#still kind-spirited and filled with longing for what could have been…..

[whereserpentswalk]

Select an inhuman entity to go on a date with:

Iva: vampyr who was first turned in medieval Russia. Surprisingly enthusiastic and talkative. Always wears a black suit. Their body lacks any biological sex, and is inhumanity pale with yellow cat like eyes. They're mouth useally looks normal but can expand into a massive complex maw filled with many rows of sharp teeth when they want it to. They'd love to drink your blood as a form of bonding, and sort of want to infect you with vampirism.

LX73: a cyborg from another plane of existence whose had most of their human body replaced. They're head is really the only part of their body that still has skin, and even then the lower half of their face has been fused with a gas mask. They're still mourning the loss of their humanity, and they're still very skittish and sensitive. They might not want to be touched until they get to know you, but they really crave praise and kindness.

Shalshan: some sort of underworld spirit loyal to hades. They don't show any skin (if they have any), covering their body in a strange uniform of some kind, and their face with a hood and gas mask. Despite their appearance and job they're actually pretty naive, and curious about how the world of the living works.

Skishasri: subterranean goblin, who looks kind of humanoid, but completely albino, with pointy ears, sharp teeth, and long limbs. They're pretty excited to see the human world, though they don't seem to have much in the way of people skills. They are quite talented as an engineer/tinkerer though, and might try to take apart your phone if you let them.

Aria Aldorph: a which who was forced to sacrifice their eyes to a ancient entity to be granted power and forbidden knowledge. Despite technically being human they now have a very inhuman way of seeing the world due to their eldritch knowledge. They're very calm and relaxed, and will probably want to sing for you if you let them.

Trezoch: massive demon who takes the form of a horned reptilian humanoid with a pot belly and firey eyes. They're good humored and have a deep bellowing voice, though be warned, as good natured as they seem, they are still very much a demon, and will buy your soul if you let them.

Uaeiieo phrthdrn IX: a deep one who escaped dagon's control. They look like a humanoid creature, with transparent skin, a lamprey like mouth, tentacles on their back, and long black hair. Since they don't have jaws they can only communicate through sign language or aac. They're very interested in what humans are like, and while they can be a bit nervous, they enjoy being cuddled or pet a lot.

Aeullion: a fallen angel, whose body looks like a human sized porcelain doll, with a golden halo and wings, though now the segments of their body are cracked, and their halo is broken in half. They're pretty depressed after what happened to them, and they're kind of quiet right now. A hug could go a long way for them right now.

Aereon: an horned faerie knight with green armor (that could just be an insectiod exoskeleton that looks like armor), their mind is alien to a human’s, and they probably see you as something to protect and/or study. There's a good chance they will try to lift you at some point.

The Flesh Sculptor: an unknowable masked entity with many arms, with strange powers over human bodies. They seem good natured and extroverted at first, talking about their craft as if it's a form of art. But be warned, they probably really want to be allowed to scult your flesh.

The Operator: a reptilian entity whose race is heavily involved in an organization attempting to destroy capitalism and liberate humanity. Like all of their kind they're an expert shapeshifter, though they haven't yet figured out how to emulate human mannerisms. They're probably the nicest entity on here, though a bit socially awkward, and they'll probably infodump Marxist theory to you if you let them.

Ithquol: an entity that's half faerie on their mother's side and half demon on their father's side. They look like a stunningly beautiful humanoid, with a horned head, massive black wings, and a snake where their reproductive organs should be. They're very affectionate, and will encourage you to enjoy yourself more, though they don't have the best idea as to what's acceptable in human society. They also really don't like that you're mortal, and might try to make you something not human because of that.

Reblog to meet the entity. Like to give them a little gift.

[anna-scribbles]

one day i will speak about the absolute romantic BLUEPRINT that is bill/rachel in the film Eloise at Christmastime (2003) and the way it is an adrinette au waiting to happen .

[senlinyu]

I'm excited to announce that I have signed a book deal with Del Rey at Penguin Random House in the US and Michael Joseph in the UK for my debut novel, Alchemised, a standalone dark fantasy set in a war-torn world of necromancy and alchemy, in which a healer with amnesia is taken as a prisoner of war and must fight to protect her lost memories and the secrets hidden among them. It will grapple with themes of trauma and survival, legacy, and the way that love can drive one to extreme darkness, and it is, as you may be able to tell, a reimagined version of Manacled.

I know I’ve been rather quiet about my publishing journey, and a lot of that has been because I didn’t want to spark any concerns or worry that I might be abruptly taking away a story that is such a deep part of myself and that I know has meant so much to so many people. This process has unfolded very slowly and quietly because I have tried to be mindful as I could be in every step of the way. 

As most of you know, I have been a reader in fandom long before I ever began to write. Fanfiction is incredibly special to me, and I have tried to do my best not to undermine its legal protection or allow my works to do so either. During the last several years, there has been a growing issue with illegal sales of Manacled, putting both me and the incredible community that shares fanfiction freely in legal jeopardy. 

After consulting with the OTW as well as other lawyers, it has grown clear that as a transformative writer I have limited options in protecting my stories from this kind of exploitation, but I wasn’t sure what to do; I didn’t want to just take the story down, in part because I worried that might only exacerbate the issue, but I didn’t know what other options I had. Then I suddenly had this idea of alchemy, which was peculiarly appropriate; an academic world filled with unique transmutational abilities, and a necromantic war against people who had discovered the secrets of immortality, and I could see a path to reimagining the story while still holding on to as much of the original spirit of Manacled as possible. 

I began redrafting the concept privately around Christmas 2022, and then as if the universe had aligned, just as I was finishing, Caitlin Mahony and Rivka Bergman of WME reached out to me and were delightfully enthusiastic about concepts and ideas for my new alchemical world and the ways I had reimagined the story. 

I'm thrilled to be working with Emily Archbold, my visionary editor at Del Rey, along with Rebecca Hilsdon at Michael Joseph in the UK, to polish this novel for publication in Fall 2025. I feel uniquely privileged that both my publishing teams are familiar with Manacled and understand how special it is to so many people, and how important it is that this reimagining captures the same spirit while also having its own wings. 

Manacled is not going anywhere at present. It will remain online throughout 2024, at which point it will, if you’ll pardon the pun, alchemise for 2025 and be removed from AO3. 

I'm so thankful to all of you who've enjoyed my works, and I hope that I can continue to rely on your support as I take my next steps as an author.

[fatecantstopme]

Not Good Enough

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: You overhear Dean say some hurtful things about you to Sam and decide you need to change, much to Dean's dismay.

Warnings: cursing, mutual pining, mentions of violence, body issues/esteem issues, past trauma, illusions to eating disorders and sexual assault. SMUT, oral (M and F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), dom/sub vibes, dirty talk.

You didn't like to think about your life before the Winchesters. Most of the time, it was easier to pretend you didn't have a past--no dark and morbid history to share, no pain and trauma still lingering deep within you.

Sam and Dean were the only ones you'd felt comfortable opening up to, and even that took years. Life had not been kind to you, and the scars on your body and in your mind were the proof.

Eight years ago, your hellish life took a turn for the better, but only after you almost lost it. You'd been walking home after a late night filled with bad decisions, when you were attacked. The man was fast, vicious, and cruel--taking what he wanted from you and leaving you for dead.

As fate would have it, the Winchester brothers were in town hunting a nest of vampires, and had been prowling around downtown waiting for one to make an appearance.

It was Dean who heard your screams, your cries for help, your sobs. It was Dean who came running into the dark alleyway without a thought for his own well-being. It was Dean who dropped to his knees beside your beaten and broken body...who took his jacket off and draped it over you to cover your mostly exposed form. It was Dean who gently scooped you into his arms and carried you to his car...and it was Dean that stood beside your hospital bed until you opened your eyes again.

Sam had eventually tracked down the man who had attacked you. It turned out, he had attacked several other women in the downtown area over the previous few months. Dean had been surprised to discover the man was just that--a man. Not a shapeshifter, a ghoul, a demon...not a vampire or a werewolf...just a man. His status as a human did not, however, make him any more safe from your avenging savior.

You'd never asked Dean exactly what had happened to your attacker, and he'd never talked about it. All you knew was he would never hurt anyone ever again.

It was unlike Dean to trust a stranger, and certainly out of character for him to confide in one, but there was something about you that seemed to draw him in. He felt as if he'd found a kindred spirit in you, someone who could understand him in a way even his brother couldn't.

Once you were on the mend, Dean made you an offer--one you were thankful you didn't refuse. You joined the brothers on their adventures--saving people, hunting things, the whole nine yards.

Overtime, you had become an integral part of their small family unit. Either brother would have died for you and you for them. There had been more than one close call for each of you over the past eight years, and more than one monster brutally slain to protect you.

You were closer in age to Sam, only a year younger than him, but Dean had always been the one you were closer to. Just as Dean had seen a kindred spirit in you, you had seen one in him. He understood you, he respected you, and he cared about you more deeply than anyone in your life ever had.

In the long years you'd spent in their constant company, you'd begun to change. The darkness that lived inside you seemed to fade, as if being near the Winchesters brought a light into your life you didn't know you needed. The mental scars you'd carried began to heal, even if the ones on your skin would always be visible.

There were still days where the darkness would rise within you, dark thoughts rolling through your mind, bringing you to your knees with a pain you could never describe. There were days when you would look in the mirror and hate the reflection gazing back at you--seeing the girl you had once been instead of the woman you now were.

There were moments when you'd forget all the progress you'd made, mind focusing instead on all of your flaws, all of your failures. The worst part was many of them lived only in your mind--you knew no one but you could see them, but that didn't make them any less real to you.

Lately, you had been struggling with self-esteem issues you'd long since buried. You'd thought you'd come to terms with who you were and what you looked like--accepted the body you had. Weight had been a struggle for you your entire life, and for a long time, you turned to terrible habits in order to lose weight and attempt to keep it off.

Those habits had ended eight years ago, but the issues they'd covered did not. Today was one of the bad days. One of the days you stared in the mirror and hated the image you saw--the softness, the curves, the fat. That was the word that kept repeating in your mind, fat, fat, fat.

You tried desperately to block it out, to remember why you loved your body just as it was, but those thoughts wouldn't leave you alone. The darkness inside you was too much to battle, the pain of hating yourself too much to cope with.

You'd been thankful for the bunker the day the three of you had discovered it, but you were even more grateful on days like today. Days you wanted to spend holed up in your room, refusing to face the outside world.

As much as you wanted to lay in bed for the entire day, your grumbling stomach soon became too much to ignore. You knew you needed to eat--there could be no more starving yourself, no more binging and purging--you needed to eat.

You dragged yourself out of bed and tugged on a pair of sweatpants before cautiously opening your bedroom door. You listened for the sounds of either brother moving around. Upon hearing none, you made your way slowly towards the kitchen, intent on making yourself a sandwich and retreating to the safety of your room.

Just before you rounded the corner to head into the kitchen, you heard Dean's low voice rumbling from inside. You froze in place, pressing yourself against the wall, not wanting to be seen or heard. You fully intended to creep back to your room--you really did--but the sound of your name leaving Dean's lips held you in place.

"(Y/N)'s not strong enough," Dean hissed. You could tell by the tone of his voice he was angry, very angry.

"Oh come on," Sam snapped. "She's been doing this for eight years. She's more than capable."

"Are you insane? I mean, really and truly crazy? She'll get herself killed!" Dean's voice had risen in volume and you heard Sam shush him quietly.

"Don't wake her up," Sam chided.

You heard Dean's annoyed sigh and your eyes fluttered closed for a moment. You knew what they were fighting about. You and Sam had a conversation a couple days ago about you hunting on your own. You'd asked for his thoughts and Sam had been honest and supportive. He said you were more than capable of hunting on your own, should he or Dean not be available to go with you. Your hunting skills were certainly not on their level, but if the case was simple enough, you would be fine.

Clearly Dean did not agree with his brother's assessment of your abilities. "She's not strong enough, or fast enough, or physically prepared to hunt on her own. She's just not, okay? She's different from us...she's not built like we are."

"Do you even hear yourself?" Sam asked incredulously.

You bit your lip to keep from whimpering aloud, Dean's words having cut straight through you like a hot knife. You blinked back your tears as you moved as quickly as possible back to your room without making noise.

Dean's words repeated on a loop inside your head, echoing your own darkest thoughts about yourself. Even Dean thought you were too fat, too weak, too useless to do anything on your own. You realized he likely only allowed you to hunt with him because he felt sorry for you--a pitying friendship you didn't ask for.

Despite the irrationality of your thoughts, you could not escape them. You couldn't fight them off, either because you didn't have the strength or because you were afraid they were right. Your mind once again played tricks on you, dragging you down into the darkness--but this time you succumbed, allowing your own tears to drag you into a nightmare fueled sleep.

Unbeknownst to you, Sam and Dean's conversation had continued in the kitchen. Neither of them had noticed your presence, both too upset with the other to focus on anything else.

"Look, (Y/N) is my best friend. Other than you, she's my favorite person...hell, I like her more than you sometimes," Dean confessed. "I just--I don't want to lose her. If we let her go out there without backup and something happens to her, I'll never forgive myself. I'd rather her never hunt at all, but I think she'd kill me if I told her to sit out on a fight just because I'm terrified of her dying."

Sam was quiet for a moment as he regarded his brother. Dean was not known for his vulnerability, nor for sharing any of his deeper emotions, but Sam could see something simmering just beneath the surface--some emotion beyond rage and fear lurked in his brother's green eyes.

"What are you really saying, Dean?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean looked at the floor for a long moment before answering. "When we met (Y/N), I was instantly drawn to her--like a moth to flame. I don't know what it was, but I felt connected to her in a way I'd never felt before. That feeling has only grown in the past eight years and now I can't imagine living life without her. I don't want to imagine it. A world without (Y/N) in it isn't a world I want to exist in."

Sam exhaled slowly, realization crossing his features. It was rare for Dean to care for someone so deeply, but when he did, he became irrationally protective. Sam was painfully familiar with that particular side of his brother's nature. He also knew what it meant, what Dean was really saying--even if he wasn't ready to admit it.

"You should talk to (Y/N)," Sam urged. "Both about how you feel, and about why you don't want her to hunt alone."

"What do you mean, 'how I feel'?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You know exactly what I mean." He didn't give his brother a chance to respond. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and walked out the door, claiming a need to workout.

Dean watched Sam walk away, and a feeling of mild terror settled into his bones. He'd come very close to admitting how he really felt about you and it scared him. Hell, his feelings scared him. The fact that he was foolish enough to fall in love was bad enough, but the fact that you were the one who'd stolen his heart made it so much worse.

He'd told himself he would never fall in love, never get married, never settle down--this life wasn't conducive to any sort of domestic bliss. Part of him didn't think he deserved that kind of happiness, but the main issue was the danger of loving you so deeply. He knew the risks, knew how it would turn out--bloody, like it always did.

In his mind, the only way he could keep you safe was to pretend all he felt for you was platonic friendship. He could protect you on hunts and his guard would never be down around you, so he could protect you in every way. He'd seen how far you'd come, how strong you now were, and there was no way he would be the reason the world lost your beautiful soul.

No one could ever know the truth, not even Sam. The only way this didn't end bloody was if you never even suspected Dean loved you. No monster would be able to use his love for you against you, no monster would ever hurt you just to get to him. For you, for your safety, he was willing to break his own heart.

**********

It had been three days since you'd overheard the conversation between Sam and Dean. The first two days, you'd remained secluded in your room, claiming a migraine any time either of the boys came to check on you.

This morning, however, you'd woken up with a goal. You showered, got dressed, and made your way to the kitchen. As you were fixing yourself some breakfast, you heard someone enter the room.

"You're up early," Sam said warmly.

You turned to glance at him with a soft smile. "I wanted to get a head start on the day."

Sam raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "You're feeling better, I take it."

You nodded. "Yeah, that headache was brutal." You felt bad for lying, but it was easier to fein a migraine than it was to admit what you'd overheard and the dark thoughts you'd been plagued with.

"Well, I'm gonna go for a run," Sam said cheerfully. "Any chance I could entice you to come with me?"

You laughed and rolled your eyes. "Not unless someone's chasing me."

He chuckled and ducked out of the kitchen, taking a bottle of water with him. Sam always asked if you wanted to join him on his morning runs, but he knew you were unlikely to ever agree. You hated running almost as much as Dean did.

You ate your breakfast quietly, contemplating your plans for the day. You had decided to start a new routine today, a routine you intended to continue until you felt better about yourself or until you could get Dean's words out of your head, whichever came first.

After breakfast, you went into the library to do some reading, intending to allow your stomach time to digest your food. You weren't sure exactly how much time had passed, but Sam had returned from his run, showered, and was now eating his breakfast at the table while scrolling through the latest news stories on his computer.

Dean, unsurprisingly, was still not awake, despite the fact that it was 10am.

You closed your book and stood up. "I'll be down in the gym if you need me," you said to Sam as you crossed the room towards the door.

"You'll--what?"

You gestured towards the hall behind you. "I'll be in the gym."

He looked perplexed, but didn't comment on your sudden desire to workout. He could tell something was a little off with you, but he had the feeling you wouldn't want to talk about it, so he decided to let it go. After all, it's not like going to the gym was something he needed to worry about--it wouldn't kill you (unlike some of your previous bad choices).

When you reached the gym, you looked around and sighed. You'd always hated working out. It was a reminder how out of shape you were and how imperfect your body was. Sure, hunting kept you relatively healthy--you had surprising stamina and endurance, but the weight just never seemed to fall off. You'd begun to feel like your fat was holding some kind of grudge against you, intent on making your life miserable for some perceived slight.

You sighed again and walked over to the treadmill in the corner. You stared at it for a few minutes, deciding whether you really wanted to use it. You'd always hated the treadmill, but you needed to start somewhere, so you hopped on and started to walk at a brisk pace.

Thirty minutes later, you switched to the stationary bike, wanting a change from the monotony of walking. Twenty minutes after that, you were bored out of your mind. You decided to try something else. Maybe lifting weights would do the trick.

About two reps in, your headphones died and you groaned in annoyance. You tugged them out of your ears and tossed them to the floor, opting instead to blast your music loudly through the bluetooth speaker Sam kept down there.

Alanis Morissette's voice now carried down the hall, but you couldn't be bothered to care. She was your go-to when you were feeling angry or upset, her music always making you feel better, especially when you scream-sang along.

After a few more reps, you decided to work on your boxing skills. Sam had taught you years ago, mostly as a way to teach you some fighting skills. You wrapped your hands to protect your knuckles, settled into your stance, and began hitting the punching bag. The release of frustration you felt was almost immediate and you realized you should have just done this from the start.

Upstairs, Dean was just returning from running an errand. He'd woken up and been distressed to find they were out of bacon and beer--his two main food groups. He'd gone to the grocery store to restock and was now happily cooking an excessive amount of bacon for his breakfast.

"You know you should eat something besides bacon, right?" Sam teased him.

"Nothing is better than bacon, Sammy. Nothing." Dean scooped the rest of the bacon onto his plate with a look of glee.

"Heart attack on a plate," Sam muttered.

"Oh shut it," Dean grumbled as he bit into his first piece. He moaned obnoxiously, causing his brother to roll his eyes dramatically. "Where's (Y/N)?" He asked, words garbled by the bacon he was still chewing.

"What?"

Dean swallowed. "Where's (Y/N)? I stopped by her room before I went out and she was gone."

"She's in the gym."

"I'm sorry, she's what?"

Sam shrugged. "She's in the gym. She went down after breakfast."

"Why?"

"I assume to work out," Sam said lightly.

Dean groaned. "Obviously, smartass, but why was she gonna work out?"

"I don't know, dude. Why don't you ask her?"

Dean looked down at his plate. "I will once I finish my bacon."

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't comment further.

Once Dean had finished his breakfast, he made his way down to the gym, a feeling of dread settling into his stomach. He couldn't really put a finger on why, only that he didn't like the feeling.

As he neared the gym, he heard 'You Oughta Know' blasting down the hallway. He didn't hear your voice over the lyrics until he actually entered the room. He would have smiled at the sight if he wasn't so worried about you.

Your back was to him as you continued to pummel the absolute shit out of the punching bag. Dean had to admire both your form and the power you exuded. But as he watched you, that feeling of dread began to creep higher into his chest, wrapping itself around his heart.

He called out your name, but you couldn't hear him over the music. He spotted the speaker and walked over to turn it off, plunging the room into a shocking silence.

You spun around, surprised to see Dean standing beside the speaker. "I, uhh, I called your name," he muttered sheepishly.

"Oh, sorry. I was kinda in the zone."

He nodded. "Yeah, I noticed. So, uh, whatcha doin'?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Working out...as one does in a gym."

He winced, feeling like an idiot. "I know that, but what I don't know is why."

"Why what?"

"Why are you suddenly working out in the gym for two straight hours? You hate the gym."

You stared at him with an unreadable expression. Your eyes were dark and your jaw was set as you regarded him. "You can't think of any reason?"

Dean thought about it for a moment. "No...hence why I'm asking."

You gestured to your body. "Because I'm not strong enough or fast enough or physically fit enough to hunt...sound familiar?"

Dean winced, eyes widening with realization. "(Y/N), I--"

You held up your hand. "No need to apologize, Dean. I realized you were right. I am weaker than you and Sam, I am slower and heavier and fatter--I am completely less physically capable than either of you. So obviously, I need to do something about that. Hence the gym."

Dean stared at her, anger darkening his features. "None of that is true."

"Of course it is, Dean. You said it yourself. I'm just agreeing with you."

"Of course you're not the same as us, (Y/N), but that has nothing to do with your body or your weight or your ability. We're men, and large ones at that. We're physically built different than you, but that doesn't mean you need to change anything about yourself to be more like us."

"Well clearly I do, or you wouldn't have found my body so unacceptable--you wouldn't have told Sam I'm not capable of hunting on my own."

Whatever thread was keeping Dean from yelling finally snapped. "Your body isn't unacceptable! You aren't weak! There is nothing wrong with you--nothing!"

You were stunned into silence by the intensity of his words. You didn't know how to react or what to say.

Dean sighed deeply, feeling the anger drain out of him at last. "You didn't hear the rest of our conversation, did you?" His voice was barely a whisper, but you could hear the raw emotion in it.

You shook your head.

"You should have stayed...you may have learned something."

"What would I have learned?" you asked quietly.

"You would have realized that your interpretation of my words wasn't at all how I meant them. You would have heard me tell Sam how terrified I am of losing you, how that fear makes me want to keep you out of this life--away from hunting entirely. You would have seen that I love you just the way you are--that I don't want you to change a single thing about yourself. You would know that I am the problem, not you...it was never you."

"Dean..." you whispered, unsure of what to say. "You...you don't need to try and make me feel better."

He stared at you, green eyes full of fire. "I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm trying to be honest about my feelings--to make you see you the way I see you."

"Why now?"

He was taken aback by your question, and it took him several moments to respond. "You know how I feel about romantic attachments...I worry about losing the person I love most, simply because they were unlucky enough to be loved by me. The fear of losing another person I love or have them be used against me is a pain I'm not sure I can bear. But you--you deserve better than my fears. You are the light to my darkness, my reason for living. I can't stand the thought of you believing I think less of you, not when I would burn the world down to keep you safe."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" you whispered, a glimmer of hope sparkling in your voice.

Dean took a step towards you. "If you think I'm telling you that I've been in love with you for years, that I love every single part of you inside and out, that I don't want you to change a single thing, that I think you're perfect...then yes."

You exhaled sharply, breathing ragged as you stared into his soulful green eyes.

He crossed the short distance between you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his body, not caring about the sweat staining your body.

He practically crushed you against him, holding on more tightly than you'd ever imagined he would. After several moments, he loosened his grip on you so he could gaze down into your eyes. A small, lopsided smile graced his lips and his eyes fluttered shut. As his lips grazed against yours, you sighed softly, causing him to immediately deepen the kiss.

His hands dug into your soft flesh, seemingly reveling in the feeling of your body in his arms. His kiss was everything you'd imagined it would be and so much more--you felt safe, loved, and cherished. You didn't know you could have those feelings from a single kiss, but here you were, drowning in emotion, his love the life raft saving you from darkness.

When you finally parted, Dean rested his forehead against yours. "Do you believe me, (Y/N)? Can you see how much I love you? How badly I need you?"

"Yes," you breathed. "I believe you."

He sighed happily, breath mingling with yours. "Will you let me show you?"

You pulled away from him slightly so you could see his face better.

His eyes were dark with hunger, his gaze almost predatory. If you didn't know him, you would be frightened.

"Let me show you, sweetheart," he begged softly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Let me show you how much I love your body--how badly I've wanted to touch it, mark it, make it mine. Let me touch every curve, kiss every scar--bite and lick and suck every pleasure point until you're a moaning mess in my arms. Let me make love to you the way you deserve."

No man had ever spoken to you like that, and you felt your toes curl at his words. If he could spark your body alive with nothing but words, you wondered what he was capable of doing with his body.

Your breathing was labored and your voice husky as you murmured, "How could I ever say no?"

Dean smirked and he tugged you to him again, lips crashing against yours. You felt his hands all over your body, clutching any part of you he could reach. His mouth left yours, lips trailing down your neck, nipping and sucking gently against the sensitive skin. He licked the column of your throat and groaned softly, muttering "salty" in a devilishly sexy voice.

You pulled away, suddenly remembering what you'd been doing when Dean interrupted you. "Wait--I-I need to shower first."

Dean groaned in annoyance. "No you don't."

You started to peel him off you with a light chuckle. "Yes, I do. I feel gross."

He pouted adorably. "For the record, I would make love to you on the sparing mat, right here, right now."

You laughed. "As hot as that might be, I really want to shower...I'll even let you join me." You shot him a wink and ran toward the door.

He realized what you'd said and turned to run after you, chasing you all the way to the showers. You giggled when he caught you, tugging you to him to kiss at your exposed neck and shoulders.

"Shower!" you squealed.

He groaned. "Fine, fine."

He practically dragged you into the bathroom, turning away from you to turn on the water before tugging you into the shower with him.

"Dean, our clothes--"

"They'll dry," he grumbled, fingers tugging on your shirt to lift it over your head.

You allowed him to remove it, neither of you paying attention to where it landed as he tossed it out of the shower. He did the same with his own shirt and jeans, followed by your leggings.

He spun you around, so your back was pressed against the cold tile, water spraying across your chest. He unzipped your sports bra and you allowed it to fall to the ground, revealing your heavy breasts to his wanton eyes.

"Fuuuuck," he groaned, lips attaching to your pert nipple.

You ran your hands through his hair as he continued his gentle assault on your breasts. His lips didn't leave your chest, even as his hands trailed down to slowly peel off your underwear.

He slipped two fingers between your folds, collecting your slick and pressing firmly against your clit. You moaned softly at the sensation, head falling back against the tile.

He removed his fingers, slipping them between his lips and sucking them dry. "I need more," he murmured hungrily.

He dropped to his knees and grabbed your right leg, slinging it over his shoulder before you could utter a word. You started to complain that you needed to wash the sweat off first, but he ignored you, tongue sweeping between your folds without a care.

Any protests you may have had were lost as he worked his magic on your pussy. Your fingers twisted into his short hair, head back, mouth open, drowning in the pleasure he was giving you. You were thankful for the tile you leaned against and his strong arms holding you in place as he feasted on you.

Your legs began to shake and you cried out his name seconds before your orgasm hit you, sending you spiraling into bliss. Dean didn't want to stop, but your hands weakly tugged on his hair and your legs began to buckle, so he pulled himself up to keep you from falling.

"Delicious," he whispered against your mouth as he pressed another kiss to your lips.

You wrapped your arms around his neck to hold him closer to you and he shifted to press his body tightly against yours. You gasped as his still clothed member brushed against your thigh and your hands instantly slid down his body to rid him of the annoying fabric.

"Wanna touch you," you begged softly.

He groaned, but pulled away from your reach.

"Dean," you whined.

"Shh, let me wash you first," he insisted.

"But--"

He cut you off with a kiss. "Let me worship you before you touch me--I wanna make this about you."

Your expression softened and you leaned into him. "I love you, Dean."

Your voice was a low whisper, but he heard it all the same. You hadn't said the words earlier, a fact he had been trying to ignore. Hearing you say them now nearly had him throwing all his plans for the next week out the window--wanting to do nothing more than worship you from dusk to dawn for the foreseeable future.

"Dean?" you whispered warily, concern filling your eyes.

He used all his self-control to push his own needs and wants aside. "I heard you, baby," he assured you. "I heard you."

His kiss was gentler this time, sweeter even, and it warmed your body from the inside out. He broke away, panting, a whispered "I love you" pressed into your skin as he made his way down your body and back up again.

After what felt like an eternity, he grabbed the shower gel and loofa and slowly began to lather you up, washing your body in a surprisingly sensual way. When he finally decided you were clean, he helped you under the spray and made sure all the suds were rinsed off.

"Can I touch you now?" you begged.

He smiled warmly. "I suppose I can allow it." He forced his voice to be steady and calm, despite the desire screaming inside of him--begging him to take you well and properly.

You sunk to your knees, gaze lifting to meet his. You gave him a shy smile before taking his cock in your soft hands. He was larger than average, but you weren't afraid of the pain. Instead, you focused on giving him the same intense pleasure he had given you.

When you wrapped your lips around his cock, his head fell back and a groan escaped his parted lips. His fingers danced across your scalp, gathering your hair to one side so he could see you properly.

"Shit, sweetheart," he mumbled. "You're taking me so well."

You moaned around him, pleased with the praise he offered you. You continued to work him, using your tongue to caress and tease him in ways he'd never experienced before.

He wasn't at all surprised by your skill, but he was surprised by how damn good it felt. Sure, it had been a while for him, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a blow job that made his knees weak--if ever.

"Shit, baby," he whispered. "I'm so close--gonna cum for you."

His fingers raked through your wet hair and he used his other hand to lean against the tiles behind you. His hips jutted forward slightly as you relaxed your throat, taking him as far back as you could.

You flattened your tongue against his cock and flexed it, repeating the motion a few times before Dean's grip on your hair became painful and he exploded into your throat with a cry of your name.

You swallowed everything he had to give you, not releasing him from your lips until he pulled away, forcing the two of you to separate.

Dean leaned back against the shower wall and pulled you towards him, trying to support his weak legs while also helping you up. Once you were on your feet, he tugged you into him and placed a feverish kiss to your lips.

He panted heavily when he finally released you from his tight grip, allowing you to suck in some much needed air.

"Where did you learn how to do that thing with your tongue?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

You smirked. "It's a natural talent."

He grinned. "Well I fucking love it."

You laughed and leaned back into him, capturing his lips in a sweeter kiss. "So what are your thoughts on continuing this elsewhere?"

"Well my plan was to make you moan my name for the next several hours...I don't care where we go, as long as you're willing to let me ruin you."

Your thighs clenched together involuntarily and you moaned softly, biting into your bottom lip to keep the sound from being too loud. "My room?"

"My room is closer," he murmured into your shoulder.

You smiled and backed away from him, causing him to pout. You turned the water off and continued to back out of the shower. You grabbed a towel and wrapped it around yourself, which only served to upset Dean.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled.

Your eyes widened. "Putting on a towel so we can go to your room..."

"Did I say you could hide your body from me?" His tone was shockingly dominant and a spark of need went straight to your core.

"No," you whispered.

"I didn't think so." He stepped forward, dominance oozing from every pore in his body. "Drop the towel. Now."

You gasped softly, but heeded his command. The towel fell to the floor and he took yet another predatory step in your direction.

"Don't you ever hide yourself from me again. I wanna see every inch of your body." His hands grabbed at your hips roughly, tugging you towards him forcefully. "You're mine, do you understand me? Mine."

While the idea of someone owning you would normally piss you off, in this context it was a shocking turn-on. You swallowed thickly as you stared up into his heated gaze, suddenly unable to move, or even breathe.

He leaned down to kiss along your jaw towards your ear. He breathed slowly against your skin, causing you to shiver and clutch his arms for support. "Is this okay?" he whispered, voice still gruff, but much more loving.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to form actual words.

"Baby, I need you to tell me with your words. I need you to say whether this is okay or not. I don't wanna do something you're not into."

You turned your head a little so you could see his bright green eyes. The look in his eyes was reflected in your own and there was no doubt or fear in your voice when you answered him. "I'm very into it."

Your reassurance was all he needed to fall back into the dominant role. "Then you'd better get your ass into my bed before we have a problem."

You turned to open the door, yelping slightly when his hand smacked your ass. You shot him a surprised look and he looked slightly sheepish.

"Sorry, baby...I couldn't resist. You've got a great ass."

You smirked at the compliment and gave him a little wiggle before rushing into the hallway and making a beeline for his bedroom door.

He was surprised by your teasing action, but it only made him smile. He chased after you, mumbling, "Oh you're in for it now, princess."

You giggled as you landed on his bed, crawling up towards the headboard as he came through the doorway. He shut the door behind him and stalked to the edge of the bed, fiery gaze locked on you.

"It's unfair how sexy you look right now," he growled. "Makes me wanna fuck you senseless--make you scream my name until your voice is hoarse."

You gulped, trying to hide behind false bravado. "Are you going to do that from the other side of the room?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't be a brat."

"Why don't you come here and do something about it."

Dean practically jumped onto the bed, climbing on top of you and caging you beneath him in seconds. His cock was hard again, pressing against your thigh--a reminder of how badly he wanted you.

"Not so mouthy now are you?"

"Dean, I--"

"Hush," he murmured as he leaned down to kiss you. He shifted just enough so his cock brushed against your core, and you gasped into his mouth.

"How badly do you want me right now, (Y/N)?" he asked, voice rough with need.

"I've never wanted you more," you answered honestly.

He groaned lowly. "How do you want it? You want me to fuck you into this mattress or take it nice and slow?"

"Fuck me into the mattress," you begged softly. "Please."

"Jesus--I love when you beg for me," he growled.

"Fuck me, Dean," you pleaded. You weren't above begging, especially when it came to him.

Dean gripped his cock in his right hand and lined himself up with your entrance. He started to push in, trying to move slowly to avoid hurting you as much. "You're so fucking tight, baby," he whispered against your lips.

You gripped his biceps harshly, nails digging into his skin. The stretch was unbelievable, both painful and pleasurable all at once.

"You okay?" he whispered softly.

You nodded.

"Babe," he said in a warning tone.

"I'm okay--keep going."

He continued to push into you and your back arched as his cock brushed against your cervix. You whimpered at the feeling of fullness, and Dean struggled to remain motionless until you told him it was okay to move.

"I need you to move, Dean--please."

He pulled himself up slightly and started a very gentle pace, still allowing you time to adjust. The last thing he wanted was to make this painful or uncomfortable for you. He didn't give a damn about his enjoyment--all he wanted was to watch you fall apart over and over again.

"Your pussy feels incredible, baby," he groaned. "I could stay here forever."

He began to move more quickly and your breathing became more erratic as you reveled in the pleasure of the moment. Your moans were like music to his ears, spurring him on as he slid into you again.

"I love the sounds you're making, sweetheart. I wanna hear you."

He picked up his pace and shifted you into a new position so he could get even deeper inside you. You cried out as he hit your g-spot, pussy clamping down on his cock in response.

"Shit--" he groaned. "You're squeezing me so tight--taking my cock so fucking well, gorgeous."

Your back arched again and your head was tossed back, pressing into the pillows at the head of the bed. Your hands twisted in the sheets, unable to reach his arms or his back as he slammed into you repeatedly.

He knew you were close, but he wasn't ready to feel you cum yet. "Look at me, baby."

He waited until your hazy eyes met his.

"Don't cum until I tell you to, understand?"

Your eyes widened. "But, Dean--"

"Not until I give you permission," he said firmly.

You nodded rapidly, not wanting to risk your orgasm altogether.

"Good girl."

You moaned loudly and your pussy clenched tightly around his cock, causing him to echo the sound.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned. "You like it when I praise you, huh? You wanna hear about how much I love this pussy? How I've been thinking about fucking you for years? How I've craved your body?"

You were practically breathless beneath him, unable to formulate a response or even acknowledge his words.

"Your pussy is fucking perfect," he continued. "Made for me. And this body? Gorgeous and soft and fucking delicious. Can't believe I get to touch you like this--make you feel so good."

"Dean, please," you begged breathlessly.

"Not yet, sweetheart."

You whimpered, but continued to focus on staving off your impending orgasm.

"Who owns this pussy, baby?"

You didn't answer--too focused on not cumming until he gave you permission.

His grip on your legs tightened, bringing your attention back to him. "That's it, pretty girl, look at me. Tell me who owns this pussy."

"You," you gasped out.

"That's right. This pussy is mine. I'm the only one who gets to touch you like this--make you moan and whimper and scream. No one else."

"Only you," you cried.

"Fuck--" His breathing had become ragged and he had begun to struggle to keep himself from orgasming.

"Please," you whimpered.

"Please what, baby?"

"Let me cum!" you begged.

Dean decided to take pity on you. "Cum for me, baby."

"Dean!" you screamed as your orgasm ripped through you. The pleasure so white hot and blinding you nearly blacked out.

Dean helped you ride out the waves of pleasure before lowering himself back down to hover over you. He placed soft kisses to your heated skin and whispered, "You're so damn beautiful when you cum."

You were gulping down mouthfuls of air, but you heard his whispered words. "I love you," you murmured.

He groaned softly. "Love you more."

He picked his pace back up, intent on giving you another orgasm before allowing himself to cum.

It didn't take long for him to work you back up, letting you hang on the precipice of blissful pleasure once more.

"You feel so good beneath me, baby. I love watching your pretty face as you fall apart. I just can't get enough of you," he admitted.

Your nails dug into his back, indicating you also couldn't get enough of him. "Dean, I need more," you pleaded.

"Touch yourself for me, baby. I want you to cum before I fill you up."

You lowered your hand down and slipped it between your bodies. You found your clit with ease and began to gently toy with it, sending pulses of toe curling pleasure up your spine.

"Fuck, yes. That's it baby. God, this pussy is addicting...don't ever wanna stop."

"So close," you whimpered.

"Yeah, sweetheart? You wanna cum?"

"Please, Dean."

"How badly?"

"Dean," you whined.

"Be a good girl and tell me how badly you wanna cum for me and maybe I'll let you."

"Please-please-please," you begged. "I wanna cum so bad. I need to cum, Dean, please!"

As much as he loved prolonging your orgasm, he couldn't bear saying no to you. "Cum for me, sweetness," he whispered into your ear.

Your body began to shake as the dam broke once again. You cried out as the pleasure invaded all of your senses, overwhelming you completely.

Dean began to chase his own high, desperately needing to fill you up with his seed. "You're the only woman who makes me lose control," he whispered into your skin.

You were surprised by his words, but they warmed your heart. Dean wasn't the kind of man to lose control often, so the fact that you made him do so was a massive ego boost.

"I wanna feel you fill me up, Dean," you murmured. "Need your cum inside me."

"Fuck," he growled, teeth grazing your pulse point.

His hips began to stutter as he reached his peak. Your nails scraped along his back, giving him the last push he needed to fall over the edge. He came with a guttural growl of your name, ropes of hot cum filling your pussy.

His arms started to feel weak as his orgasm came to an end, and he collapsed on top of you, crushing you beneath his larger frame. You couldn't have been bothered to care if he'd literally smothered you--you were too fucked out to form coherent thoughts.

After a while, Dean managed to pull himself off of you, only to collapse on the bed beside you. He reached for you, strong arms wrapping around your waist to tug you into his chest.

"You're so damn incredible, (Y/N/N)," he whispered into your shoulder, lips pressing soft kisses there. "I don't think I've ever cum that hard--and you managed to do it twice."

"I can't feel my legs and my head is fuzzy," you mumbled. "So I second all of that."

Dean chuckled softly and held you even tighter. "I love you," he murmured. "More than you'll ever know."

"I think I have some idea," you whispered back. "And I love you just as much."

Dean smiled, feeling truly happy for the first time in as long as he could remember. He knew he should get up, help you clean up and all that, but he couldn't get himself to move and you weren't complaining. In fact, your breathing had evened out and he had a feeling you'd be asleep soon.

He kissed your shoulder one more time before resting his head comfortably on the pillow, feeling more relaxed than he had in a while. Just as sleep threatened to claim him, he heard his brother's voice from the other side of the closed door.

"While I'm super happy for you both, I have one request. Next time the two of you decide to fuck each other's brains out, could you at least have the decency to wait until I'm gone? I can't un-hear any of that!"

You laughed lightly and you could feel Dean's laughter rumbling in his chest from behind you.

"We'll do our best," Dean called back. "But no promises! She's simply too hot to resist--you never know when I'll get the urge to ravish her."

You laughed even harder, but you reached behind you to lovingly smack his hip.

"Ohh gross, dude!" Sam grumbled before walking away, leaving the two of you alone again.

"You're so bad, Dean Winchester."

"I didn't hear you complaining when I was making your legs shake ten minutes ago."

You tossed him a grin over your shoulder. "I didn't say it was a bad thing."

He matched your grin. "Touché, my love. Touché."

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | v.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Grandma’am’s dissonant notes fill your room as you lie on the bed. The old woman’s wobbly soprano has been the background noise to your awakening this early morning.

At least it diverted you from your dire thoughts.

You rose with low spirits, defeated. You didn’t dare leave the cover of the warm blankets.

You’ve stared at the ceiling for so long, the flower patterns have morphed into smudges of pale color swirling in your vision. It’s all you did the entire morning. Stare at the ceiling while awful thoughts collide in your head. Perhaps for hours. You’re not sure. Time has been a foggy concept as of late.

You can’t even remember when everything started spinning out of control. The beginning of your unraveling.

The day before Coryo held you as you wept in his arms. For a while, in the warmth of his embrace, the uproar in your head fell silent.

Now it’s all noise again. Chaos. You have no desire to climb out of bed, face the day. Perhaps it makes you a bad guest. But hiding is easier. So it’s exactly what you elect to do.

Hiding until it becomes an impossibility.

Or until the door knocks in that case. 

The sound startles you. 

You don’t answer. Instead, you burrow yourself further beneath the sheets. 

The knock starts again. Stubbornly, you ignore it.

“I’m coming in,” a familiar, airy voice announces.

The creaking of the door reaches you and your brows crumple. A slight weight plops on the mattress, making it dip under you. You freeze, willing yourself to remain still. 

A delicate perfume hangs in the air. Guilt seeps through you. It’s not like she’s done anything to you. If anything, she’s been kind. It’s about the hot layer of shame that has grown thick roots into your being.

Her gentle lilt flutters above you.

“I won’t move until you talk to me; I’m worried.”

You gnaw on your lip. The seconds stretch to minutes, arduously long, seemingly endless as she remains on your bed. It dawns on you how deadly serious the older of the Snow cousins is. She will not go away until you speak to her.

Besides, your mother’s voice echoes somewhere in your head. Your behavior is ill-fitted for a lady. Here you are, a guest in someone else’s house, acting like a petulant child.

Though you balk at the prospect, it’s time to face the world.

You huff out a quiet sigh under your breath before peeking above the blanket. 

“Tigris,” you mumble. 

Her thin blonde brows are pinched. 

“You missed breakfast,” she notes. She tilts her head, scrutinizing you as her frown deepens. “First dinner, now breakfast. It’s becoming a habit.”

Concern glimmers in her honey orbs. Your chest squeezes. The last thing you want is for someone else to feel terrible. You push the blanket further away from you, sitting up as a contrite smile tugs your lips. 

“Sorry.”

Tigris’ slender fingers latch onto your forearm. 

“Don’t apologize. Just keep me company today.”

You attempt to deflect, “What about Coryo?”

The blonde releases a deep exhale, crossing her arms in frustration. You’ve gazed upon a similar crease on Coriolanus’ face before.

“He barely has time for me these days. Between his work with Dr Gaul, the University and…” A small smile plays on her lips as her voice trails off. “You of course.” Your cheeks heat at her implication. Of course, you’re aware of Coriolanus’ dedication to showing up for you as of late. But it never occurred to you that it could impede on Tigris’ time with him. It saddens you.

From what you recall of the glimpses of them you caught growing up, there was a time the two Snow cousins were inseparable. After all, ever since they were young, Tigris has been everything to him. A mother, a sister, a best friend. It was clear on Coriolanus’ face too. Fondness was etched on his face whenever he looked at his cousin. 

She leans over you, her tone pleading.

“Come on, I really need a friend, and something tells me you do too.”

Shoulders sagging in surrender, you concede, “I’ll get dressed.”

She leaps to her feet, a victorious smile breaking onto her face.

“I’ll have the maid bring you some food before we go,” she sings. “When’s the last time you ate anyways?”

You purse your lips, shocked at the realization of how long it’s been since your last meal, eating having toppled to the bottom of your list of priorities the last two days.

You give an honest reply.

“I…can’t remember.”

Concern scrunches Tigris’ angular features once more. She then takes her leave and you glumly get ready for the day.

Food is brought up to your room. You nibble down every bite of cheese, bread and eggs until you’re full.

You find the massive trunk Coriolanus had the staff carry up to your room. You marvel as you peer inside, rummaging in search of an outfit for the day. His thoughtfulness astounds you. You don’t deserve a friend like Coryo.

Once you’ve removed your night robe, it pools at your feet. Your stomach sinks at the sight of your bare form. Bruises still speckle your skin. They are starting to fade but the ones on your hips and thighs are still quite prominent. The thought of Coryo touching you this way crosses your mind and you shudder. 

You know you shouldn’t feel this way.

It’s like your friend said. It’s better that it was him than some stranger with nefarious intentions. After all, you were both drunk. You both didn’t mean for it to happen. It’s obvious Coriolanus is as inconvenienced by this as you are. 

You should move on, let the incident scatter amidst the unfortunate mistakes of youth. It’s what common sense dictates. Otherwise guilt will chew you to the bone.

But you can’t. 

Every time you think of that night, you’re unsettled, an inkling of wrong humming through you.

It haunts you. Though you wished it didn’t.

The remainder of the morning is spent with Tigris. The two of you scour the city in search of various fabrics and items her boss, Fabricia Whatnot, asks her to collect. 

It’s a nice change of scenery and you welcome it.

You even get to see Tigris work on a dress, a magnificent wedding gown whose sight stirs a bittersweet feeling within you. It reminds you that your own dress was ruined, a matter you’ve yet to solve. 

…If there’ll even still be a wedding. 

As the afternoon sun crests to a scorching peak in the bright blue sky, she offers to stop by a café which you readily accept. You both sit beneath a wide umbrella on the outdoor terrace. 

You take small bites of your petit fours, the sugar melting on your tongue providing much needed comfort.

“Does your grandmother do this every morning?” 

Tigris’ lips pause above the rim of her porcelain cup, her honey gaze widening at your question. Realization then lights up her face.

“Oh, the singing? Yes, almost.” A fond smile spreads onto her thin lips. “Grandma’am likes to reminisce about the glory days of our family, you know…before the war.”

Your brows furrow.

The glory days...

Could the days before the war truly be referred to as that? The people of the Districts were forced to serve the ever-growing needs of the Capitol citizens, reaping no benefits from their hard work and being kept docile by the perpetual threat of execution.

Exactly like now.

You hardly see the glory in that. Maybe for the victors, the ones who get to stand atop the mountain while others try to claw their way up from the bottom until their hands bleed.

But, as usual, you don’t voice your treasonous thoughts, simply nodding in response.

Tigris and you both relish the comfortable silence for a while. She doesn’t urge you to talk and you’re grateful for that. Idle talk is an arduous task when constant worries gnaw at your mind.

While she may not know the depth of your predicament, you appreciate that Tigris picks up enough not to prod.

“It’s nice here, isn’t it?” she says. “Quiet. I like to come here when I need a moment to myself.”

Your gaze roams across the luxurious garden near the café. You get lost in admiring the pretty flowers and the swan fountain. It reminds you of your own garden, your beloved roses, probably withering from neglect. You’ll need to tend to them soon.

“It’s beautiful,” you admit. You nibble on your bottom lip before your eyes find hers. “I’m sorry for being…difficult this morning.”

Tigris’ shoulders heave as she replies nonchalantly, “It’s quite alright.” Mirth sparkles in her amber orbs. “I’m sorry for dragging you all over Panem to run those errands.”

You give a small smile. “It’s fine. I enjoyed the distraction.”

You look down and fiddle with your napkin, arranging it in different positions several times in your lap.

“Is something the matter?”

Tigris’ abrupt inquiry makes your head snap up.

You hesitate beneath her compassionate stare. After a long, quiet minute, your shoulders slump.

“I just loathe that I am such a burden to you and Coryo,” you mumble.

Tigris tilts her head, genuine confusion scrunching her features. “A burden? Don’t be ridiculous. You could never be that to me...” Her slender hand reaches across the table to drape over yours. “And even less to Coryo.”

A wry chuckle leaves your lips. “Well, he’s got better things to do than taking care of me.”

She shakes her head.

“Taking care of you is a pleasure to my cousin.”

You wince. “I very much doubt that.”

Tigris’ head lowers, her hand rising to her mouth to dampen her chortle.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, frowning.

“It’s just…you really don’t see how much you’re changing him?” She studies you momentarily before heaving out a long exhale. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course,” you reply immediately. She smiles.

“I haven’t seen him focus on something other than his ambitions in so long…not the way he focuses on you.”

Your jaw hangs slack at her admission.

She pauses, seeming to mull over her next words. “Coryo…when he returned from his service in District 12, he was so different. I thought all the warmth in him was gone, that he was becoming like my uncle.” A distant, sad look dims her eyes. “A cold, calculated man. But when he’s around you…" Fondness illuminates her face while she gauges you. "I don’t know, it's almost like he’s back to his old self. The little boy I knew, sweet and caring. My little Coryo.”

Her fingers tighten around yours as she beams. “You’re good for him, so don’t worry about being a burden. It couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Tears of relief almost spill from your eyes at that but you swallow them.

Instead, you return her smile. It may have been at the behest of your dead brother but you couldn’t deny how comforting Coriolanus’ presence has been, his friendship the silver lining above somber clouds. Coryo is the only one who gladly listens when you talk about Sejanus and how much it aches that he’s not there anymore, his passing having left a void that can never be filled. It’s too painful for your mother and your dad’s in plain denial. If it weren’t for Coryo, grief would have eaten you alive, you’re certain of it. 

It’s hard to picture your life without him in it now, in some form or another. In fact, you don’t think you even want to. You may have lost a brother but the gods were merciful and granted you another.

After you leave the café, you and Tigris take a leisurely stroll through the Capitol’s streets. The talk you had with her rejuvenated you. For the first time since that awful night at Clemensia’s, you feel a bit more like yourself. 

All is well until someone strides out of a bakery, someone you know too well. The sight of the familiar face freezes you in your spot. 

Your eyes then lock from across the street. You watch the recognition dawn on his face. 

He starts making his way towards you. 

A surge of panic bleeds inside you. You briskly grab Tigris’ hand.

“Let’s go,” you urge, already pulling her in the other direction. 

“Wait…what?” Befuddled, Tigris lets you drag her along as you start racing through the streets.

You don’t dare look behind you, your heart thundering inside your chest. 

You dive into a busy street. The crowd cloaks you as you zigzag between bodies. Strangers give you dirty looks but you don’t care, focused on running as far away from who you saw as you can. 

You and Tigris end up in a narrow alleyway, catching your breaths behind a dumpster. 

You shoot worried glances at the other end of the alleyway. You lost him, you realize. A strange blend of emotions fills you, every single one carving a larger hole inside your chest.

“Who was that?” Tigris asks between uneven breaths.

Shame swells within you as your gaze lands on the cobblestoned floor.

“My fiancé,” you reply.

“Hey.” Your head lifts from your knees, your eyes traveling to the blond head peeking through the slight opening of the door.

Concerned cobalt orbs study you. You avoid his scrutiny by focusing on a random spot on the bed sheets. He enters the room. As he sits at the edge of the bed, you bring your legs closer to your chest.

His soft tone breaks through your hazy train of thoughts. “Tigris told me what happened.”

You unleash a shaky breath before finally meeting his gaze.

“I’m a coward,” you say.

His hand rises to cradle your jaw, his thumb collecting an errant tear you didn’t even realize had spilled over. “You’re not a coward,” he assures.

Your lip wobbles. Of course you are. You saw William, your own fiancé, and ran away from him. Who does that? An idiot and a coward. But you didn’t know what else to do. You panicked. When his beautiful green eyes locked with yours, all you could think about was those same eyes filled with hate and betrayal if he ever learnt what you did.

“I am,” you affirm.

Coriolanus strokes the side of your face, his tone growing firmer, “It’s a tough situation…”

His sentence is halted by a loud banging downstairs. 

Your eyes go wide.

“What’s that?”

The faint echo of your name being yelled from outside reaches you. Your heart leaps as Coryo’s features go taut, his jaw clenching.

His lips stretch in a tense smile.

“I'll go check. Stay here.”

“I’ll come.”

You jump from bed and make a beeline for the door. He tries to placate you by holding your shoulders, blocking the exit with his towering frame.

“Princess, I don’t think-”

You glower at him. You can’t run forever.

“You can’t stop me, Coryo.”

Tension hangs in the air for some minutes, thick and electric, before he relents with a deep sigh, “Alright.”

Heart in your throat, you take slow steps down the stairs. Coryo trails behind you in silence.

Your name’s uttered again, the door rattling as he bangs against it. You flinch.

Trembling feet drag to the front door. Your hand spreads over the wooden carving. You take a deep breath before hesitant words stumble out of you.

“William, you can’t be here.”

“I love you. Of course I should be here.” 

Unwavering determination vibrates in his tone. Guilt flares within you. You swallow the impending rush of tears. You don’t deserve him. He’s good, kind, honest…and you’re a liar.

“I saw you with that girl, Snow’s cousin. Talk to me, baby, please.”

“I just need a little time...alone.”

“What? Is this about the wedding preparations? Is it your parents?” He sounds confused and hurt. Your heart wrenches. You’re hurting him. It’s exactly what you meant to avoid. “Whatever it is, we can fix it. We can face anything as long as we’re together.”

The desperation thickens in his voice.

“Come out. I just want to see your face, please.”

“I…”

Your fingers hover above the gold door knob. But your hand is snatched by long, stern digits before it can fully wrap around the handle. Coryo tugs you away from the door. You gasp as his deep voice resonates in the lobby. 

“You need to leave her be. She told you she needs space, William,” he says.

“Snow!” A mirthless chuckle ripples from the other side. “I knew it had to be you somehow.” You leap as the hinges of the door shake as William’s fists slam against it once more. “What did you do to her?”

Tears well up in your eyes. 

“Right now, it’s you that’s hurting her,” Coriolanus says, his fingers curling around yours. “What kind of husband-to-be doesn’t respect his future wife’s wishes?”

Your brows collide. You wish he didn’t speak like that. After all, you’re the one at fault. But fear keeps the words chained to your throat.

“I just need to see her, please,” William insists.

Your stomach lurches. This is insane. Your fiancé is on the other side of the door and you won’t let him see you.

Maybe William’s right. Maybe talking to him will fix everything.

You sniffle and wipe your tears. You take a solid stride towards the door again, fingers ready to open it. 

“I think I should, just for a few minutes.”

Your decision is made but Coryo’s hand cinches around your wrist. This time his hold is much firmer, on the cusp of painful in fact. 

You grimace as he draws you away from the door, near the stairs.

He bends over you to whisper hotly, “To tell him what, princess?” Angling your chin upward, he sighs. “That you gave me something you denied him all this time? After just a few drinks?” Heat nestles in your cheeks. It is true. Both you and him got near that point so often, but you were adamant about waiting for your wedding night. It was your excuse every time. You doubt he’d take it well if you told him what occurred. While you want to believe your relationship will survive it, Coriolanus’ words are tossing fuel on every insecurity within you. Your confidence wavers, your hand sagging in his hold.

Coriolanus’ intense blue gaze is hard on you as he continues, his raspy tone low and foreboding, “Or perhaps, you’ll make up a lie? You really think he won't see it on your face?” A contrite expression settles on his handsome features. “You wear your emotions on your sleeves. He’ll know right away.” His thumb sweeps over your cheek to wipe a lone, stray tear. “William seems like a good man, but such a betrayal…it’d break the two of you before you even began.” He leans closer, his lips ghosting over your earshell. “He will never forgive you.”

All hope shrivels inside you, the last remnants you still held onto crumbling to dust.

You almost made a mistake. Of course Coryo’s right. 

“Do you trust me?” 

You give a frantic nod, releasing a shuddering sob.

He smiles at your response.

“Then go upstairs,” he instructs. “I’ll talk to him, fix everything.”

Seeing you linger at the bottom of the stairs, longing gaze darting to the door, Coriolanus squeezes your hand in reassurance.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’m going to make sure you still get to have a wedding at the end of this.” His smile grows wide. “I promise you.”

You search his face. Confidence radiates from his expression, planting the belief that he’s right deep within you. You shouldn’t have doubted him. Coriolanus has gone to great lengths to help you. Even now, he’s protecting your future. It’s more than one should ask of a friend, yet he’s doing it for your sake.

“Thank you,” you say. His hand slackens around yours, a satisfied glint dancing in his cobalt gaze. You rush up the stairs, not daring to look back in fear you falter once more.

[godsfavdarling]

How could you?

my masterlist, part 2

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader (established relationship)

words: 2,3k

summary: You go to Spencer's apartment, only to witness a shocking betrayal that shatters your world.

warnings: angst, hurt, spoilers for season 15!

a/n: this was one of the ideas for the later chapters of my full story 'Keep Holding On' (completed and available here), but there wasn't really a place for it. so, I decided to just make it into a one-shot with a gender-neutral reader!

You and Spencer have been together for a few years now, your relationship a patchwork of late-night conversations, lazy weekends spent on a couch with books, and long nights in each other's arms.

Although his job isn't easy and you don't get him to yourself as much as you'd like to, you wouldn't change a thing. He and the love you share mean everything to you.

In the quiet moments when you're alone, you find yourself marveling at how unexpected and yet perfectly fitting your love story is. You never thought this could happen to you. 

You never let yourself believe that there would be a man like Spencer loving you and accepting every fiber of your being.

Spencer's presence in your life is like a gentle breeze on a hot summer's day, soothing and comforting. His unwavering support and understanding make even the toughest days bearable. And when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, you feel a sense of belonging that you've never known before.

You cherish the simple moments shared over cups of coffee in the morning or stolen kisses in the middle of the day. In Spencer's eyes, you see a reflection of your own hopes and dreams, and in his laughter, you find the melody of your heart's desires.

As you drift off to sleep each night, nestled in Spencer's embrace, you offer a silent prayer of gratitude for the love that fills your days and the warmth that fills your heart. 

In him, you've found not just a partner, but a kindred spirit, a soulmate who completes you in ways you never knew were possible. And for that, you will always be thankful.

There's an unspoken language that exists only between you and Spencer. It's a language of love, trust, and understanding that transcends words.

You marvel at how effortlessly Spencer seems to know what you need, even before you do. His intuition is uncanny, his gestures of affection tender and sincere. 

Whether it's a simple touch on the small of your back as he passes by or a reassuring squeeze of your hand when you're feeling uncertain, Spencer has an innate ability to make everything feel right.

You trust him with your deepest fears, your wildest dreams, and every fragile piece of your heart.

In his arms, you find sanctuary from the chaos of the outside world, a safe harbor where you can be your truest self without fear of judgment or rejection.

And as you navigate the challenges of life together, you're constantly reminded of just how perfect Spencer is in your eyes. His kindness knows no bounds, his patience infinite. 

But it's not just his virtues that make him perfect; it's the way he loves you, wholly and unconditionally. In Spencer, you've found a partner who sees you for who you truly are, flaws and all, and loves you all the more fiercely because of them.

Now as you climb the stairs to Spencer's apartment, your heart flutters. Spencer has just started his 30 days of obligatory sabbatical, and you're looking forward to spending more time together now that his only obligation is his teaching job. You've picked up takeout on the way, eager to share a quiet evening together.

But as you open the door, your excitement turns to shock and disbelief.

There, before you, is Spencer, locked in a passionate embrace with JJ. Her hands are cupping his cheeks, their lips pressed together in a kiss that sends a jolt of pain through your chest.

Time seems to stand still as the bags of food slip from your fingers, crashing to the floor with a dull thud. You can't tear your eyes away from the scene before you, the weight of betrayal crushing down on you like a ton of bricks.

A thousand thoughts race through your mind, each one more painful than the last.

How could Spencer do this to you? How long has this been going on? And most importantly, how could you have been so blind to the truth?

Your heart feels like it's been ripped from your chest, shattered into a million pieces by the revelation before you. The love and trust you once shared with Spencer now lay in ruins at your feet, leaving you feeling empty and alone in a world that suddenly seems cold and indifferent.

As Spencer and JJ finally break apart, their eyes widening in shock at your sudden appearance, you feel a surge of anger rising within you. But beneath the anger lies a deep well of hurt and sadness, a pain that cuts to the very core of your being.

Without a word, you turn on your heel and flee from the apartment, tears streaming down your cheeks as you struggle to make sense of the betrayal that has shattered your world.

Everything spins around you in a blur of tears and confusion, you turn and run down the stairs, desperate to escape the pain and betrayal that threaten to consume you.

Each step feels like a marathon, your legs heavy with the weight of sorrow and disbelief.

But just as you reach the bottom of the stairs, your vision swimming with tears, you stumble, your foot catching on the edge of a step. You plummet forward, the ground rushing up to meet you with terrifying speed.

In that split second before impact, a pair of strong arms wraps around you, pulling you back from the brink of disaster. You gasp in shock and relief as Spencer catches you, his grip firm and steady.

For a moment, you cling to him like a lifeline, your body trembling with the force of your emotions.

You can't breathe, can't think, can't comprehend the enormity of what has just happened.

As you collapse onto the stairs, your sobs echoing in the empty stairwell, Spencer kneels beside you, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration.

He reaches out to touch you, but you flinch away, unable to bear the thought of his hands on your skin.

"Please," he pleads, his voice cracking with emotion. "Let me explain. It wasn't what you think. I didn't...I didn't do anything."

But his words fall on deaf ears as you struggle to make sense of the chaos swirling inside your head.

How could Spencer betray you like this? How could he let someone else touch him in that way?

As the truth begins to dawn on you, a wave of anger washes over you, hot and relentless. You push yourself away from Spencer, your chest heaving with the effort to draw breath.

"Don't," you choke out, your voice barely a whisper. "Don't touch me."

But Spencer refuses to give up, his eyes burning with determination as he reaches for you once more. "Please," he begs, his voice raw with emotion. "Let me explain. It wasn't me. It was her."

You place a trembling hand on your chest, trying to steady your racing heart as you struggle to catch your breath.

"How could you?" you utter, your voice barely above a whisper, the words heavy with accusation and pain.

Spencer's eyes are full of anguish as tears well up in his eyes. He reaches out to you, his hand hovering in the air between you, a silent plea for forgiveness that you're not sure you're ready to grant.

But before you can respond, JJ appears at the top of the stairs, her mouth open as if she's about to say something. But then, with a quick shake of her head, she closes her mouth and walks past the two of you without a word.

You stare after her in disbelief, your mind reeling with confusion and hurt.

You struggle to make sense of the situation. You knew of the hostage situation with JJ and how she had professed her love for Spencer. But you also remember how Spencer immediately came to you, confessing everything and reassuring you of his love for you.

He spent the whole night telling you every detail of what happened, assuring you that his heart belonged to you and you alone. He made it clear that you were the one he loved, not JJ.

So what happened? How could he be kissing her now, after everything he said and everything you've been through together?

With a shaky breath, you push yourself up from the stairs, your muscles tense with the effort to contain the storm raging within you. You want to flee, to distance yourself from him and the shattered remnants of your trust.

But before you can take a single step, Spencer's voice cuts through the tumultuous haze of your thoughts, pleading with you to stay. His words are a desperate plea for understanding, for a chance to explain the inexplicable.

"Please," he implores, his voice cracking with emotion. "Don't leave. I need to explain. I swear, it wasn't what it looked like. You have to believe me."

You hesitate, torn between the desire to escape and the need for answers. Despite the overwhelming pain coursing through your veins, there's a part of you that still craves the truth, no matter how agonizing it may be.

You groan loudly, the weight of the situation bearing down on you like a leaden blanket. Your mind races with a million questions, each one more painful than the last.

But for now, you're too overwhelmed to process anything.

With another loud groan, you turn and begin to make your way back upstairs, your steps heavy with exhaustion and despair.

You can feel Spencer's eyes boring into your back, his silent plea for you to stay echoing in the empty stairwell.

As you reach the top of the stairs, you don't look back, you enter the apartment and your only thought is to find a moment of solace in the solitude of the bathroom.

With trembling hands, you shut the door behind you, the click of the lock a final barrier between you and the chaos that threatens to consume you.

And as you sit there, trembling and broken, you realize that there's something about Spencer, something in the depths of his eyes that compelled you to stay, to hear him out.

It's a trust that runs deeper than words.

As you emerge from the bathroom after a few minutes, the weight of the silence between you and Spencer hangs heavy in the air.

You find him on the couch, his leg shaking uncontrollably, his fingers fidgeting nervously. His face is etched with worry and pain, mirroring the tumult of emotions raging inside you both.

He gave you space, just as he always did. It's one of the things you've always admired about him, his ability to recognize when you needed time to process and heal.

But now, as you sit in the armchair nearby, staring at him with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, you can't help but feel the need for answers, for some semblance of understanding in the chaos that surrounds you.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Spencer speaks. His voice is hoarse with emotion, the words tumbling out in a rush as if he's been holding them back for far too long.

"She just showed up," he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. "Out of nowhere, she started talking about how she loves me and how she was stupid for ignoring it for so long. She said she couldn't pretend anymore..."

You listen in stunned silence, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. So it wasn't Spencer who initiated the kiss, it was JJ.

But why?

As Spencer continues to speak, his words are a desperate attempt to make sense of the madness that has engulfed your lives, you find yourself drawn to him, to the vulnerability etched into every line of his face.

Despite the pain and betrayal that still lingers between you, there's a part of you that can't help but empathize with his plight.

As Spencer falls silent, his eyes searching yours for some sign of forgiveness or understanding, you find yourself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions.

Hurt, betrayal, and confusion war with a lingering sense of empathy and love for the man sitting before you.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart and collect your thoughts. "Spencer," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "I... I don't know what to say."

His eyes widen in anticipation, his expression a mixture of hope and fear. "I understand," he murmurs, his voice laced with regret. "I know I've hurt you, and I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen."

"I need time," you finally say, your voice trembling with emotion. "I need time to process everything, to figure out where we go from here."

Spencer nods solemnly, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I understand," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "Take all the time you need. I'll be here, waiting for you."

With a heavy sigh, you push yourself up from the armchair, your limbs feeling like lead. "I'm going to go," you say, your voice barely a whisper. "I just... I need some space."

Spencer nods, his gaze following you as you make your way to the door. "I'll be here," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. "I love you."

You pause in the doorway, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you. "I love you too," you murmur, your voice choked with emotion.

And with that, you step out into the cool night air, the weight of the world heavy on your shoulders.

As you make your way home, you can't help but wonder will it ever be the same between the two of you?

[hellishjoel]

dark paradise 

5.2k / pairing: dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

summary: Your mind is flooded with the memories of your private time with Joel in his woodshed, but he hasn't reached out to you since the bonfire and it's been a week. You go next door to give him a piece of your mind.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, smut, age gap (reader is in her early 20’s, Joel in his 40’s), dbf/neighbor!joel, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, pet names, praise, Joel being a horrible communicator and texter

A/N: I edited this 12+ times and kept changing stuff, so therefore there’s probably mistakes. There’s your one and only warning lol. I’m so excited you guys are eating up the first part (off to the races), I hope the next parts to come keep ya’ll entertained ;)

“Joel-” You clenched your eyes closed. “Outside? Are you serious?” Your scolded whispers were useless. Now that Joel knew you had these needs, he wasn’t going to let you be underserved.  He perched one of your legs over his shoulder, the other spread to the side and held open by the warm palm of his hand. You could feel his hot breath on your inner thighs, your walls fluttering as he came closer and closer to your core with each kiss to the exposed skin.  “On the tailgate, Joel?” You whimpered, a flash of concern passing over your face.  “I know how much you love the truck, baby.” Son of a bitch.

Time seemed to slow after your interaction with Joel in his woodshed. The days following the bonfire were filled with excitement but quickly followed by dread and anxiety. It had been a week. 

No text, no calls, no anything.

It wasn’t that serious. It was just Joel. Besides, you had a vibrator to fill the void until he finally decided to reach out to you. Whenever that may be. 

Days one and two were the most riveting. Every time you thought of Joel, your heart raced a little faster. You didn’t have a long list of sexual endeavors, so this was still noteworthy. Giving head to your hot forty-year-old neighbor. You wondered what else would come from it. More importantly, when. 

Days three and four felt routine and mundane. After picking around your breakfast and staring out the window to Joel’s empty driveway, you would wander to your back porch to read a book on the dock. 

You were lucky to catch glimpses of Sarah. Her summer was busy with her friends from school and working a part-time job to afford having fun the summer before her senior year. If she was free, you guys would jump in the lake, sit on the dock together, tell stories, and catch up on everything that was happening in each other’s lives. Well, not everything.  

Days five and six were torture. Your vibrator had died from its excessive use, and your fingers weren’t cutting it. You wanted Joel, you needed Joel. You hated to admit it, especially since he hadn’t paid a singular ounce of attention to you since the bonfire last Saturday. Even worse, after deciding to watch Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron with your family during a movie night, you started thinking even the horse was kind of attractive. 

Day seven started with your room covered in a pale blue light. You didn’t know what time it was. You weren’t sure how much you slept, but you knew it was very little. This ache was pestering your insides, spreading a rot like an old tree log. Your mind couldn’t fade away from the way Joel felt inside your mouth, the way he filled your throat, and you breathed through the choke. Or the way he finished on your face and your tongue.  

Your well-painted memory of it all was already beginning to fade. The details weren’t as crisp, you wanted to remember every detail and hold on to it for as long as possible.  

That’s what you were trying to imagine at this ungodly early morning hour. The birds weren’t even chirping outside yet. Your fan slowly circled, trying to cool you off from the sticky Texas heat. You wished your windows weren’t jammed closed.

You heard a thud outside, your body alert as you swiftly sat up and peeked out the window. 

Despite it being a Saturday, you watched a tired and slow Joel walk out to his old pickup truck and toss a brown bag lunch inside. Where was he off to so early?

He was wearing his chunky worn-in work boots, splattered with drops of white paint stained into the leather by the steel toe. They were heavy with each step he took on his rickety wooden deck. His faded dark blue jeans sat snug on his hips with his wallet stuffed in the back pocket. His dark hair dashed with silver grays was still damp from his morning shower.  

You watched behind foggy glass as he patted down his jeans and mumbled something, swiftly turning on his heel and lightly jogging up his steps before disappearing inside again. 

Seeing him after a week of silence bubbled up a hint of anger and annoyance in you. It annoyed you that he looked so good. 

Your feet found their way onto cold hardwood before you could waste another second. You would give him a piece of your mind in fuzzy slippers and an oversized rusty-orange Texas Longhorns t-shirt that was so draped over you that it covered your black sleep shorts. 

You tiredly navigated your way out of your room quietly, not to wake your parents down the hall. You crossed your arms and hugged them to your body, the early morning chill hitting you once you were outside. You crossed your driveway to his truck, slowing once you reached his perched-down tailgate. Joel had resurged from his house with his truck keys in hand, his steps slowing once you two shared eye contact.

You’d be standing here all day if you expected Joel to speak first. 

“Hey.” 

He gave you a small nod, his eyes dropping to the shirt that reached the tops of your thighs before they managed their way back up to your face. “Mornin’.” 

He closed the gap between his porch steps and his tailgate, setting down his toolbelt and box in the bed. He looked rigid, tight in the shoulders and chest. His close proximity made you step a few paces back, the length of the tailgate separating you from Joel. 

You were afraid that if he stood too close, he might feel how badly you wanted him by radiation alone. Especially now, fresh out of the shower, half-wet curls plastered to his forehead, still smelling a little musky with his body wash.

You finally let out an aggravated sigh, hip landing against the tailgate with your arms still crossed. 

“So… where are you going this early on a Saturday?” Your face still held a slightly pinched expression though you tried to ask a casual question. 

Your curiosity made the left side of his mouth tick up in a lopsided little smirk. 

“You wanna tell me the real reason you came over here?” Joel’s tactics were ruthless. It made you feel small, young. But you weren’t, not anymore. 

You took in a sharp breath through your nose, eyes on his as your head fell to the side. Finally, the ticking time bomb inside you was counting down. All of your pent-up sexual frustration would be launched at this lumberjack of a man. 

“You haven’t texted me.” 

“Christ,” he muttered, annoyance passing over his face. “Sun’s not even up yet.” 

“Joel.” You pushed. 

“Haven’t texted you in a few years.” He said lamely. 

“I know, the last thing I have from you is asking me what you think my dad would like for a birthday present.”

“I value your input.” His teasing didn’t make you any less angry. Joel could tell. “I don’t text anyone much besides Sarah. ‘ts the only way I can get ahold of her. Don’t even remember I own a phone half the time.” 

“I know.” Your arms crossed tighter around your body. “But I have… needs.” Your voice awkwardly teetered as you evaded his eye contact.

“Needs? Do ya, now?” Joel’s accent came out swinging, his signature smirky-smile working in combination with his cocked up eyebrow. But your face held evidence of your disappointment. 

There’s a gentle lull. He should have texted you, and you shouldn’t be here telling him that. He knows. Or maybe you shouldn’t expect so much from a guy like Joel. No wedding ring, brooding, a bull with horns, Joel. Wouldn’t know it was his birthday without Sarah reminding him, Joel. Wouldn’t leave the house if he didn’t have to, Joel. Wouldn’t think to text his horny neighbor next door, Joel. 

“Didn’t text me either, sweetheart.” He points out, making your head snap up with wide doe eyes. Shit. He was right. 

You didn’t text him, either. You were just sort of expecting it out of him. You hoped he would lead the way, be the guide, reach out wanting more. But that wasn’t Joel. Were you both playing this devilish waiting game? You felt a little silly, your insides wrapping in knots as he surveyed you. 

“Well I-”

“You what?” 

He was the one grilling into you now. The sun began cresting over the water, bleaching your surroundings in a pale orange. The sun’s glare caused Joel’s eyes to squint slightly to block it out. 

You rolled your head to the side and wiggled around as you tried to stand still against his tailgate. Your frustrations were evident as you rubbed your crossed legs together. 

This wasn’t the same girl who took a leap of faith in his woodshed, who crossed the boundary between nothing to something, and set you and Joel up for a thrilling summer. You just wanted him to tell you that he wanted it too. To fuck around and do something different. Make this summer worth a damn. 

“I didn’t know if you wanted more.” You finally muster up, your voice smaller than you intended, shifty eyes looking over his. 

Your statement made him scoff, having to look away from you with a wicked smile. The orange luminescence of the sun warmed his otherwise cold face. He was amused, maybe even a little offended by your statement. 

“‘Course I want more.” He strained before pausing, his voice lowering as he took another step closer. “Look at you. Wearin’ my shirt.” He said before he towered over you, making the first point of contact as his hand reached for your hip and pulled you in closer, his fist clutching the worn-in orange t-shirt. 

You blinked a few times before looking down where he fisted the material. Shit. He was right again. 

Joel had given this to you the last summer you were in Danbury. You and Sarah took a late-night dip in the lake, and she wanted you to sleep over and watch a movie in the basement. You were too lazy to walk back home and change, so Joel gave you a towel and his Longhorns t-shirt.

You easily could have snagged a shirt from Sarah’s closet, but Joel caught you sneaking into his house and dripping water everywhere.

“Just take this. Go dry off. Get warmed up.” A statement laced with annoyance and precaution for his floors, but also attentive care. 

It was probably supposed to be just for the night, but you stole it. 

You remember that evening vividly. It was the first time you fantasized about Joel. Because the shirt wrapped you up and smelled of his musk and deodorant. It brought on a certain warm fuzziness in your tummy. The shirt had been incorporated so much in your wardrobe these last two years or so, you had forgotten its origin. But it was Joel’s.

And now you were standing here in front of him, his shirt draped over your body like an oversized blanket, showing the curves of your tits. He was fantasizing about you too. Fucking you while wearing his shirt.

There was an undeniable tension that now settled between the two of you, one you surely couldn’t satisfy in his driveway. But that didn’t mean Joel didn’t feel the same way. 

His hold on your hip tightened, your lips parting in surprise as his other hand came to your waist and hoisted you up onto the tailgate of his truck. 

He was hot, possessive of your body wrapped in his shirt. 

“Does it look like I don’t want you?” Joel’s voice was husky, lust filled. You liked getting this sort of reaction out of him. His question caused an ache in you, white heat pooling in the base of your stomach. 

Your neediness for him returned. Addicted to his touch, you felt a rush of adrenaline pulse through your body. Joel parted your legs with his body by standing between them, your little fists gripping his large biceps as you tried to regain your bearings. He was so big and burly, wide set shoulders, and a toned chest. You wanted to see him shirtless, examine his body when your time together wasn’t so limited. 

“Joel,” his name dripped off your lips with desperation, sweet like honey. He knew how you said his name when you wanted him. It brought back vivid memories of you kneeling in front of him in his woodshed.

Comfort brought you back, knowing it was safe to lean in and start kissing his stubbled neck. You didn’t want to kiss his lips, it still felt too intimate. Joel picked up on your hesitations and silently obeyed. 

Once you got to the base of his neck by the collar of his shirt, he let out a surprisingly loud grunt that he tried to jam down into silence but had failed. It caught you off guard, the ways he displayed his pleasure.

You moved back in, eager to duplicate the noise as you paid special attention to his sweet spot. You suckled and glided your teeth over the pinpoint before he forced himself away. 

“Keep it below the collar, sweetheart.” His twangy southern drawl was drenched in pleasure.

You smirked as you tugged at the collar gently with your teeth, letting it go and seeing it snap back into place around his tan neck. 

His lips found the crook of your jawline, his lips brushing your earlobe as he took it between his teeth and gently nibbled. The sensation struck a nerve down your center, a weak whine echoing against the collar of his shirt as you tried to stay quiet. 

The air had warmed up with the sun’s presence, the birds starting to chirp. Your parents could wake up any minute now, being the early risers they were. 

You pulled away to gauge his reaction. Joel was looking between you and the horizon carefully. He was debating. You both had so little time. 

“Your parents.” He pointed out, his voice ridged with pain as he planted his body between yours, his large palms splayed on your lower back and upper thigh with his fingers ghosting your sleep shorts.

“Work.” You reminded, lightly tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, fingers delicately brushing over the faded Miller Contracting logo on his breast pocket. 

You’re compelled to tell him that you need him. Because you do. You need him terribly. 

There was a silence, a deliberation of the masses. Stop while you’re ahead, at least you and Joel realized you were on the same page about wanting more. You could let him go, you should let him go. Meet up another time when it was less risky. 

“You’re not pulling away.” Your whisper broke his thoughts. Your long lashes fluttered, and your eyes were filled with an eagerness only Joel could satisfy. 

He rolled his head around, jaw tight before shaking his head. 

“Well, you have needs.” His words were filled with grit, promise. Be quick. 

Your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, feeling the planes of his back under your small palms. Both of Joel’s big hands moved under your t-shirt, your lips parting at the feeling of his calloused and rough hands traversing your soft body. He liked how soft you were, you could tell by the way he was delicately exploring you with his lips plastered on your neck. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you whisper, grinding your hips against his desperately while one of your hands wound into the damp curls at the base of his neck. He could use a haircut soon, the longer strands winding around your fingers.

His body loomed so much over you that you were arching your spine, your legs desperately wrapping loose around his waist until he had sufficiently guided you onto your back. 

Suddenly his presence lifted. You didn’t realize you were seeing stars until he pulled away. He had way too much of an effect on you. 

“Don’t have time to fuck you right, pretty girl.” His words made you puff out a desperate sigh. 

“But-” 

“But you have needs.” He finished for you, your head feverishly nodding. The truck bed had odd ribs, half your back raised up an inch while your other half was on a little slant. It was uncomfortable to lay your head down on. Once Joel was tugging down your sleep shorts, you were quick to forget the discomfort. 

A heavy breath left you as Joel tossed your shorts over his tool belt in the truck bed beside you, feeling him pull your body closer to the edge of the truck bed with your legs pried open for him. 

Your eyes widened as he sunk to the ground, jaw dropping as your eyes looked to the sky. Holy shit.

“Joel-” You clenched your eyes closed. “Outside? Are you serious?” Your scolded whispers were useless. Now that Joel knew you had these needs, he wasn’t going to let you be underserved. 

He perched one of your legs over his shoulder, the other spread to the side and held open by the warm palm of his hand. You could feel his hot breath on your inner thighs, your walls fluttering as he came closer and closer to your core with each kiss to the exposed skin. 

“On the tailgate, Joel?” You whimpered, a flash of concern passing over your face. 

“I know how much you love the truck, baby.” Son of a bitch. 

You wished every second with him right now wasn’t fleeting. You wished he could take his time. But the both of you were so wound up anyway, you were happy just to have him be a guest between your legs. 

Joel’s beard stubble tickled your thighs, his warm lips leaving a wet trail to your cotton underwear. Your hands needed to stay busy, one planting itself against one of the ribs of the truck bed and the other fisting his toolbelt that adorned a Carhartt patch. 

Joel’s mouth was absent for a moment. He was admiring you. Admiring you with your legs spread for him in his Longhorns shirt that was several sizes too big on you. Heat chased through your body, a sly little smirk on your lips. 

“Time is of the essence, Joel.” 

He didn’t say anything back. He was staring at the wet spot that had formed through the material of your panties. He hummed, cocky satisfaction filling him to the brim. 

Joel placed an excruciatingly soft kiss over your covered mound that had you writhing under him eagerly. His palm planted your thigh down again, feeling you quiver under his hold. 

You swallowed a lump down your throat as he pulled your underwear to the side, out of his fucking way. He was seeing you for the first time. It made your chest heave with shakier breaths. 

You were glistening for him, wet and gleaming in the sunshine that was starting to dance across the lake and over the truck. Panic flooded your core. He was taking his damn time. You needed him now. 

“Joel-” you warned again, but it was too late. 

His nose nuzzled against your clit as he flattened his tongue and licked up your center, tasting you properly. Your head dug into the truck bed, a loose moan leaving your parted lips as you closed your eyes and experienced a sweet paradise. His tongue flooded you with his saliva, Joel’s taste buds in galore as he tried you for the first time. 

You wondered if he thought about you tasting you like this before. The thought as well as his head between your legs left you humming in appreciation. 

Your free hand found its purpose, nestling your fingers into Joel’s hair while his head made gentle nods against your core. His jaw was slack, mouth lodged open as he consumed your sex in its entirety. He didn’t leave one centimeter of you unmarked. He commandeered the landscape like it was his territory, his possession. 

Puffs of his name left your mouth, you couldn’t help but be vocal when he made you feel this good. 

Joel’s tongue moved now with purpose, precision. He lapped at your entrance, tongue dipping in to feel your tight walls before moving back up and around your swollen clit. He was discovering you, what made you tick, what made you burn with passion and lust.

You held back moans of his name, bringing Joel’s shirt you wore up into your mouth by the collar to bite down onto. Your muffles were concealed by the material for now. 

You ground your hips lightly into his face, finding a rhythm you liked. He lets you. He wants you to feel good. 

Thumps of your heart pounded against your chest, Joel’s tongue still working perfect circles and swipes at your clit. He pulled away just for a moment to wet his fingers, you watch through hooded eyes. His amber ones flick to yours. Can I?

 You nod your head, a silent and desperate yes. 

He pursed his lips, face pierced with concentration as he pushed his middle finger into you, your walls welcoming the intrusion with a flood of arousal to allow him deeper. You took in a shaky gasp as he filled you to the knuckle.

“Fuckk-” you said a little too loud, your eyes widening as you covered your mouth and got a well-deserved glare from Joel. 

“Can’t hold yourself together, can ya, pretty girl?” His voice was as rough as gravel. 

You couldn’t even answer him back, the threads that held together your integrity were slowly plucking loose.  

You whimpered like crazy, the shirt swallowing as much of the noise as it could, but the rhythm of his finger and his mouth returning to your clit was sending electric currents through your entire body. You were short-circuiting with Joel’s tongue and fingers playing with your pussy. 

Joel’s mouth was warm, the taste of you a new hunger for him. You could hear his jeans scuff against the ground. He was trying to hold himself steady. The realization made you throw your head back, losing the shirt as a vice as you gripped his strands tighter between your knuckles. 

“Fuck, Joel--, ohmygod-” you whimpered quietly. The slurping of your cunt was louder than your words. The noise felt so loud in your pounding ear drums, you were worried it would wake the neighbors. The neighbors being your parents and Joel’s daughter.

You were close, even with just one of his fingers inside of you, you were close. You 

weren’t sure if it was because of your pent-up sexual tension, your vibrator dying, or your fingers not doing you justice. Maybe it was the fact that it was Joel Miller, but you were holding onto a very thin rope on the verge of snapping. 

You pulled your shirt up, releasing his toolbelt as your hand fondled your tits. You could feel him smirk against your thighs as you pinched at your hardened round nipples. 

“Such a pretty girl.. Taste so fuckin’ good too.” His words reverberate against your core, the vibrations tickling your clit and making you whine his name. His compliment caused a certain warmth in your chest.

Your head lulled from side to side. He wasn’t letting you know peace once he added a second finger. You had to take a moment to adjust but Joel could feel it, he knew exactly what to do and when. He was so seasoned, experienced, he’d be the first guy to make you cum like this. 

Your thigh against his head clenched tighter around his shoulder, keeping him in close against your core as he continued to work his tongue in figure eights around your clit. The soothing circles were creating a harmonious rhythm, your stomach felt like it was going to fall through a trapdoor. You weren’t going to last much longer. 

Then he tried something new. 

A loud gasp left your lips, your body scraping its way to sit up on your elbows as you watched him nibble and suckle at your clit. Your elbow had nicked his exposed flathead screwdriver in the process, a hiss seething from your mouth. It didn’t matter now. All your mind could focus on was Joel and his hellish tongue. 

The suckling at your clit unlocked something undiscovered, your lips parting in fascination before your head fell back and landed on the tops of your shoulders as you looked to the heavens with blurry vision. 

A lazy smirk was plastered on your face as he held you in place. You weren’t going anywhere.

Heated pants left your mouth, unable to breathe with the new sensation. The sucking was a distinct sensation, one you liked. You could feel his teeth just lightly grazing your sensitive bud. It made your thighs twitch, and your walls flutter around his still pumping fingers. 

Joel’s digits moved gently with their thrust, a gasp of his name flooding the air as he curled them deep, massaging your spongy walls. 

You were breathless. You could barely muster up anything besides his name weakly on your lips. You tried to tell him, but it was already too late. 

“J-Joel I’m-- I’m cominggg, shit,” you moaned out a little too loud. The whole valley around you echoed, or so it seemed. Joel’s protective grip tightened, your hips convulsing as you came over his tongue. He fucking loved it. He held you there and took you for everything you were worth.

You dropped to your back once more, his fingers still working a slow rhythm that he was insistent on not breaking until your walls stopped fluttering around his knuckles. You were still trying to come down to Earth when he licked you clean, your body twitching every time he flicked his tongue against your throbbing clit on purpose. Fucking asshole. 

Your hold on his hair loosens. You can’t help but make a face at the sight of him. Wild curly locks, mouth and chin covered in your slick, slightly flushed cheeks. He looked just as fucked as you did. He looked submissive on his knees, his eyes gleaming as he looked to you. 

You watch with obsession as he mindlessly pops his two fingers past his lips, licking them clean of your slick. Such a compliment. 

He guided your leg off his shoulder and put your underwear back in its place. 

You leaned up on your elbows, still seeing stars. Joel stood up from the ground and brushed any residual dirt and dust off his jeans. He brought his hand up and toyed with his jaw, meaty fingers adding pressure into the masseter muscle as he worked to relieve the tension that had built while going down on you with such dedication. 

You weakly sat up, the slotted ribs of his truck bed making indents in the flesh of your arms and thighs. Brands of your filth. Your big shirt fell back into place, your legs swinging lightly as they hung off the truck bed. You glanced at the back of your arm, seeing the scrape from his tools. You’d be fine. 

Once you turned straight to face Joel once more, you noticed he was fighting back a little smile about something, his hands on his hips and his knee cocked out.

“What?” You ask, trying to scoot further down the tailgate. 

“Nothin’.” He said gruffly, taking you by your hips and lifting you with ease like a ragdoll back onto the ground. His eyes stayed on the floor, your curious gaze following his down to your fluffy slippers. 

“Oh.” You muster up, clicking the toes together. 

“They’re uh… cute.” He tried to compliment, still with a teasing smirk on his face. 

“Shut up. They’re slippers.” You griped, your hand coming up to wipe away the glisten on his chin. He took over, pinching the collar of his shirt between his fingers and bringing it up to wipe away what was left of you. It was oddly attractive. 

He reached past his toolbox and belt, handing over your black sleep shorts after feeling over the material for a moment with a swipe of his thumb. 

You muster up a thanks, looping one foot in and then the other before you adjusted the band around your waist, the orange t-shirt falling back into place at your thighs. 

You couldn’t help but look around, the serenity of the early morning hours would only last so long on the lake. People liked to walk their dogs and jog, you didn’t want anyone reporting gossip. 

You turned back to Joel and assessed him. The Texas sun was already making both of your skin swelter, despite it being just past sunrise. 

You took in a sharp breath to say something, pursing your lips to keep them shut. Joel looked at you expectantly. 

“What?”

You shook your head and shrugged, holding your hands behind your back as you teetered on your feet. 

A stern expression passed over his face. “What?” He pressed harder. 

You tried to smother a laugh. “Your hair, Joel.” 

With an annoyed sigh, Joel amused trying to tousle his curls into place with the assistance of his truck’s driver-side mirror, grumbling a few curse words in response before leaving it be. 

You admire him, how handsome he looks so effortlessly. You suddenly became glaringly aware of how you looked right now. No makeup, baggy clothes, could use a shower. Fuck. 

“I gotta get goin’, already late.” Joel said as he returned  to the tailgate, lifting it with ease and slamming it into place with a few sharp snaps. “I’ll see you. And I’ll message you.” 

A small smile ticked at one half of your mouth, nodding. It was a promise. “Please call it texting, Joel.” 

He furrowed his brows as he looked over your face. “What difference does it make?”

You snickered and shrugged. “How old you sound.” 

Cue the classic Joel Miller eye roll. “Fine. Textin’.”

“How can you be working on a Saturday? That feels illegal.” 

This mustered up a short little chortle from Joel. “It’s not technically working, that’s why.” 

Your head curiously tilted to the side. “What do you mean?”

Joel shrugged, avoiding your eye contact as he looked past his truck and to the lake. 

This was what you had to deal with. Trying to get information out of Joel was an investigative effort, one you didn’t have the energy to dig into at the moment. You finally felt tired after your week of restlessness. 

You waved each other off, your face electric as you turned away from Joel and snuck back inside without a peep. As soon as you lay back in bed, feeling your heart thumping after your meet-up with Joel, you heard the door to your parent’s room crack open, and your father’s obnoxious morning yawn followed accordingly. Couldn’t have cut it any closer.

Finally, you felt sleep caressing the edges of your mind. Not a beat after your head hit the pillow, you felt your phone vibrate beside you. With hazy eyes, you turned it over in your palm and squinted at the brightness. 

joel miller Anything I can do to get in your good graces again?

You instantly smiled, lazy fingers typing a response. 

how about a movie night? 

He took a moment to respond. You could see him thinking it over in your mind’s eye. 

joel miller Fine. 

Your face lit up as you quickly took advantage of him owing you one. 

and I can pick the movie?

You could practically feel Joel’s eye roll from a mile away. 

joel miller Jesus. Fine. Tomorrow night. 

Tomorrow was perfect. Sarah said she would be on a camping trip and your parents would be visiting old school friends in a neighboring town for drinks and dinner. 

tomorrow night it is, mr. miller 

joel miller Whatever you say sweetheart.

---

wanna read part 3? read cherry!

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[maopll]

Could I request Neuvillette, Kaeya, Al-Haitham and Wriothesley with an s/o who makes plushies of them to cuddle?

It's not You, but it's still You

#genshin impact !

⌗:, a/n: mini them is gonna be so cute ! you guys are so creative with these asks like what

⌗:, pairings: otter, cryo abyss mage, smarty pants, & ex-convict w/ gn!reader (separately)

⌗:, warning: I changed their names in pairings because why not. + a lil but suggestive in wrio's part cause I've been in the mood to write smth like that 😳

— ୨୧ NEUVILETTE

The hands of the clocks seemed to ceaselessly turn. Pages after pages and files after files were being checked and approved by the Iudex. As soon as the clock struck to 6pm, the papers got closed with a thud and he made a beeline towards the office door. Not forgetting to bid farewell to Sedene, he walks, practically hopping towards your shared abode. Ah, he can't wait! to feel your warmth as you throw yourself at him once he enters the house.

After a short walk since your house is located quite close to the Court of Fontaine, he calls you, "Mon amour, I'm home" but is met with silence. He's not worried, yet not being able to hear your voice makes him rather confused since the house is never this silent. Rather than being inside your bedroom, you were snuggled up in his office chair in his work room. His large jacket covered most of you and it seems that you were cuddling....a plushie him?

You were awaken by the rather abrupt yet ferocious rain against the window sill. "why is it raining so?..." Oh, there he was, your gloomy boyfriend who just stared at the plushie in your hand with eyes that were filled with envy. Unknowingly, he was pouting, with his cheeks all puffed up and creases near his eyebrows. You looked once and twice at Neuvillette and at the mini Neuvillette in your hand. You burst out laughing since you couldn't control the laughter "oh my archons neuvi! what am I going to do with you if you act *wheeze* like this—" "dearest I don't see the reason why you must hold that close to you when you've very much got yourself an even bigger and a better and far more warmer than the one that you have..."

"alright alright fine" you indicated with your open arms that he was much welcome between them since the...former intruder has now been removed from its position. He kneeled down to your chest height and gently wrapped his arms around your waist. He snuggled into your chest all while purring as you scratched the top of his head in just the right positions. With a pleased sigh he whispers, "I'd argue that this is much better"

— ୨୧ KAEYA

Between your arms, by your bedside table and sometimes even between you two while you sleep! What! how long do you plan to torment him, the Calvarly Captain that everyone oh so sought! this is utterly unfair! No, it's not that he hates the plushie that you have made but he believes that access to parts like between your arms and on your lap, should be reserved for him and only him.

"Love, why is that with you?" he stared at the mini kaeya plushie beside you across the tavern table, eyes clearly showing his distate for it being able to be so so close to you. "Gosh Kaeya, don't you think you're being a little hostile so something which is quite harmless? What's gotten into you?". Kaeya would like to refute whatever you said. That has been the very reason why he hasn't been able to smell the scent of you on his cloak since you are always busy holding and travelling with that around.

So be it, he's going to go for the 'tit-for-tat' kind of way! He will also see how much you crave for his love and attention after he momentarily stops giving them to you. And just like that many nights pass by yet your spirit is as undying as ever while Kaeya is now as dry as a twig which desperately thirsts for water, which in his case is love. He barges quite rudely into the courtyard where you busy watering your plants looking dishelved. He strides over to you, picks you up on his arms ignoring your protests, flops you on the bed and cages you between his arms. "W-what's up with this sudd—" "Just stay quiet for a moment...please" with that you zip your mouth shut. His request wasn't rude and it did seem like he had lost all of his energy. You heaved a sigh at his childish behaviour but brushed it off since he really looked as if he was on the verge of breaking. "Don't do things like these again alright? I'll do whatever you want just...don't get jealous over a plushie". "Mhm.." that was the only thing kaeya said before he drifted off to comfortable slumber as he laid in your chest.

— ୨୧ ALHAITHAM

The way he stared daggers through the object supported by the lamp was so intense that it reached you who was rummaging through the book shelves in his office. Never in your time of serving as Alhaitham's secretary did you get to see or feel the way he was so enraged with something or someone. Look, it was alright if he was irritated by someone, but its a different story if he is irritated by an inanimate object.

"...I can feel your eyes seething with rage from this distance albi...". "What is the reason for it being here with us?" Arms crossed and cold, as if he was talking to a colleague regarding a problem in the Akademiya that needed the utmost attention. Well, to him that plushie of 'himself' was also equivalent to those agonizing problems. "Oh come on! it's so cute look at his tiny hands...wait are you actually trying to tell me that's its ugly and doesn't look like you that's why you hate it?" Sure the buttons looked crooked and the hair not quite similar to what he has but in no situation would he undermine your works that you have poured your heart to. "No habibi that's not what I meant..." Bullseye. You hit him right in the spot. He can't really keep his composure when you are sad or gloomy.

"Fine I apologise. I don't hate what you made but...I just wanted to spend some time alone with you...and have your...attention to me" the last sentence was barely above a whisper but it seems that he forgot the face that both you and him were alone in this big space where even the smallest of whispers become the ice-breaking sounds. "Aww was my baby jealous? oh you big child". It's not often that he gets jealous but when he does he looks really adorable. You can't really keep your lips from smooching all over his face and ruffling his hair.

— ୨୧ WRIOTHESLEY

He loves tea. Thus he loves tea parties as well. Whenever he has tea with you he keeps a spare cup, for a very special guest. A mini him in the form of a plushie. He adore this craftwork of yours since you made it with love for him with him in your mind. He loves you to the moon and back so anything that you make automatically gets his utmost love.

"Mhm...what tea is this? Looks like it's a new one" you asked him in a soft voice so as not to disturb the peaceful silence that lingers in his office. "You're correct, it's hibiscus tea. Siegwinne got it from Sedene when she was visiting Neuvillette for his daily checkup". "Ah, no wonder. It still tastes really delicious. Probably because you made it" you smirked attempting to tease him. "Heh I'm sure Wrio here also like it" indeed it is the name of the plushie you made. You were in the mood for being a little naughty today.

"Since he likes it, I'm sure he's busy relishing the taste of the tea so...I can have you all to myself now right?" you inched closer to him in an alluring yet amorous way. "Oh it looks like my dear here is in the mood for something that's a little more hot and steamy than the tea" "You know me well don't you your grace?". You lifted his face with your fingers in a gently hypnotizing way. "You make me weak yknow that? his slurred voice was an open invitation to continue your ministrations.

"Be careful. The tea might grow cold we can't keep this for too long now..."

[blue-mood-blue]

I’ve grown to appreciate the aus where Shen Yuan enters the story as “Shen Yuan” - same name, probably similar face, generally able to interact with PIDW as himself and change the story through his added presence. I like the sense of “if only you’d been here, things might have been better the first time around” of it all.

And I was thinking, it’s a funny coincidence in that scenario that someone named Shen Yuan gets put into… another Shen Yuan. What are the chances? What a weird twist of fate that Airplane would pick out the name that his most dedicated critic could slip into seamlessly.

What about a version where it’s not coincidence at all?

Airplane goes to school with a kid named Shen Yuan. He’s prickly and hard to approach and a little intense, but Airplane is persistent. In fairness, Airplane is relentless - and maybe it’s a good thing that they end up being friends, because they’re a little too much for anyone else to handle. They balance each other out. They’re the “weird kids” in class and they’re okay with that, because even when they don’t have any words for it, they know they’re not like their classmates, not really. That’s okay; they don’t want to be.

Recesses and breaks are consumed with the elaborate stories that Airplane wants to tell, and all the holes Shen Yuan pokes into them. It’s not mean-spirited, though, even though Shen Yuan isn’t the kind to temper his words. It’s passionate. He cares about those stories the way Airplane cares about them, and it can’t be mistaken for anything else when they lean together conspiratorially across the lunchroom table. They’ve both got notebooks filled with details and characters and monsters. Shen Yuan’s practically got a whole bestiary sketched out in wobbly childhood attempts at art, entries fervently scrawled beside them. Airplane prattles out plots nonstop, always with the promise of shining eyes and being asked “what happens next?”

They come up with a whole world together. Airplane’s going to write about it someday. Shen Yuan is going to read every word.

Shen Yuan misses school. Shen Yuan starts missing school a lot.

Airplane goes to the hospital room instead. He doesn’t think to worry, because Shen Yuan is okay - that’s what he says. He looks okay, and he’s a kid, and it doesn’t feel real that anything bad should happen to a kid. He doesn’t think to worry. He doesn’t think to say goodbye.

It’s one of the older Shen brothers who catches him on the way up to the room one day, in the hallway just outside - snaps at him to go the fuck home, and when Airplane hesitates, pushes him into the elevator and tells him not to come back. “Tells” is a generous way to describe the way the words come out - a growl, a hiss, the sound an animal would make when a hand got too close to a wound.

(It’s not fair to name a villain after him, even if the name never really comes up in the story. He wasn’t trying to be mean. He’d lost a brother minutes before, and he was getting his brother’s friend out of the way so he didn’t have to… see. It isn’t fair, but then, none of it is fair.)

Death feels very real after that.

The notebooks get shoved into a closet, and it’s not until Airplane’s moving out and one falls on him from a high shelf that he thinks about it again. He’s written things, lots of things, but nothing as ambitious as this - nothing as important. It could be good, he considers. He’d promised. Shen Yuan wanted to read it.

The problem was that no one else does, not for a long time, not until Airplane has whittled himself and his art into a corner and into such an unfamiliar shape that he has to wonder how it’s still his own face he sees in the mirror. He has to eat. He has to pay rent. Shen Yuan would yell at him, but Shen Yuan isn’t there to yell at him, and who cares. Who cares if it could have been better? The people who actually are here love it, and it’s paying his bills, and sometimes stories don’t go the way they’re supposed to and the world is fucking unfair. It doesn’t matter.

(It does. But he shoves that thought away along with styrofoam cups and soda bottles to the bottom of a garbage bag.)

Authors are not gods and their power is limited, but Airplane exercises just a sliver of what he’s been granted and gifts an inconsequential sort of immortality. He thinks about making him a rogue cultivator, maybe the kind that goes around documenting beasts and compiling his findings. He thinks about making him someone too powerful for death to touch, or too important to threaten, but when Airplane looks at the world he crafted and everything that’s become of it, it feels like the kindest thing he can do for Shen Yuan is a childhood where he’s loved, and a death that’s peaceful. What does it say about that world, that he’d kill off his best friend too early again instead of making him live there?

(The best writing he ever does is the only, shining moment of humanity that his scum villain ever displays: a lament about death that comes too early, about a brother gone too soon. The commenters praise him. The commenters flatter over how real the emotions feel. The commenters don’t get any response from Airplane on that chapter.)

Death is incredibly real when it comes for him too early, too, still hovering over his keyboard with the story technically finished and incredibly incomplete. Airplane could tell himself that’s because the written version can never be the version in the writer’s head, always shifting and with every possibility still on the table, but he knows better than that. The System knows better than that, with its condescending message about “improving” his writing and “closing plot holes” and “achieving his original vision”...

…and he’s a child again. He’s a child in his own story, he’s Shang Qinghua now without the benefit yet of a peak or cultivation or anything, and maybe he’s a little bitter, and a little scared, and…

And Shen Yuan - with longer hair, with robes, with a couple of older kids watching him from across the street, but undeniably the prickly little boy who used to sit down imperiously across from him and tell him everything that was wrong with the chuck of writing that had been handed to him last period, but with that smile that said he was only invested because he knew it could be better and they were going to make it better - marches up to him with a fire in his eyes and a frown that warns of a coming tirade.

“You told it wrong,” is the first thing he says.

Shang Qinghua wants to ask how him how he’s here, how this is possible, or maybe laugh because, yeah - yeah, Shen Yuan has no goddamn idea how wrong he got absolutely everything.

(Shang Qinghua wants to say “I missed you” and “why did you leave so soon” but he’s here now. He’s right here.)

“I know,” he says instead. “I’m sorry. It all kind of… spiraled out of control.”

Shen Yuan frowns, but then it dissipates the way it always does, and his eyes shine with ideas the way they always used to. “That’s okay,” he relents, grabbing for his hand. “We’ll fix it. We’ll make it what it was supposed to be.”

[imshymorph]

So, new story! Death!Ghost x Life!reader. It’s a longer one, there’s much more to their story if everyone likes it an wants to see more. Update: Here's Part 2 and Part 3

You’re sitting by the edge of the water, fingers lightly dipping in the creek and moving around. The ripples that form from your movement making tadpoles, small fish and spurts of water plants come to be.

It felt natural, with the longer hours of sunlight and the rising of temperature, to start using your abilities once again. To take your side of the mantle once Death had taken the grunt of the work in the colder months. Spring was only nearing closer, and that meant you’d have to start adding spirits back to the Earth, it was your time to keep balance.

- - - - -

You looked up from the stream, from the trail of tiny creatures that gladly followed the movement of their creator’s hand, when you felt the breeze cool a little. It could only mean one thing.

Your lips pull up into a soft smile, your lively eyes crinkling lightly at the edges as you see him stand on the other side of the creek. His own eyes shift under the skull mask, and you know he’s smiling back even if his eyes are covered by the shadow of the bone. It doesn’t surprise you that within barely a few seconds he’s instead sitting beside you, the wavy reflection of the water in front of you confirming his presence.

It always felt like that, peaceful and comfortable in each other's presence. You had gotten used to Death long ago, or Ghost, a name that had come from a joke once made aeons ago. You couldn’t help yourself, lightly teasing him when you had seen how pale his skin really was the one time he had taken a glove off. And somehow, it just stuck.

The both of you stay in silence for a bit, admiring the landscape around you, how slowly your power took over the terrain to give him some rest. You worked in harmony, the switching in seasons never feeling like a competition or betrayal, but like an acknowledgment of the other’s importance and significance.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been?” He’s the first one to talk, giving you a short look before his attention was pulled to the birds that filled the sky. Most of them nesting, feeling in some way that your power would welcome them soon before giving them tiny ones to look after.

“Good, busy with the new blooms that come with spring.” you reply with a small smile, your hands running through the grass below, making new blades appear, greener and more luscious. “You must’ve been busy.” You tack on, your eyes following the trail of growing plants until your eyes find him.

“Hmm, you have some work ahead of you.” he concedes, tilting his head back, feeling what sunrays managed to filter through the holes in his mask. He let out a soft sigh before giving a light nod, “Been taking care of my duties, but it’s been good.”

“You’ll be able to rest a bit more. Now that the warm months are coming in.” You say, that smile still on your face. It definitely was what fascinated him most about you. He knew the amount of power you beheld, all the things you could make appear out of thin air. Yet there was something about that smile, that soft and kind smile that you always seemed to gift him with.

Or at least that’s how he wanted to see it, like your sweet smile was specially directed at him, for him. If there was one thing that he pictured on his mind whenever he thought about you, it was the upturn of your lips. Not even your mightier creations could ever compare to the one of your smile.

“I suppose I did, yes.” He says with a light nod, his tone low and gravely but really calm as well, like deep calm water. His head then turned, your view of his mask turning from the profile to a full fronted one. His cold and cloudy almost-grey eyes finding yours. “Are you enjoying your creations?”

The corner of your eyes crinkled a bit more as they landed on his, your smile brightening, reminding him of the golden hues the sun gets when it starts to set behind the horizon. Your hand moves, fingers trailing through the dirt beneath you. Tips passing just enough power to the small buds that were starting to grow to make them fully bloom. “Always do.” Your tone sounding sweet and golden like honey.

A smile took over his lips and he mentally thanked the skull covering them, although the amused glint your eyes got told him that you had definitely noticed. “I’m glad to hear it.” He says, tone as cordial and gravely as ever, hiding the small embarrassment of the knowing tilt your smile gets.

The both of you seeped into comfortable silence once again, you looking at the vast forest around you, the light hints of it filling with your creations again after a cold winter. Meanwhile he busied himself as he looked over his scythe, his gloved finger lightly trailing the sharp edge.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” He murmurs, almost making you wonder if he had actually spoken as his eyes stay trained on his tool.

“You know I never do.” You reassure, your eyes only staying on him for a moment before going back to the light ripples on the water source in front of you.

“I was wondering…” he starts before cutting himself off. You don’t say anything, don’t pressure him as he leaves the scythe back on the floor beside him. Nor as he tilts his head back to look up at the sky once more. And he doesn’t think he could ever find the words to express how thankful he is about it.

He clears his throat, daring to give it another chance. His head tilts a bit to the side, only enough to see you from the corner of his eye. “I was just wondering, we’ve worked together for so long…” he fully turns his head now, his eyes meeting yours. “And yet… you’ve never asked to see me? See what’s under my mask.”

For someone who was the personification of Death, Ghost couldn’t understand how his heart could beat so fast. How it felt like it could leap out of his chest at any moment, how fast his blood pumped through him.

And it feels like it instantly stops when he sees you lightly shaking your head, “It’s not my place to ask, I'm sure it’s there for a reason.” your soft voice explains. And he lets out a shaky breath that he didn’t know he was holding, his heartbeat slowing a bit but the tension still in his body as he gives a light nod back.

The both of you go back to the silence, but this time your eyes stay on each other's. His hand slowly reaches up, his fingers feeling the edge of the worn out bone. His voice is barely perceptible when he talks next, “What if I wanted to show you?”

[bellaveux]

SWEETHEART | wanda maximoff x fem!reader

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: constant stress had filled the gaps in wanda’s life after her ex-husband left the family and balancing work and her kids had started to take a toll on her. in search of relief, wanda hires you as a babysitter, not knowing she’d be falling for you.

content warnings: minors dni. smut!!, bit of angst?, kinda fluffy towards the end, milf!wanda, mommy!dom!wanda, babysitter!reader, bottom!reader, unspecified age gap, jealousy, mommy kink, fingering (r! receiving), multiple orgasms, mutual pining.

word count: 7.81k (did not plan for it to be this long but i kinda got carried away whoops)

— note. two people requested wanda x babysitter!reader so i decided to combine both requests and make one fic! i’m very sorry for the long wait, but i hope u like it!!

You were so sweet and so delicate—something Wanda never knew she needed in her life until now. From the moment you met her, Wanda sensed something special about you—a sense of purity and kindness that shone through in everything you did. She found herself captivated by your gentle spirit, your quiet demeanor, and the way you always seemed to radiate a sense of calm and comfort. There was just something about your innocence and sweetness that tugged at Wanda's heartstrings, and she found herself wanting to protect you, to cherish you, to keep you all to herself... and ruin you.

It had been years since her divorce with her ex-husband, whom she was glad to finally be rid of, leaving her alone with her work and her love for her children. And while Wanda was a strong and resilient woman, she recently had been finding herself in a perpetual state of stress as she tried to balance the demands of her work and the needs of her twin children, Billy and Tommy. Her days were a never-ending blur of conference calls, emails, and deadlines, all while managing the endless stream of requests and tantrums from her two little ones.

Despite her unwavering determination and tireless efforts, the weight of her responsibilities often felt overwhelming, leaving her exhausted and stretched thin day by day. And although she bore this load alone with grace and composure, the weight of it only threatened to stress her even more. Her mind raced with a never-ending list of tasks and responsibilities, and the pressure of meeting everyone's expectations left her feeling suffocated. She yearned for someone to ease her burden, to offer a comforting hand and take some of the weight off her weary shoulders.

Soon, she was in search of a trustworthy and reliable babysitter to care for her precious children. As a loving and attentive mother, she understood the importance of finding someone who would not only ensure her children's safety but also provide them with nurturing care and attention. Wanda longed for someone who possessed the patience, creativity, and enthusiasm needed to engage her children in activities that would both entertain and educate them. She envisioned a babysitter who could effortlessly create a warm and welcoming environment where her boys would feel comfortable and secure.

When her colleague and close friend, Natasha, recommended her younger sister’s friend, who had said to have been looking for a short and simple job outside of college, she gladly took the offer. Her second option, which she mentioned if you weren’t able to take the job, was recommending Kate, a bubbly girl about your age who is still in college and is close to both you and Yelena, if only she didn’t have constant archery competitions going on. But Natasha was happy to explain how responsible and intelligent you were, how well you got along with children, unlike her sister, and that you were always a joy to have around. It was a brief description, but Wanda thought it best to trust her friend’s word rather than look for a complete stranger with no connections to take care of her children.

What she didn’t expect, however, when you came up on her doorstep, was how incredibly stunning you were, standing in front of her with a bag hanging off your shoulder and a charming smile as you looked up at her. Your bright smile and youthful energy seemed to radiate from your very being, drawing Wanda's attention like a moth to a flame. You were beautiful.

And of course, you thought the same of her. When you arrived at Wanda's doorstep for the first time, you were struck by the sight of the elegant woman before you. Wanda was wearing a sharp, tailored suit that accentuated her curves and highlighted her poise and confidence. You couldn't help but feel a sense of awe as you looked at Wanda, who seemed to exude a sense of maturity and wisdom far beyond her years. You admired the way she carried herself with such grace and elegance, her movements smooth and fluid even when she was just opening her door. You were captivated by the way Wanda's green eyes sparkled with intelligence and warmth, and the way her smile seemed to light up the entire room. To you, Wanda was a vision of beauty and sophistication, a woman whose presence commanded attention and respect.

“Hi, Ms. Maximoff, I'm (y/n),” you greeted her with a pretty smile, trying to hide the fact that you were undoubtedly intimidated by her presence. “I’m Yelena’s friend.”

“Oh, please, you can just call me Wanda,” she returned your smile and shook your hand softly. “It’s nice to meet you. You can go right ahead and settle in. I’ll call the boys down in a second.”

As Wanda welcomed you into her home, she couldn't help but notice the way your fitted clothing hugged your curves, accentuating your feminine form as you walked in with a gentle sway of your hips. It was only a skirt and a loose sweater, but she still couldn't deny the thought that you were young and sexy, with her eyes falling slowly down to your ass as you walked, which sent a rush of heat to her cheeks. Wanda tried to push aside these thoughts, focusing instead on the importance of finding a reliable caregiver for her children.

She quickly introduced you to Billy and Tommy; the boys immediately took a liking to their new sitter, especially when you mentioned playing video games with them. As Wanda watched from a distance, slowly collecting the things she needed for work, she marveled at how effortlessly you seemed to connect with her children, engaging them in playful activities and genuinely caring for their needs. She was confident that you’d do a good job taking care of the boys, just from the first half hour or so of meeting you.

Wanda felt disappointed as she walked out of her house, wanting to go back in there and talk with you and learn about you, but she chose to ignore her thoughts and head to work without any delay. She then met Natasha later that day and immediately thanked her for finding someone like you to take care of the kids. She also might’ve left out the fact that you were incredibly attractive, and to be fair, she had been thinking about you for the rest of the day.

And the many days after that.

The first night she came home to you, you had been on the couch of her living room, studying with your nose in a textbook you had brought along with you. It was late at night—a little past eleven—and thankfully you had already put the boys to sleep long before she arrived.

“Oh, Ms. Maximoff! Welcome home,” you greeted her as she walked through the door. “I got the boys to go to bed early tonight, so they’re already ready upstairs.”

“Thank you, (y/n),” she smiled and set her bag down on the couch next to you before leaning in to look you in the eye. “And it’s Wanda, remember?”

She couldn’t help but smirk when your eyebrows rose for a moment, your cheeks turning pink as you looked up at her and said, “Right! W-Wanda… How was work?”

“It was alright.” Wanda sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Mostly tiring. I really appreciate you being here... for the boys, I mean.”

“It’s really no problem. I should be the one thanking you for the opportunity.”

Wanda stared at you. The soft curve of your cheekbones, the delicate arch of your eyebrows, and the way your full lips curled into a gentle smile all made Wanda's heart flutter. She couldn't help but appreciate the way your features seemed to blend together perfectly, creating a face that was both striking and alluring. And her name just rolled off of your tongue in a way that made Wanda’s insides tingle, and your voice gave her a sense of calmness. It sounded so pretty coming out of your mouth, and it only made Wanda want to hear it over and over. maybe in the comfort of her bed.

“I—um, I should probably get going,” you said, suddenly growing nervous under a stare before standing from your seat and cleaning up your things as you went. “I’ll be here around the same time tomorrow, but if you need me to come earlier, I can! I only have two classes tomorrow morning, so...”

Wanda smiled at you again and said, “Same time is good, honey.”

“Okay,” you nodded, lips curving upwards as you backed up towards the front door, clutching your books closely to your chest. “Same time.”

"Drive safe," was the last thing you heard her say that night.

You spent the next month taking care of Wanda’s kids each day after your classes. And Wanda was thankful. She’d often pick the boys up from school when she’s not working in the afternoon, take them home where you arrive shortly after they do, and stay with you in the comfort of her home until she has to leave in the evening. You’d stay until she came back late at night, coming home to a cooked dinner made by you, which did wonders for her beating heart.

Sometimes, when the nights grow late and the boys have drifted off to sleep, she’ll ask you to keep her company as she winds down for the night before you leave, and you never have the intention of turning her down. Each night, she gets out of her blazer, throws it over the couch, then unbuttons a few extra buttons of her top. She does it all in such a sensual way, you notice, and you can’t help but stare. At times, she’d get close, placing her hands on your hips when she wanted to move you if you were in the way or something, and it tingled, feeling her touch each and every time. Of course, Wanda does it for the sole purpose of that, wanting to rile you up with her actions to see how they would affect you, and it always amuses her.

“Care to join me?” She says with a small smirk playing on her lips, already making her way to the kitchen where you left a wrapped dinner for her.

You nodded eagerly and followed her into the kitchen, watching her reach for one of her bottles of wine on her counter.

“Mind getting two glasses for me, sweetheart?”

Blushing deeply at the endearment, you turned away to do exactly as she said. Obedient girl. When you reached the cabinet and opened it to retrieve two wine glasses, Wanda found herself holding her breath, her eyes fixed on your body. She couldn't help but think how sexy you looked, with your delicate features and your gentle smile, and your eyes shining with an innocent twinkle that made Wanda's heart race with anticipation. Her eyes followed your every move, drinking in the sight of you with a sense of longing and desire that she struggled to contain. She battled her inner thoughts, hiding the fact that she just wanted to grab you, taste you, shove her tongue down your throat, and make you moan against her.

When you turned back around with only one glass in your hand, she frowned slightly and said, “You don’t want to have a drink?”

“I still have to drive back to campus,” you say reluctantly, not particularly liking the fact that you had disappointed her a bit.

But she only smiled and said, "Right, of course."

Wanda couldn't help but feel a sense of desire as she watched your figure move towards a seat at the table with such fluid grace, her eyes tracing the curve of your hips and the gentle sway of your hair.

You spent most of your nights like this, talking to Wanda late at night after she came home from work. And it’s lovely. She never forgets to compliment you, whether it was how you looked or how amazing you were at taking care of her boys, and loves it especially when you talk about your day, your voice filling her ears along with a sense of calmness to ease her tired head.

But oftentimes, Wanda found herself unable to focus on any conversation with you. Every time you laughed, your body shook with a gentle ripple, and she couldn't help but feel drawn to your every movement, her eyes tracing the curve of your hips and the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Your voice was soft and soothing, your words flowing like honey and filling Wanda's heart with warmth. As you talked, Wanda found herself getting increasingly distracted, her mind wandering as she imagined what it would be like to hold you close, to run her fingers through your hair, and to taste your sweet lips.

“Wanda?”

"Hm?"  Wanda hummed in response, trying to mask the fact that she had struggled to listen to you while you sat there in front of her, looking so delectable under the dim lights of her kitchen.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” you continued slowly, dragging your sentence out. “But, what happened to your husband?”

Wanda only smiled at your question. She figured you’d be curious, and you wouldn’t be able to keep that question unanswered in your head forever. But she was comfortable with you. comfortable enough to tell you enough of what happened. He didn’t die or anything. And it wasn’t a great story—not that long, either. It was truly simple, and she guessed that was why it hurt even more when it happened.

“He didn’t love me anymore,” she said, watching your face closely. “There’s not that much to it. He found someone else, fell in love with her, then left me and our boys to go and start their own family. I wish he had been strong enough and loved me and the boys enough to keep this family whole… He wasn’t.”

Wanda spoke with a practiced detachment, trying her best to hide the raw emotions that still lingered beneath the surface. As she spoke, she noticed your eyes growing misty with tears, and she knew that her own pain was mirrored in your heart. But despite the deep sadness that threatened to overwhelm you both, Wanda couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort in your gentle presence.

“I’m sorry.”

“Everything’s okay now, sweetheart,” she smiled lovingly at you, reaching out to wipe away your tears. She felt a sense of warmth and tenderness wash over her, and she knew that she was falling in love with you even more.

“The boys are strong,” you tell her, melting at the touch of her thumb against your cheek. “They’re strong like you. I couldn’t even tell that they’ve gone through that much heartbreak already... They don’t show it.”

“They come to me from time to time to let it all out,” Wanda replied, pulling her hand back to take a sip from her glass of wine. “They are strong… and I’m proud of them for it. But, I like it better when they come to me, as painful as it is to see them cry. Although, I haven’t been home enough lately to be there for them.”

You frowned slightly at her last sentence, “You’re an amazing mother, Wanda. Your ex-husband made the biggest mistake of his life when he left you. And your boys are smart; I know they understand. With what they’ve been talking to me about, they’re only worried that you might overwork yourself. Oh, and they said you need a vacation.”

A light chuckle erupts in Wanda’s throat. “Oh, I could definitely use one.”

Wanda smiled as she stared at you, your presence pleasantly washing over her, and in that moment, Wanda realized that you were more than just a pretty face or a sweet voice. You were a source of comfort and strength, a gentle soul who could soothe even the deepest wounds with your kindness and compassion.

The days after were none other than similar, with you following the same routine with Wanda: taking care of Billy and Tommy, cooking dinner, studying for a bit, playing with the kids for a bit, then Wanda comes home, and you keep her company for the night. It all feels amazing. Wanda loved coming home to you, and you loved it when she did, always anticipating the moment she walked through her front door.

With each passing day, Wanda found it increasingly difficult to hide her emotions and desire for you. Every time she saw you, her heart skipped a beat, and she just couldn't help but feel a sense of longing that she couldn't ignore. When you arrived at her doorstep each day to take care of her children, Wanda found herself staring at you a little too long, taking in the way your hair fell around your face, the way your eyes sparkled in the sunlight, the curve of your waist, and your legs when you walked. She always tried to keep her composure and act like a professional, but her desire for you was becoming harder and harder to hide. She’d find the tiniest excuses to touch you, to be able to put her hands on you—like tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, looking over your shoulder when you’re working on something, or keeping her hand on the small of your back when she walks with you.

She especially almost lost her mind when she arrived home early in the evening one day and you said something that made her knees almost give out as she stood in the living room.

“Boys, why don’t you show mommy what you made at school?” you called out from the living room.

And in that moment, Wanda’s eyes narrowed and she almost wanted to pounce; she wanted to grab you by the neck softly and demand that you repeat the very name that made her stomach flutter. Whenever you said it, Wanda felt a warmth spread through her body, and her heart swelled with pride. She loved the way you said it. She didn’t know where it came from or why you started referring to her as that when you talked to her boys, but it sounded so perfect coming from your mouth, so natural. It was like you knew how much it affected her, so you made sure to say it more often, finding new ways to incorporate it into your conversations.

Even though Wanda knew that it was just a term of endearment, and you probably said it to all the children you’ve babysat before, Wanda couldn't help but feel special and cherished every time she heard it. It was a small thing, but it meant the world to her, and she looked forward to every opportunity to hear you say it again.

Wanda’s recent joy didn’t last, unfortunately. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and Wanda was just about to leave for work, slipping into her heels near the front door, when you delivered some news that she didn’t know she didn’t want to hear.

“I don’t think I can make it this Friday,” you tell Wanda, nervously playing with the hem of your sweater.

“That’s okay, honey,” she smiled in return, hoping that it would help ease your anxiety. “What’s going on on Friday? Exam?”

For a moment, you almost wanted to lie, but unsure as to why you should even keep the reason from her, you decided to tell her anyway. You’d figured she’d find out from Natasha at some point and wouldn’t want to be guilty of dishonesty when the time came when she would realize why.

“I... have a date.”

“Oh.” And just like that, her smile faded in a blink of an eye.

Wanda felt her heart sink as she took in your words, letting her know that you had to cancel your babysitting appointment for the evening because you had a blind date. She tried to push down the disappointment she felt, reminding herself that you had a life outside of the arrangement and that she couldn't expect you to be available all the time.

But deep down, Wanda couldn't shake the feeling of distress. She had sensed something between you two—a spark and desire—that she couldn't ignore. And now, as she imagined you going out with someone else, she felt a pang of jealousy and longing that she couldn't quite explain. She tried to tell herself that it was silly, that she was just projecting her own feelings onto you, but she couldn't help feeling disappointed that you and her wouldn't be spending the evening together.

“I see,” Wanda nodded, grabbing her car keys swiftly from the foyer without turning to look at you. “I hope it goes well.”

That was a lie. Even you knew it was. She then left without saying another word, leaving you and her boys alone in her house.

To be fair, you didn’t even want to go on this date to begin with, but Yelena was nothing short of convincing. It didn’t help that Kate had been on Yelena’s side when she mentioned scoring a blind date for you, all without your permission or any warning at all, recommending you to this other person they thought you’d like. You guessed it was a nice thought, that your friends were just trying to help, but honestly, you just didn’t want it. You’d said you weren’t interested at the start, but they did nothing but insist. Especially when it had been centuries, according to them, since you worked on your love life.

And so here you were, on a Friday night, sitting across another woman at a table in some local Italian restaurant near the main campus of your university. You had walked with her into the city, as it wasn’t that far off to begin with, out in the cold of the night, already wanting nothing more than to go home.

As you sat across from the other woman, you couldn't help but feel bored and disinterested in everything she had to say. Your mind wandered over to Wanda, the woman you had been babysitting for, the woman who had occupied your thoughts almost every second of the day, and the thought of spending time with her instead filled you with excitement. You couldn't help but think about how much more enjoyable your time would be if you were sitting in Wanda's living room, sipping wine, and talking the night away. You felt guilty for feeling this way, but you couldn't deny the pull that Wanda had on you. The thought of being near her made your heart race with excitement. Sitting across from your date, you couldn't help but wish you were somewhere else, somewhere you truly wanted to be—with Wanda.

And you honestly tried.

You tried to make polite conversation by feigning interest, but your mind always wandered back over to Wanda. You couldn't help but think of the way she looked at you, how she touched you in ways that made your skin tingle, or even how she looked when she wore her suits every day going into work—so confident and beautiful. You tried to focus on your date, but the images of Wanda kept intruding into your thoughts, and you found yourself wishing you were back at Wanda's house, with her hands all over you, her lips kissing you, and everything naughty. You fidgeted with your napkin, trying to shake the thoughts of Wanda from your mind, but they persisted, and you found yourself longing to be with the woman you desired rather than sitting across from this stranger.

When you returned to Wanda’s house, you immediately noticed how distant she had been getting over the next few days. She no longer drank wine and talked with you at night after she would arrive home; instead, she’d greet you briefly, then retreat to her bedroom and go to bed. Sometimes she’d completely ignore you, like brushing right past you in the kitchen without uttering a word, then leaving for work after saying goodbye to her boys and telling them to behave.

And your heart ached because of it.

Soon, you got tired of it. The way she ignored you. The way she looked through you. It made you feel both livid and dejected. You wanted to yell at her. So, after a few days of the same treatment from Wanda, you decided to work up the courage and talk to her.

“W-Wanda,” you called her, nervous eyes boring into her back as she halted her descent up the stairs.

It was dark out—about thirty minutes past twelve, you would say—and Wanda had just arrived home with that same tired look in her eyes. She greeted you with that same short greeting she had been giving you the last couple days, and each time you heard it, you wanted to cry.

Wanda turned around, meeting you with restless eyes, “What is it, y/n?”

You paused. Suddenly, everything you had practiced saying in your head had drifted away, leaving your mouth open with no words for it to fall from. You stood in her living room awkwardly as she waited for you to say something. Soon, she noticed your eyes had gotten glossy, with tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

That made Wanda’s eyebrows rise in concern. She stepped down from the stairs to walk closer toward you, asking, “Is everything okay?”

“No,” you confessed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Y-you... you,” you tried to get out, struggling to find words for a moment under Wanda’s intimidating stare. “You ignore me. You barely look at me anymore. You don’t talk to me anymore. You don’t touch me. And you don’t even notice me when you come home.”

“What are you talking about? I notice you—“

“No, it’s different now. You’re different. You treat me like I’m invisible.” You ran a hand through your hair as you spoke, letting your frustrations out. “Why do you do that? I didn’t… I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Wanda listened intently as you poured your heart out in front of her. You were careful not to raise your voice, not wanting to wake the kids up, but truthfully, it was difficult to do so when you wanted to yell at Wanda for making you feel this way. Finally, a tear rolled down your cheeks, and, without a second thought, Wanda immediately brought her hand up to wipe it away with her thumb, the same way she did that night when she told you how her ex-husband left. You were full of emotion and love, and Wanda wanted it all to herself.

Wanda stared at you for quite a while, and you stared back, confused, unlike her, who seemed to have numerous thoughts running through her head. Then, for a moment, her eyes fluttered down to your lips.

“Wanda, what are you—“

And with a soft, gentle touch, she leans in and presses her lips against yours, pouring all of her feelings into the kiss. She sighed against your lips, moaning at the taste of you. It's as if the world stops spinning, and in that moment, there are only the two of you. The taste of your lips against hers ignites a flame within Wanda, who steps closer towards you until her face is pressed up against yours, leaving now space in between. Wanda groans when you let her hands roam your waist and when you wrap your arms around her neck, and she leads you up the stairs, still kissing you, eventually leading you up to her bedroom.

Wanda's bedroom was a unique mix of chaos and order. The room was cluttered with her unmade blanket spread out on the bed and piles of books stacked on the floor, but it was still neat and organized. The queen-sized bed was made up with crisp, white sheets and a fluffy comforter, and the nightstand was clutter-free except for a lampshade that cast a soft, dim glow in the room. The darkness outside made the light seem even more comforting and inviting. It felt intimate and warm, as if it were enveloping you in a soothing embrace.

Her room was at the other end of the hall, far from the kids, thank God. But Wanda made sure to shut the door, pushing you until your back was against it, muffling your moans with her mouth, and drinking in each sound of your voice as she touched you all over.

“You’re so damn intoxicating, (y/n),” she said, moaning as she littered kisses down your neck. “I can’t control myself when I’m around you.”

Wanda’s heart melted at how you clung to her with your arms wrapped around her neck and your hands gripping tightly on the jacket of her suit. There was nothing but the sound of your breath filling the air as she continued to kiss you. She dragged her lips to your earlobe and smiled smugly when you shivered, noticing you were sensitive there. She darted her tongue out and licked behind your ear, trailing it down to your jaw.

You opened your mouth wide when she sucked on your neck, but she immediately pulled her head back to kiss you again, muffling the sound of your delicious moan.

“Mmph—Wanda,” you mumbled.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Wanda said against your lips. “I’m going to need you to be quiet for me, baby. Can you do that?”

As much as Wanda wanted to hear you scream and moan while she made you feel good, she didn’t want to wake the boys up with all the racket.

You nodded eagerly at her question and gave a tiny sound of affirmation, causing Wanda to smirk down at you. Obedient girl. The hands that gripped your hips moved towards the hem of your shirt, pulling it off and over your head before throwing it onto the floor. You wore a white, lace bra that cupped your tits perfectly, and Wanda couldn’t help but bring her hands up to palm them, groping them as you closed your eyes and leaned your head back against her bedroom door.

“My perfect, little angel,” she whispered, hands groping you over your lace bra.

Wanda then leaned forward, prompting you to jump and wrap your legs around her waist before carrying you over to her bed and laying you down against her mattress. And fuck, you looked amazing. She didn’t know how she managed to control herself in the beginning when you looked so fucking sexy like this. There was only so much her brain could fantasize about, and seeing you in person like this, with your eyes begging for her to take you, god, she was going to lose it.

Her hands placed themselves under your thighs, spreading them slightly so that she could fight right between them. Her fingers traveled slowly up your skirt, feeling the plush flesh of your smooth thighs. As she played with your skirt, she dragged her lips down from your neck to your collarbones and down to the valley of your breasts, teeth nipping softly at your skin, making sure to leave marks and pretty, purple bruises as she went. Feeling you squirm underneath her was one of the best feelings she had ever felt. She moved her hands from your thighs and then brought one up to your white bra, unclasping them from the back and letting your gorgeous tits out with a slight jiggle. Wanda hummed deeply as she took your nipple into her mouth and sucked.

“Wanda,” you breathed softly, hands burying themselves into her hair.

“No, baby,” she smirked and brought her other hand up, wrapping it around your neck. “You’ve got a better name for me, don’t you, darling?”

“W-What?” You breathed against her, gripping tight on her shoulders. 

“My other name, sweetheart,” she says, smiling into your chest before looking up toward your face. “You know what it is. Say it. I wanna hear it from that pretty mouth of yours.”

You blushed deeply, making her lean up to place butterfly kisses all over your reddened cheeks.

“Don’t you want to be a good girl?”

You nodded eagerly, “Yes, I want to be good.”

“For who?”

You stared at her when you opened your mouth to say, “Mommy...”

“Mm, that’s right, sweetheart,” Wanda said, seemingly unable to fight the wicked grin from appearing on her face, staring down at you with hunger in her eyes.

She took your breath away once more as she leaned down to kiss you, moving her mouth against yours with breathy moans falling from both of your tongues. It was a softer kiss this time—so gentle that you almost thought you were dreaming, wondering still if this was even all real. It became very real when you felt Wanda’s hands hike up your skirt, feeling the fabric of your pants between her fingertips.

And you were embarrassed. Soon she’d see and feel how wet you were, aching too much between your legs from the friction you had been wanting to ease since you had laid eyes on her. You groaned and moved your hands to the collar of Wanda’s suit jacket, trying desperately to pull it off her shoulders, but she wouldn’t have it. Instead, she grabbed your wrists and moved them above your head.

“Keep them there,” she said, her voice firm and demanding, leaving no room for any protests. “Unfortunately for you, sweetheart, you’ve been a bad girl.” 

You furrowed your brows and huffed out in frustration, “How?”

“You know, I really don’t like sharing.” Wanda said before placing a quick kiss against your lips and staring down at you with an expression that shook you to your core, “But, you decided to go out and share what belongs to me... on that little date you went on.”

Your eyes widened, immediately wanting to explain everything, “Wanda, that was just—“

“I don’t want to hear it, (y/n). Right now, just focus on me. Only me.”

Her fingers brush over your clothed sex, running along the wetness of the fabric, causing you to twitch slightly against her. You looked so delectable like this. She just wanted to eat you right up. Soon, Wanda’s fingers pressed harshly against your clitoral area, rubbing it in tight circles, only to make you whine into her shoulder. You looked so pretty like this. Honestly, she could almost come from just the sight of you like this. A sly smile adorned her face as she played with you. Pictures of you and a stranger filled her thoughts, recalling what that date looked like in her head—you dressed up all pretty, that beautiful smile you showcased as you laughed, that innocent twinkle in your eye, the sound of your voice, and your fleeting touches—all for someone else.

The dim light of the lampshade on her nightstand cast a warm glow across the room, illuminating your face and casting shadows over the curves of your body. Her hands carefully dragged the fabric of your skirt down your legs, and you were left in nothing but your panties. And Wanda could drool at the sight of you. You suddenly felt shy under her stare, being the only one naked in the room with her still fully clothed in one of her sexy suits, and you just wanted nothing more than to reach out and help her out of it.

“Tell me,” she whispered, leaning down to the crook of your neck to inhale your sweet fragrance. “Did she see you like this? Did she fuck you?”

“What? No, Wanda, I—“

She stopped you with a kiss, groaning into your mouth as her hands moved to cup your breasts. “Try again.”

“She didn’t, mommy.”

“Good. Now, open,” Wanda smirked lightly as you opened your mouth wide enough for her to slide two of her fingers into your mouth. “Get these wet for me, baby.”

You did exactly as she asked. Twirling and running your tongue all over her fingers, making them slick with saliva, You could hear Wanda sigh in satisfaction as you did your work, and she watched every second of it. She wondered what else you would take in your mouth for her—her strap. But that was for another night, she supposed.

Soon, she pulled her fingers out, replacing them in her mouth once again. Her tongue entered your mouth with ease, and you couldn’t help but moan at the taste of her, knowing her lipstick smudged against your skin. Her wet fingers traveled down the trail of your skin, all the way down to where her fingertips met the lacy fabric of your pants and slipped into them. Wanda pulled her head back to watch your face contort into an expression of euphoria as her slipper fingers massaged your clitter. It was heavenly. And you were perfect.

Unable to wait any longer, Wanda pushed two of her fingers into you, moaning against your neck as she felt how wet and tight you were around her fingers. When your arms dropped from above your head to hold onto her shoulders, Wanda allowed it to happen, falling in love with the way you held on to her as she fucked you. She wanted to start slowly, in truth, but as soon as she felt your hands in her hair and on her shoulders, as she heard your breathy moans, she just couldn’t help it. She pumped and pumped her fingers into you, turning you into the prettiest, shivering mess she had ever laid her eyes on. It turned her on so much.

“I—Mommy, I’m going to—“ you tried to say as quietly as you could.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” she said, smiling adoringly. “Keep your pretty eyes on me.”

The pad of her fingertips continued to press against your sensitive walls, pumping air in and out of you with a delicious squelch. Wanda dragged her lips against your chest until she popped one of your nipples into her mouth and sucked hard. Everything she did made you squirm underneath her. And god, you were so sexy. Wanda felt like she was looking at an art piece—the way your body moved, the colors of your skin under the dim light, the lines of your curves fitting perfectly against her. So perfect. Her sweet girl.

Finally, the first orgasm crashed in waves throughout your entire body, legs quivering against Wanda as she slowed her movements in order to let you ride out your high. You had muffled your moan by pressing your face into her shoulder. Fuck, you were so hot. Wanda swears she came at just the sight of you coming.

“My pretty baby,” she said. “So perfect.”

And you try to take a moment to breathe, to catch your breath before anything else could happen, but it is too late to stop her. Wanda pushed a third finger into you, your jaw dropping as you felt your walls stretch around her digits. The pad of her thumb rolls over your clitter in tight circles, pressing onto your sensitive bundle of nerves with no mercy.

It almost felt like she was testing you—testing your limits, how far you could go, and how well you could hide your moans. It was by no means easy, especially when she started pumping all over again, making the grip on her shoulders tighten. You pulled desperately at the fabric of her jacket, and Wanda didn’t even care if you were to eventually rip it accidentally. Hell, she’d be proud of it.

You jolted under her touch, arching your back and pressing your front against hers as she fucked you. She watched as your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you lost yourself in pleasure. You almost wanted to pull away because you knew if you went on any longer, you’d be screaming. But Wanda had an easy solution for that problem. The moment you started moaning helplessly loud, she threw her other arm up and clasped the palm of her hand over your mouth, muffling your moans.

“Quiet, baby, remember?”

And so she pulled another orgasm out of you, and then another, and another… and another.

You looked so beautiful by the end of it; sweat rolled down your temples, your body was limp as you gasped for air, arms reaching out to Wanda as she pulled away from you for some reason you couldn’t tell given how fucked out and tired you were. She only got up to get rid of the clothes she was wearing and grab a wet towel from the bathroom to clean up the mess you made between your legs. As she did so, she fought the urge to spread your thighs, diving face first into your wet cavern, all for her to devour — but you would be screaming if she did that. Another time, Wanda thought.

After she cleaned you up, Wanda pulled you into her arms, laying beside you with your head in the crook of her neck as she smoothed her hands over your hips, your waist, and your thighs. You were still trembling slightly against her; she could feel it, and she couldn’t help but smile.

You fell asleep quickly, and as Wanda watched you drift off, she couldn't help but be captivated by you. The way her lamp shade illuminated your features, casting a soft glow on your skin, made you look ethereal. Wanda traced the contours of your face with her fingertips, memorizing every curve and angle while feeling your skin. She watched as your chest rose and fell with each breath. She watched when your lips parted slightly as you breathed, and Wanda found herself leaning in, almost unconsciously, to press a soft kiss against them. You stirred momentarily but didn't wake up, and Wanda settled back onto the pillows with a contented sigh.

As she gazed at your sleeping form, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. She was right where she wanted to be.

“Sleep well, sweetheart.”

In the glow of the moonlight filtering in through the window, you and Wanda lie intertwined on her bed. Your bodies were nestled closely together, with Wanda's arm draped protectively around your waist. The room is quiet except for the gentle hum of your breaths as you both sleep soundly, at peace in each other's embrace. The air is warm and fragrant, the scent of lavender from the diffuser on Wanda's nightstand filling their senses. As you slept, your faces appeared serene and content, with faint smiles playing at the corners of both of your lips. And in this moment, all the worries and stresses of the outside world fade away, replaced by a deep sense of comfort and security.

Morning came soon after as the soft light of the rising sun seeped through the window, casting a gentle glow over the room, and you slowly opened your eyes, only to find Wanda sleeping peacefully next to you. A smile creeps onto your face as you gaze upon Wanda's serene and beautiful face. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of happiness and warmth inside of you, yet you also felt a bit shy and hesitant, not wanting to disturb Wanda's peaceful slumber. The room was quiet except for the gentle sound of your breathing, and you took a moment to savor this peaceful moment with Wanda, your heart full of love and affection.

But then you tore your eyes off of her and stared at the clock on her nightstand.

“Wanda,” you said, shaking her lightly. “Wanda. Wanda, it’s eleven o’clock. The boys are late for school!”

The only response you got was a groan as Wanda stirred in her sleep, refusing to open her eyes and, instead, rolling over and pulling you close, shoving her face into the crook of your neck. You wanted to smile at the action, but you were also worried about the fact that you both slept in and that her boys were late for school.

“Wanda.”

“I already took them to school, (y/n),” she said, mumbling against your skin, voice deep and groggy.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice, “You did?”

“Yes, honey,” she said.

Your stomach began to flutter, and your heart filled with warmth at the endearment, even though she had already been calling you that since you had gotten here. But after hearing it last night, you felt a surge of joy. The way Wanda says it, with such tenderness and love, is enough to make you feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

You also smiled at the thought of Wanda waking up early in the morning to take her children to school, then coming home and immediately jumping back into bed just to sleep with you. The very thought of it made you swoon.

Wanda held you tightly in her arms, her breath warm on your neck. You felt a warmth spread throughout your body as you snuggled deeper into Wanda's embrace. The bed was so comfortable and the atmosphere so peaceful that you wished you could stay there forever. You loved the feeling of being held by Wanda and feeling safe and loved. It was a sense of domesticity that she never thought she would experience.

“(Y/n)?”

You hummed in response, your fingers raking through Wanda’s locks.

“The date you went on... How did it go?”

You paused, wondering why that was one of the first things she thought of. After seconds of thinking, you put the pieces together. You already figured she was jealous, but it was still a bit surprising to think about.

“It was terrible,” you smiled. “I was thinking of you the whole time.”

“The date was terrible? Or you thinking about me the whole time was terrible?”

“You’re smart, mommy. I think you can figure that one out by yourself.”

Wanda let out a deep laugh against your neck, “Mmm, I like it when you call me that.”

“I know,” you smiled.

“Go on a date with me.”

Wanda pulled her head back from your neck to look at you. A smile played on her lips as she stared at you. God, you looked so beautiful. Your lips were puffy, your cheeks squished up against her pillow, and your hair was all over the place—it was adorable.

“What?” You smiled at her incredulously.

“I’m being serious,” she said, smiling back at you. “Go on a date with me.”

And for a moment there, you really did contemplate on whether she was serious or not. You almost wanted to pinch yourself to see if you were still dreaming somehow. But Wanda’s face said it all.

You tried to fight the joyous smile that was making its way onto your face. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you repeated.

With a soft smile on her face, Wanda leaned in and placed a tender kiss on your forehead, followed by a series of playful, affectionate pecks all over your face. The warmth of your bodies entwined was comforting, and Wanda couldn't help but admire the way your soft features looked in the morning light. She placed another gentle kiss on your lips, savoring the taste of sweetness against her mouth.

Wanda’s heart swelled with affection, feeling lucky to have you in her arms. And she’ll take you on that date, making sure she's the only thing on your mind, just like you were in hers.

— navigation! | masterlist!

note. i used this proofreader thing which fixes most of my grammatical errors but it could’ve just yk not have worked, so if there’s still any errors i apologize and i also apologize a second time bc i will not be fixing them anytime soon bc i am lazy :) peace

[stylesispunk]

"Where is my love?"

Joel miller x f! reader

summary: Isn't she coming to me?

w.c: 7k>

warning: angst, mentions of death, and grief.

a/n: this is a sad one and closer to my heart because grieving is the love we can give to people who are gone. The only change of this is that has been ten years since the "end of the world" and is based on the last chapter of the show. reblogs and comments are always appreciated and for the love of god, can you please help me with inspo for writing, I want to write for other characters, so if you have any suggestions are welcome. Have a lovely reading 💌 dividers by @/saradika

masterlist

Your paths crossed a long time ago. When the world had descended into madness, the souls met the dead in a now forgotten land. He came across you, and he fell in love with you. The sunlight radiating after the freezing storm was a fire keeping his brittle heart warm.

You had saved him from ending his own life that day, when he had lost faith in a horror movie without an ending or a purpose. He did lose everything he had known—everything he had ever loved and protected—but he had met you.

For him, you were an angel, not delicate nor free from sins, but an angel who appeared after he thought he had met his spirit in heaven.

You have looked after him and Tommy for days, taking care of their well-being and taking care of the reminiscing scar plastered on Joel’s forehead as a reminder of his almost-death encounter with his angel, you.

And you had loved him ever since; you found yourself increasingly drawn to him, not just for his vulnerability under your eyes but because he had brought sense back to life. His presence seemed to chase away the shadows that had been going to hunt you since now.

As the days turned into weeks, months, and then years, the bond between you and Joel only grew stronger. You found yourself drawn to his strength, his resilience in the face of adversity, and the way he faced each day with unwavering determination.

You had loved him after acknowledging every terrible thing he had done, and you loved him anyway. The darkness inside of him, taunted by the loss of the previous time, didn’t prevent you from looking at him as if he hung the stars of the sky. You both looked at night before sleeping, trying to find some reassurance.

Together, you faced the challenges, from the first days of the end of the world to the QZ, to Ellie, to where you were right now, knowing that as long as you had each other, you could overcome anything.

Now, here in Jackson, in the quiet moment before sleep, you and Joel would still gaze up at the stars, finding solace in the vastness of the night sky. And as you held each other close, you found reassurance in the knowledge that no matter what tomorrow brought, you would face it together.

Joel broke the silence, his voice soft yet filled with the weight of years gone by. "You know, I never thought I'd find this kind of peace again. Not after everything that's happened."

You turned to him, your eyes meeting his in the darkness. "We've been through hell and back, Love. But somehow, we made it together."

He reached out to intertwine his fingers with yours, seeking the comfort your touch brought to him. "I don't know what I would do without you," he admitted, his voice breaking a little.

"You don't have to find out," you replied, a gentle smile playing on your lips. "We're in this together, remember? No matter what."

Joel nodded, his gaze returning to the heavens above. "Yeah, together," he echoed, as if trying to convince himself of the truth of those words.

"You will never lose me,” you whispered, leaning in to press a tender kiss to his forehead. "And I'll always be here to guide you home."

He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of your lips over his skin. "I love you," he murmured, the words carrying the weight of a lifetime of pain and longing.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart overflowing with love for the man beside you.

Being in Jackson brought you back to a civilization, to peace, to a place where you could both sleep next to each other at the same time without fearing other people coming for you.

But as much as you cherished the peace and stability that Jackson provided, you couldn't escape the reality of everyday life. With it came the mundane challenges, the petty conflicts, and the occasional tension that threatened to disrupt the tranquility you had found together. There were disagreements, misunderstandings, and moments of frustration that tested the strength of your relationship.

You felt a rush of joy as you entered the door of your Jackson home. You couldn't wait to tell Joel about the trade you had made, so you were looking forward to seeing his reaction.

"Joel," you called out, your voice full of anticipation as you approached the living room where he was sitting. "Guess what? "I made a trade today."

Joel looked up from his book, interest in his eyes. "A trade?" "What did you get?"

You smiled, holding out the little camera you'd traded for some extra food supplies. "I exchanged some of our extra coffee for this camera! It's in excellent condition, and I thought we might use it to save some memories."

As you proudly showed the camera, Joel's initial curiosity turned into an unhappy face. He set down his book and looked at you with a mixture of disbelief and stress.

"You traded all of our extra coffee for a camera?" Joel repeated, his voice filled with frustration. "We rely on that coffee, you understand. It's not simply an extravagance; it's a product in high demand here in Jackson."

You faltered, understanding the potential repercussions of your impulsive trade. "I know, Joel, but I thought..."

"You thought what?" Joel interjected, his irritation growing. "That a camera was more important than having enough food to get us through the winter? "What if something happens and we need that coffee?"

You bit your lip, feeling a sense of remorse rush over you. "I didn't think of it that way. I just thought it would be wonderful to have something to save our memories."

Joel sighed and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I understand, but we must prioritize our needs before our wants. You cannot go out there and make bad decisions."

His words hurt, and you felt a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You didn't plan to compromise your safety, but in your excitement, you forgot to consider the repercussions of your actions.

"I'm sorry, Joel," you said quietly, feeling a sensation of shame rush over you. "I didn't mean to cause any harm."

Joel's gaze softened slightly as you apologized, but the tension in the air remained. "It's okay," he said softly. "Just stop being this childish," he murmured, strolling past you to the kitchen and leaving you in

Joel's gaze softened slightly as you apologized, but the tension in the air remained. "It's okay," he said softly. "Just stop being so childish," he replied, walking past you to the kitchen and leaving you in the living room with a bitter taste in your mouth.

A wave of guilt swept over you. You didn't mean to act impulsively or selfishly, but you now see that your actions had far-reaching implications.

Feeling the weight of Joel's disappointment, you remained in the living room, staring at the camera in your hands, your heart heavy. You realized he was correct; you needed to be more responsible and more aware of the circumstances and the actions that could affect your survival; being at peace in a place did not imply the risk had passed.

With a heavy sigh, you lay the camera down on the table, the excitement you had felt earlier replaced with a sense of regret. Joel's words lingered in your head, reminding you of the excitement you had felt earlier, replaced by a sense of remorse. Joel's words echoed in your mind, a reminder of the need to grow and learn from your mistakes.

You walked upstairs to your room, and with a heavy heart, you lay in bed, the events of the day on your mind. Despite the comfort of the blankets that surrounded you, you couldn't shake the sense of remorse and sorrow that persisted within you.

You closed your eyes and replayed the conversation with Joel in your head, each word stinging like a sharp reminder of your failure. You knew you'd let him down, and the thought gnawed at you, leaving a bad taste in your mouth.

And as you drifted off to sleep, the weight of Joel's disappointment gradually began to lighten. A few hours later, you awoke to the faint click of a camera shutter. Blinking sleepily, you opened your eyes to see Joel standing by the bedside, a tiny smile on his lips as he held the camera.

"What are you doing?" you said, your voice still laced with sleepiness.

Joel chuckled and lowered his camera as he neared the bed. "Just capturing a moment," he said, his eyes filled with adoration as he glanced down at you. In confusion, you furrowed your brow and sat up slightly in bed. "A moment of me sleeping?" you asked, feeling both amused and fascinated.

Joel nodded, his smile growing wider. "Yes, a second while you sleep. You looked beautiful; I couldn’t resist."

Despite the lingering anger from earlier, Joel's gesture made you feel warm. It was a modest act, but it showed a lot about his remorse and faith in your relationship. Reaching out, you took the camera from Joel's hands, studying the image of yourself sleeping soundly.

"I look horrible," you muttered. Joel softened his smile and leaned in to kiss your forehead. "Liar," he muttered. "Sorry for how I acted earlier." He moved forward, pressing his lips against your cheek this time.

"You're just an old, grumpy man," you remember, with a tiny giggle. His soft kisses eased the tension between you. His amusing response lightened the mood and lifted the sadness that had been in your heart.

"Old grumpy man, huh?" Joel chuckled, shaking his head in mock indignation. “I’ll show you what this old, grumpy man can do,” he said, planting a more urgent kiss on your lips this time.

You worked hard in the weeks following your fight with Joel to repair the distance that had grown between you. Despite the apparent signs of peacemaking, you still had a persistent sense of insecurity.

Then a new woman arrived in Jackson. She was closer to Joel's age, and you couldn't help but notice the easy connection that had developed between them. They spent a lot of time together, whether on patrol with Tommy or speaking in the common areas of Jackson.

You tried to ignore the jealousy that was bubbling up inside of you. After all, Joel had always been polite and accommodating to strangers, so there was no reason to suspect anything other than friendship between them.

But as the days went on and you saw Joel and the new woman form a stronger bond, your concern grew. You couldn't escape the nagging suspicion that there was something more between them—something that harmed the precious trust you'd worked so hard to build. 

On today's evening, as you watched Joel and the woman laugh from across the room, you felt a pang of jealousy. You excused yourself and withdrew from the privacy of your thoughts since you could no longer contain your feelings.

You were alone in the living room, struggling with opposite emotions. Part of you felt ashamed for doubting Joel and allowing jealousy to cloud your thinking. But another part of you couldn't help but feel sad and insecure as if you weren't enough for him; after all, it wasn't just you, him, and Ellie outdoors any longer, and here in Jackson, you weren't the last woman in the world.

As you sat alone in the living room, buried in your thoughts, the sound of steps broke your state of trance. Looking up, you noticed Ellie enter the home, looking bright and cheerful, until she spotted your teary eyes.

"Hey, I missed you at dinner in the bar," Ellie said, concern etching her features as she approached you. "Is everything okay?"

You tried to brush off her concern with a forced smile, but Ellie wasn't fooled. "Yeah, everything's fine," you replied, your voice betraying the turmoil within you.

But Ellie wasn't about to let it go that easily. She moved closer, her gaze searching yours with intensity. "No, it's not. What happened? Why are you crying?"

Your heart ached at the concern in Ellie's eyes, and despite your best efforts to hold back the tears, they continued to fall. "I...I don't know," you admitted, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you. "I just...I don't know where Joel is."

Ellie's brow furrowed in confusion. "Joel? He's eating with Tommy and the new girl, why?"

You shook your head, unable to articulate the jumble of emotions swirling inside you. "I don't know," you repeated, feeling the tears threaten to overwhelm you once more. "I just...I need to talk to him."

Sensing the urgency in your voice, Ellie nodded in understanding. "Okay, let's go find him," she said, taking your hand and leading you out of the house.

As you followed Ellie towards the bar, your heart raced with fear and anticipation. You knew that whatever awaited you there, you couldn't continue to let your doubts and insecurities consume you.

Once inside the bar, you noticed Joel in the crowd, his gaze settling on yours with a warmth that shot an emotion through your chest. It was as if a magnetic force drew you closer together, despite any remaining doubts.

You moved across the crowded bar, Ellie's hand firmly clutched in yours, Joel's smile widening, and his gaze never leaving yours.

Finally reaching Joel's side, you felt a wave of relief sweep over you as he held you in his arms. The warmth of his hug swept away the residual frost of doubt, leaving you with an eager sense of calm and belonging.

"I missed you," Joel murmured, his voice soft as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"I missed you too," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you leaned into Joel's embrace, reveling in the familiar scent of his cologne and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

For a moment, the world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only you and Joel locked in a tender embrace. It was as if time itself had slowed to a halt, allowing you to savor the precious moments you shared together.

As Joel pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, you felt a rush of emotion swell within you, a profound gratitude for the love and support he had always shown you.

As the tender moment between you and Joel lingered, a voice interrupted, pulling you back to the present. "Hey, Joel!" called out a cheerful voice, and you turned to see a woman approaching, a bright smile on her face.

Joel turned to face the stranger, his arm still wrapped over you protectively. "Oh, hey Rachel," he said, a warm smile on his face. "This is my girlfriend," he added, introducing you. Then he turned his face to introduce the stranger to you. "This is Rachel, and she is new to Jackson."

You smiled politely at Rachel, but a tinge of dread came over you as you watched how she drew in closer to Joel, her hand casually resting on his free arm. You repressed a jealous pang and pushed yourself to keep a friendly demeanor, even though your heart squeezed with uncertainty.

"It's nice to meet you, Rachel," you said, your voice solid despite the tumult inside you.

Rachel returned the welcome with a warm grin, and her eyes flickered with intrigue as she glanced. between you and Joel. "Likewise," she replied, her tone friendly but tinged with a hint of flirtation.

As the night went on, you couldn't ignore the sense of unease that hung in the air. Despite your best efforts to ignore it, Rachel's lingering touches and seductive glances at Joel gnawed at your insides, stoking the jealousy that threatened to engulf you.

With each passing moment, it became more difficult to ignore Joel and Rachel's growing friendship. Their laughter and friendly banter got on your nerves, reminding you of the bond that they had.

You tried to ignore your misgivings and enjoy the evening with Joel, but insecurity weighed heavily on you. It felt like you were on the outside looking in, watching helplessly as Joel and Rachel got closer with each passing second.

Rachel's flirtations became more daring as the night progressed, her touches lingering a bit too long and her laughter provocative. Despite your best attempts to remain calm, the jealousy simmering beneath the surface threatened to explode.

You stole looks toward Joel, hoping to find reassurance in his eyes, but he seemed unaware of the impact Rachel's actions were having on you. It was as if she had enchanted him, consuming all of his attention.

You excused yourself from the table, unable to take the sight of Joel and Emily's flirtatious behavior any longer. You could understand, after all, that Joel was a handsome man who hadn't received this much attention since the world ended; yet, that didn't make it any less painful.

As you excused yourself from the table, a slew of feelings surged through you—pain, jealousy, and a deep sense of isolation. You longed for Joel's reassurance, his acknowledgment of the hurt that Rachel's behavior was causing you, but as you stole a glance at him, you saw only obliviousness in his gaze.

With a heavy heart, you moved away, your footsteps quietly echoing on the bar's hardwood floor. You felt Joel's stare on your back, but you couldn't force yourself to look into his eyes, scared of what you might find reflected there.

As you approached the edge of the room, you hesitated, your back facing Joel, struggling to find the perfect words. Finally, you spoke, hardly rising above a whisper. "I need some air," you remarked, your voice filled with anguish.

After a period of silence, you felt Joel's hand on your arm, warm and soothing. "Hey," he replied quietly, his voice full of concern. "Are you okay?"

You turned to face him, meeting his gaze with a mixture of longing and frustration. "I just...I need some time," you replied, your voice trembling slightly. "I'll be outside."

Joel's expression softened, and his eyes filled with understanding as he nodded in response. "I'll come find you," he promised, his voice gentle as he squeezed your hand.

But instead, as you walked towards the house, the weight of the evening's events bearing down on you, you felt Joel's presence beside you. His steps were quiet, but his presence was comforting, a silent reassurance that you were not alone in your pain.

"Hey," Joel said softly, his voice breaking the silence between you. "I'm sorry about back there. I didn't realize... I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

You glanced sideways at Joel, the warmth of his gaze softening the edges of your frustration. "It's not your fault," you replied, your voice tinged with sadness. "I know you didn't mean to."

Joel fell into a step beside you, his hand reaching out to brush against yours. "I just want you to know that you're the only one for me," he said earnestly, his voice filled with sincerity. "No one else matters, not like you do."

“You could have told her about it,” you said, frustration edging into your tone.

Joel's expression faltered slightly at your words, a hint of defensiveness flickering in his eyes. "I didn't think it was necessary," he replied, his tone tinged with irritation. "I didn't want to embarrass her or make things awkward."

You felt a surge of frustration rising within you, the sting of jealousy and insecurity reigniting in your chest. "But by not saying anything, you made me feel like my feelings didn't matter," you countered, your voice tinged with hurt. "You made me doubt myself; doubt us."

Joel sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice strained. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way. I just didn't know how to handle the situation."

The tension between you hung heavy in the air, the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions pressing down on both of you. You wanted to believe Joel's assurances of love and devotion, but the lingering doubts and insecurities threatened to cloud your judgment.

"I need to rest," you said, changing the subject, your voice steady but tinged with sadness. "Tomorrow, we need to get up early for the patrol.”

“Actually, I’m not coming with you,” he said carefully.

“What? Why?”

“I’ll promise Rachel to...“

The air crackled with tension as Joel's words hung between you, his admission weighing heavily on your heart. Anger flared within you, fueled by hurt and betrayal.

"Why?" you demanded, your voice laced with frustration and disappointment. "Why would you choose her over me?

Joel's expression softened, and his eyes filled with regret. "I’m not choosing her over you; I would never do that," he replied, his voice tinged with guilt. "I didn't realize it would upset you."

You shook your head, unable to hide your frustration. "You should have talked to me about it first," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "You should have considered my feelings."

With a heavy heart, you turned away from Joel, the ache of disappointment echoing within you. As you retreated into the solitude of your thoughts, you couldn't help but wonder if your relationship could withstand this latest test or if it was destined to crumble beneath the weight of unresolved conflicts and broken promises.

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight!” you exclaimed as you kept walking.

The next morning dawned with a strong sense of tension in the air, the previous night's events still fresh in your mind. As you awoke from your sleep and began to prepare for the day ahead, the pain of disappointment and deceit chewed at your heart, casting a shadow on the early sun.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed aside any remaining doubts and concerns, determined to focus on the task at hand. As you approached the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, a soothing reminder of Joel's presence.

You discovered him standing by the counter, holding a warm mug of coffee, and preparing a second cup for you. His expression was solemn.

His eyes were downcast, as if weighted down by the events of the night before.

"Morning, angel," he said, his voice tinged with regret, as he gave you the mug. "I made some coffee."

“Thank you, but I’m leaving,” you replied, shortly walking towards the door.

"Angel, wait," Joel called out, his voice pleading as he reached out to gently grasp your arm, halting your departure. His touch was warm against your skin, a silent plea for you to stay and hear him out.

You hesitated, torn between the desire to escape the tension that hung between you and the longing to resolve the issues that had driven a wedge between you and Joel. With a heavy sigh, you turned to face him, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you like a leaden blanket.

“Take care; you know your safety is the most important thing for me,” he reassured, meeting your sad gaze.

"What a shame you're not going to be there to protect me," you replied bitterly, unable to mask the hurt in your voice. The words spilled out before you could stop them, a reflection of the pain and frustration that churned within you.

Joel's expression softened; his eyes filled with remorse as he reached out to gently cup your cheek.

Joel closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss filled with longing and remorse. It was a silent reassurance of his love and commitment, a promise to mend the wounds that had been inflicted upon your relationship.

As the kiss lingered, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, the weight of uncertainty lifting ever so slightly from your shoulders. Despite the pain and hurt, you knew that Joel was sincere in his desire to make things right, and you were willing to give him another chance.

Pulling away, Joel met your gaze with a mixture of regret and determination. "We'll talk when you get back," he said softly, his voice filled with resolve. "I'll be here waiting for you, ready to make things right."

With a nod of agreement, you returned Joel's gaze, a silent acknowledgment of your shared commitment to each other.

As you and Tommy ventured out on patrol, the rhythm of your footsteps echoed against the deserted streets of Jackson. The tension that had weighed heavily on you began to ease slightly, replaced by a sense of purpose as you focused on the task at hand.

"So, what happened between you and Joel?" Tommy asked, breaking the silence that had settled between you. His voice was filled with concern, and his eyes were studying your expression carefully.

You sighed, the events of the previous night still fresh in your mind. "We had an argument," you admitted reluctantly, the words heavy on your tongue. "I just don't know how to trust him again."

Tommy nodded in understanding, his expression sympathetic. "I get it," he said softly. "But you have to remember, Joel cares about you more than anything. He'd do anything to protect you, even if he doesn't always show it the right way."

You mulled over Tommy's words, the weight of his reassurance providing some measure of comfort amidst the uncertainty that plagued you. Despite the doubts that lingered in your mind, you knew that, deep down, Joel's intentions were genuine and his love for you was unwavering.

"I know," you replied, a sense of resolve creeping into your voice. "I just need to figure things out."

Tommy placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his gaze filled with empathy. "You will," he said confidently. "And when you do, Joel will be right there waiting for you, ready to make things right."

With a nod of gratitude, you continued on your patrol, the weight of uncertainty still heavy on your shoulders but with a glimmer of hope shining through the darkness. As you walked, you couldn't help but feel grateful for Tommy's support and reassurance, knowing that with his guidance and the strength of your bond with Joel, you would find a way to navigate the challenges that lay ahead.

“Of course, you will say nice things about your stupid brother,” you joked.

Tommy chuckled at your jest, the sound carrying through the quiet streets as you continued on your patrol. "Hey, he may be stubborn and thick-headed sometimes, but Joel's got a good heart," he said with a grin. "And he cares about you more than anything."

You couldn't help but smile at Tommy's words, grateful for his unwavering support and his ability to see the best in Joel, even in the midst of conflict. "Thanks, Tommy," you said sincerely, the weight of uncertainty lifting ever so slightly from your shoulders. "I appreciate it."

Tommy nodded in response, his expression filled with understanding. "Anytime," he replied, his voice laced with warmth. "We're family, after all. And family sticks together, no matter what."

As you and Tommy continued your patrol around Jackson, everything was eerily quiet, with the only sound being the subtle crunch of gravel beneath your feet. The weight of insecurity lingered in the air, but you pressed on, determined to do your job and safeguard your town.

A group of people appeared from the shadows unexpectedly, their faces hidden by the night's darkness. Your heart jumped into your throat as you understood the danger that was immediately surrounding you.

You weren't a weak person; in fact, people considered you a powerful fighter, always merciless when it was required and determined to save the ones you cared about, so your instincts kicked in and your senses heightened as adrenaline flowed through veins. Despite the suddenness of the attack, you maintained your composure, guided by your training and expertise.

Until one of them grabbed you and pinned you down, your heart raced with a mix of fear and determination. You struggled against their hold, every muscle in your body tensing as you fought to break free. Despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the grip of your assailant remained firm, their strength overpowering.

With a surge of desperation, you summoned all your strength and training, channeling it into a fierce struggle to break free. Your mind raced with thoughts of escape, of finding a way to overcome this unexpected obstacle and emerge victorious.

Beside you, Tommy fought valiantly against the other attackers, his determination matching your own as he defended against the onslaught. Though outnumbered and caught off guard, you refused to give in, clinging to the hope that help would soon arrive.

“So, you’re Joel’s Miller girl,” a feminine voice said.

The voice cut through the chaos, freezing you momentarily as you tried to recognize the mocking tone. Despite the tense situation, a surge of anger flared within you at the mention of Joel's name. You refused to let fear or intimidation weaken your resolve.

With renewed determination, you continued to struggle against your assailant's hold, your mind racing with thoughts of escape and survival. Every fiber of your being was focused on breaking free and finding a way to overcome this threat and protect yourself and Tommy.

“Tommy!” you exclaimed, worry creeping up with you.

“I’m fine!” he reassured back.

“What do you want?” You asked the girl, who is now in front of you.

The girl smirked, her eyes filled with venom as she peered down at you, pinned under her. "What do I want?" she said, her voice full of scorn. "I'd like to send a message to your dear Joel. I want him to understand that no one is safe, including his girl."

Her statements enraged your fury, but you kept calm, refusing to show any signs of weakness in the face of her remarks. "And what message would that be?" you asked, your voice steady despite what was occurring.

As she drew in closer, the girl's smirk deepened, and her eyes took on a malicious glitter. "The message is simple," she stated, her voice low and frightening. "I will take away what he loves.

the most from him, as he did with me.”

“What?” but before you could even realize what was happening, you felt a sharp pain through your abdomen.

The sharp pain ripped through your abdomen, stealing the breath from your lungs as you gasped in shock. A guttural cry of agony escaped your lips as you felt blood seeping from the wound, staining your clothes crimson.

The girl's cruel laughter echoed in your ears as she withdrew the weapon, a twisted smirk of satisfaction twisting her features. "That's the message," she said coldly, her voice dripping with malice.

You didn’t want to die here without seeing the smiles of the people you loved.

Your vision blurred as waves of pain washed over you, threatening to drag you into unconsciousness. Through the haze of agony, you fought to stay conscious, your thoughts consumed by a desperate need to survive, to make it back to Joel, to warn him of the danger that now threatened you both.

“Hey, stay with me. I’m taking you to Jackson,” Tommy said desperately, but his voice was just an echo at this time.

The world seemed to spin around you as you fought to hold onto consciousness, Tommy's voice barely registering amidst the haze of pain and confusion. Every fiber of your being screamed in agony, but you refused to succumb to the darkness that threatened to consume you.

With a herculean effort, you summoned whatever strength remained within you, clinging to Tommy's words like a lifeline. Through sheer force of will, you forced your eyes to focus, locking onto Tommy's determined gaze as he lifted you into his arms.

The journey back to Jackson was a blur of agony and desperation, with each step sending waves of pain coursing through your battered body. But with every labored breath, you clung to the hope that burned within you—a determination to survive and protect those you loved.

As the walls of Jackson loomed into view, relief flooded through you, a flicker of hope amidst the darkness. With Tommy's unwavering support, you stumbled towards safety, with the promise of medical aid and the comfort of Joel's embrace urging you forward.

As you were carried through the gates of Jackson, the weight of exhaustion and pain threatened to overwhelm you.

Tommy stepped into Jackson's doors, crying out for help as you lay practically still in his arms. The wound in your stomach was major, and he couldn't shake the thought that you would die as a result of his inability to protect you.

As Tommy stormed through the doors of Jackson, his voice buzzing with desperation, terror spread throughout the neighborhoods. People turned their heads, concerned expressions on their faces, as they saw you almost unresponsive in his arms, crimson blood covering the clothes you were wearing.

A crowd swiftly gathered around Tommy, their alarming murmuring filling the air. Tommy ignored them, focusing entirely on getting you the help you so desperately needed.

As Tommy went towards the improvised infirmary, frantic yells sounded out, requesting the medical attention they had here. His steps were heavy with guilt, and each instant seemed to last forever as he feared the worst.

Finally, the infirmary doors swung open, and a team of medics led by Jackson hurried forward to take you from Tommy's arms. They worked fast and effectively, their expressions serious as they assessed the seriousness of your injury. 

Tommy stood back, his hands quivering with terror and remorse, as he saw the doctor rush into action. He couldn't shake the notion that your condition was a result of his failing to safeguard you from harm.

Joel's heart was tight with fear when he saw a commotion near the infirmary. Without hesitation, he raced towards the crowd, his instincts screaming for him to get to you as soon as possible.

Joel's heart raced in his chest as he pushed his way through the crowd, finally arriving at the infirmary entrance. He saw you, pale and frail, in the arms of the doctors, your life hanging in limbo.

Joel moved forward without hesitation, arms outstretched, reaching for you. "No," he murmured hoarsely, terror and desperation evident in his tone. "Please, don't let her die."

The medics stepped aside, allowing Joel to take you into his arms. As he held you close, he could feel the warmth of your body against his, but it was too still, too fragile. Tears welled in his eyes as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, silently praying for your recovery.

“Hey, angel,” he murmured, finding strength in his voice. “Open those beautiful eyes of yours for me, baby, okay? Please, do it!” He continued sobbing as he caressed your hair. “I can lose everything, but not you... Oh god, not you, please?”

Joel kept holding you in his arms, preventing you from going away from him, and you could feel his touch, his care, and his voice pleading with you to stay with him. You wanted that, you wanted so bad, but the strength was dying inside you, and everything you ever knew went black.

You became a lifeless frame in the arms of your biggest love. When you stopped breathing, Joel’s heart stopped beating because, as if it was glass, it shattered.

The look of the doctor and the face of Tommy told them the truth he didn’t want to acknowledge, confirming the unthinkable: you were gone. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as Joel's world shattered around him. He clung to your lifeless form, his body racked with sobs as he struggled to comprehend the enormity of his loss.

"No, no, please," Joel choked out, his voice breaking with grief as he held you close, unwilling to accept the truth of what had just happened. Tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked, his sobs echoing in the silence of the infirmary.

For a moment, time stood still as Joel clung to you, unwilling to let go and unwilling to accept that you were gone. The world around him blurred, and the pain in his heart was too overwhelming to bear.

But as the reality of your loss settled over him, Joel's grief turned to rage, a primal, consuming fury that burned through him like wildfire. With a guttural cry of anguish, he cradled you in his arms, his body trembling with the force of his emotions.

In that moment, Joel felt as if his world had come crashing down around him, leaving nothing but darkness and despair in its wake. He had lost everything—the love of his life, his reason for living, his angel.

And as he held you close, his heart shattered into a million pieces, each one a painful reminder of the love he had lost and the life that had been snuffed out too soon. For Joel, the world had ceased to exist, consumed by the gaping void left in the wake of your passing.

He was never going to kiss you again; he was never going to hold you close at night or wake up to your smile in the morning. The future he had imagined, filled with laughter and love, now lay shattered at his feet.

A few hours later, Joel woke up in your shared bed, and you were sleeping next to him.

Joel's hand extended out to touch you, and a sense of warmth and comfort came over him. For a little while, he felt the smoothness of your skin beneath his fingertips and the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed peacefully beside him.

But then reality slammed back in like a tidal wave, yanking him from his comfortable state of sleep. His hand gripped the empty air, his fingers wrapping around nothing but chilly emptiness.

Joel's eyes opened abruptly, and he found himself lying in the dimly lit space, alone in the bed that had previously accommodated both of you. The ache in his chest returned with vengeance, a searing pang of anguish piercing his heart as he realized you were no longer alongside him.

Joel let out a deep sigh as he ran his hand through his hair, the memories of the dream still fresh in his mind. It felt so genuine and so vivid that, for a brief minute, he believed you were still alive and with him.

You were gone, taken from him in a cruel twist of fate, and no amount of dreaming could bring you back to him.

It's been a week, and he didn't attend your funeral because he was unable to accept that you were no longer alive.

Until today, when he stepped out of the house, which was surrounded by the flowers that some members of the community had left for you, and walked to your graveyard.

As Joel approached your graveyard, he felt an enormous burden settle over him—the weight of grief and loss that had been his constant companion in the days since your death. The walk appeared longer than it had ever been, with each step weighed down by the weight of his grief.

As he reached the grave, Joel's heart tightened with agony and need. The sight of the newly turned earth and the plain headstone traced your name as if it were your face. Joel's heart tightened with agony and need. The sight of freshly churned ground, with a simple monument marking your final resting place, acted as a sharp reminder of your absence.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you; I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

Tears welled in Joel's eyes as he laid a bouquet of flowers at the foot of the headstone, each bloom a silent tribute to the love and loss he felt in his heart. The scent of the flowers mingled with the earthy aroma of the graveyard, a poignant reminder of the fleeting beauty of life and the inevitability of death.

Joel's voice quivered as he spoke, every word heavy with the weight of his despair and sorrow. He kneeled near the grave, his hand resting on the cool surface of the headstone, seeking comfort in the memory of your love.

"I want you to know that it was never me who protected you, but you who protected me," Joel said quietly, his words barely audible above the delicate murmur of the wind through the trees. "You were always the one who gave me strength, who showed me what it meant to love and to be loved."

As Joel spoke, tears streamed down his cheeks, revealing his real and unadulterated grief. At that time, surrounded by the serene tranquility of the graveyard, he felt profound loss, a yawning void that could never be filled.

"But now you're gone," Joel added, his voice breaking with sadness. "And I do not know how to go on without you."

Joel rose to his feet after one final long glance at the headstone, a sensation of purpose coming over him. He may have lost you, but he promised to always carry your love with him, to respect your memory in all he did, and to find a way to move forward, even in the face of his greatest pain.

You were always in every star shining above, in the sky.

He was back in the dimly lit room, with the weight of the grief still over his shoulders, and with trembling hands, he reached for the small camera you had traded, his fingers tracing the familiar contours of the device.

As he turned it on, the screen flickered to life, illuminating the darkness with a soft glow. And there, displayed before him, was the image he had captured of your sleeping, your peaceful expression a bittersweet reminder of how simply you could make him happy.

With a heavy heart, Joel reached out, his fingertips gently tracing the patterns of your face on the screen. It was as if he could feel your presence beside him.

Tears welled in Joel's eyes as he lingered on the image, his heart aching with longing for the touch he could no longer feel. But in that moment, surrounded by memories of you, he found a glimmer of solace, a reminder that though you were gone, your love would always remain.

[esouliie]

AN ANGEL FLUNG OUT OF SPACE

(natasha romanoff x fem! reader)

– synopsis | falling in love with your childhood bestfriend might have been one of the best yet scariest things to happen to you. but what happened in the summer of ‘97? what happened to your darling natalia?

– warnings | little fluff & a lot of angst, kind of au (no avengers), child abuse, mentions of: attempted suicide, self harm, body mutilation, burn marks, severe malnourishment (18+)

– notes | this was supposed to be a oneshot but, as usual, i spiralled out of control and now it has two chapters… potentially three? merci, mon alice, for the header @wandasgf ♡

[ word count: 4.4k ] Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

JULY 1992

The sun had begun to set and yet the warmth of the day still lingered. The glow of the street lamps cast an amber hue on the pavement, outlining the familiar houses that lined the quiet street. The air was filled with the scent of summer, a blend of fresh grass and the distant fragrance of blooming flowers. In one of the houses on the street, a family gathered in their backyard for a summer evening barbecue. The smell of sizzling burgers and sweet barbecue sauce wafted through the air, and the faint laughter of children chasing each other echoed, while the adults lounged and swapped stories.

Meanwhile, across the field, two girls were beneath the sprawling branches of a willow tree. A patchwork quilt, covering a section of flattened grass, held a tea set long forgotten as they had rounded the thick trunk, the littlest one already perched on the wooden swing.

“Push me higher, Natty!” You exclaimed, voice full of glee. You were only a small girl with wild hair and a toothy grin, but your spirit was boundless.

Natalia smiled brightly, her own eyes sparkling with joy at her friend's excitement. “You’re already so high you could see the Empire State Building.” She teased, her laughter blending with the sound of chirping crickets amongst the long grass in the distance.

“I know!” The wind whipped against your face, and you couldn’t help but let out a joyous laugh.

Inseparable since Natalia moved in next door, your friendship blossomed under the protective branches of the willow tree across the street, where a swing hung proudly in the breeze. Its gentle leaves whispered secrets that only the two of you could hear, dreams of the future etched upon its bark, as unadulterated laughter rang true with its sway.

She whistled as your head swung back, the carefree spirit of the summer evening enveloping her in its warm embrace. And as she gazed up at the tree’s opening, she found twinkling stars above and the imaginary distant silhouette of the Empire State Building visible on the horizon. She couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder at the vastness of the world she had yet to see.

"Whoa, this is amazing." You shouted, feeling your stomach drop with each swoop. "Let’s swing all the way to the moon!"

“Maybe not the moon,” She pushed harder, her hands gripping the thick plank of wood beneath you, “But let’s try for the stars."

You shouted with as much euphemism as your little body could handle as the swing reached its peak. Weightless under its motion, you were suspended between the sky and the ground.

 An angel flung out of space.

 "I can almost touch the stars!"

She smiled. Despite her hands being rubbed red raw from rope burn, she was happy. She was always happy to be with you. While she had her younger sister, Yelena, whom she cared for deeply, it wasn't the same as having you. A friendship of her own creation. She yearned for the summer days when she could run around like a child with you.

“That’s good, that means you’re almost home, little star.” She shouted, her accent slipping out ever so subtly.

Carefully, your hand stretched toward the night sky – a poor attempt to touch the boiling balls of gas above.

You both were happy.

It’s sad what became of you both.

All too soon, reality intruded once more. The distant sound of a heavy door opening cut through the air, a gentle reminder that all good things must come to an end. With a final push, Nat stepped back and held onto the plank, commanding it to a halt. She knew what was coming.

At first, you didn’t notice her disappear around the wide trunk. But the gentle clink of pottery against one another told you enough as you followed in her footsteps.

“Natalia,” You whined, hands on your waist at the sight of the older girl cleaning up. “No, it’s your turn to swing.”

A whistle pierced the air, its familiar shrill sound gaining both of your attention. The sound of home time. “Natalia, come. Time to go.” Her mother’s voice carried just as loud, urging the redhead to leave playtime behind.

She turned to you, her expression softening as she looked down at your smaller frame. With a mixture of reluctance and understanding, she pulled you into a tight embrace, the warmth of her arms wrapped around you, the gentle press of her lips against your forehead lingered for a moment before she released you and ran off into the gathering dusk.

Alone now, you watched as the field fell silent, the only sound being of the insects hidden in the dark. The swing on the other side croaked gently in response to the light breeze and the redhead’s swift departure. For a moment, you considered sitting on it, perhaps pushing yourself back and forth on the points of your feet. Instead, you find yourself standing there: the absence of your best friend ever so palpable, a void that sunk deep into your bones.

Without Natalia by your side, the swing held little allure, and you decided to make your way back home. With your large basket in hand, you reached your own doorstep and paused, casting one last glance towards the girl’s house. The lights were on inside, casting a warm glow against the darkness outside.

You almost missed it, but a glimpse of red hair appeared out the window, followed by a hand waving at you. As soon as you waved back, she was gone. Window shut. Curtains drawn.

You went to bed with a cheesy grin plastered on your face.

You’ll see her again tomorrow.

--

AUGUST 1997

“Natalia, stop fighting me on this. You look like a popsicle.” You laughed and shoved the girl playfully from where you were sitting against the willow tree.

“It's cool.” She defended, as her hand tugged at her blue-dyed ends.

The years had rolled by, but the memories of that swing under the willow tree lingered on in your heart. As the seasons changed, so did your life. You made new friends, explored different interests, and navigated the tumultuous journey of adolescence. Being older than you, Natalia was already in high school, but she didn’t go to any in the district, as she was home-schooled and sometimes had to leave for a while. She never really told you why.

Even so, your bond deepened and an unspoken connection developed between you both. Under the tree's comforting shade, you discovered a warmth in your heart that went beyond friendship. Those lazy summer afternoons spent laughing, dreaming, and sharing secrets created a bond that you wanted to explore further.

You’d never felt like this before for anyone.

Only Natalia.

Life as a pre-teen was so confusing.

You snorted, “Yeah, okay, you leave for a month and come back with half of your hair a different colour.”

But it wasn't just the hair colour that captivated you. It was the way she carried herself - a wisdom wise beyond her years. She was the same goofy redhead of course - her eyes sparkled with mischief when she laughed at you, her hand held the same warmth in yours as you walked together. But there was something else lurking beneath, a sadness more notable than her usual melancholy. You noticed the slight furrow in her brow, the way her fingers tapped nervously against each other.

Something was weighing on her mind, something significant. So, you asked, “What’s wrong?”

She let out such a soft sigh that you almost missed it.

“I’m leaving.”

Dread washed over you, and a knot formed in your stomach. "Again?"

She had just returned the other day. Your mind raced with questions and uncertainty and the tears already clustered your lash line. You, a child with no need to mask her emotions, no need to hide her soul, unlike Natalia, who always seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders, her laughter always accompanied by a subtle sadness, as if she were trying to conceal her true feelings behind a façade of cheerfulness. But today, as she sat you down with a gentle tug, her eyes betraying a mixture of resolve and sorrow, you sensed that she could no longer hide what she'd been keeping inside.

"It's for good this time," she murmured, her gaze fixed on the ground as if unable to meet your eyes. "My parents want to go back to Russia. They don’t like it here.”

Though unspoken, you sensed the weight of what she meant. They don't like you. It stung, a silent acknowledgement of the barriers you've fallen blind to. The odd glances from her mother, the subtle disapproval from her younger sister—all pieces of a puzzle you've tried to ignore.

Her admission hung heavy in the air, the reality of separation sinking in with each passing moment. She drew closer, her delicate fingers brushing away the tears that cascaded down your cheeks. You lifted your gaze to meet hers, noticing the weariness etched into her features, the telltale signs of tears already shed hours before.

“I’ll miss you.” She whispered, forehead flushed against yours, before leaning down to kiss the corner of your lips. An almost kiss. One of many shared underneath the cover of the willow tree.

You tasted saltiness and noticed the fresh tears that had now sprung from her eyes.

“I'll miss you too. Forever.”

The next morning, you stood outside her house, as the sun cast long shadows over their lawn. It was your last full day together so you arrived bright and early, not wanting to waste any time. You reached out to knock on the door, but your hand hovered, hesitant. The house remained still, as if holding its breath, waiting for something that would never come. You glanced around, searching for any sign of life, but the windows stared back at you blankly, revealing nothing but darkness within.

“Natty?”

 Nothing.

A sinking feeling gnawed at your stomach as you realized they must've left in the night, slipping away like shadows fleeing from the dawn. The same way they joined this neighbourhood.

With a heavy heart, you turned away from the empty house, feeling as if a piece of your soul had been torn away with their departure. The world already seemed colder, lonelier, devoid of her warmth and laughter that once filled it.

In the days that followed, you found yourself drawn to the tree – yours and Natalia’s safe haven. You sat there, surrounded by memories, as the rope swayed in the wind - empty and forlorn. Though still magical, the willow tree could no longer shield you from the loneliness that settled in your heart, as the summer months stretched on endlessly, a blur of empty hours filled with longing and regret.

That night, you slept with a permanent frown, a puddle of tears staining your pillow.

You won’t see her again tomorrow.

--

APRIL 2001

From afar, she looked different. Almost unrecognisable.

Eighteen years old and she was here: barely an adult yet taller and slimmer, with a cascade of auburn curls framing her face that replaced the short blue hair you remembered. The years had engraved themselves onto her, carving the once-round face into a pointed visage that spoke of both experience and loss.

Just as beautiful as you remembered.

You sat on the swing under the tree with a book in hand, lost in its pages until light danced between the branches and a flicker of movement caught your attention. Glancing up, you froze as you saw her across the street.

Natalia?

Your heart quickened its pace, memories flooding back in a torrent. But this woman was different. She’d changed. She’d grown.

She noticed you too, her gaze locking onto yours for a moment. There's a flicker of recognition, a spark of something in those eyes. For a heartbeat, it feels like time hasn't passed, like you're still the same two little girls taking on the world together. But then, just as quickly as the connection formed, she averted her gaze, choosing instead to continue on her journey. She walked with purpose, footsteps marching in a steady rhythm that both connected and distanced her from you. She couldn’t get caught up with you. She had a job to do.

Realising she was going to walk away, you pushed yourself off the swing, a mix of hope and nerves swirling inside you as you discarded the book somewhere in the grass.

None of that mattered. Natalia was here. She was back.

“Hey, wait!” You shouted, practically running after her. You reached out to grab her wrist, but she jerked away, shoving you back a few steps with surprising force.

Up close, the difference was unquestionable.

The once soft and kind Natalia had evolved into a hardened version of herself, sharpened by strong fists. Her eyes once filled with innocence, now harbour shadows of pain and resilience. She exuded an aura of toughness, and a guarded silence had replaced the laughter that used to be a melody in her voice.

“Natalia? What are you doing here?” You inquired, tentatively closing the gap between you both. You watched as she winced at her name falling from your lips.

And yet, this time, she didn’t evade your touch. Her hand trembled slightly as it met yours, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. In that fleeting silence, you took in the toll life has taken on her. Her arms bear the marks of countless scars, remnants of battles fought in shadows, and bruises of varying hues.

“What happened to your arms?” Your voice is gentle, a soft inquiry borne out of concern.

But, the sudden confrontation had her retreating into herself, defences rising once more like impenetrable walls. You mustn’t know. She could never do that to you. “Let go.” She demanded sharply, her tone cutting through the air like a knife.

Caught off guard, you hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, but that’s long enough for her to decide to rip her hand out of yours, sharp and abrupt.

“Are you okay?” Your voice was barely a whisper as you watched her practically flee, disappearing around the corner of the street.

 You don’t follow her.

--

OCTOBER 2012

Funny how throughout life, fate seemed to play a game with you, pulling Natalia in and out of your orbit like a cosmic dance.

At twenty-seven, you found yourself entrenched in the fast-paced world of trauma nursing. After the arduous journey through medical school, you packed your bags and set your sights on the East Coast. New York City welcomed you with open arms, its vibrant chaos becoming the backdrop to your new life. From your boss’s office window, the silhouette of the Empire State Building stood tall, a symbol of strength amidst the chaos below.

You thrived in this environment, relishing in the opportunity to connect with and assist people in their most vulnerable moments. The adrenaline rush of the emergency room, the delicate balance between life and death—it fuelled you in ways nothing else could. Not since that summer night. Not since you tried to touch the stars.

Today, however, the hospital was enveloped in an air of secrecy and quiet urgency. Paramedics had rushed in with a new patient a few hours ago, shrouded in mystery as they were rushed straight into surgery. Usually, you're first on-site with incoming patients but you had been busy working your rounds to be able to assist, and there were enough on the trauma team – with the security clearance - to handle such a situation.

Stopping by the bedside of your oldest patient, Mrs. Dinton, you smiled sweetly. “Hey, Mrs Dinton. How are we today?”

"Ah, there you are, dearie," she said, her voice crackling with age. "I was just telling Nurse Molly here about the delightful hospital pudding they serve on Wednesdays. It's simply divine, don't you think?"

You chuckled softly, waving a hello to your colleague. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a fan, Mrs. Dinton. But I'm glad to hear you're enjoying it."

She laughed, a sound like tinkling bells. "Oh, well, means more for me then."

Before you could continue the conversation – could reprimand the elderly woman about how she needs to watch her sugar intake - Dr. Cho appeared at your side, her expression serious. "Excuse me, ladies. But, Nurse Y/N, is needed elsewhere." She says kindly but with a hint of urgency, no room for questioning. You and Dr. Cho were great friends, having graduated med school together and now working at the same hospital.

“What is it, Helen?” You asked, following her footsteps out the ward, navigating the labyrinthine hallways of the hospital.

“I’ve been assigned postoperative care for the Jane Doe and I want you with me...” Your heart dropped at the mention of the mystery woman.

All day, the hushed tones and covert glances exchanged among your colleagues hinted at the gravity of the situation. Their whispers that followed you through the hospital corridors spoke of a failed suicide attempt. While the hospital had sadly seen its share of such cases, this one was different – a Jane Doe, requiring an unusual degree of privacy.

“…while I don’t know any more than you about what happened, I trust you the most to help me with her. So I got you clearance. Go grab us a pair of gloves, I’ll meet you inside.” Helen finished with a nod before entering the private wing.

You donned your own pair of latex and made your way back to the private wing, the click of your shoes echoing down the corridor. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation and concern. The weight of the unknown pressed upon you as you approached the room where the troubled soul awaited treatment. Few years being a trauma nurse, you had seen it all… but not a Jane Doe. Never a Jane Doe.

Upon entering, you found Helen already studying the patient's chart. The subdued lighting in the room cast a sombre mood, and the machines hummed softly in the background. The Jane Doe was laid on the hospital bed, head secured in a neck brace and a tube down her throat, a silent testament to the ordeal she had endured.

“Thanks,” Helen whispered, making her way over to retrieve her gloves. "I've gone through everything in the notes. The attempt was pretty severe."

You nodded, taking in the gravity of the situation. The silence was broken only by the soft beeping of the monitors as you both began your work. Each movement was deliberate, and each procedure executed with precision and empathy. You adjusted the IV drip, checked the vital signs, and made sure everything was in order.

Sometime later, Helen had left, her pager going off as her presence was needed with another incoming patient.  The room seemed to hold its breath, but it was only you. The machine to your right, making sure the woman was still breathing.

You read over her notes once more.

“Female, 5’7…” You ramble aimlessly to no one as you find yourself unable to voice the rest.

The laceration on her neck caught your attention. The wound stretched across her delicate skin, a jagged seam where the surgeons' skilled hands had meticulously stitched the deep gash closed. The edges of the cut were puckered slightly, evidence of the trauma dealt with by the knife paramedics found next to her unconscious body. Judging by the shape, it seemed like she plunged rather than sliced, the offending weapon, then, pulled out instead of left inside. She was quite malnourished, her cheeks hollowed out, collarbone visible as the gown drowned her thin figure. She lacked a sufficient amount of muscle. You wondered how someone could go unnoticed without eating for several days. It was as if she had become a ghost, fading away in plain sight.

The woman looked ill - eyes sunken with abnormally pale skin. Drifting down her body, you noticed her legs. A horrified gasp threatened to leave your lips.  Raised red lines covered the expanse of her legs, some scabbed up, some clear burn marks that had turned into blisters. Her arms were just as bad, marred with a history of wounds that ran from her wrists to her shoulders.

Behind all the equipment, her face was almost unrecognisable. Her hair was what stood out the most, the auburn curls matted with blood. A sense of familiarity washed over you, the red striking your curiosity.

You couldn't tear your gaze away as you watched her stir. Unsure if she was waking or simply moving unconsciously, you remained still, not wanting to startle her. But then her face contorted with pain, and her lashes began to flutter open.

The sheets rustled as she tried to turn, her discomfort evident from the way she struggled against the tubes and wires tethering her to the medical machinery. You couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her, lying there in such a vulnerable state. No identity. No family to be there for her.

"Stay still, please.” You whispered softly, stepping closer to her bedside. “You're in the hospital. You’re safe."

Her eyes, clouded with pain and confusion, met yours for a fleeting moment before flickering away. She seemed to be trying to process where she was and what had happened.

“Paramedics found you unconscious and rushed you in.” You explained gently, hoping to offer some semblance of clarity amidst the chaos of her thoughts. “You had a wound to the neck. We’ve managed to close it, so don’t move around too much. Otherwise, you might open the stitches.”

Her gaze drifted back to you, and for a moment there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes. It was fleeting, gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, but it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You saw as she went to speak, only to find pain and a heavy weight against her tongue. “Careful. You shouldn’t try to speak yet. We’re not sure how much damage has been done to your vocal cords.”

As if she didn’t hear you, she continued fidgeting, fighting against the intrusion in her mouth, panic overriding.

“Hey, listen to me,” you coaxed, voice soft but firm, your hand reaching out to settle over hers, the glove long forgotten. “I need you to calm down, please. You’re going to be okay. You just need to rest your voice.”

Her eyes darted to you, wide with fear and frustration, and you squeezed her hand gently, offering what little comfort you could.

“It’s going to be alright, just take slow breaths. Focus on that.” You started to breathe deeply, deliberately, hoping she'd follow your lead. Inhale... exhale... in a steady rhythm, like waves lapping against the shore

As you continued to focus on stabilising her breathing, your eyes inadvertently met hers, and in that moment, you were drawn into the depths of those vibrant green orbs. They held a world of pain, swirling like a tempestuous storm beneath the surface. Yet, amidst the turmoil, there's a glimmer of familiarity that tugged at the corners of your memory.

There’s something about her you can’t make sense of.

 Why does she look so familiar? Who is she?

“Do I know you?” You almost asked, but then suddenly, the door to the waiting room clicked open, and Helen strode in, her expression wavering as she noticed the woman awake. “She’s awake already?!” Shock and bewilderment visible on her face.

She advanced, quickly spewing off questions in your direction, as her eyes narrowed in on the woman, assessing her condition with a quick, practised glance.

"She's awake, a little panicked about being in a hospital, but also a bit disoriented," you explained, voice calm despite the urgency of the situation. "Vitals are stable for now.”

With that, you stepped away, dropping her hand you had forgotten you were still holding, as Helen went to introduce herself. Your lunch break was coming up and before you could turn to leave the room, Helen stopped you. "Thank you for staying with her," she said softly, "There was a car accident. Two little girls rushed in for surgery. They needed me."

You nodded in understanding. You couldn’t fault her. Every day seemed to bring a new challenge, a new story, and today was no different. This Jane Doe was no different.

Before you could delve deeper into your thoughts, she interrupted, “Anyways, I’m here now and pager is off,” she drew your attention to the device in her pocket, “Boss’s order...  now go take your lunch break.”

With a small smile, you left the room, the door softly closing behind you. Walking down the hallways, your mind buzzed with curiosity about the woman. Her face – those eyes - nagged at the edges of your memory, like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

Where do I know you from, Jane Doe?

[sameheart-sameblood]

Love in the Time of Cordyceps

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: when the world ends, you promise you'll never love again. joel miller makes that rule hard to stick to

words: 7.1k

warnings: mentions of gore (pretty tame but still), swearing, sickness, angst, fluff, two dummies not realizing they love each other until one of them almost dies 🙄

a/n: this was supposed to be more angsty but then i remembered life is hard enough already. and i just want soft joel soooo here we are. also i meant to write 2k at most but boy do i love to ramble

read on ao3!

After the world goes to hell, you promise yourself you’ll never love again. A person, an animal, a place, nothing. Only a fool would choose to make themselves that vulnerable, needing every fiber of your being one hundred percent devoted to your survival and nothing more. 

Was a life without love worth living? Every time that question enters your mind, you swat it aside. It’s like a nagging fly that buzzes around you until your persistence finally drives it away completely. Of course you could live without love. You’d been doing it just fine these past fifteen years. 

Living without attachment proves useful in the new world you find yourself in. It makes the countless people you lose along the way easier to move on from. In the early days, your heart still twinges as the people around you drop like flies. Most fall victim to the bites of clickers, some to raiders’ gun, a few by their own hand. 

The first group you had travel with is filled with Midwesterners who see the terrors of the new world and still somehow have a smile and a joke for you. Their joviality can’t save them, though. Clickers swarm you one rainy night two years after the fall of civilization. The sight of Gail, a woman who reminds you of your grandmother, having her stomach ripped out by an especially voracious clicker cures you of your need for any connections to the living. 

Over the years, you make your way to the East Coast. Smiles, defiant in the face of adversity are replaced by permanent grimaces etched into the faces of everyone you meet. It seems as though every survivor has lost the ability for happiness of any kind. Good, you think, they’re finally learning. You wonder what took them so long. 

Tales of peace the Canadian wilderness has to offer reaches your ears. In your heart you know it is most likely a tall tale spread by desperate survivors. But the good thing about a zombie apocalypse is you now have nothing but time on your hands. Working your way north, if all goes well, you’ll reach Saint John by May, continue to Port Elgin and then decide if you’d try for Prince Edward Island or turn east to Nova Scotia. 

Plans are made to be broken, though, and yours, along with your ankle, break clean through one day as you make your way through Boston. It would have been over for you if not for the two survivors that find you nursing your injury in a department store that will most likely be swarming with clickers by nightfall. 

The woman, after she puts her gun away, introduces herself as Tess. The man doesn’t offer his name, preferring to keep the barrel of his shotgun pointed at you. As they argue quietly over what to do with you, you observe their faces. Both are etched hard with years of loss and worry. Even harder than your joyless face. It’s impressive albeit in a sad kind of way. 

Tess had somehow persuades the man to help you back to the Boston QZ. Joel. You hear her call him Joel. “Fine,” he had grumbles as he places your arm over his shoulder for support, “but if she scans red, I will not hesitate to put her down.” Oddly enough his threat somehow makes you almost like him. You sense a kindred spirit. Another follower of the “no love, no attachment” way of life. 

You do not, in fact, scan red and are allowed to enter the QZ. An apartment is assigned to you, a crappy little studio with faded lime green paint. The old you would have adored it, called it quirky and planned out how best to decorate it with your meager funds. The new you just appreciates a safe place to sleep. 

After your ankle heals, Tess invites you to join her smuggling scheme. Thoughts of Canada flee your mind for the time-being and you gladly welcome something to keep yourself occupied. 

“But what about the cowboy?” you ask. 

“Joel? What about him?”

Your eyebrows arch, “He threatened to shoot me.”

“Only if you were infected. Just don’t get infected.” She says it like you’re discussing the weather. 

Joel allows you into the group begrudgingly, probably because he thinks they can use you as bait or a distraction if needed. Fine. Let them label you bait. You’ve been called worse before. 

The first few months working together are tense. Joel reprimands you for the smallest mistakes and warns Tess you’ll get them all killed. At first, you bite your tongue, reminding yourself of the part he had in saving you. But one night after he scolds you for the millionth time about not checking your blind spots for clickers, you snap. “Fuck off, Joel! I survived the clickers for fifteen years. I think I know what I’m fucking doing!.”

He holds up his hands in surrender, wandering off with a hurt pout like he wasn’t the one who was just being the asshole. You wonder why your victory leaves you feeling hollow. 

After that, Joel keeps his mouth shut around you. No nagging, no “helpful” tips. Just the bare minimum of whatever he needs to convey. You’ll never admit that it hurts. You don’t have to, though. Tess, at the end of her rope, explodes one night as the three of you eat dinner in awkward silence. “Couple of fuckin’ babies I’m working with,” she seethes. “If you don’t grow up I’m finding a new crew.”

It’s decided that you and Joel will do the next supply run to Bill’s. Alone. No Tess there to act as buffer between you and him. Joel grunts at that but doesn’t argue, always deferring to your leader. The trip to Bill’s goes as well as you can ask. There are no arguments between the two of you at least. You’re sure you even see Joel crack a smile. Of course it’s when you clumsily tripped over a raised tree root…But hey, progress is progress.

With the supplies in tow and Frank’s compound behind you, you actually think this trip might be a success. A gang of raiders lying in wait to sabotage you dashes your hopes of that. They had seen the two of you lugging your supplies and thought it would be an easy win. At first, they are correct. They outnumber you and Joel in size and wickedness. The four of them aren’t content to kill you outright. They tie you up and discuss what to do with you next. 

Of course their attention quickly falls on you. The man with an ugly gash across his face leers at you. “Maybe we should keep her around awhile. She looks like fun.” Try as you might to act tough, that sends the blood rushing through your ears. 

You almost don’t hear Joel snarl at them. “You lay one finger on her and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.” The venom in his voice snaps you back to reality. While their attention is on him, you discreetly start ripping at your bonds with the little pocket knife you thankfully decided to stow in your back pocket. 

They beat Joel senseless by the time you get free. You honestly think you’re too late as you stab the goon nearest to you in the thigh, by some miracle hitting his femoral artery. The others turn to you, blindsided as you go wild at the sight of your bloodied and broken companion. Gash-Face comes roaring at you, all brawn no brains. The look of surprise as you lodge the knife in his neck makes you smile with sickening glee. 

The remaining two corner you, murder in their eyes. Your gun is just beyond them, taunting you to come retrieve it. The only “weapon” you have is the belt you’re wearing, it’s clasp heavy and silver. You undo it and swing it at the nearest man. He grabs it, cackling victoriously as he uses it to pull you closer. In their grasp, you become the target of their blows. You curl into the fetal position, angry that after all the near death experiences you’ve had, this will be the way you go out. 

A shot rings out, then another. Two thuds on the ground next to you make you open your already swollen eyes. As you look up, you realize your savior is Joel. Back from the dead. His face is covered in blood, like some kind of ghoul. But in that moment, you have never seen someone look more like an angel. The two of you limp back to the QZ where Tess nurses you as she simultaneously curses the deceased thugs. 

Joel corners you in the bathroom the next day as you study your bruised face. “You could have run,” he hisses at you, making you jump. You don’t know what he wants so you just shrug. He invades your space, making you back against the counter. “Why didn’t you run?” His voice has gone low, anger simmering just beneath the surface. 

Faces inches from each other, all you can muster is a weak, “We’re a team. I wasn’t going to leave you.”

Several emotions flicker across his face in quick succession. Anger, fear, worry and something you can’t quite put your finger on. Pride? Maybe that was you projecting but you hope you were right. Joel studies you for a moment longer, then reiterates, “Next time, you run.”

******

After that, things change. Joel is still a man of few words but the ones he does grace you with are softer and more intentional. Instead of berating you for the knowledge and skills you lack, he takes them time to teach you. He shows you how to identify fake ration cards and to spot the kind of guard you can bribe. Nights are spent with you following behind him like a shadow as he shows you all the secret ways in and out of the QZ. When your hands shake during target practice, he places his calloused ones over yours. It steadies your hands but frays your nerves, threatening to awake a feeling long thought dormant. 

It goes both ways. Joel lacks attention to detail in certain situations and you show him how to read people and ascertain their flaws that can be exploited. During your runs you point out the flora that can be consumed safely or used as medicine. At Flynn’s, the only bar in the QZ, you teach him how to play pool. An essential to survival? No. But it sure helps you win a huge stash of ration cards from your fellows survivors. It also gives you an excuse to sidle up behind him and mold your body around his, all in the name of helping him get the “proper pool stance.”

Your excuses to fleetingly touch one another became more and more common. They are all perfectly innocent but carry the weight of something elicit, at least to you. Joel is never one to give away his innermost thoughts, happy to wear a permanent poker face. For all you know he couldn’t care less about you. Maybe he just knows keeping you alive is good for business and that’s why he takes a particular interest in making sure you’re safe. Whatever the reason, you hope he never stops. 

******

During one supply run, a torrential thunderstorm forces you to spend the night at Bill and Frank’s. You know it makes Joel nervous to be indebted to anyone for such hospitality but you can’t hide your glee. A night there means a cozy bed and a hot shower, something hard to find in your home where the water runs tepid at best. 

Afterwards spending way too long in the bathroom, you curl up in your bed, toasty and content, only to find sleep won’t not come. Your hosts are dear to you, even the grumpy Bill, but their snoring through the wall you share makes hopes for a deep sleep impossible. 

After an hour of tossing and turning, you decide to go make your bed on the couch. As you tiptoe down the stairs you run into Joel, on his way up . “Going somewhere?” he drawls, exhaustion making his voice deeper than usual. You shrug, “Couldn’t sleep. There are two buzzsaws in the room next door.”

Joel chuckles, “I’ve had that room before. Can’t say it was the best night of sleep I’ve ever had.” You lived for these little snippets into Joel’s life before you came around, always eager to hear more. But the trek to the house through never-ending sleet and over the turbulent river left you more tired than you had felt in years. Right now all you want is to get where you could pass out immediately. “I’m just gonna make camp on the couch,” you say, stifling a yawn. 

Joel shakes his head. “You take my room. The couch is good enough for me.” This man. Hadn’t anyone told him chivalry is dead. You sigh tiredly and beckon for him to come back up the stairs with you. “It’s a big bed. We can share.” There is silence behind you where there should have been footsteps. Joel’s smile disappears as his forehead creases in thought. “Please,” you pout, “I can’t sleep in my room and I won’t get any rest knowing you’re crammed on that dainty little loveseat.”

It takes far more coaxing than it should but finally Joel gives you a little nod and follows you into his - your - room. You gesture to the bed, “Care which side you get?” Joel thinks, then shrugs. “Left is good.” You flop onto the right side, eyes immediately drooping shut. Once again, there is no movement from your companion. Without opening your eyes, you chide him, “If you’re gonna be weird and watch me sleep all night then you can go sleep on the couch.” That got him moving again. 

The sound of the shower turning on lulls you to a sleep that is disturbed only when you feel the dip of the bed several minutes later. You watch through barely opened eyes as Joel does a strange shimmy under the covers. It’s clear he’s trying his best not to wake you. The sight makes you laugh softly and his head whips to you. 

“Thought you were asleep,” he murmurs. 

You hum, “I was. You woke me up.” 

It’s meant to be a joke but Joel grimaces. “Sorry.”

The sight is sweet and your heart flips, his frown making him look almost boyish. “It’s ok. It’s your bed.” 

As you burrow into your cocoon of blankets, Joel props himself up, a pillow behind his back. He looks from you to the bedside lamp and back again. “You mind if I read for a few minutes?” 

That surprises you. In all your time together you had rarely seen Joel do something just for the pleasure of it. There was usually no time. But Bill and Frank’s is a sanctuary and even the hyper-vigilant Joel Miller is able to slow down here. You nod enthusiastically, perking up. “What are you reading?” 

It’s like you had asked him what his darkest secret was. He reddens, then finally grabs a book from the table. Pride and Prejudice. He stammers, “It’s just…I never had a lot of time for reading before and this was a favorite of…it was a favorite of somebody I knew.”

“You can read out loud to me if you want,” you offer with a grin. Honestly it was half in jest and half a serious hope. It had been decades since anyone had read aloud to you. Joel, always thinking you were making some sort of fun of him, smirks sarcastically. “Not a chance.” 

Your glower slowly melts away at the sight of him putting on his reading glasses and settling in. Silently you curse as you feel your hardened heart crack just the tiniest bit. Idiot that you are, you try to talk yourself out of your own feelings. You aren’t attached to Joel. How could you be? He’s just a handsome, rugged man who keeps you safe and reads Jane Austen in his spare time. Maybe some lesser fool would fall for him but not you. No, sir.

The next morning, you find yourself curled into him, chest pressed against his back and arm draped over his side. Like a bomb diffuser, you carefully try to extricate yourself from the position, every movement slow and precise. Joel, still asleep, lazily grabs your hand, keeping your arm around him. He sighs contentedly as you settle back down and you swear under your breath, nestling your head at the crook of his neck. You are so that lesser fool. 

******

The thunderstorms of summer give way to the pleasant days of autumn. Those good days don’t seem to last long enough. You should have appreciated them more while they were there but so is the way of being human. 

Winter in Boston isn’t fun. Ok that’s an understatement. It makes you long for the soul-sucking, never-ending Midwestern winters you had lived through for most of your life. There is something about being next to the ocean that makes everything feel colder. 

The nights are especially hard, the wind seeping through the cracks in the walls of your apartment. No matter how many blankets you tuck around yourself, your body never truly feels warm. Runs to Bill’s or anywhere outside the QZ become less frequent and more difficult. Only those deemed truly necessary are attempted and even then there is always a long discussion beforehand weighing out the pros and cons. 

Runs between the months of November and January are too risky and after much debate, it  is decided you three would lay low in the relative safety of the QZ. In the meantime, you’d assess your stockpile, make connections over the radio and wait for the spring thaw. With less food smuggled in from the outside, you decide to put your energy into earning ration cards. Even though no one could argue you don’t pull your weight in the group, you often feel like the weak link. Making sure Tess and Joel have a hot meal every night is the least you could do. 

Joel had always told you to stay away from sewer work. It paid double what the other jobs did but at a high risk. Besides not being able to wash the stink off for days, the tunnels under the city were treacherous. Many had gone down there only to be blindsided by a stray clicker or jumped by a loner who made their home away from society up above. Some just got lost in the labyrinth, never to be heard from again. Or at least you had been told. You hoped those were just myths. 

You and three other desperate souls are sent down to the sewers with the task of clearing the rubble from a recent cave in. A hard day’s work definitely but you were optimistic that you could get it done in a few hours time and be on your way.

The first few hours go well, the biggest pieces of the concrete being cleared easily enough. Your back aches and callouses quickly form on your palms. But still, all of that you can deal with, mollifying yourself with the thought of the stack of ration cards you’ll proudly gift to Joel and Tess. 

Maybe if you hadn’t been daydreaming you would have heard the shouts of your fellow volunteers sooner. Finally coming back to reality, you move just in time to avoid another piece of falling rock. You save yourself from being crushed but lose your footing, coming down hard on your shin. 

A stream of bright blood instantly trickles from the gash and you swear as you try to keep the tears that spring to your eyes at bay. Wanting to prove yourself, you brush off your group’s insistence that you go get it checked by the doctor. It doesn’t matter if you complete ninety percent of your shift. You still don’t get your payment if you leave early. So you suck it up for another hour, slogging through the muck as you finish the job. It’s fine, you tell yourself, it’s just a scratch. You’ll wash it off when I get home and be good as new. 

With the job done and ration cards tucked away in your pocket, you hobble back towards your apartment. The thought of a shower, as lukewarm as it will be, is the only thing keeping you upright. That is until you feel someone putting your arm around their shoulder. Joel helps you the few blocks to your house, his icy silence hurting you more than the cut that now throbs with every jostle. 

It’s only after you get inside and are deposited on the couch that Joel speaks. He rolls up the leg of your jeans, cursing as he sees the already festering wound. “I told you to stay out of the sewers.” 

You suck in a pained breath as he starts wiping away the dirt. “I’m fine. It’s just a little cut. Besides, it was worth it,” you pull out the stack of ration cards and present them to him proudly. The sight gives him pause. But the look on his face isn’t one of gratitude, it’s worried exasperation. His signature grimace returns, “It’s not worth it if you lose your leg.” And people claim you’re dramatic. 

Pushing him away with a shoo, you rise, limping to the bathroom. “I just need a shower. Then I’ll be right as rain.” As you peel off your now ruined clothes, Joel hovers on the other side of the door. “I can hear you pacing,” you call over the sound of the warming shower. 

Even through the almost closed door you can hear Joel sigh. “I just think we should take you to the doc. Make sure you’re alright.” The water hitting you makes you audibly moan, the filth on your body washing down the drain and with it, the memory of the hard day. You appreciate the concern but all you want to do know is forget about the day. You call out to a still pacing Joel, “I’m fine. You worry too much!”

******

It turns out Joel worries the right amount. Of course he does. As eager as you are to forget about your day, it’s not long before you can’t ignore your leg. The wound is an angry red and the area around it has swollen, leaving it tender and throbbing. Thankfully you have Joel there to dress it because, honestly, you can’t stomach the sight of it. These past years have been filled with much blood and gore at your own hands. But there’s something different when it’s your own blood. 

In any other circumstance you would have reveled in the feeling of Joel holding your leg so tenderly, his fingers brushing against your skin as he wraps the bandage around you. It would have driven you insane seeing him crouched in between your legs as he is now. But at the moment all you can think about is how you much pain you’re in. 

You try not to show your discomfort, but your poker face is nonexistent. Joel’s eyes flick up to yours as you slowly exhale, trying to keep calm. Avoidance has always been one of your favorite tactics when dealing with uncomfortable situations so you pipe up, overly perkily, “See? All better. Now about those ration cards, I was thinking for dinner-“ 

Joel rolls his eyes, standing with a groan, his knees audibly cracking. “The only thing you’re gonna do tonight is rest.”

You slowly turn your body to prop your leg up on a pillow as he watches. Pouting has never worked on Joel but you figure it never hurts to try. “I still have to eat,” you mope. 

“You will. I’ll open a can of soup or something.”

The disappointment is real and bubbles to the surface quicker than you realized it would. “I just wanted us all to have a nice dinner. You and Tess do so much and I feel like…” Thinking how you feel is different from saying it out loud and you have to psych yourself up. Joel’s softening gaze helps you continue. “I feel like I’m useless. I just thought this was one thing I could do to really contribute.”

The silence between you feels heavy as you avoid his stare. Finally, he speaks, confusion contorting his features, “Of course you contribute. We wouldn’t have kept you around if you hadn’t.” It’s meant to make you feel better but it doesn’t, especially in your current laid up state. 

“So are you going to get rid of me if I’m no longer useful?” you gesture at your leg, feeling your eyes beginning to sting with tears. 

Joel sits down next to you. Your fear has made you defiant and you meet his gaze, wanting to fight. But Joel speaks in a soft, level voice, as if teaching a child a lesson. “First of all, you’re going to get better. You just need to be patient. Second, you’re thinking there’s only one kind of way to be useful.”

“I can’t shoot like you two can. I can’t fight. I can’t threaten people into getting what I want. I can go on runs and earn ration cards. That’s it. I’m too soft for anything actually important.” 

Joel frowns, “You say that like it’s a bad thing. ‘Being soft’ in a world like this is an act of defiance. It’s brave as hell. What you consider important? I don’t want that for you.”

Warmth spreads through your chest as you observe him. He’s trying so hard to find his next words, to make you believe his truth. “Me and Tess, we let the world harden us more than it needed to. It was easier that way. But having you around reminds us there’s still innocence and good out there.”

The angry tears have turned to ones of gratitude. The sentiment is too much for you, unused to such vulnerability from Joel. You give him a small smile and he returns it, leaning over to wipe a tear off your cheek. “You’re useful just being you.”

While you still wish you matched Joel and Tess’ levels of badassery, the conversation helps ease your mind. You might not think much of your survival skills but you remind yourself that you’ve stayed alive in a world that wants you dead. Fifteen years you’ve been fighting and surviving and that’s nothing to look down on. 

“And for what it’s worth, “ he adds, “you scared the hell out of me the first time we met.”

You grin at him, shocked, “Really?”

He nods, smirking cheekily, “Really. Still do sometimes.”

******

Joel heats up a can of tomato soup for you to share. You try not to think of how old it must be as he prepares it. But actually, it’s not bad, the taste reminding you of your childhood. 

It also helps that you’re sharing it with someone you care about. A part of you hates that how easily you’ve let him into your heart. The one thing you swore off all those years ago is now all you can think about as you watch him sitting across from you, ladling out the steaming liquid. 

He catches you staring and breaks the silence, “Were you even going to tell me you got hurt today if I hadn’t run into you.” The fuzziness of your feelings for him makes your brain a little mushy and instead of having a grownup conversation, you reply with a childish, “No, I thought I’d let it be a soup-rise.” 

Joel rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. You chuckle and continue eating your rapidly cooling dinner. You sober up a bit and add, “The extra ration cards will be good, though. Right?” 

He nods, “Yeah. I think it’s soup-er.” His eyes flick up to yours as they crinkle, the only sign that he finds himself amusing. 

After dinner, Joel excuses himself to go work his overnight shift. When he leaves and you’re left along, the throbbing in your leg returns with a vengeance along with a mild fever. Your usually chilly apartment now feels stuffy and you have to remove all of your layers except your t-shirt to be even somewhat comfortable. 

Worry creeps in as you sit there, alone and increasingly unwell. You long for the company of Joel or Tess, anyone to reassure you that you’re fine. But you’re alone and the dark thoughts creep in, whispering in your ear that whatever is brewing is not good. Unsure of what else to do, you slip in to bed, hoping that whatever this is will be better by morning. 

******

You don’t wake for two days. Or at least, you have no real memory of the past 48 hours. Later, when the worst is over, Joel will tell you the details of that lapse in your memory. He’ll recount how you faded in and out of consciousness, sometimes submitting to your fever for so long that he wasn’t sure you were coming back. His voice will waver as he remembers how bad it got and how fragile you looked…

But for now, he stays by your side, foregoing his own health to make sure you stay alive. The first thing you remember is waking up to the sounds of Joel and Tess arguing in hushed tones. 

“We need to get her to a doctor. Now.” Joel’s voice sounds strained, like he’s trying desperately not to lose it. 

Tess still maintains her signature composure. “We can’t, Joel. It’s too late for that.”

Joel must make some kind of face because Tess sighs and re-words. “It’s too late to take her in because if we bring her to the hospital all they’ll focus on is her fever. They’ve put people down for way less. You know that.”

In your addled state, you wonder who they’re talking about. Your throat hurts to much to speak up though and ask. 

“The doc will give us the meds. We’ve bribed him before.” 

Tess shakes her head, “Antibiotics are on lockdown. Shipments have been delayed because of the weather. No one gets any without FEDRA knowing. Breaking in guarantees we get caught. We’re no good to her dead. ”

Joel scoffs, “So what do you suggest we do?”

“She rides it out.”

“She’s been ‘riding it out’ for two days. Look at her,” Joel’s voice gets closer as he peers down at you, “she’s fighting but she’s losing.”

Oh. Fever may have taken hold of you, making your brain fuzzy and concentration near impossible, but you understand now that you are the subject of their argument. For Joel to sound so forlorn you must look bad. 

If you’re dead soon, you want to let them know to leave it and just let you slip away. Your well-being means nothing if it puts them in unnecessary danger. Rule be damned, they’re your family now and you care about them. If you’re being honest, you’ve cared about them since you met them. It breaks your heart thinking you won’t be able to tell them that now. It nearly kills you right then and there to know you won’t get the chance to tell Joel you love him…

Opening your mouth to articulate all of that takes great effort and when you do try and speak, all that comes out is a strangled groan. The two rush over, Tess sitting down beside you. She takes your hand, an uncharacteristic show of tenderness. Yep, you’re dying. 

“You’re ok, kid,” she whispers, “you just have to hang in there.” It would be easy to ignore reality and blindly trust her. But you’ve always been stubborn and so you shake your head and continue trying to speak. Again, nothing comes out but garbled nonsense as you writhe around trying to make your limbs do what your brain wants. 

You must look a sight because Joel lets his anger overflow. “Maybe you can sit here and watch her die, but I can’t.”Heavy footsteps and Tess yelling are all that you can focus on as you fade back into oblivion. 

******

Living is hard and unconsciousness is addicting. Peaceful and cozy are feelings you can scarcely remember having. It would be easy to stay in that enveloping darkness but the feeling of the back of someone’s hand on your clammy forehead pulls you back to the realm of the living. You grumble weakly as you’re made to come to. 

Everything is painful. Stabbing jolts of electricity radiate up your leg from the cut. Your chest is tight, making breathing troublesome and your eyes can barely stand the dim, watery sun coming through the shades of the window. Someone places a damp cloth on your forehead to keep the fever at bay. Still out of it, you try and swat it away. 

A gentle hand grabs yours, shushing you. “It’s alright. It’s only me.” 

Joel. Maybe you have died and this is heaven. The man you love by your side, nursing you so tenderly. It’s more than you could have ever hoped for. This might be the afterlife believers talk about if only you weren’t in so much pain. The neurons in your brain begin firing more rapidly as your fever dies down. They remind you that you and Joel aren’t lovers. Your cowardice, disguised as intelligence, has kept you from telling him how you feel. 

“What’s happening?” Your voice comes out croaky and soft but at least it’s intelligible. The bed dips as Joel moves closer to you. As you peer up through barely opened eyelids you can see him leaning over you. His tired eyes look down at you as he caresses your hair. 

“You got real sick, honey. That cut you got festered and turned into a fever. We thought we were gonna lose you.” The slight falter in his voice makes your already tight chest contract. 

“How long was I out?”

“Three days. We got you some meds, though. You’re gonna be ok.” He says it firmly, which does some good in easing your worry. 

Trying to open your eyes a bit more you continue your questioning, “Where did you get the antibiotics from?”

Joel hesitates, “Bill and Frank had some.”

You try and sit up, angry that he made that trip and put himself in danger. Even now, you can see the snow whipping around outside your window. Knowing he made the trek there and back through that storm makes you curse. Joel tuts and puts a gentle hand to your chest, keeping you down and resting. 

“It’s done. No use getting angry about it now.”

You glare up at him even though you’re really just upset with yourself. “Why would you do something so stupid?”

His smiles peacefully down at you, exhausted but eyes bright. “We’re a team, remember?”

It’s too much for you to handle. You cover your face just in time to hide the angry, relieved and grateful tears that spring to your eyes. Silent sobs wrack your frame, making you seize with pain. 

Joel pulls you into him, shushing you as he resumes stroking your hair. You hide your face in his side, trying to regain your composure. Crying shouldn’t be something you feel the need to earn. But you’re all sorts of broken, so you take this rare opportunity to not judge yourself and weep with abandon. You almost died, for Christ’s sake. Surely that warrants some show of emotion.

After a few minutes, the tears stop and your breathing calms. Peeking up, you see Joel has his eyes closed. His face is the most serene you’ve seen it in ages, most of the worry lines softened. There’s still a few that refuse to relax, though. The crease in between his eyebrows remains stubbornly indented. You gaze up at him as he continues to run soothing patterns along your back. 

Feeling the weight of your stare, he opens his eyes. Coward that you are, you glance away. “Thank you,”is all you can mumble out as he gazes at you. After a moment, you add a shy, “I would do the same for you. You know that, right?”

Joel pulls you gently into him, almost to remind himself you’re still here with him and that the danger has passed. He nuzzles into your hair, murmuring an affectionate“I know, honey. I know.”

******

After a few more hours and another dose of antibiotics, you begin to feel more like yourself. Joel still won’t let you get out of bed yet, except for a trip to the bathroom for a quick shower. Even though you’ve been dead to the world for much of your ordeal, you’re quickly getting bored with bed rest. But you’ve learned long ago that resistance is futile with Joel. So you shower like a good patient, scowling as the water hits your scabbing cut. 

Once you finish, Joel hops in and washes the grime and worry of the past three days off. As you settle back in bed, you can hear him singing softly to himself. Through the patter of the water you can hear his soft rendition of Fleetwood Mac’s Songbird. It’s one of your favorites, too, and you hum along as you settle back into your pillow. 

After a few minutes, sleep still won’t come. You toss and turn as Joel finishes getting ready for bed. He comes in to find you still awake. “I thought I told you to get some sleep.” He says it like a loving mother gently scolding their rebellious child. 

You flail as you try and get comfortable. You shoot back a moody, “But I’m just not tired.” Joel chuckles as he sits down into the arm chair next to your bed. He smooths back his wet hair and gives you a faux stern look. “Your body’s been through a lot. You need rest.”

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

Joel looks confused, wondering what he did wrong. “Sorry I just thought I’d sleep here tonight in case you need anything. I can leave, though.” 

“No!” you yell out, completely abandoning any hope of looking cool. You give him an apologetic smile, “I want you to stay but you’re not sleeping in that chair one more night.”

Joel glances to the spot on the bed beside you, then looks to you for confirmation. He sighs, a smile playing at his lips. “If I stay will you promise to go to sleep?”

You nod very seriously. “Of course.”

Joel grins, knowing you too well to believe you. “Liar,” he chuckles but still gets up and makes his way to the other side of the bed. You pull back the blankets so can get in, then cover him up. Settling on your side, you watch as he suddenly looks lost, unsure of what to do now. It’s cute, this powerful man rendered helpless by something as innocuous as sharing a bed. 

You can’t help but laugh at him and he looks down at you, eyes wide. Taking pity on him, you make a suggestion. “If you’re not tired you could read to me.” Joel opens his mouth to refuse but you blurt out a quick, “I did almost die, you know.” He glares at you but his lip quirks up. He grabs the book from the other room then flops back down in bed, opening to a spot in the middle. 

Frowning, you reach out to touch Joel’s arm. “Do you mind starting from the beginning?” He rolls his eyes but flips back to the first page. You grin triumphantly as you settle into his side. Joel places his arm around your shoulder as he begins to read. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife…” 

His southern drawl mixed with the Romantic Era style of writing makes for an amusing but  pleasant combination. After a few chapters, your eyes get heavy and Joel feels you nodding off against him. Jane has just been invited to Netherfield Park but even that can’t keep you awake. Joel puts the bookmark in to save your spot and places the novel on your bedside table. 

You grumble in weak protest as he tucks you in and turns off the light. “We can keep reading tomorrow. But right now you’re going to sleep.” Joel lies down beside you and with the pale light of the moon through your curtains you can see him studying you. He caresses your face and you close your eyes, delighting in the sensation. 

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he whispers. 

You force your eyes open, needing him to see the truth of it when you pledge a soft,“I won’t. I mean it.”

Joel nods gratefully and you reach out for him. He slides into your arms and you rest your chin on the top of his head. He’s watched over you for long enough. It’s your turn to take care of him and reassure him that, in this moment, you both are safe. 

For most, an outright admission of affection is needed to understand how you feel about the other person. But you and Joel are cut from the same cloth, stubborn and slow to reveal your feelings. In this world, for people like you, ’I love yous’ are rare and replaced with actions and deeds. 

You realize that even though you've never told Joel that you love him, you’ve shown it. Joel has been showing you all this time too and you were just too dull to realize it. While you know you’ll long to say the words to him soon, for now it’s enough to have him in your arms. 

Joel’s breathing deepens and you feel him completely give himself over to sleep. Looking at his face bathed in the moonlight he looks like a new man. His edges soften and his vulnerability brims to the surface. It tugs at your heart and you understand how rare of a sight this is for Joel to allow anyone to see. 

Smiling sleepily, you close your eyes and nestle into him. This feeling coursing through you is something foreign but familiar, an old friend you thought you had said your final goodbye to long ago. The love you have for Joel will leave you vulnerable. But it’s a price you’re willing to pay a thousand times over. 

******

[kaicubus]

All That You Want | Hantengu Clones

This is a choose your own path style fanfiction!! At the end of this post there will be four links with descriptions of where you want to go, and what character you’ll end up reading about. All of these outcomes are 18+ so readers beware.

cw : mentions of killing, actual killing, cursing, demon slayer activities.

Art by Mdwyer5 on DeviantArt

You are a hashira. You reside amongst the strongest team of swordsmen that have been trained for years to put an end to all demon kind, no matter how vile, disgusting, big or small, the creatures can be. It is your duty and purpose to kill each and every single one.

At first, you had joined the Demon Slayer Corps to find out who you wanted to be in life. While others had their own personal motives, yours was somewhat introspective and thoughtful, not wanting to cause any disruption in the peace that was unknowing to your peers. You tended to float around quietly, observing everyone as they planned, trained, and feasted with everyone else, making memories and laughing with each other.

A part, no, every part of you wanted that. But even when you had passed all the tests and gained your title as a hashira, you still felt like a lowly swordsman and nothing else. You had thought there was just a few more tasks that needed to be done in order to find your own personalized breathing technique that each other hashira possessed. Some unbeatable task never done before.

Everyone had always made light of the situation to help boost your spirits, but it always reminded you that no matter how anyone looked at you, they would always pity you. With no breathing style, there was a severe disadvantage and low chance of you actually fighting the demons your fellow hashiras slayed. This time was different though.

Over the past few days, you had overheard one of your fellow hashiras talking about a demon of the twelve kizuki, a hierarchical ranking of only the most strongest demons. More specifically, the fourth Upper Moon. Hantengu. From what you know, Hantengu is a demon that holds great power, despite keeping the appearance of an old, frail man, with a growing bulge on his forehead. His blood demon art enables him to split himself into individual clones of himself and create entities that represent four main emotions : rage, pleasure, joy, and sorrow. Each of them hold their own incredible power through their thoughts and feelings of the main body, Hantengu, or the cowardly emotion of fear. You didn’t know how his demon blood art was activated, but there was only one way to find out.

No other hashira has worked their way up to meet or even seen the fourth Upper Moon, but not even the strongest of your peers were quick enough to act as you did.

There was only one way to prove to them that you are worthy of your status as a fellow hashira, and only one way to finally find your breathing technique, alone, and on your own. That was to find Hantengu and slay him, all of him.

The journey itself proved to be long and boring, as per usual. Yet you refused to think of anything other than Hantengu. Nothing else could take your attention off your sword, all the sharp edges that could seamlessly cut through any demons flesh. It was unbreakable, and it’s never met it’s match before. If Hantengu is who everyone says he is, be heading him would be easier than any task you’ve had, you’re confident.

When you arrive to Hantengu’s hidden location, you’re able to sneak in quietly and quickly, practically merging with the shadows. A faint smell of dust and mothballs fills your senses, an indication of just how untouched the rest of the area must be besides the single room Hantengu would be hiding in. Your eyes follow the ceiling and trace the walls above and you start to search for the demon, not making any sound as you do so. To catch him off guard would give you an even better advantage that you already had, but your element of surprise almost always goes undetected.

You start walking around and looking in possible rooms he could be in, and after a few minutes of searching, you let out a deep sigh and come to the conclusion that Hantengu isn’t here and you wasted your time.

That was, until you stood face to face with Hantengu himself, or what at least appeared to be a miserable, frail demon—fitting his description perfectly. He’s crouched and hiding…under a table? You knew what he was capable of, but looking at the heavy lidded eyes of an emaciated entity, you can’t help but feel pity on it. Just like you’ve done for yourself for so long.

Taking a step forward, your feet glide against the bamboo flooring, crunching down on the thin material. Hantengu, now aware of your presence, skitters backwards and falls on his back. The sight makes you cringe. He sounds like bones clattering. His greasy, shoulder length hair appears to be thinning, and his sad head seems to be deprived of all hair follicles.

You hold your ground. Surely, this had to be Hantengu’s true form. The cowardly nature of such a miserable creature fits how he’s described, but you can’t help but wonder how he’s capable of such power.

He’s covered in veins and wrinkles and his horns are barley larger than the diameter of his arms. If you blew on him, he would vanish.

“What…What are you doing here…you…human?” He sounds unsure of himself, still, his voice squeaking and breaking as if he hasn’t spoken in years.

“My name is Y/n, I know exactly who you are Hantengu.” You point an accusing finger at the shivering demon. He instantly falls to his face and bows his head.

“I know of no such thing! I’m innocent! Completely innocent! You can’t take me away! I did nothing wrong!”

Your eyes flutter as you’re taken off guard. “Uhm. Woah, calm down. This won’t hurt. Jeez…”

Hantengu looks up from his vein clustered hands, pointing a slender finger towards you, “It’s hashiras like you who made me! You! You’re responsible for this! Look at me!” He lurches forward but steps on his black kimono and trips on the throbbing bump on his forehead. He makes a muffled ‘ouch!’ sound and tries getting up, but gets stopped when he realizes his horns pierced through the flooring.

“Just…answer me. Why are you here?” Hantengu plucks himself from the bamboo floor and hunches his back into a protective shell-like posture, almost like a loafing cat, all for security.

“Hantengu of the fourth Upper Moon, I’m sorry, but I have to—“

Suddenly, he cries out, “I don’t wanna die! I don’t wanna! I was hiding from you demon slayers! Why did you go and have to find me! I didn’t do anything wrong!!!”

Your eyebrow twitches. “You’ve taken multiple innocent lives, feasted on their flesh and blood, and now you’re hiding because you’re too scared to admit what you’re doing is wrong. Really fucked up. Don’t you know, or have any bit of consciousness left inside you to know that?”

“No!” He shouts but scurries back into a wall, “I don’t know what you’ve heard but it’s not right! Don’t accuse me of something I didn’t do! That’s wrong! You’re the villain here!”

“I’m no villain!”

“Yuh huh.” Hantengu covers his face with his hands and hides, “You’re trying to kill me!”

“No! Well, yes! But—“

“HA! See! You’re trying to kill me!”

You let out a loud groan that spooks the demon, “I’m going to kill you because all I want is to be someone! I’m not letting you stand in my way of getting what I want.”

He stares at you with his sunken in, red eyes, and through his prominently downward placed eyebrows. “Well, that’s a selfish reason.”

“IT’S NOT!” You stomp your foot and Hantengu screeches, lifting his arm protectively over his face. “I’ll make it quick. This has gone on long enough and you’re fucking annoying.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You’re so fucking old but you act like a child. Having a tantrum like this, you’re a coward!”

“You act like a child. You’re a coward!”

Hantengu’s mocking pushes off you the edge of insanity. To the point where you can’t take it anymore, he keeps whining and begging for his life, shaking and shivering with the fear that embodies his entire existence. Your head starts to spin.

“Enough! Enough! STOP IT!” You grab onto your sword tighter and fix your stance, “You’re so annoying!”

“No!” He chokes on his tears and coughs, hacking phlegm and saliva onto the tips of your shoes, “I’m not! You are! You aren’t leaving me alone!”

“That’s because—you know what.” You stop talking and bow your head, tilting the nichirin blade of your sword lower down to the demon, “Hantengu of the twelve Upper Moons, rest easy now and don’t ever come back.”

You quickly approach Hantengu, clutching your sword handle in your curled fists. The blinding blade flashes the demons fearful reflection into his eyes and glistens yours on the other side. He opens his mouth to beg for his life one last time, but by the time you see his teeth, the job is already done.

With a swift slice of your sword, you deliver a clean cut blow to the middle of Hantengu’s neck. Just like you trained to do. Seeing all his blood spill out of his neck and head felt good, relieving to say the least since you won’t be able to hear the squeaky, whiny voice of him ever again. His blood paints the walls and every surface it can touch, demon blood soaking the withered bamboo flooring and paper doors. You almost felt bad for making such a mess.

But, when you think it’s finally done and over, suddenly Hantengu’s head smacks against the floor and bounces up, making a disgusting ‘splat!’ sound before remaining afloat in air, giving enough room for his demon blood art to begin.

Hearing all the bones crackling and breaking sends shivers down your spine, squishing and squelching sounds emitting from Hantengu’s new slowly forming body. Unable to look away, you’re forced to watch as a new entity sprouts and grows, rather quickly, from seemingly nothing. Only this time, it was no where near as weak as Hantengu was. This time, the demon forming and standing in front of you was nearly twice your height, and from what you can tell, dressed in nothing but black hakama pants, stronger horns and closed eyes.

That’s all you manage to see before your instincts come in and you start running. Where to? You decide.

> Up the mountains, hopefully fast enough he won’t catch you.

> Into the forest, where you can hide behind the trees to catch a breath.

> Into an open area, where you can have all sorts of ranges and motions.

> Out into a flower field, where hopefully you’ll have an advantage that gives you an upper hand.

[bubblegumspacebxtch]

Melting the Dragon's Heart

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: They say opposites attract but can profound differences really find it in them to love?

Warnings || angst but then fluff at the end

A/N: I haven't written in so long, but this man has forced me out of hiatus because he's just so dreamy. The murdering, white-haired menace that is Aemond Targaryen does things to me so naturally I had to write this long ass fic. I know it's long but I couldn't help it really. Also I was in the mood for some angst so that's that lol

------------

As the saying goes, hearts unalike are those most drawn to one another. Aemond thought it a ridiculous belief. He could not fathom it were possible for gentle and kind to love cold and cruel.

He was aloof and indifferent. Prince Aemond curated an image that made even the most proud of lords hesitate to interact with him. Complementary to his nature was his looks. The man stood tall and firm with his chin often upturned as if to reiterate his high status. His scowl seemingly permanent like the scar that ran across his face. Many fear what lay underneath his eyepatch that even having it covered leave people wary of the Targaryen prince.

Though he was not always this ironhearted, the young prince knew that love was an illusion and marriage a duty. Aemond believed only his mother could love him and even she could not do so fully. To some extent he understood why love for the likes of him would always sound ridiculous. Because it was far better to be feared than loved. And no one could love a monster like him.

You had.

You who is pure and spirit bright. You who is social and could sympathize with anyone regardless of status.

You were Aemond Targaryen’s antithesis. Your humility and generosity knew no bounds. Unlike the prince’s seriousness, you were lighthearted. You believed in love and never hesitated to love who you could.

Not only in nature were you and the prince contrary to one another, but also in looks. You were small and would often need to look up in order to maintain eye contact when conversing. Your head of curls the color of ink as opposed to the renowned white of the Targaryen bloodline.

You grew up with Aemond and his siblings seeing as you were the lady-in-waiting to his sister Helaena. You often left the young prince wondering how such goodness could be possessed by an individual, especially given your circumstance.

Being an orphaned bastard of House Westerling, you’ve learned to bury the pain brought by the judgment of others. You have swallowed many vile insults and hate, but never had you let it harden your heart. Your mother died in childbirth and your father you never knew. Fortunate enough, your uncle took you as his own which allowed you to be in the good graces of the king.

You arrived in King’s Landing when you were eleven and the prince thirteen. Aemond committed to memory the very moment your light filled him with awe.

------------

His eye was already lost and though it had already healed, the pain and anger he felt still a roaring flame.

“I want you all to treat her well.”

While his brother rolled his eyes at their mother’s reminder, Aemond simply dismissed her. In his mind, he need not be reminded because he was more or less civil and distant with everyone, especially new people.

The hinges sang lowly as the massive doors to the throne room opened to announce your entrance. A contagious smile adorned your face as you walked alongside the Hand.

Aemond could not deny that even as a child you were captivating. The grace and pureness your persona exude was what kept the room’s attention on you.

“Your Grace.”

Their mother watched with a smile as you curtsied. As you resumed standing upright, you turned your attention to each of the Targaryen children as they were introduced.

“And this is Prince Aemond.”

He seemed to snap back to attention at the mention of his name, having been admiring the dewy skin of your supple pink cheeks.

“Pleased to be in your presence, Prince Aemond.”

Your smile gave way to dimples and the prince felt his heartbeat stutter. Though you made him feel an oddly pleasant sensation between his ribs, his response was anything but. He gave only a curt nod, but your smile never wavered despite his indifference.

------------

With the passing of time you only became even kinder. Aemond once thought you may have been blessed to have your outsides reflect your insides. Your positivity was accompanied by beauty he has yet to see on anyone else in the entire Seven Kingdoms. He would marvel at your soft eyes and full lips before growing bitter at the thought that if you had been blessed then he must have been cursed. The misery and abhorrence he kept inside must be why he had a monster for a reflection.

Before you, it was easy for Aemond to get caught up in self-loathing and insecurity. That was until you showed him genuine affection.

------------

He was training with Sir Criston while you were with the princess looking to find a chrysalis she wished to take care of before it transformed into a butterfly.

Aemond was so focused on trying to dodge the knight’s advances that he failed to notice his cover had fallen to reveal his other eye. The gasps were audible but Aemond was quick to drop his sword to cover himself. You watched him storm off to the castle to his chambers. The unwanted attention had him almost in a frenzy with adrenaline allowing him so make his swift escape.

You watched the scene with a heavy heart, growing upset as the people around who had witnessed the affair started to whisper about the one-eyed prince. You noticed his eyepatch still on the ground and you took it with the intent of returning it and checking up on him.

“Princess, I believe we must be heading back. We would not want your mother to have to wait for you for tea time.”

After being dismissed, you made your way to the younger prince’s chambers.

Aemond had a tight grip on his chalice as he mulled over what had happened. By now his head felt lighter given the amount of wine he had. Drinking was his brother’s way of coping and Aemond wanted no part of him to resemble Aegon, but given the circumstance he allowed himself this bit of irresponsibility.

The sound of your knuckles against his door was so faint that he almost ignored it, but your sweet voice soon followed.

“My prince, I come returning what is yours.”

Even through his sour mood you managed to find your way past as your voice brought him a bit of peace, granting him a break from his harsh thoughts.

“May I come in?”

His mind, the sober part at least, wanted to deny your request knowing you saw his face bare. He feared the heartbreak. What if you regard him with caution or even worse, disgust?

His heart however longed for you. And so before he could decide otherwise, he said, “Come in.”

The creak of the door made him nervous. He refused to face you directly, settling on watching you from his peripheral.

You stood close to the door once it was closed, awaiting further instruction. For a few seconds you studied him. His other eye was again covered by a different eyepatch. His hair was no longer tied, leaving it to frame his face.

“You may sit, Lady Y/N.”

The prince had gestured to the seat next to him. You inhaled deeply before your small feet carried you across the room. The prince watched your every move and he noted how your silver dress made you glow, providing a contrast to your dark hair and eyes.

As you sat, you brought your hands together on your lap and only then did Aemond notice what you were holding. The sight of his eyepatch made him tense and soon an awkward tension filled the space as you sat in silence.

“You must think me a monster now.”

“Your Grace, you are no monster in my eyes. I wish you shared my opinion because it is the truth.”

Your response had him turning to face you and he felt his heartbeat pick up. Your eyes have always been so expressive and where he expected pity to lie he saw adoration and genuine concern instead.

Upon meeting his eye, your smile widened. You so desperately wanted to be there for him and alleviate whatever troubles him.

“Your eye should not be cause for judgement. It is one’s character that ought to be looked at.”

“And what is my character?”

“You are thoughtful. I appreciate how you would leave me books you believe I would enjoy or bring me pastries you’d want me to try. You are bright and respectful. The conversations you hold are of an educated man. You are immensely loyal to not only those you love but to your house as well.”

By the time you had finished speaking, the space between you two was barely there. You stared at each other for what felt like centuries before a small smile broke out on the prince’s face. You admired the way his lips curved, fascinated by the depth of his prominent cupid’s bow.

An unknown force compelled you to touch the left side of his face and your bravery raised your hand to do so. Before you could move further, the prince caught your wrist in a gentle hold.

He stared at you, beginning to feel nervous, but your will remained steadfast. Your hand landed on his cheek, caressing his scar and before the prince could react, you moved to rid him of his cover.

“Y/N-”

His protests died on his tongue as the bright sapphire was revealed to you and he watched your pupils dilate in wonder. He had never before felt so vulnerable, but your touch put him at ease.

The pair of you remained in silence like that for gods know how long. Then you whispered in earnest.

“Beautiful…”

------------

The sound of your laughter traveled down the hall. Aemond could feel his insides twist in delight as he drew closer towards his sister’s chambers.

“Brother? What a lovely surprise.”

Your back was facing the door when he entered. You watched the princess smile at her brother before turning to address him yourself. The sight of you knocked the wind out of Aemond.

A butterfly lay on your cheek and the other at the exposed skin of your clavicle. You looked ethereal and Aemond swore he felt giddy seeing you so lovely.

“My chrysalises have finally turned into butterflies! We opened the jar to free them but they flew to Lady Y/N instead.”

Princess Helaena was amused at how smitten the prince was with you. She had to refrain from giggling as she carefully removed the insects on you before catching her brother's attention.

“What is it you came for, brother?”

It was a physical effort for Aemond to take his eye off you and you felt your cheeks warm at the attention.

“Oh… uh mother requests to see you in her chambers.”

“Now? But I promised Lady Y/N I’d walk with her through the gardens.”

"Your Grace, we do not have to if-"

"I can walk with her! If... of course, Lady Y/N allows it..."

Prince Aemond was rarely embarrassed, but in that moment he could not avoid being bashful at how eager he sounded to spend time with you.

"I am sure you have better use of your time, Prince Aemond."

"Nonsense, Lady Y/N. I insist."

As Princess Helaena left, you and the prince made your way to the castle gardens. You prayed to the gods he could not hear the erratic beat of your heart at his close proximity.

"Let me take this time to say my thanks to you, Lady Y/N."

"What ever for, your Grace?"

"You have never failed to be kind and patient with my sister. Many see her odd, but you regard her in no such way."

Your heart swelled at his appreciation and Aemond felt his own do the same as you faced him with your wide grin and doe eyes.

"I suppose I am grateful that your kindness extends to me as well. It is rare that I am regarded with as much compassion as you have shown me."

You are taken aback by the prince's admission and he gave you a tender smile in return.

"There is no need to thank me, my prince. I only wish more people could witness how beautiful and gentle you truly are..."

------------

The young prince could not contain his bliss as he walked back to his chambers after his time with you. There was a skip in his step with his scowl now absent from his face. That was until he opened his door to reveal his brother waiting for him in his chambers.

Aemond slightly faltered at his brother looking at him with a sly smirk. The younger Targaryen was quick to school his features, returning to the cold expression he always wore.

"What are you doing here, Aegon?"

"I saw you with Lady Y/N and my my I could not believe what I was witnessing."

Aemond raised his eyebrow at his brother and Aegon chuckled lightly before continuing.

"I never thought a simple bastard would catch the eye of a man as proud as you, my brother."

"What are you talking about?" Aemond hissed, glaring at an amused Aegon.

"You mean to say you harbor no fondness for the girl?" his brother teased back.

"Do not dare insult me, brother. I have no intention of ever associating myself with a lowborn orphan such as her. I am a prince after all so I would be careful with implying something so ridiculous."

Unbeknownst to Aemond, you were right outside his door. You had the intent of returning a book he had lent you, but stopped short upon hearing the two princes.

You tried to hold in your tears at the offensive remarks made to your name. Your heart shattered and you felt the shards stab at your insides.

It was not easy to admit, but you had developed feelings for the younger prince. His rare smile that you thought was more common when you were around. The difference in the attention he would give you compared to any other. All these things made you believe that maybe he saw you in the same light. That maybe he too felt he could not breathe whenever you were around. At the very least, you thought he regarded you as a dear friend, just like you had him.

Only after hearing what he had to say about you did you think otherwise. You were mistaken. Blinded by your want to have your affections reciprocated, you failed to notice how different your ambitions were from the truth.

He did not love you. He may not even see you as anything more than a servant he has had to live with these past years. You had set yourself up for heartbreak by creating a delusion of loving the prince and being loved back.

The hold you had on the book loosened and before you could stop it, a small thud echoed from it falling. That snapped you out of your thoughts. As fast as your feet allowed, you made your way out of the hall and on your way back to your chambers.

------------

Aegon soon left his brother's chambers and the younger prince heaved a heavy exhale. Aemond did not wish to ridicule you to his brother, but he wouldn't dare acknowledge his adoration for you either. Not because he was ashamed of having feelings for you, but because he knew making it known would remind him of the rejection that is guaranteed. You could not love him, that much he knew, so he denied what he felt.

A knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts. After giving his permission, a servant had revealed herself holding the book you had dropped moments ago.

"Why is this in your possession?"

"I found it outside your door, Prince Aemond. I only wish to return what I believe is yours."

------------

You made it a point to avoid the prince at all costs. Your fragile heart would simply crumble to even finer pieces if you were to be in his presence again. You stopped going to the library and would now convince the princess to avoid wandering to places you knew Aemond would be. You stayed in your chambers more, only leaving when the princess was in need of you.

Almost a week had passed and Aemond thought you had vanished into thin air with how little he's seen you. He now only caught glimpses of you not often which left his heart aching. At some point he resorted to seeking you out by going to your chambers all the way across the Keep.

With the book in his other hand, the silver-haired prince raised the other to knock on your door. He waited with bated breath and his heart leapt at finally seeing you again after what felt like decades.

It was obvious you weren't expecting him and the prince's stomach dropped upon seeing how your smile faltered.

"Prince Aemond... How may I be of service to you?"

Now the confusion was noticeable on Aemond's face. Never had you addressed him with such formality.

"I thought to return this to you so you may finish reading it. You must have left it somewhere because a servant returned it to me."

"Your Grace, I am a person of no importance to have a prince make an effort to hand me books. I believe it best you no longer do so."

You made no eye contact with him as you twiddled with your thumbs and the prince could not stop his smile from turning into a frown.

"Lady Y/N, trust that I do this wholeheartedly. You are no bother to me as I am gladdened by the love of reading we share."

"Pardon me, your Grace, but there is no need for you to pretend any longer. I know what you think of me and am aware you do not want the likes of me near you."

It was a heavy task to not cry despite feeling the heaviness of your spirit become unbearable. Aemond so desperately wanted you to lift your head to face him, but as soon as you did, his heart felt like it took a punch.

Your eyes were glassy and your features forlorn. The sight of you sent the prince scrambling for a response that would comfort you.

"That could not be further from the truth. Y-You are my dearest friend, Y/N... I-"

"I believed you were a friend to me as well, but I heard you with Prince Aegon. Though I know you spoke the truth. The truth being that I am a lowborn bastard. I-I cannot deny how it pains me so to hear you regard me with such contempt."

By now the tears have flown freely down your face. The prince's chest tightened seeing you shake as you succumbed to your heartache.

"Forgive me f-for wasting even m-more of your time, Prince Aemond."

You cringed at your pathetic apology given you could not stop the hiccups from your cries. You made an attempt to close the door, but Aemond beat you to it, placing a hand on the wood and pushing to let himself in your space.

"Y-Your Grace, please... Y-You mustn't-"

His hands on your face catches you off guard, lifting it so that you may look up at him. With gentle fingers, he wiped your tears, and you couldn't help closing your eyes at the gesture.

"It is I who should be begging for your forgiveness, Y/N... I-I did not mean those words. It was not my intention to hurt you. I would never dream of hurting you, my dear Y/N. I-I simply wanted Aegon to leave me alone. I didn't want him to know..."

You raised your eyebrows as the prince trailed off. Aemond felt his heart was to burst out of his clothes soon and drop to the floor. He had to tell you now. Rejection or not, he must make it known that he would never willingly hurt you, the one person whose presence reminds him that he still has a heart and that he is worth more than his title.

"I did not want him to know that... that I care for you deeply. You have enraptured my heart and soul with the unwavering kindness you have bestowed to someone as unworthy as me."

Your eyes widen at the prince but he continues his speech as he moves to decrease the distance between you two even more.

"It is your laughter that calms me and when I close my eyes, it is the image of your smile painted on the back of their lids. When we are together and you tell me of what you've read, I find myself daydreaming of a life with you. How I would offer everything I have in exchange for your hand."

"Prince Aemond, w-what are you saying..."

"I am saying I love you, Y/N. Most ardently."

You gasped upon hearing his words and the prince moved his hands to hold yours.

"What I said to my brother was in fear of rejection for I have denied my feelings knowing they are one-sided. It was childish of me to turn to insults to reject what I feel so strongly for you and I regret having upset you. I-I understand if you wish to never speak to me again..."

With his head bowed and gaze to the floor, the prince did not see the smile that was back on your face.

"Oh Aemond, you fool!"

Before he could make eye contact to decipher what you meant, you had let his hands go in favor of wrapping them around him in an embrace as you lunged forward. The prince was quick to secure your waist in his arms. He heard you giggle in his ear before pulling back to be face to face with him.

"Your feelings are my own, my prince. I too love you a great deal."

Several emotions washed over Aemond all at once, but it was relief that was undeniable. He mirrored the bright smile on your face as your arms remained on his shoulders and his on your hips.

"I did not think it were possible for someone as beautiful and gentle as you to feel for someone like me." Aemond admitted, but you only leaned in to kiss him in response.

There was no greater pleasure than having your lips on his. Having the privilege of your love was comparable to being high up in the sky. He was in so much elation as your chest pressed to his when he tightened his hold on you.

"I love you, my beautiful prince. I am yours."

"Y/N... If you will have me... I desire nothing more than to be your husband."