“I am walking normally,” you replied with a nod and a pursed smile. Then, reluctantly, you gestured to your mouth. “You–um–you can’t talk?”

“I can. Don’t want to,” he opened his mouth to say before haphazardly writing on a notecard again. He turned it over to you. “Sign language?”

You breathed in a short gasp and shook your head. “No, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I write,” he muttered before pointing at himself. “Sunghoon.”

“[Name],” you introduced, then your mouth folded into a sneer not particularly directed at him. “You already knew that.”

“Oh my–come sit down! The food is getting cold!” Jake whined from his seat, finding it his sworn duty to ease any awkward tension in the air. Half his sentence was muffled by the cheeks full of food, but his distasteful glance and stretched-out tone told a more aggressive message than his words. 

Sunghoon spared Jake a glance behind his shoulder before complying. He side-stepped you, planning to go around the table to sit at his original seat, which would be on the other side. But, before he could make it around the corner, a soft yet distinctly clear voice halted his steps with a suggestion. 

“Sunghoon, go sit next to [Name].” 

Heeseung limped in slowly, putting most of his weight against his trusty cane. There were no signs of distress on his face or clothes, but the beaded wetness around the tips of his hair and the fact that he was walking with his cane told everyone in the dining room that his gout flared up again. When he noticed Jay’s raised brow, silently asking about his well-being, he responded with a pursed smile. It was nothing unusual, but if he could stop having them, he’d rather that. 

Jake stacked your plate with all sorts of food after you sat down, occupying himself with other tasks so he could take a breather from swallowing the sweets. You frowned at the unappealing formation he slathered your plate in—the syrup seeping under the scrambled egg, the pancakes soaked into a darker shade, and short strings of hash browns sprinkled atop three sad bacon pieces. If you weren’t so hungry, you would have openly complained about how it looked.

“How are you feeling?” Heeseung asked after he sat down with a suppressed groan. He set the cane against the table and pressed his hands together under it, looking at you expectantly. “Oh, and of course, my name is Heeseung.” 

You nodded; through the process of elimination, you could pinpoint who Jay was. “I’m walking.” 

“That’s wonderful,” Heeseung said, not particularly sounding like he was rejoiced to hear that. “But how are you feeling?”

Sunghoon lowered his utensils beside you and signed, “They’re feeling fine.”

“You made friends quick,” Heeseung mused as his eyes darted across Sunghoon, who answered a question directed toward you, and Jake, who he noticed dropped a mountain of food on your plate without being asked to. 

The way Heeseung spoke was bothersome but not frighteningly so. Talking to him felt like talking to someone who wanted nothing to do with you yet was socially adept enough to maintain a regular conversation and trick you into thinking his disinterest was all in your head. Judging by how he motionlessly observed you, you thought you might be correct to believe it was all your imagination.

You shrugged. His low tone of voice made your agreeableness shrink. “I won’t necessarily call them that.”

“[Name]!” Jake gasped, but when he saw your grimace, a face screaming at him that he couldn’t possibly think he’d made a friend on such short notice, he pouted. “Yeah, okay.” 

His disappointment—mainly the unapologetic way he showed it—returned your sympathy that Heeseung unknowingly stole by putting you under strange pressure. Your eyes softened, and your lips pulled themselves into a friendly smirk. You turned away from Jake before he could notice your demeanor change. Heeseung was still looking at you when your attention was on him again. 

“I’m sure you have many questions,” Heeseung said. “I also have a few about you.” 

You failed to stifle a groan. “I am the baby in the NICU.”

“We already figured that out,” he returned and leaned forward, putting his arms on the table and interacting his fingers to rest his chin on top. “We are more concerned about your power.”

You didn’t want to overthink the situation and debate if this rich and fulfilling breakfast was only a disguise to trap you in an interrogation, but with the way Heeseung hadn’t even begun to pick up his utensils since he sat down at a table full of delicious-looking food, it was becoming more blatant that you were here to be accessed instead of enjoying your meal. Tearing a fork through the hash browns, you plopped some into your mouth and chewed—either way, you were enjoying the food. 

“I can answer your questions about me,” you said after swallowing your food. “But you also have to answer mine.”

“That was the plan,” Heeseung said. He leaned back and gestured toward you with his hand before using the same one to reach over to the teapot set down in front of him. He leisurely poured himself a cup of hot tea. “You can go first.”

You exhaled quietly, the light in your eyes fading to light up the back of your head, where you have constructed an investigation board with barely any evidence and strings tying it together. Your confusion regarding the situation was immense, from the purpose of your being here to the location itself, but when you were allowed to voice your concerns, you found it difficult to make sense of them. You didn’t know where to begin, but you didn’t want to let Heeseung take the rein either.  

“We can start by introducing this place.” 

You turned to Jay upon his suggestion. He sent you a nod. “That would be great.”

“My name is Park Jongseong. You can call me Jay,” he said. “My family owns the estate we are currently in.” 

The house was not a mansion. It was a manor. Not that you could tell them apart; you only knew they have one thing in common: they’re both unaffordable. Jay’s family rarely frequented the estate in the past. Still, now that he had become the last descendant of his generation for a reason he didn’t include in the introduction, he decided to move from the city and officially make the manor his home. Along with himself, he brought Jake, his orphaned childhood best friend.  

The manor currently housed seven residents—Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo (a boy who grew the flower Jake sat in), Jungwon, and Niki, with whom you had a terrible first encounter yesterday night. Courtesy of Jay’s incredible sum of inheritance money, none of them were required to pay a cent to stay here. Jake laughed when he saw your eye twitch at the mention of free housing, and his laughter was not abruptly cut short by your deadpan stare.

“I do want to apologize on behalf of what Niki did yesterday,” Jay said after the brief introduction. “It wasn’t his intention to hurt you like that. I believe he panicked and made a terrible decision in the spur of the moment.” 

You squinted at him, dissatisfied. “Why are you apologizing for him?”

“We are responsible for the younger ones living here,” Heeseung answered. “Niki came to live with us after his mother died a few years ago. We didn’t have to look too far to figure out it was his father’s doing, but he couldn't be prosecuted due to a lack of evidence.”

That didn’t make you less angry at him, but you felt sympathy where it was due. The fact that he was only a child made it easier to change your initially rigid impression of him. You liked to think you would have never done anything of that sort back when you were his age. Still, given the assumption that he knew who you were and what you could potentially do, perhaps he wasn’t entirely wrong to panic for his life when you attacked him for your necklace.

Besides, you did do something like that, albeit it was unintentional. Between you and Niki, you weren’t all that. 

“We couldn’t let him stay with his father, so we brought him here,” Jake said, dropping his fork on the table and animatedly gesturing with his hands. “You should have seen the state he was in after he went to avenge his mom. His father beat him to a pulp in public, like in front of his colleagues and everything! That man has no shame!”

There appeared to be a pattern, which you should have deduced when Jake mentioned that everyone living in this manor has been through horrible things. Jay’s family was no longer here, Jake was orphaned, and Niki’s parents lived unfortunate lives. You looked around the table curiously, brows furrowing at Heeseung and Sunghoon. Sunghoon was quite taken aback by your sudden attention, but after spending a few seconds accessing you, he looked up at his friends from across the table and signed.

Jay stifled a chuckle. “He wanted to tell you his parents are alive and well. They just abandoned him.”

“So, technically, another orphan.” You nodded in acknowledgment. “What about you?”

Heeseung looked down at his plate as if debating his response. You waited, surprised that he didn’t have anything witty to slam at you, anything about a lack of manners and asking about people’s personal trauma after having just met them. When he looked up again, he was smiling faintly. 

“Same situation.”

“Okay, so, what? This is one freaky family of orphans?” you said, sneering almost. “Am I here to be recruited?”

“Not to the parentless children club, no,” Jay said. “But to something else.”

You leaned against the back of the chair and crossed your arms, impatiently exhaling a cue for them to start getting to the main point. Jay peered off the Heeseung, and they nodded. 

“Everyone here takes part in vigilante work,” Heeseung started. “Although Jay’s inheritance money should last all of us for a long time, we thought it was best that we don’t rely too much on it, especially with the unpredictable state of the current economy and the–“ he widened his eyes–“crazy property tax we have to pay just for this house.”

“What the hell are you–vigilante work?” you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief. “You guys are like one of those pretentious, morally upright people who make citizen’s arrests to, what, make the world a better place?” You lifted your arms to make quotation marks. 

“We have law enforcement for a reason. The justice department literally introduced an independent investigation team.”

“You and I both know the police force isn’t helpful anymore in a world of randomized magic. Those with insignificant powers want to feel special, so they join the academy, and those with powers adequate enough to protect the public did better things,” Heeseung said. “The investigation team neglects issues on a smaller scale. Even if they don’t, they are ill-equipped to handle them. The twins alone are a walking natural hazard.”

As much as you didn’t want to agree with Heeseung, he didn’t tell a single lie. The police force, indeed, hasn’t been as helpful as the collective effort of the citizens living in a specific area. A nosy neighborhood auntie could disarm a robber faster than the police could arrive at the crime scene. And he was right that the investigation team was ill-equipped to handle regular tasks, as the collateral damage it has caused to the city has been reprehensible.

“I mean–“ You licked your lower lip and huffed displeasedly. 

“Why are you upset?” Jake asked, playing with his fingers. “Do you not believe in justice?”

“I do,” you said. “I also believe it’s not our place to serve it.”

“Leave it to the vessel of a God to tell us that,” Heeseung snarked. He maintained eye contact when you snapped your head around to glare at him. He raised his brows, the tip of his tongue lightly poking against his inner cheek. “You are one, aren’t you? It’s your turn to answer a question.”

“Something like that.” You shifted on your seat and sighed. “Maybe not a vessel, not exactly.”

“I’m not too concerned about the nomenclature of it all. I just need to know if you still have that power,” he cleared his throat, “because we would like to have you in our group.” 

Unfortunately for you, that was not an unreasonable request. “How do you guys work?”

“A popular website was created a while ago that allows people to post any suspicious individuals or activities they’ve witnessed. We have been picking interesting cases from there and starting our investigation,” Heeseung replied. “Once we figure out the logistics, we go in, catch the guy, and send them anonymously on their way to the station.” 

“Uh-huh.” You lowered your head and asked in a humorous whisper, “Are you guys secretly trying to surpass the investigation unit?”

Heeseung’s lips stretched into an amused smile for the first time. He looked pointedly at you, his torso leaning forward as if he wanted to share a secret. “No, but it would be funny if we did that.”

“Whatever,” you scoffed. “But here’s what I don’t get–why do you need me?”

You haven’t thoroughly explored the powers of everyone present at the table yet, but you didn’t think it was necessary to recruit more manpower when Niki could be a one-man army as someone who can manipulate bones with his mind. Besides, one of the residents could literally grow a giant flower solid enough to carry a grown man inside. How hard could vigilantism really be with nutcases like them on their side?

It wasn’t as if you were easy to handle, either. You may have the power of Godhood, but it has to be activated for you to reach your full potential, and once you reach your full potential, you will no longer exist to help them. You have spent your entire life trying not to activate it. Not only that, the sentience of Enlightenment should be a threat to everyone around you. Would they be able to deal with who you’d become once you reach that point? Would they want to? 

“We have been meaning to expand the scope of the cases we take,” Heeseung said. “Instead of scratching off online posts, we thought maybe it’s time to start taking orders for monetary gain. It’s always the more the merrier when it comes to those kinds of operation.”

“Right,” you muttered. “What’s in it for me?”

“You can quit all your jobs now and move in with us. It’s free housing, besides being sent to work on different cases occasionally. You can have your own room. We have a garden outside, a swimming pool at the back, and a greenhouse. Whatever you can think of,” Heeseung listed casually. “If you’re uncomfortable asking for money whenever you want something, Jay can always arrange to get you a card to use whenever you want.”

He had you at free housing and quitting your customer service jobs, but you let him finish because you didn’t want to seem too desperate to be out of your current tax bracket. The vigilante work didn’t bother you as much; it was a reasonable price to pay for everything else you would receive. As for your impressions of the manor’s residents—Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay were fine; some others you haven’t met; the rest you were cautious about, but nothing being a little avoidant wouldn’t solve. 

This manor was huge. Seeing its seven residents was an option. 

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll join you guys.”

Jake grinned, and Sunghoon visibly perked up at your agreement. But, before one of them could let out a celebratory holler, Heeseung waved his hands with an interrupting cough. He cleared his throat with an amused smile and settled down once again. It was great that you agreed to join the residence. However, he still needed to ensure your usefulness before offering you anything. 

“We still have to make sure your ability is intact,” he said. “The whole reason we sent Niki to the shop yesterday was to check for your power, but he didn’t get an answer.”

“If you’re looking for my Godhood–um, huh? Wait a minute.”

You heard Heeseung the first time. His words were clear as day and straightforward—Niki was at the sandwich store yesterday because they needed to check if you still have your power. You understood that the first time he said it, but the depth of its connotation failed to hit you until a few beats later. 

Niki was at the sandwich store yesterday. Niki tried to steal your necklace and railed you up. Niki broke your bones and triggered traumatic memories.

“You did all of that just to test out a theory?” you asked through a clenched jaw.

“Well, not to test out a theory. It’s more to answer a ques–“

“My limbs were twisted. I was crying on the floor,” you gritted out, your hand flying up to your chest to touch for something no longer there. “Do you know how important that necklace is to me? I’m sure you already knew. I’m sure you asked that boy to take it from me so you could get me to use my power.”

It must all be so fascinating to them. The idea of Godhood, the absolute power of Heaven and Hell. To them, your power was an ascension, and Enlightenment was to be reached. 

But they would never understand. The guilt of accidental murders, the stress of keeping a mental cage mature enough to defend yourself against a concept inherently yours, the loneliness of self-isolation, and the pain of becoming. You’ve lost people and become alone. You’ve had people, and you were still alone. The road to the end was unforgiving, as was the destination you were cursed to tread.

They would never understand. To them, you’re just a question to be answered. 

Whiteness covered your eye, glitching and twitching to make itself show. You’ve had it, it seemed. Still, it was so fascinating to Heeseung that life and death did not trigger you enough. Could anger be the defining starter instead of endangerment? Or were you just extremely good at controlling your emotions?

Everyone shot up from their seats when you pushed your way out of yours and bolted toward him. Your utensils slammed against each other when you pushed the table's edge, and the chair screeched against the floor as it got shoved. Sunghoon reached out for you, but his fingertips brushed only the faint of your hair before you were out of reach. For the first time, he understood why Heeseung requested him to sit next to you. In the worst-case scenario, he can calm you down best. 

Heeseung exhaled through his parted lips and stood up. His knee hurt, but he neglected his cane to walk to an open space. He watched you make your way to him, your intention to harm evident in your aggression, but he did not respond with the same caliber. He faced you with a bland expression and, before your fist could come in contact with his face, dropped something from his hand. 

A silver cross necklace dangled on his finger. You halted in recognition.

“This does not belong to me. I’m sorry I took it from you,” he said, gently reaching out for your hand. He helped you lay out your palm and returned the necklace. “I really do apologize for Niki’s actions yesterday night. I hope if you don’t forgive the event, you hold it against me instead of him, as he didn’t agree to the test.”

Your white eye twitched. Looking down at your palm, at the silver necklace, you thought you could smell the residue of blood that once stained it. You held it in your hand and pretended you could access Namjoon’s brain and know what he would do, but the cross was always a reminder that he was gone. You were never delusional enough, and he wasn’t predictable enough. You’ve grown up without his presence. Your decisions were for you to make.

And you say you wanted retaliation. 

A loud smack echoed through the dining room. Jay looked down at the ground, his eyes meeting Jake’s widened ones on the way to ignore what he saw. You felt a sting on your hand, which you knew felt much worse on Heeseung’s cheek. 

Heeseung closed his eyes to settle himself. He moved his jaw, clicking it as his hand moved up to touch where you’d slapped him. “I deserved that.”

“Yes,” you whispered, your eyesight coming back to you. You clutched the necklace in your hands. “It made me feel better.”

His chuckle was airy. The sudden beaming from your body, in contrast to how monotonous your voice sounded, was funny. “I suppose that’s the least I could do.”

The dining room fell silent for a moment. You watched Heeseung’s smile fade after the exchange, and for the first time, you realized how delicate his features were. 

Jake leaned his torso over the table to check if you two were still talking. He pouted when he saw that there’s only a bunch of standing involved in this silence, so he clapped his hands for attention and dropped them to his side. He shrugged, his brows raised innocently. “Well, are they in now, then?”

Heeseung’s eyes softened, and he nodded. 

[ltash]

Torn

I couldn't protect myself Simon

In the silence of the night, I am torn apart by memories of you. Each moment etched in my heart like a jagged tear."

I closed my eyes as I fell unconscious and drifted back into the memory lane. I was sitting in my room on the base when I heard a knock, and Simon came in. I was sitting on the bed, and he kneeled in front of me. I looked at him, taking in his perfectly sculpted body hidden under his jacket and cargo pants. His hand rested on my belly.

"I can't wait Nora," he said softly.

"Neither can I," I replied, feeling a surge of warmth in my heart.

His chin rested on my shoulder as he hugged me. His chest slowly moved with every breath he took.

I wanted to take this all in. To be like this forever, to never let him go again. He rolled his balaclava up to his forehead and cupped my face in his hands.

"I can't tell you in words how much I love you. I missed you so much," he said, his eyes sparkling with emotion.

The sad, tired and empty eyes I longed to see sparkle with life again.

"I love you more," I whispered, my heart swelling with love for him.

Our lips touched in a gentle kiss, and I deepened it, playing with his hair. "I love you so much," I whispered against his lips as tears cascaded down my cheeks, feeling his smile.

"You are the reason I am living this life all over again," he said, his voice filled with love and sincerity.

•••••••••••

"El Sin Nombre," Laswell's voice echoed in the briefing room.

"Fucking hell! I'll kill every one of those bastards if they even touch her!" Ghost's voice thundered, his fists clenched in anger.

Captain Price stepped forward, his voice steady. "We'll find her. She'll be okay. Nothing will happen to her."

But Ghost was visibly distraught, slamming his hands on the table. "All that for nothing, all that just to lose her like this," he muttered, frustration evident in his tone.

Captain Price turned to Ghost, his expression grave. "Tell me, Simon. Is there something going on between you and her? I need to hear it from you."

Ghost met his gaze, his voice trembling with emotion. "She's pregnant. I don't know how to tell you this, but I love her, and she loves me too. We can't live without each other now. There's no way back, Price."

Captain Price's features softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I understand, Simon. It's okay. I'm with you. You two deserve each other, and I guess she needs you more than anyone else right now."

Ghost nodded, a sense of resolve flickering in his eyes. "We're going to get her back. No matter what it takes."

Price placed a reassuring hand on Ghost's shoulder. "And we'll be right there with you. Let's get to work."

•••••••••

It all faded in a second as I opened my eyes slowly. Searing pain shot through my leg, jolting me back to reality. It was all a dream, a dream left behind, and I found myself in a room. It was dimly lit and spacious, the shadows playing tricks on my disoriented mind.

I was lying on a bed, the pain in my left leg relentless. My vision slowly adjusted, and I glanced down at my leg. A bandage was wrapped tightly around my thigh, but my jeans were soaked in blood.

Panic began to set in as I tried to piece together what had happened. The last thing I remembered was... the mission. The firefight. Simon's voice yelling my name. Everything else was a blur.

I reached for my leg, but the pain intensified, and I let out a small cry. I needed to find out where I was, what had happened, and why I was alone. The room's silence was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of machinery.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to push myself up on the bed, but the effort sent another wave of pain crashing through me. I collapsed back onto the pillow, tears of frustration and fear stinging my eyes.

"Help," I croaked, my voice weak and shaky. "Is anyone there?"

The door creaked open, and I strained to see through the dim light. My heart skipped a beat as the figure stepped into the room, but it wasn't Simon. Instead, it was a man dressed in dark, rough clothing, his face partially obscured by a bandana. Behind him, two more figures emerged, their expressions hard and unyielding.

My blood ran cold as the realization hit me: these were members of the Spanish cartel.

One of the men stepped closer, his eyes scanning me with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. He spoke in rapid Spanish, and though I couldn't catch every word, I understood enough to know that they were discussing what to do with me.

"¿Qué hacemos con ella?" one of them asked, his voice gruff.

"Esperamos órdenes," the leader replied, his tone calm but menacing.

I tried to push myself up again, but the pain in my leg was too intense. The leader noticed my struggle and approached the bed, crouching down so that his face was level with mine. He spoke in broken English, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

"You are awake. Good. We have questions for you, and you will answer them."

I glared at him, my fear giving way to a spark of defiance. "What do you want from me?"

The cartel demanded a heavy ransom for my release. They told me they worked for El Sin Nombre, their ruthless boss. My heart sank as I heard the name, knowing the notorious reputation that preceded him. El Sin Nombre was feared across the region, a shadowy figure whose name struck terror into even the bravest hearts.

The leader of the group, a tall man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped closer to my bed. "Your father," he said in accented English, "he killed El Sin Nombre's brother during his service. Now, we demand ten million dollars for your release."

My mind raced.

"Ten million dollars?" I repeated, trying to keep my voice steady. "Where do you expect to get that kind of money?"

The scarred man smiled coldly. "Your father would have found a way. If he loved you, he would pay. If not... well, let's just say El Sin Nombre is not a patient man."

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "My father is dead," I said, my voice firm. "He can't pay you anything."

The man's eyes narrowed. "Then who will pay your ransom?"

"I will," I replied. "But I need time to arrange the money. Ten million dollars isn't something I can just pull out of my pocket."

The leader leaned closer, his eyes boring into mine. "How long?"

"Give me a week," I said, my mind racing with plans. "I need to contact my financial team and liquidate some assets. I can get you the money, but it takes time."

He studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. "You have four days. If we don't have the money by then, you will suffer the consequences."

I nodded, trying to keep my fear in check. As the cartel members left the room, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm and focused.

••••••••••••

It was almost night, and they hadn't given me anything to eat. I had only drunk water from the pitcher and glass placed on the side table. The hunger gnawed at my stomach, making me feel nauseous. The urge to vomit hit me suddenly, and I bolted towards the bathroom, thankful that the bedroom had one.

I emptied my stomach, retching until there was nothing left. Exhausted and feeling even more lethargic, I stumbled back to the bed. It felt like I would die soon if I didn't get food and rest.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and four cartel members staggered in, reeking of alcohol. Fear gripped me as they advanced towards me.

"One of them muttered something in Spanish, 'hermosa rostra,' as he leered at me.

"Don't you dare come near me," I warned, my voice trembling with fear and anger.

But my warning fell on deaf ears. One of them lunged forward, grabbing my legs and pulling me down the bed, sending me crashing onto the floor. Panic surged through me as I struggled to break free from their grasp.

I was already weak, unable to defend myself against the onslaught of the cartel members. They were uttering gibberish in Spanish, words that I couldn't even comprehend in my terrified state. They pushed me towards each other like I was a mere plaything, their hands tearing at my clothes as if I were nothing more than a piece of meat.

I screamed as I tried to shield myself, desperation flooding my senses. In a frantic attempt to defend myself, I lunged towards the bedside table and grabbed the glass, my hands shaking with fear and adrenaline. Without hesitation, I smashed the glass against the head of the nearest cartel member with all the force I could muster. He crumpled to the floor, blood gushing from the wound.

But there was no time to celebrate my small victory. Another cartel member lunged towards me, and I fought back with all my strength, scratching and clawing at his face with my nails. But my efforts were in vain as he grabbed me by my hair, yanking me to the floor with brutal force.

Pain erupted throughout my body as he kicked me in the stomach, the force of the blow stealing the breath from my lungs. I screamed in agony, the sound echoing through the room and down the hallway, but my cries fell on deaf ears as they continued to rain down blows upon me.

They beat me mercilessly, punching and kicking me until I could no longer fight back. Until I lay there, bloodied and broken, my body wracked with pain and exhaustion. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

Through my blurred vision, I saw a woman standing in the doorway, yelling at the cartel members in Spanish. But it was too late. They left me there, half-dead, the agony of their assault still rippling through my battered body.

Agonizing pain shot through my belly all the way down towards my pelvis. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks as I lay there, blood soaking my jeans as I was bleeding down there, my body trembling with shock and pain.

At that moment, amidst the agony and despair, only one name echoed in my mind: Simon! His name escaped my lips like a silent prayer, a beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounded me.

The door creaked open, and the woman stepped inside, accompanied by a tall, imposing figure—a man I recognized as Diego, the same man who had dragged me towards the helicopter.

The woman approached me, her voice low and urgent as she spoke to Diego in rapid Spanish. I strained to catch their words, my senses dulled by pain and exhaustion.

"She is still alive," I heard her say, disbelief coloring her tone. "I thought they killed her."

Diego's response was grim and matter-of-fact. "We need her alive. She is the golden egg."

I lay on the floor, my back pressed against the cold surface, my body writhing with pain. Blood flowed from my nose, a stark reminder of the brutality I had endured.

"He will kill you," I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible amidst the chaos.

The woman's brow furrowed in confusion. "Who?" she asked.

I summoned the strength to pull a weak grin. "The man with the skull mask," i whispered.

"What's his name?" she pressed, her voice urgent.

"Ghost," I whispered, before succumbing to the darkness.

[icryyoumercy]

time is getting closer to where i need to order tea again

requirements for other suppliers: must deliver to switzerland, must sell the following teas: 1) english breakfast 2) earl grey 3) prince of wales 4) darjeeling 5) ceylon

[gargoyleandgremlinpress]

Freedom's Just Another Word by Synecdochic

This was a great opportunity for some nostalgia revisiting a fandom! Freedom's Just Another Word (For Nothing Left to Lose) is a Stargate: Atlantis canon-divergent future fic where Rodney comes back to earth alone, and is about grief, regret, and coming to terms.

Blobby little flower on the spine is to cover a paint smudge. Endpapers are scavenged from my wife's gel plate printing experiments, and the cover and spine are stenciled on with acrylic paint. Cover pattern is on cotton cloth sent through the printer and is left over from another project.

The gate symbol text dividers read "hope."

I did the typeset for this one as part of the @renegadepublishing 2022 exchange, and made two versions for my recipient, @rhipidurafan. This little quarto (quarter of a letter-size sheet of paper) is the full text of the story, and a full half-letter version includes a second copy with Synedochic's DVD commentary version. (So many text boxes… so many…) You can see a screencap of that below here.

True fact: I dropped it on the floor right after taking pictures, and now I need to glue it back into the case on one side. I cut the cloth the wrong way when making the case, and the pull on the covers from the grain direction is definitely visible. I am pretty happy with it regardless!

This was one of my Binderary books in February. I'm glad to have it finished on my shelf!

[devious-little-milkmaiden]

I’m going to choose to believe this is about a man

[girlscience]

I'm over here getting all concerned that the grad students won't like me now and then I won't be able to work in the center. And everyone I have told that to goes "when has anyone ever not liked you? when has that happened?" and I'm over here going "WELL THERE'S A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING".

But what if they decide I'm weird and don't want me because of that? Plenty of people have thought that about me before. Or what if they think my deficits in knowledge are too large to be overcome and that I would be more of a hinderance than a help???? These are actual possibilities.

[carolrain]

ten songs

I was tagged by @lizzie-bennetdarcy to post 10 songs I like that have names in the titles and then tag 10 people:

Anna Begins — Counting Crows

Ballad of Mary Magdalen — Cry Cry Cry

Jonas and Ezekial — Indigo Girls

Julianna Calm Down — The Chicks

Katy Says Today Is the Best Day of Her Whole Entire Life — Christine Lavin

Me and Bobby McGee — Janis Joplin

Mr. Baylis — Kasey Chambers

Mrs. Pinocci’s Guitar — Cheryl Wheeler

My Antonia — Emmylou Harris

Song for Molly — Lucy Kaplansky

Tagging @saraminia @jesuisici33 @flowertrigger @meadowharvest4856 @mostlyinthemorning @olinsghost

[wickershells]

Sigh. vent time u know the drill

[dearyallfrommatt]

Helluva thing to read stoned at midnight on a Saturday night during a thunderstorm, ain't it?

"Just coming to grips with my own mortality and the fact that, by never allowing myself to put down roots physically or emotionally, I've ensured that no one will be overly bothered by my eventual and perhaps imminent demise. That the flip side of absolute freedom is absolute irrelevance."

Valeros, Pathfinder TPB Vol. 6, Runescars

Damn, son. That's just mean reading my mail like that. Of course, my problem wasn't a lack of roots. Physically, anyway. I've up to my eyeballs in them. Unfortunately, they're just roots I'm part of, someone else's roots, not something I've laid down on my own or even added to. Like casting seed upon stony ground like nothing else, and Bro. Frank thought I didn't know what I was talking about.