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1-imaginary-girl · 11 months

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Wolf Bite

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Summary: During a fight between your friends and Klaus and his hybrids, you get bit. A certain someone appears later to help heal your wounds and complicate your feelings. Reader uses she/her pronouns.

Warnings: Violence, fluff

Word Count: 4850

Part 2

A/N: I have been obsessing over Klaus lately and thought I would share this passion with you guys. I haven’t seen TVD or TO in a while so I apologize if I get anything wrong about the lore. It doesn’t follow any canon plot, just inspired by Klaus healing Caroline’s bite.

You’re leaning against a wall in the Salvatore brothers’ house as the rest of your friends talk about their newest plan to threaten Klaus and his family. The idea seems foolish to you, but you know better than to voice your opinion. Ever since the Mikaelson clan moved to town, being a vampire has gotten a lot more complicated. You’re suddenly not so immortal when there’s a whole group of people out to get you and your friends.

You’ve also started to notice a shift in the group as Elena now has feelings for both Salvatores. You’re well aware that your presence has slowly started to go unnoticed and yet here you are again. You watch as the group argues about how to lure Klaus and co. to the woods where you’ll meet him.

“What if we send someone to his house to deliver the message?” Elena suggests. But Stefan shakes his head.

“No, it’s too risky,” he says.

“Not if we send someone with a white oak stake for protection,” Caroline says.

“That would ruin the plan,” Bonnie says. There’s a silence as the group thinks of a new idea. Until Damon speaks.

“What if we get Y/N to call him?” Damon says, looking at you for the first time today. Your eyes widen as the rest of the group now looks at you. As if they weren’t just ignoring you.

“What? N-no way,” you say, not prepared to be put on the spot.

“Come on, he’s clearly shown an interest in you. Now’s the time to use that,” he argues. It’s true. Ever since you first met, Klaus seems to have taken a liking to you. But you think the group’s making it a bigger deal than it is. You think he just does it as a way to annoy the group. Though why he chose you instead of someone like Caroline or Bonnie, you’ll never know.

“I don’t want to do that,” you say, not wanting to explain exactly why. You’re not even quite sure yourself. “Besides, it probably won’t work. I mean, I don’t even have his phone number.”

“Oh right,” Damon says, furrowing his eyebrows as you throw a retch in his plan.

“You could deliver the message in person,” Caroline suggests. Your jaw almost drops.

“Wait, so it’s too risky if someone else goes to the house, but not me?”

“Come on, he won’t hurt you,” Damon says. You’re beginning to think being a wallflower was the better option.

“We all have to help, Y/N,” Elena says. You choke on your words as you look around, seeing no one objecting to this plan.

“Wait, you guys my message spell!” Bonnie exclaims. Everyone turns to her and you are relieved to be out of the spotlight as you lean back against the wall. “I need paper, something to write with, and something of Klaus’s.”

Though you are currently mad at all of them, you decide you’re mad at Bonnie the least so you open your bag. You’re able to scrounge up the materials, even something of Klaus’s (you didn’t ask). With the necessary ingredients, Bonnie performs her spell and the written note lights on fire before quickly disintegrating. She opens her eyes.

“That should do it,” she says.

“We should go,” Elena says and everyone agrees.

†††

The group is waiting in the woods for Klaus to appear, as is expressed in the letter. Another argument broke out on the way here as to who will get the white oak stake as you only brought one to threaten Klaus with. The group didn’t want to risk any of the other stakes. In the end, Damon won the argument as he reminded Stefan his responsibility was to look out for Elena, which she did not like. The rest of you are armed with regular stakes just in case anything happens.

“When is he going to get here?” Caroline says, though no one answers as no one knows. “I mean, how can he even find us? We’re in the middle of the woods!”

“He can probably track us by seeking out Elena’s blood,” Damon says which angers Elena. Sometimes you feel bad for her being the only human amongst the group (other than Matt), and other times you envy her for it.

When the group is about ready to give up, you hear something coming. The other vampires can hear it too and you ready yourselves. Soon enough, Klaus stands before you with a smile on his face. “Well, well, isn’t this a nice surprise? I hadn’t realized we were pen pals,” the Original says. His eyes rake over the group and he perks up when he spots you. “Hello love.”

The others glance at you and, panicked to be on the spot again, you say, “Uh, hi,” with a small and awkward wave.

This causes Klaus’ smile to grow wider and seemingly more genuine, and you try to suppress the urge to blush. Although you don’t think your friends were pleased by that interaction.

“I assume you know why you’re here,” Stefan says, bringing Klaus’ attention back to the group.

“Ah yes, the cryptic message,” Klaus says. “So, what is it that I must see? Truly, I’m dying to know.” You see Damon smirk.

“I wouldn’t act so cocky,” he says.

“Oh, and why’s that?” Klaus says with an entertained look on his face. His face changes, however, when Damon reveals the white oak stake. His cocky attitude shifts quickly to fear and anger. “Where did you get that?” he growls.

“Well it turns out when your sister burned down that bridge, she didn’t realize that other things were made from your precious oak tree,” Damon taunts. He’s exaggerating, of course, as there was only one other thing made from the tree. But Klaus still looks fearful.

“So what? You really think you can kill me with one stake?”

“We don’t intend to kill you. At least not now anyway,” Caroline says.

“We called you here as a threat. To tell you to leave Mystic Falls or else,” Stefan says with a calm smile on his face.

“Oh, and this isn’t the only stake. We wouldn’t risk bringing all of them with us just for you to break them,” Elena says.

“You’re bluffing,” Klaus sneers.

“Care to find out?” Damon asks. You can practically feel the steam of anger rolling off Klaus.

“How dare you threaten me,” Klaus says, his blue-green eyes turning a deadly shade of yellow.

“What are you going to do about it?” Damon says with a taunting smirk. Klaus’ face shifts and he smirks back.

“Why I’m so glad you asked,” he says. He then lets out a whistle and some of his hybrids emerge from the woods. You widen your gaze as you hold out your weapon, trying to assess the situation. The hybrids move in closer, and you can see the others preparing themselves. “Now, let’s try this again. Hand over the stake, and no one gets hurt.”

You thought the answer would be obvious. Sure, Klaus might be bluffing but you can’t kill that many hybrids. And what’s one lost stake anyway? However, you seemed to be the only one thinking that.

“No thanks,” Damon says. You look at him incredulously.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Klaus says. As soon as Klaus advances, his hybrids pounce and the group is thrown into an attack. Your weapons will only slow the hybrids down, but your best hope is to get the upper hand and snap their necks to incapacitate them.

Damon and Klaus immediately face off. The rest of you prepare to face the small army of hybrids while Stefan protects Elena. One of the hybrids locks onto you and hisses before attacking you. You instantly try to hold the hybrid off and stab her, but you can feel her overpowering you in strength.

Still, you rely on your moves in combat to avoid any major injuries or worse, her bite. You manage to get the upper hand and stab her through the stomach, and while she’s slowed down, you move to behind her back and snap her neck, knocking her out for a good while.

You’re trying to catch your breath when you sense another hybrid coming at you too late. He pounces on you and you slam into the ground with him on top of you. You’re caught off guard and without your stake. When you try to move to fight back, the hybrid digs his teeth into your shoulder. A short scream rips through you, powered both by panic and pain.

Meanwhile, Klaus is fighting Damon when he hears the scream. He looks your way as he feared it was you, and the scene causes his eyes to widen. With a newfound urgency, Klaus faces Damon and quickly finds a way to snap his neck.

As you’re panicking from the bite, you feel the hybrid being pulled off of you and you see Klaus with a furious expression. The hybrid is very confused by his sire’s anger. You think you hear Klaus growl, “Not her,” before snapping their neck.

You’re shocked at what just happened all at once and remain on the ground, sitting up with wide eyes looking at Klaus. He looks away from the hybrid to meet your gaze and his eyes instantly soften. He looks concerned, though you’re not sure why. He makes a move to walk toward you but before you can say anything, Caroline rushes over to you.

She quickly puts herself between Klaus and you. “Stay away from her,” she hisses at him. Klaus’ expression shifts back to anger, and before you can explain to Caroline what’s going on, Klaus’s gaze flick from her to you and then he sprints away. Not just away from you, but he leaves the forest. The hybrids that haven’t been incapacitated follow.

You look after him, longing to talk to him and figure out why he saved you, when Caroline’s face comes into view. “Are you okay?” she asks while helping to pull you off the ground. You nod and you guess that’s enough for her because she walks towards the rest of the group.

You’re a bit stunned as Klaus seemed to show more compassion than your friend, but you merely shake off the exchange. From the woods, the group heads back to the Salvatore’s place. You trail behind them, your mind racing as you’re overly aware of the fact that a werewolf bit you. Not just a werewolf, but a hybrid. You haven’t told your friends about it because you don’t want to be a bother to them as that’s all you feel like you are these days.

On the way back, your mind wanders to the one person that seems to be on everyone’s minds these days. Klaus. You don’t know why he saved you, even from his own hybrid, but you want to thank him. You know you should hate him like the others do but for some reason every time that man looks at you, your stomach erupts into butterflies.

You feel awful for how you feel, you know all the harm he’s caused to your friends and not to mention the world, but you can’t help it. It doesn’t help that he pretends to be soft on you either. You haven’t told anyone about your feelings, whatever they are, for fear of persecution but you can’t stop thinking about him.

You arrive at the Salvatore’s and the group huddles in the living room for a quick debriefing of what just went down. All the while images of Klaus and your bite flash through your mind. You look at your shoulder and you can’t see the full damage as it’s covered by your shirt but you know it’s not good.

“How are you holding up, Damon?” Caroline asks teasingly. He glares at her and rolls his neck.

“Doing just great thanks,” he says.

“What the hell even happened?” Elena asks. “I mean, why did they just leave?”

“All I know is, one minute I’m holding my own against Klaus--” Damon says and to this you hold back rolling your eyes. Klaus must’ve been going easy on him, toying with him. “--and then he gets this raged look on his face and boom, lights out.”

“He went to Y/N,” Caroline says causing all of their eyes to stare at you again. You bite back your annoyance at her for bringing that on you.

“What happened?” Stefan asks while the rest of the group waits. The image of Klaus looking at you causes your face to heat up and you struggle to come up with a lie. You don’t want to tell them the truth when you yourself haven’t even gotten to the bottom of it.

“I-I don’t know,” you say. They still stare at you. “Maybe he was mad at me for harming his hybrids.”

“There were two knocked-out hybrids beside her,” Caroline adds. The group looks at you with a mix of shock and amazement.

“You knocked out two of them?” Damon asks with surprise and slight amusement. You don’t want to outwardly lie so you just kind of nod.

“And then he just left,” you say.

“It still doesn’t make sense. I mean, why target you specifically?” Bonnie asks.

“Maybe he’s miffed his lover betrayed him,” Damon says and your face turns beat red.

“W-What?! I am not his—” you burst out in surprise until someone cuts you off. No one even looks your way.

“Or maybe he’s planning something,” Elena suggests. The rest of them start diving into conspiracies but your mind is elsewhere. You suddenly feel drawn to look at your bite. The more you look at it, the more it’s like you can feel the venom pumping through your veins. Your heartbeat is suddenly too loud and you feel like you can’t breathe.

You don’t know if it has something to do with the venom or just your overall panic, but all of a sudden, the world goes black.

†††

Your eyes slowly open and your vision is blurry at first. Figures stand over you and after blinking a few times, you recognize your friends.

“She’s awake,” Elena says, as if everyone isn’t seeing it for themselves. You realize you’re lying on the Salvatore’s couch. You wonder how long you blacked out for.

“What the hell Y/N?!” Caroline instantly yells at you. You flinch at her volume but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Why didn’t you tell us you got bit?”

At the reminder, you look back at the bite only to see that its gotten worse. You wince at the sight of it and face the group. You guess they discovered it when you passed out.

“I don’t know, I-I thought I could handle it,” you say, not wanting to admit the real reason. Most of them roll their eyes at you.

“Of course you couldn’t handle it!” Damon says. “You should have told us.”

I didn’t know you cared. You bite your tongue to keep the words from spilling out of your mouth. “I’m sorry,” you say, losing interest in the conversation as you are now painfully aware of the venom from the bite.

“What are we going to do?” Bonnie asks. They begin to cut you out of the conversation even though they’re talking about you and you decide you can’t deal with this right now. You stand up from the couch, feeling a bit of a head rush before steadying yourself. This seems to draw their attention.

“Hey wait, where are you going?” Stefan asks, as they all look at you with bewildered expressions.

“I’m going home,” you say and start to walk away. Unfortunately, they follow.

“You can’t just go home!” Caroline exclaims, reacting as if you just said you were going to the moon.

“Watch me,” you say, your frustration getting the better of you. You try to make your way towards the door but a few steps in you stumble and Stefan speeds over to steady you.

“Okay, we’ll take you home, alright?” he says and in that moment, you’re grateful for him. He turns to the rest of the group. “We can regroup at her place and brainstorm ideas there while keeping an eye on her.” The rest of the group seems to agree with the idea. In separate cars, the group drives over to your house.

Soon you’re pulling into your driveway. They’ve all been invited in before so entering isn’t a problem. With Stefan’s help, you climb the stairs and soon find yourself in your cozy bed. You wish you could just sleep away this problem but a sudden sharp pain from the wound reminds you that isn’t possible.

“So what now?” Elena asks as the group piles into your bedroom. It feels weird and you’re slightly uncomfortable with it but you keep quiet and just get under your inviting covers.

“Maybe we can ask Klaus for help?” Bonnie suggests. At this, Damon instantly scoffs.

“Yeah that sounds like him,” Damon says.

“Maybe he’ll do it for Y/N,” Caroline says. “He does have a soft spot for her.”

“I don’t know if that’s enough for him,” Stefan interjects. “We all know what he’s after.”

“No,” Damon says. “We finally have a real weapon against those Original assholes and I’m not just going to throw it all away for—”

“Damon,” Elena hisses and nudges him in the chest before nodding over to you. Once more, all eyes are on you and you don’t know what to do. Damon looks away, maybe feeling guilty for basically saying you’re not worth it.

“Why don’t we continue this conversation downstairs?” Caroline suggests. You once again wonder why they’re talking about this situation without you but you’re too tired and hurt to care.

“We’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” Bonnie says and then the group filters out closing the door behind them.

Throughout the day a few of them check in on you every once and a while, barely giving you updates on if they’re going to find a cure. As your pain grows and the sky darkens, you start to think that maybe this is it. Maybe this is how you die. You never imagined it happening like this and your chest caves in at the thought of a final death but it’s looking more and more likely.

You’re not sure what time it is, but later in the night you hear a faint knock which sounds like it’s coming from your front door. You ignore it, not having the strength to answer it. You figure one of your friends will answer it. If they’re even home.

The knock sounds again, louder and more persistent, and you start to suspect that your friends have left. You take a deep breath as fear coils around your throat, constricting your breath. Your friends aren’t here and you’re going to die all alone before you even got to live. The knocking stops and you settle back into the silence.

Then a sound comes from your window. It sounds like…knocking? From your bed, you can’t see the outside since it’s too dark out. You wish your friends were here. Slowly, you climb out of bed and try to rally your strength in case you have to fight something or someone. As you walk over your confusion only grows.

There, perched on a branch from the tree outside your window, is Klaus Mikaelson. He gives you a wave and you hesitantly wave back. You approach the window cautiously before opening it.

“Um, can I help you?” you ask, trying to understand what you’re seeing. Hallucinations are a side effect of wolf venom, right?

“Well hello to you too, love,” he says with a cheeky smile on his face. His eyes roam over your body and his smile falters. You suddenly become aware that this is the closest you’ve ever been to the Original. You try not to let your cheeks flush.

“What are you doing here?” His smile drops entirely, noticing your serious demeanour.

“I’m here to help. Now if you could just let me in—”

“Help with what?” His face becomes grim as his eyes trail over to your shoulder. It’s now out in the open as you’ve changed into pajamas. You then remember that he must’ve seen the bite when it happened.

“Your wound, love.”

“Why…why would you want to help me with that?” you ask. Then a thought occurs. “Wait, have my friends spoken to you?”

His eyebrows furrow as he shakes his head. “No, I haven’t heard from them,” he says and though you can’t say you didn’t expect it, your heart drops at hearing it. “Wait, do they know about this?”

“Um yeah.”

He looks angry as he asks, “And where are they now?”

You look at the floor and try to keep your embarrassment inside. “I don’t know, I thought they would’ve contacted you.”

“Apparently not.” His face is still twisted in anger although you’re not quite sure why. Then he looks at you and seems to remember why he’s here. “So, can you let me in?”

The thought of having Klaus Mikaelson in your room makes your heart beat faster. And though you want to give in, to continue living your immortal life, you hesitate. “Why should I trust you?”

“What?”

“How do I know if I let you in now, it won’t come back to bite me in the ass?” you ask, your arms crossed.

Klaus doesn’t seem to understand your concern. “Love, you realize that’s a hybrid bite. I don’t think you have the time for this.”

“So you admit that you would use it later?”

His face scrunches up. “That’s not—no I wouldn’t do that—just please let me in,” he says, giving you a sincere look that threatens to break down your walls. Just as you’re about to question him more, a wave of pain washes over your body. You let out a groan as you slightly stumble back. “Y/N?” The pain grows more intense and you let out a whimper before you collapse onto your knees. “Y/N!” It’s as if your body is at war with itself and you can feel every impact of it.

“You have to let me in, just say the words and I can help you. Please!” You hear Klaus say from the window. But it’s hard to find words when the pain is so intense. You want it to stop. “Y/N!” You hear him bang his fist against the walls of your house.

You slowly lift your head up to see his worried face, desperately waiting for you to let him in. You no longer care if this will come back to haunt you. You take a few deep breaths before you say, “Come in.”

As soon as the words take effect, Klaus rushes into the house and scoops you into his arms. You clutch at his chest, not thinking of anything but the pain. He carries you over to the bed and gently places you down before quickly running over to the window to close it. The pain seems to be dwindling down but you know it’ll be back. Your whole body is so weak, you used the last of your strength to walk over and talk to Klaus.

Speaking of, he’s quickly back at your bedside, eyes furiously scanning you for signs of physical distress. Then his eyes lock on yours and you feel your breath hitch. “You have to drink my blood,” he says quietly to you.

You know that that’s the cure and that it will save you, but you’re still hesitant. This is Klaus you’re talking about. The big bad hybrid who’s been attacking your friends and causing chaos for weeks now. And yet for some reason, a part of you wants to trust him. A part of you wants to give in to the idea that he could be good. But how can you trust him when you can’t even trust your own instincts?

He must sense your hesitation, because he leans down to look into your eyes. When you look at him, you’re stuck by how truly beautiful he is. His eyes are a beautiful blue, but more than that, they hold a look of sincerity in them. “I know you don’t trust me, I wouldn’t either,” he says. “But this is what’s going to save you. So please, take a chance. What have you got to lose?”

He does have a point.

“I don’t want to die,” you admit in a small voice. Your breath stutters as you let the fear bubbling inside of you rise to the surface. Klaus’s look is sympathetic.

“I don’t want that either,” he whispers. Your eyes meet and you feel caught in them. “Let me help you.”

Maybe it’s because this is a different, more sincere side of Klaus that you’ve never seen before. Maybe it’s because your friends are gone and you’re feeling vulnerable. Maybe it’s because your instincts seem to have aligned. Either way, you nod your head.

He offers you a small smile. He then sits on the bed and gently shifts you so that you’re leaning against his chest. You’re too weak to move yourself. Klaus rolls up his sleeve and bites down on his wrist before bringing it close to your lips. You’re tempted but look at him to make sure it’s okay first. He nods and you sink your teeth into his wrist.

At first, you feel weird about the situation. But then you lean into it and begin to enjoy it. Klaus whispers encouragingly in your ear as his blood enters your body. You can feel your strength begin to return and the fog in your brain clear. You almost don’t want to stop, and the way Klaus is petting your hair doesn’t help. But eventually, you know you’ve had enough, so you pull away.

“Wasn’t so bad, eh?” Klaus says and you look up to see him smiling down at you. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I think so.”

“Then I guess my work here is done.” He moves you so you’re lying back on your bed, but when he moves to leave, you grab his arm. He looks back, confused.

“Why did you do that?” When his confusion doesn’t clear, you clarify. “Why did you help me?”

He looks down at the floor and his lip twitches into a smile. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, love, but I quite fancy you. Wouldn’t want you dying on me before I’ve had a chance to win you over.”

His words shock you enough to let go of his arm. The strangest part is that he looks sincere about it. “But…you actually like me? Like, that wasn’t all an act?” you ask. Both of you seem to be confused by the other.

“Why would I do that?” You start to feel embarrassed.

“To—to get on the group’s nerves? To throw us off?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I might just like you?” To be honest, the thought hadn’t occurred to you. Trickery made more sense.

“Yes,” you say and then wish you didn’t. “I—I mean, why me? Why not Caroline or Bonnie?”

“Besides the fact that you’re the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever laid eyes on?” he asks and you’re suddenly glad it’s dark because your cheeks are on fire right now. “Because you’re different.” That doesn’t make you feel so great. He must have picked up on that because he catches your eye and says, “Because you’re better.” The idea makes you flustered, that anyone would think you’re better than them, let alone a powerful hybrid like Klaus.

“I still don’t understand.”

“Hmm.” He seems to think on what to say before smirking. “Then I guess I’ll have to do a better job at showing you.” When he winks at you, you think your face might be on fire from how hot it is. Once again, he turns to leave.

“Thank you,” you call out which makes him stop in his tracks. He turns around to face you and seems confused by your words. But you mean them. He didn’t have to save you, you gave him nothing in return, and yet he did.

He smiles and you think it’s much better than the fake ones he gives to the group. “Of course love,” he says. “Couldn’t have my favourite vampire dying on me.” You give him a smile back, genuinely happy to hear someone say that to you.

Then your eyelids begin to feel heavy and you have to blink rapidly to stay awake. Klaus sees this and says, “Goodnight, my love,” before opening your bedroom window.

“Goodnight,” you say back as you watch the window close. You lay back down on your bed, thankful to no longer be dying. You guess you have your new saviour to thank for that. As you close your eyes, you can’t help but see Klaus in a different light. Not as a villain, but as a complicated man. You don’t think your friends are going to like your change of heart, so for now you’ll keep it to yourself. You’ll be content in knowing that maybe the big bad hybrid isn’t so bad after all.

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from-the-clouds · 1 year

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bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much.

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction.

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time.

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.”

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway.

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness.

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit.

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care.

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time.

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way.

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to.

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with.

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast.

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder.

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him.

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway.

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears.

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened.

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen.

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin.

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder.

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen.

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs.

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes.

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t.

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower.

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering.

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks.

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it.

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous.

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet.

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected.

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time.

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally.

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?”

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement.

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him.

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.”

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts.

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him.

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse.

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces.

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating.

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet.

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that.

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing.

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms.

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it.

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again.

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it.

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?”

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.”

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now.

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger.

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now.

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth.

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed.

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all.

“Look at me,” he says, and you do.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree.

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….”

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top.

“That’s it, nice and slow.”

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread.

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again.

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him.

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn’t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens.

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t.

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows.

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart.

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again.

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange.

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think.

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass.

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks.

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident.

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession.

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips.

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you.

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there.

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected.

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel.

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger.

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little – just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose.

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture.

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously.

“Yes, please, please,”

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often.

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.”

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made.

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life.

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper.

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”

“No.”

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much.

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t.

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks.

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t.

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had.

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more.

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this.

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you.

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it.

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap.

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though.

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic.

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response.

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted.

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek.

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him.

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head. Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom.

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side.

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him.

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?”

“You do.”

“So…. I’ll teach you.”

“....Okay.”

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do.

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart.

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this.

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us writing #the last of us fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fic #joel miller angst #writing

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dovedewdrop · 9 months

Text

The One That Got Away

In another life

I would be your girl / 1.7k

A/N: Hi! Welcome to my first fic! I've been super anxious to put this out but also itching to write something so here we are🤗 I hope you enjoy🩷

Also thank you to one of my besties @gracieispunk for being so supportive always🥹 she truly has a heart of gold and deserves the world💛 Happy 5 months of friendship🫶🏻👹

Warnings: Post-Outbreak. Mean!Joel. Just pure angst tbh. sad vibes.

---

The last time he had kissed you was the morning of the outbreak, long and passionate, his arm slung around your lower back, your hand on his chest. He’d done it to shut you up really, both you and Sarah on his case about how he was working late, on his birthday of all days, but you both knew why he had to, it was the same reason you picked up extra shifts at work too, you had a wedding to plan and weddings weren’t cheap no matter how low-key they were.

Now you sat at your kitchen table in Jackson in the house you shared with Tommy and Maria, your fingertips ghosting across your bottom lip as you reminisced on that morning. Soon those sweet memories that seemed to be coated in an orange hue were contrasted with shades of blue, Joel had changed, he became a man you didn’t recognise, a man who was cold towards you.

You knew deep down that he didn’t blame you for what had happened, but he had to be mad at someone. At first he just withdrew into himself, but it didn’t take long for him to become outwardly mean, you felt pathetic as you followed behind him up dirt paths and across fields and embarrassed when one day he’d stopped in his tracks, drew in a long breath, and muttered, “wish you’d just leave already,” stalking off up the hill and leaving Tommy to comfort you.

So that’s what you did, you and Tommy, you left with no idea where you’d end up and it killed you to turn around at the edge of the woods and see Joel sitting there on his own, snapping sticks in his hand as if it was your heart he was holding.

You wiped your tears away with the back of your hand and downed the rest of your coffee before placing the mug in the sink, grabbing a checked fleece from the hook on your way out the door. The air outside was biting, bringing a rosiness to your cheeks which you didn’t really mind, you’d be out of the cold and in the Bison soon enough. You took note of the patrol coming back in through the gates and smiled at some of the other families as you weaved your way through the crowds of people who had stopped in the streets.

“Tommy!” You stopped dead in your tracks. Tommy was a popular man around here; someone was always looking for him but there was no mistaking whose voice that was. When you turned ever so slightly they were embracing in a hug, it made your heart burst to see them together like that, how they used to be, how Joel used to be. He seemed a lot brighter, full if a bit more life. You scanned the horses and noticed a young girl amongst the patrollers, someone you hadn’t seen before, you wondered if she was his, if he’d met someone new after you, fallen in love again and decided to have another kid, you wondered if he was healed, if she’d healed him.

When you turned your attention back to them he was already looking at you and for the first time in your life you couldn’t read him, his emotions had always been so strong, when he loved it was with his whole heart and as you came to find out, when he hated, that was with his whole heart too.

You tore your gaze away from his and headed towards the pub, clutching at your chest, you were grateful that you didn’t have to open for another hour as you slumped against the wooden cupboard behind the bar, trying your best to regulate your breathing, eyes closed and head pounding. As you’d finally calmed down and peeled your eyes open you noticed a head full of curls peaking over the bar, Tommy.

“You know he was coming?” You asked, with a slight shake evident in your voice.

“Nah, guys picked him and the girl up whilst out on patrol.” He began rounding the bar to sit on the floor with you.

“Is that his daughter?”

“Don’t think so, haven’t had chance to speak to him properly yet, ‘ad to come check on you.” He nudged your shoulder with his and gave you a sincere smile, one which you returned, he’d always looked out for you and now that Joel was back that wasn’t going to change. “Take the rest of the afternoon off, I’ve got it covered here.”

“Thanks Tommy,” you pull him into a hug before standing up and heading home.

You take a hot shower and try to drown out the recurring memories of how Joel fell out of love with you, of how when he looked at you his eyes no longer held warmth, how when you’d touch him he’d flinch and looked away. When you sat at your dresser your eyes fixed on your engagement ring that sat in a wooden box that the carpenter in Jackson had been kind enough to make, it wasn’t incredibly fancy, you weren’t into big sparkly rocks, but the green amethyst stone was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, and it made your heart burst to know that he picked it.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sat at the dresser but when you snap out of your trance you realise you don’t quite know what to do with the rest of your afternoon, perhaps you should’ve carried on with your shift, but you know there’s no arguing with Tommy. Eventually you decide on grabbing a book from the bookshelf and sitting outside on the porch with a cup of coffee. That’s when you see him again, or rather hear him. The door to the Bison swings and he storms out, jacket in hand, boots trudging through the sludgy remnants of snow until he stops in the middle of the street, he looks down and you watch, over the top of your book, as his body lets out a breath he seems to have been holding in for a long time.

You try to hold your tongue but you’re not about to let him walk around in this town and ignore you. “Get into a fight with Tommy?” you question, placing your book down in your lap and pulling the blanket further up your legs. His head shoots up to look at you, his expression looks pained, like he knew this was coming but would prefer it to not be happening right now.

“Somethin’ like that,” he grumbles as he slowly walks over to the house, treading lightly both figuratively and literally.

“Ah, still the same Joel Miller, so elusive and cautious, so stony-faced,” he doesn’t answer you, just looks away to where the girl is talking to some other kids, “of course, he wasn’t always like that,” you mumble, more to yourself than him but he still catches it.

“Don’t” He snaps back.

“Don’t?” You scoff, “that’s rich, what? Can’t handle a bit of shit back?” Again, he doesn’t answer. “That your kid?” You ask, you make sure that you breathe when you ask but really, you’re suffocating inside, you want to fawn over him, you want to hug him and cradle his head in your hand, and you want him to rub soothing circles on your hips like he used to but you’re dealing with an entirely different man now.

“No.” There’s a pause, you notice his eyes flit down to your hands, presumably searching out your ring. “Just tryna get her somewhere.” You nod at his response before silence falls over you both, your eyes drifting over to the kid.

“What’s her name?”

“Ellie.” You nod your head once again.

You can feel everything bubbling up inside you, emotions and words and if you’re not careful they’ll come bubbling out of you in a way that you can’t control. Every second spent in his presence goads you. “You… got a boyfriend?” he asks cautiously and you roll your eyes.

“Jheez Joel, no, how are ya?” He looks down at his fingers that are resting on the wooden railing, like a little boy that’s just been told off. You don’t even know how to respond, your brain trying to categorise your thoughts and feelings like your mind is a jumble sale.

“What ya thinking about?” His voice is soft, his eyes feel as though they’re looking into your soul, like they used to do, he was looking at you like he did when you did something he adored, something that reminded him why he loved you so damn much.

When you let out a sigh instead of an answer, he tapped both hands on the railing and pushed himself off, a slight smile that quickly turned into a frown. “See ya around.”

He stopped walking as you began speaking and you were glad his back was to you because here comes the word vomit,

“ Thinkin about how one day, probably sometime within the next five years, my kids are gonna come runnin up on this porch and my husband is gonna come home from his patrol shift, presumably with you, and he’s gonna tell me about his day and he’ll give that little of a shit that he won’t even notice that I’m not lookin directly at him, I’m lookin past him at you. About how, when I go to tuck my kids in at night I’ll get this stabbing in my chest and this gnawing feeling in my brain telling me that I’m a bad mother because sure, I’ll love them to absolute pieces but part of me can’t help but think I’d love them more if they were your kids. About how I’ll get into bed at night, with my husband who doesn’t so much as utter a “goodnight” to me, instead just rolls over and goes straight to sleep and I’ll cry and mull over what could have been and what I wanted more than anything in the world- until the exhaustion washes over me. Then I’ll wake up the next day and do it all over again. That’s what I’m thinking about Joel.”

He turns to face you at your admission and you can see the tears in his eyes, watching as he forces them out with a blink before wiping a stray one with the back of his flannel. “See ya around,” he repeats.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller angst #hbo joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #hbo joel miller x you #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us #angsty joel miller #dovedewdrop

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neteyummy · 1 year

Note

ITS ME AGAINNNN I LOVE LOVEEE YOUR LAST REQUEST :C ❤️

ever since ive been reading a lot of manhwas and i got an idea form it that id love to read a fic of with neteyam xv

okay so i was thinking of a heart wrenching angst but comfort later on with an arranged engagement of reader and neteyam where neteyam starts to hate reader just because he was basically forced to be with her and reader is always patient eith him even if hes so mean to her like going with other girls or smth and one day reader snaps at his rudeness towards her and says nah lets break up. and at first neteyam is like FINE but he later starts to notice how his daily life that always had you there for him, helping him with whatever, being his maid basically sbfushd and he starts to miss you. starts to realize how much he fucked up becuz he realized how faithful you were to him and worked so so so hard for him and was always there for him :((( but hes too late now bcz he sees you finally giving other men a chance to court you since youre no longer his now ;(

Huhuhu a little request won’t hurt hm?

Warning: Hurt. No comfort yet.

From the day I was born, you and I were promised to each other without a single say in it. While you despised me for it, I felt sympathy for you and did my best to stay out of your way.

His jaw clenched as he observed your face, watching as the words left your mouth. You were both in a healing tent, where you were initially patching up the older man after he had returned with the raid party. Neteyam was being even colder than usual, asking if someone else could patch him up in your stead. That had been your last straw, after all those times, after all those years, of him either pretending like you didn’t exist or disregarding your efforts made for the sake of him.

My whole life, I have been training to become someone worthy to stand beside you, the future Olo’eyktan of our clan. Did I want to though?

You chuckled bitterly, looking down at your folded hands in your lap. You could feel his piercing gaze on your head.

What would it matter if I wanted to or not, right? Just like you had no choice but to accept me as your future mate, I had no choice but to comply to the orders given by your grandmother and my parents. I merely existed to be your Tsahìk.

Looking up from your lap, you met his hardened gaze with his ears pulled back. You felt your stomach tighten.

I did not want this, Neteyam. I did not.

What changed then? He rasped out. You think I didn’t notice all those times you looked at me as if I hung all the stars myself? Don’t think I also didn’t notice you enjoying your training with my grandmother. That says enough for me.

Silence.

You pondered over whether you should deny his claims or admit it. He looked agitated, looking down at you as he stood tall infront of you. You noticed again how much he had physically grown, over the last year. Taut muscles filling up in all the right places and facial features looking a lot sharper now. You looked down again, avoiding his accusing eyes.

You let out a small exhale.

When you spend most of your time by your teacher and have a very limited interaction with opposite genders, you tend to fall for who is most present in your daily life.

With a sad look in your eyes, you matched his gaze again.

You happened to be the only man I am freely allowed to be around, for long. I do not have the privilege of meeting up with other men like you do, with other women, Neteyam.

At that, he pursed his lips. Moving back and forth on his feet as he nodded in a mock understanding.

But you continued.

Falling for you was my biggest mistake, Neteyam. If I had known in all those times you were with other women, being hopeful for a day you would open up to me, see me for who I am and not as someone you are forced to spend the rest of your future with, against your will, that this was all nothing but a wishful thinking, I would have done everything in my will to stop these feelings from growing any further.

Cocking his head to the side, Neteyam let out a laugh, disbelief painting his face. He had stopped footing around and was now standing infront of you again. Same pursed lips as he squinted down at you in a mean look.

Save your lies for another day. I know for a fact that you are more than allowed to meet up with other men. We are NOT mated yet. Don’t act like we are. What about your lil friend that always tails you, huh? Forgot about him already?

You watched his expression grow even more sour at the last part he spat. The things he was saying confused you to no end, but hearing him deny your statement of not having the same privilege as him made anger simmer inside you.

Standing up tall in cold fury and looking dead in his eyes, you pushed your index finger at where his heart laid, hidden behind his chest.

I have never once lied in my whole life, that I assure you. But to think you are this ignorant of our betrothal really disappoints me, Neteyam. I know the sight of me upsets your mood and you wish for nothing to do with me. But I had honestly expected more from our future leader.

You paused and took in the expressions written all over his face. It going from an accusing glint in his eyes to the one of a slight shock, finally settling on an unreadable expression.

And in a low voice, he asked you.

What did you want from me.

It sounding more like a statement rather than a question, you cocked your head to the side, watching his eyes trail on the ground.

He had managed to pick up on your little movement, though.

You held me back here with this talk. I’m sure there is a point in bringing this topic up? What do you want from me with this?

A fool you were, to think he would ever be the same understanding man that he is with everyone else. You really hoped that being the one to touch on this topic and to possibly clear the air between the two of you would make some positive change in your dynamic. That you wouldn’t have to resort to your last option.

Biting your lower lips as it started to quiver while tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to pour down. You searched his eyes for any hint of guilt or regret for having been this harsh with you up until the very last moment. When you found none, the tears that were threatening to spill finally broke free. Your heart never having ached this badly before, it was almost suffocating.

I want to break this betrothal.

Tbc here

#neteyam #neteyam fic #neteyam x reader #avatar #avatar the way of water #neteyam sully #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x oc #yummys request

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lightlycareless · 2 months

Note

Imagine: naoya and y/n have been happily married for years, and y/n has Lesley Gore's "You don't own me" as ringtone because it makes naoya so embarrassed, he would be like "love, I have already apologized 🥺"

PS: love your work, you alone are making justice to naoya's character. Your characterization of him is canon in my mind.

Hello!!!

Awww this is 🥺 man I feel so bad for him haha. But it's true, once everything is healed and nice, this man will still feel that he could never make up for his mistakes 😭 you'd be there to reassure him, though :) ❤️

Anyways, I've decided to apply some creative... differences to this. Mainly because I wanted to get really angsty with it mwahahahahahahah (also, it's not noted here, but there are some things that will remind her of those days, so she will avoid anything that might make her remember that. The two are in love, but... it's a difficult path. but trauma always is.)

Also, thank you so much for your lovely words!! I do try my best :') I'm so glad that you liked my characterization!! This man is capable of more... under the right circumstances 🤭

warnings: a bit of angst. naoya is deeply regretful. you're supportive. mentions of abuse (not really, but something bad is implied)

happy reading!

“—this is why I don’t like going out with you. Nothing ever seems to be of your liking!”

“If you have such a bad time with me, then why don’t you leave?!”

“I might as well!”

Naoya was never one to overhear gossip (coming from strangers, that is.). Thought it to be incredibly boring, dull, mundane, especially from civilians. What could they even experience? Their boring 9-5 job? Yeah, no thanks.

Yet, something about this conversation didn’t elude his attention like it used to, and before he knew it, when he was once focused on your voice, he was now nothing but attentive to the hurtful words of the couple nearby.

They weren’t directed at him, obviously, nor did they refer to anything he could take personally…

But the weight of his past makes it impossible for him to look beyond his own guilt, instinctively attaching their words to his own actions. Like he was the one they were discussing.

Naoya knows he was a… less than desirable man at the beginning of this marriage. He doesn’t claim otherwise, he can’t, since there are still many things to make amends for…

Things that he knows he’ll never be able to; for the atrocities he committed to you… they’re unspeakable. Even with the promise he made to spend of the rest of his life making it up to you, one he doesn’t intend to let go.

But… will he ever amount to it? Can he do so?

…

He’d rather die trying, than never at all.

“Another one?” You ask when he suggests going to another store. The two had come on a date at a shopping mall, intending to pick up some things needed for the apartment, alongside enjoying each other’s company; Naoya’s work had been quite demanding as of lately, and he intended to get his dosage of you, enough to cover a whole month. “But I thought you wanted to head back already…?”

“Yes, but then I thought we’d make the best of our visit here before leaving instead. Who knows when we’ll be back?”

“Oh, well… if that’s what you want…” you frown, a bit unsettled by his sudden change, which was only to worsen.

“No! I mean—we can do that too if you want to.” Naoya interjects.

“You’re not making much sense…”

“What I mean to say is that we can do whatever you want.” He scurries to explain. “Just say the word and I’ll do it.”

“I... don’t have anything in mind, really. Going home sounded good.”

“Are you sure? We can go somewhere else too. You know I have no limitations.”

“I think I’m done for the day—”

“Home it is. Would you like the estate, the apartment, or your parents’ house?”

“My parents house?? But that’s—that’s on the other side of the country!” you gasp; and while you’re always appreciative of Naoya’s willingness to go above and beyond, this was actually a bit… excessive—and that’s saying a lot coming from him!

“And?”

“What do you mean and? We can’t just hop on a plane and leave!”

“Of course we can.” He corrected. “We can leave right now if you want.”

“Again with the—Where did this come from?? Is everything alright, Naoya? What’s gotten into you??”

“Nothing! Is it wrong to want to please you, too?” Naoya frets.

“Too?” you repeat. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s—It’s nothing. Just tell me what you—”

“No, it is important. It has to be if it’s affecting you like this!” you cry. “Tell me, Naoya. Please. I thought we agreed we could tell each other everything!”

“It’s nothing you don’t know already.”

“Like what?” you frown. “What do I already know?? You’re not making any sense!”

“That I don’t deserve you!” he condemns. “That I’ve done terrible things to you that I can never erase, no matter how much I try—and that perhaps you’d be infinitely happier with someone else; someone… that isn’t me.”

Even with the large, noisy sounds of the lively mall, silence manages to quickly engulf the two soon after, drowning you in the pain Naoya’s unexpected words gave you, piercing your heart and the hope you’ve placed for the future of this relationship.

One created with the notion that everything bad had been left in the past, ready to move on… only to realize, it wasn’t that easy to do so. Suddenly coming back, in the most unwanted, painful way you could’ve imagined—seemingly unprompted, but equally damaging to Naoya’s sentiments.

“That’s… that’s not true.” You eventually murmur, looking at him, while Naoya’s eyes remain glued to the floor. “None of what you’re saying is true.”

Then why do I keep feeling this way?

“… you don’t… believe that… do you?” You continue, managing to get a glimpse of his face, which reflected nothing but sadness and disbelief towards your words.

“It seems like all I do is hurt you.” Naoya laments. “No matter how much I try, I’ll never be able to escape—"

“Don’t say that—that’s not who you are.” You interject, stepping closer to him. “We’ve come a long way from where we began, you’re not that same man from before.”

“But I keep making the same mistakes, I keep hurting you.”

“It’s not easy to leave behind what you thought normal for all your life—or to accept them as mistakes…” you take his hand. “So, when you do fall back into your old ways, but bounce back right up… It shows you’re trying. It shows you’re regretful and want to do better.”

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

“I know.” He lifts your gaze to yours; you place your other hand just above his cheek, giving him a soft smile. “And… I know you don’t do it intentionally. I’ve seen your heart, the pain you went through and how it affected you. But I also saw what you’re capable of, the love you’ve harbored, how you longed to share it, and… how lucky I am to be the one to earn it.”

“…I’m the lucky one.” Naoya leans into your touch. “To have found a wife so compassionate…”

“We’ve both done things we’re… not proud of. But that doesn’t mean we’re eternally bound to them. As long as we’re regretful and strive to do better… it’s all that matters.”

“But when is enough?” Naoya murmurs. “When will I stop feeling like this?”

“I don’t know. There are some things we can’t stop, we simply… learn how to live with them.” You admit. “I wish it was possible.”

He frowns, looking away.

“But I do know one thing, though.”

“…What is it?”

“That I love you. With your faults and virtues—and everything in between. Is what makes you, you, Naoya.” You giggle, he gives you a tight smile. “And I’ll spend my whole life telling you that until you believe it yourself!”

He chuckles; seems that both have made lifelong promises that neither intends to forget anytime soon.

“I love you too.” Naoya professed. “Thank you for everything. You’ve given me so much, probably even more than what I deserved—that I’ll spend my whole life making it up to you.”

“You don’t have to, Naoya. You only deserve more.” You reassure him. “But really, you don’t need to make it up to me! As long as you remember the love we have for each other, and that I’ve long forgiven you, is enough for me.”

At your words, the tears Naoya was trying his best to hold back finally slide down his cheeks, which you quickly wipe away with your thumbs, before giving him a smile and pulling him closer for a peck on the lips.

“Everything is going to be fine.” You promised, he looks back at you. You kiss him again, taking him into your arms and hugging him. “If you don’t mind me asking, however… what happened that made you feel this way? Did I do something?”

Naoya sighs, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“No, never. It was just something stupid, actually. Some people arguing, that’s all.”

“Oh.” You blink, quickly understanding why he’d feel insecure about your relationship; the familiarities were too close for comfort. “That’s… unfortunate.”

“It reminded me of how we used to be… how I’d treat you.”

“That is long gone. We’ve worked past that and now, we’re in a much better place.” You snuggle against him. “Both figuratively and literally.”

“Do you still want to go home?”

“Yeah, all this shopping made me tired. Unless there’s something else you wanted to see?”

“No, I was mostly suggesting things for you. I’ve been feeling tired for a while too, now.”

“We can arrange something else for another day, then. For now, I just want to head back home, lay on the futon, cuddle underneath the covers, and maybe watch a movie… how does that sound?” you grin. “I can even prepare some popcorn, if you’d like!”

He chuckles.

“It sounds wonderful.”

Just like his new life with you. Something he never thought he’d receive, nor deserved, at least in the beginning of his marriage.

Until you proved to him otherwise, showing him that the ways of his clan, those forcefully imposed on him, didn’t determine who he was, who he could become.

That he had much more power over his life, the ultimate decision on what to do remained on him and no one else.

It was to be a difficult path, one promising bumpy roads, which will probably never end if he were to be realistic…

But it’s just as you said. As long as both know, deep inside, that they’re doing their best to overcome these obstacles, as well as remembering that they’re always there for the other, alongside their ever-growing love… nothing else mattered.

It was you and Naoya against the world.

And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

🥺 I believe Naoya will always feel undeserving, even when they have a kid together and whatnot. He comes from a very difficult family, so be prepared to face these kinds of situations when in a relationship with him 😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️

omg i can imagine it already, when he's super old, reflecting on his life he had alongside you, his kids, and probably grandchildren too... only then will he finally admit he's happy with the life he had. jfc i'm crying goodbye.

Anyways, I know I deviated a bit from your imagine, but I still hope it was to your liking! the angst between the two is real, but so good too....

As always, thank you so much for sending in this! Take care, and hope to see you soon!!

#ask #naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

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cutegirlmayra · 24 days

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Boom Sonamy, Lyric comes back trying to achieve immortality. He needs an exhange of life for a life so a live sacrifice but can't read the rest of the inscription. So he kidnaps Amy again to read the rest of the message otherwise he'll destroy the village and plans to sacrifice her. The gang come to save her and stop Lyric. You can add more to make it more dramatic if you want with a better ending than I can think of ^_^'

I do tend to always just add more, don’t I? XD I’m sorry for those who I’ve taken your idea and ran with my own thoughts on it, but I hope it’s been satisfactory nonetheless! Working a lot lately, so when I do have time to do the Tumblr Prompt Series (also posted on all my writing sites for viewing pleasure!) I usually do something fun but small. I’ll give it my best, Precious Anon!

Also, Lyric is a very… how do I put this… There’s not a whole hecka lot of information on him. I did some research to look back over the games he was in, and even then, it was pretty generic and bland, sorry Lyric fans!

However, sometimes, that’s actually good news. You know why? Shocking, I know! But it means the character is wide open for interpretation and expanding upon them. I won’t be doing that for this fic, necessarily, but I think characters with great potential are usually those that have little information but just enough to peak interest. It’s one of the reasons I felt Amy Rose was a character I could put more lore and backstory on, because although I did study her character, there wasn’t a whole lot on her. It made her a canvas that felt ‘half-full’, able to be influenced and expanded upon.

However, in recent times, Amy Rose and many other characters like her in different franchises (Not necessarily in personality or role, but just the same level of character-depth and lore, I guess?) have really been given love and more games are coming out with better writing quality than ever before! I’m so glad that so many ‘side characters’ are treated as main cast mates, and not just thrown into trope roles anymore.

That being said, you can’t escape the occasional ‘One-time’ appearances like Lyric being a ‘Pops up in maybe Two Games and never again’ villain. But it does leave room for us Fanfiction writers to make some interesting depth to further their small legacy! <3

That being said–TUMBLR PROMPT REQUESTS ARE CLOSED, SHUT DOWN ON INBOX, lolol you were waiting for that, weren’t ya? >:3c

Hugs and blowing kisses, everyone. I’m definitely taking more time to heal from burnout and also work on Fanfiction Edits (Which are coming along nicely, I’m now back to Instincts, for those who are a fan of that one.), Original Stories (Sorry, probably won’t post them tho :( But books are important! lol), and of course, Tumblr Prompt Series so yall know I’m not dead xD

The tumblr inbox for prompt requests will remain down probably for a few more years. I know that upsets a lot of you, but if they ever do open again, I will be blocking ‘Anon’ because I think some people are posting more than the actual limit of how many they can submit. Due to this, I’m overwhelmed with hundreds (not joking, by the way.) of requests that I really don’t want to do? So we’ll be taking time to go back to stories I’ve wanted to write and solo-writing for my fanfictions/other works. I’ve gotta set up stronger boundaries! Haha XD

That being said, please enjoy this Sonic Boom (Feels ancient now) Prompt!

Prompt:

“Ultimate power… Although sounding like sweet nectar to one’s ambitious desires, tends to lead to a faulty conclusion…” A snaky whiplash from his claw-tail sent a impulse reflex through Amy’s spine, causing her to flinch and her ears to withdraw back again.

She was so mad, tied up to a pillar inside an ancient tomb, having been ambushed while excavating what looked like a madman’s attempt at immortal life.

Roughly translated, a doctor related to Eggman, known as Ivo Robotnik had first discovered this tomb and kept it a secret. He researched and found a successful way to immortalize someone… but he failed to interpret the last section of the stone slab’s text…

A life for a life… to give Shadow The Hedgehog, his ultimate creation, immortality–to live and breathe forever in the purpose of curing the world of its vital mistakes and sins–he accidentally let his granddaughter, Maria Robotnik, die in the process…

As she read the inscription, Ivo’s account tells that her life was being drained from her… and eventually, was converted in some miraculous way into what was necessary to mechanically engineer this ancient tomb’s purpose: Infinitely Sustained Life.

Shadow, overwhelmed by the loss of his friend, turned on Ivo Robotnik, and sealed the tomb to never let the tragedy that had befallen here happen again… until now.

‘Opps.’ Amy thought to herself, annoyed by Lyric carrying on with his wicked monologue about being the last of the ancients, having envied and coveted this technology, but had lost before he could even begin to understand it. ‘I’ve been following the late Ivo Robotnik’s work in hopes of finding the ancient world… I didn’t think I’d stumble upon this buttless snake again…’ She sighed quietly, blinking her eyes as though counting subconsciously the seconds before she was to be daringly rescued by her friends.

Again…

‘Why was it always me?’ She grumbled in her thoughts before the second whipping crack of his tail colliding with the ground near her snapped her out of her thoughts again.

“You remain awfully quiet… that’s offssssseting.” He hissed to her side, which made her lean as far right as she could muster, trying to get away from his anciently stanky breath.

“Upsetting,” She appeared to be clarifying, “That I have to have my peaceful afternoon so rudely interrupted by the echoes of a delusional reptilian, but I mean, at least I’m complaining internally.” She smirked up to him, showing she wasn’t trying to help him, she was just making a snarky comeback.

He shook his head, his lips swerving in their rage as he lifted himself up, completely over her cocky and irritating behavior.

“You will read the slab for me!” He smashed down his robotic arm by her, and she had to turn her head away from the dust and flying debris of shattered rock taking off from the impact.

“Like I’d die for you!” She badmouthed back, “Sonic and my friends will be here any minute. Seems you’ve become very fond of our combined butt-whooping, Lyric! I can’t fathom any other reason you’d keep wishing it upon you, unless it truly makes you feel like you even have a butt to whoop.”

“Silence!” He roared up, having the whole of the tomb shake from his vibrating, strong sound before Amy just scoffed.

“Finally, we see snake-eye to hedgehog-eye now.” She leaned back on the pillar she was tied to, taking a nice breath out. “Ah~ Now, to await the inevitable victory-WUOO!” She was yoinked practically up, snapping her restraints around her wasit but her arms still behind her back.

Lyric had taken hold of her head, as she kicked the air and tried to hit him while he held her uncomfortably high.

She could probably be alright, but she couldn’t use her Enerbeam… Nor her Piko-Piko Hammer while her arms were still tied-up, although her legs free.

She could feel the squeezing of his robotic claws digging into her cranium, and for the first time that day, she actually showed the tire and wear of having struggled against him for so long.

Not only did she dig her way carefully as she could in here, trying to preserve the ancient relics to study them later, but she had to fight Lyric, and now…

“If you will not comply…” He pulled her face towards his own, using his tail to grab her legs and keep them tightly clamped together, making sure her struggle just became ten-times harder…

Her eyes were twitching under the pressurized hold the claws had on her head… Looking up as she couldn’t help but show the strain.

“Then you’ll remember an old friend, I’m sure…” He attached a new mind-controller on her, as he let her go and she fell to all fours,... then looked up to show she was fully under his power.

“Perfect~” He chimed, laughing manically, “Now, read it to me!” He slashed his tail against the wall, turning for her to get up and walk towards the slab.

She knelt and held out her two hands to it, reading the rock…

“At last! My robotic empire! To erase the weak and insipid existence of all living organisms…” He slithered and opened his arms to the murals around the tomb. “To eternally strive for perfect power… the influence of which only the vast superiority of machines can dictate! Eggman was a fool to try and rival me… You and your friends were mere insects to my reign! Biting and taunting me, getting in my way to distract me from the ultimate purpose of my recreation!” He twisted the wrist joint of his robotic arm and held up his claw-like hand, admiring it. “Soon, even I shall become fully mechanized! With immortality, I can improve my own being once more! No longer half-complete, a mutated cyborg with still my fleshy prison! But… I shall shed this weakling flesh to become truly–the immortal mechanized god of this new world!” He struck an all-powerful and imposing pose, but an explosion of rocks and rumbling of the tomb’s unstabilized structure shook him out of his gloating aside to himself once more.

“Wh-what? OFFPH!” A red, shiny shoe smushed with great force against his face, crushing it as Sonic sped into the fight, and Shadow rushed to Amy’s side.

“Snap out of it!” He could tell by her faint breathing that she was already losing her life force, the stream of which was moving through the air into the large center dome-like structure above the tomb.

“No… not again..!” Shadow cried out, seeing as Lyric was able to actually combat Sonic, who had tried to pin him down but was flung off of him.

Lyric laughed again with the added strength of immortality slowly being converted into him by the strange process of the powerful stream of light waving through the air, coming out of the ball, to then attach to him like a leash.

“Soon, Sonic, all your friends will contribute to is merely delaying the eventual takeover of this planet..!” Lyric, slithering towards Sonic as he kept backing up, felt his body powering up. “Every muscle in you will eventually wither and die… while mine shall stay immaculate… and whether you continue to prevent me from my destined course of fate or not, sooner or later… You will die.” He lunged into Sonic’s face, who looked horrified at what he was saying. “While I’ll still yet have endless time left in me… to conquer, maim, and entirely transform this pathetic mossy rock into yet another perfect rendition of what I shall become… Immortality pristine, everlasting, and most importantly…” He rose himself up into the air, his tail whipping around underneath him. “A robotic masterpiece..!”

“Amy..!!!” Shadow gripped at her mindcontrolling device on her head, but it was wedged on tightly this time, “Darn it, woman!” He looked to the slab, she was almost done..!

He closed his eyes, realizing what he must do.

“Forgive me… Maria.” He covered Amy’s mouth so she couldn’t speak. “I will have to belay my promise to you… and save this pathetic excuse for a world… if only to bring your perfect idealisms to light… perhaps… another day.”

He lowered his head and read the last of the inscription, which took his immortality and-

The beam redirected.

“WHAT?!” Lyric landed back on the ground, looking at his robotic arms before turning to finally notice Shadow as he held Amy, giving her back her life force…

“NOOO!!!” Lyric began to move quickly towards him, but Sonic thomped him yet again to the ground.

He folded his arms, standing triumphantly over him, “Looks like your brilliant plan at eternal robotization backfired yet again, Lyric! Now, you’re just softly singing the poetic justice of what happens to those who try and metallically make their own butts to be kicked!” He kicked Lyric as he moved forward with a humorous cry of pain from it.

“Shadow?” Sonic then raced to his side, looking at Amy in his arms and having her transferred to his own.

Shadow… slowly shook his head.

Sonic, worried now, looked down at Amy. “Amy?”

She didn’t move… the light breeze from their entrance now sending the wind to move her three bangs.

“... Amy?” There was a long… hard pause…

The air was still, even Lyric pushed up off the ground, holding his push-up position, and looked to see with a swishing tail if immortality could still be his afterall.

Then… her eyes blinked…

“Miss Rose?” The little blonde human girl was bending down to speak to her, as she got up, rubbing her head.

“Wha-... H-huh?” She looked around what seemed like a white space. “Am I… dead?” She looked at the girl, gasping, “Maria Robotnik!?”

The little girl shyly giggled, gently covering her mouth, “Oh, I’m sorry for laughing, this isn’t the time nor place for that.” She then curtsied and offered her her hand, “You’re not dead. I’m giving you my life’s essence… the same essence… that was used to give Shadow his immortal life.”

“W-What?!” Amy scooted away, kicking her feet out from the girl’s hand. “That’s ludicrous! I don’t want eternal life!” She exclaimed, “I… I want to grow old with my friends, and have countless adventures… a family and eventually… make global peace and end world hunger.” She looked down, “Set up an all-women government and prove that we can organize a better democracy and-”

Maria just giggled again, “Many. Big. Dreams.” She gave each word a single note and pause, not necessarily for dramatic flavor or effect, but to show how much they meant to her.

“Many times have I wished for a better world. Bigger and bigger have my heartfelt prayers become. Dreams of an absolution… from misery and fire, to passion and compassion reigning evermore on the earth.” She gently offered her hand to Amy again.

“If you can’t accept an immortal life… then accept entirely your own life. All it’s happenings. Even the mistakes…”

Amy looked at her hand… realizing that without Maria, she would likely never be able to return to life at all…

“Is this… really the only way?” Amy held up her hand, but hesitated, looking sweetly at the girl. “I’m sure… W-We could ask Tails… We could find a way to bring you back!” She formed a fist, “We can reverse what this place has done to you!”

Maria just smiled like the angel she was. “... This is the only way…” She quietly stated, “Come, be at peace. Your friends are waiting for you.”

Amy dropped her head, her hand loosening from a determined fist to an open hand again, and looked at it. “... Dying sure does suck… doesn’t it?” She looked with teary eyes up to the kind, optimistic girl. Her heart wanted to help her, but she was sacrificing herself–yet again–for the greater good.

“Thank you… Maria.” She took her hand… as a white light engulfed them.

“No, Amy Rose. Thank you… for never giving up on the world we live in. In it’s present, so many seek to extend their lives, in fear that they will live to short or not greatly enough. The real life we should long for, is the one we’re currently on right now. With so much possibility, with so many endless adventures to take… When one begins to stop fearing the future, then can we really live and create it at last… the way-...”

“We want to.” Amy finished, as Maria’s voice faded and she opened her actual eyes.

Sonic and Shadow were over her… Shadow having lost his Immortality, but Amy not gaining it.

Instead, Amy had died and Maria used her life force to give it back to her.

Both mortal now, Amy looked from Sonic to Shadow, and held up a hand to grace his cheek, “She’s lovely.” She smiled kindly to him. “Maria was such a beautiful young girl.”

Shadow couldn’t hold it back, and cried.

He ducked his head as her hand came gently off and moved to Sonic’s chest, patting it lightly, “Boy, does that heart never cease to slow down?” She teased, as Sonic sighed in relief.

“Happy to have you back… Ames.” He gave her a fond expression, and she leaned her head into his embracing arms, resting in that soft gaze of sweetness he gave her.

“ARRGGGAHHH!!” Lyric arched his back, crying out in further outrage. “HOW!? You fools! I will return, I will bring a bigger robotic army, I’ll have you ruing the day you-!”

There’s was a large ‘KONK!’ sound as mechanical birds flew around his head while he circled a little in the air and then fell forward, revealing Tails with a large wrench held like a thrown baseball bat, Knuckles with his fists positioned as though they had just hit something as well, and Sticks with her boomerang and one hand on the ground to show she had just caught it.

“Man, to think. We’ve stumbled upon a literal ANCIENT secret governmental conspiracy! Whoo! Glad I’m only living in a time where we have to deal with our modern governmental conspiracies!” She spouted out, looking relieved for some odd reason.

“Oh, hey Bestie!” She waved enthusiastically to Amy, who lightly waved back at her, giggling as she came over.

Completely unaware…

Of what just happened here moments before.

“What were you up to?” She asked, innocently.

Shadow covered his face from the view of the others, as Sonic looked to him and then to Amy, and helped her to lean up more so she could be sitting comfortably as she twisted her torso to address the others, and mostly answer Sticks’s question.

“Changing fate.” She replied, smiling from ear to ear. “And hopefully…”

“Making all of ours a good one.”

#sonic boom prompt #boom!amy #sonic boom #lyric #cutegirlmayra #sonic prompt #rise of lyric #sonic fire and ice #boom!sonic #boom sonamy #sonamy boom #Sonic toon

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canariie · 5 months

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For your reblogs milestone requests (congratulations!!) If this pings you, I'd love to see Hitsugaya + Hinamori + CAMPING. Good trip, bad trip, planned, unplanned, business, pleasure... Any kind of camping and any kind of tone!

how to start a fire

Rating: K+

“Hinamori, you’re imagining things—go to sleep.”

“I am not,” she hissed, with a little more bite than intended. She was still bitter about their squabble. “I know there’s something out there.” She turned to her backpack, fumbling around in the dark as she searched for the flashlight. “Did you read the information pack that Hisagi-san had sent? Apparently, this used to be a habitat for bears.”

“Yes, and I read the amended version Ise-fuukutaicho sent—the local bear population has become endangered. The only thing we’re in danger of is losing our sleep,” he grumbled.

…

Momo is sent to train Toushiro in the World of the Living in combination kido.

Word Count: 3670 words

Setting: after the Bleach Anniversary Hell Chapter

Prompt: @hitsuhina-week Gift Exchange 2023 for @whipplefilter

"maybe we didn't argue, but we don't agree"/ "Hitsugaya asks Hinamori to teach him her kidou-weaving"/"HitsuHina from unexpected/outside POVs"

Authour’s Note: This is SO LATE IN ALL THE SENSES. Firstly, because Whipple sent this request in like, summer. And then I was matched with them for the Gift Exchange which I thought I could make! but holidays! & falling sick! (are we really ever as productive as we would like over the holidays??)

(Thank you @rays-of-fire-and-ice for being understanding!)

When I saw the prompts that Whipple sent, I immediately thought of their initial fic request & thought it was such a perfect thing to combine! Unfortunately, I couldn't get in the Hitsuhina from an outside POV but maybe one day in the future!

I had a lot of fun trying to flesh this out and was really happy to go back to writing after so long! However, I believe much like the rest of the fandom, life is going to get busy in the coming months for me and I won't be as active in writing as I would like to :( I hope to still participate in events but it does really inspire me reading everyone's work when I come back to try to write on my own!!

Happy New Year everyone! Here's hoping 2024 is one with happiness and laughter and fun for everyone!!

I hope you all enjoy this!

---

Momo dropped her duffel bag and began to rummage around it, pushing overnight clothes and toiletries aside. “Here’s a clearing: we can proceed here.”

Toushiro looked around skeptically, noting the abandoned fire pits and wooden pavilions in the distance. “Won’t we be disturbing the humans?”

“Soutaicho had reserved the whole camping ground area while the Twelfth Division set up a barrier that would send any human that would walk towards the training facilities, confused but turned around.” She swallowed the gikon pill, feeling her human body leave her as if she were shedding a coat off.

The tenth captain raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t the Kido Corps have facilitated that?”

Momo shrugged, though she admitted she wondered about the ethics of the research division sometimes. “All the training leaders were assured that they wouldn’t be harmed. Nanao-san also reiterated that each cell would be allocated a parcel of the forest—so we don’t have to worry about anyone else while we train.”

With the new frontier of Hell on the line, the Gotei 13 were implementing new training tactics to prepare for the unknown battle. Each division had received a list of candidates for leaders of the cell groups—specific internal training groups to provide targeted instruction on skills soldiers may find lacking. Momo had been selected from the Fifth Division to lead high level kido proficiency, specifically on combination spells. The leaders ranged in rank, from captains to lieutenants and even high ranked seated officers. She had heard later from Matsumoto, Ikkaku had been selected to lead swordsmanship skills, Isane for healing during combat, a fourth seat in the eighth division for defensive spells among many. The cell groups would then be volunteers from across the Gotei 13 that would train with the leaders in World of the Living on a reserved human camping site.

Momo had been flattered (even when her captain had bemoaned jokingly why he hadn’t been picked) but was also left feeling disconcerted at the letter.

A few weeks ago, there was an expedition team sent out earlier to understand the spells and mechanisms that opened Hell’s Doors as well as scope its initial terrain. The list was short and concise with only a few captains and lieutenants selected. Renjii & Rukia were on the list as they had already prior experience in the hellscape. Momo had been keen to go, as she heard her name was nominated by Rukia to help with kido to break down the entrance. However, the day before the mission, her name was taken off the list with a curt note saying that her kido services would no longer be required. During the prior lieutenant’s meeting Renjii looked at her with a regretful glance, squeezing her shoulder sympathetically and she later received an apology Hell Butterfly from the Thirteen Captain before the expedition team left.

Momo had walked back to the Fifth Division in a daze, feeling a bit bereft at the sudden change in plans. The shock must have been evident on her face as her captain immediately took one look at her before bringing her to the couch and placing a warm cup of tea in her hands.

“Hitsugaya-taicho seems to have requested you for your first training session.”

“Why?” Momo asked. She had been reviewing the list of volunteers who wanted to train with her and was surprised at the number of people. If she were to spend time with each one, she would have to remain in the World of the Living for at least a month.

However, she had not seen Toushiro’s name on her initial list—much less expected him to volunteer. The tenth captain was quick on his feet in battle and she never assumed his skills were lacking.

Hirako-taicho shrugged. “Maybe he wants a brush up as well? I know he had gone on the Hell Expedition Team & him and the little Kuchiki realized there was some reworking off spells to be done.”

That got Momo to pause as she was sorting through the files. It had been a couple of weeks since the team had returned from Hell. “Hitsugaya-taicho had joined the expedition?” As far as she knew, he was never a candidate for the expedition, and he hadn’t mentioned anything like that to her.

Her captain stilled, his eyes avoiding her questioning look. “I believe he was the last-minute change…”

“Hirako-taicho—why did Hitsugaya-kun go on the expedition?”

He sighed in quiet exasperation. “I heard from Abarai that Hitsugaya-taicho requested you off the mission,” he said reluctantly. “And when there was no other candidate to go, he volunteered himself.”

“And why would he do that?” she asked quietly, still processing what she had heard.

Hirako shook his head, his bangs falling away from his eyes. “He never brought it up at the captain’s meeting. He went directly to the Soutaicho & the expedition team.”

The news sat with Momo as she prepared her training plan and packed her bags to go the World of the Living. The unease festered inside of her, leaving her with feelings of self-doubt and anxiety. She found herself unable to sleep well and only when she stepped onto the campgrounds and breathed in the fresh air, could she feel the tension loosening in her shoulder.

Momo had an earlier departure time and was preparing the grounds when the Tenth Captain dropped in, much later in the evening when the sky was hedging into dusk. It had been the first time they had seen each other in a long while, and Momo was still feeling unsettled—so introductions were short, and she immediately led him to the training area where she was now beginning a demonstration. If the boy noticed anything unusual, he made no comment and followed suit.

Momo slipped into teaching mode, something she had learned while part-timing at the academy to help compartmentalize her life as a lecturer separate from a lieutenant.

“We’ll start off with one of my prior combination spells in battle: from during the Winter War era when Rangiku-san and I had to fight the three arrancars.” She avoided looking at Toushiro for she knew much after the fact that he hadn’t approved of her coming onto the battlefield—which apparently, things still hadn’t changed between them. “Let me show you first.”

The girl lifted her hands in front of her, demonstrating as she spoke. “The strength of the spell also comes from the foundation of the pose. I know after we graduate and go into battle, it’s very easy to skip this step as we’ve become comfortable with the incantations.” She moved her hands as if they were framing a triangle. “However, as we introduce combination spells, I find that there’s strength in using combative stances with defensive spells and vice versa.”

Her student nodded along, with a furrow in his eyebrows that Momo knew he was mentally taking notes.

“It started off with Hadou 12 Fuishibi: I had used it as a defensive base before obscuring it with a concealment spell.”

“That was Kyokou, right?” Toushiro piped in.

She nodded in affirmation. “Yes—that was the key to catching the arrancar off. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to blindside them in the initial attack.”

Toushiro’s eyebrow raised slowly, almost as if he were impressed if Momo had to guess. “That’s quite commendable that you were able to weave that many kidou together—especially for your first time.”

Momo had to stop herself from reacting openly to that. She hadn’t remembered telling him that it was her first attempt, a decision crossed in between luck and adrenaline. However, she had a lot to prove—and evidently, there were still people that doubted her.

“However, the key is finding the right igniting spell: Shakaho is a common one and it doesn’t matter how proficient you are in kidou—it’ll still give you the right amount of power you need.”

She beckoned with her head, her arms still held in front of her in stance. “You can follow me for now and then we can try separately on our own, Hitsugaya-taicho.”

When he mirrored suit, she started reciting the incantations—pausing in between lines to explain the steps.

“You start trying to imagine a series of lines, crossing each other. Imagine the intersection and focus on that. Personally, for me, it helps to visualize the centers becoming brighter to build a stronger net.”

“Like Bakudo #4, Hainawa?”

Momo winced, sensing the kidou web pull away from her. “Not really. It’s the foundation—it’s not the main goal. You’re setting up trajectory for the blast to follow.”

“Is it necessary to recite the full spell?”

“Sort of—I find it helpful to not focus fully on the incantation but instead what it represents. Breaks down the rigidity of the tradition and make it more malleable in combining different spells.”

“How do you control the scale of the net?”

“It’s all in the visualization—you need to imagine it,” she responded quickly as she felt herself faltering. The net grew dimmer and wilted, like a flower causing Momo to repeat the previous line again. She wasn’t used to being interrupted so often.

“When do you switch hand positions?”

“Hold on Hitsugaya—”, Momo could feel the net pull away from her like a storm wind catching hold of a kite. She proceeded forward and, in her haste, she skipped two lines ahead in the incantation.

The effects were immediate with the strings of the net burning brighter and brighter. Momo faltered, immediately stopping the incantation but it was too late. The net hummed in power before it exploded, sending sparks back at the shinigami & the wooden structures.

Momo could only watch as Toushiro immediately called a cool wind forth to snuff out the embers, leaving just a sizzling trail of smoke as the remains of the misspell.

“I think we better call it for the night,” he said with a measured tone, evaluating the scene.

The slip back into their gigai was so quiet and routine that even the shift of corporeal bodies couldn’t cut the thick tension between the two. The moon was hanging high & alone by the time they had returned silently back to their campsite.

Momo immediately started collecting broken branches and twigs to start the fire. She kept her head down, repeating the recent events in her head over and over. Even though Toushiro had been peppering her with questions, she knew she was accustomed to that from teaching new recruits—and inwardly Momo knew that it was her earlier feelings towards the young captain that made her mess up the incantation. There was a strong part of her that was ashamed for getting her emotions get in the way of teaching—something she had promised herself she would learn to keep professional and private matters separate.

Momo sighed deeply, walking back to their clearing, and dumping the wood into the firepit. As she rearranged the pieces into a tented position, she could feel Toushiro’s eyes on her—much like earlier, observing quietly and learning.

“It’s to help structure the flame,” she explained quietly. Momo pulled some newspapers she had brought with her and began shredding them over the pit.

“How do you know how to do this?”

“Hirako-taicho and I went on camping trips as a way to get to know each other when we first started working together. The other Vizards would also join us as well.”

Toushiro rolled his eyes. “It still amazes me how he can circumvent rules to do it.” It was an offhand comment, nothing out of the ordinary for the young captain. However, at that moment it deeply grated at her nerves, and it struck raw.

Momo snapped a branch in her hand. “Hirako-taicho completes his work as necessary. He also doesn’t cross the line—unlike you Hitsugaya-taicho.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about, Hinamori?”

“You pulled rank and took me off the Hell expedition,” she said curtly, yanking out the matchstick box from her pocket and snapping the match strong against the box.

There was a pause where Momo could only hear the friction of the match. “You’re not ready,” Toushiro said carefully, as if he were approaching a skittish creature. “There are far too many unknowns, and the risk is too great.”

“You had no business deciding to do so.” The match didn’t catch, and Momo cursed under her breath as she flicked it to the ground. She pulled another one out and began again.

“Other lieutenants were pulled off as well, it came down to essential personnel only.”

“No, Hitsugaya-taicho, you are a captain of the Tenth Division and were overstepping your bounds. Kuchiki-san had requested me on that mission for my skills and you decided to pull me off.”

The match ignited brightly in her hands. Momo dropped it into the pile of wood where it immediately spurred into large flames. She looked up to see the fire reflecting in his turquoise eyes, resolute.

“If I had to do it again, I would,” he said solemnly, holding his ground across the fire from her.

“Well that’s the difference between us, Hitsugaya-taicho—I would be honest with someone if I didn’t think they were good enough.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he sighed.

Momo straightened her shoulders back and stared firmly back at him through the flames. “I am a lieutenant of the Fifth Division, I have earned my way to serve the Gotei 13—whether you like it or not.”

Dinner was a quiet tense affair with the two of them eating their packed meals quite far and separated from each other. Momo had already started to feel awful from such negative feelings, but on principle she held her ground, quickly scarfing down her onigiri.

They had changed in silence to their sleeping clothes, each taking turns to watch shift before tucking into their respective sleeping bags across the fire pit. In the absence of a “good night,” Momo felt remorse, and found herself consciously holding back from asking if Toushiro was awake.

When they were younger, they’d climb up onto the thatched roofs to stargaze during the night. The hay would itch at bare skin and it would always take the two of them a while to get settled, but when they had found their spots, it was like the world quieted again and they lost themselves in counting the constellations. Sometimes she would speak and Toushiro would respond, in either one sentence responses or noises of affirmation—but always honest. And when it became too quiet to speak, the two would just lie in silence. It was those peaceful moments that would ground Momo whenever she was away studying in the academy; where it felt like possibilities were endless, but home was right behind her, keeping her grounded and safe.

But that felt like a different lifetime with too much death in between to tie them to the same life.

A loud rustle startled Momo from her stupor.

She pushed herself up off the ground. “Did you hear that?”

There was another sound, a creak.

“Hitsugaya-kun,” Momo called out, a twinge of fear creeping into her voice.

“I’m trying to sleep,” he groused.

She persisted, sitting up and listening carefully. The fire crackled and hissed, and Momo strained to hear through the crackle of the fire. Internally she felt at lost without being able to detect the rieatsu of whatever was out there.

“Hinamori, you’re imagining things—go to sleep.”

“Yes, and I read the amended version Ise-fuukutaicho sent—the local bear population has become endangered. The only thing we’re in danger of is losing our sleep,” he grumbled.

“I forgot how grumpy you get when you don’t get your sleep,” Momo murmured.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

A rustle was heard and Toushiro shot up, his eyes much alert. “I think there’s something approaching.”

Momo fought the urge to roll her eyes as she fished out the flashlight. “That’s what I was saying.”

A twig broke and immediately Toushiro slipped a gikon pill in, his human body falling back onto the sleeping bag.

“I’m not going to use Hyourinmaru—the weather changes will alert the humans nearby.”

Momo rustled through her duffle bag, pulling things out rapidly. “I can’t find my gikon pills—I must have left them at the training site.”

Toushiro stepped in front of her sleeping bag, his stance defensive as he mimicked Momo’s earlier pose from the training session. “I’ll handle it. I’ll use the kido weaving to stop whatever it is in its tracks.”

That got Momo to pause. “Wait, Hitsugaya-kun—I’m not sure if you’re ready.”

He started to chant, slow and steady as the noise picked up. Momo could only focus on her heart racing that she almost missed the slip of incantation: Toushiro had skipped a line—a very crucial line.

“Hitsugaya-kun—you forgot—”

The threads burned amber, casting a bright glow against the surrounding boundary of trees before they began to constrict against themselves. The woven net grew and expanded, closing in around the two of them instead of pushing outward. Toushiro realizing his error, quickly turned around and crouched over Momo as the net imploded into great sparks, rivaling a fireworks show.

The rustling noise got louder and two of them could only look up as the bush rumbled and rustled—before a bunny slipped out. It stared comically at the two of them, cocking its head to the side before hoping through the campgrounds as the two childhood friends watched.

A bubble of laughter escaped from Momo’s mouth which earned her an exasperated look from her friend above her. Toushiro’s hair was mussed with grey soot streaking the spiky edges; he looked like the human confection of a burnt marshmallow—which made Momo laugh even harder.

“This isn’t funny,” he grumbled, swiping away at his face with soot coming off.

“It kind of is,” she continued to laugh. “I’m sure when you get back into your gigai, it’ll go away.”

Whatever previous tension that was there before, disappeared and now there was a lightness as the two young shinigami cleaned up the area. The campfire that had been blazing strong before had calmed down to a dying ember, its small spark still burning bright against the night.

Momo cleared her throat, sheepishly looking down. “Would you mind if we pull these closer?” she gestured towards the distanced sleeping bags.

Toushiro shook his head. “No, not at all.”

After rearranging the bags, the two settled in quietly, lying on their backs and looking up at the stars. Momo sighed in content, feeling a lot more at peace than before but still wanted to clear the air about one more thing.

“Hitsugaya-kun,” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry for yelling at you today.”

There was a long pause and she had wondered if he had heard her. “I deserved it. I apologize for not being transparent with you.”

Momo raised an eyebrow. “The great Hitsugaya-taicho is apologizing to me?”

“Oh, shut it.” Even though it was dark, she could hear the eyeroll in his voice. “And I’ve done it before,” he added softly.

“I know.” Momo remembered it well, especially after the Winter War. “But those for things that were out of your control. This is for something you deliberately did.”

The young girl heard him sigh deeply. “It’s something I’m working on,” he conceded.

“Rangiku-san put you up to it?”

“Something like that…” he drifted off.

“Well…” Momo tucked the blanket around her tighter her shoulders. “Thank you.”

When he didn’t say anything back, she continued on, speaking softly. “You need to trust me—I understand you’re worried, but you can’t go around making decisions on my behalf without talking to me.” She turned onto her side and faced him. “I can take care of myself, Hitsugaya-kun.”

He sighed. “I know you can—I don’t doubt it at all.”

“Then what makes this different?” Momo whispered.

Toushiro was silent for a while before turning to her. “It’s what we don’t know—everything we’ve been taught feels…upended.” He grimaced & even in the dark she could see the storm brewing in his eyes. “Ukitake-taicho, the Soutaicho…they’re all there now. It feels like the rules have changed and things are out of control.”

Momo smiled sympathetically before reaching a hand across, and gently placing it on his shoulder. “I know. I’m scared too. I’m scared for everyone at the Fifth, for Hirako-taicho, Rangiku-san.” She paused and stared into his eyes. “I’m also scared for you.”

His eyes widened slowly. “Hinamori…”

“But I won’t let that stop me from wanting to protect everyone—to protect you.” She squeezed his shoulder. “That’s why I became a shinigami, right?”

Momo could sense his inner storm abating and smiled in relief. “So—trust me, okay? Like I trust you to stay safe.”

He sighed deeply and stared back at her. “Okay—I will try.”

She chuckled quietly. “That’s all I ask.”

Momo let her hand fall in the space between them. “Now let’s go to sleep. We still have to finish training tomorrow. I can’t send you back not knowing how to do one combination spell.”

“This will definitely be an experience I will never forget,” he said softly.

She smiled, her eyes already closing shut. “Good night, Hitsugaya-kun.”

Sometime during the night, Momo felt her hand being pulled, and held tight. That even if they drifted in dreams under the stars, she was grounded and safe, held tight to home.

---

Authour's Note: Again, this happens late at night because I am a sucker for late night conversations. I had a lot of fun trying to write Momo's teaching methods for the kido (as if I know anything lol) I also just love that something doesn't go splendidly well for Toushiro (though I wish there were more people to witness it hahahaha)

Until next time everyone :)

#canariie: my fics #only takes a snowstorm for me to get my bearings together and catch up with everything that's piling up #including this fic #i definitely felt rusty but it was like also refreshing to open a doc and be like #oh wow i just had this idea sitting here for so long???#hitsuhina #momo hinamori #toushiro hitsugaya #bleach fanfiction #hitsuhina gift exchange

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peaches2217 · 5 months

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how would the bros' royal lovers feel about their post-partum bodies? of course, we all know they'd find peach/peas to still be beautiful no matter what, but would there be a level of self-consciousness there? this is the most wholesome stuff and you're giving me fictional baby fever, too!

Anon, I am so glad you asked! (And welcome to the club! 🥳)

TW: Body dysmorphia and related topics

Peasley doesn’t care. He knows he’s hot shit, no matter what he looks like. He’d dramatically strip naked for Luigi and say some shit like “Behold! This is the body which grew and nurtured our child, divinity itself!” and Luigi would be like “Hell yeah :D ” If anything, Luigi might end up worrying about his own appearance, since he’s normally so well-groomed; he’d lament that his hair and mustache look untidy because he’s just too tired from late nights with the baby to put as much thought as normal into his appearance, and Peasley would assure him that he’s just as handsome now as always.

“I don’t look quite the same as I did this time last year either, you know,” says the guy who, objectively speaking, looks way worse for the wear, “yet I’m still the physical embodiment of perfection. You’re no different, my love.” Luigi is one of the few people Peasley thinks of more highly than himself; there’s very little room for bodily insecurity. 😂

Peach is another story. I headcanon that she has insecurities regarding her body image, though it’s less to do with maintaining a certain physique and more to do with wanting to be healthy and physically capable (y’know that long-ass fic I keep talking about that I’ve got in the works? That’ll be one of the topics it touches on!). She does get self-conscious about her body sometimes during pregnancy, but it’s easily rectified with love and reassurances! Postpartum… not so much.

For whatever reason, the last month of her pregnancy takes a lot out of her, more so than expected, and it takes a few months to really gain her strength and energy back. She spends several weeks more or less confined to her chambers because she’s so frail, and when she tries to go for walks to get some fresh air and exercise, she gets winded and has to go back inside in like half an hour’s time. And by Toadessa’s assessment, there’s nothing they can really do to expedite the healing process — she’s doing everything right and is perfectly healthy otherwise. Some people just take longer to bounce back, and that process is complicated by the energy and resources needed to care for a newborn. The best she can do is rest.

And her frustration with her slow healing process ends up manifesting as frustration with her body as a whole. Like most people postpartum, she’s dealing with extra weight and stretched and sagging skin, and that coupled with the exhaustion of a new parent makes her feel like she’s some sluggish, disgusting creature that’s loathsome to even look at. She keeps expecting to see some sign of it reflected in Mario’s face, a look of pity or maybe even disgust that confirms her suspicions.

It should go without saying that that never happens. Mario knows how she feels, because this has happened before in another context (enter my long-ass wip!), and he knows “You’re still beautiful and perfect and I love you and (respectfully) want you to suffocate me between your thighs” ain’t gonna cut it when she feels so intensely about her body. So what’s a guy to do? Well, he knows it’s less about her physique and more about her vitality, so he helps her in regaining it.

He finds energizing exercises that are postpartum friendly for her to try and then does them with her, or he’ll join her for her walks, or anything else that will naturally build her back up, because she’s much less apt to get discouraged and call it quits when he’s there. It doesn’t matter how much physical activity actually gets done or if they spend more time taking breaks than actually moving. He gets her laughing and talking and thinking about things other than how inadequate she feels, and he makes sure she only pushes herself as far as she can reasonably go, and by the time Peach willfully puts an end to their routines, she already feels a thousand times better. When she feeds and rocks their baby, she spends less time staring in disdain at her figure and questioning how well she can raise a child if she can’t even take care of herself and more time reveling in the joys of motherhood, feeling on top of the world once more, and it’s a welcome change for all involved.

But above all, Mario makes it clear that, whether she becomes the buffest MILF on the planet or whether she wakes up tomorrow and decides she’s perfectly happy with where she’s at right now, he’s going to think she’s beautiful. He doesn’t care what she looks like so long as she’s happy with herself.

“You think my stomach’s finally getting a little flatter?” she asks one night, contentedly flustered beneath his touch.

“I think you look more confident than you ever have,” he tells her.

“You’re dodging the question, Mario.”

“Nope!” He kisses the tip of her nose. “Just focusing on what really matters.”

With time, Peach comes to agree with his sentiment.

#peaches has opinions #mareach #luisley #tw pregnancy #tw body image #tw body dysmorphia

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draconic-ichor · 1 year

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Tarnished Threads, Golden Stitches

Morgott/tarnished fic

Slow burn

Warming: strong language, sexual themes

Summary: Hester is a seamstress living in the capital, life is fairly mundane until one fateful night at a festival…

Feedback appreciated, 18+

This is an entirely new Au! Not abandoning my other ones, was just inspired :3

The mending began months ago, the world was falling back into place. Everything was different now: their King was revealed to be an omen, their ‘god’ a glorified statue, the Golden Order reformed, and the Elden Lord galavanting around the Lands Between. It was a lot to swallow for Leyndell’s people.

But they had the chance to swallow now.

Not every tarnished met a true end on their journey; some survived to see their brother take up the mantle of Elden Lord, and in this new age, grace returned to their darkened eyes. Unlike their brother, however, they were still quite lowly.

Hester was one of these tarnished.

Awoken after the Erdtree already burned overhead, she was scrambling far behind in a world crumbling away… never to receive a rune of her own or see the fabled Round Table. It was not till after the mending that her eyes fell upon the tree in all its golden splendor; and like hundreds of others, she flocked to the capital towards it.

It was all for the best. Even though she was descended from those first few tarnished that followed Godfrey into the mists, fighting didn’t suit her. She knew a little magic, mostly reserved for healing, and couldn’t hold a blade to save her life. Her late awakening was a blessing.

What she did know, however, was mending. Hester was very good with her hands and could not only mend fabrics but had the creativity to create whole new clothing. She could also sew and spin thread. All things the capital had need of now that repairs were in order.

Hester sighed, deep in thought as she worked. She leaned forward, elbows on the worn workbench, staring wistfully out into the capital.

It was a busy morning, the townsfolk preparing for the festival that night, birdsong and fragrant smells filling her senses.

She loved the brightness, gaze drifting higher to the castle, alabaster stone and gilded tiles like a dream high above.

She sighed again.

“Sigh any louder and you’ll attract attention,” came a voice.

Hester jumped, pricking her finger as she did so. She yelped, quickly putting it in her mouth to soothe the sting. She gave a sharp look to the culprit, a man standing on the street below her open window.

“Looks like I already have.” She huffed.

He pulled himself up to the windowsill, a smile plastered over his face. The armor of a guard made him look a size bigger than he truly was, clinking together as he made himself comfortable.

“Don’t you have work to do?” She couldn’t help her lips crack into a smile.

“Doing my rounds now, when I happened upon a maiden. And don’t you have work to do? You have a stall in the market square tonight.” He reminded.

“I know!” Hester flushed, she’d saved for weeks for the fees, such a prime location had its prices.

“Mhm.” He nodded.

“I’m almost finished with my last few, just adding the final touches!” She gestured to the doll before her.

“Ghastly.” He shuttered, looking over her current batch.

“He is our King!” She snapped.

“And he can stay inside his castle.” The guard chuckled, leaning in a bit more to ask, “Do you truly think they will sell?”

“Not everyone holds so little love for their monarch.” Hes informed, “Some of us are loyalists.”

The man snorted, leaning in further still, attempting to steal a kiss. Hester rolled her eyes, hand covering his mouth as she pushed him back out the window.

He chuckled, feet hitting the cobblestones once more, “I’ll catch you one day, Hes.”

“Keep hoping.” She smiled, waving him off as he went back to his duties. She sat back heavily in her seat, eyes falling to the current doll she worked on. She sighed, slowly scanning the rest; all were endearing renditions of their king: with button eyes, little plush horns, and a fluffy tail made from scraps of real fur.

She held the current one closer, thumb softly tracing its small fabric face.

She couldn’t be the only one…

Lanterns filled the streets overhead, each one a different shape or hue, sending the night into a kaleidoscope of swirling color. The smell of spices and sweets filled the air, and the sound of mirth almost drowned out the far off beat of music.

Hester couldn’t get enough.

She put on her best dress and put flowers in her hair for the occasion. Part of her wanted to mingle about the crowd and see every stall for herself, but she had her own stall to run.

Her table was covered in bright bolts of fabric and batches of dolls all lovingly made. Children would scamper up and squeal out at seeing their hero in doll form, or the Elden Lords trusty spectral steed, while their parents pulled runes from their pockets. It was a special occasion after all. A few young maidens would sneakily buy a doll of their dashing Elden Lord, his absence in the capital adding to his mystique.

As the night was marching onwards, she was doing quite well! The glow of success dimmed a bit about her, as her amber eyes fell on a corner of the stall that lay untouched: the dolls of the King. Hester’s stomach twisted a bit.

She moved them to the center of the stall, in a place of easy sight, adjusting their little cloaks and tails to sit just right.

She couldn’t be the only one,

She kept telling herself.

The only one to see the allure of the King.

Her cheeks blushed at the thought, mind drifting back to the infatuated maidens and their excitement with the Elden Lord, or how she kept back a King doll for herself…

She was so ate up with thought she didn’t notice the sounds of revelry died down around her. It was not until the glow of the lanterns were obstructed by a great shadow that her eyes were ripped from the table. Hester looked up, freezing.

A great shape darkened her stall, silhouette monstrous and jagged, with a crown of twisting horns. Hester swallowed, the only movement she could manage, heartbeat in her throat.

It was King Morgott.

An eon seemed to stretch before them, the King like a pillar of stone as he looked over her wares. All the times Hester had caught sight of him, far away on the castle balcony or before a large crowd for an announcement, did him little justice. He was massive, at least thirty-six hands high, not counting the heavy tail that absolutely cleared the street behind him. The bulky cloak he wore about his shoulders exaggerated their broadness. Hers the critical eye of a seamstress, caught all the places the fabric was stressed, holes bore through it completely here or there.

Not fit for a King, surely.

She didn’t have long to wonder, the King’s hand moving forward. Hester gulped, suddenly realizing his single eye was fixed on the little dolls made in his likeness. A hand, bigger than her waist, carefully picked up the closest one, bringing it to his face for inspection. It was clear they were made with the utmost care, and very oddly they were constructed without overemphasis on his more beastial features. They were….flattering even?

His brow knotted, gaze flicking away from the little doll to its maker.

Was she flushed??

Even more curious…

She trembled a bit as his gaze bore into her, staring back into that single orb of brilliant shifting gold. She grew lost in it, yet never shying away. Morgott’s gaze tore away from her, back to the doll in his hand.

Just as silently as he approached, he retreated, straightening to full standing before moving along the street once more. Hester’s heart hammered about her chest as she watched his form drift away, never wavering until the tip of his horned tail disappeared among the recrowding street.

As the music and merriment swelled once more she realized she’d been holding her breath. An almost pained huff rattled from her lungs, eyes still saucers. She blinked, looking down at her table.

A hand clapped over her mouth in shock: there was a doll missing.

Oh gods, did he take it with him??

She thought, worriedly.

She couldn’t keep her mind on the festival, or on bartering her wares any longer. Sweat wet her lower back as she hastily packed up her remaining items, hands shaking as she did so.

Her mind was a storm, a swirling mess of worry and fear.

Did the King think she was mocking him? Oh gods would she be taken away?

As she made her way slowly through the crowded streets, back overburdened, her thoughts darkened.

Was he angry with her? Would…would he throw her in the dungeon?

She stumbled into her room, a glorified closet off the main shop. Dumping the items on the floor haphazardly, Hester began to pull the flowers from her hair, wincing as they yanked at her copper curls. Tears stained her eyes, the small bit of pain just adding to the chorus of negativity that loomed over her.

She fell into her meager bed, curling in on herself protectively. Blinking, her eyes fell on the little doll near her pillow. It regarded her with unblinking button eyes, no malice on its fabric visage.

Scooping it to her chest, the tears finally fell freely, crying freshly into her pillow. Sleep found her fitfully, coming in waves interlaced with stretches of agonizing wakefulness.

She kept chanting that everything would be fine, she was just overreacting….he wouldn’t act against her…would he? He was the king. No care for a lowly woman like her.

He was the King….

She blinked into the dawn light. Hair a nest of knots from her tossing and turning, a darkness circling her large eyes. She sat up groggily, the sound of birdsong being dampened by a commotion outside her room.

Hester wasn’t the only woman to rent a little space in the shop, the other women making quite the racket in the main area currently.

She sighed, steeling herself to see what excited them so. As soon as she pushed the door open she was met with everyone calling out her name.

“Hes! Hes! There’s a letter for you!”

“A letter?” She blinked, still half asleep.

“It has the royal seal!” They squealed.

She froze, stomach dropping to the floor. The other’s chatter dulled around her as she paced forward, trembling hands taking the letter.

It was made of fine parchment, the golden seal of the King keeping it prominently sealed.

Hester felt like the ground was swallowing her as she broke it open, unfolding the letter to read. Deaf to the other crowding around to read over her shoulder, she focused on the beautiful handwriting.

Her fear was slowly replaced with confusion, bewilderment. Her brows knotted as she read and reread the letter, no…the offer?

“Come on, what does it say!?” A young girl bounced.

“It’s…It’s an offer from the King.” Hester whispered, drowned out by the other’s raising excitement. She swallowed, “They want me to be the King’s personal seamstress…”

She didn’t hear the screams of excitement around her, wandering through them towards the shop window. Her gaze fell on the castle, far away nestled near the base of the great tree.

She couldn’t be the only one…..

Could she?

#new fic #tarnished threads golden stitches #seamstress au #morgott/tarnished #morgott the omen king #tarnished oc #morgott/female tarnished #elden ring fic

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