#making excuses so I can make the wrong choice

[divaofmads]

A Love Meant To Burn

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader (Oc)

Chapter I , Chapter II

Chapter III: Your Name Was the Enemy

Chapter Summary: She knew exactly what she was doing. He was already broken the moment she looked back. Now, their story isn't about right or wrong. It’s about how far they’ll go when love feels like ruin.

Warnings: Angst, +18, Emotional trauma and guilt, Suicidal thoughts and themes of death, Complex and challenging relationship dynamics, English is not my first language so excuse my mistakes. **I write purely as a hobby, not as a professional**

Word Count: 10k

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

A/N: This one took a piece of me to write. it’s the kind of chapter where you know the characters are making choices they might never recover from, and you just sit there — helpless — watching it all unfold.

This isn’t just about love. it’s about the kind of love that hurts. the kind that demands you to choose between your heart and your sanity. between what you want, and what you can live with.

When the day revealed itself through the pale light slipping into the mouth of the cave, you were still asleep. Your cheek rested against Joel’s chest, your breath gently touching his skin — warm, patient, and innocent. One of Joel’s arms held you close, while the other rested on your shoulder; his fingertips moved slightly, not gripping you tightly but carrying a sense of possession that made it clear he wouldn’t let go. Your breath was like a soft echo rising and falling on his chest; each exhale a form of penance for him, a reminder.

He wanted to watch the peace spreading across your face when you woke up and realized you were still beside him — but it wasn’t time. Not yet. He hadn’t told you. Not yet… he hadn’t stolen you from yourself.

Joel’s head was leaned back against the damp stone wall of the cave. After a sleepless night, his eyes were bloodshot, but his mind was wide awake. The body that bore the marks of war seemed a little lighter in his arms. But the weight in his heart… that had become a burden harder and harder to carry. When his fingers tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, what passed through him wasn’t just love; it was also fear. Guilt.

Jackson was close now. Beyond the jagged cliffs lay that small, protected town — full of truths. Names. Faces. Answers. And Joel knew he wouldn’t be able to look into your eyes there. Because that town carried the truth that would tear you from him: that the man holding you so tenderly right now was the one who had killed your father.

But this morning… these few hours… you were still in his arms. He could still feel the soft rise and fall of your chest beneath his heart. And when he gently pulled the blanket over both of you, it wasn’t just to keep you warm — it was to make you a little more unforgettable. As though he wanted to protect you from more than just the cold of the cave. Wrapping his arms around your body, he rested his head in your hair for a moment. He closed his eyes. He wanted the moment to last forever. But time had never been kind to Joel Miller.

When he opened his eyes again, the first chill of morning brushed across his face. You exhaled softly and stirred a little. Your body still leaned into his, but you were waking up.

Joel saw your eyelids flutter, and he reached out to caress your cheek. His fingers glided gently from the curve of your cheek to just under your chin. Then his voice came, soft as a whisper.

“Hey... time to wake up, darlin’.”

In the way he said it, there was a kind of refuge. A way to say he loved you without saying the words. When your waking eyes met his, he saw the sleepy smile spreading across your face. Not the gaze of a stranger, but the look of a woman who trusted him.

And in that moment, Joel’s heart ached just a little more.

Because he didn’t know how he’d look into those eyes soon.

By the time night fell, snow had begun to fall slowly. The sky had closed over them like a gray blanket; the wind had turned into a whisper humming in their ears. But this night was different from the others. Joel stopped the horse to tend to your bleeding wounds. But…

You saw it as he searched through the inside of the backpack. His fingers reached for things that were no longer there: a roll of bandages, sterile gauze, a single dose of antibiotic capsules… all used up when Joel had refreshed the dressings on your wounds. The last bottle of alcohol had been used yesterday to clean the gash on yout knee.

There was nothing left.

No painkillers, no antiseptics.

Only a few dirty bandages, a half-dried spool of suture thread, and a broken pair of scissors.

Joel’s gaze drifted down to the worn-out pack beneath his hand. Then he quietly bowed his head. He knew it too. The truth lived in the silence. This was the phase of wounds that no longer healed.

The injury on your shoulder… that had been the beginning. Every minute a wound remained uncleansed, time turned into the enemy. And the enemy in your shoulder had already started creeping beneath the skin.

The edges of the wound had begun to bruise. Your skin was hot to the touch, but hard like stone. Every contact with that area triggered your body’s defense systems, setting your nerve endings on fire. The infection was spreading from within, beginning to take hold of your entire system.

You tried not to show Joel. You staggered as you stood but fixed a determined expression on your face. “We have to keep moving,” you said, as if nothing had happened.

But you hesitated for a moment as you took a step.

Joel noticed. He took a step toward you, wanting to reach for your shoulder, but you pulled away.

“I’m fine,” you said again. Like a wounded animal… and took another step.

Joel stopped. He knew. He had seen that look in the last days of Tess. The ones who tried the hardest to hide their pain were often the ones suffering the most.

But with you, it was different. You weren’t carrying pain — you were carrying vengeance. Your wound was burning not just your flesh, but your soul. And you were someone too strong — or perhaps too broken — to let the man beside you carry you.

The rhythmic sound of the horse’s hooves striking snow-covered stones rose through the silence like a kind of music. The pale light of the sun seeped gently from the mountain slopes, and the droplets sparkling on the frozen branches along the path looked like crystals hanging from the sky. The air was still sharp, still cold… but the wind blowing inside you now belonged to an entirely different climate.

You were in front of Joel, seated in his lap. Nestled between his knees, your back leaned against his chest. Your hands were wrapped around his; your fingers locked together tightly, as if they had known each other across the passage of time. Your body had surrendered to his warmth. And so had your heart. There was a promise now, in the way his arm wrapped around you.

“You’re quiet,” you said, resting your head back toward his shoulder. Your eyes weren’t focused on the horizon — they were focused on him. “You’re thinking.”

Joel’s throat was dry. With the horse’s slow but steady steps, his thoughts were moving too. Each step brought you both closer to Jackson; each vibration pushed him further toward the truth… the truth he had to tell you but still couldn’t bring himself to.

“I always think,” he said, voice low and husky. “But someone like you... you drown out a man’s thoughts.”

You smiled. Without hesitation. No matter how much pain you had endured, the bond between you and this man had begun to outshine the past.

“What did you think when you found me?” you asked in a whisper. “Honestly.”

The muscles in Joel’s jaw tightened. When the horse flinched slightly, he tightened the reins, but the real jolt had been inside his chest.

“I wondered... who you were. Why you were alone. Why you were so close to death.”

“And still, you saved me,” you said, resting your head on his chest. “I’m glad you did.”

Silence hung for a few heartbeats. Joel swallowed the words rising to his lips. *I killed your father.* The words hovered on the edge of his mouth, so close they nearly slipped free. But then you turned slightly toward him on the horse, your face glowing with affection.

“When I look at you, my pain quiets,” you said. “Everything inside me goes still. Only you remain.”

In that moment, Joel felt like someone crushed beneath his own weapon in battle. Defeated. Defenseless. And ashamed.

He brought his face close to your neck, breathed you in deeply. “I’m not the man you think I am, darlin’. I might… let you down.”

“Have you?” you asked, turning slightly. Your eyes were serious, but carried hope too. “Have you abandoned me? Hurt me? Loved me with lies?”

Joel wanted to look away, but couldn’t. Because your eyes were locked onto his. Only a few inches separated your lips, and your breath scorched his skin.

“It’s not possible to love you with lies,” he said at last. “Because loving you... is already the purest kind of truth.”

As the horse continued on its path, you laid your head against his chest again. Your eyes had welled with tears, but the smile on your lips remained. This journey was nothing like the one you’d first started. You weren’t just leaning on Joel anymore — you had surrendered to him. Without fear. Without question.

But Joel’s eyes were now fixed on something else in the winding bend of the distant valley. As Jackson drew near, the past cast its shadow again.

And in that shadow, something as sharp as love was waiting: the truth.

As the cold seeped through the forest like a thin mist, you continued your journey. With each trot of the horse pressing into the snow-mixed earth, the rising shadows of the mountains whispered that Jackson was near. But in that silence, it wasn’t just the sound of hooves that filled the air—there was something else between you: pain.

The wound on your shoulder was the only thing that truly kept you awake. Beneath the bandage, it throbbed relentlessly, each breath sending a knife-like jolt through your flesh. But you didn’t make a sound. You clenched your teeth. You didn’t want anything to cast a shadow over the bond growing stronger each day between you and Joel… the trust… the love.

But Joel Miller was a careful man. He knew that in silence, even body language could be a scream. And your scream was the trembling in your shoulder. No matter how hard you tried to sit upright on the horse, he had noticed every time you shifted your weight away from your right side, every moment you secretly rubbed your shoulder, every sharp breath you held back.

Suddenly, he stopped his horse. You instinctively pulled away.

“We need to stop,” he said. His voice was firm, but there were cracks in it—he could hear your pain.

You lowered your head, clenched your jaw. “No… no, please. We can keep going. Jackson isn’t far.”

Joel looked at you. His gaze was soft but stern—there was the expression of a man on the verge of breaking, holding himself back just to protect you.

“I see you,” he said. “You’re in pain with every step. Your shoulder’s in bad shape, the bandage is soaked through, there’s blood.”

You averted your eyes. “I can push through a little longer… How much farther could it be? Five, six hours? Maybe seven. Joel, please. If we stop now, we’ll have to spend the night in the mountains. We can’t afford to slow down any more.”

Joel’s face hardened. “We have to stop. Your health—”

“No!” you interrupted, the only word that came out loud. “You don’t know how much pain I can take. This wound is not more important than getting there. We need to warn them about the threat in Northpoint. You’ve already been delayed enough because of me. You can’t wait any longer. We have to make it. Both of us.”

Your words hung in the air. Joel locked his eyes on yours. The silence lasted long. Then he clenched his jaw, turned his head, and urged his horse forward.

“Alright,” he said, simply. His tone was hurt, but resigned. “But if we have to stop… this time, it’ll be my call.”

You nodded, burying the whirlwind of emotions inside you. You hoped this small victory over the man you loved would be enough to silence the ache. Joel pressed on, wrapped in silence, but his eyes kept drifting toward you.

If something happened to you… if you didn’t make it to Jackson together… it wouldn’t just be your anger he’d have to face.

And you, you had placed the invisible bond between you — the passion, the unfinished sentences, the traces of every touch — above everything else. Despite the pain, you kept riding, as if what you were fleeing wasn’t just the wound.

As the rhythmic steps of the horse echoed beneath you, the cold air surrounding you pressed down harder, like leaden clouds hanging low in the sky. Snow had started falling again during the night, and now it had seeped into the veins of the forest as a fine layer. But to you, the cold was not just a matter of weather — it was the echo of a threat rising from within your own body.

The wound on your shoulder was no longer just a source of pain, but a warning. At first, it had only throbbed — like the first sparks of infection, as your tissues battled the heat beneath your skin. But now, that throbbing had turned into a tremor spreading toward your internal organs. Your muscles were stiffening, your movements growing more mechanical by the hour.

You were aware of these symptoms. And you paid attention to every move to make sure Joel didn’t notice. You held your shoulder a little straighter, pinned your trembling hand to your thigh. Your breathing had quickened, but you released it slowly through your lips, as if it were only from exhaustion. But inside, you were burning.

Sweat traced from your scalp to the lines on your forehead. But this wasn’t from the cold — it was from the fire within. Your body was overflowing with white blood cells fighting off the infection, your immune system waging a war that was draining every ounce of your energy.

Your head began to spin. The images around you blurred in and out, the trunks of trees overlapping one another. Joel was behind you, always watching, always giving you space. You straightened up, not wanting him to notice your condition. Rubbed your eyes. Bit your lip. Your pupils had dilated — another sign of the fever.

You clung to the only weapon left in your mind: your will. You wouldn’t be a burden to Stranger. You’d already been enough of one. You had to tell them about the new infected type, and fast. And of course, there was also revenge.

JM. Two letters circling in your mind. And your father’s revenge. Joel Miller was in Jackson, and he was waiting for you to kill him without mercy.

You swallowed. It was a hard swallow, like a stone sinking down your throat. “I’m fine,” you told yourself. “Just a few more hours. Hold on.”

But Joel’s glances toward you were lasting longer now. He sensed something was wrong. Maybe he was waiting for you to realize it yourself. Maybe he was searching for a way to stop you before you even knew you needed to stop.

You pressed your knees tighter to the sides of the saddle to keep your balance. But this time, the nausea hit. The infection was reaching your core, your internal organs. Your heart beat faster, your lungs struggled to expand. Still, not a single groan escaped your lips. You swallowed. Blinked. And kept going.

Jackson had risen just beyond the final bend — molded by winter’s hands, covered in snow, silent and solid. Its walls, built by human labor, were as real as hope itself. As the radio towers stretched into the sky in the background, for the first time in a long time, arriving somewhere felt like a true “arrival.”

But for you, this was more than just an arrival. It was a reckoning.

The wound beneath your shoulder wasn’t just a cut — it was a silent prophecy reminding you of your father’s bloody end. As your body rotted, your soul marched toward one goal: find Joel Miller, confront him... and maybe even kill him.

Hiding the pain wasn’t easy, but for someone with a purpose, it became possible. Because revenge was more resilient than the immune system.

At the foot of Jackson, as you turned that final bend, your vision blurred. Snow poured before your eyes like rain. The white glare erased the boundary between your mind and reality. The only sound echoing in your ears was that of a figure calling from far away.

“Y/N?”

Joel’s voice came from a distance. Muffled, restrained, but worried. Yet you didn’t hear him.

You had already slipped into the past. Hallucinations often appeared in the final stages of such severe infections. The mind, rather than protecting reality, clung to memory. To your father... your final goodbye... and the name Joel Miller.

Your lips were dry, but parted involuntarily. The first syllable was bare and fragile: “Joel…”

Joel Miller. Your enemy. Your lover. Your killer.

In your mind, he stood there. With the gun pointed at your father, on that dark night, where it had all begun. And now, you had found him. Right at Jackson’s gates, just a second before your knees gave out. But this Joel wasn’t real. Just a ghost made of cortisol, inside your head.

“Dad…” your voice trembled. Raspy. “He… you…”

Joel pulled the reins, and the horse stopped abruptly.

“Y/N?”

He leaned forward, panic in his voice.

“Hey, look at me. What are you saying? What… what’s happening?”

Your eyes were already full. Your pupils had dilated, your body entering hyperthermic shock. Joel’s voice was fading. But to you, his face was clear. Even if it was a hallucination, his eyes were the same as the night he killed your father. And now he was in front of you. With your breath trembling, you whispered one last word before letting go:

“Joel… Miller…”

Joel’s eyes went wide. He dropped the reins and reached to catch you.

“Y/N! No, no… Damn it, NO! Sweetheart, look at me!”

As his hand touched your shoulder, your body began to slide from the horse.

And in that moment, the whole world went dark.

The last thing you heard was your name — called out in the voice of the man you loved, trusted, but were meant to hate:

“Y/N!”

A scream from the darkness startles you. Just one step ahead, you see your father collapsed to his knees—blood seeping from his chest, dripping onto the snow, turning into a dark red stain as it freezes. His face is pale, his breath ragged; his eyes turned to you in fear. Behind you, the silhouette of Redhill burns, like a city swallowed beyond the flames.

“Stop! Please!” you scream. Your voice echoes, but it’s as if no one hears it, swallowed by the apocalypse. Your foot won’t move forward, as if the ground is holding you, like a swamp… Every step delayed. Every breath feels like broken glass in your lungs.

That’s when you see the shadow for the first time.

A figure emerges from the mist. No face, no clear form. Only a shadow, only a silhouette… A gun in its hand, standing right in front of your father. Time feels frozen. You try to run toward the figure, pleading with a voice that cracks from your throat:

“Don’t! Please… What did this man ever do to you?!”

But there’s no answer.

You look at your father’s face. He looks like he just wants to see you one last time. His lips move:

“Run… sweetheart…”

Then the gunshot.

It’s like a bomb goes off inside your head. Your father’s body falling back happens in slow motion. Your legs give out beneath you. You collapse to your knees. Your breath shortens. Only one sound echoes in your ears: the shot, and then your father’s lifeless body.

Then you look again at the silhouette.

It begins to sharpen… The lines become clear… The eyes, the mouth, the hands… And suddenly, that name you’ve kept buried in your mind for years takes the shape of a face.

It’s Joel Miller.

But what shatters you more is that you *know* him.

The man you fell in love with. The one who saved you, held you, looked into your eyes and said, “I won’t let anything happen to you.” His eyes are on you now, his face filled with pain. As if his heart is breaking, too.

“You…” you whisper. “You…”

And then that world starts to collapse.

The ground cracks, the sky darkens. Everything pulls downward, and you’re falling with it… Falling… Falling. And then—

Your eyelids felt like lead. It was as if you were slowly rising to the surface from a dark and formless void, one you couldn’t remember falling into. Like someone approaching the light… but the light here, in the real world, burned like a sharp dagger. You wanted to open your eyes—but couldn’t at first. The world beneath your eyelids throbbed with pain.

There was a high-pitched ringing in your head. Your ears were buzzing. Time and space felt distorted, your skull echoed like an empty tin can. You shifted slightly. Your whole body ached from head to toe. Especially your right leg—that place... it felt like it was on fire. But you were still alive. The pain, unbearable yet real, was proof of that.

You let out a soft breath. The sheets beneath you smelled unfamiliar. The dry, heavy scent of harsh soap, ash, and old wood fibers... You had definitely never been here before. Everything was unfamiliar.

That was when a voice echoed nearby. A young girl’s voice. Its tone was cautious, but laced with a faint kindness, like she’d been waiting patiently for you to wake without scaring you.

“Hey… looks like you’re finally waking up.”

At first, it sounded far away. Like you were hearing it underwater. When you strained your eyes open a little more, your vision was blurry. In the doorway, backlit by soft light, you could make out the silhouette of a young girl in a pale, long-sleeved shirt, with pony tailed hair. Your eyes blinked a few times, and the world slowly came into focus. She stepped closer, and when you tried to sit up, stumbling slightly, she raised her hand gently to stop you.

“Easy, take it slow. You’re still really weak,” she said. “You’ve been asleep for two days. Maria and I took care of you. Well... as best we could.”

Her voice was unfamiliar, yet it carried a strange kind of balance—calm, cautious, but trustworthy. Her movements were controlled, like she knew she was in a room with someone unpredictable, but still had the courage to offer that person a glass of water.

“Where… am I?” you asked, your voice cracked, hoarse and raspy. Your throat was parched, your tongue glued to the roof of your mouth.

The girl turned her head slightly, not looking away but also avoiding the question directly:

“We’re in Jackson. North of Wyoming, small settlement… pretty safe, all things considered.”

Jackson. That name rang a distant bell. Maybe from the crackling voice over the radio at the power plant, or Tommy’s echoing shout… or maybe from even further back. But your mind still felt clogged, like it was filled with mud. Nothing would stay in your grasp.

“Who… who are you?” you asked, lifting your head slightly from the pillow.

“Ellie,” she said plainly. “But don’t worry about that now. You need to rest.”

She had said her name—Ellie—but you noticed something else: she hadn’t mentioned the man who brought you here. The one who made it possible for you to stay, who had rescued you or carried you into this room. It was like she was hiding something—or had been told not to say. And yet, that voice… that voice still echoed in your ears. That deep and husky tone that had told you, as you trembled on horseback, “Don’t you give up.”

Ellie picked up a cracked-glass pitcher from the small nightstand. She filled a glass with water, its surface flecked with bits of dust. She held it out to you. Your fingers struggled to reach. You wanted the water, but you also wanted to grasp the truth behind everything.

She helped you, gently supporting your back and bringing the glass to your lips. Even the water burned as it passed down your throat. But at least you were drinking. You were alive.

As Ellie placed the glass back down, your eyes wandered around the room. Dark wooden walls. A few faded drawings hanging. Books lined up on a shelf. A guitar leaning in the corner—there was no dust on it—it had been played recently. An old curtain on the window, a faded denim jacket hanging on a nail. And the smell of the bed… you knew that smell. Somewhere deep inside, your skin remembered it.

But still… you couldn’t name it yet.

Everything was still watching you like a shadow.

Sitting up in bed felt like trying to pull a bullet fragment lodged deep inside your body. Every muscle, every fiber, every breath burned like an open wound. Your chest was tight, a dull pressure in your abdomen. Your left arm had gone numb, and the throbbing in your right leg could still be felt beneath the bandages.

As you struggled to sit up, Ellie instinctively moved forward, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, careful to make her touch guiding, not forceful.

“Hey… slow down. Your stitches are still fresh. It’s gonna hurt if you move too much,” she said, eyes serious, her voice a warning.

You pressed your fingertips against the sheet, gritting your teeth as you pulled yourself up. Your head spun, your vision briefly darkened, but you gathered your will. By the time your back rested against the pillow, you were breathless. Heat trickled down the back of your neck, mingling with the sweat at your hairline.

Your eyes turned to Ellie. Questioning, cautious, maybe even a little… suspicious.

“He brought me here… didn’t he?” Your voice was hoarse and cracked, your throat still dry, but the words came out clear.

Ellie averted her gaze for a second. She fidgeted with the sleeve of her jacket. That small, almost invisible hesitation told you a lot. The girl was careful. Every word she spoke was weighed in her mind before it left her mouth.

“Which ‘he’?” she asked, her voice casual, but tension simmered underneath. She didn’t lean toward you or move from her spot. Not defensive, more like she was giving you space.

“The man I ran into… out there,” you said. “The stranger.” You didn’t look away. “The one who lifted me onto the horse… and saved me.”

Ellie frowned. The corner of her mouth twitched slightly, then she turned her eyes to the window. A cold-lit morning lay outside; heavy clouds, wind gently stirring the curtains.

“He’s in a meeting,” she finally said. There was no mistaking the certainty in her voice. “About the new infected types. They’re discussing the signals from Northpoint.”

Your heart suddenly started to beat faster. Northpoint.

That place… hazy, silent, full of death. Its walls cracked, machines broken. The hum that echoed through the quiet. Your desperate attempts to repair that cursed network to send a signal to Jackson. And then… your call for help. And his arrival.

“In a meeting, huh,” you said quietly.

Ellie nodded, turning her eyes back to you.

“I looked into Northpoint. Everyone’s talking about it. They said the systems were dead, but you got some of them working again. You established communication… even if briefly. That’s something most people here couldn’t manage right now.”

She paused. There was a strange expression on her face—somewhere between admiration and cautious distance. “Fixing things like that. Surviving that long. Alone. Even Maria was impressed.”

You were still listening, but something else echoed in your mind. A background noise behind her words, like the static of a broken recording bleeding into your thoughts.

Joel.

His name still hadn’t passed from Ellie’s lips. But an image suddenly formed in your mind. About six months ago. You’d just set out. Winter hadn’t fully set in, but the nights were already freezing. While traveling a rocky path, you’d stumbled across an abandoned gas station. You’d found a rusted map. Thick and faded. Marked with hand-written notes—arrows, lines, scribbles.

A name was written there. You still remembered. “Joel & Ellie.”

You still carried that map. It had been soaked in rain, the edges frayed, but you never threw it away. Back then, the names had seemed ordinary. But now…

Your heart skipped a beat. Your eyes turned back to Ellie. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. You felt something crack open in your chest. Deep and sharp suspicion.

Every detail in the room—the guitar on the wall, the bookshelves, the scent in the air, even Ellie’s voice… there was an answer hidden in all of it. But you couldn’t name it. Not yet.

Ellie noticed your gaze but said nothing. Instead, she refilled your glass from the pitcher. The glass had a crack, but her hand didn’t tremble.

“Keep drinking,” she said. “You need to rest.”

But you were no longer focused on the glass. You were locked in your memories. And something in your chest was slowly beginning to awaken.

The room fell silent once more. Only the sound of the distant wind brushing against the windows scratched at your insides like a cold thorn. As Ellie set the pitcher back down, you were still silent. She tilted her head slightly, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye. Then she shoved her hands into the pockets of her pants.

She was just about to leave the room when your voice held her back.

“What was your name?”

Ellie stopped. Every muscle in her body tensed, as if frozen mid-motion. You could see from the movement in her shoulders that she was preparing an answer. Slowly, she turned to look at you, her eyes a deep brown and her expression cautious.

“Ellie.”

You only nodded. But she looked directly into your eyes. For too long. There was something in it. Not absentmindedness—scrutiny.

Ellie narrowed her gaze.

“That’s the second time i’ve told you that. Why?” she asked. Her voice sounded soft, but the tension in her tone was obvious. “I mean… have we met before? Or…” Her eyes squinted for a moment. “Are you from FEDRA?”

Your face remained expressionless. No confirmation, no lie. Just that empty, yet meaning-laden stare. Ellie’s pupils shifted with unease as she received no answer. It was clear she now felt like a threat hovered just under her nose.

She quickly dropped her hands to her sides, then took a step back. It was obvious she was trying to change the subject.

“I mean… you’re probably hungry,” she said quickly. “You haven’t eaten in two days. I’ll… I’ll make you a sandwich. Just wait here, okay?”

Still, you said nothing. Ellie was clearly unnerved by your silence. As she turned and hurried out of the room, she seemed almost swept away like a gust of wind behind her. The door clicked shut. Her footsteps faded down the stairs.

At that moment, alone in the room, the silence was no longer just emptiness—it was weight. Even the cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling looked menacing. The wind slipped in through a cracked corner of the glass, lifting the edge of the curtain slightly.

This place... this was someone else's life. Not yours. And slowly, a cold suspicion began to crawl through your veins. Your breath quickened. You looked at the pillow, the blanket, the bookshelf on the wall. All of it… had a masculine order to it. Clean, but slightly messy. Old books on the shelves, a broken guitar string, a charm made of dried pine branches. Flannel shirts hung behind the door. Most of them were large. One had a loose thread dangling from a missing button on the collar.

Ellie’s face replayed in your mind. Her tension, her panicked exit. The sandwich excuse—it was almost childlike. And once you realized that, you couldn’t stay seated any longer. No matter how tired, how broken, how wounded you were...

...you had to get up.

You pushed off the blanket with your hands. Your skin prickled. When your toes touched the cold floor, it felt like stepping onto a frozen river. Your breath was uneven. You clenched your teeth. As you rose, the stitches in your chest throbbed, but you didn’t care. You would endure.

As Ellie’s footsteps faded away, the silence inside deepened. You were alone now.

But this solitude wasn’t peaceful. Like a growing ache in your chest, a feeling inside you wouldn’t settle: You were in the wrong place. And looking for the right person.

You glanced around once more. The blanket still lay tangled around your knees. With the sting of the stitches on your body, you pushed yourself upright from the bed. For a few seconds, your balance faltered, but you managed to stand by pressing your hands against the edge of the mattress. Your head throbbed, your vision still blurry. But your mind—your mind was clear.

The watch.

You remembered suddenly.

The one thing keeping every ounce of anger and every trace of vengeance alive in your veins.

The watch found next to your father’s body.

With the killer’s initials carved into its back—your most tangible memory that even time couldn’t erase. Without it... you might forget why you were fighting.

Panic set in as you turned your head. You looked under the bed—nothing. You reached into the small drawer of the bedside table. Empty. You slammed it shut.

Your bag. Where was your bag?

After a quick scan, your eyes landed on the torn backpack resting on the chair in the corner of the room. You moved toward it with hurried steps—despite the pain of your wounds. Your hands trembled as you unzipped it. You looked inside.

Maps... an unfinished notebook... a few bandages... but...

No watch.

A wave of cold fear washed over you. You hadn’t left it behind. You always kept it in the innermost pocket.

It couldn’t have been stolen.

Maybe...

No.

Then your eyes caught the drawer of the small desk in the corner. It sat half-open beside the chair. You moved toward it. Your legs trembled, but you didn’t stop.

When you opened the drawer, the first things you saw were a few crumpled papers. Notes. Scattered scribbles. Faded words. But beneath them was a stack of paper that caught your attention. Lines written in shaky handwriting had been pressed into the pages. As your eyes began to grasp the words, something inside you shifted. Your pulse quickened. You carefully flattened the paper with your hand.

These... these were song lyrics.

But not like the kind you’d seen before. They weren’t random.

As if between the sentences... you found yourself.

“I saved a woman—maybe

she was already lost when I did.

She asked me for direction,

but the path... the path was me.

Her eyes left, but my heart stayed with her.

And now whenever the night comes...

I’m bleeding in a dream shaped by her voice.

But you know me now.

So... say something.”

Your knees nearly gave out at the first line.

Your eyes were locked on the paper. You turned to the next page.

“There’s a place in my nights—

filled only with the sound of that woman’s voice.

Even when she pointed her gun at me,

there was warmth in her hands.

Loneliness,

sometimes fades with the breath of a stranger.

I saved you.

But really, you killed me.”

The song wasn’t finished.

Some sentences were cut short. Letters scratched out. Notes written over them.

“Will tomorrow birth revenge from this night, or a bond built upon regret?”

Your throat tightened.

The air in the entire room seemed to grow heavier.

It became hard to breathe.

Your eyes lifted from the paper.

You read the word again.

"I saved you.

But really, you killed me."

As your heart echoed within your chest, you felt this line was kin to your blood. The words were no longer just ink—they were a projection of a past that echoed inside you, of broken hopes and a face you still couldn’t decipher.

"Even when she pointed her gun at me..."

Your eyes froze on the line. Something inside you snapped. This couldn’t be a coincidence. A sentence this accurate, this familiar, could only be written through witness. But... you had never pointed a gun at that man. Not before. Not yet. And still… it was as if the words said one day you would, and he knew it.

There was only one question echoing in your mind:

“Did he write these?”

The stranger must have brought you to this house, right? It was his house. And she — the girl with Joel Miller, Ellie—was assigned to look after you.

Suddenly, it felt like the air around you had gone cold. A quiet unease spread through the room. And just then—

The door opened.

You flinched instantly, gripping the papers reflexively to keep from dropping them. Your heart had leapt to your throat. Your fingers trembled. Your breath caught in your chest like fractured glass.

The first to step in was Ellie, holding a plate. Her expression was tense. She stopped in her tracks the moment she saw you standing, the papers from the drawer still in your hand.

"What are you doing?!" she asked, voice sharp with worry. "You shouldn’t be up. You barely started walking again."

Your eyes shifted past her shoulder.

And he was there.

Standing at the threshold.

That familiar face. Harsh features. Shadows hanging beneath his eyes like the weight of years of guilt carved into skin. And yet... his eyes were soft. The man you loved was looking at you with love.

Your hands trembled as you looked at him. You tried to speak, but the words stuck in your throat. You couldn’t describe what you felt. You were grateful to be alive, and yet… you were in the middle of a swamp. And every step was pulling you deeper.

Ellie turned to him as she realized he’d entered. Her brows were furrowed. "She’s up... I told her she needed rest."

Joel Miller knew the secrets would come to light one day—he just never thought they'd be so eager, while you were still limping through the aftermath.

Joel gave her a small nod. His gaze didn’t just fall on Ellie—it carried a weight as it passed over to you. He was calm. What he was thinking was impossible to read.

"Thanks for watching her, Ellie," he said. His voice was firm. But beneath it, something else lingered. A message: leave.

Ellie’s shoulders tensed slightly. She hesitated, as if she didn’t want to walk out that door. Her eyes moved back to you. Then to Joel. But Joel didn’t look away. It was like a silent message passed between them. About danger. About trust.

Finally, Ellie sighed. "Sandwich..." she said, setting the plate on the nightstand. "So she won’t go hungry."

Then she turned back. And as she stepped out the door, she cast one last glance back. As if it might be the last time she saw you.

And silence fell.

You were alone now.

Joel studied you for a few seconds. He’d noticed the papers in your hand—the ones from the drawer. His eyes drifted there, but he didn’t ask you anything directly.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t move. Your body and your mind were fighting the same war. The words in your hand, the man before you, Ellie’s strange silence…

You slowly placed the papers on the table. Your fingers were still trembling, but you made no sound. The weight of the moment was carried entirely by the silence. It felt like the air in the room had thickened, time sinking beneath your steps. You didn’t take your eyes off him.

And then… you started walking.

Unsteady, but resolute. Quiet, but stormy.

Your steps echoed across the wooden floor until you stood right in front of Joel.

Only a few inches separated you. And when you looked into his eyes, you saw the weight of years—pain, loss, and exhaustion. But you also saw something else… familiarity. As if… you’d been here before. As if his gaze had been calling you for years.

Joel parted his lips to speak. But that word… that first word… never made it out.

Because you spoke first. And your voice rose not from your throat, but from deep inside, from your soul.

“Have you ever heard of Redhill?”

Joel’s expression didn’t change. But that name, that familiar syllable, caused a flicker behind his eyes. He understood. But he didn’t speak. His eyes didn’t leave yours. He was waiting.

“It used to be a home,” you said. “It had walls. It had my father. And his faith… it kept me alive. He believed it was still possible to trust people. To build something with them.”

Your eyes filled with tears, but not a single drop fell.

“Then… that day came. Fire fell from the sky. Bullets rained. Screams, gunfire, blood… everything blurred together. And I… that day… as I carried my father’s lifeless body, I made a vow.”

Your voice cracked. But your words were heavy, steady, and sharp.

“I’d find the man who killed him. And I’d kill him. No matter what it cost.”

Joel was still looking at you. But the edges of his eyes had quivered just a fraction. Maybe it was just a trick of the light. Maybe it was his heart. But you saw it.

“A year and a half. I walked alone for a year and a half. Maps, abandoned roads, shadows… until… I saw you.”

This time, Joel’s brow furrowed slightly. He let out a breath without realizing it. But he still didn’t speak. He only listened.

There was a quiet waiting in his eyes. And a fear.

“You were a stranger,” you said. “And something inside me shattered the moment I saw you. I didn’t understand it. Because… I loved you. Beyond revenge, beyond hate… in that moment, I loved you.

And that feeling… it started to ruin everything.”

Your hands were clenched by your sides. Your eyes glistened with tears, but your voice… your voice didn’t waver anymore.

“As I loved you, I forgot my purpose. But there was something I never let go of… something that kept me tied to my past. I always had it with me. That watch. The watch of my father’s killer. It was always with me. When I slept, when I walked, when I fought. The only thing that reminded me why I was still alive.”

You studied Joel’s face carefully. And in that moment… a tiny muscle moved in his jaw. As if time shifted once more. But still… he remained silent.

“In this room… I looked for it. But it’s gone. Please, tell me I didn’t lose it. Tell me I didn’t lose my watch.”

Joel didn’t speak for a long time. It was as if the room had stopped breathing. Time had lodged itself in your chest like a bullet. It couldn’t move forward, couldn’t turn back. It could only wait. You were both inside a silent apocalypse.

Then... very slowly, Joel reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. It was a small, careful movement. As if he were carrying a grenade. His fingers, moved by a familiar habit, found it. And he pulled it out. That old, worn wristwatch — its scratches telling the story of the past.

It carried the weight of time. And now... something else too.

He held it in his palm for a while. His fingers brushed the surface, as if uncertain. But then... he took a step. Then another. Closing the space between you.

You held your breath, standing still.

One of your hands was clenched into a fist. Your heart... your heart was pounding wildly.

Joel let out a slow, trembling breath.

Then, with his fingertips, he turned the back of the watch.

Without ever looking away from you, he held it out.

But before... before he called you to take it, he showed you the two letters.

A faint engraving.

Not faded with time — on the contrary, deepened by it: J.M.

Those letters… and the truth you’d been chasing for years.

Joel still held the watch in his hand. His eyes were lost in shadow, but his voice… his voice came like an echo from the past. Deep. The voice of a fallen man.

“I remember that day… The watch had stopped. But I never took it off. Even if it couldn’t tell time anymore… it was the only promise I made after my daughter was gone. Not to forget.”

Joel’s voice held no anger, no defense. But he didn’t try to hide what was inside him. That sentence… was the gravestone he carried on his back.

In that moment… the world lost its sound. But the words crashed off the walls. Echoed in your head. The watch had stopped. But your time was only now beginning.

Your eyes widened. Your heartbeat changed. In that moment, all the pieces in your mind came together: Redhill, the promise you made your father, the single name echoing through the silence… And it slipped from your lips like a whisper: “It’s you.”

You took a step toward him. With everything burning in your eyes: “Joel Miller.”

And the past pierced the chest of the future.

In that moment, you couldn’t control your breath, nor the familiar rage that began to burn inside your eyes.

You locked your gaze on Joel’s. But what filled your eyes now wasn’t just the silence of the man you knew — it was someone else. A silhouette of a past stained with blood, ashes, and curses. In that moment, those eyes didn’t belong only to Joel. Behind those eyes were the ashes of Redhill. Behind those eyes lay your father, a single bullet in his head, lying on his back.

“You…” you began, your voice hoarse, tangled with breath. On your face was not just disappointment; there was the sharpness of betrayal. “You knew. All along. Who I was.” That last word felt like it scratched your throat.

Joel said nothing. He neither denied nor confirmed. His gaze fell to your hands — you were still holding the watch.

“You did it on purpose,” you said, stepping forward. “When you found me, when you saw who I was… you knew. And you said nothing. Why? Tell me, why?!” What came out of you wasn’t just pain; it was a cry made at the edge of a grave buried deep inside. “You made me fall in love with you,” you whispered. Your eyes were filled, but the tears didn’t fall. If they fell, you’d fall apart. If they fell, your rage would turn to helplessness. “You lied! You stayed silent. You hid your identity. And I…” You pointed to your chest. “I carried this every day, every night… this watch, this memory, this dead man! You… you stole them all from me!”

“You’re heartless.” The words slipped through your clenched teeth. You were so close now, you could feel Joel’s breath.

Joel lowered his head. As if trying to push the last word stuck inside him through his throat. From between his pale, cracked lips, a quiet “Y/N” escaped, but it didn’t echo in the room. Because the only thing cutting through the silence now was the roar of the emotions exploding inside.

“I never lied,” he said at last. His voice was heavy. So heavy, it was as if the words had given in to gravity. “I just… couldn’t tell the truth.” He looked up. The lines around his eyes looked deeper now. He was tired. But this tiredness wasn’t physical. It was the sorrow of a man who, after losing too much, believed he didn’t even deserve to live.

“I owed you a life,” he said, stepping forward. “But part of that life had already been taken from you. I couldn’t give it back. What was I supposed to do?” He paused, then continued with pain in his voice, “I didn’t tell you my name. I warned you. Again and again. I told you I wasn’t right for you. I did everything to keep you away. But… God knows… I couldn’t stay away from you.”

There was a tremble in his face now. His eyelids were quivering. His breath came in short bursts. He swallowed hard. It was as if another Joel had emerged from within him. Not the one Ellie knew — this was the man who hadn’t opened his heart to anyone since Sarah, and when he did, it shattered everything.

“I didn’t want you because I love you,” he said. “Because loving you… was hell. Loving you was like staring into the face of every person I ever killed. In your eyes… they all died again.” His voice cracked. For the first time, his eyes filled with tears. “I wish we’d met in another way.” His shoulders sank. “I wish this path… wasn’t so damn cursed.”

The air had grown cold. The house was silent. In the silence, the only thing echoing was a broken breath—like the outcry of a scream held back. In that moment, time neither moved forward nor stayed in the past.

Your fingers trembled; it was unclear whether from anger, the cold, or the weight in your chest you could no longer bear. Your eyes were locked on Joel Miller—not as a man, but as a ghost. He was the embodiment of a shadow hidden among memories, now returned in flesh and blood.

Your throat was dry; the words burned as they left your lips.

“I… I set out on this path to kill you, Joel Miller. Not just for my father… but for Redhill. The curse of all of them settled on my shoulders like a burden. At the end of this road, I was supposed to shoot you!”

Your voice cracked. Your eyes filled, but no tears fell; hatred was a feeling that didn’t allow tears.

“But do you know what happened? I fell in love with the man I swore to kill! In this damned world, I loved you! How could… how could it be like this?! This isn’t how I imagined this scene. This confrontation. This truth.”

You gripped your hair with your hands, turned away as you tried to control your breath, but looked at him again.

“I hate myself. For loving a man like you… I want to die!”

With those words, it was as if the silence cracked in the room. The only sound was the faint creak of a footstep on the wooden floor. Joel, without saying a single word, slowly reached for his waist. His hand found a gleaming piece of metal. He let out a deep, weary breath.

SIG P226: A semi-automatic pistol favored by federal agents and some military units—reliable, trusted. Joel always trusted this weapon. It never let him down. Aged, but loyal. Just like him.

In the silence, the sound of the mechanism pulling back echoed like a chilling whisper: “CLICK.” But it wasn’t the sound of death—it was the sound of surrender.

Joel raised the gun to his chest. But now, its loyalty had changed.

He turned the pistol and held it out to you, slowly, deliberately. The grip—marked with his fingerprints—faced you. The muzzle pointed downward. His fingers were ready to let go. His eyes, bound to the past.

“Take it,” Joel said. His voice was dry, hoarse, but steady. “I’m right here. Do whatever you have to do. Give me what I deserve… let your finger be on the trigger.”

You stared at the gun as if frozen. Your hand hovered in the air for several seconds. Your breathing grew erratic.

When you held the weapon, its coldness spread from your fingertips to your heart. With trembling hands, you reached for the trigger, but what you were really touching was his fate—or maybe your own. In that moment, time stopped; neither the weight of the past nor the possibility of the future remained. Only you, him, and the decision in your hands.

He was looking at you. Without saying a word. He offered no defense, no apology. In his eyes, there was only a quiet acceptance—as if he had long been waiting for this moment, as if every sleepless night had prepared him for this.

You didn’t look away. You didn’t want to. Because you were supposed to hate him. Because once, you had sworn. That you would kill him. When you stared at your father’s lifeless body in the ruined streets of Redhill, when the hopes of your people were crushed underfoot, when you set out on this journey whispering his name… it had all started that day. And it was all… supposed to end today.

But everything had changed, hadn’t it?

That stranger was no longer a stranger. The fury you carried in your heart had been pierced by the nights you’d shared with him.

You applied pressure to the trigger. Just a little… just a click. But your finger couldn’t go further. Because his face didn’t change. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t beg. He had surrendered himself to you.

“Do it,” said his eyes. “Do what must be done.”

You couldn’t do it.

You lowered the gun.

Your arm trembled. Your shoulder dropped.

Tears slid down your cheeks, but you didn’t say a word.

Slowly, you sank to your knees. You placed the gun on the ground with care.

The sound… that metallic clatter… hit your ears heavier than bullets.

You rose to your feet.

Joel stayed silent for a long time.

The gun was still on the floor.

His old leather jacket rustled faintly; even the dried bloodstains were just shadows now.

He looked into your eyes—only your eyes.

Then, suddenly, his voice cracked with an unexpected tone.

“Why didn’t you?”

It was such a simple, bare question… there was nowhere left to run from it.

“You should’ve killed me,” he said again, his eyes locked with yours.

“You were so close… pulling the trigger was just a second.

And… I deserve it.”

You didn’t move.

Your hands were clenched into fists, but they weren’t shaking anymore.

It was like you had shed all hatred, all rage.

Only silence remained.

Then your voice, breaking in a whisper-like confession, came out:

“Because I… already knew.”

Joel furrowed his brow, tilting his head slightly.

You kept talking, your voice layered with depth.

“When we were in Northpoint… when I was close to repairing the device. I made contact with Jackson. Someone named Tommy answered. He asked, ‘Is Joel Miller with you?’ The words were hard to catch through the static. But I ignored it, wanted to think I was being paranoid. Tried to convince myself I’d misheard.”

Your voice cracked again, but there was no stopping now.

“I knew. For days… maybe weeks… I knew.”

Your eyes locked onto Joel’s.

There was no fear left in your gaze, no denial.

Only the raw truth—like an open wound, still bleeding.

“I forgot the promise I made my father. I opened my heart to the man I was supposed to hate. And now, I have neither revenge… nor peace. Only a love cursed—born from the ashes of everything it burned.”

You cried for the first time. But quietly. “I thought you betrayed me. But I’m the one who betrayed. My father’s grave. My people. Justice… Myself.”

Joel stood frozen where he was, your words echoing around him like ghosts.

He couldn’t run. Couldn’t turn back.

Your voice still echoed in his ears—that voice which had once been the only light in his darkness.

But now, that light was setting itself ablaze before his very eyes. That strong, ever-composed face of his…

It looked too tired to carry its secrets anymore.

His eyes were full—but no tears fell.

Joel Miller had stopped crying the day Sarah’s body grew heavy in his arms. And now, maybe for the first time since then, he’d been struck in that same place again.

Perhaps that’s why he stayed silent.

Because words… never bring anything back.

But in that silence, there was a scream.

A scream of a man who wanted to reach for you, but had no right to touch.

Joel Miller had survived death.

But not you.

Not the shattered light in your eyes.

And in that moment, he knew one thing for certain: Love doesn’t always heal.

Sometimes the greatest hell is looking into the eyes of the woman who still loves you.

He slowly straightened up.

Took a step forward.

Then stopped.

And in a hollow voice, he asked only one thing:

“So what happens now?”

That night, you made the decision that changed your life. And maybe you'll never know... whether you did the right thing, or made the biggest mistake of all.

When you straightened your back, your body still ached. The pain beneath your ribs was a sharp reminder of wounds that hadn’t quite healed—but even that pain was nothing compared to the wound in your soul, much deeper, much sharper.

As your knees trembled, your eyes locked on Joel. He was still there. Silent, wounded, and regretful. But a very different war raged inside your heart.

There was a moment of silence. Then you spoke.

"I'm leaving," you said. Your voice was calm, but filled with ashes. "I can’t wake up every morning and share the same sky with you."

Your words hung in the air like a blade. Joel didn’t say a word.

You took a step. You staggered slightly, but gathered yourself. Your gaze still fixed on him. And as you spoke your final words, it was as if you were carving them into your own tombstone:

"Joel, because the more I forgive you... the more I hate myself."

When your words ended, everything seemed to stop. You’d come to understand that a love soaked in blood and betrayal couldn’t be silenced. You weren’t angry at Joel anymore—you were angry at yourself. You realized you couldn’t carry this weight.

And Joel—he didn’t fall apart when he first heard your words… but when he first felt what they meant, his knees gave out.

When you said you were leaving, your voice didn’t even sound like your own. It was foreign, cold, determined. Love had turned you into a stranger. And there was no forgiveness left—not for Joel, not for yourself.

Joel didn’t speak at first. As if every word might drive you further away. But when you turned your back and took a step, he moved. His fingers, strong but trembling, gripped your shoulders. He still had strength—but it wasn’t to hurt you anymore. It was to keep you from leaving.

"You can’t go," he said, his voice torn like a prayer. "Not like this… not in this state… you won’t survive out there alone. You’ll die, Y/N."

But you lowered your head slightly. Your eyes weren’t on Joel—they were fixed on your past.

"Maybe… I should," you said. But it wasn’t defiance. It was a sentence. Accepted. Your fate. And when Joel understood that, he lost his breath. "I think I deserve this," you said. "Redhill... needs me, yes. But if I return with this stain inside me, I’ll be neither leader nor daughter. So maybe… this is how it ends. In the middle of the road. Quietly."

Joel stepped closer, his hands still on your shoulders. But this time, they were a refuge.

"I did something to you, yes," he said. "I hurt people. I’ve been doing it for a long time. You know who I am now. But there’s one thing I need you to understand…"

He paused. His eyes pierced into yours. As tired as the dead, as hopeless as a prisoner.

"Along the way… watching you… each night by the fire, when you turned your back and couldn’t sleep, when you woke up from your nightmares… my heart was always in your hands."

You stayed silent. Maybe you heard him. Maybe you didn’t. But Joel wasn’t expecting an answer anymore. This wasn’t a confession. It was a moment of punishment.

"Y/N…" he said softly, his voice the final hope of a man breaking apart. "I loved you. I still do. But no matter what you do, you’re right. I broke you. What I did to your father… to myself… I’ve already sentenced myself. Every day, every hour, every breath…"

You shook your head slowly, still locking eyes with him.

"It wasn’t just you, Joel," you said, your voice cracked. "I betrayed too. Before my father’s blood even dried… I loved you. And that’s the one thing I can’t forgive."

Joel’s eyes widened. Because for the first time, the guilt that once crushed only him had now begun to bury you too.

"When I made contact with Jackson… when I was in Northpoint… I found out who you were," you continued. "But I couldn’t say it. Because saying it… meant losing you. And losing you… meant losing everything."

Your lips trembled. Joel tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. In that moment, his hands fell. Because you weren’t holding him anymore. You had chosen to walk into your own hell.

As you slowly turned your back, Joel’s eyes clung to you. You were leaving. Taking your heart with you. And leaving him alone. Just like how it all began. In silence. Without gunshots. But with a far deadlier pain.

Joel was still there. Standing. Wounded. His blood-covered hands were still holding you—as if letting go would send you plummeting off a cliff, or worse, he would lose everything. There was an unusual panic in his eyes. Joel Miller, always so cold-blooded before killing a man, had now lost that calm. Had he ever been this afraid in a war? He didn’t know. But the thought of losing you… that weighed heavier than any hell he had ever endured.

"Y/N..." he said again. His voice was hoarse, torn from his throat. "Don’t leave me now. No matter what... we’ve come all this way together. Don’t say it’s over. Please... we can find another way."

"Joel, it’s over," you said. Your voice didn’t tremble. "This path... it only leads to a grave."

Joel staggered. As if your words had punched him in the gut. His eyes lingered on you. His lips moved but no words came out. He stepped forward again, maybe ready to fall to his knees and beg. That would’ve been a sacred fall for Joel Miller. And he could only do it for you.

"I’ll do whatever you want," he said. "If you’re going back to Redhill… we’ll go together. I won’t pretend nothing happened, but… I can’t stay away from you. I thought I had a future with you. Maybe it’s too late. Maybe it’s madness. But..."

You didn’t look at him. You slowly reached for your backpack. You weren’t ready, not really. Your wounds were still bleeding, your bones still begged for rest—but staying meant not healing. It meant rotting deeper. Joel’s voice echoed behind you, but it had already turned into a memory. Your fingers were cold, like every vein inside you. Your eyes locked on a single point. You had to repeat to yourself that it was over. Otherwise, you’d take it all back.

You turned around one last time. Your eyes met. Joel wasn’t begging anymore. He was just standing there, stripped bare in loneliness. His lips quivered, but the tremble didn’t come from cold—it came from the loss gnawing at him. Something had broken in the depth of his gaze.

"I need to pack," you said.

Joel remained silent. As if even that line gave him hope. He looked at you like he was thinking, So you're not leaving right away. But that was what Joel Miller never understood: the journey had already begun in your heart. Goodbyes don’t start at the door—they begin when something inside finally lets go.

And in that moment—maybe he would speak again, maybe take another step—but you beat him to it. You slowly walked forward, standing directly in front of him. Your body was tired, your eyes as dark as the night. As his hand reached for your shoulder, you suddenly pushed against his chest. He stumbled back toward the door. For a second, he didn’t understand what was happening. But then his back hit the doorframe, and reality returned.

"Y/N—"

The door shut. Loud. Heavy.

He heard the turn of the lock. That sound hit sharper than a gunshot. His hands no longer trembled. The decision had been made.

Joel stood frozen before the door. The silence inside was louder than the wind outside. His palms curled into fists. He didn’t knock. Because he knew now: it wasn’t the door that had closed—an entire lifetime had.

And you, inside, were breathing. Slow. Heavy. You’d probably start packing a bag. Take some bandages. A little food. But most importantly: you’d leave your heart behind that door. It had grown too heavy to carry any longer.

This time, he didn’t want you to die. But he no longer had the courage to stop you. And maybe this time… it really was the end.

[viki23spots]

I'm happy that you got excited, @cryingoverdeadgaywizzards . So, here it is, I would appreciate feedback!

P.S. I edited it again before posting it and I like it even more now, so thanks for that! Also, please, if you see any mistakes, or a sentence sounds weird, tell me. I want to improve my english and my writing. Thank you!

Edit: I wrote a second chapter, working on the third.

What draws me to you by Viki23spots on AO3. Just be aware that I have locked it for guests and users only, since there are bots going around.

James sat on the floor, while looking at two reds, one slightly darker than the other. He couldn't, for the life of him, see which was the one Sirius wanted. He had a picture of the package, sure, but they both looked like the correct shade.

"Ugh, why did I agree to this?" He whined, while getting up from the floor.

He stepped towards the counter, done with Sirius' perfectionism. The last time he bought him the wrong shade, Sirius actively ranted for the next half an hour and kept rubbing it in for a whole week! Even as he left earlier today Sirius reminded him "not to get the wrong colour". Not shade, colour.

He sighed, rubbing his nose, his glasses slightly lifting off his face. James was tired. The only reason he agreed to this errand was because if he tried to write even one more word, he would go crazy.

It wasn't enough that he had an essay due soon in almost every class, but he also got an assignment in creative writing. Normally he loved those, but right now it was too overwhelming.

He snapped back to the present, stopping in his tracks. The person behind the counter was both gorgeous and the spitting image of his best friend. His hair was shorter, frame smaller, face softer, but the differences mostly ended there.

James just gaped, shamelessly starting at the stranger, who lifted his gaze from whatever he was doing and turned it towards him.

"Can I help you?" His voice was deeper than James expected.

"I'm having trouble picking the correct shade." He fished his phone from his pocket and showed the picture to the pretty cashier. "They both look like they could be the correct one."

The boy behind the counter squinted his eyes at the screen, picking up one of the bottles. He zoomed in on the picture, mumbling something under his breath and looking, first at the bottle in his hand, then at the other one.

"It's this one." He picked up the other shade. "The name of the colour is written on the bottom. Can I help you with anything else?"

James almost missed the question. He was preoccupied with studying the beautiful stranger. High cheek bones, pale complexion, grey eyes.

He looks so much like Sirius.

But he looked different, too. Straight nose, instead of slightly crooked. A softer jawline, although it still looked like it could cut glass.

"Uhh..."

"Excuse me?" A woman appeared next to him and the pretty cashier directed his attention to her.

James, you moron!

At the same moment his phone rang. The moment he picked up James knew he had to go.

"Prongs, where are you?!" Sirius was as melodramatic as always. "I need that paint now!"

"Calm down, Padfoot, I'm just waiting to pay." James sighed, a slight smile on his face.

As much as Sirius annoyed him sometimes, it wouldn't be him without the theatrics. And he loved him for that.

"Don't tell me to calm down! I'm out of paint and out of time. I won't be able to finish on time if you don't get your ass here right now!"

"Okay, fine. Be there in ten." James sighed, done with life.

The end of the academic year also meant the end of his sanity. Every year it got worse, but he thought this year was the pinnacle of it all.

"Your friend is an artist, I presume?"

James looked at the boy behind the counter, a smile spreading across his face.

"Yeah, a pretty good one. He's done with all of his projects, but he's making stage costumes for a gig and he started too late, so... Yeah." James bit his lip, realizing he started rambling again.

"Hm, this one is a good choice, if you want it to last." He grabbed the incorrect shade and went to put it back on the shelf. "Anything else, besides the paint?"

James watched him as he moved around the shop. His movements were graceful. Maybe too graceful.

"No, thank you." He pulled out his debit card and paid.

James picked up the paint, but instead of going to the rescue of his dramatic best friend, he leaned on the counter, trying to find the right words.

"Is something the matter?" The beautiful cashier asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Well..." Get it together. "Can I get your insta? You know, in case there is something wrong with the paint."

You are an idiot, James Fleamont Potter.

The person behind the counter blinked, then a smirk appeared on his face. James wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

"If it's just for the paint, then no, you can't." He leaned on the counter as well, shortening the distance between them, his smirk widening.

James pursed his lips, feeling his face heat up. "Um- No, not just because of the paint."

"And what would be the reason then?" The cashier leaned even closer, looking James up and down, his smirk turning into an amused smile.

"Uh, well- There is another reason, of course there is another reason-" He was officially blushing, struggling with his words. "I- I would like to get- to get to know you."

"Is that so?"He leaned even closer, only centimeters away from James' face, before pulling back and getting his phone out. "There."

James took it, the app already opened on the search engine, taping his username, before giving it back.

The boy followed him before scrolling down. "Well, James, you should get that paint to your friend." He cooed, before disappearing into the back room.

James stood dumbfounded, before his phone rang again. He was out the door before having a chance to pick up.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

😭😭😭

[dirtytransmasc]

^^ screenshot. blends in on mobile/dark mode ^^

that wasn't why she was mad though, well it was and wasn't. it wasn't that she had sex necessarily, but more the weight and nuance of it all, of Rhaenyra being the princess, who Alicent had been trying her best to serve the best interest of and protect in terms of betrothals and Viserys, having sex in a very public place. she was clearly upset and holding back tears when she confronts Rhaenyra that first time, but she isn't especially angry. she's angry when Rhaenyra lied to her face on her dead mother's name, going so far as to act upset and offended Alicent could ever insinuate anything about her, played the victim, had sex with two separate people in one night and said she was still a maiden (from Alicent's perspective she couldn't have known Rhaenyra only tried to have sex with Daemon and was unsuccessful, she could only believe that she had sex with both Daemon and Criston), and then used her power to have her father (the only person Alicent had) banished from kings landing, all the while she had put her ass on the line for her in front of Viserys, who never believed Rhaenyra to begin with. it wasn't simply the fact that Rhaenyra had sex, she's mad because Rhaenyra used her, hurt her, did harm to her name and the work both she and Viserys had put towards giving her a choice no royal girl, especially a princess, could ever imagine, and she spit in their faces.

there's also the fact that Cole admitted IMMEDIATELY what had transpired, asked not for forgiveness but for death, and admitted that it was dubcon. it's a very different situation. she also sympathized with the fact he felt great remorse for both the act of sleeping with the princess but also his breakdown that lead to the murder of Joffery. all we see is her stopping him and then a near decade has passed and they are close friends, we know nothing of how this friendship evolved, when she fully forgave him for his acts, what it took for him to earn her trust and forgiveness.

not saying either of them are saintly and perfectly correct in that situation, but you boil it down to the point that the situation is unrecognizable. you ignored all of the nuance on both sides. Alicent was never mad about the sex, upset yes, mad no, she was mad at how Rhaenyra could hurt her so horribly (amongst many other things. I don't think she, someone who shared her grief with Rhaenyra over their dead mother's, could ever get over how Rhaenyra lied on her name. me personally? I'd be sick to my stomach every time I looked at her for the rest of my days). Cole was coerced into sex, which he was honest and seeked death for repentance, had a breakdown and murdered someone (I won't defend this, you can't, he did murder an innocent person, that is a fact) but felt so guilty he tried to kill himself and seemingly spent the last 10ish years making up for it (where as I can name multiple people Rhaenyra outright in level head and mind maimed/murdered/otherwise allowed or dismissed the deaths/injury of, for her own goals and didn't give a second thought to so.... girly walks atop barely cooled corpse's time and time again).

[chuluoyi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄

- zayne x reader

everyone knows dr. zayne is cool as a cucumber, and it's a given for him that you're known as his wife, but when a fresh-faced new resident seemingly makes a move on you... what will he do?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, jealousy (a very jealous zayne, in fact), making out in his office, crack, fluff, hunter!reader, you and zayne have a daughter

note: inspired by that one kim min-kyu scene in business proposal :D this is actually an extension for nocturne of twilight and dawn's first light but can also be read as standalone

You hadn't seen your husband for two weeks.

There was a spring on your step when you entered Akso Hospital right after your long intercity mission. You had acquired some bruises and they weren't anything serious, so you figured you’d just have Greyson treat them. Besides, it gave you the perfect excuse to hand him some cookies as a souvenir.

And, of course, ask him to ring for Zayne to meet you once he had the time.

"Miss, do you need help?"

But a curious voice addressed you when you loitered around in the lobby, and you turned around to find a bright-faced young man with red hair and wearing doctor's coat.

"Ah, yes, I want to meet Dr. Zayne," you smiled. "Or Dr. Greyson will do."

The young doctor perked up at the names you mentioned. "Oh, are you a patient? Do you have an appointment already?"

"Hmm, no, actually I am—"

You halted mid-sentence before the words his wife slipped out, rethinking your choice. You knew of Zayne's infamous reputation in the hospital, and while almost everyone in his floor knew you, this new doctor didn't, and you thought it was best to leave it that way.

"Yeah, I already have an appointment," you nodded, plastering an thin smile. "Just tell Dr. Greyson that Y/N wants to meet him."

"Right, right, I'll page him now..." he mumbled, pulling out his pager and his phone. "I'll text him too..."

"Thank you."

"O-oh, Miss! Wait!" the young man called after you in a hurry when you turned around. "I've noticed it for a while, you have a cut on the side of your lips..."

"Ah, this..." Your fingers instinctively brushed the dried blood on your lips. You hadn’t thought the small cut was noticeable. "Yes, it’s from earlier—"

"Actually, I’m an ER resident!" he interrupted with a bright grin. "Let me treat you first!"

Caught off guard by his enthusiasm, you barely had time to react as he gently but firmly guided you towards the emergency room.

"Dr. Zayne! Dr. Zayne! Your wife is here~!"

Zayne had barely stepped into his office after a grueling surgery when Greyson barged in, all too casually, delivering the news with a grin. "She’s waiting in the lobby!"

He blinked, slightly taken aback. "Oh?"

You're back? He pulled out his muted phone, checking the notifications. Sure enough, you’d sent him a message an hour ago, letting him know you’d safely landed in Linkon.

His little, snarky wife. For the past two weeks you had been away, the house had felt lonelier. Sure, his daughter—who resembled you in personality, no less—was a bundle of sunshine and adorable beyond words, but without you, there was always that subtle void in the air.

Or maybe it wasn’t the house at all? Maybe it was just him—utterly, hopelessly whipped.

"Why isn’t she coming up to my office?" he asked suddenly, noticing the odd detail.

"Hmm, yeah, and it’s weird... why did the new resident say she’s asking for me?" Greyson mused, turning toward Zayne. "Don’t you want to meet her instead? Whatever she needs me for, I’m sure you could handle it."

Zayne promptly left his office and took long strides toward the elevator. As the doors started to close, he even half-sprinted, calling out to the person inside to hold it for him.

Okay, maybe he was a little too eager, but was it really so wrong to be this excited to see his wife again when the two of you had been apart for two weeks?

...then again, you didn't need to know. You would roast him to bits should you know he missed you this much.

Zayne got off at the lobby, expecting to find you there— only to find the usual flow of hospital staff and visitors. He was about to call you when he wandered past the emergency room and turned the corner—and that’s when he got his shock of the day.

There you were. But not alone.

With a guy.

Whose hand is touching your lips.

"It must be tough being a hunter, huh?"

The red-haired resident carefully tended to your bruised arm, wrapping it in a fresh bandage as you sighed, thinking back to the mission. "Yeah, there are definitely some hard days..."

"But despite all that, you still keep yourself in shape!" he remarked, eyeing your toned arms with a hint of admiration.

You let out a sheepish laugh, remembering those pull-ups sessions with Zayne. "Haha, that's because my husband makes sure I'm getting enough exercise..."

"You're married?!" His voice was filled with disbelief, and it caught you off guard, yet he grinned afterwards. "Wow! Is he a hunter too?"

You would've never guessed, boy. This resident doctor was cute, you thought, ever so curious at everything. You could only imagine the look on his face if you told him that the Dr. Zayne was your husband.

You were about to refute it when his fingers brushed against your lips. "Oh, sorry, let me apply some ointment here first..."

His touch felt cool to your lips and you were momentarily stunned at the contact— but then a gruff cough startled you so much you almost jumped.

The towering figure of your husband behind him. Zayne's dark gaze was fixed on the man in front of you, like he could murder the poor guy with just a look.

"Z-Zayne...?" you squeaked against the ointment on your lips, and the resident quickly turned behind him in surprise, hastily greeting him, "Oh, Dr. Zayne!"

Zayne shot the poor man a single, pointed look before his gaze shifted to you, clearly unamused.

He suddenly grabbed your hand and, without sparing the resident another glance, swiftly pulled you away. The other guy was left standing there, speechless, as Zayne led you off, leaving him in the dust.

. . .

"Zayne!"

Oh, how he actually missed his name coming out from your lips.

"Are you done with your schedule?" you asked as he pulled you into the elevator, confusion evident in the way you tilted your head. But when he didn’t answer, you glanced down at his firm grip on your arm, suddenly realizing something. "Wait, no... are you angry?"

Sigh. It irked him so much, actually. Because, how could you, after weeks—

No, he actually knew he was being irrational. He shouldn’t overreact like this just because someone else touched you. But why is he so annoyed, still?

"Wait, why?" you kept asking, wide-eyed, as the two of you stepped out and made way towards his office. "I'm not injured! I'm fine! It's just some bruises—"

Without a word, Zayne pulled you into his office, swiftly locking the door behind him. Before you could say another word, he cornered you against the wall, and you fell silent instantly.

It had been a while since he’d seen you this way—stunned, caught off guard, and utterly silent under his gaze. He studied your face closely, watching the way your breath hitched as the tension between you both thickened.

It sparked something inside him seeing you like this, a sense of satisfaction that he couldn’t quite explain, but one he welcomed nonetheless.

That was when he saw the blood on your lips. "Did you get punched in the face?"

"Y-Yes, but— it's nothing severe!" you defended, trying to convince him. "It's such a small cut anyway!"

He frowned. "Why didn't you come to me?"

"What? Hey, I was about to ask Greyson, but—"

That got him frown even deeper, even irate. "Why Greyson? When you come home with any injuries, you come to me, not anyone else."

You let out a resigned sigh, slumping your shoulders in defeat. "Because I know you'll fuss over me, duh."

"I don't fuss," he retorted.

"You do," you shot back, pursing your lips. "You try to act like this cool, calm robot all the time, but you always drone on and on whenever you patch me up. You're worried, it shows."

Zayne huffed, shifting his gaze away from you as he felt his face burn. Was he that obvious? How could he not, though, when you managed to get hurt so often and yet acted so innocent about it?

Then as if inspired, you caught on immediately. Your eyes sparkled, and a mischievous smirk tugged at your lips. "Wait, just now... don't tell me... Are you jealous?"

Damn.

"Heh, Dr. Zayne, really?" Your voice was playful now, mocking him. "Whoa, how can this be?"

How had you figured him out so easily?

You continued in a sing-song voice, putting both hands on your chest, "Ah, my heart flutters! My husband is apparently—"

Enough. This time, his patience snapped.

He didn’t hesitate even for a moment. A low growl escaped him, and in one swift motion, he crashed his lips against yours, silencing you with the most effective method he could think of.

"Mmph!" You gasped in surprise, the teasing words at the end of your tongue completely forgotten. His gray eyes gleamed. Been too long, he thought, and now he was making sure you knew just how badly he craved this.

The kiss was searing as he deepened it, his tongue seeking yours with urgency. "Hngh!" You let out a feeble whine when he teased you by biting your lips.

Zayne held back a snort. One of his hand then strayed inside your hunter uniform, unclasping your bra with a flick.

"—?!" Your eyes widened as you realized what was happening, and before you could process it, he pulled away. But you were far from right in thinking it was over. The dangerous gleam in his eyes kept you tense as he swiftly removed his glasses...

...before he pulled you back towards him and claimed your lips once again.

With a swift, commanding motion, he guided you toward his desk. His papers scattered at the sudden movement, but he had you bent over it regardless, forcing your body to arch. One arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, while his right hand fondled your breasts, repeatedly squeezing, palming and switching between them.

"Mmm...!" You let out a strangled moan, instinctively holding onto his shoulder, feeling the way how he groped you ignited your core. "Ahh..."

Your body was tantalizing as always. Hardened and sometimes bruised from your work it may be, but to Zayne, you were still beautiful as ever.

When you gasped for air, he decided he was done with your swollen lips. His lips then trailed down to your neck, sucking hard on it, creating a squelching sound that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"W-what's... gotten into you...?" you breathed out, tangling your fingers in his hair, hyperaware of his hands still roaming over your nipples.

In response, he nibbled at your skin and flicked your breasts at the same time, causing you to freeze and draw a sharp, hitched breath. "Haah...!"

Unbeknownst to you, his lips curled wickedly at your reaction, and he continued to pepper your neck with series of wet sucks as if to mark you altogether. You writhed under him, whiny and sighing, relishing his hot breath on your skin.

You were utterly at his mercy, pliant and helpless in his hands. There was a deep satisfaction in knowing he was the only one who could bring you, his lawfully wedded wife, to this state—

Still, he wouldn’t allow you to be indecent in a place like this. When he finally pulled back, he was breathing heavily, eyes dark with lust, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of your jaw. "Don’t tempt me," he muttered, voice low and raspy.

You gazed up at him, your heart pounding. "Zayne..." you whispered, a whine broke through the heat on your flushed face.

His expression softened just enough, a flicker of tenderness cutting through the intensity. Pretty. That’s what you were, undeniably so. How he had missed out on you so long once was his greatest regret.

Carefully, he helped you sit upright, his touch gentle as he clasped your bra and began buttoning up your uniform, disheveled from his earlier ministrations.

The gentle way he touched you was a stark contrast to how it was earlier. "Is that a new way to treat busted lip?" you nudged his collar, feeling a little braver now.

"For bad wives, yeah."

"I'm not a bad wife! Just disobedient on some occasion."

Zayne's fingers brushed your face as he finished with your uniform, his dark-gray eyes steady on you. You pouted.

"You're the one who's bad," you accused with slight resentment, not missing a beat as the heat between your legs started to dissipate. "Leaving me unfinished like that."

"Hmm? Am I?" he murmured, the faintest amusement in his tone.

"You have to take responsibility tonight, you big meanie," you mumbled, your pout deepening as you avoided meeting his gaze.

Zayne snorted at the sight of you—so precious in his eyes, his thumb lightly grazing the corner of your lips in a gesture so tender it made your heart skip, before whispering in your ear:

"Well, if your voice won't wake our daughter, that is."

Epilogue

Not long after, just as you had gathered yourself and were preparing to leave the hospital to head home, a sudden knock at the door of his office startled you both.

Quickly, you moved to sit on the patient’s seat, feigning nonchalance as you braced yourself for whoever was on the other side. Zayne reached for the door, but before he could unlock it, a familiar voice called out.

"Excuse me!" the resident's voice sounded a bit hesitant but firm. "Dr. Zayne, the miss left her handbag earlier!"

Zayne let out a low, irked sigh. You glanced at him curiously, watching as he opened the door and came face-to-face with the redheaded resident.

Without a word, he extended his hand, and the resident blinked before handing over the bag.

"I-is the miss still here?" the young doctor asked, almost intimidated by his unfriendly gaze.

"Ma'am," Zayne corrected, his voice flat.

"Huh?"

"Call her ma'am. She's someone's wife."

"O-oh, and her husband is—"

"Me. I am her husband."

Your eyes widened in surprise at the matter-of-fact exchange, heat rising to your cheeks as Zayne’s words hung confidently in the air. He curtly thanked the poor resident before slamming the door shut in his face.

Your jaw practically hit the floor. "Zayne!" you gasped, staring at him as he turned back towards you, entirely unbothered.

Your husband was as cold as the snowman he often made, but somehow the way he boldly declared he was your husband was just so him that it made you so giddy.

You tilted your head, crossing your arms with a playful smile. "You’re really jealous, huh? How?"

He didn’t answer, his gaze still fixed elsewhere, most definitely trying to save his dignity.

You chuckled softly, stepping closer to him with a teasing sway. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, turning him to face you, and you winked at him mischievously.

"Well, I’m all yours. But if it makes you feel better, maybe I’ll stay away from any ER residents for a while~"

[ratherchili]

𖹭 cw: suggestive, edgy, mdni

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

Unfortunately for you, your big brother's friend sukuna can be surprisingly light on his feet for someone so large. It seems that startling the living hell out of you is his new favorite pasttime. And he's around all the time now. He shows up unannounced and lets himself in. When you ask Toji why he has a key, he just laughs and says, "He doesn't. He wants in. He gets in."

Okay? That's cryptic and annoying, but you'd rather feign indifference than ask questions. Why overcomplicate things?

Mostly, he just sneaks up behind you and shouts, "Hey, brat!" In his stupid, booming voice as he claps all four of his large hands down on your shoulders. You count it as a victory when you detect his smokey scent first and actually manage not to jump out of your skin. Although you still break out in goosebumps at his touch, he doesn't seem to notice, judging by the satisfying look of dissappointment on his face. Your satisfaction is short-lived, however.

The sound of the two men crashing through the front door in the wee hours of the next morning startles you awake. You flick the bedside lamp on just in time to see sukuna crash through your bedroom door. Of course, you scream and clutch the pink duvet to your bare chest. "Oops," he says, with a shit-eating grin. "Wrong room." Toji drags him out with some half-assed muttered apology about drinking too much. You're not so sure that's a pertinent excuse. The smug look he shoots you before the door slams shut seems pretty much par for the course, at this point.

Sadly, that was not the end of early morning encounters with the monster. Now he has you caged in against the counter, nearly breaking your back in an effort to lean away from him. Evidently, he had seen fit to creep up behind you and you between the kitchen counter and his mountain range of a body. And you wee only trying to steam milk for your latte. What the fuck is his problem, anyway? Can't a girl make her morning coffee in peace? Your protests remain lodged in your throat, however, along with your racing heart.

He's so large and so close you have no choice but to look at him, which, to your horror, still renders you temporarily speechless. Being so close to him reminds you a little of the first time you ever saw a tiger at the zoo. The animal was so unlike anything you had ever seen before, so deadly and beautiful, that you could hardly believe it was real. Could hardly believe that it was roaring and pacing close enough that you could reach out and sink your fingers into its thick coat if not for the bars. The bars kept you safe, then. What is keeping you safe, now?

It is unsettling, the way his upper set of eyes remain locked on yours while the lower set look down at the hand scalded by your spilt coffee. "What's the matter brat? Hurt yourself?" He mocks as you clutch the injured hand to your chest. You hardly notice that one of his hands has left the counter, but somehow you don't flinch when he lifts it to your cheek to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. "Did I scare you?"

The gentle gesture alongside his mocking words is so disconcerting that you remain a quivering-lipped mute as seconds crawl by at a snails pace. You wonder if the action was subconscious on his part. Seems the only viable explanation.

You don't find your voice again until Toji's breaks whatever hypnosis the monster has you under. "Let's go," he says, and, just like that, Sukuna pulls away and you are finally able to pull air into your lungs again. "Gonna be gone for a couple of days-" Toji begins, addressing you.

"Please tell me you're taking it with you," you interject, stabbing an index finger in Sukuna's direction.

"Yeah," he says. And sukuna gives you one last smug, spider-eyed glare before he disappears through the door.

You're so relieved that it doesn't occur to you how quickly a couple of days can pass. Or that, when they do, your brother might not be the first to return. Relieved, not only to be free of Sukuna's bullying for a time, but also because what you feel is not truly fear. It's more like awe, if you really had to put a name to it. But you make a point not to think about it too much, or at all if you can help it.

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

taglist ‹ age in your bio to be added ›

@orikixx ; @scorpiosugar ; @just-lilita ; @shesabeeler

[askshivanulegacy]

Hey this isn't like me yelling-callout-post-NOW or anything but I was scrolling through replies on the trolley-problem-palestine post and I do want to say that I have to unfortunately be invested in US Politics as a non-US citizen because of the way these elections affect the rest of the world, culturally and politically. The US is one of the richest and most influential countries in the world and the way it decides to interact with the rest of us, where it sends money and military to, and the conversations people in the US are having even about domestic issues end up shaping the conversations that happen outside of it (trans and immigration issues for example). It's horribly unfair and I'm fuming about it always why can y'all veto shit ❤️ but uh yeah, just a minor nitpick with the influence of the elections on everyone else. I could be entirely wrong in my perception of the way things are but that's how it seems to me rn.

That post was a long time ago, so I can't remember specifically what I said about it, but I don't disagree with your ask.

My big beef (and what I typically rant about) with most of the chatter about the US elections and Palestine isn't that the elections influence other countries. They definitely do.

My beef is that all the US tumblrites are making Palestine into the one single issue ever, in the world and in the US, and they're putting on blinders to everything else.

Palestine isn't even CLOSE to being the single issue or even the most major issue. It simply is not.

And in a US election, Americans NEED to take a look at OUR issues. The issues that affect everyday life. Affordable and accessible education, housing, healthcare, LGBTQ+ issues, rights to bodily autonomy, etc., etc.

In a US election, those are the things that are the most important. In a lot of ways, those are the only issues that functionally exist, within the context of the election bubble. Yes, you can and should consider foreign policy as a factor, but it should NEVER be the only factor ... not when there are so many raw and bleeding gaps at home, and clear, obvious, and impending threats to the very lives of the people these sjw tumblrites claim to care about.

I'm saying that election time is the time for Americans to focus on America for just a minute. And when all I hear is Palestine to the exclusion of all else - all rational thought, all sense - with the conclusion being "punish Biden because he happened to be president when Israel was being a little shit," then that's when I say none of that matters.

Because the US election is not about Palestine or any other country. It's about the US.

People desperately need to remember that.

No, I don't want to put America first, and I care a lot about how we interact in the world. But by God, you don't put your own country LAST in the election that is specifically for your country and will determine how you survive ... and IF you survive. You don't throw your country and everyone in it under the bus.

We have the right to be a little selfish for our election. Not Trump-selfish, but selfish enough to have some sense for the things happening here. It's time to set Palestine on the shelf for a while - at least long enough to realize that "punishing Biden" is idiocy.

Also that Biden is not only America's best strategic option, but he ALSO happens to be Palestine's and the rest of the world's.

Honestly, I've seen more of that perspective from non-Americans, and I hugely appreciate it. I just need the actual Americans in the room to realize that 1) they need to take off their fucking blinders, and 2) their stupid little short-sighted Biden-punishment stunt will not only harm themselves but also all the other countries they seem to care about more than their own.

And I want them to start giving a fuck about the country they currently live in.

[chastiefoul]

jjk men coming home and finding you crying

ft. gojo, geto, nanami, toji fluff and comfort

gojo satoru

you wiped your eyes quickly as you heard the door opened. you took a deep breath, making sure your voice didn’t come as shaky as you said, “welcome home, toru.” with a big grin and the usual paper bag filled with sweets on his right hand he planted a kiss on your head. “i’m home baby.”

you were just about to let out a sigh of relief when satoru suddenly knelt in front of you who’s on the couch, blindfold off as his blue eyes stared as if seeing right through you. “what’s wrong?” he said softly, his knuckles brushing over your cheek with such a careful gesture. “what do you mean?” you tilted your head, cringing inside at the bad feign. “you can’t fool my six eyes, baby. also what kind of boyfriend i’ll be if i can’t even notice when my girl is sad?”

you tried to form a sentence to say as an excuse but the kisses he peppered across your face wasn’t really helping. you chuckled as you whine softly, “toruu.” the white-haired man cupped your face, a gorgeous smile on his face. “my favorite sound, baby,” he said, kissing your lips. “tell me? pleaseeee.” you laughed once more at his emphasis at the last word. “it’s really nothing, toru.”

“i love listening to nothing. we even have some sweets here as snacks,” he said, opening the paper bag excitedly. “i think you just want an excuse to eat it at 8 pm,” you raised an eyebrow, as he grinned. “nonsense, baby. now c’mere, let me hold you while you tell your story.” he put you between his legs, your back resting on his broad chest comfortably. you sighed out of wonderment, thinking how you could be so lucky, being this loved by the man.

“here, pick whatever. this one is my favorite,” he rummaged through the bag that’s on your lap. you looked at him with fondness as his face leaned in beside you to see better. “yeah? you’ll give me your favorite?”

“there’s nothing in the world that you can’t get, baby.” he kissed the side of your face. “now start from the very beginning.”

geto suguru

“if you thought you were doing a great job hiding those tears i have some news for you sweet girl,” geto’s voice was gentle on your ear as he wipe the wet residue underneath your eyes with the inner sleeve of his robe. “i wasn’t really hiding it,” you frowned, somehow not liking the fact that he noticed your little moment of weakness. “yeah? so you were just rubbing your eyes all rough like that for no reason?” he gave you a little smile.

yeah, it was a battle you had lost from start.

he put his arms around you, rubbing your back in a soothing pattern. “what’s wrong baby, everything okay?” you melted right into his touch, resting your head on his chest right on the calming beating of his heart. “yeah, it’s not really a big deal,” you mumbled, your low spirit was really affecting him more than he would ever let you know. his hand kept moving as he once again kissed the side of your head, a low chuckled escaped him. “you’re cute when you think you have a choice on telling me what had upset you.”

you laughed softly at his playfulness, knowing full well to you’ll end up telling your boyfriend everything. “you’re right. but can i tell you later?” you asked, wanting just this peaceful moment to last just a little longer as you held him tight.

“’course baby, got all the time in the world for you.”

nanami kento

nanami already knew that something was off when the house felt a little quiet as he arrived. and then he found you hunched over as you stood behind the kitchen counter. “honey?” you wiped your eyes with what you thought was the speed of sound but it was clear to both of you that you had been crying. “hi ken, how was work?” you replied with a small voice, a smile nanami didn’t particularly like plastered on your face; only because it seemed forced.

“oh no, we’re not breezing past it. come here my love.” and his embrace enveloped you like a dream, all warm and perfect. he stroke your hair ever so softly as he whispered sweet nothings. when you calmed down a little he sneaked a hand under your jaw, rubbing his thumb on your cheek gently, a gesture with amount of love you could only guess. “what’s wrong, hm?” he questioned you, his eyes shone with adoration; there’s only you in that moment.

“i’m okay, ken. more importantly aren’t you tired from work?” there’s a deep crease between the blond’s man eyebrows he heard you say this, as if that was the most offensive thing he had ever heard from you. “’more importantly?’ there could be nothing that’s more important than you, dear,” he said, knowing that concern was from a good place, like he was worrying over you, of course you would fuss over him who just came home from work.

“still…” you hesitated, but he kissed it out of you quickly. “want me to prepare you a bath, love? you know i can get the perfect temperature for you,” he whispered, coaxing you. and he was right, even sometimes he would get it right more often than you. before you could even mumble out another excuse he continued. “and while you do that i’ll prepare dinner, okay? i’m sure there’re still some ingredients left to make that nice meal you like.”

“no, i couldn’t possibly let you do all the work ken-“

“love, i’m here. you can relax, okay? you always do so much for me, let me do this for you,” he reassured you, cupping your face as he trailed your cheeks with soft kisses. you’re still not convinced, as he smiled over your great concern. “do this for me, please?” he tried once more and there’s no way you could refuse that. you nodded, feeling another wave of tears coming out of gratitude for your boyfriend., “thank you ken, i love you so much.”

“i love you too. and when you’re ready to talk, i’m here okay? always.”

toji fushiguro

he lifted you up, your leg instinctively wrapped themselves around his waist as he grabbed both of your thighs to support you. you tighten the hold of your arms around his neck, resting your head on your shoulder, nuzzling closer to his neck; not wanting him to see your post-crying face.

he sat you on the kitchen counter, putting both of his hands on the hard surface, on either side of your body practically refraining you to run away. “what’s wrong pretty girl?” he asked you who’s currently staring at the fingers on your lap as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. he kissed your shoulder blade, intentionally lingering a little long to hopefully calm your nerves. “nothing, i guess,” you answered nonchalantly, like detaching yourself. “you’re shit at lying babe, you know that right? look at the frown that you’re wearing right now, it’s almost touching the floor,” he said as he kissed your neck next. “mean,” you meant to frown, and you realized you were already doing that for the past hour. fine, maybe he had a point, so what?

“nah, what’s mean is when my girl won’t even tell me what made her upset,” he said, tilting his head confidently, his big hand on your waist as he rubbed your side. the look on his face was enough to make you relent. “fine… you’ll force it out of me sooner or later anyways,” you mumbled as he smiled, knowing that you needed a little push is all to sound your worries. “atta girl.”

“tell me all ‘bout it yeah? don’t leave out a single detail. then maybe if you’re up for it, i can show you that i got many ways to cheer you up,”

[grotesquevi]

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎after she's injured she has nowhere to go but your place.

18+ mdni, men go away, thigh grinding, titty love, fingering, dirty talk, pet names, slight degradation/dumbification blink and miss it, ass play, spit, there are descriptions of a 'wound', but i'm no doctor sorry if you are. 2.5k

side note — if you recognize this it may be because my previous account @vicorices got deleted out of nowhere, i'm trying to get all my work back up again cause of tumblr's dumb ass, check out my masterlists to help me out fic hunting!

it’s not fair she’s so into you.

makes her weak cause she has to surrender to you in the end, no choices allowed cause sevika knows, deep down, it's not going to stop as much as she'd like it to. not when you're grinding on her leg like that, when you're coating her skin with arousal so deliberately, making her look down just to find out the wet splotch in your underwear getting bigger and bigger with each roll of your hips, the moans filling the air of your living room — she has no use but to let you get off from something so simple as riding her thigh, mainly ‘cause it's a personal need too.

"you're takin' good care of me, aren't you sweet girl?" now usually, she does a better work staying away from you, avoiding you as much as it's possible; but it gets difficult when she knocks on your door at three in the morning, bleeding out and capable of tossing her pride aside in no time, whatever cost it may bring. "lift up your shirt and let me see those pretty tits, i deserve to see more of my girl."

well fuck, when did it get so personal?

must be when you have told her not to come near your street several times, a non-spoken rule she respects until she has nowhere to go, opening the door so damn mad she thought you were going to kick her out for a second cause she can help but be a damn flirt around you, leaning into the wall even when she's bleeding — seeking for your attention.

it's always like that when she gets too attached to someone, as much as she tries to avoid it she ends ups carrying them too close to her heart: silco in the moment, crazy ass jinx, that damn kid who’s always following, she gives loyalty like dog, so it's suffocating. cause you don't kick her out like she secretly wishes to, but instead, you push her inside, helping her walk to your sofa as you kneel between her legs, bitching about not being a doctor, about not being able to help her as you look at the cut closely.

and sevika knows she shouldn't have come to see you cause you look so damn inviting it's annoying, alluring with those big eyes you give as you look up to her, the concentrated face as your fingers shake over her skin, helping her out like she asks you to, shivering under her words of encouragement when you're sewing her skin back together after five minutes of pure whining.

it’s safe to say it slowly consumes her, your breathing against her sore skin. does things for her, half delirious for the amount of times she's been trying to excuse herself by saying she's dizzy from blood loss, a fucking lie you can tell already — “stay there for a while” she asks when you finish, cupping your face in the palm of her flesh hand, thumb rubbing against your cheek, tracing the outline of your lips afterwards "there's not a single thing you do wrong huh? not even stitch me up on a lonely friday night."

“what are you doing?”

“you know damn well what i’m doing, bunny. i miss you," everything's so fast after that, her voice is husky as she speaks, playing with the strands of your hair, twirling it in her index finger, relishing the sensation of you close to her once again — "i miss you. fuck i miss you so much it's burning me alive."

it's an old habit, it's enough to make you crumble cause you're allowing her to make you sit on her leg, gasping as the cold metal of her mechanic arm holds you down while the other caress your side without a rush: she has nowhere to be but there, with you on her lap.

you'd like to be difficult now, play hard to get even, but it's so right in the moment, like you've been craving it for weeks you don’t dare to say a single word — "you're going to pull out your stitches like that" you mutter instead, voice raspy when she's moving your hair to the side, sucking on the skin of your neck until she's sure it will leave a mark behind, reminders of all being real. "sev-"

"i can handle pain, i don't care" sevika fully believes it, squeezing the skin of your waist. she missed having you like that — "don’t make up excuses, just tell me to stop. tell me if you want me to leave, cause i won’t do it on my own."

it’s tempting, yet you cannot say it as you stare at her, at her gray eyes, the new haircut and the blueish scar in her cheek: you want her there. "you’re injured, you’re not going anywhere like that."

“no,” she shakes her head in denial, not quite the answer she expected to hear — “tell me you want me to stay cause you want me to, not because of a wound. because you miss me too.”

greedy bitch. she’s enjoying every second of it, knowing damn well she got you under her skin already, that she can get out a response from you every time she puts a finger on your skin. “you know i miss you."

fuck her pride. fuck anything else but the taste of your lips, the sounds you make when you enjoy something too much muffled against sevika’s hungry cavity. it’s almost feverish as her tongue rolls inside your mouth, squeezing your cheeks as she stoles the air from your lungs, your heart racing by the seconds.

that’s how you got to that point at least, cause she's kissing you dumb for a moment and the next one she's holding your ass with a tight grip, pushing you against her just to make you remind her about her stitches, her recent wounded state, but in all honesty she's not really listening to any bitching, no; sevika's deeply lost in her senses, the sight of you getting messier with each one of her kisses, the scent of the bubble-gum induced taste in your mouth mixing up with her own saliva — the engulfed moans that somehow makes you look needier than you already are.

and you're not telling her to leave, not receiving any complain as her flesh hand tugs on the fabric of your shirt like a fair warning that you already know what it means, you're not being rational cause you miss her deeply, so much time needing her you cannot help but give in, even when you'd call yourself insane sooner or later.

"i miss you," it's like a poem sevika wishes to hear over and over again, how you, very much like her, are being thrown at a constant state of aching. "i miss you a lot, and it's not fair. keeping me around like this-"

your hand rest over the stitches you covered with gauze, and fuck, she must be damn tripping, cause you're straddling her lap, shirt riding over your stomach giving her the damn royal treatment and you have the decency of being careful with her, gentle.

no. she does not want to be in love, not ever again, but she's betrayed once again as her silent big heart is choking because she's seeing you again, falling apart like you used to, taking the privilege of something so private for herself, surrendering to an act of pure war and love cause that's what she came for in the first place, you.

"don't move. i can do it for us both," do you have any idea of how difficult it gets for her? with you speaking like that? "please. don't bleed out on my couch. need you alive tomorrow, don't move much."

"you're takin' good care of me, aren't you sweet girl?" — your hips began to move against her tight and it's like you want to show her how much you love grinding on her leg like a fucking puppy, how you missed the pleasure she can only bring, how you been missing her."lift up your shirt and let me see those pretty tits, i deserve to see more of my girl."

she lights the cigarette you were smoking cause she don't want to piss you off, enjoying the simple pleasures of life cause she loves it when you take control, giving you space to remove your shirt only to let her see you fully, the sweat going down your skin, the movements in your waist as you try to ride her better.

hell of a show.

and even as you try to muffle your moans, it's pretty impossible when your underwear sticks to your pussy cause of the stupid amount of arousal that now stains the fabric, the constant contact with her pants that being so sensitive makes you docile, compliant to any of her wishes, the hungry look she gives you comfortably seated, the weight of sevika's gaze traveling from your half lidded eyes down your chest until between your legs, a triumph half-smile on her lips as as the smell of your apple tobacco fills the air.

"you're dripping in my pants baby, can't wait f'me to take them off?" she asks, and her fingers create this line as they touch from your neck to your mount, stopping over your breasts, kneading them in her whole hand — "can't be this wet just for riding me bunny, i haven't even touched you yet. do you miss me that much ma'? miss being my pretty whore?"

she knows where to touch, where to kiss as if she forgot about the damn pain in her sore muscles, like the entire world narrows down to you. the cigarette consumes on the ashtray as she leans to suck on your already hard nipples, tongue roaming from one to another, tugging and biting at her will before you make her breathing hitch on her throat — "stay with me tonight."

it's a bad idea, but your hand guides hers down to your cunt and it's physically impossible for sevika to say no to you, deny your wishes cause she's so down to give you whatever you need, an invitation that makes her chest full of pride as she makes your underwear to the side, quickly coating them with clear gush as they slide between your soaked folds.

"vika-" whatever you might say dies in your tongue, gets lost in the air as two fingers come up to your swollen clit, sensitive already against her touches that do not go past the necessary, a back and forth motion that pushes you tantalizingly close to the edge — "baby."

"want to you feel you through my pants," your hole is clenching around nothing, forcing you to move as her mechanic hand shoves you against her leg. "be good and cum all over your pretty underwear."

your body shakes involuntarily, cause it only takes her muscular thigh, dirty words and her fingers on your clit to make you act up all desperate, a loud moan escaping your lips when finally reach your much desired peak, watching in awe how you disintegrate for a moment and everything seems to become meaningless.

"i cannot touch you with these on," sevika mutters seconds after, not close to having enough as she pulls on the string of your soaked underwear, unusable now as she makes you stand between her legs before she's all over you, struggling to keep the hands to herself as she hugs you, gripping the curve of your ass to pull you against her, face resting right over your waist as your hand caress the black strands of her recently trimmed hair.

you’ve heard it before, the advice you tend to ignore: she’s no good for you, she's no good for you as she makes you turn around, coaxing you with praises only to have you bend right over the waist, when she makes your underwear fall to the ground and you're leaning to bare yourself to her eyes only.

and it makes sevika salivate, needy at it's worst when she can notice your wet folds, the way you're dripping down, creamy white right in your untouched hole, messy and asking for more. your clit’s already puffy, pushing her to just touch, make you beg for more so she's weak, weak as keeps you there, showing your ass like it was all her's to take, warm and pliant as she plunges two fingers inside your needy cunt, slowly making room for her thick digits until she’s stretching you open.

your legs shake as sevika's fingers sink inside, and she's so eager to see, the zaunite finds herself moving to have a better view of the traces of your already wet cunt sticking to her hand, of your pussy already twitching, sucking her back in.

"look at this" the woman trails off, drunk on the sight of you spread in front of her eyes, the bliss when you're looking at her from over your shoulder with a cheeky smile that will stick on her memory — "makin' space for me s'good bunny, can you hear that? the sounds of your cunt taking me perfectly?"

there's no time for answering cause sevika's taking, too high on you, on the reactions of your body as she spreads you open, kissing on your ass cheeks before her face's there and her tongue is pushing against your pucker hole, gathering a good amount of saliva to spit on it.

"mmf-please," you loudly whine "m'gonna cum-"

sevika wants the moment to linger, make you cum over and over again but she cannot stop when she's seeing the transparent color of her saliva mix up with your arousal as her fingers fucked you at a much faster pace now. her nose darts against your skin, and she has to help you stand when she's licking your rear so eagerly, circling the ring, teasing you with focused licks, pushing dangerously against your tight hole.

and the sight of it is nasty, blush creeps upon your neck as her mechanic arm grabs your hand to place it in your back, the slam of her own fingers almost irritating her as they make you move forward with each thrust, far from her mouth.

sevika’s oblivious for a second. it's not her fault either way, cause you cum right in her fingers, panting out your ex-girlfriend's name as your body goes limp and she has to take you right in her arms cause you cannot seem to hold your own weight.

it’s imposible to think about the stitches, and more importantly — about the fact that she cannot stay by any means. no when you're always better off without her in the picture.

could it get any better in her safe heaven?

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

First Choice

Synopsis: The Prefect has to choose a dorm to move into, and they immediately think of Leona.

TW: it's relatively vague, but it's mentioned that The Prefect was uncomfortable with the thought of staying in other dorms for reasons you would imagine a woman wouldn't want to stay in a space with all men (specifically, she's overheard jokes, and noticed looks that made her uncomfortable (I try to keep it vague though))

Fem! Reader x Leona

You sat in Crowley's office with your arms crossed and a tired expression on your face. You had walked back to Ramshackle after another long day of classes and mayhem just to find the roof had caved in.

Crowley sat in silent contemplation as if he were actually mulling over the issue like someone who actually cared before snapping his fingers with a triumphant smile on his face: "Because I am so kind, I shall allow you the opportunity to choose one of the 7 dorms to move into!"

Your face remained blank. It's not that you disliked the idea of being able to sleep in a building that you didn't have to worry about leaks, mold, collapses, and cave ins, but you weren't too fond of the idea of having to live with a bunch of men.

You mulled over your options for a moment before sighing and pulling out your phone. Crowley looked at you quizzically. "I wanna make sure it's okay with him first" you mumble under your breath.

Moments later, you get a text from Leona: "Whatever."

You figured that would be as close to a yes as you could get, so you relayed the information to Crowley.

Just then, another buzz of your phone came: "Don't bring the d*mn cat."

Well, that complicated things. You weren't too fond of the idea of leaving Grim behind. Crowley, on the other hand, thought it was a glorious idea. He'd send Grim off to Heartslabyul (without consulting with Riddle first, of course). Surely, some time in the strictest dorm would do the little critter some good.

Before either of you could protest, he was already out the door holding grim by the collar.

When you arrived at Savanaclaw, it was already late. Ruggie greeted you with a snicker and tossed you a basket of laundry to bring up to Leona's room.

"Can't have ya freeloading" was the hyena's excuse.

"Delivery." A yawn slipped from your mouth as you dropped the basket of laundry just inside the door.

A rustling came from the bed before moments later a grumpy lion finally lifted his head to look at you. "The h*ll are you doing here?"

". . .You said I could stay, remember?"

Leona's tail flicks back and forth a few times before he flops back down. "Was half expecting ya to choose a different dorm instead."

With a hum, you closed his door and picked the basket back up to set it next to his closet. "Now, why would I do that?"

You heard a scoff come from Leona "In case ya haven't noticed, Savanaclaw isn't exactly a prissy little proper dorm with a-"

You cut your upper classman off by throwing a pillow at his face.

"Oops, my hand slipped" you hum as you set the laundry basket down again.

Leona growls, but he doesn't move. If anyone else were to throw a pillow at him, he'd likely rip their throat out, but with you, he didn't have that compulsion. "The h*ll was that for?"

"Is that really what you think I'd be looking for in a dorm I'll have to move into?" As you speak, you casually sit on the edge of his bed so you can meet his eyes and give him a 'really?' look.

"Yes." His response is blunt and to the point.

A sigh slips from your lips as you stand up "Seriously?"

"Well what else would you be looking for?" He scoffs with a roll of his eyes "And which of those criteria would you find in this dorm?"

"You're here." You reply without having to think and as if the answer is obvious.

In response, Leona just stares at you disbelievingly.

"I'm serious. The moment Crowley said I had to move into a dorm, this was the first one I thought of, and because of you."

He remains silent, his expression only becoming more skeptical. Don't get him wrong, when you said he was your first thought, your first choice, it made something tighten in his chest. However, anyone can lie, and your current sentiment sounds completely improbable to him.

Another exasperated sigh leaves your mouth before you motion for him to scoot over.

Surprisingly, he complies and gives you space to sit crisscross next to him. "I'm the only girl in this school."

"Obviously." You give him a quick warning glare at his snarky comment, and he raises his hands.

"As I was saying, I'm the only girl in this school. I'm not saying I particularly distrust the other students here, but that doesn't change the fact that I constantly find myself in settings here that make me feel unsafe."

Leona's once swishing tail stills, but his expression remains neutral.

"Sure, I have friends in other dorms, but, for one reason or another, I never feel fully at ease in those spaces."

"And you do here?"

"Yes."

The room falls silent for a moment before you continue: "I can't fully explain it, but. . .I said that the reason I chose to come to Savanaclaw was because you're here. That matters because. . .I feel safe around you."

Leona scoffs before he can stop himself. "I tried to kill you."

"Yes, but I've never worried that you'd do worse."

Leona's eyes widen a fraction at the statement. He debates asking for a moment, but eventually decides to: "And you have about others?"

Silence falls once more, but this time it feels much heavier.

"Some of it is just a lack of knowing,. . .but sometimes I hear people make unsavory jokes. . .and sometimes I catch a glint in people's eyes that I'm not sure I want to know the thoughts behind."

Before the atmosphere can get too awkward, you clap your hands together, "That or sometimes I just feel like people don't know how to treat me because I'm a girl." you add, trying to lighten the mood.

"But I've never felt that way with you. You respect my space and my boundaries but still treat me like a normal person."

Deciding it's probably best not to talk about the previous subject too much as you seem uncomfortable with it (not that he's going to forget it though), he follows along with the topic shift. "Nobody else in any other dorm does that?" he scoffs "It's the bare minimum, nothin' special." His words don't come off as being said in a way to subtly tell you to pick a different dorm to stay in, that he doesn't want you here, but rather as genuinely curious and with a barely noticeable undertone that way maybe. . .threatening?

"It's not that nobody else does. . .it's hard to explain. You not only treat me with respect, but by doing so, you encourage others around you to do the same. Last time I stayed here, you always seemed to be there to step in if anyone crossed any boundaries or said anything that made me uncomfortable. When I returned to your room looking even slightly uncomfortable, you'd notice and take me seriously when I had a concern instead of brushing it off."

Noticing you had just rambled off praise, you quickly add "And you're a dorm leader, so staying in your room would surely deter anyone from trying anything! Cause you're big and scary. . .haha."

Leona is eerily silent for a while before he huffs and lets a grin creep onto his face. "I didn't know you thought so highly of me, Herbivore."

You roll your eyes and lightly punch his arm, grateful for how he lightened the mood.

"Well, I could easily give the same praise to plenty of other people, some of whom are even dorm leaders." you scoff playfully. "I genuinely don't know why it's just you that makes me so comfortable."

"Maybe ya have a thing for me." the lion jokes.

Normally, you'd be put off by such a comment, but coming from Leona, you can tell it has nothing nasty or creepy behind it.

"As if!" You try your best to sound firm and to match his sarcasm, but a light blush creeps to your face.

Leona originally wasn't going to push the matter, but seeing your positive reaction, he continues, "Oh? I seem to recall you mentioning that I was your first choice though."

"You know I didn't mean it like that!" you hiss, irritated by the smirk on his face.

You move to get up, but before you do, Leona lightly stops you. "What are you-"

He cuts you off by resting his chin on your shoulder from behind and lifting his phone into the air. You catch on to what he's doing, and decide to just go along with it. . .but not without getting him back for a bit of his earlier teasing.

You lift one hand to cradle his cheek that isn't pressed against your neck and give your best smile. If Leona is phased by the action, he doesn't show it as he quickly clicks the picture and posts it on his virtually dead magicam account, making sure to tag the other dorm leaders in the post.

"You're a jerk" you sigh, watching him hit post.

You leave the room a bit later to take a shower in the bathroom attached to his room, and only then does he allow the faintest of blushes to creep onto his face.

Partially because of you holding his face, partially because of your praise, but mostly because of something you said much earlier.

He was your first thought. He was your first choice.

Leona was never first.

You had 7 dorms to choose from and you chose his arguably unappealing one where it was always humid and full of sweaty guys roughhousing.

It wasn't that you thought of the dorm first, you thought of him. He was your first choice. He is your first choice.

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[ari-ana-bel-la]

landos daughter being like six and all the drivers want to be her favorite and carlos is like but i was your favorite when you were younger but no one can top oscar anymore, oscar is just her favorite person besides lando

The battle for the title

Lando had never expected to be a single father so young, but from the moment Yn was placed in his arms, he knew he’d never love anything more. She was his entire world, his brightest light, and his greatest joy.

And since she was a baby, she had been by his side everywhere—including the paddock. The other drivers had become her honorary uncles, each one trying to earn her favor in different ways. But for years, there had been only one true champion: Carlos.

Carlos had secured his title early on, winning Yn over with his cooking skills. While the other drivers brought toys, stuffed animals, and fancy gifts, Carlos gave her time. He let her sit on the kitchen counter, rolling out dough or stirring sauces. He let her taste-test everything, sneaking her little bites before dinner was officially served. It was their thing.

So naturally, Carlos had grown comfortable in his status as “Yn’s Favorite Uncle.” He didn’t even blink when Max tried bribing her with candy or when Pierre tried dazzling her with his cool sunglasses. He wasn’t threatened when Daniel pulled out all the stops with his silly voices and jokes. Because at the end of the day, Yn always ran straight into his arms, demanding he make her something yummy.

But then, something changed.

Yn started school. And suddenly, Carlos was no longer her favorite.

Now, it was Oscar.

Carlos was devastated.

Lando, on the other hand, was having the time of his life watching it all unfold.

It all came to a head during one of their big summer dinners.

Lando loved these gatherings—everyone came together, partners included, to share a meal and just enjoy each other’s company. Yn loved them too. Usually, she stuck close to Carlos or him, but tonight, she made a surprising choice.

“Where do you want to sit, sweetheart?” Lando asked as they entered the large backyard where the dinner was set up.

Yn didn’t even hesitate. She ran straight to the middle of the table, beaming up at Oscar and Lily. “Can I sit here?”

Oscar grinned. “Of course, munchkin.”

Lily smiled, scooting over to make space. “We saved you a seat.”

Carlos, who had been expecting Yn to take the seat next to him like always, froze mid-step. His fork nearly fell from his fingers. “Perdón?” he muttered under his breath.

Lando barely contained his laugh, biting down on his knuckle as he sat across from Carlos, ready to watch the show.

Yn settled between Oscar and Lily, happily chatting away. Oscar helped her with her napkin, and Lily handed her a small bowl of strawberries, which made Yn light up with joy.

Carlos, meanwhile, looked like he had been personally betrayed. His dramatic sigh caught the attention of Charles, who was sitting next to him. “What’s wrong?”

Carlos gestured toward the scene in front of them. “Do you not see this? Look!”

Charles followed his gaze. “She’s just sitting with Oscar.”

“That’s not just sitting. That’s—” Carlos paused as Yn leaned her head against Oscar’s arm, giggling at something he said. “That’s treason!”

Lando snorted into his drink. “Relax, mate. You’ve had years at the top. Maybe it’s time for a new champion.”

Carlos whipped around, scandalized. “Excuse me? You are just going to allow this? You, her father, are going to stand by and do nothing?”

Lando smirked. “Oh, I’m enjoying this.”

Charles patted Carlos’ shoulder. “Come on, she still loves you.”

“Not enough,” Carlos huffed. “She has replaced me.”

Deciding he needed answers, Carlos leaned forward, catching Yn’s attention. “Princesa,” he said, using the nickname that had always melted her heart. “Why is Oscar suddenly your favorite?”

Yn looked at him, blinking with wide eyes as if the answer was obvious. “Because Oscar is a koala.”

Silence.

Carlos stared.

Lando choked on his drink.

Max, who had been eavesdropping, started laughing so hard he nearly fell off his chair. “Oh, mate. That’s rough.”

Oscar, completely unfazed, held out his hand for a high five. Yn slapped her tiny hand against his with a big grin before returning to her strawberries.

Carlos turned to Lando in desperation. “She thinks he is a koala? What does that even mean?”

Lando wiped a tear from his eye. “I mean, he is from Australia, so—”

“But I cook for her! I let her help in the kitchen! I have been her favorite since she was a baby!”

Yn, clearly pleased with her answer, continued eating happily. Lily smiled softly, smoothing a hand over the little girl’s hair. “She saw a documentary about koalas a few weeks ago,” she explained. “And then Oscar told her he’s actually seen one in real life, so… I guess that made an impression.”

Carlos looked at Oscar like he had personally orchestrated his downfall. “That’s it? That’s all it takes? You see a koala, and suddenly you’re the favorite uncle?”

Oscar shrugged. “Not my fault you never met one.”

Carlos threw his hands up in exasperation.

Meanwhile, Charles, ever the peacemaker, pulled Carlos into a hug, patting his back like he was mourning a great loss. “There, there. It was a good run.”

Lando could barely breathe. “Oh, mate. This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Yn, still completely unbothered, turned to Oscar. “Do you think we can see a koala together one day?”

Oscar smiled. “I’d love that, munchkin.”

Carlos groaned dramatically, putting his head in his hands. “This is a nightmare.”

Yn, hearing his groan, finally glanced back at him, tilting her head. “Are you okay, Uncle Carlos?”

Carlos straightened immediately. “Of course, Princesa. I just—” He sighed, shaking his head. “I just thought I was your favorite.”

Yn blinked, then smiled sweetly. “You’re still my cooking uncle.”

Carlos perked up. “Really?”

She nodded. “No one makes better food than you.”

The table let out a collective “aww,” and Carlos immediately melted. “Bueno,” he said, smiling again. “I can live with that.”

Lando leaned back in his chair, utterly entertained. “This might be my new favorite tradition.”

Carlos shot him a glare, but the smile on his face lingered. Even if he wasn’t the reigning favorite anymore, he supposed being the cooking uncle wasn’t too bad.

But he was still going to find a way to make himself cooler than a koala.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[plutoslastwords]

I love ur baby Norris fic smmmm

Can you do one where she gets hurt or smth and Oscar is there to help her and he is the only one she wants to look after her xx

bring your kid to work day (gone wrong)

lando norris x daughter!reader, oscar piastri x norris!daughter!reader

summary: baby norris has an accident when visiting the mtc, who will she listen to? not her dad!

warnings: slight description of a broken wrist

w/c: 1.9k

a/n: ahh tysm for requesting! i hope you like it 😁 thank you everyone for so much love on lost and found <3 keep the requests coming!

~~~

Unfortunately, children were not technically allowed at the Mclaren Technology Centre. To make matters worse, the only random uni student Lando had found willing to look after his daughter for 8 hours for the next few days had cancelled. It didn’t help that Max F, Lando’s only friend currently living in London, was in Brazil either.

Therefore, Lando had no choice but to take you to the MTC with him, making special arrangements with Zak and Andrea that you’d be on your best behaviour, you were an angel! (Most of the time..)

That brings us to now, you are strapped in the backseat of Lando’s car, in your booster seat, as he drives to the MTC, babbling excitedly about what you’re going to do today. 

“Gonna see Osc, Daddy!” you squeal, evidencing your adoration for the Aussie driver, who for some reason you’ve been completely attached to since the moment he joined the team. It's quite strange if you think about it, the quiet, reserved Australian and the hyperactive, excitable 3 year old, but he too is very fond of you.

“Yeah, baby, you gonna give him a big hug?” Lando coos at your excitement, he finds it endearing how much you love Oscar, and it also gives him an excuse to put babysitting duties onto his teammate.

You nod rapidly in response to his question, then completely forgetting about Oscar and going on to chatter about something that had happened at nursery a couple days prior.

Soon enough, Lando pulls his car into the MTC’s carpack, jumping out and coming round to unbuckle you and haul you into his arms, giving you a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You gonna be Daddy’s good girl, angel?” He asks as he walks into the building, bouncing you gently in his arms.

“Yes daddy!” You cheer in excitement, you were ecstatic to be able to visit your daddy’s work, your tiny face plastered with a massive grin.

“My best girl..” He murmurs as he greets some people with a small nod, making a beeline for his office, where you’ll stay whilst he works. He plops you down on the sofa that he has, grabbing your iPad from his bag and putting on a movie for you to watch.

“Okay baby, Daddy’s just going to go to a meeting, I won’t be long, if you need anything then Zak’s office is just next door, I love you my darling.” Too engrossed in your movie to speak, you simply nod and wave at him as he leaves.

In normal circumstances, Lando would never leave you completely by yourself for an extended period of time, but these were dire circumstances and he trusted that he knew enough people at Mclaren who would look out for you if you decided to pull an escaping act.

After about 20 minutes of watching your movie, you got bored, you had already seen this one before, and the songs weren’t as good when your daddy wasn’t singing them with you. You try to entertain yourself by playing some games that you have downloaded on your iPad, but even they did not give you the thrill and excitement that you need.

You remember in the car when your daddy said that Oscar was gonna be here today, but he hasn’t come to see you yet, a pout formed across your face at that realisation. Therefore, you climbed off the sofa, and decided to toddle around the MTC in search of the Australian driver.

With hindsight, Lando thinks that maybe he should’ve sent an email warning Mclaren employees that his daughter was going to make a guest appearance that day, because no one batted an eye as you wandered around the factory in search for Oscar.

You think you’re making progress, something in your 3 year old brain is telling you that Oscar is close, when you trip on your own feet, hurtling down to the floor right onto your wrist.

You let out a blood curdling screech, as pain shoots up your tiny wrist, immediately bursting into dramatic sobs, wailing as you sit on the floor clutching your arm. 

Luckily, you must have been blessed with the gift of prophecy, because as it so happens, Oscar was around this part of the building for his lunch break, stopping in his tracks when he heard your scream. Lando had said something about bringing you in this week… he thought, as he beelined to the source of the cries.

“Oh bug, what’s happened here!?” He exclaims worriedly, scooping you up into his arms as you continue to sob. You don’t make any coherent response, possibly something about your ‘wist’, but Oscar knows that you’re in pain and that is enough for him.

“Okay baby, I’m gonna get you to your daddy, okay?” He tries to put on his best soothing voice, but in reality he is slightly panicking as he holds his teammate's daughter in a bundle in his arms whilst she cries her eyes out.

You shake your head furiously at that, hot tears still rolling down your little face, “Don’t want daddy!!” You screech, your daddy had left you! You just wanted Oscar.

Oscar doesn’t really know what to do, and your screams will soon start to attract attention, so he can’t just be standing in the middle of the hallway doing nothing. He brushes his free hand over the top of your head, trying to calm you down with a soothing motion as he coos soft words at you, “Shh, baby, ‘M not gonna do anything you don’t want me to, breathe sweetheart…”

He decides his best bet is to first bring you back to his office, and calling Lando from there, he knows he’s got some ice in there that he can put on your small wrist, which is quickly swelling and turning a purplish colour, which he decides is probably not a good sign.

Still whispering sweet words to you, he takes your sobbing form to his office, gently sitting you on his own couch and putting some ice on your wrist, cooing soothing words as you complain about the cold.

He then grabs his phone, quickly dialing Lando’s number. “Hey mate, you think you could come to my office, gotta slight problem here…”

Ever the protective dad, Lando immediately picks up on your wails from the other end of the line, “What the fuck is going on?!? I- I’m on my way.” He hangs up before Oscar can explain that no, he has not intentionally harmed his daughter.

In a matter of seconds, much quicker than his usual pace, Oscar notes, Lando is in his office, kneeling at your side. “Angel, what happened? Tell daddy what happened, where does it hurt?” He shoots questions at you.

You just shake your head at him, reaching your good arm for Oscar.

Oscar stands there awkwardly, stuck between his teammate’s betrayed expression and your sweet, sad, big, adorable eyes… he gives in, coming to sit next to you and pulling you into his lap.

“You gonna tell me and your daddy what happened, sweet girl?” He asks softly, smoothing your hair over.

Through hiccups and sobs you manage a few words “T-Tripped! Wrist is sore…” you sniffle, snuggling into Oscar’s lap.

“Your wrist, baby?” Lando asks, “Can you show daddy?”

You just hide your face in Oscar’s chest, shaking your head, and Lando just looks at Oscar slightly helplessly, his own daughter won’t even talk to him…

“You gotta show your daddy otherwise it won’t get better, sweetheart…” Oscar murmurs to you, feeling pity on Lando.

You sniffle but reluctantly pull out your wrist from where you’ve been hiding it from under the ice to show Lando, who has to suppress a gasp - for your sake - at how bad it really is. Oscar’s eyes widen also, as he exchanges a glance with Lando about what they are going to have to do.

Oscar, gently places his hands over your little ears, “You think you should take her to the hospital…? It looks broken…” Lando just nods grimly, the hospital was not his favourite place as a kid and since you’re practically his carbon copy he doesn’t think you’ll be a massive fan either. 

“Angel, daddy’s gonna take you to the doctor’s, okay?” Lando says as soothingly as possible as Oscar releases your ears, “They’re gonna make it all better and then it won’t hurt anymore, I promise..”

You think about it for a moment, you’re not a massive fan of the idea, but your wrist is really sore, and if your daddy is saying that they’re gonna make it better…

“Oscar come.” You decide. Oscar releases a strangled noise of surprise from his throat, and Lando’s eyebrows raise slightly.

“You want Oscar to come..?” He asks, you just nod, your mind was made up and there was no altering your decision. “I- baby, Oscar is very busy, he probably doesn’t have the time to come to the doctors, but daddy will be there, okay?”

You glare at him.

“I- uhm, I don’t mind coming if it’s gonna make her happy..” Oscar interrupts the one sided glaring match that you’re having with your dad.

“Really? I don’t want to disrupt your day, mate, I mean she’s already taken enough of your time today…” Lando starts.

“No, no, I’m sure, I could use a break from work anyway.” You grin at that, like you had never even broken your wrist at all, as long as Oscar was coming with you to the doctors.

So that is how Lando and Oscar ended up at the local emergency room, Lando holding you tightly whilst you grumbled something about wanting to be with Oscar. Either the lady working the desk recognised them and was too starstruck to deny them a doctor, or she saw your grumpy face and decided she didn’t want a screaming child in the waiting room and immediately got you to see a doctor. 

After an x-ray it was determined that yes, your wrist was broken, which broke Lando’s heart, his poor, sweet, girl…

Luckily, the break wasn’t that bad, and you were able to leave a couple hours later with a new, blue cast, as per your request. You had given up on your short lived resentment for your dad, and were snuggled up into his chest as Oscar drove you all back to the MTC. When you arrived, Lando spoke up;

“You gonna say thank you to Oscar for looking after you, darling?”

You wriggle out of his arms, running over to Oscar and wrapping your arms around his leg, “Thank you!” You giggle, the Doctor had given you a light dose of pain relief, so you were no longer screaming about your wrist.

“That’s okay sweetheart, you be careful, okay?” He cooed, you really were adorable. 

“Thanks, mate” Lando smiled at Oscar, scooping you back up, ready to get you home. Oscar smiled back.

The way back was funnily quite similar to the way there, you talked Lando’s ear off the entire time about just how much you loved Oscar!

~~~

a/n: thank you for reading! send in any requests you have xx

[chelseeebe]

gimme a hand

okay so i saw a silly tiktok abt how guys take nudes wrong and thought our lovely best friend reader could help eddie take some !! i am a little tipsy so pls excuse any mistakes

mdni. 18+. smut. like, literally just smut. fem!reader x eddie. modern au

“so.. how are things with you and.. whatshername?” clicking your fingers in his face.

eddie scoffs, batting your hand away, “chrissy is her name,” correcting your childish behaviour, “and it’s good, we’ve been.. texting a little,” shrugging nonchalantly.

you and eddie had been best friends for years, though these hang outs were few and far between now. both too busy with the perils of adult life to sit around and smoke weed all day, like you used to.

that meant that your relationship had skewed a bit, no longer as close as you once were. though you still tried to feign an interest in his, mostly nonexistent, love life.

he understood though, your life was far too interesting to care about the very small roster of girls he was seeing.

“texting?” you exclaim, stubbing the embers of the joint out into the ashtray, “so you haven’t seen her since?”

eddie shakes his head, realising that what he had thought was an exciting update, was actually just a pathetic retelling of a long text thread.

“i think we’re just.. testing the waters,” brushing off your disappointment. he contemplates even telling you anymore but what kind of a best friend would he be if he didn’t at least tell you all the details. “she sent me pictures the other day,” wriggling his eyebrows.

“pictures?” a slight mocking tone to your voice that he doesn’t like, “what kinda pictures?”

his face scrunches up, cheeks flaming red, as if it wasn’t obvious. “you know.. naughty ones.”

you whistle, blowing the air from your cheeks in the most sarcastic manner, “naughty pictures.. wow eddie, you’re really moving up in the world. did you send any back?”

his head dips, regretful of ever sharing this with you. you had never had a lack of choice for guys lining up for you. even back in high school. of course you wouldn’t understand.

“no..” shrugging again, “i don’t.. don’t know how.”

“you don’t know how to send nudes?” utter shock rippling through your voice, “didn’t i teach you anything?”

“not how to send nudes!” he hits back, getting increasingly frustrated that you’d rather mock him than help him get laid for once.

“i can help you if you want,” you offer, “i don’t have to watch.. i can just.. guide you?” proposing the question as if it were a completely standard conversation for you two to be having.

“really?” his eyes bright and full of hope.

eddie really liked chrissy, she was sweet and the times they had hung out, they got on well. he just wasn’t equipped to match her flirting, afraid he’d overthink himself into losing her.

“sure,” you smile, grabbing his phone as you stand from the couch, “come on,” beckoning for him to follow you down the corridor to the bathroom.

you bundle into the trailers tiny bathroom, poised in front of the mirror with his phone in hand.

“you stand here..” you instruct, guiding him by the shoulders, “you need to get hard,” grinning as you look at him through the mirror, “i’ll stand outside and just.. tell you what to do, okay?”

eddie’s too high for this, wondering how you’d gone from a joint and a couple of beers to now helping him sext the girl he liked.

you disappear outside, shoving his phone into his chest, the knob clicking quietly as the realisation of what the hell he was doing sets in.

“so..” he poises, swiping onto the camera, posing himself in the dirty mirror, “pull my pants down, right?” wanting to make sure that he got nothing wrong.

“yeah, but not all the way, just like.. a little bit.”

okay, he thinks. tugging his sweatpants down just beneath his balls, his boxers following suit. he was getting hard just thinking about it, the fact that you were instructing him what to do wasn’t helping.

his fingers wraps around the base of his cock, pumping his fist a few times, stifling the groan that had settled in his throat.

this was already weird enough, he didn’t need to make it weirder.

“okay..” his voice quivering, “what now?”

you tut, “pull your shirt up.. or off, it looks bad otherwise.”

eddie does as you ask, taking his shirt off and tossing it into the floor with the rest of his dirty clothes. he peers at the image through the screen, inwardly cringing at how stupid he looked.

“i don’t know,” though his dick was already stiff, aching for him to continue. “i look stupid,” he frowns, attempting to position the phone differently, although nothing seemed to help his pathetic stature.

“no you don’t,” your voice rings through the door, “now you gotta pose it.. make it look good, sexy.”

his eyes squeeze shut, wishing you’d stop talking with that low growl in your voice. this was for chrissy’s benefit, not his. getting off to the sound of your voice while trying to arouse another girl was not the plan.

eddie exhales, opening his eyes to reposition the phone, closer to the mirror. his fist begging to move and finish the job.

nothing helped, in fact, it looked worse than before. chrissy’d block him if he dared sent anything like this.

fuck, he felt like a pervert. this was wrong. twisted.

“have you done it?” you call.

“no,” he gulps, frowning at the image of himself in the mirror.

you huff, knuckles wrapping against the door, “i’m gonna come in, okay?” giving him no time to think before you appear next to him in the mirror.

your eyes fall straight to his cock, widening every so slightly, “wow.. okay,” chuckling awkwardly as you snap back into it. “you have to..” your hand lowers his phone, straightening the camera position for him.

his breath is jagged, on the edge of exploding and splattering all over his bathroom. whatever buzz he had had from the weed had dissipated, replaced by the hazy tingly sensation of your hand near his cock.

“and then..” you look to him, in person this time, not through the safety of the mirror, before wrapping your fingers around the ones that were still lingering around his cock. “do this..” voice trailing off into a low whisper, using his fist to pump his already leaking cock.

a strangled gasp leaves his mouth, heat searing through his body. mind too fuzzy to truly comprehend the shit he was seeing and feeling.

the heat of your body presses against his back, delicate fingers still travelling the length of his cock, “film it,” not once letting your eyes fall from the side of his face while his stay firmly on the mirror in front.

maybe this way he could pretend it wasn’t real, that he was just watching some video and you weren’t actually jerking him off by-proxy.

eddie, ever obedient, presses the record button, sighing into his phone as your his hand continues to move.

his knees almost buckle, kept afloat by the sound of you panting into his ear. it was almost too much, his brain collapsing into itself as your hand takes over, ignoring the phone in his hand to continue making him whine and quiver like that.

the weight of your body presses him into the cold china basin, eyes travelling from his face to his dick and right back up again.

you could’ve told him to jump right now and he would’ve. other hand reaching around to grab onto whatever part of you he could get a grip on.

your lips trace against his neck, lingering against the skin. he couldn’t keep the phone straight, the video would just be some big blur of him groaning and the sink. not that it matters. not while you’re touching him.

“is this good?” you ask, breath tickling against his ear.

eddie nods rapidly, “good.. so good,” fingers twisting around your shirt as his eyes flutter closed. “fuck,” he gasps, the phone slipping from his hand onto the counter when your thumb circles the tip of his dick. an otherworldly feeling he had never been able to feel before.

“yeah?” you grit, pulling his hand, signalling for him to turn. his bones were jelly, body mailable and under your control. his back now pressed against the sink, foreheads pressed together.

one hand holds onto your hip while the other finds your cheek, lazily trying to connect your lips. your knee slides between his legs, spreading them just enough for your other hand to creep between and grab his balls.

“ohh shit,” eddie wails, kissing at your bottom lip, sucking at the skin.

nothing felt real, waiting for his alarm to pull him out of this fucked dream to a sticky puddle and a new perspective on your friendship.

your expert fingers fondle his balls while the other fists his dick, pre-cum making your fingers glisten and move with ease.

his throat squeaks, the most pitiful noise a grown man could’ve made, his bottom lip still latched onto yours.

ten years of friendship and yet the two of you had never even kissed before. wishing you wouldn’t have wasted so much time on actually doing it. a newfound adoration for the sweet taste of your lips and the friction of your palm rubbing against his cock.

“i’m gonna cum,” he babbles, stomach flipping, waves of pleasure crashing through his tingling limbs.

you don’t respond to his whining, your nose brushes over his as his breaths become shallow and staggered. a iron clad grip on your shirt as he teeters over the edge, hips stuttering into your palm.

“ohh fuck,” eddie mewls, bursting all over your hand, “shit.. fuck, oh god,” your eyes dark, gazing down at your hand still wrapped around him, somewhat proud of what you’ve achieved.

he lets go of his hold on your body, hurriedly trying to find the counter to ground himself. his head a million miles away on mars, his lack of thoughts disrupted by the sound of the water running.

chest still heaving as he braves a look at you, watching his release swirl down the drain. you’re chewing on your bottom lip, a sudden realisation that you had just made your best friend cum maybe. he doesn’t really want to ask. hoping you won’t regret it.

eddie picks up his phone, stopping the recording, his thumb shooting straight to the tiny trash can until you grab his wrist.

“don’t delete it,” a fire within your eyes, twisting the screen in your direction, “i wanna watch.”’

his finger hovers over the play button, looking to you though your eyes are trained on the screen, waiting for him to press play.

the video starts, shaky footage as the audio of his pathetic grunts and gasps fill the tiny bathroom. eddie can’t bring himself to watch, forcing himself to watch you rather than the video.

you’re smiling to yourself, smug at the sight of you making him crumble. he wants to be embarrassed, can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and yet, he doesn’t turn it off.

“maybe don’t send that..” you remark, finding his eye, that mischievous sparkle that eddie hadn’t seen in years, reappearing.

he needed to feel you, in the way that you had felt him. cock already reawakening when your lips twitch into a smirk.

shit.

[luveline]

grumpy hotch x pregnant reader where he is just having an off day and the team calls reader in to deal with him and as soon she arrives in his office he just holds her and her belly as she scratches his scalp omg 🥹😭🫶🏻

You’re lounging in your husband's favourite chair with a book and an ice cold soda in your hand when your phone rings. You almost knock your tooth out pulling it up to your face without looking, wanting it to be Aaron, knowing it probably won’t be. Maternity leave can be excruciatingly boring. 

“Hello?” you ask. Your book slides down your bump. You pull it back up. 

“Hi, mom.”  

You grin to yourself. “Hi, Emily. Please tell me you’re calling because you miss me and you know I have cabin fever.” 

“I’m calling because someone misses you.” Her ire tone is unmissable and ever endearing. “I do miss you, I can’t wait for you to have your stinking baby and come back to work.” 

“That would be fun, right? We’ll get Hotch on paternity leave.” 

“It’s him I’m calling about.” 

“Is he okay?” you ask. You know if he were injured she would’ve mentioned that first. You’re not so scared of his being grumpy. 

“Moody as ever. I can’t believe I’m asking you to, but would you consider coming in for lunch? I’ll send a car, no walking, but he could really use it. He’s been biting off heads all morning.” Emily laughs down the line. “You’re the only one who can cheer him up.” 

It’s not true, but you are usually the quickest. You bid Emily goodbye with a promise to be there soon and get dressed, with no choice but to wear some maternity pants and a peplum blouse. Any excuse to see your haggard husband is one you’ll take. 

You look at your bump and you love the baby in there, but it feels weird sometimes to see yourself differently. If Aaron weren’t as nice about it as he is, you would’ve broken down by now; he’s sussed many breakdowns before they could begin, kissed fingertips and collars promising you’re just as pretty as always. And it’s reassuring, but it isn’t pretty that worries you. You’re a genuine walking beach ball right now. 

The car Emily promises is none other than Anderson himself. “He’s bullying you?” you ask him. 

He doesn’t say yes or no, but his smile is enough of a clue. You can’t get to the BAU quick enough (though you’re slower these days), pushing open the glass door with a tired sign. 

Spencer comes across you first by coincidence. “Hey!” he says, ushering you in for a hug, his cup of coffee hot behind your shoulder. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be resting.” 

“He’s in a mood,” you say. Not without fondness. 

Spencer grimaces. “Sort of.” 

Emily attacks you from the side. “Thank god you’re here! I think he just told Morgan to go fuck himself,” she says under her breath. 

She’s just saying it to make you laugh, and it works. It’s vaguely out of character, but if you know Emily, you know she has a crass, often dirty-minded side, and it’s been a while since you’ve heard her swear. You’re still giggling when the door you’d been making your way to opens. 

Aaron emerges with an expression half bemusement and half confusion. “Honey?” 

“My love,” you say, too quiet for him to properly hear, but he can read lips just fine. 

He rushes in a very gentlemanly display down the steps to help you up them, but you’d only been going up them to see him, and you stop at the foot of them with your hand raised to his elbow. “Hey, handsome.” 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Nothing. Just missed you, wanted to have dinner, and I figured you couldn’t say no. You know.” You touch your tummy. “Considering.” 

He peers suspiciously past your head. “Yeah?” 

You look where he’s looking, find Emily and Spencer not so subtly turned away. You laugh again, pleased when the sound makes him smile. “Come on. Take me to your office.” 

He puts a hand behind your shoulders and leads you upstairs to his office. There are papers strewn haphazard across the front of the desk, his briefcase open and muddled, his pen lost within the mess. You’re smug knowing he’d been knee deep in paperwork but abandoned it all when he heard you laughing, like he just couldn’t miss it. 

“Let me sit you down,” he says. 

“Woah, slow your roll. Why are you stressed?” 

He blinks at you. “There’s a lot to do?” 

“Sure, but why are you stressed about me? I can sit down by myself.” 

He must look at you for five whole seconds without saying a word, and the door’s not closed, there’s no answer to your question, and then he takes you into his arms for a hug. “I know you can,” he says. 

It’s admittedly hard to hug him with the bump between you. You worry you’re hurting him as your cheeks press together, crushing his shoulders under your hands. 

He usually asks first, but he knows by now that you’re two halves of the same heart, two sides of the same coin, his hand slipping between you both to nudge aside your shirt and feel your stomach. 

You close your eyes. 

“Rough day?” you ask. 

“A lot to do…” His face moves down into your neck. 

You know what he wants, moving your hand to the back of his head to thread your fingers into his hair. “I can fix it,” you say sympathetically, beginning a gentle scratch of your nails against his scalp. 

“How’s that?” 

“If I go into labour right now, you get a reprieve.” 

“Honey, in the most loving sense possible, you going into labour now would not be ideal.” 

“It’s gonna happen one day, babe. And you’re gonna be just as busy then. You need to take less on or–”

“No, I know.” 

His hand slides still under your shirt to your hip, encouraging you away from him, his eyes flitting up and down your figure, checking you over. You let your hand fall to his shoulder, fingertips interested in the starchy fabric of a new suit. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly, dipping down to give you a kiss. His eyes are dark, so close. “That helped. What can I get you for dinner?” 

You give a fond, pitying smile. You’re not gonna get him out of this office today, that’s for sure. “Half your sandwich, probably.” 

He kisses you again. You take it for a thank you. 

[theother9tenths]

So I know we all love the pupils, they’re great.

BUT ALSO I can’t help but think the animators must have been waiting FOREVER for an excuse to give him pupils.

Think about it, it must be so much harder to draw facial expressions without ‘complete’ eyes. Eyes are really effective communicators of emotion and all that. And the animators do a really good job, but since they designed him as a villain originally, the missing pupils were probably originally a choice made to make him look a little unsettling.

(Remember this guy? Lol)

One thing I noticed is that sometimes they use his eyeliner to indicate where he’s looking as a sort of “substitute” pupil which imo is really clever

This is also why we see his pupils show up more and more as he has these bigger emotional moments. They help communicate a more specific feeling to the audience.

They’ve honestly done a remarkable job with his facial expressions over the past two seasons considering this hurdle. But I think that’s also part of why Stolas feels so different in Sinsmas. Like, yes the character just had his life ruined and is going through a depressive episode, but also I feel like his emotions are that much more specific and present now that the animators have pupils to work with

I could be completely wrong here, maybe it’s not actually as big a deal as I’m making it out to be. But all this to say I’m a fan of the pupils as well and my guess is that they’ll stay because I’m willing to bet at least one of those animators was going rabid when they were drawing this

A playful little eye roll. They can give him expressions like this now.

I just think it’s neat.

[devotedsweetheart]

・❥ SAY IT AGAIN

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ rundown :: you find out caleb had been logging into your phone at random times of the day to keep track of who you were texting. frustrated, you call him to yell at him only to question what exactly he was doing on the other end.

WARNINGS :: NSFW! 18+ , phone sex , sub!caleb (per usual) , masturbation , cnc , use of y/n

a/n :: highkey got this idea from that one scene in twk when cardans kissing jude & telling her to say she hates him..🌝🌝

he had absolutely no right to be invading your personal space. absolutely none.

you were so fucking angry.

caleb was away on a trip with gran. usually, he would simply ask to check your phone, and you'd happily give it to him- knowing he means well. but with the shit he has been pulling, you're starting to question whether or not he really does trust you like he says he does.

you had found out that he was hacking into your phone because the device started acting awfully odd. opening apps you didnt click on, siri turning on without any context, letters on the keyboard being pressed when you never tapped on them in the first place. confused (and frankly a little scared), you took it to a professional to get it checked out. when he asked if anyone else had the password to your socials, thats when the realization dawned on you.

you felt so stupid. utterly dumb. but how were you supposed to know? you had told caleb about the issue multiple times and each occasion you mentioned it he would always say the same thing: "thats so weird, pips.. maybe you should go get it checked out or something." feigning complete innocence.

you had enough.

driving home as fast as you could, you barely reach the front door before you're calling him nonstop until he answers.

"hey pips! i missed yo-"

"you fucking liar."

there's a beat of silence at that. your breathing is heavy, going right into the mic- giving caleb an idea of what he's in for.

"um.. excuse me?" caleb manages, swallowing thickly. he knows exactly what you're going to yell at him for and he's praying to jesus christ himself that he can manipulate his way out of it.

"you know exactly what i'm talking about, don't try to play dumb. you've been going into my phone and looking through my shit. i thought you said you trusted me? what happened to that? i mean, seriously, caleb, i thought we had gotten over this." you say, voice pinched a bit higher than usual. you're pacing around the room in order to keep yourself calm, heart beating at a distressing rate as you don't like to argue with him.

"pips, i really don't know what you're talking about," he utters, licking his lips. "i know whats been going on with your phone has been messing you up, but you don't necessarily have to blame me for it. look, once i get back i'll help you figure out what's wrong with it just to prove that it's not me. deal?"

you can tell that he's trying his best to soften his tone to make his lie more believable, but you aren't gonna buy into it.

"no. no, caleb, just quit the act already. i'm so tired of this. i'll give you two choices," you say, sitting down on the couch; elbows on your knees. "either you stop with the whole hacking thing and we stay together, or i cut things off with you and we never talk again."

for a moment, there's nothing being said. pure silence. he's absolutely speechless on his end of the phone, mouth agape and eyes wide. every few seconds, he'd attempt to say something but nothing would come out- resulting in something that resembled a stutter.

"well? what's it gonna be?" you asked, becoming to grow impatient.

"y/n.." he whispered. "you.. you can't do that to me. i-.. i'm sorry for doing all that crap. i didn't do it because i don't trust you... it's other people that i don't trust. please believe me, baby. i can't stop doing it, it's just my way of keeping you safe."

aaaand now it's your turn to be shocked.

"are you fucking serious?" you yell, and you swear you can see the look on his face regardless if he's visible or not. eyebrows raised up, cheeks as red as roses, eyes backed up with tears. you know how much he hates being yelled at by you... but he deserves it. "you can't be serious. please tell me you're pulling some joke."

" baby, please. i-"

"enough. just quit it. i fucking hate you, caleb."

he swallows. no, practically gulps. he shouldnt be turned on by the sound of that. he really shouldnt. he knows he should be terrified by the threat of you leaving him... but the tent growing in his pants is getting undeniably uncomfortable that he just can't seem to care.

unzipping his jeans, he gently lays his back on his bed, being carefully quiet to ensure you don't hear.

"you're fucking insane and no matter how much i try to talk to you about it you never change. it is draining, caleb. you have absolutely no idea how fucked up you are."

he's nodding against his phone, murmuring small 'yeah's here and there to let you know that he's listening. what you aren't aware of is the fact that instead of really listening, he's actually moving his hand at an insane speed on his dick. it gets to the point that he can't even respond, the pleasure taking over. all he needs is for you to tell him how bad he is and how much you despise him for him to be able to go over the edge.

the fact that you don't even know whats going on keeps him going for even longer.

"...-is so frustrating, caleb! you don't even care for me and... wait, are you even listening? hellooo?" you shout, expecting an answer.

he picks up his phone from where it was sitting on his pillow and takes it off speaker phone to reply. "y-yes, baby? 'm sorry.. i'm, um, listening. keep talking." he responds, stuttering over his words.

you roll your eyes, thinking he simply just doesn't care. "my god, you're so fucking annoying. i hate you so much, y'know that?"

he nods hastily, even though you can't see it. "y-yes. say it again. please." the last word comes out broken as he was embarrassingly close to cumming.

you stop in your tracks, both eyebrows furrowed. "um..." you utter, confused at what he was playing at. "i... hate.. you..?"

"f-fuck!" he whisper-shouts, hips thrusting into his hand as he drops the device back onto where it was initially. he brings his previously free hand down to his cock to stroke the tip, twisting his wrists. biting his lip, hard enough to draw blood, he makes his best effort to keep little whimpers inside of his mouth. it works for the most part... but you already knew what was happening. he does it too many times for you to not know.

"caleb." you warn.

he doesn't answer, he can't answer, mind is too hazy from the force of his orgasm. he's practically like putty on his bed, half asleep and half awake.

"text me in the morning." you say before hanging up and throwing your phone on the bed.

he will not ever learn.