#I’ve been in agony for so long. so much of me is dead. I just pray that the rest of me goes painlessly. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

margowritesthings · 1 year

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The Greatest Gift A Cowgirl Could Ask For

a @rdrevents Valentines gift exchange for @cowboydisaster

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader word count: 4,400 words warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, explicit language, sexual themes, vaginal sex, mentions of death, unprotected sex, throwing up (TW EMETOPHOBIA), very brief mention of SA in the past, unexpected pregnancy, mentions of Micah Bell a/n: am I britney spears in her 2000 grammy award winning song??? because oops, i did it again. i don't know how I managed to get Bea as my recipient for a SECOND time, but it only felt right to carry on building this universe I've made for her and lying to her about it all week. Whoops.

Bea, my beloved, Happy Valentines Day. You deserve the world and Im so glad I could dedicate this fic to you. Honestly I probably couldn't have gotten the motivation to get back on my feet and write again if it wasn't for you. Thanks for everything you do bby and I hope this lives up to your 'if by some miracle you get me for your gift exchange disregard my prompts and write a TGG prequel' (yes she actually said that) idea. Love you lots xxx

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @luvliewriting @mrsarthurmorgan7 @photo1030 @snobbybastard

My Darling Wife,

I’m writing to you from up near Tempest Rim. I’ve tracked this bounty all over the goddamn Grizzlies and I’m ready to come home to you. I miss you so much and I’m real sorry I can’t be home in time for St. Valentines. Hopefully I can catch this bastard soon and make it up to ya. We’ll go to the theatre and sit right at the back, how’s that sound? I’ll move heaven and Earth to be beside you soon, you know I will.

I can’t wait to see you, sweetheart. I’ll be there as fast as I can be with enough money to take you out on the town. Won’t be long, I promise.

All my love, Arthur

Your finger runs over his looped script, over and over as if it will somehow will your husband out of the crumpled paper and into your bed. It’s been 2 months since the letter arrived, 2 months of the agony of not knowing if he’s dead or alive robbing you of sleep each and every night. You miss him, more than you could ever imagine one person could miss another and you honestly don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t come home.

It’s a 600 dollar bounty, it’s sure to be a tough job you constantly reassure yourself, unable to focus on anything but the absence of half of your very soul in every waking moment.

The day he comes home starts like any other. Time's arrow marches on, the sun rises and sets over your makeshift family as they work and plan and rob and hunt. You busy yourself planning a job with Karen, cushioned into your schedule between menial tasks so that it’s just that bit easier to not think about him. As usual, your efforts are in vain, but at least the chores are done, your steed Diesel is happy, and, all being well, you and Karen will have about 30 dollars to split between you when the week is out.

An hour before he comes home, everyone retires to bed, save for John (who’s on watch tonight) and you’re left alone by the campfire. It crackles and pops, embers swirling the air around you. It feels like you stare at the twisting flames until your eyes blur and burn and you can’t tell which are tears of irritation to your senses and which are your heart breaking once more.

Moments before you’re reunited with the second half of your heart, you hear John yelling. It’s instinct that drives your hand into your holster, still resting against your hip despite the late hour, and you perk up like a startled deer, straining to decipher Marston’s words.

“Who is it?!” “Arthur, you dumbass!”

Arthur.

Arthur?

“Arthur?!” It’s a breathless shout, barely heard over the rushing blood in your ears as your feet take you to your husband before your mind can even fathom that he’s here.

But sure enough, when you reach the edge of camp, heart racing, you see Arthur Morgan riding his chestnut mare straight towards you, spurring her into a gallop as soon as he lays his eye on his waiting wife. Marston probably makes some remark about who ‘decided to show up’, but to you, there is nothing but you and Arthur, two magnets parted by an unnatural force finally reaching each other again with a deafening crash.

And it is. A crash, that is, when Arthur all but throws himself off his saddle and your bodies collide, great big arms wrapping around your frame. It is then that the tears fall down your cheek, soaking into Arthur’s coat that smells so much like him it truly feels like a dream.

You thought he was dead.

Only when you’re safely in his arms, when he’s pressing frantic kisses to your head, whispering your name over and over into your hair do you allow yourself to admit that fact. You thought he was never coming back, and yet here he is. Words fail you, the overwhelming emotion settling right in your throat.

“Oh, god… oh, darlin’ I-I missed you so much…”

You feel two large hands cup your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss that holds everything and anything the past 3 months could have been had you not spent it apart. But everything fits back into place, the world starts spinning again and you’re whole the second Arthur Morgan’s lips meet yours. It lasts a lifetime, it lasts a fraction of a second. You want to stop time, keep Arthur in your arms forever and never again have to go through the torture of being away from each other. The two of you only part to throw near identical scowls at John, who is amusing himself by telling you to get a room.

Unfortunately, as Ms. Grimshaw so often reminds you all, the Van der Linde Camp is not a hotel, so tonight you will not be afforded the luxury of a private suite as John so kindly suggested. There is only your tent, hitched against the gang’s weapons wagon, the old canvas pulled around to offer a little privacy when you and Arthur first started… well, needing the seclusion.

Calloused fingers intertwine with your own digits, Arthur’s other hand flipping John off before his weight pulls you towards your little corner of camp. There's so much purpose in his stride, the need to have you all to himself, not even share you with the lord above or wildlife below, driving him forward. Driving him home.

When you’re finally, truly alone, the tears welling in your eyes glistening in the candlelight, no words are needed. Soon enough, you’ll talk for hours on end, catching each other up on every little detail of the last few months. But for now, all that there is and all that could matter is right this very second, when Arthur reaches for you, brushing a thumb over the tear tracks on your left cheek. His eyes, looking almost emerald in the dark of night, roam over each and every detail of you with such an intensity in him that you think he’s trying to remember this moment for the rest of time. You’re sure it’s one you could never possibly forget.

Arthur snakes both arms around your waist, guiding you backwards until the backs of your knees gently hit the cot and you lay back onto it. He covers the full length of you and then some, making you feel so fragile and small. It’s nice to feel breakable for once, to let go of the need to be the strongest in the room, lest you be ridiculed for being too sensitive or too weak or too womanly. Arthur knows just how strong you are, you need to prove nothing to him, so you can submit to his embrace, allow yourself to just breathe for once knowing you can break and there’s re will always be somebody to put you back together.

He lowers himself to your lips, pressing a kiss to them that doesn’t last nearly long enough. Arthur then kisses your nose, then your cheeks and chin, before trailing down to the crook of your neck. Your skin feels as though it’s on fire, so starved for the man you cannot live without that now he’s finally here everything feels that much more intense. The tiniest scrape of Arthur’s teeth against your flesh shoots through every single nerve in your body and you moan right into his ear. You can actually feel him harden against your thigh at the sweet melody of your pleasure.

Pushing Arthur’s hat off to the side, your fingers rake through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp encouragingly as he nibbles at your skin.

“Oh, Arthur… Oh, I missed you so much…” You breathlessly whisper, feeling your heart skip a beat when he pauses his movements to glance at you from under impossibly long eyelashes, jade green eyes glistening up at you.

“I missed you too, sweetheart. So so much.” His voice is soft, as if he’s handling the peacefulness around you so delicately and it causes the overwhelming emotion to well in your chest and choke up your throat. Arthur sees this, trying not to be too taken with his own surprising amount of emotion himself, and relieves you of your job of a response by directing his attention to the buttons of your shirt. You don’t remember him pushing your jacket off your shoulders, but there it lies on the floor beside the entrance to your tent, so he must have.

Despite the juxtaposition of such dainty buttonholes and such large fingers, Arthur expertly undresses your top half until you’re bare to him. He takes no time at all to take one of your nipples into his mouth, kissing and sucking at it with a hunger you feel right in your toes. You moan loudly, unable to stop yourself after yearning for this very feeling for so long.

Arthur coos and shushes you and it vibrates across your skin, not helping you stay quiet in the slightest. The hand not tugging on his dirty blonde locks reaches between your two longing bodies to begin to unbuckle his belt. You can feel your own heartbeat throbbing between your legs, your coil growing tighter and tighter by the second. It’s been almost 3 months since your bodies have joined like this, and yet you’re not sure you can wait another minute.

You’re purring for Arthur, twitching and grinding as your hand fumbles desperately at the belt. His absence from your skin is agony the second he pulls his hips back to sit up straight. Spotting your downright bratty expression, bottom lip protruding in a pout, Arthur chuckles lowly, “Patience, baby… I gotta get these damn clothes off us.” He gestures to his belt, still very much buckled around his waist. Definitely not your fault. He was being far too distracting.

He’s quick, you’ll give him that, shedding his clothes without taking his eyes off you. You burn under his stare, even more so when he crawls back on top of you to slide your boots off one by one and peel your pants and undergarments down your legs.

The heat radiates off his huge body, his cock pulsing with need. The way he’s putting his weight into his arms to stop from crushing you with his weight adds a definition to his already beautifully sculpted body. Reaching down, you brush the tip of your finger oh so gently over his rosy head, finding a bead of cum already leaking, and you snap. You can’t wait a second longer, scratching and gripping at him like he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Please, Arthur, please I need you. S-So long, it’s been so long-” “Shh, I know, princess, I know. I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Gonna take care of your pretty little cunt, I promise.” He soothes you, though his own voice is shaky from the very effort of restraining himself, maintaining his control to not drive into you and ruin you. While he whispers to you, he lines himself up at your entrance and you quiver in anticipation.

In all your years before you met Arthur, you never really saw sex as anything but something to give, or worse, something to be taken from you. You never truly understood, not until you met Arthur, who taught you it’s something to share, to experience. With Arthur, it’s different. It is connection and pleasure and it’s wonderful and god damn it, it’s addictive. So when Arthur slides into you, letting out a visceral, guttural groan as he does, everything is right in the world.

You feel so full, especially when Arthur pushes all the way to the hilt, connecting you completely at the pelvis. The moan that escapes your lips is downright obscene and Arthur crashes down into your mouth to swallow it.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s been so long, or the emotion of it all, but you swear you can feel everything. Every vein and ridge, every twitch and movement of his perfect cock as Arthur slowly starts to move in and out of you.

“Fuck… s-so good, darlin. So tight- y’feel so fucking good, princess…”

You’ve never hurtled so close towards a climax so quickly in your life. His torturously slow, deep thrusts drag into your sweet spot every fucking time and trying to hold back brings a blur into your vision. Your own hips grind against his, Arthur gripping into your flesh to guide you perfectly in time with him.

“I-I’m so close already, Arthur… fuck…” You breathe out, your breath tickling Arthur’s ear and sending a visible shudder down his spine. He looks proud at your admission.

“You missed me that much, huh? Gonna cum for me already, darlin’?”

He gives you no time to respond, pressing a thumb to your clit and rubbing in time with everything else. You implode, pulling Arthur down to catch the scream you’re about to wake everybody up with. It has never felt so intense, and with every thrust Arthur fucks into you it only grows and grows, shattering you to pieces for Arthur to fix back together again.

When you return, a rhythmic thudding in your ears, the first thing you see is Arthur, of course. His jaw is fluttering madly, a bead of sweat clinging to his forehead but the candlelight makes him look ethereal. You still can’t believe he’s here, alive.

Tears start to glisten in your eyes. You’ve never cried during sex before, not for anything positive, at least, but somehow this doesn’t feel wrong. Arthur slows again, watching you, and you spot an extra shine to his own jade orbs. He knows. He feels it too.

He’s right there with you. As he always is.

He brushes a piece of hair stuck to your forehead away, and the gesture is enough to send the tears falling down the same worn path on your cheeks as before.

“I love you, Mr. Morgan…” “I love you, Mrs. Morgan…”

It seems to become too much for Arthur to stay still, and you’re glad for it. You’re desperate for the friction, already flying towards another orgasm. He’s really fucking into you this time, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in. He’s groaning and growling and you decide in that moment that it’s your favourite sound in all the world.

“I… I ain’t gonna last much longer, baby…”

“C-Cum in me…” “Huh?” He slows, shuddering at the exertion required to control his movements, “I-”

But you’re not listening to his protests, your nails digging into the skin of his back and ass and anywhere else you can reach to urge him forwards again.

“Please Arthur, I-I need you… I need you to cum with me, I need you with me…” you plead with him, not truly understanding your need but honouring it. You’ve been without him for so long, you deserve him with you now.

He appears to consider you for just a moment, before diving down to lock your lips with his. His tongue delves into your mouth, tasting every bit of you and he starts to pump into you unreservedly. His body grinds against yours and the friction is perfect and you’re so fucking full and before you can even try to hold back, you’re cumming again, stars scattering your vision, heart pounding out of your chest to find release from it’s mortal, physical cage. Your inner walls twitch around Arthur’s length and this time, he doesn’t hold back either.

His eyes fly open and lock onto yours as you both climax together. It’s vulnerable and strange, but perhaps more connected than you ever thought possible for two people to be.

Arthur’s cock twitches inside you, pumping out his spend as he groans viscerally, completely losing control of his rhythm as he thrusts into you one last time, harsh and deep. You’ve never experienced this before, with Arthur or any other man, normally erring on the side of caution when it came to such matters, but even as you come down you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Whatever you and Arthur just experienced together felt spiritual, and worth much more than a little risk.

Arthur collapses, even as depleted as he is still considerate enough to collapse onto his elbows and not crush you. He slides out of you, earning a little wince, and rolls to the side so you can rest your head on his chest. It’s like a locket that’s been ripped apart, finally fixed together with the most satisfying click.

═══════☆═══════

Two months later, life has returned to its equilibrium. You and Arthur are perhaps clingier, still in a sort of second honeymoon phase where you just can’t seem to keep your hands off each other, more so than usual. It’s a side effect of prolonged solitude, you’re sure.

The first time it happens, you blame Pearson and think nothing of it. It’s pretty early in the morning and you’re sitting with Tilly and Abigail, peeling potatoes for the stew tonight. Abigail is venting her frustrations about when John did this and John said that, and everything feels so normal. Pearson arrives, throwing a rather large, rather dead fish onto the table you’re leaning against and you feel the thud from the weight of it vibrate against your back.

It isn’t until the smell invades your senses that everything starts to feel off. It smells exactly like all the other fish Pearson has ever slammed onto that poor table, which doesn’t explain why you immediately lurch forwards, grabbing an empty bucket and throwing up your breakfast. The fish stench is suffocating and all you can do is get the hell away from it, not noticing when Abigail’s brows knit together almost… knowingly?

You skip the stew that night.

―

The second time it happens, you try not to think about it. You’re riding Diesel and almost don’t make it off him in time. There is nothing to set you off, no horse shit or rotting animal at the side of the road, and yet in an instant your stomach feels like it has been flipped upside down.

The sheer volume of your retching catches Arthur’s attention and he tugs on the leather reins in his hands to steady his mare.

“Darlin’? Y’alright?”

His concern is evident in his tone and in the tight line between his brows, which deepens when he finds you unable to respond in anything but a frantic nod. He dismounts, spurs clicking against the dusty ground when he approaches you.

“Oh, sweetheart… that’s it, easy, easy… you’re okay…”

You feel gentle circles rubbed into the tense muscles of your back as you try to get through this again. It’s not lost on you that Arthur is speaking to you like a spooked horse, but it actually really does help. (You decide to prioritise peace of mind and not psychoanalyse why that is). Eventually, it relents and you regain your composure, albeit somewhat less gracefully than you’d have liked.

“Sorry… I don’t know what’s gotten into me, maybe I ate somethin’.”

Your apology for something you can’t help earns you a sad smile from your husband, who places a loving kiss on the top of your head before reaching for your discarded hat and putting it back on for you.

“Y’don’t gotta apologise. I gotcha, darlin’.”

You know he does.

He always does.

―

The third time it happens, the luxury of denial is stolen from you. It’s early enough that your view while you sit with Abigail drinking coffee involves glorious hues of orange and pink scattered around the rising sun. It’s peaceful, tranquil. The warmth of the little metal mug in your hands and Arthur’s jacket around your shoulders is enough to ward off the fresh morning chill in the air.

There is absolutely no warning when it hits, when it happens again. You’re so goddamn sick (no pun intended) of hurling. Your eyes water and your throat hurts a little and you curse under your breath when it’s over. Abi is beside you, rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you. She waits until it’s over before speaking hesitantly.

“Uh, can I ask you somethin’?”

You nod, eyes still red and glistening as you swirl coffee around your mouth to take away from the awful, acidic taste lingering.

“When did you last bleed?”

“What, like an injury? Uh, I cut my hand couple days back, but I don’t see what-“

… Oh fuck.

═══════☆═══════

The anxiety bounces around your body and you decide that you’ve become far too acquainted with the concept of nausea. You can actually tell the difference between nerves twisting your stomach and… well, let’s say it as it is: morning sickness. This is the former, you deduce, spinning both your engagement and wedding ring around your finger to give your hands something better to do than carve fingernail-shaped moons into your palm. He should be home any minute now. Any minute now and it will all change forever.

It’s quite late, but the poker game Arthur was scoping out for potential jobs is known to last a while. You’re the only one still awake, poking the embers of the campfire to keep yourself as comfortable as possible.

You hear hooves hitting dry dirt first, and it seems to trigger your fight or flight response. God, you’d love to run away from this, but that is pretty much impossible, so fight it is. It’ll be the greatest fight of your life, you’ll soon learn, one you’re privileged to be a part of. But right now, it feels like an all-consuming unknown.

Arthur can tell something is wrong the second he sees you. You’re terrible at hiding things, especially from him. He always reads you as though you have a poster advertising your feelings printed on your forehead. Arthur dismounts, kissing you tenderly on the temple and wrapping his arms around you.

“What’re you still doin’ up, darlin’? Is everything alright?” You can feel his worry vibrating in his chest as you nuzzle into his embrace.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I just… Can we talk? I kept the fire goin’.” You say it into his shirt, reluctant to move from this hold.

“Of course…” there’s something in his voice, a tense apprehension that really doesn’t help the knot contorting itself in your gut.

While you’re more than capable of keeping a fire going, Arthur is an expert, and has it healthily burning within seconds of you sitting down on the overturned log the gang has fashioned into a bench. You’re back to spinning your beautiful gold bands around your finger, trying to remember to breathe in and out every so often.

“What’s goin’ on, sweetheart?” His voice is so soft, so kind that it makes you want to cry. But you promised yourself you wouldn’t until you’d told him, because this might just be the most important conversation you’ve ever had, and you definitely won’t get through it if you’re a blubbering mess.

“I, uh… I… somethin’s happened.”

You hear his breath hitch in his throat and Arthur leans towards you, completely enveloping your hands in his. They’re sandwiched in now and you can’t fiddle with your rings anymore.

“What? What happened? Was it Micah? If he’s said somethin’ to you, I’ll kill him, the rat bastard-”

“No, no, it’s… as much as I’d love to see that, it’s not him.”

The tension releases. Just a little bit.

“I’m pregnant.”

Oh wait, there it is.

The silence is deafening, even though you’re almost certain it isn’t actually silent out here right now. There's a fire going and crickets are just metres away, you’re just shutting down with nerves.

The normally so often tense, fluttering jaw of Arthur Morgan is slack, his eyes wide and gaping at you, occasionally flicking down to your so far bump-less belly. (You should know- you’ve been obsessively looking in a mirror any chance you get for some sort of sign that this is really happening).

Say something. Please say something. Please don’t be angry. Oh, God please don’t hate me.

“I-I… You’re pregnant?” He repeats, reassuring you that you haven’t actually gone deaf, though his tone holds no indication of anything but shock. That’s probably fair…

You nod, hands instinctively reaching over your belly. It feels… weird. Holding your hands over your baby. Yours and Arthur’s baby.

“It happened a couple months back, when you got back from The Grizzlies, I think… I-I’m sorry, Arthur. I shoulda’ been more careful and-and…” You’re rambling, filling a silence that probably should just be allowed to be a silence.

“There… There’s gonna be a baby?”

There. Right there, adorning Arthur’s beautiful features, is the pull of a smile. It chokes you up instantly, so far deep in nightmares of arguments and unhappiness that you hadn’t even considered the good. You start to nod, a little bit of your fringe falling in your face.

“Yeah… There’s gonna be a baby. Our baby…”

“Our baby…” He repeats, his arm raising to brush the hair away from your eyes in such a natural manner it feels like it’s just his instinct to care for you. It is his instinct to care for you, Arthur has shown you that in every minute of every day of your marriage, and suddenly you’re not sure why you’ve been so scared.

“I’m gonna be a dad?” He still seems in disbelief, but that’s normal. It’s taken you a few days to come to terms with it, and even then the fingernail marks in your palms are still red raw.

“You’re gonna be a dad.”

It hits him. Really hits him and he all but throws himself into you, scooping you up and spinning you around as he laughs unreservedly.

“Well goddamn, I’m gonna be a Daddy!”

You laugh with him, worries and anxiety a distant memory as your feet swing around in the air. You’re probably waking the camp up, but you don’t care all that much. Right now, you’re the happiest girl in the world.

A baby. There’s gonna be a baby. Arthur’s baby.

Really, it’s the greatest gift a cowgirl could ask for.

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faeskiss · 15 days

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MY EVERYTHING ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Zaros x reader!

I am not a stranger to weary days, in fact I’ve been nothing but weary for the past couple of weeks…

I cannot for the life of me recall the last time I could peacefully allow myself to lay my head down and give in to sleep, it’s been so long since I’ve had a pleasant dream, cruel and unbearable ones plague me instead, making my nights excruciatingly miserable.

How am I supposed to study and give it my all in the trials if I’m not well rested? Everything in life worries me and I feel utterly powerless, it’s funny actually, how can an earis, someone who’s birthright is power itself, feel devoid of it? It’s all just a big joke

I can clearly hear the storm outside grow worse and worse, lightning cracks and rumbles relentlessly, I usually enjoy rain, but this, this is absolutely terrifying and it’s fuelling my unease by the second

I keep tossing and turning, trying to breathe and collect my thoughts, but it’s no use, it seems my own mind hates me just as much as everyone else.

After a few more torturous moments of pure agony I decide to go outside, I know the storm is raging and growing like wildfire but I can’t stand to be cooped up in my room like this…

I step outside of my room and as soon as I do I am met with a breeze that’s fervently cold, the walls of this palace echo the rage of the storm, it’s truly a ghastly night

I pull my shawl closer to me and wrap my hands inside of it, trying to grasp whatever warmth I can, I slowly pace the halls, passing various rooms, my feet can’t help but abruptly stop in their tracks…

I find myself standing just outside of Zaros’s room and a wave of nostalgia washes over me, I remember all the times we hid from the uproar of the sky, he HATED storms..

I don’t know what’s happening, but it feels like I’m not in control of my reflexes, I immediately go up to the door and knock, knowing full well someone might see or hear me, knowing I’d regret it later

“The earis invited themselves into Zaros’s room the other night, it seems his notorious ways are finally rubbing off on them, what a shame”

Heaven knows what other things these nobles would say, why don’t I ever learn?

The horror of what I’ve done suddenly seeps into me, and before I can even turn around to save face, I am much too late

He opens the door….his green eyes look tired and worn down, the usual charm and gleam is missing in them

“Uhm…..hello?” He asks, obvious confusion painted on his face

I clear my throat, and try to answer

“H-Hello, I- uhm” I reply, absolutely failing to come up with an excuse as to why I am here, in the dead of night, unannounced, barely decent

“You are the last person I would ever expect to show up at my door, in the thick of night” he says with a soft, unexpected laughter

“Trust me, I am just as confused as you are” I reply with a faint laugh

“It seems that I’m finally rubbing off on you huh?” he says slyly

“Oh please! it’s not like that, I-‘’ before I can finish my sentence a loud clap of thunder booms and reverberates through the halls, startling us both

“I JUST don’t want to be alone, during this outpour…….I’m sorry but I just didn’t know where else to go” I say, surprising myself

His eyes soften, and a warm, empathetic smile forms on his face, something I thought I’d never see from him, ever again…

All of a sudden, he reaches for my hand, gently and slowly pulls me in the room, and I just let him

He then shuts the door behind us

I cannot believe that I’m in Zaros Atha’llin’s room……..at night…… the nobles would have a field day if they ever caught wind of this, but the truth is, that I don’t care, when I know I should and that gravely concerns me

“Look, I’m so very sorry I interrupted your sleep, I didn’t-“ I say

“It’s okay, I was awake anyways” he cuts me off

“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask

“You of all people should know how much I loathe storms” he adds

“How can I ever forget” I reply softly

“I see you haven’t grown to like them either”

“Ha! Never” I reply

“I think we should sit down” he says as he moves towards the bed

“ah yes, of course” I reply as I follow him

I seat myself beside him, another frantic wave of nostalgia crashes against me, I always sat next to him back in school….

“I know there’s something troubling you, something other than the storm” he says in a calm yet stern voice

“I- I just” I try to reply, but I just can’t, it’s quite abnormal being vulnerable to him, the last time him and I had a heart to heart was quite simply a lifetime ago

“Please do not feel obligated to talk about it, take your time” he says

“I just have the worst, most obscene amount of anxiety these days, and it only gets worse and worse as the weeks pass” I reply, this took a lot of courage and valour, it took all the strength in me to even say these words to someone

“I-I understand you more than you might ever know, it seems that these trials have not been kind to either of us, the stakes are unachievable and the water’s rough, you are not alone, I feel it too” he says in a somber tone, his expression is filled with gloom

His words shoot right at my heart, making me feel understood and protected, I would have never imagined that anything he’d said would have this affect on me, but I don’t despise it, not even a little bit

“I wouldn’t wish this entire ordeal on my worst enemy…..which,would be you I suppose” he ends his sentence with a unexpected burst of laughter, which in turn makes me laugh too

“I suppose so” I reply, giggling like a child

Me and Zaros, actually laughing together, as if nothing’s ever changed, I never would’ve imagined

“From best mates who are absolutely inseparable to enemies who are fighting for the throne, how the tides change” he says, looking directly at my face, I am unsure of the intention behind his tone

“It’s all written in the stars, what can us mere mortals do about it?” I reply, fidgeting with my fingers

Silence creeps into the space between us for a few moments, it’s absurdly comforting, sitting next to him, I can feel his warmth, it’s familiar and safe, it feels like home….he feels like home

“I cannot believe that I’m actually about to say this, but I feel as if I have to, for my own sanity” he says

“What are you trying to say?” I reply, puzzled as ever

“I-I really wish I never left, I wish I stayed by your side, I wish I never lost the eight years I could have had with you” he says, desperation laced in his voice

I look at him with wide eyes and shock painted on my face, I have a very strange feeling that I know what he’s about to say

“Zaros, plea-“ I try to interrupt him

“No, just don’t!” he snaps

“I have felt this way for quite a while now, and sometimes, it’s all I can think about, I wish we never had that wretched fight in the first place!” He exclaims

I am left utterly speechless by his words, nothing could have ever prepared me for this

“I really wanted you to trust me more!” he adds

That sets me off, how can he ever expect me of all people to trust him? After his relentless insults and torments, he is so delusive

“Don’t start!” I snap

“What? Are you that scared of the truth?” he interrupts

“Well you have not made it easy for me, have you now?” I sneer as I jolt up, out of the bed

“What do you mean?” he replies as he gets up

“How in the name of Gods can you expect me to trust you after everything that’s happened? You agreed to contest against me, we are competing AGAINST each other or have you forgotten? How can I trust you any which ways? You are my rival!” I say with all the anger my voice can muster

“I had no.other.choice” he replies sternly

“And besides is that all I am to you? Just a rival, an enemy you want to overthrow? Or did you forget us and everything we were before our fallout, did all that mean nothing to you? You are deeply imbedded in all my memories, all my feelings, all my thoughts, there isn’t a corner in my soul where I can’t find you….you, you were everything to me, still are” he says

I want to absolutely scream at his words, he can’t just say that and the worst part is I can’t decide if I’m angry with him or yearning for him

“Please….don’t do this” I say, almost in a whisper, my voice shakes a bit

“How much longer are you going to pretend that you were never in love with me?” he snaps

I can feel my heart stop, my mind starts to fog up and I can barely breathe, a dull, crushing gust of pain swims across my chest…that is until I feel a violent rush of anger flow through me, red and fiery

“You…“ I rage

“I-I’m sorry, I went too far, I shouldn’t have-“ he says

“And you want me to “trust” you, I should’ve never come here in the first place” the hurt in my voice is evident and loud, and I might just burst into tears any second

I abruptly turn and sprint to the door, but before I can open it, he yanks my hand and pulls me to him

“I am so sorry, I know I’ve crossed way too many lines, I am a reckless fool, please forgive me, please stay” he says in the most desperate tone I have ever heard

“Give me one good reason why” I hiss

“I can’t” he replies

“I know I’ve caused you nothing but pain ever since I came back, I can see it on your face every single second, minute and hour I am near you, I have no excuse and no reason, I-I won’t force you to stay or do anything you don’t want to, but just know, how very sorry I am, for it all, we don’t even have to speak if that’s what you want, I care about you way more than I can ever express and I can’t handle seeing you so upset, I won’t hurt you, ever again, I promise, no matter what happens after the trials, it won’t change how I feel about you, nothing ever will” he says

I don’t reply, not because I don’t want to but because I just do not know how, my heart is heavy with a feeling I’d rather not feel, especially not for him, but I can not help it

“I don’t expect you to forgive me and-“

I don’t know what comes over me, but I wrap my arms around him in frantic desperation, as if he’s going to run away from me, as if I’m going to lose him all over again…

He slowly envelopes me in his arms, it’s very gentle, I can feel his heartbeat against my own, his warmth is infectiously addicting, I could practically fall asleep like this

“Don’t ever leave me, ever again, do you understand?” I assert

“I promise you with all my heart, I am never going away, my sweet earis” he replies in a soft, honeyed tone as he places a kiss on my cheek

“Zaros” I call to him as I pull away

“Yes?” He replies as he looks at me eagerly

“I have something very important to confess” I say

“What is it?” he replies as his expression grows more serious

“I am so very sorry I called you a leech” I say, not being able to hold back the mischievous smile forming on my face

At that we both erupt into laughter, and I embrace him once again, feeding off of his warmth

“And I’m sorry I called you a palace brat…though you still kind of are one” he says in a playful mocking manner

“Oh please , you love it” I reply in a calm, unbothered tone, my head resting his shoulder

“Yes, yes I do” he replies as he holds me tightly in his arms

#sakuverse #zsakuva #zsakuva zaros #zaros #zaros x reader #this was going to be a soft fic but I don’t know what happened 😭?#I’m sorry if this is bad😭#miss my bby girl zaros so bad

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autumnshighlady · 9 months

Text

I’ve Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 16)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: the moment you’ve all been waiting for, that’s all i can say

warnings: Night Court slander, pro-Tamlin,

word count: 7.7k (y’all better appreciate how long this is)

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: THIS IS THE BIGGEST CHAPTER YET GUYS!! so much is revealed that i’ve been planning for MONTHS, i’m so excited to share it with you. please send me all your reactions!

feedback is appreciated, just no hate pls! these are just my opinions, i’m more curious to see how you all like the writing and characterization and storylines!

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 /

read on ao3

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The stench of blood and shredded flesh was choking your senses, clogging your throat like the thickest oil. Everything was happening in slow motion through the stained glass as Hybern’s soldiers retreated, crowing their victory as if it took a great deal of skill to slaughter a defenceless village. Their cries were muffled, as if you were underwater. Every limb ached, too stiff and heavy to move even an inch. No amount of effort could get you to lift your head up.

You were going to die here. That much you had accepted.

What would be the point in living anyway? With your entire village dead, you closed your eyes, waiting for the embrace of death to whisk you away. Each breath was like shredding a knife through your chest, what was taking so long? Everyone else was gone, yet you were cursed with the ability to still draw breath.

A strange, white flicker drew your eyelids open. Everything was blurry, but even in your dazed state you could tell that something was happening. Groaning, you stretched out your fingers. If you had a voice, you knew you’d be screaming at the pain from such a simple movement. As your palm outstretched, something warm and gentle closed around it, as if the sweet spring breeze itself had formed a hand of its own to clasp yours. The touch was gentle, reassuring even. It flooded you with a sense of calm. Was this what death was like?

The white flickering from the bodies in the village erupted in a shower of starlight and sunshine, glowing tendrils rising from the mangled fae in your line of vision. They descended upon you like smoke, and the warm touch around your hand squeezed once before agony overtook your body.

You didn’t know if you were screaming or not. Your throat burned as if a dagger had slashed it open. Your abdomen ached, as if it was being hacked apart by a longsword. It felt like Hybern’s soldiers had descended upon you with their weapons, striking and cutting a thousand times. You heard nothing but the ringing in your ears as your body shook with spasms.

Please just let me die faster, You pleaded to the Mother. I can’t take this. Just end it already.

Even throughout the unbearable pain that wracked your body, you could still feel the warm sensation like someone was squeezing your palm. You wondered if it was your mother, preparing to guide you into whatever afterlife lay ahead. But the pain didn’t stop, didn’t end. It just kept going for what felt like eons. And then, like a weighted blanket was being laid over you, it stopped.

*********************

“Wake up.”

You opened your eyes and groaned, Rhysand’s voice making your already pounding head worse. You had endured hours of hearing it scraping against your mental shields, pressing to try and find a way in. You had felt his anger, his frustration and disbelief at not being able to get through. Every ounce of his hatred had been flung at you like a thousand arrows, making you see right through the High Lord.

You felt his self righteousness, his true feelings about how he didn’t give a shit about anything but his precious circle. Even them, he looked down upon – including his own mate and High Lady. As Rhysand flung his thoughts at you, you read them like paper on parchment. He may love Feyre and his family, but at the end of the day he needed control. And there you were, a stain on his image, a brick out of place at the foundation of his empire, threatening to bring the whole thing down.

Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court, feared you.

He was afraid of your influence, how openly rebelling on him and calling out his lies might spread ideas to others. Especially with Nesta, Cauldron-made, on your side. The thought of Rhys being afraid of you would have made you laugh, if you weren’t tied up in a cell for days on end. You weren’t even sure how you were still alive

You never figured out what happened that day your village was attacked, after the slaughter ceased and you were left alone. Every time you closed your eyes, that glowing light from the bodies around you haunted your dreams. You weren’t sure if it was even real, if any of it actually happened or if your mind had made it up. But you had felt different since that day in a way that couldn’t be explained. It was as if something coursed through your bones, waiting to answer a call.

You were changed that day, and for months you had chalked it up to your state of mind being altered by something so traumatic. But you had been in this cell without food for longer than your body, even as a faerie, should have been able to survive. Something that clearly also perplexed your captor as he stared at you.

“I don’t understand you, (Y/N).” Rhysand said with lethal calm. “Nothing about you makes sense. You happen to survive a slaughter at the hands of Hybern, you infiltrate my court and make a magical bond with Nesta Archeron that nobody has ever seen before, and you somehow resist my magic. I want to know how you’re able to do that.”

You spat up the blood that had been pooling in your mouth. “Go fuck yourself. Prick.”

The High Lord chuckled, but continued as if you hadn’t spoken. “And to top it off, you’ve been scheming with Eris Vanserra this whole time. Plotting to overthrow me, perhaps? To rip my court out from under me like Feyre did to your beloved Tamlin? If it is revenge you are after, I suggest you rethink your plan.”

You said nothing. It would be pointless to argue with him. Anything you say would be twisted and used against you, so you held your tongue.

“It matters not,” Rhys continued, pacing back and forth with his hands in his pockets. “Because you failed in whatever it is you wanted to accomplish. You are here, locked in this dungeon where nobody can find you. And whether I grant you a merciful death or not depends on you answering this one simple question.”

Rhys stopped pacing, and leaned towards you. His face was inches away from yours, violet eyes boring into you like lasers. You could feel his breath on your face as he spoke. “What spell did you use to cast the bond? Gwyn’s story only tells us so much, if any of it is even related to this, but I know there’s more to it”

You huffed, cracked lips stinging with the effort of speaking. “You seemed to have a list of other questions, what happened to those?”

“Oh, I have other ways of finding out the answers to almost everything else. But with Nesta Archeron tucked away somewhere in Autumn, you are the only other person who can speak to the magic of the spell.” Rhys’ slender finger caressed your cheek, making you squirm with discomfort. “And if you cooperate like a good girl, how about I make you a deal? I will let Nesta live out whatever shit life she wants in Autumn in peace, provided you give me what I need.”

Your breath lurched, the horror of his insinuation dawning on you. Rhys never intended to let Nesta live peacefully in Autumn, not because he cared for her safety in the clutches of Beron, but because losing her made him look weak. Even if Nesta was married to Eris and protected by the whole of Autumn, Rhysand would take every opportunity he could to hunt her like a dog and bring her back.

No doubt he’d paint himself as the hero of the situation. Poor Nesta Archeron, stolen away by the evil Autumn prince and made a bride against her will. Rhysand would save her from her terrible fate, dragging her back to the Night Court to be hailed a saviour. And that would be the last time Nesta ever stepped out of Night, he would make sure of it. Under the illusion of caring for his beloved sister in law, of course.

You glared at him, but he only chuckled again. Rhys leaned away from you and stood back upright, picking at the sleeve of his shirt casually. “It matters not,” He said. “Azriel is on his way right now. He’ll tell me what he’s discovered, and when the sun rises over the mountains, he will kill you.”

It felt like a bucket of ice had been dumped on your body as you remembered the fading voices of Rhys’ command to his spymaster before you had passed out. You didn’t know what Azriel would do. On the one hand, he had stood up for you in a way that Rhys clearly hadn’t expected. But on the other, he has been loyal to the prick for five centuries – holding out hope that would change now was foolish. All you could truly hope for was that he granted you a quick death.

“What if he didn’t find anything?” You croaked. “Still gonna kill me then? I thought you were desperate to find answers.”

“If Azriel cannot find them, then there is nobody that can,” The High Lord countered simply, as if he were making idle chit chat. “And then whatever secrets you’re so determined to keep die with you, the magic along with it. That’s something I can live with if not knowing at the end of the day means protecting my court.”

You laughed bitterly. “As if you care about that?”

Rhys’ eyes narrowed, his body stilling like a predator frozen before the kill. “Excuse me?”

“You sure don’t give a shit about most of it.” You challenged brazenly. “The women in Illyria who still get their wings clipped, anyone who has the misfortune of living outside Velaris, you don’t care about anyone but yourself and your little family. You rule because you like the power, not because you care about the people your power is supposed to protect.”

“I have outlawed wing clipping in Illyria–” Rhys growled, but you interrupted him.

“And without enforcing it harshly you have only ensured that the practice of wing clipping becomes more underground, leaving females to die from mangled procedures.”

If looks could kill, Rhysand’s would have obliterated you. But you couldn’t help but smirk to yourself at the anger you elicited from the High Lord. Judging by his reaction you knew that he knew you were right. He just hated hearing it.

“I see Azriel taught you too much.” Rhys hissed.

“What did I teach her too much of?”

You flinched as Azriel’s voice echoed in the chamber. Out of the shadows he appeared, melting into the space of the dark cell like wax. His expression was unreadable, and he did not look at you. He faced his brother, not sparing you a single glance.

“Azriel, I am very glad you’re here.” Rhys’ voice singsonged, an obnoxiously chipper tone to it. The smug look on his face made you tense up preparing for the worst.

Gwyn was the only other person who knew about what magic was used to cast the bond between you and Nesta. Your gut twisted at the thought of Azriel going to her for answers. The priestess had sworn she would never breathe a word, but in more ways than one Azriel could be… persuasive. Rhys had already figured out the story the spell was based on by going into her mind, if he knew what else she had found….

You were certain of one thing though: if Azriel had harmed Gwyn in any way, you’d tear him limb from limb.

“I assume you’re going to be more helpful than this one here regarding information on the bond?” Rhys continued, crossing his arms proudly.

Silence that was almost too loud took over the cell for a few moments, until Azriel uttered one word from his lips. “No.”

Rhys blinked in surprise. “No?” He said. “You mean you honestly found nothing?”

A tentative flicker of hope ignited in your chest. Azriel was stone faced as he answered to his High Lord. “Correct. The library was of no use, even the restricted section. I found nothing resembling the bond (Y/N) and Nesta used.”

The High Lord’s eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head. “Interesting. You are usually more useful than this, Az.”

“I explored all of my available resources and found nothing.” Azriel’s voice was monotone, no emotion or life to it. It was the voice of a spy, unreadable and impossible to decipher. It made you nervous, unsure of what angle he was playing at. Azriel was not stupid, he had to know Gwyn would have been the one to give you and Nesta access to the information.

Which means whatever his reasoning was, he chose to keep Rhysand in the dark.

“Pity.” Rhys clucked his tongue in disappointment. “I know dear Amren was dying to find out what spell it was. But it doesn't matter anymore. I guess we’ll all have to live with the disappointment, won’t we?”

Azriel remained motionless as he spoke. “I am sorry I failed you.”

Another minute of silence overcame the cell. You barely even breathed, heart racing with every passing second. Until Rhys spoke the words you had been anticipating for days. “Kill her.”

The shadowsinger shifted, standing more upright. As your heart dropped into your stomach, you anticipated him reaching for truth-teller. If he had kept the information about the spell out of Rhysand’s hands, you took it as a sign he would make your death quick and clean at least. And so you closed your eyes, finding yourself for the second time in one year waiting for death to come and claim you.

“No.”

Azriel’s firm words made your eyes snap open in confusion. Rhysand was taking a deep breath, as if trying to keep himself calm and collected before he spoke. “And why not?” The High Lord said icily.

“Because this is wrong.” Azriel said, shifting his weight as if the mere act of disobeying his High Lord caused him discomfort. He glanced at you, eyes softening for a second as he spoke. “And she is my friend.”

“Please,” Rhys scoffed angrily. “No she is not. She was manipulating you, you fool. Maybe her pretty face kept your shadows distracted enough from figuring that out, but she is not your friend. She is your prisoner, whom your High Lord is ordering you to kill.”

“I said no.”

You glanced uneasily between them, not expecting Azriel to openly defend you like this. Rhys, apparently, felt the same thing. His breath was uneven, and his voice laced with rage as he spoke. “What has gotten into you, Azriel? Are you really going to disobey me like this?”

Azriel argued back, trying to reason with his brother. “Rhys, what we are doing to this female is wrong. All signs point to her wanting just to be free, not to bring harm to your court. She has no desire to overthrow you, or whatever bizarre shit your brain has come up with. Killing her would be wrong.”

“SHE IS A FUCKING THREAT TO MY COURT!” Rhys suddenly bellowed, his loud yell hurting your ears as it echoed throughout the chamber. Without warning, Rhysand shoved Azriel against the wall, a loud crack sounding as the spymaster’s wings collided with solid rock. He groaned in pain, but did not fight back.

. “And I am ORDERING you to do your job and eliminate her.” Rhys growled at him, pressing his neck into the wall. “If you do not, then I–”

“Do it yourself, coward.” You spat with as much defiance as you could. You hated seeing Azriel let his brother overpower him, watching him give up because he thought he deserved punishment for disobedience. You did not necessarily see eye to eye with the shadowsinger on everything – hell, there were times where his bystanderism made him just as bad as the rest of his circle.

But you could not let this happen to you, because it was all your fault. It was because of you he was in this position – his job, his family, his life on the line because he was trying to help you.

Rhys froze, pausing whatever blow he was about to land on his spymaster before he slowly turned to gaze at you. “What did you just say?”

“I said…” Every word was an effort, but a surge of determination flooded through you. “Kill me yourself, you fucking coward. Do your own dirty work for once.”

Rhysand snarled, letting go of Azriel with a shove. He stormed over towards you and grabbed your throat, hand gripping it like talons. His face was pure rage, the ugly face behind the charming mask, the illusion finally shattered. “I’m going to enjoy this,” He spat in your face. “And when I’m done, I’m going to drag Nesta back here kicking and screaming if I have to. And she will meet this very same fate once I make her scream.”

Something deep inside of you snapped. A strange sensation coursed through your bones, filling your broken body with life once again. Your wrists no longer ached, your back was no longer stiff. You could barely hear over the roaring in your head as you pictured Nesta’s beautiful face in your mind. The ringing in your ears became so loud, and before the High Lord of the Night Court unleashed his dark mist upon you, the world went white.

*********************

Wake up.

It was not the snarling, arrogant voice of Rhysand that greeted you, but a soft female one. It was familiar yet foreign all at once, the sound of both one voice and a thousand altogether, blended like a strange melody. Your eyes fluttered open, and you were met with a familiar scene.

Your village.

The bodies had gone, only ash and dirt remaining where they once were. The buildings remained in ruins, like the memorial of an ancient city. Vines had begun to curl over the rooftops, circling down the sides of what remained of the houses that Hybern did not burn down. Flowers had blossomed across the earth, a stark contrast to the death and destruction that had occurred on the very same soil all those months ago. You glanced at your arms, which were free from the cuts and bruises inflicted upon you in the dungeon. You felt no pain.

“Do you remember what happened that day?”

You jumped as the female voice sounded behind you. Whirling around, you were met with a tall female. She had olive skin and warm brown eyes, with long brown hair that shone like the rays of the sun itself. Her face was kind but strong, and she wore sparling robes that almost blended in with her skin. She emitted an otherworldly glow, a kind of radiance that shook you to your very core.

“Who… who are you?” You stuttered.

The female smiled softly, her elegant hands clasped together. “I am Estelle.”

Your mind raced, putting together the pieces from Gwyn’s information. “Like… the mother goddess from the story? Jayana’s lover?”

She nodded. “A millenia later, and I find myself missing her every day. Much like you miss your Nesta.”

You took a steady breath, shaking your head. “Am I dead? Is this the afterlife?”

The goddess chuckled softly. “No, my child, you are not dead. You are here for a reason, one which requires an answer to my question. Do you remember this day?”

You paused, taking a few steps back and scanning the clearing. Your heart ached at the sight of it so empty, so quiet and lifeless. It held so many good memories, ones that were now tainted with bloodshed and violence. “Not all of it…”

“Do you ever have dreams, my child? Dreams where you’re back in this clearing, body seized with pain so violent it felt like you were dying a thousand times?”

You felt her presence follow you as you wandered aimlessly. “Yes…” You muttered. “Are you going to tell me that really happened?”

“Is that what you want me to tell you?”

You whirled around, facing the female once again. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is happening right now. Or at all, frankly. I’ve had enough riddles, can you please just tell me why I’m here?”

Despite your anger, Estelle showed no sign of hurt at your sharp words. There was sorrow behind her eyes, an understanding, one that you felt could see into every inch of your soul.

“You know my story, correct?” She said softly. You nodded.

“Good,” She continued. “When I absorbed the life forces of my fallen comrades, I felt each and every one of their deaths. It tore through my body like a riptide, and I was sure it was going to break me. I felt their rage, their fear, their anguish as they were slaughtered much like your village was. And after that day, I held a new power, one that allowed me to escape Hel and break the realms of the world apart.”

Your throat was dry, a dizziness overcoming you as the weight of her words dawned on you. Every dream you had about that day, every nightmare that ended in blinding light and pain was the exact experience that the goddess in the story had felt. “What are you saying?” Your voice was quiet as you asked a question you were pretty sure you knew the answer to.

“My child,” Estelle said. “The same thing happened to you. What you felt that day was the life force of everyone in your village flooding into your body. You felt each and every one of their deaths, and I am sorry you had to experience that. But it happened for a reason.” You weren’t sure you were breathing at this point. You rested your hands on your knees, trying to stabilise yourself. “Do you mean….” Your voice stuttered as you spoke. “Do you mean that… what I felt that day… what I felt afterwards…”

Your voice trailed off, but a warm hand on your shoulder reassured you.

“Yes. Your body now possesses the life force of hundreds of deaths, a power you can shape and wield however you choose.”

The feeling of the goddess’s hand on your shoulder struck something in you. All those times you felt that invisible touch, that reassuring presence that you thought you had imagined… You had thought it was maybe the Mother, but it dawned over you that it had been Estelle this whole time. Hers was the hand that held yours as you felt the deaths of your friends and family rip through you. Hers was the voice that helped you stay strong as Rhysand tortured you.

“This whole time…” You said breathlessly, her presence behind you like a warm light on your back. “I thought it was the Mother guiding me. But it was you.”

“My dear, we are one and the same.”

You whipped around to face the goddess. “You’re the Mother?”

Estelle simply smiled. “The war that took Jayana from me was centuries before Prythian was formed. After I escaped Hel, I wandered about the universe, utterly lost. Until I found this untamed world, unguided by any spirit. I did not ask to be named the Mother, but my true name had been lost in my years alone. So I became her, but I never forgot who I was. And I never will.”

You ran a hand through your hair, mind spinning with the overload of information. The story of Jayana and Estelle was not only true, but Estelle was the Mother herself, the being that watched over Prythian and was worshipped all over the land. Not only that, but you were living what Estelle had experienced hundreds and thousands of years ago.

“Why?” Was all you could ask, not knowing what to say.

“Not everything has to have an answer,” Estelle said, taking your hand in her own. “And I urge you not to expect to know the explanation for everything after this. But as for why you are here, I needed you to know the truth. You refused to believe your dreams, and chose to try and forget about them instead of asking yourself if they were really just imaginary. You possess the power of life now, just as I do. And you are in a terrible situation, my child. I ask that you recall my story, and use this power to find your way back to your mate.”

Even in this strange dreamy reality, time seemed to stop. Mate. The world itself seemed to spiral down upon you as the word replayed in your head over and over again.

Nesta was your mate.

“But… but Cassian is Nesta’s mate.” Was all you could sputter out. Something stirred in you, as if awoken by the realisation. It was like the bond, but stronger. Its presence in your chest was undeniable, reaching out as if it were searching for its other half.

“Fae folk can have more than one mate in some instances. Nesta Archeron has more than one, but Cassian is not one of them.”

“How–”

Estelle cut you off, more urgency in her voice than before. “I have already told you not to expect the answers to every question you have just yet. All will reveal itself in time. But Jayana and I were mates before I created the spell that allowed us to communicate. Therefore, in order for the magic to work, the spell had to be done between two mates. The daemati-like powers is the only thing that spell gives. Everything else you feel? That deeper connection to Nesta? It was already there in the mating bond. The spell had nothing to do with it.”

“Holy shit.” You gasped, blood racing. “So you’re saying… Nesta and I are mates, and that’s why the spell worked?”

She nodded. “And why Rhysand was not able to activate it. It can only be done so between two mates, no matter how powerful an outsider’s magic is. And your magic is also the reason he cannot get into your head. You are protected from all other daemati magic.”

“I’m going to pass out…” You muttered, taking a seat on the log a few feet away. Within seconds, Estelle’s, or the Mother’s, appeared beside you.

“Everything happens for a reason, my child. You received those powers for a reason. You came across my story for a reason. I didn’t have a chance to use the spell to find my way back to my mate, but you do. Seize it.”

That strange presence in your bones you had felt after you woke up from the massacre, it wasn’t imagined after all. Deep down, you had always known something otherworldly happened. But you had spent months pushing it aside, trying to ignore it out of fear of what it was. “This is all just happening inside my head, isn’t it?”

Estelle’s long robes rustled in the breeze. “Of course it is,” She said. “But that does not mean it’s not real. Across the universe, there are multiple realities. Multiple versions of oneself that may seem like different people, but are all variants of one another. With beings like me, that does not happen unless we make it so. You, (Y/N), are an incarnate version of me. It’s why this is happening in your head. I am not some external being that is inside your mind right now. I am you, and you are me.”

You were the Mother incarnate. Holy shit. It felt like a dream, but the presence beside you was too strong to be anything but real. “If people have variants of each other,” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady. “Does that mean….Nesta is Jayana?”

“In a sense,” Estelle responded. “The connection is not direct like with you and I. I saw your situation when Hybern attacked your village, and I kept you alive by having your body absorb the life force of the dead just like I had. And thus, you became a version of me. Nesta Archeron is her own person, but fate seems to like its parallels. I see much of Jayana in her. They both have the same temper, both represent a death goddess feared across all the lands.”

You frowned. “You mean you aren’t the decider of fate? I thought everything that happened was with your guidance?”

She laughed melodically, the sound like the song of birds on a spring morning. “No, my child. I decide many things, yes. But not all. None of us do, and we do not know what does.”

Estelle’s words echoed in your mind like a hurricane, threatening to overwhelm you. But it didn’t, because in a way, everything made sense. She had no reason to lie, even if this was just some bizarre dream or afterlife sentence. The way you felt that connection to Nesta, that force in your body that threatened to explode when you were angry, it all aligned with what the goddess beside you was saying.

“I cannot linger any longer,” Estelle murmured, covering your shaking hands with her own. “But remember how I got out of Hel. Find that power buried within you and rattle the stars with it. I will always be there alongside you, my child. You are never alone.”

You turned to say something, another hundred questions racing through your mind, but the world around you glowed as the Mother faded into the light. Within a few seconds, she had gone.

Once again, you looked at the clearing around you. The marks on the earth where the bodies had lain seemed to glow, calling out to you. A force deep within you sung in response, begging you to release it. As you poured over Estelle’s words, you recalled how the magic she absorbed allowed her to burst out of Hel and free herself.

Rattle the stars.

Her wording was deliberate. The Night Court was represented by the stars. You knew not the extent of your powers, but if your theory was right, you could make the entire Night Court feel your fury.

And so you closed your eyes, and let the clearing slip away as you let that power you’d been pushing down surge through you. It felt like you were falling, the clearing swallowing up as you descended into a void of light.

*********************

It could have been a millenia you were falling, or perhaps a second. As you let yourself go down into the base of whatever power lay within you, you felt memories crash into you all at once. Your mother’s smile as she presented you with her freshly baked scones. The feeling of Nesta’s lips as she kissed you for the first time. Lucien pressing a cold cloth to your head when you were sick. Eris holding you as you danced in the Hewn City. Rhysand’s smirk as he carved into you like a piece of meat.

The rage that boiled up as Rhysand’s face flashed through your mind quickened your plummet, your power bubbling up and ready to overflow. And so you opened your eyes.

A look of horror crossed Rhysand’s features as your eyes glowed with a bright white half a second before his magic went to strike you down. Dark mist collided with pure light as you exploded with a war cry of ancient times.

*********************

White hot rage was all you could feel as you unleashed yourself. Rage of the Spring Court souls whose life forces you had absorbed crying out with you for vengeance against the Night Court. Rhysand was thrown back, Azriel too as your light exploded. The walls around you crumbled, your chains shattering as everything around you came crashing down. The earth beneath your feet shook, the rock from the prison walls flying a hundred feet out to either side.

Wind ripped against your face as the mountain your cell had been inside crumbled away before you, creating avalanches of stone whose impact upon the ground sounded like thunder. Your blood sang, as if the life force within you was happy to be used. Surprisingly, Velaris was visible in the distance – you had thought your prison would be some remote mountain in Illyria. But perhaps Rhys knew that’s what everyone would assume, and keeping you closer to his home would keep you from being discovered.

Out of the shadows, Rhysand and Azriel appeared from the smoke, coughing violently. As they finally opened their eyes to look at you, pure wonder crossed their faces. You didn’t have to look down at yourself to know you were glowing with that same light Estelle had. Your gaze landed upon Azriel, who froze like a statue as it landed on him.

He didn’t cower, or scurry away. He simply gazed at you in awe for a few more moments before dipping his head, bowing before your presence. Rhys, on the other hand, got to his feet and snarled.

“What are you?” The High Lord hissed, gathering dark mist between his fingertips.

“I am Life,” The voice you responded with was not entirely your own – it was ancient and prophetic, with the authority of a god. “And your court has taken everything from me. You will pay for your crimes, High Lord Rhysand.”

Rhys made a vicious noise, talons of mist forming at his fingertips. You quickly realised that despite what you had just done, you had no clue how to defend yourself with your power. But before he could make the first blow, a ring of silver fire burst through the air and surrounded him, accompanied by a fierce roar from the sky. As you looked up, letting your eyes adjust to the bright daylight, you gasped at the sight before you.

Three dragons were flying towards the ruined mountain. One black, one silver, and one gold. The golden one was without a rider, circling the ruins around you and crying out. A familiar redhead was perched atop the black one, golden armour shining in the midday sun.

Eris, a golden flame atop a black fire breathing mount, had come to your rescue. But it was the silver dragon your eyes were drawn to, and that piece in your chest that had spent the last few weeks reaching out to Nesta crackled with excitement as you gazed upon the silver dragon’s mount.

Dressed in red, scaling armour was Nesta. Even from the ground, you could see her silver eyes glow in the same shade as the flames surrounding Rhysand. She had the wrathful look of a death goddess as she descended with her dragon, its silver wings creating hurricane like gusts of wind as it hovered before you and Rhys.

Nesta and Eris had come to save you.

You couldn’t help but glance at Azriel, who seemed sagged with relief. Your throat closed up with emotion – the spymaster knew Eris and Nesta would show up, and likely told them exactly where.

“Nesta.” Rhys growled, staring up at his sister-in-law with anger. “Leave.”

“Not without (Y/N).” Nesta’s voice was clear and strong, commanding Rhys like a queen commanding her subjects. Her dragon roared furiously at Rhysand, causing the High Lord to flinch.

“Dragons?” He sputtered, coughing as the smoke from the silver flames blew in his face. “What… how?”

“You have your surprises, Rhysand, and I have mine.” Eris piped up, landing his black dragon on the ground. The earth shook with its impact, sending more rocks crashing down the remains of the mountain.

Weariness took over your body, and you felt the light begin to fade as your magic retreated.

No no no, You cursed to yourself, trying to summon it again. But every muscle in your body ached from the sudden surge, unable to bear any more magic. You felt helpless again, trapped. Rhysand tried to take a step towards you, but scurried back as the ground once again shook, this time behind you.

The golden dragon had landed right behind you and let out a vicious roar towards Rhysand, its eyes glowing with fury. It stood protectively over your shoulder, towering over you menacingly in a way that promised certain death to anyone who made a move.

“Dragons are protective creatures,” Eris said. “I wouldn’t get any closer.”

“You’ve invaded my court,” Rhysand hissed. “This is an act of war.”

Eris chuckled. “Technically, you declared war first. We’re just finishing what you started.”

Before anyone could speak up, a horn sounded from the ridge in the distance. You whirled around, the motion making you slightly dizzy. But your eyes were clear as ever as the banners of the Spring Court appeared over the hill.

Armoured bodies marched in synch as soldiers approached on horseback, led by none other than Lucien. His cloak streamed behind him in the wind as he loped towards the scene of the wreckage. You nearly wept, not having seen him since he rescued you. From the look on his face, Lucien felt the same way.

A different type of roar was carried fast in the wind, and a mighty beast winnowed in front of the army and led the march. Its elk-like antlers and massive body sped ahead of his troops with his great stride, bounding towards you.

“What is going on here?” Rhysand demanded, unable to hide the slight panic from his voice.

“You started this war when you stole (Y/N) from Spring,” Eris said coolly, patting his dragon. “We’ve found it in our best interests to align with Tamlin over the matter, not you.”

The dragons did not react as Tamlin’s beast form landed right beside them, growling. Tears streamed down your face in relief – the High Lord you had looked up to, the male you had helped get back on his feet, had joined in on the effort to save you.

“Rhysand.” Tamlin growled in greeting.

“If this is some sort of revenge plan on Feyre–” Rhysand began, but was quickly interrupted.

“This is not about her,” The High Lord of Spring snapped. “This is about (Y/N). You have kidnapped and imprisoned an esteemed member of my court, which is considered an act of war. I do not want to shed blood, but we will if you refuse to let her return to me.”

“(Y/N) is a member of my court now.” Rhys responded, evening out his voice. You knew he was trying to put on his collected mask, but it was cracked and slipping. You snorted at the weakness of his voice, and the dragon behind you made a similar noise, as if it was mirroring you.

“Is she?” Lucien said, halting his horse next to Tamlin and looking at Rhysand with a hatred you didn’t know he had. “Because she is still registered as a member of Spring. You never opened any accounts or filed any legal documents with her name, so according to the law there is no proof that you have taken her in as an official member. Which means you have wrongfully imprisoned a member of another court.”

“This is absurd.” Rhys scoffed. “Get out of my court. Now. This is my business.”

“Hand (Y/N) over and we will.” Lucien responded. The armies of the Spring Court halted a few metres behind the dragons, hands clasping their weapons, ready for the order to jump into action.

Malice glittered in Rhys’ eyes. You knew he wouldn’t give up easily, not when you had already made him look weak once. “No.” He said firmly.

No sooner had the syllable left his lips did a band of silver fire wrap around his throat. He cried out in pain as the flame danced, licking at his skin but not quite burning. The silver dragon’s roar turned all eyes to Nesta, and your heart jumped at the sight.

Nesta had stood up on her dragon’s back, silver flames wrapped around her fingertips and arms. The clouds darkened above everyone, thunder rumbling in the distance as her eyes glowed brighter.

“You locked me up.” Nesta’s voice was cold as ice and sharp as steel. Nobody moved a muscle as it echoed alongside the eerie cries of the wind. “I helped you, dozens of times. And you locked me up because I didn’t cope with the war YOU dragged me into in the way you deemed acceptable. I was an object to you, one to use and exploit when it suited you only to lock me away again when you were done. None of your circle has had any respect for me, Rhysand. From the beginning, you have pitted yourselves against me because it’s easier to make me the bad guy than take a look at your own flaws and mistakes. You took my human life, my money, my house, and everything I had. I was never a person to you, just a problem.”

Even Tamlin had gone completely still as Nesta twisted her hand, causing another band of fire to appear. This time, it bound Rhys’ hands and ankles, forcing him to his knees. Black mist attempted to make its way through the fire, but was rapidly quenched. Rhysand’s magic was no match for Nesta’s fury.

“I am taking my life back, Rhysand.” Nesta said. “And you and my sister will have no say or part in it. Do not come after me, do not try and bring me back here. If you try, I will burn you to nothing but ash.”

Rhysand growled, thrashing against Nesta’s fire. “Azriel!” He barked. “Do something!”

The shadowsinger was pale faced, surveying the scene before him. “Let her go,” He said sternly. “This is a fight we cannot win.”

You found your feet again, standing up on shaky legs. You summoned more magic – your body protested, but you ignored it as a shimmering white gag wrapped around Rhysand’s mouth, joining his silver flames.

“This isn’t a debate.” You panted, the weight of your tattered, shredded dress making you want to collapse. But you relented. “I am leaving with them, and you will let me.”

Tamlin’s beast form crawled towards Rhysand, growling. “I was wrong to lock Feyre up, I know that.” He spat. “But don’t pretend like you didn’t do the exact same thing to Nesta and (Y/N).”

Rhys mumbled something through the gag, but was ignored. You felt a nudge, and the golden dragon was gently pushing its snout into you. You placed your hand on its nose, letting the beast inhale your scent.

“Zorzimril says it’s time to go.” Eris quipped, smirking down at you. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You nodded, glancing up at Nesta. Your mate.

Her eyes were locked on you, and a faint tear ran down her cheek. Tentatively, you reached towards the spell-made bond. Nesta?

I…. I can’t believe I’m hearing your voice. Nesta’s response came, and so did your tears. Your lungs shook as you inhaled deeply between sobs.

Me too.

There will be time to catch up later. Come, let’s leave.

The golden dragon had lowered its shoulder to the ground and looked at you expectantly. Tentatively, you climbed onto its back, grasping the horns down its spine as you settled yourself. From the view on dragonback, you surveyed the site you had been standing on. Rubble from the mountain was everywhere, the great peak crumbled into a small hill. The gags on Rhys had disappeared, but he remained kneeling, face twisted with anger. Azriel stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder and giving Eris a slight nod. Tamlin and Lucien stood side by side once again, united with a common cause. Your heart swelled as you recognized the faces of the soldiers they brought – many of them fae that you had taken into the manor after losing their homes to Hybern. You could see it in their eyes that they had come not just because they were ordered to, but because they wanted to help you like you had helped them.

“Let’s get out of this wretched court.” Eris sighed, winking at you.

“Wait.” You said as an idea popped into your head. “I have something I want to do first.”

Nesta smirked at you, knowing exactly what you meant.

*********************

You, Nesta, and Eris soared on dragonback through the Night Court, approaching the Inner Circle’s mountainside cabin. You relished in the cold air whipped across your face, having not felt fresh air in weeks. Zorzimril happily flew you alongside Nesta, making happy growling noises as the excitement of what you were about to do made you jittery.

As your dragons approached the cabin, they stopped, hovering in the air above it. You looked towards Nesta and Eris, and they gave you a nod. You shouted the command Nesta had taught you, and Zorzimril unleashed a torrent of flames upon the cabin. The scent of burnt wood filled the air as the structure was quickly engulfed. Within ten seconds, it was reduced to ash.

And so the three of you flew to each remote residence of the inner circle, making sure it was away from the city before burning it to the ground. With every palace set aflame you whopped with delight, causing Eris to chuckle. It was satisfying, watching their luxuries burn down while half of Illyria was starving and poor. The Inner Circle had fled to the River House, the one shared residence of theirs that remained intact due to it being in the city centre. You did not want to punish innocent people for the crimes of their leader, like Feyre had done to your court. No, this was proper vengeance. And you relished in it.

Despite your exhaustion and pain from the last few weeks, you let yourself cheer and cry out on the back of Zorzimril as you soared through the air between Nesta and Eris, headed for the thicket of the autumn trees in the distance, leaving the Night Court behind you.

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netherfeildren · 1 year

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FEAR OF GOD: Chapter VIII: The Fisher King

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: Teach me how to ask for forgiveness, even when I know I don’t deserve it.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: angst; PTSD; very brief mention of infertility in the first section, description of injury

A/N: Art is Breach by Keith Perelli (2006-2007)

Word Count: 4.2K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER VII: The Fisher King

But still. Still.

Bless me anyway.

I want more life. I can’t help myself. I do.

I’ve lived through such terrible times, and

There are people who live through much worse, but… You see them living

anyway. When they’re more spirit than body, more sores, than skin, when they’re

burned and in agony, when flies lay eggs in

the corners of the eyes of their children,

they live. Death usually has to take life

away. I don’t know if that’s just the animal.

I don’t know if it’s not braver to die. But I

recognize the habit. The addiction to being

alive. We live past hope. If I can find hope

anywhere, that’s it, that’s the best I can do.

It’s so much not enough, so inadequate but

…Bless me anyway. I want more life.

-Tony Kushner, Angels in America

“Do you think you’ve been happy, so far?” you ask her one night.

“I think so, yes. Have you?” Her answer is immediate. She’d never been one for much indecision – that was always your role.

“Yes. At times. I’ve also been very sad.”

“Me too.” You can hear it now, that sadness, in the quietness of her voice.

“I hope we can be happy in the future. That we’ll be together, always.” The two of you are laying under the stars, hidden in the forest, in your old sleeping bags. She says the trees guard you, keep you safe. If you’d had more experience, you’d have felt very close to death in that moment.

“We will be. Don’t worry about that.”

“I don’t want either of us to die,” and you can hear how young you sound, how naive. Despite all you’ve been through, you’ve not been able to let go of that part of yourself. When you’re older you will think that, perhaps, that was not such a bad thing.

“We won’t. That won’t happen.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes, I can. I have a plan. If we stick to it, we’ll be okay.”

“Alright.” Your trust in her is implicit, after all.

She is very quiet for a while after that, you think she’s fallen asleep, but then suddenly: “You know, I can’t have children.”

“How do you know?”

“Things were off – Dad was able to run some tests.” That sadness is there again, echoing in her voice, and it is a very painful thing to hear from someone you love so much – someone you know would want that for themselves.

“I’m sorry.” For there is nothing else to be said in light of such a tragedy for her. She would make a wonderful mother.

“It makes me really sad.” There’s quiet again, for a long time, but then: “I know it’s a terrible world. Not safe – but still… It makes me very sad.”

“I’ll have one for the both of us. We can share.”

One of the last times you ever hear her laugh – you should have cherished the sound more – branded it in your memory. “I’d like that.”

Beth is dead two days later.

He sits by your sick bed for days. Shrouded in darkness, he lets his fear, his nightmares swallow him whole – the great gaping maw of a monstrous dream come to fruition. He thinks of Sarah’s mother, his ex-wife, for some reason – can’t understand why she comes to his mind in this moment, honestly. He hasn’t thought about her in decades, that woman he’d known so long ago – can hardly remember her face now. It makes him indescribably sad.

He’s trying to prevent his mind from dissociating. To keep himself present, in case you wake, in case you need him. But the sight of you, small and pale and broken. So still. It fractures his mind in a way he cannot understand. The days of you being lost – of his mad flight to find you, out with teams of hunters, combing the forest for any sign of you, the way he’d screamed at Maria and Tommy and Ellie and anyone else who got too close, spoke too loudly. He’d been extremely close to violence, of the unimaginable sort. That terrible last night, his own destruction, flashing over and over and over in his mind, the things he’d said to you. He could not compare the terror to anything else he’d ever experienced before. The pure horror of that being the last memory you’d ever have of him, of coming across your dead, mangled body, of never seeing your bright, unguarded smile again – in decades filled with fear, day in and day out, he now felt he’d been infected with the most unimaginable of diseases. A stabbing, bone melting pain to his mind, his heart, his flesh, again and again, all of his own making.

This is his fault. He did this to you. Pushed you away. Made you feel like you needed to flee, escape him. He wants to be angry with you for being so stupid, for going out there without him. But how could he not understand it – for what choice did he give you? That you’d prefer to face the monsters out there, rather than the one inside, the one in front of you – rather than him. He thinks he too would rather face the horrors out there, a thousand infected, than face himself. Face his own guilt, his own shortcomings.

He still isn’t speaking to Maria – can barely look at her. He’d told her if you were dead it’d fall on her head. That he’d blame her for it forever. It was a viciously unfair, nasty thing to throw at her when he’d been the one to push you away, the one to tell you to leave, when this was really all his fault alone.

He thinks of Tess – how he’d not been able to keep her safe either, all that time ago. A regret so profound, he’s sure he’ll swim in it for the rest of his miserable life.

Ellie had said sending you away that night had perhaps been the worst thing he’d ever done. The sight of you in this bed proves that fact, and he is filled with a rage so black, so all consuming, it cripples him, will send him to his grave if you don’t come out of this.

He hasn’t slept in days. Merely closing his eyes to rest his racing mind a few moments at a time. The baby you’d had with you has been with Maria. Tiny, squealing, rageful thing that she is. She only quiets when Maria brings her into your room, lays her beside your sleeping form. As if she knows already, even now, that the best place in the entire world is at your side. He closes his eyes in the quiet interminable moments of waiting and tries to picture Sarah’s mother in his mind. To remember her face. He cannot. There’s only a flash of dark curls. The sound of her voice, gone to time. All he can conjure with clarity is the image of Sarah’s smiling face that last morning he’d spent with her. His most precious memory. Something he exercises in his mind every morning when he wakes, lest, he too, forget that. He wonders if she’s still alive, what happened to her after the outbreak. He hopes she survived – hopes she lived a life not too full of terrible, painful things. Although, he isn’t entirely sure there exists any other version of this life anymore. He hopes he can find it, if it does, and give it to you, if you’ll let him.

He looks back at your resting form. The welts and scrapes that had marred the side of your face are healing well. The swelling receding into angry bruising. Nancy was worried you’d sustained a head injury, as an explanation for your prolonged unconsciousness, but neither the bones in your face, nor your skull were broken. Perhaps only a mild concussion, she thought. It inclined her to believe this was simply a side effect of the blood loss you’d endured from the wound in your side, the exhaustion and trauma.

Joel thinks he might become a religious man after this. Thinks he might start going to church, prostrating himself at the effigy of the cross to thank whatever higher power there exists for bringing you back to him, keeping you alive, allowing him another chance to see that smile, even if it’s never directed at him again. Because that is something else he is terribly afraid of. That his last words to you that night, will be the only thing you’ll ever be able to remember of him. All you’ll ever be able to see of him, going forward. He is so, so afraid of the consequences of his own terrible actions. Terrified that the moment he cast you away will be the only moment the two of you live in together for the rest of your lives.

And he thinks: Joel Miller, you are a man made up of fears.

The first thing you see when you finally open your eyes again are his hands. They’re scarred. Tiny, faded marks of a life past, marring the lines of a map of all his pain, his history. Your body hurts, one large throbbing bruise. But the fire in your shoulder, the muscles of your back and arm, has abated. You say a silent prayer of thanks that you’d been able to keep from straining it more. Any more damage and you’d have probably lost function of the limb entirely.

His eyes are closed, his temple pressed against his fist on the arm of the chair pulled up to your bedside. The house is entirely silent – dark and peaceful. You stretch your legs under the blankets, no terrible amount of pain, and his eyes spring open immediately at the subtle sound of your shifting. So attuned to you, that the mere rustling of the sheets brings him to wakefulness. You watch the dilation of his pupils, everything else frozen in place. Head still resting against his fist, he stares at you wide eyed and unblinking. You take in his face – his eyes are bloodshot and rimmed in the harsh purple bruising of exhaustion. His too long, messy curls lie limply across his forehead. He looks haggard, wrung dry. The most defeated you’ve ever witnessed him. Neither of you say anything as you study the other. He still hasn’t moved and the look in his eyes – afraid, resigned, like you’re a predator about to come in for the kill strike.

You feel indescribably sad for him, seeing him like this. Brought down low. It’s wrong. Not an image of the Joel you know that should exist in the world. You’re sure you mustn’t look much better. Broken, the both of you, in this shared moment. You slowly start to slide your palm across the bed towards him, and like a flip bringing him back to life, he melts onto the ground from the chair. Coming to kneel on the floor at the edge of the bed, he grasps your outstretched hand and presses his forehead into your palm, his grasp so, so gentle. His other hand snakes up, under the blankets to grip your bare knee in his warm palm, his thumb slowly sweeps over the bend.

His shoulders begin to jerk, in tiny little gasps. He’s crying.

“I was so afraid.” It is choked and guttural, a confession of the highest order, an admission of weakness, a supplication for mercy, for forgiveness.

You know that his words are all encompassing. He was afraid that night, when the two of you were attacked, when he told you he loved you, when he sent you away, when he couldn’t find you. He’s been afraid for decades, since the moment he met you, since the moment his daughter died. Your heart cleaves in two at the sight of his defeat. The hot slide of his tears through the spaces between your fingers, pooling in the cup of your palm, the liquid feel of them burns you, incites a violence in your heart to rise up at the sight of his suffering, of his pain. But you say nothing. Too weighed down by your own terror, your own pain.

By the prospect of having to tell him the truth. The secret you’ve been carrying with you, that you’re pregnant. Terrified of his reaction. Of his possible rejection. For it isn’t just you anymore that would feel the loss of him. There’s two, three, of you now. And you’re terrified of having to ask him to bear this with you. Don’t want to have to ask. And part of you knows, is positive, that he’ll be there for you without you ever having to even ask. That there would be no question of it. No other alternative. That if anything else, the man before you is honorable and good – despite his violence, despite his sins, despite his fear, he is good. He would never abandon you to face this alone. But still, you’re afraid. Just as he is, just as he has been. So you say nothing, simply bring your other hand up to cup the back of his bent head.

There are no words that could fit in the quiet space of your room in that moment – so swollen is it with all your shared fears, all the things left unsaid. You let him cry.

Ellie finds him sitting on his front porch, guitar in hand, strumming gently – a mug sits by his side. There is no fight to be had now, this she knows. Perhaps no reconciliation, either – not at this moment. But there is much to be said, still, or even perhaps, merely silence to be shared. This is her olive branch. In the days since your disappearance, and then since you’d been found, recovering, she’s had a lot of time to think. To consider her choices.

“Hey.” The look on his face as he watches her walk up guts her – so full of reluctantly glad surprise.

“What’re you drinking?”

“Coffee.”

Of course. “Where’d you get that?”

“Uh… those people that came through last week. A little embarrassed as to what I had to trade to get it, but … it’s not bad.”

“Oh,” she’s slightly at a loss for what to say, how to continue. Their once easy banter seems so unreachable with so much laying between them. “You need to stop harassing Jesse about my patrols.”

“Okay,” he says succinctly – like he’s not going to take her incendiary bait. He looks away, considering what he’s about to say next. “Dina. Is she your girlfriend?”

And nope, she sure as fuck hadn’t been expecting that one. “No! She – That was just one kiss. It doesn’t mean anything,” she denies, referring to the kiss he’d accidentally witnessed last night when he was on his way home from trying to see you. “She just… I don’t know why she did that.”

He tilts his head contemplatively, gives her a knowing look. “You do like her.”

“I’m so stupid.”

“Look, I have no idea what that girl’s intentions are, but I do know that she would be lucky to have you.”

And she knows she told herself she didn’t come here to fight, but he’s so damn aggravating and nosy, she can’t help it. “You’re such an asshole!”

“I’m not trying to –”

“Just – just leave it.” She snaps, looking out at the dark road. “Have you been in to see her today?” Veering towards less conflictive ground.

“Nancy didn’t let me in, said they were both restin’.” He drags his hand tiredly over his face, “Haven’t had much of a chance to talk at all.”

“But before… how’s she been?”

“On the mend – tired, I think. Nance said she’s recovering well. But quiet. She– she doesn’t much want to see me, to be honest …” Maria had said you’d been withdrawn. Not really wanting to see anyone besides Nancy and the baby.

“That was – When we couldn’t find her… Scared the fuck out of me.”

He looks down into his mug of coffee, his jaw shifting side to side, “Yeah… yeah. I– it was–” She knows he can’t discuss it, can’t even voice the terror that gripped him at the thought of losing you. Something about the confirmation of knowing how much he loves you, settles something within Ellie. Reinforces the resolve in her heart.

“Not just for her though. I was scared for you too.” The look he gives her then – she sees that flicker of desolation she was so scared he’d be lost to forever if you’d not come back – if you’d died. There isn’t much left in Ellie that’s overly sentimental, but she could cry at the relief of knowing you’re okay, the both of you.

“Kate’s cute as fuck,” she smiles.

“She is… got those big blue eyes.”

“What are you gonna do? With them?”

“Not much I can do, I guess. ‘Cept take care of ‘em. Keep ‘em alive. If she’ll have me…”

“Love them,” she adds, and he hums in agreement, tilting his head a bit. No point in hiding it, he’s gone soft, everyone knows now, might as well embrace it. Put up a sign. “Well,” she continues, “We both know you’re good at doing that, at least,” her eyes are full of laughter, full of memories. “Taking care of misbehaving girls that can’t ever do what they’re told.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, kiddo. You listened sometimes.”

“Yeah…” she chuckles, “You’re right, there was the rare occasion.” Her grin is roguish..

“Guess I’ve got enough practice ‘bout now, don’t I?

She goes suddenly serious, “Do you ever feel ashamed? When you remember what you did?” The question is abrupt, as if she wasn’t expecting herself to ask, but couldn't help it. She could be referring to so many things, so many sins.

He thinks about the day after Sarah died, when he’d been so ready to follow her to whatever end. His mind shies away from the memory – that is shame – a wound healed over, but still tender if pressed on too harshly. But he considers it now, in light of her question, how the overwhelming feelings driving that choice had been acceptance in that instant. A readiness to be done with all that continuing in a world without his daughter promised. Fate had granted him the opportunity to flinch, a chance he’d then passed on as a gift to Ellie. No matter how she saw it, he’d given her a chance to flinch. Something perhaps, one couldn’t recognize had they never consciously held that cold gun in their hand, pressed it to the tender nook of their temple and looked their own mortality in the face. But he’d given it to her, and not even an entire life of reliving all he’d endured as of yet, could ever, ever make him regret that choice. A parent did what they could to give their child the gift of choice. That was, in the end, the only thing one could do. The gift of choice, something he now had and so arrogantly squandered. Birdie was his choice. Fate had given him a gift once again, now he had to consciously decide to flinch or not.

“No. Never.” There is no doubt – no room for doubt. “I told you once, if I ever had the chance to do it again, I’d do it exactly the same.” There was a space where one could exist with their sins and not resent them. Joel knew it well now. There was only one road that had led him to this moment, to this place. He could not regret the decisions that’d brought Ellie to this life of peace and safety. That had brought him to your door. You had never felt like a sin. The sight of you, it made him calm, so free. There had been fear, too much of it, but never regret, never shame alongside your name.

“Do you feel ashamed when you hear my name?” he asks her, and he can see the question takes her aback, a second of shock crossing her face. It’s all the answer he needs – for the thought to never have even entered her mind. She shakes her head, sharp and quick, “No.” She pauses, and then says, “Fuck your fear, Joel. If that’s what’s keeping you from her you have to let it go. It’ll be the thing to kill you in the end. Maybe not dead in the ground, but in a worse way.”

“I know…I know, Ellie.”

And so what if he had been afraid? In a world, a life, overrun with the worst possible outcome playing out in real time, what was one more terror? He realized it wasn’t the fear of loss that held him back. It was the fear of himself. Of his own inadequacy, his own monstrousness. Because he’d already lost you. Could feel the current loss of you, your absence, acutely. Like a gaping, putrid wound. The days you’d been missing, that he’d been so fucking terrified that he’d never see you again, that you were dead, as he searched desperately for you – he was already experiencing that which for so long was the reason for his denial. And he could think of nothing now that could be worse than not having you. Of knowing his little bird was existing out in the world and that he couldn’t touch you, hold you, kiss you. Fuck his fear indeed.

What did it matter if the world was vast and cruel if, in the end, they had one another?

“I struggled a long time with surviving. And no matter what, you keep finding something to fight for, something to be brave for,” he repeats his long ago words to her.

“You keep going for family… And she’s family.”

“Yeah… she is.”

“All this, it can’t have been for nothing.”

“It’s not. It won’t be.”

Existing in a grave for all those years, only to be violently pulled awake by a forest fire of a little girl – it changed the nature of a man. His nature had been changed irrevocably. And he needed to give this new version of himself to you now, in its entirety. And what struck him most was that despite all this, despite all he’d changed, lost and grown, since the start of all this, since Sarah died – who he was hadn’t entirely been determined yet. There was still possibility within him. There was still hope for more. And you saw that, you’d always seen that.

In a sudden startling way, he could perceive what he was, what he lacked, what he could be. You shared that perception; your vision of him was another gift. What was it about this sudden acute sense of self perception that was so close to madness, and how was it that suddenly, when you realized you were in love, it was as if you were able to see the world as it really was? Cordyceps had blanketed the earth in a film of death that he now saw in spectrums. There was a spectrum to death as it existed in the world, as what you allowed it to shape itself, and you, as. How did you perceive death – loss? How did you let it affect you when it inevitably touched your life? Was it to overwhelm you – or exist alongside you as simply another phenomena of nature? He could exist on that spectrum set about by nature or he could break free from it. Cordyceps – and all humanities’ basest desires it catered to – could go on existing, could continue to subjugate the world to its will, but he would break free from that subjugation of fear, of death, of failure, he would live his life now as he chose to. He could perceive with such clarity now what was real and what was not. His little bird was real and alive and waiting for him. This was no delusion, no farcical whim; it was a glance down into time – into the realities he’d once known and lived in, a world before calamity and fungus and dead little girls – and it wore the staggeringly beautiful face of you, a glance at the woman he loved.

“She’s angry with me. I– I hurt her.”

“Hmm… True… but she isn’t like us… she’s good. Kind. She’ll forgive you. She understands you.”

“Perhaps,” he says, but he isn’t sure, is terrified of the alternative, will try and make it up to you for the rest of his life if you need him to.

“Maybe time’ll be the thing to heal this wound”

He pauses at that, “It wasn’t time that healed it… remember?” The memory of their past hangs, once again, heavy in the air, but perhaps now, in this moment, a bit lighter than before.

She shakes her head, gives him a small smile, “I remember.”

She’s quiet for a moment, pensive. He’d missed her so much. This easy casual nothingness between the two of them. Just being together, talking. And as he takes her in, her chin tipped to the breeze, eyes closed, he thinks: if he could have done it all again, he would have loved her better. Perhaps made better choices. But he could not have loved her more.

How broken, how small he must have been, just a short time ago, to have found that thought so difficult to confess, even just to himself.

“Go find her, Joel. Tell her what you need to tell her.”

Chapter IX

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

#FoG fic #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal

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akystaracer22 · 2 months

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Let’s Make a Deal

Synopsis: Let's go back a moment, how exactly did Adam end up joining the hotel? And how was the graveyard created? Lucifer makes a deal with Adam, but not for what Lucifer thought it would be.

Notes:

I’m feeding you Papa Adam fans. This one’s for you.

So… remember how I mentioned Lucifer catching Adam back in Distrust Fall?

As Adams getting dressed, he’s resolutely not processing the fact that he fell and more thinking over the events before he died. Which leads to him remembering the dead exorcists.

Here’s how Adam fell: He broke the first commandment! “You shall have no other gods before Me” and in doing so landed earned Gods ire. Combining that with Sir Pentious’ redemption, Adam was pulled from death and fell to hell.

It’s so fucking funny to write this being used to Lucifer and Adam being on good terms because I have to step back and say, “Okay but now they fucking hate each other with an undertone of romantic tension and desperation and what ifs.”

I’ve had this idea FOR FUCKING AGES.

Word Count: 1640

Fic under cut!

Lucifer was falling.

Unsurprisingly, it hurt a lot less than last time, especially since he wasn’t the one burning.

When Nifty mentioned a shooting star, his blood had frozen as he threw the window open to see the falling angel.

Hell never had stars to fall.

He’d taken off from the hotel, shooting through the sky to try and catch the fallen, partially to keep Pentagram city from being destroyed by the force of the fall, but mostly to try and lessen the pain of the impact.

He didn’t want another to fall like he had.

The burning agony magnified by the brimstone’s crushing hug.

If nothing else, he could stop that.

The fallen morning star threw out his magic, forcing it against gravity as he twisted the two of them, so he was on top, spreading his wings to catch the air. He couldn’t make out the details of the fallen angel under the blaze of hellfire, but it was definitely a man.

Disappointing, in another life it could have been Adam.

The king shut the thought down immediately, Adam was dead and for good reason, that wasn’t something to even begin to address when there were bigger issues.

He was able to change their trajectory, bringing them closer to the land surrounding the hotel. It was still ruined after the battle, which made it a perfect crash-land site.

The landing, while not graceful, was definitely softer than it would have been otherwise. Lucifer shoved the man to the ground immediately, stepping back and using his magic to mend his own mostly wrecked clothing as the brimstone and volcanic rock devoured the unholy flames and completed the fall.

The first thing Lucifer could see was the wings, great broad things that should carry the angel well, yet the king only wanted to throw up staring at the left wing. It was in ruin, most of his secondaries and half his primaries were gone. The smell of burning feathers left Lucifer wanting to gag. What the fuck. What the fuck did this man do to deserve that.

His eyes drifted down towards the angels face, and suddenly Lucifer could guess what the angel did to deserve his fate.

His horns curled over his head in a hauntingly familiar way, the tips streaked with gold. Shards of horn dotted his cheeks and decorated the base of his horns. Ash grey hair that used to be brown so long ago. His skin colour reduced to monochrome grey that would have never hinted to once being tan. The angels hands were dipped in that same golden colour of his horns, Lucifer could laugh at the irony.

Of course, Adam’s hands would be coloured the same gold of the angels who died under his command. And of fucking course he’d somehow manage to find a way to cheat death.

Lucifer stepped back and narrowed his eyes into a sharp glare as Adam groaned and came to, watching his wings twitch in pain as he struggled into a kneeling position, he didn’t see Lucifer yet, that much he was sure of.

The king just watched Adam catch his breath for a few moments before clearing his throat, grinning at the way Adam froze before scrambling to his feet. His wings moving despite the pain in an attempt to obscure Adam’s bare body.

“What the fuck.”

“Wow, is that how you greet the person who just saved you?”

“Fuck you!”

“Careful,” Lucifer bit out, his tail lashing behind him, “Remember who’s realm your in.”

Surprisingly, Adam seemed to have enough braincells to realise that picking a fight with the literal king of hell after just having fallen wasn’t the best idea and held his tongue for once.

Lucifer’s eyes raked over Adam’s form, noting the way Adam’s feathers bristled as the king’s eyes roamed. Huh…

Oh.

“Get dressed, Being naked isn’t exactly a good thing nowadays,” Lucifer summoned some clothes that should fit the first man and threw them at the fallen angel. Keeping him in his peripheral as the man quickly got dressed.

“Alright now get the fuck out of here, I can’t have you around here when Charlie gets down here.”

“Wait-”

“I’ll even be kind and I won’t tell deer boy you’re traipsing around hell now! He’s still angry about losing to you, good job by the way-”

“Lucifer!” The seraphim turned back to Adam who was standing with his wings spread, chest heaving at using energy he didn’t have for the outburst, “I’m not fucking leaving.”

“Oh no you don’t have a choice on the matter after what you did!” Lucifer snarled, wings flaring out in his own display to match Adams, “Get the fuck out of here before I make you.”

Adam froze up, his wings folding slightly under his hesitation which gave the king confidence. The first man was going to turn tail like the cowardly sack of shit he was. He turned around, satisfied that Adam wouldn’t be a bother for at least a little while.

“How about a deal.”

Lucifer paused before whipping around to stare at Adam, who stood his ground and held his head high despite the weight of his words.

“What.”

“You fucking heard me; I know you fuckers like making deals. So, let’s make a deal.”

“Oh, I heard you, but what could you possibly give me that I-”

“Whatever you want. Even my soul I don’t give a fucking shit,” Adam spat, “Whatever it takes to get you to take this deal.”

Lucifer paused, shocked by the audacity but intrigued nonetheless, “And what exactly do you want? Protection? Supplies?”

It wouldn’t matter anyway; not like he was actually considering the deal.

“I want you to help me bury my girls.”

…

What?

“My girls, the exorcists. I can’t-”

Adams voice cracked.

Immediately the first man locked up, his jaw snapped shut with an audible sound and he looked every part horrified.

Surprisingly, it didn’t stir any sense of satisfaction like he thought it would. Instead, Lucifer only felt a deep pit of dread.

Adam seemed to recover quickly, swallowing past whatever lump he had in his throat to continue, “I can’t recover their bodies fast enough. Not like this. I can dig as many graves as I can, but I need you to gather their bodies. I need to lay them to rest… please.”

Lucifer was flabbergasted, after everything he had the audacity to ask Lucifer to help him with this. To help bury the same damn angels who hunted hells denizens, who hunted his daughter?! Framed as a deal or not why the fuck would he ever think-

What if it was Charlie.

Lucifer froze at the thought, that tiny part of him as old as Eden piping up to tear down the devils rage with ease.

Shit.

Lucifer closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, shit. He couldn’t get the image out of his head. Charlies body broken and beaten like the corpses of the exorcists, Charlie-

Fuck. The angel of the Morningstar suppressed a flinch at the images.

But…

It wasn’t just his nightmare scenario he was dealing with now. It was Adam’s reality.

…

Damnit.

“You’re going to go to the hotel and give redemption a good shot.”

“What?”

“That’s my terms of the deal, if I do this, you’re going to walk into the hotel and work towards redemption. I’m not going to own your soul; this is a one-time deal. Take it or leave it.”

Lucifer’s hand glowed gold with his magic as he held it out, binding magic twisting through his fingertips.

Gold met gold, and the deal was done.

[----------------]

It took several hours to recover all the bodies.

Some of which was spent with Lucifer convincing the denizens of the hotel to stay inside, claiming that the fallen angel was a special brand of dangerous that only Lucifer could handle. He wasn’t exactly wrong.

Including Adam, 48 exorcists died in the extermination. And almost none of them were intact when Lucifer found them.

Broken, half eaten, or worse, hell wasn’t kind to the dead.

The corpses that were dragged back to Cannibal Town were the trickiest to acquire, the cannibals were never known to abandon their food and with them now be armed with angelic weapons… He needed to remind them who exactly was in charge to get them to surrender their meals.

He really needed to deal with the outbreak of the angelic weapons information. That was going to get a lot of attempts on his life.

With every corpse Lucifer teleported back to Adam, there was a sharp crackle of opposing magic, broken in it’s divinity but still potent.

That was going to be troublesome.

He should probably find a way to suppress Adams magic, untamed as it was now without heaven to temper it, it was going to be dangerous until his soul calmed down. However long that would be.

Lucifer sighed when he dropped the final body off at the hotel. Several of them were already gone and buried under blank gravestones, a last-minute addition of Lucifer’s to the summary, it’d be up to Adam whether or not he wanted to add any information on who was buried.

Lucifer watched silently as Adam carefully removed the helmet of the final exorcist, resolutely not looking down even as his feathers shook with rage. The first man and third fallen gently lowered the body into the grave before going to grab the shovel. Once the burial was done, he placed the helmet gingerly on the soil, marking the graves identity in a way Lucifer would never be able to know.

Then the moment was over, and Adam stood up, turning to look at Lucifer with a stare that would scorch bone if it could.

“Alright let’s get this fucking over with.”

#hazbin hotel #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #writing #angst #worldbuilding #adamsapple #fluff #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #ashes to ashes dust to dust #fallen angel adam #falling

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lethalchiralium · 1 year

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You Leave Me Wounded And Bleeding | Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!Reader

a/n: the long awaited 1940s simon fic!! it’s been done for a while but i just had to tweak a lot so i’m able to write the second part :)

warnings: 1940s-Immediately after the End of WWII. 3RD PERSON - Heartbreak, mourning - let me know if I missed anything!

summary: It’s September 9th, 1945, the trains are running non-stop to bring soldiers home. Wounded, alive, and dead - families wait on the platforms, desperately awaiting the arrival of their family member. Those crowds would include you - Mrs. Simon Riley, awaiting the love of your life who has been deployed as long as the war had been waged.

REMINDER: This is a side-blog, not my main! If you have any questions, feel free to message this blog or reblog! Reblogs are always appreciated - as well as any comments, they keep me motivated to write stuff like this!

Dear Simon,

I am writing to you this in case something happens. Something I cannot think about, something that can very well happen and I don’t wish to dwell upon it. These words are the only way I can express it if I am no longer able to voice them.

There was thunderous applause in the square, surrounding the gray train station. Screaming, crying, cheering - loudness that she’s never heard before in her small town. She was one to steer clear of the loud noises, to sit away from the excitement in a small cafe or bookstore in the town square. Maybe walk around the plaza, take the time to enjoy the sun.

This September day was different - much different. The always fresh air tasted stale, the bright green trees began to grow gray. Her deep blue dress swished against her shins as she struggled through the crowds of cheering women, crying children, and proud and grieving parents. She glanced around the crowd, noticing how most of the people were draped in grays and blacks - mourning colors. She looked away from them, towards a glass encased list of names.

You’ve written me almost every week during this horrible time, about every thought and moment that caused you pain. It hurts me to know that I cannot ease your agony. It pains me that I cannot be by your side, even for a fleeting moment. You have such a kind soul, Simon Riley. I can only imagine how it will all of this affect you after the war.

A kind hand gently grabbed her wrist, the woman in deep blue jumped in her skin before turning to see a familiar face. An elderly woman she had grown to know in the past few years, a woman she often visited as the elderly woman was her neighbor. Her name was Mavis, her husband had died in the first World War and her only two daughters were nurses now. Mavis knew why she had arrived at the plaza today - she was a patient woman, a gentle voice that the woman in blue desperately needed.

“Will I see you when you arrive home tonight?” Mavis inquired, her black shawl draped over her front. She looked frail in the gray dress she wore, her feet buckled in worn gray kitten heels.

The taller woman in deep blue heels shrugged. “It depends, Mavis.” It depends if I will be coming home without him.

“He will come home to you, darling.” The old woman smiled gently, still holding onto her wrist. She gave it a squeeze, the woman in blue gave Mavis a soft smile.

“I’ve been hoping he does.”

Even long after your letters have stopped arriving, no British Army soldiers have appeared upon our doorstep yet - no telegrams have graced my fingers with your name upon them. That must mean something, right? That you are safe, breathing? For the past two and a half years, I’ve waited for your return; not to mention the three years before that. The danger is gone now, Simon, and you’re not here. They’ve been arriving by the train load for the past week, and none of the lists have your name.

Mavis had let go of Mrs. Riley’s hand and let her be, let her gaze at the large white pages with printed names in black ink. She was still too far to read any names, she still pushed though the crowd - getting closer. She watched as women in white walked away sobbing, or women in black excitedly running towards the train platform.

Fear trembled in Mrs. Riley’s blood, the purse that sat in her left hand felt too heavy, the air felt suffocating as the crowd pushed her towards the board. Today was the first day she felt like this, pain in her heart and fear in her lungs. Maybe today was the day she would see his name on the board, written with the same black ink as the rest of the soldiers coming home to Manchester. She was only behind five more people before she would be at the front of the crowd, reading quickly to find his name - maybe the names of his friends too. She’s met Soap and Gaz before, it has been a long time since she’s even seen Price. Maybe the mysterious Alejandro and Rudy will appear, even though their home is across the world - All living and breathing, she hoped.

Another step forwards, closer to the board as an older gentleman and lady both turned away from the board in tears - the young woman beside them with a teenage boy laughed with excitement. They moved away, she grew closer. She could almost read the names on the papers now.

I musn’t worry, I know you will come back to me. You have a habit of keeping promises, my love - as well as secrets.

“Move it along!” The conductor shouted as he came towards the board, shooing away more people as she quickly scanned the names now that she could read them. She started with the Gs, reading quickly.

Gardner, KIA. Garrett, Garrett, Garrett, KIA…

Garrick, Kyle. Sergeant. Gaz.

She felt hope filter into chest, at least one of them made it - she moved to the Ms.

MacDonald, KIA. MacDonald…

MacTavish, John. Sergeant.

Thank God, Soap. She remembered to breathe then, hurriedly going to the Ps as she noticed that the list was much shorter than yesterday. She didn’t dare dwell on it.

Powell, KIA. Powell. Price, Price, KIA…

Price, John. Captain.

Another step forwards, two more people had gone and now she only had the elderly couple ahead of her. They had worn white as a symbol of hope, as have many of the other families awaiting their turn to read the list. She read the Rs, her heart beating out of her chest like a train engine.

I’ve heard stories from wives, whispers among the streets about some soldiers coming home and no longer being themselves. They’re hollow, lifeless - I’ve seen a few myself. It is like the undead have invaded Manchester, they walk about with no emotion in their eye, no care for their family as they walk beside them. I’ve watched them from our bookstore, watching as their small children tug on their father’s hands and he vaguely responds with a lifeless smile, sending them away from himself. Their wives do not give away any note of worry, perfect smiles and small touches to their husbands as if to comfort them in a small way. It’s not hard to recognize the wife’s pain, it’s a pain I hope I will never know.

Radley. KIA. Raines. KIA. Redgrave. Ridley. Ridley. Rigley. KIA. Rivers. KIA. Robbins. KIA.

I’m scared, Simon.

A rougher hand grabbed her arm then, she didn’t look away. She kept rereading the list. Today is the last day for arrivals, she knew that. She has known that for the past week. Where was his name? Where was Lieutenant Simon Riley?

“Mrs. Riley,” A soft voice came from the person pulling her away, she kept staring at the board as it grew smaller. She almost stumbled, tripping over herself before she turned to look at the man who knew her.

Gaz.

“Are you alright?” She asked the man in pea green, he looked bewildered. They were now just outside of the crowd, he rolled his shoulders. “You aren’t harmed?”

“Mrs. Riley, there is no need for you to worry about me.” Gaz placed a hand on the strap of his dufflebag that was across his chest, he had a concerned look on his face. “Have you seen Soap? He had gotten off of the train with me, I’ve been looking for Price-“

Her hand gently pushed Gaz backwards, away from the crowd. The soldier had let her, her hand left his arm as she led him towards a bench. She sat down, smoothing out her dress and crossing her ankles. Her dark shoes were sort of scuffed, she stared at it for a moment before looking back up at her husband’s friend. He looked upon the train station, seeing the crowd began to dissipate slowly.

“Mr. Garrick,” She whispered, hoping he would hear her just like Simon would. But he just kept watching, waiting. “Gaz.”

Gaz turned his head to look at her, his face solemn. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Please, just call me by my name.” She answered, she then patted the bench. “Sit with me.” The wind picked up then, rippling through her straightened and victory rolled hair - the common style that she hated. Her normal hair was beautiful - is what Simon would always say, gently pet it against her head. If she wished hard enough, she could feel his hand touch her cheek. She closed her eyes then, letting the wind breeze her face without the malice of a dull world.

“I haven’t-“

“Is there someone waiting for you, Mr. Garrick?”

Terrified, really. What if you do not step off that train tomorrow? What will I do if I must return home in silence, no longer in your grasp? No longer sleep without the knowledge that you’ll be coming home?

Her eyes fluttered open as the gentleman sat on the bench, a couple of feet away. He didn’t even look at her, his eyes staring at the station. “No, ma’am.”

“I see.” She answered. “You are welcome in my home, just until you’re able to get on your feet.” She looked towards the train station again, her hands sat like stone in her lap, her purse against her shoes. “The invitation is extended to Mr. MacTavish, Mr. Parra and Mr. Price as well, should you see them - even Mr. Vargas if he makes his presence known.”

“Are you leaving?” Gaz asked and the woman didn’t offer an answer, only silence as she watched families in black walk with either their loved one in their arms or a folded flag. She didn’t know what he was asking - was she leaving the plaza or was she leaving Manchester?

“I’m not sure.” She commented to the air, recounting the past week and knowing that Gaz could hear her. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve had company in my home.” She patted her dress again when she changed the subject, a nervous habit. “Many of my own friends in Poland and the Netherlands have perished.” She brushed off invisible dust from her lap, smiling sadly. “I’m afraid I no longer have any friends.”

“Mrs. Riley, you’re my friend.” Gaz commented, looking at her as she still stared at the train station. “Ghost has done all of us well, told us many times that you are a person with a kind heart. I’m very glad you decided not to just ignore me earlier.” He sort of chuckled, then continued. “Look, Mrs. Riley, I haven’t seen Ghost since March. I was moved to a different unit, he was upset with me when I left. Not sure if he’d want to see me-“

“Mrs. Riley!” Came a loud Scottish boom, Gaz’s head swiveled towards the train station as she stood, she would have smiled but the information Gaz gave her sent an arrow into her heart. The Scot slid his bag across the pavement to Gaz before wrapping the woman in a tight embrace, rocking her side to side as he chirped, “Oh, lass, how I have missed you so!” He kissed her cheek, his smile as wide as the moon. “You won’t believe what they’ve fed me!”

Well, I suppose I haven’t had that knowledge since February, but it still feels crushing to say. What will I do if you return to me and you are no longer yourself? I know war must change a man but I’m not sure how I will live if I never see your smile again.

“Soap, you’ll squeeze the poor woman to death.” Gaz’s hand grabbed Soap’s shoulder and the Scot let go of her, his hands held onto her shoulders.

“How are you, bonnie? Still workin’ at that measly book store?” Soap looked like he had not slept in weeks, the poor thing.

She shrugged. “Yes.“

“Gaz, lad, how’re you?” Soap then turned away from her, almost strangling Gaz when he hugged him. Soap then began to babble on to him, while she watched the train station again, seeing how it was now becoming less crowded, yet…

There was a man with a boonie hat on, walking towards them with just a small bag. And it felt like someone had grabbed a hold of her ankle and pulled her underwater, she couldn’t scream, cry- Breathe. Just breathe.

She felt something in her heart then, but it wasn’t confirmation. No, she wouldn’t get confirmation until her fingers brushed his dog tag - the only one she would receive from the British Army would be the red one, the hardened rubber imprinted with his identification number, religion, his first initial and Riley.

“Mr. Price.” Her voice was a whisper, the gentleman raised his head to look at her.

What will I do if you do not return? Will I become like the hundreds of widowed wives, crying forever and waiting for their husband’s remains to return home? Will I be able to go to the plaza everyday, knowing that you’ve touched this place before? Will I be able to stay in our home that you’ve put sweat and blood into, just for us? I can’t think anymore of it.

“Mr. Price, please.” She walked towards him, her steps uneasy. She could feel her heart in her throat as it constricted, the air becoming sour as he came closer. The world began to lose her focus, her hands at her side. The man finally stopped, a few feet from her.

He took off his hat and held out his hand.

“Mrs. Riley.”

Her right hand trembled when she held it up, taking his hand and he shook it.

“Please.” Her request made Soap and Gaz go quiet, she placed her left hand upon Price’s. The Captain merely stared at her. “You have to know something about Simon.”

Price merely whispered your name. “You haven’t seen his name on the boards?”

All color drained from Price’s face, and Soap’s hand touched her shoulder. She looked up to Soap, his friendly excitement was now gone. “He isn’t here?”

I don’t think I could ever understand it, that I would ever want to. We’ve talked about it, but it still doesn’t make the ache in my soul any lighter. I cannot think of you anymore, it feels like my heart is playing a melancholy tune on a piano well beyond its years; playing a song I never knew it had memorized. And it’s like my fingers are stuck to the keys, dancing ever so slowly as if the crescendo in the sheet music keeps darting away. The climax of our story hasn’t even crossed the page yet; I keep playing this haunted tune and I don’t want to anymore.

“Y/N, what do you mean he’s not here?”

I want to rip my fingers from the keys and push myself away from the piano. But I only play this tune as I wait for you, only when you’re away from me. What will I do if this will be the only song I can play for the rest of my life?

Her knees went weak then, she almost collapsed if it wasn’t for Soap grabbing her, quickly placing her on the bench before kneeling in front of her. Price did the same, both men held one of her hands.

“No list has had Ghost on it? At all?” Price questioned, tears didn’t even dare reach her eyes. All she could do was stare at the train station, seeing how the train had gone - only a handful of people remained. She could count on both her hands how many people stayed behind, looking like lost souls, wandering.

Soap’s voice wavered when he spoke your name, “Lass, please answer him,” he squeezed her hand, her eyes looked to his before flickering back to Price.

She took a breath in, trying to calm herself but it was a futile attempt. “No, no.” She took another breath, shuddering. She closed her eyes and her head moved down to face her lap. “I…He has to be here, you have to know something.”

“The last time I saw the LT, shite, would’ve been the start of August. We were headin’ back from Hong Kong.” Soap muttered, his hand still firmly squeezing hers. “He was fine. He was with Alejandro, they were heading back, weren’t they?”

Price hummed in agreement. “Maybe he gave his seat up, maybe he escorted Alejandro to London. It’s okay, we’ll figure it out.” The Captain looked to Soap. “Go check the boards again, maybe they’ve put up the MIA list.”

Soap gave her hand another squeeze before he leapt to his feet, speed walking towards the station while Gaz took his place; Gaz’s hand had a softer grip, much more comforting.

“Mrs. Riley, it will be okay.” Gaz’s voice was soft now, Price was looking over his shoulder. “He’ll be here.”

My mother sent for me. This morning, actually. I was sitting in the study, going through the mail. My father is dying back home in America, and I must go. But I feel that I cannot leave here without knowing. I cannot leave our home without knowing if I get to kiss you or kiss the stone that will lay above your head.

“We should take her home,” Gaz commented to Price, she couldn’t even feel her hands then, her husband’s friends holding her hands tightly. “She needs to go home, Price.”

“Wait.” Price murmured, still watching Soap. She didn’t dare look now, her gaze moved away and to the right. The trees danced with the gentle breeze, leaves twisting and turning on their branches. The lights of the cafe had now burned out, the post office dim too - it seemed everyone had decided to abandon their work today. It made sense.

All she wanted to do now was sit in the bookstore, reading one of those romance books that Simon finds silly in the little reading nook she loved. He’d tell her that reading about romance is not the way to find someone, that all of the romance she’d need would come from him. What a way to woo a woman, she had said. He had smiled.

I’ve wondered what it would be like for you if I leave for America this very moment. You place your key into the lock, twisting it and opening up the front door. The house would be dark, no warmth from the fireplace, nothing to signal that I would be home. Maybe you would think I abandoned you, maybe you would think I had perished. But, I know you. There will be no need to worry, Simon.

“Soap,” Price called, her eyes didn’t move from the bookstore, its lights still on and bright. It was almost like she could see Simon sitting on the window seat across from her, reading A Farewell To Arms by Ernest Hemingway while she read Gone With The Wind by Margaret Mitchell - stealing glances from each other often. They were young then, he was 21 while she was 18, almost 19.

It was their first date. Sitting in the bookstore, stealing glances and being near each other. He had asked her what she was doing here in Manchester, noticing her American accent. She said, “I’m visiting my friends, I’m staying with an aunt.”

Simon sat up, closing his book before looking at her. “And you’re sat here, in a bookstore?”

“You have a much different and bigger selection than home,” She answered, a smile danced on her lips. “But I still love reading my favorite book.” She closed her own book, swinging her legs over the side of the bench, letting her shoes touch the ground. “Say, do you know any good romance books?”

That was the first time she had heard him truly laugh.

I’ve waited so long for you. So long for our life to grow, to spend more than a fleeting moment behind a bookshelf like we did when we were young. I’ve sat in every room of our home, praying and wishing for your safe return. I’ve hoped and wished so hard that I feel that the universe no longer hears me. Oh Simon, I’ve waited centuries in the collective almost six years you have been gone from my side. I’m not sure if I can wait any longer.

She didn’t even hear Soap’s answer. She didn’t even care that Price had pulled her to her feet, asking Soap where she lived. She mindlessly walked beside the soldiers, her ears began to ring.

The sky was gray, whistles of rain fell from it and kissed their heads. She would have normally been walking faster to avoid the rain, her hair taking almost an hour to put up but it felt like her soul had fell free from her chest. It was thrown away on the side of the street, discarded until she decides to find it again.

She was sure she wouldn’t.

The breeze felt bitter now, it was no longer her friend that ebbed by through her hair. It was a dangerous being, whispering in her ear taunts of loneliness, even though her friends walked beside her. Her arms were around both Gaz and Price’s, her hands gently rested on their forearms as they continued through the Manchester streets.

The ring felt heavy now. It felt like someone was pulling on her hand, trying to tear her ring off of her skin; like something was trying to burn it off. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t take it off. It was the only part she had connected to him.

When they finally arrived at her home, she blinked. She refocused her eyes, staring at the black door that seemed to mock her now. Soap fished the key from her purse, opening it - the soldiers pulled her into the house, her dark shoes scraped against the floor, scuffing them. They walked into the living room, gently settling her onto her couch. Their arms left her then, all of the soldiers kneeled before her.

And all she could do was blink, feeling tears burn her cheeks. And none of the men there dared to touch her now, Price’s eyes stayed on hers as Gaz and Soap looked at each other.

“Did you hear him?” Price’s voice was much softer than it was before, kinder - patient. “Did you hear John?”

She shook her head, letting the razor sharp tears slice down her face.

Price held out his hands, to which both of hers settled in. He clutched them gently, as if she was made of porcelain.

“Simon Riley is missing in action.”

I will love you forever. Even if you have left this precious Earth, even if your feet still tread upon it. But I can’t wait for a ghost when I have been waiting for my husband almost our entire marriage. My father is stable enough, they believe. He has two months to live. And because I love you, Simon, I will wait exactly one month after the last train arrives in Manchester with a list of soldiers.

Her tears fell against her dress, louder than anything else in the room. Her hands shook in front of her, she clenched them before she looked up at her husband’s friends.

And if you arrive when I have gone, I am sorry. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to come back to our home empty handed, even if you are there - because you always leave. You always leave and I have always needed you, Simon. Always. You have hurt me in unimaginable ways, my love, even if you always find your way back home to me. So, just this once - I will be the one leaving. I can’t come back. I won’t come back. I won’t come back to a house that is no longer ours. I will not come back to a house that is just mine.

“Please don’t let me be alone.”

I love you, Simon Riley. Don’t ever forget it.

Forever yours,

Y/N.

—

𝔯𝔢𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡! 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢!

———

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x afab!reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon riley x afab!reader #lieutenant simon riley #john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick

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link-posting · 5 months

Text

Survival Instincts/Time Heals All Wounds Part 2

Part 1

Despite his desire to not leave Time’s side, Wild had to run out of the cave as soon as Time was safely suspended in the same water he once did, from the same injuries that left him scarred in so many ways. As soon as Wild was back outside he collapsed to his knees. His head spun, his breathing quickening until he was hyperventilating. He couldn’t stop the flood now, his scars burning as if he had experienced the blast himself. His vision tunneled, his ears ringing so loud he couldn’t hear the others trying to get his attention, couldn’t feel Twi grasp his shoulders, trying to pull him out of his flashbacks. He curled in on himself, covering his head with his hands as his body shook. Twilight pulled the smaller Hero against him, holding onto him as he shook and cried, letting out wordless cries of agony until eventually he exhausted himself, slumping against Twi as the adrenaline drained from his system, leaving him numb and motionless.

With nothing else to do, the rest of the Chain set up camp. Twilight stayed where he was, wrapping his pelt around Wild and letting him rest there as long as he needed. He slipped into sleep eventually, leaving the rest of the Chain to attempt to process what had just transpired.

After a while, Legend broke the silence. “I’ve never seen anything like that,” the Traveler said, keeping his voice low so he didn’t wake Wild.

The Captain shook his head, staring into the flames. “Poor kid had to face those things alone? It’s a wonder he made it out alive…”

“He wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for this Shrine,” Twi said, staring into the cave they had left Time in.

They decided to take watches in the cave, taking shifts sitting in the Shrine room with Time. Rulie and Legend took first shift, heading into the cave to sit with their injured companion. Wind looked through their supplies to get some food going- a nice pot of his grandmother’s soup so Wild could have something comforting to help bring his energy back up when he finally awoke.

It was several hours before Wild finally roused, groaning quietly and shifting against Twi. Twilight had dozed off after a while, but was awake and alert immediately upon feeling Wild move. The smaller Hylian pressed a hand to his head as he sat up, feeling groggy and almost like he was hungover. It seemed to take him a moment to remember what happened, and once he did his eyes snapped open.

“Time!” he exclaimed, and Twi had to grab him and pull him back to prevent him from jumping up and running into the cave.

“Rule and Legend are with him,” he said, his tone gentle. “You need to rest and eat.”

Wild shook his head, struggling against Twi’s embrace. “No! I need to be with him! This is my fault, I-”

Twi cut him off. “It is not your fault. It would be a lot worse if you didn’t act so fast. You saved me, and you saved Time. You killed that.. thing and knew exactly what we had to do and where we had to in order for Time to heal. This isn’t your fault. We might both be dead if you hadn’t acted so fast. Who knows what might’ve happened if you hadn’t been there?”

Wild shook his head, unable to process or accept what Twi was saying. “But if I hadn’t-”

“If you hadn’t what? Shoved me out of the way? Told us to stay where we’d be safe? Killed that thing before it could fire another shot?”

Wild was shaking his head again as he covered it with his hands. Twi could tell he was overwhelming him, so he pulled him back against him, wrapping his pelt around Wild and rubbing his back. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be alright,” he soothed. He quietly hummed Epona’s Song to his companion, and that seemed to help Wild relax some. He lowered his hands, hugging himself as Twilight soothed him as only he could.

The rest of the Chain couldn’t help but look on, not wanting to interrupt but not really able to grant much privacy. They had never seen Wild like this, but it was clear that Twilight had. The pair had always been close, and it was increasingly evident that this wasn’t the first time Twilight had calmed the Hylian from this state. It was hard to watch, but easy to understand. They had all seen horrible things, gone through deeply traumatic situations. The more time they spent in Wild’s Hyrule, though, the more it seemed clear that Wild’s Hyrule had truly survived an apocalypse. A few of them had done some looking around, not wandering far from their camp but making sure they were safe where they were. Everywhere they looked they saw ruins, buildings crumbling as vines overtook them. They had seen a few other Guardians from a distance- one or two actively wandering Hyrule Field, the empty husks of a few others collapsed among the ruins.

“They’re called Guardians.”

Everyone turned to look at Wild when he spoke up. He eyes were turned toward the horizon, though he seemed to be staring into some middle distance.

“They were originally made by the Sheikah. Ancient technology researchers uncovered and excavated from where they’d been buried for some reason lost to time. Thousands of years ago, they were used to fight Calamity Ganon, so he could be sealed away. But a hundred years ago, he broke the seal. And… he corrupted them. He took control of them and turned them against us. Hordes of them. We… didn’t stand a chance. Zelda- my Zelda- hadn’t awoken her power yet. Not until I was near death. All I remember is seeing a flash of blinding golden light as she threw herself in front of me. I was her protector, her personal Knight and I… failed. I was supposed to save her, and she saved me. She held back the Calamity for a hundred years before I woke in the Shrine of Resurrection…”

Wild trailed off, shaking his head. “That’s the best I can remember the story, at least. I don’t have many memories of my life before I woke up in the Shrine. I remember what I was told, but it’s like my brain doesn’t want to hold onto the story. Like even knowing what happened is too much. Calamity Ganon is gone, but there are still Guardians that will attack anything they can lock onto. There’s less and less now, but not many Hylians of this time can take them on, so it’s taking a while to kill and destroy them all. At least now there’s one less in the world.”

Wild shook his head, pressing a hand against his forehead like he was starting to get a headache. Wind walked over to him, offering out a bowl. “You should eat. I made my grandmother’s soup. It’s always been a big comfort to me,” he said, leaving the rest unsaid. It’s always been a big comfort to me, so I made it to comfort you.

Wild looked surprised as he took the bowl. “Thank you, Sailor,” he said, taking a slow bite of t he soup. He didn’t really feel in the mood to eat, but Wind clearly made the soup specifically to help him feel better, so he couldn’t just ignore it.

It immediately made Wild feel warmer and lighter. Even Twilight could feel his muscles start to relax as he took another bite, sitting up a bit more on his own now. Without him needing to say anything, Wind could tell it was helping. He sat down beside the fire with a smile, pleased to know he helped his friend. He couldn’t heal the mental, physical, and psychological pain that Wild had gone through, but he was glad to know his plan to ease his emotional burden had worked- even if only for a little while.

#tae writes #linked universe #lu wild #lu twilight #lu wind #lu fanfiction #lu fanfic

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irritablepoe · 8 months

Text

A Ship For The Two Of Us (Bram x Lovecraft)

FIRST OF ALL: this fic was inspired by @lee-apolla's fanart (link1; link2 link3) (you inspired me fr)

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Behold, i did it!!! :D

fyi this fic will contain horror elements; there's only implied smut y'all, and otherwise some very sweet devouring humans together (i think this counts as fluff for them lmao). Also i made both of them more "alive" and talkative, so maybe it's kinda ooc? but honestly i think it could be in-character, considering that this is pre-canon and they're both free from responsiblities or even a sword or a stake in their torso lmao (this could be kinda canon-compliant too tbh, idk how old bram and lovecraft really are or how much time there is between bram becoming a vampire and his beheading). I used they/them pronouns for lovecraft

some more cw:

blood (so much blood);

lovecraft-typical body horror ig;

corpses and implied eating of them (is this cannibalism if lovecraft isn't human???)

Enjoy! :3

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Bram licked over his teeth. It would barely make a difference. His body was covered in blood anyway; his clothes dripping wet with the delicious liquid. Most of it now filled Bram, making him all warm and dizzy. He looked around himself. It was ironic that the corpses to his feet were the only thing that could make him feel alive. They made up most of the floor and there was barely room to place your feet.

He breathed deeply. Not one minute ago the air had been filled by screams of agony. Now it was silent and Bram chose to thoroughly enjoy it. The only sound that reached his ears was the creaking of soaked wood from the ship; just like the slowly calming waves against the hull.

A dangerous smile split his lips as he heard something else. A slow thud against the ship that caused it to waver. Water foamed at the edges and threatened to wash over the deck. It sounded like a polite knock. Like someone was asking to be let in.

Bram waited until the thudding calmed down and then made his way to the railing. He looked into the dark water and saw a shadow floating right beneath the surface.

“Do not be so timid, I do bite but I’m sure it’ll do you no long-term harm.”, he spoke.

The surface broke and a purple mass ascended from the depths of the ocean. Slowly, it warped into a body, a face, arms and legs, and at last hands and feet. A human form for something that was the farthest thing from anything human.

Bram wasn’t scared. He was intrigued. Had been for some time, in fact.

He himself was not human. Of course, he looked close to one but this made him into an even more dangerous hunter among lowly mortals. Hid him from suspicion. While it didn’t bother him most of the time, it amused him now that Lovecraft stood in front of him.

That they met each other seemed to him a lucky coincidence. It wasn’t rare that one met another ability user these days. The world was so much more connected now that telegraphs and so many ships that cross the ocean exist. But Lovecraft was different. They seemed so alien, so different from anything that Bram had ever seen before. And he had seen a lot. He was old. Lovecraft, though, seemed even older.

“Good evening.”, a deep voice cut through the dark.

“Indeed, it is a pleasant night, my dearest.”, Bram said, straightening his back. His gaze wandered to the useless corpses and pride filled his being.

Lovecraft followed his glance and squinted. “They’re all dead?”

“Quite right. Due to your irregular visits, I chose to enjoy myself. I hope you’ll excuse me for not keeping one of them alive for you for I didn't know you would show up.”

Lovecraft licked their lips. “I don’t need them to be alive.”

Bram let out a small laugh. “Well, in that case I’ve prepared you an entire feast!”

They looked at Bram like they were dying of starvation. The need, the pure desperation, in their eyes sent a shock through Bram’s core. “Would you mind if I ate first?”

He let out a shaky breath. “Quite the opposite.”

He chose to turn around. Just once he had caught a glimpse of Lovecraft eating their enemies and that had been the moment Bram realized, who he was dealing with. It had almost broken his mind when he saw the mouth that hadn’t been a mouth, with teeth that had been beyond what anyone would call teeth. To this day he was shaking from this experience - if of terror or something else he didn't know. But it was enough for five or even more lifetimes. He would see soon enough though for he was immortal.

Lovecraft ate silently. If you could even call it that. Devouring was the closest word that Bram knew of that could describe what exactly they were doing.

Bram watched the moon as it revealed itself through the thick storm clouds bit by bit. The gaps in them eventually showed stars shining alongside the moon, trying to imitate it. Bram loved the darkness, though he couldn’t bring himself to hate the pale light that caressed his face. Sometimes he wished he could drink the moonlight. Fill it into a bottle and let it cool his sore throat when he was thirsty. Maybe it would cure his everlasting exhaustion and melancholy when he wasn’t freshly filled by blood.

He had been so lost in thought that he startled when long arms wrapped around his torso. Shortly after, a face snuggled into his back, an even longer tongue licked at his nape.

“Did you enjoy yourself, my darling?”, Bram asked.

“A bit too much. You already did a great job emptying them of their blood. Didn’t make much of a mess.”, Lovecraft said.

“I’m happy to be of service.”

“You’re so kind to me.”

He quirked up his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Lovecraft placed a kiss on his neck. “Yes.”

“I do not think even the politest gentleman would ever describe me as ‘kind’. I fear you’re wildly misinformed.”

“Misinformed or proven otherwise?”

“Ah, I see. Well, I have to say that gentlemen normally wouldn’t appreciate a meal made of raw human flesh. In that case, I’ll take my words back and say that you, my dear, have the most compatible needs to my providing abilities.”

“I like that word. Compatible.”

Bram took Lovecraft’s unusual long hands into his own and leaned back. He wanted to be closer to the non-human. So unbearably closer. “I like it, too.”

A while they enjoyed the shared silence. Every now and then Lovecraft kissed his face, his temples, his neck – whatever they could reach. Bram turned his face to receive the long-awaited kisses more eagerly.

“You reek of blood.”, they said eventually.

“Is that a problem?”

“No.” Lovecraft smiled crookedly. “But I still wish to fix something about your clothes.”

“We have the ship all to ourselves. Though I fear we will sink soon, if we don’t do something about the… lack of staff.”

“I’ll bring you to shore as soon as we’re done here.”

“Is that a promise or a threat? Or perhaps a smug deal you’re offering?”, Bram asked and smiled.

“More of a hopeful suggestion.”

“I love you.”, Bram said and felt in his heart a swell of emotions, that maybe this world wasn’t as doomed and boring as he had thought. Just because Lovecraft was in it. He laughed quietly at himself. He really was in love and he wished to continue to love. They both had all the time in the world. They had no rush. He had become a vampire, but only now did he realize that this didn’t mean the end of his life and capability to feel.

“I love you, too.”

“Take me wherever and however you like and I’ll happily obey.”, Bram answered, excitement rushing through his veins.

“Gladly.”

Lovecraft tightened their embrace and took him into their arms.

Bram let out a hearty laugh. “Carrying me over the threshold of the cabins like a bride, are you?”

“Yes. You’re mine after all. And I want you to have a comfortable bed.”

Bram hummed happily.

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i'll just tag some of y'all bc you seemed interested/asked me to tag you: @vestaldestroyer @daz4i @ice-devourer - i hope this is good hehe :3

will post it to ao3 too (link)

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd bram #bsd lovecraft #bramcraft #bram x lovecraft #bsd fanfic #tell me if there are any mistakes :3 #and pls don't slaughter me for writing them ooc this was very hard for them okay T - T #tbh i'm kinda sad that i didn't make them bite each other but maybe for a next fanfic *bows like an actor and exits waving to the audience*

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neonganymede · 2 months

Note

if you're still accepting prompts for the kiss meme... 19 for skk?? (ps you are my favorite skk fic writer & im always so inspired by your writing. TYSM <3)

if i could request another it would be 4 for skk but i don't want to be greedy

Aaaahhhh thank you!!! I'm honored you think so highly of my work <3333 I did end up finding a way to make both prompts work, so I hope you enjoy~

4. A Kiss Given to the Wrong Person

19. A Kiss on the Nose

“Chuuya~!”

At the sound of his own voice, Dazai winced. He’d been quiet for so long that he’d forgotten just how amplified the world was. Even the familiar taunt bounced against his skull the same way it did the halls of the apartment, a useless echo that only made his head throb, and part of him wished he hadn’t opened his mouth at all.

The other part of him wanted to be spoiled, even at the risk of worsening his headache. Shouldn’t Chuuya be here to take care of him when he needed it most? How could the cruel chibi leave him alone in this moment of sheer agony?

“The hell do you want?” came the soft grumble from somewhere near the doorway. Dazai didn’t open his mind to look, but he was sure the sound had come from somewhere near the floor. He angled his head to adjust for Chuuya’s height and pouted.

“I’ve been abandoned,” he proclaimed to the ground, and he swore he could feel Chuuya seething from the other side of the room. How delightful. Dazai wished his head didn’t feel like it might explode so that he could enjoy Chuuya’s unusually quiet fury.

“I didn’t abandon you, dumbass,” Chuuya pointed out as he stalked closer, silent as a predator but still so loud. Everything about Chuuya was loud, and Dazai usually found comfort in that. Today, such noise made his vision swim behind his eyelids, and he wondered how angry Chuuya would be if he threw up on his golden retriever slippers.

Dazai bought the ugly things; surely that meant he could ruin them as he saw fit.

A hand found his, the smooth leather of his gloves a little cold against Dazai’s skin. He almost wished that Chuuya would’ve put that hand on his forehead instead, if only to offer a tiny bit of relief in this trying time, but he would settle for what he could get. If Chuuya had come close, then Dazai could only assume that his silly slug of a partner had realized that his plan to leave Dazai alone had failed spectacularly.

Chuuya’s own fault, really. He should’ve known better.

“You’re supposed to be taking a nap.”

“I was lonely. It’s too quiet.” Dazai tugged at Chuuya’s hand, a silent plea to join him in bed.

A plea that Chuuya blatantly ignored. “You have a headache, shitty Osamu. It’s supposed to be quiet so the damn thing will go away.”

Dazai hummed, unable to argue with such dazzling logic. “True. Everything’s so loud now that Chuuya’s here. I might throw up.”

“If you throw up on my slippers, you’re dead.”

Dazai smiled. He gave another halfhearted tug, but Chuuya still refused to move for him. “How cruel. Does Chuuya love his stupid doggy slippers more than he loves me?”

“’Course I do. My slippers are cute.”

Dazai sighed, dismayed, and finally let their hands drop to the bed. “I married the most awful slug. Doesn’t even love me more than his ugly slippers.”

“I don’t remember marrying such a whiny bitch.”

Dazai cracked an eye open to regard his husband. The curtains had been drawn to block out as much light as possible, but Dazai could still make out Chuuya’s furrowed brow and worried frown before his vision swam too much to keep looking. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eye again and nestled his cheek against the pillow.

“What a shame that Chuuya’s memory is already failing him. Such is the fate of a slug’s brain, I suppose.”

“Don’t make me kick your ass when you’re like this. You’re already pathetic enough.” With a huff, Chuuya sat down on the bed. Finally, a tiny victory! Dazai only needed to get the chibi to join him for a nap, and then he could sleep in peace. “There a reason why you don’t want to sleep? It’ll help with the headache, dumbass.”

Dazai wanted to hum again, but that seemed like a bad idea this time. He made a tiny noise instead. “It’s too quiet.”

“That’s the point.”

“I can’t sleep without Chuuya’s noise.” The confession fell from his lips easily, drawn out of him by this temporary weakness. Usually, he loathed such displays of vulnerability, even in the comfort of his husband’s company, but he knew when the situation called for it.

And the tactic worked like a charm. Dazai could hear the sharp breath that Chuuya took, feel the way his fingers tightened around Dazai’s. He imagined that Chuuya’s striking gaze had widened at first, their caramel shade brilliant even in such darkness, but now they softened in time with the quiet sigh of defeat he breathed into the room.

“... You’re a fucking idiot,” Chuuya muttered as he stood up, slipping away from Dazai so that he could take off his slippers and discard his gloves. The bed dipped, and then Chuuya’s arms appeared around him, drawing him close so carefully that Dazai feared he might break from Chuuya’s awful gentleness.

This migraine hadn’t changed him, hadn’t turned him into glass, and yet Chuuya hadn’t gotten the memo. Dazai’s temple throbbed, either from so much movement or from the terrible reminder that his husband cared so much for him, and he almost wished he would break. He wished that Chuuya would gather him up so gently that it would simply shatter him.

… At least that would take care of this persistent headache.

“This okay?” Chuuya asked once he’d settled.

“Hmm. Chuuya could give me a kiss now.”

“Greedy bastard.” But he still felt Chuuya move forward to fulfill his wish of a kiss—

—on the nose.

He kissed Dazai’s nose instead of his mouth. What a wretch.

“Chuuya missed.”

“Nope.” Dazai could just hear that ridiculous smirk in Chuuya’s voice. “I told you, didn’t I? I’ll give my husband a kiss once he stops being such a whiny bitch and takes a nap like he’s supposed to.”

Dazai was sure he could come up with an easy way to get Chuuya to still kiss him, but his head still hurt too much to consider such grand schemes. So he blurted out the only thing he could think of and hoped that it would work.

“I’ll give it to him.”

“... Hah?”

“Your husband. Kiss me, and I’ll give it to him.” Yeah. Yeah, that made sense. There was no way that Chuuya would be able to argue with such remarkable logic. Even with such a vicious headache, Dazai’s superior intellect would not be silenced. He would outsmart his chibi husband, and he would get his kiss!

A quiet chuckle blanketed the space between them, one that weaved its way into Dazai’s lungs and eased the tension from his veins. When Chuuya spoke again, he sounded so in love that it made Dazai feel even more nauseated than before.

“You’re such an annoying piece of shit. All right, you can have your damn kiss before you give me a headache.”

Dazai lifted his head, searching blindly for Chuuya’s mouth to keep him from saying something else that might make Dazai’s migraine worse. Chuuya met him halfway, his lips unbearably soft as they pressed against Dazai’s. The kiss was simple, sweet. Horribly domestic. A kiss to break him, to shatter him, and to put him back together again shard by wretched shard.

Only once he felt whole again did Dazai let the kiss end. He couldn’t tell how long had passed, if they’d kissed for a lifetime or just a couple of seconds, but he did know that his headache still persisted.

Hm… perhaps a nap wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Eyes still shut, Dazai burrowed close to his husband and let himself fall asleep to the comforting melody of Chuuya’s noise.

#bsd #soukoku #skk #fluff #domestic fluff #married soukoku #bungou stray dogs

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tiny-elf-of-doom · 11 months

Text

Resident Evil: Leon x Merchant

Final part! I will always take suggestions for flash fiction pieces!

18+ 🔞 MDNI (nsfw)

Leon had awoke in his bed. His hair was wet and there was a biting cold on his left eye- an icepack. Nothing made sense, earlier he was drowning, knocked to shit from a stupid tussle at the bar. Now, he was in his apartment, staring at the ceiling with the ache of a stiff neck. Adjacent to his bed was a bathroom with warm light peeking through the cracks of the door. Someone was fiddling around in there; Leon could hear their footsteps and mumbling. A person was in his place, casually fiddling around as if he were searching for something.

What the hell? Leon tried to throw off the covers when he realized how battered his body had become. There were bandages everywhere, a few still holding back the blood from his wounds. Attempting to ignore the pain, he struggled to get off his bed. There was been a brief moment when he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stand and he had been right. Once his foot hit the floor, a crunch could be heard along with his mass cluttering against the nightstand. Leon cringed from the agony of what appeared to be a broken ankle, yet he was still functioning in survival mode. Within the drawer of his nightstand, there was a backup handgun he kept loaded for emergencies and when he pointed it to the man exiting the bathroom, he was met with a very familiar voice.

“Stranger! Put the gun down before you hurt someone!”

Leon’s world went numb, “Merchant?”

He didn’t look like Merchant; not the one he saw on the island. This man was wearing a long sleeve shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows, drooping sweatpants, and a cloth to cover his mouth. The only thing keeping Leon from shooting this man was his eyes and how they sparkled an innocent blue. There was a willingness to help, to heal, similar to the man he bought his weapons from. He didn’t want to accept it, seeing as this was another man in his home, but Leon was too tired to fight and dropped his gun in a slump. Merchant ran to his side, carefully lifting him into his arms like a groom would his bride, and headed to the bathroom.

“What are you doing here?” The injured man managed to choke out.

“You needed me, so here I am. Let’s just leave it at that, stranger,” Merchant replied.

“I thought you were dead... blown up... the island,” Leon suddenly cramped up, clutching his bandaged ribs as they throbbed. One of them had to be broken, it hurt too badly to breathe.

“Easy love,” Merchant held his face, “I’ve got you.”

Leon didn’t trust many people, but he was sure to trust Merchant. The man had left him for only a few moments to turn off the faucet in the tub when Leon noticed his reflection. Half his face was the color of a snow cone. His lip was cut deeply and sewn with tiny stitches. Down his chest and stomach were dark blotches and damp bandages keeping his blood in his abdomen. There wasn’t a patch of skin that didn’t sting. It was funny: missions didn’t usually tear him up this badly, so why a bar fight?

“Alright, love, I’ve got a bath ready for ya. We’ll give you a nice clean up before I put ya to bed. I promise I’ll be gentle,” Merchant said before lifting Leon so he could place the man in the bathtub.

It was then that Leon noticed he was naked. Merchant didn’t seem to pay much mind to this exposure as he was far more focused on removing the bandages. Many of the ones wrapped around his torso were sticking to the injuries, causing Leon to wince and whine softly in discomfort. One particular gash went across his stomach, deep enough to where Merchant felt it needed extra padding and thick stitches to keep it closed.

“Ya know, ya coulda lost your intestines and all your other stuffing,” Merchant tried to laugh, “why the hell did you let this happen? Were ya drunk? Angry?”

Leon remained silent.

“Perhaps you were desperate?”

“I don’t need you,” Leon spat, avoiding eye contact.

Merchant snorted, rather loudly. “You probably didn’t need me then, but ya sure as hell need me now. Knowing you, I sparked a little excitement in your life, eh? A strange man sucked your mouth and your cock. Therefore, you developed a bit of a craving, yeah?”

Leon swallowed a stream of saliva, “fine, I’m a sex addict. Happy?”

“I would have been if you didn’t go and get yourself all fucked up like this. My stiff would have had a nice time between your lips, maybe in your ass if I was lucky.” Merchant sighed. “At least I can help you a wee bit.”

“It’s appreciated-” another cringe of pain struck Leon as Merchant dabbed disinfectant on his wounds. That spray was agonizing, but he continued to hold conversation. “Bit of a waste, though, huh? You got better things to do than just doctor me.”

“I disagree, it’s my job to make sure you’re good and tidy,” Merchant’s voice suddenly sounded distant.

Stabbing sensations lit Leon’s hip on fire, causing him to wiggle in his seat. Merchant noticed this, but continued to clean. His injury hadn’t bothered him since therapy that morning, he’d gone so far as to ditch the crutch. That hip didn’t hurt until that very moment in the tub. Leon recalled a bottle of pain pills on the counter, ones that took the edge off when it flared up.

“Hey,” the man reached for Merchant, “I have Vicodin for the pain... please.”

“Very good,” Merchant replied with a completely new tone and flat accent, “let’s hope you don’t pick up an addiction for it, Mr. Kennedy.”

“E-Excuse me? What did you call me?”

In the blink of an eye, Leon was staring at his therapist; the tubby man with thick glasses propped on a big nose. He was writing his notes as he normally did during their visits and nothing appeared to have changed since that morning. Even Leon’s hip was causing his teeth to grind. The crutch he had been using was still resting against the chair, stationary.

The therapist tilted his head to catch Leon’s attention, “Mr. Kennedy, are you alright? You’re heaving.”

Leon shook his head and for the first time in that office, he told the truth. “Not really, Doc. I’m getting two hours of sleep a night, I’m finding myself in bad situations constantly, and there’s someone you need to know about. I’m not sure he’s even real to be honest.”

“Ah,” the therapist’s eyebrows furrowed, “it seems we’ve hit a weak point. Well, let’s start from the beginning.”

And they began with Raccoon City.

#resident evil #resident evil 2 #resident evil leon #resident evil fanfiction #fanfiction #headcanons #18+#mdni #final part #leon x merchant #resident evil merchant

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truths33k3r4 · 4 months

Text

( TW for blood, needles, stitches, minor surgery, vomiting- not graphic cause ewww )

CHAPTER 13 - A Prick and a Pull

Who knew a little splash of blood could completely end a conversation dead in its’ tracks?

.. Well, now Leo and Lotus did.

Leo’s face twisted into a small grimace as he quickly jolted his foot away from the slowly growing crimson puddle on the floor. After shaking off the excess blood like a cat shaking it’s paw in the snow, Leo drew his attention to Lotus’ incision.

It wasn’t a lot of blood.. Just what happens when you have a deep cut in your body and you have nothing to stop the bleeding. A thin stream had trickled down Lotus’ leg and slowly began to drip off the side of the surgical table.

‘ I should’ve covered the incision with something.. MAN I SUCK AT THIS. ‘ Leo self- scolded himself.

The strange thing was Lotus didn’t even notice it.. Guess she got too caught up in the so-called ‘conversation ‘ between her and Leo.. If you could even call it that..

Lotus tried to turn herself over to see what it was that made Leo jolt back, but instead jolted herself as another burning sting shot up her leg in protest of the movement.

‘ ..OK… NOT GONNA MOVE ANYMORE.. NOTED. ‘ Lotus mentally stated as she let out a slight hiss from the pain.

After Leo promptly cleaned up the small puddle and what was remaining on his foot, he brought his focus back to Lotus.

“ Ok.. I’m really sorry Lotus, but I have to stitch you up before it gets infected.. “

Lotus’ shoulders raised the smallest bit.

Leo knew she was scared.. Heck, HE WAS THE REASON she was scared. It was his mistake that brought her so much pain.. Her fear was totally valid thanks to Leo’s awful track record today.

“ I promise- I’ll go as fast as I ca- “

“ NO, LEONARDO. “ Lotus nearly shouted.

Leo’s eyes filled with shock at her sudden impulsive reaction to his words.. He was used to her being so.. soft spoken. Blunt, yes, but never fiery or passionate.

Lotus’ shoulders were now completely up as her head began to subtly recoil into her shell. Not completely, but enough for Leo to notice.

“ YOUR MEDICINE DOESN’T WORK. It wore off - It’s useless. “

Lotus gulped down the lump building in her throat of dread for what she was about to say.

“ You said it will take you 2 minutes? “

Leo nodded.

Lotus paused.

‘ Am I really gonna do this?...

The medicine didn’t work.

It still really hurt. ‘

Lotus subconsciously stroked her left thigh to relieve the pain that was building once again.

‘ It’s only two minutes.

It will be fine.

I’ve been through worse.

I’ve survived worse.

A prick, a pull, and done.

IT’S TWO MINUTES.

A PRICK, A PULL, AND DONE.

…

…. This.. is gonna SUCK EDAMAME BEANS. ‘

“ I don’t need any numbing. Just start. “

Leo’s already wide eyes somehow grew in size as he processed what Lotus said.

“ I- You- You want me to stitch your leg with NO lidocaine???? “ Leo was nearly huffing as he ran through the scenario of what it would look like for Lotus to get stitches feeling… EVERYTHING. He tried again to talk her out of it.

“ Lotus- it’s just one pinch- and then I’ll work as fast as I can!! Don’t you at least want the CHANCE of not feeling it???? Maybe if I work fast it will last long enough! “

Lotus stayed quiet, taking a minute or so assessing Leo’s option.

… But her mind was already made up.

“ No.. thank you. ‘ She spoke in a huff. “ It’s a matter of the mind here Leo. I’m not going to lie to myself thinking that your dumb meds will work when it was just PROVEN that they don’t.

I just gotta tough it out. “

Lotus curled her arms around herself attempting a self hug, as she laid her head onto the surgical table’s pillow.

“ It’s just two minutes. Do your worst.“

Leo’s face became flushed with agony and shame.

Normally, the phrase “ do your worst “ is used in a sarcastic tone. A comedic context. Something two friends would say to each other whilst playing video games, or forcing the other to eat something gross at a sleep over.

But Lotus spoke with no sarcasm. There was no humor to water down the potency of her words. Nothing to make it more bearable.

Leo’s eyes attempted to form more tears, but the wells remained dry. He pulled a small rolling stool underneath himself and turned to face Lotus’ incision.

“ .. Are you sure?.. You’re going to feel everythi-”

“ YES. DO IT. “

Lotus braced every muscle despite all the protest of her incredibly sore body.

“ NO PAIN. NO GAIN. JUST DO IT. “ She choked out through gritted teeth.

Leo let out a silent sigh as he reached over to the cupboard and pulled out a package of needles and a spool of thread.

‘ IT’S JUST.. TWO.. MINUTES.. ‘

Lotus shut her eyes as she listened to the faint sounds of Leo opening a bottle.

The putrid fumes of rubbing alcohol filled her senses.

With everything that had happened, the horrible burning pain, the constant fight against her nightmares and memories, and the dread of what was occuring NOW.. One couldn’t blame her for what happened next.

The growing knot in her stomach took the horrid smell as the signal to vacate its’ contents.

It began with Lotus letting out a small gag, to which Leo IMMEDIATELY dropped the bottle onto the rolling table, and reached underneath for a small basin, handing it to Lotus in a panic.

( As the oldest brother of four, he was well-versed in knowing the tell-tale signs of nausea. And.. what came up with it. )

He gently rubbed Lotus’ shell, trying his best to bring her any comfort he could. He could feel under his hand that she was shaking more harshly now. Under such bodily distress, it certainly made sense.

She was completely exhausted.

After Lotus’ stomach was squeezed empty, she placed the basin to her side and hid her face in her crossed arms.

“ I hate this.. I hate this…. “ She squeaked as she began to sob into her arms.

‘ Why is this happening.. WHY CAN’T MY STUPID BODY DO ANYTHING RIGHT- Why- WHY AM I LIKE THIS- WHY DID IT WEAR OFF… ‘

Lotus’ mind filled with question after question. An action to which nothing responded. No answers. Nothing.

The void remained still and steadfast; The darkness covering up any chance of answers being given.

Lotus had heard many times at the lab various people shouting out the names of deities. Usually when they accidentally dropped something, or if an experiment proved successful.

On their podcasts or tv shows there would be characters praying to a god. Asking for direction or guidance or answers.

That’s how you knew it was just a tv show. Their questions were always answered. All of their problems magically were taken away thanks to their so-called faith. Thanks to their god.

And all Lotus could sense in her mind was darkness. Unrelenting stress, fear, shame, and anxiety.

No answers.

Just endless silence.

‘ There is no way there’s a god out there.’

She heard a snip of scissors.

Lotus’s mind was yanked back to her horrible reality in an instant.

“ Try not to brace your muscles.. It will hurt worse. “ Leo spoke to her.

Before she could react, Leo inserted the needle.

Lotus grasped onto the sides of the surgical table with both hands, squeezing as hard as she could to somehow relinquish the pain. A quiet whimper escaped her lips.

This pain was different. With the implant removal, it was more of a sharp burn accompanied by the frigid cold of the tweezers..

But this.. This felt as though someone stabbed into her leg with the thin edge of an iron-tip pen.

Over and over again.

With each stitch came a small snap of her skin, and with each needle prick came a tightening pull of the thread.

For once, that day, Leo’s calculations were correct.

Lotus’ incision took about 3 stitches to fully close, coming to around 2 minutes to finish the full procedure.

But as Lotus understood quite thoroughly, PAIN SLOWS TIME.

Seconds disguised themselves as minutes and hours. It felt like an eternity as Lotus dug her hands deeper and deeper into the surgical table’s rim.

Every time the needle pierced into her skin she let out a sharp hiss, followed by a long whimper as Leo tightened the stitch.

It was awful.

‘ IT’S JUST TWO MINUTES.. IT’S JUST TWO MINUTES..’

Leo ( for once ) kept his word with moving as fast as he could. His hands worked swiftly and smoothly as he finally snipped off the remaining strand of thread.

NOW it was over.

Hohohohooo I had FUNN with this one. :)

If you have any questions about my story, the characters, whatever, you can send me an ask! :)

To God be the glory!

Masterpost <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

#tmnt #my version of tmnt!!#surgery #the strength in weakness #hurt/comfort #Leo's having a rough day #but it will get better!#tw blood #tw minor surgery #tw needles

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 1 year

Text

heart(broken) | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

NOTE: Please watch Agust D 'AMYGDALA' MV if you want to better understand this piece. Sometimes I have to have conversations with myself, but it's hard, so I talk to the Yoongi in my head instead. I wrote this quite vaguely. Feel free to interpret it as you like.

This series is the personification of Min Yoongi (and Jeon Jungkook in other parts) as my muses. It describes my mental state at the time it was written. I don’t post these until I’ve worked through whatever it was that was bothering me.

warnings: conversations about the self, the past trauma that cannot be erased, and the answer to why we made Agust D / wiyllt

“I used to think music could save me. But you can’t save something that’s already dead.”

“Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean I don’t want to be here.”

In your whisper.

“I can’t leave here.”

Agony.

“You can.”

You could hear him but you couldn’t see him.

It was dark in the room and even darker behind your eyelids.

“You’re just afraid you’ll lose everything you’ve built inside to those on the outside. But you can’t. You built it all yourself. You can’t be broken by them.”

You could hear him. Soft, quiet, drifting closer. Stronger. There was a roughness to his voice, like it too had been torn and crumpled up. Words written before, but it took effort to smooth them out and say them, breathe life into them.

“You can only be broken by you.”

“That’s not true,” you shuddered and you were right.

He knew you were right. Everyone knew now.

“I ran away.”

And you hated to admit it. Because you fought for so long and you didn’t want to admit there was a battle you couldn’t win. It wasn’t because the enemy was larger than you. Smarter than you. Had bigger weapons than you. No.

It was because the enemy made you.

“I’m a coward and I ran away.”

And you didn’t like what they made so you ran.

“You don’t always have to win. It’s okay to lose. There’s bravery in that too,” he said to you, right beside you now.

Now, you could make you. You just had to trust that you could do it. Believe in you. But sometimes it was hard, because the enemy made you, and you would look in the mirror and wonder who was looking back. Everyone else had the before the event. Something to look back to. Someone, a past self, to remember. But you didn’t, all because the enemy made you. Before you had thoughts, before you had a chance, before it all, the enemy beat you into a form only they saw.

Reminded you every day that you were made.

You hoped that, deep inside, somewhere in that brain of yours, there was some kind of innate instinct that you could trust. Something so ingrained that it surpassed the you that looked back at you in the mirror, something past you and shared in natural selection.

That was why you acted on impulse.

It knew better than you.

“There are no winners or losers in this game, Yoongi.”

The voice beside you hummed.

“Then why does it matter if you ran or not?”

It was hard to talk about it out loud. Not because you didn’t know, but because you did know. Sometimes the worst thing was knowing.

You opened your eyes.

“Because I chose to run.”

You could feel him. He was right there. Right there, but not there when it was the worst years. Mostly because that time was also the worst for himself and he wasn’t the type to say anything when it was the worst time. Maybe it had been too hard. Maybe it wasn’t the right time. Maybe it was too much pressure for others to know the darkness when he was experiencing it.

Maybe he hadn’t wanted to say too much about the worst times because he had wanted to believe in tomorrow.

“I made that choice, Yoongi,” you said to him and it wasn’t in a weighted tone nor a freed one. It was just a fact. You had accepted it by now. Sometimes you thought you had accepted it too readily even though it had taken years to wrestle with that demon.

Sometimes, you thought you should have suffered more for accepting that you ran away.

“We all make choices,” Min Yoongi said to you, standing beside you at the desk. Like he always did, in darkness, but this was a different darkness. This was the void that was no longer the scary thing to run from.

It was too familiar to run, now.

“The best choice. Second-best choice when you can’t make the first. Third-best choice if it comes to that. None of them are all the way right. They’re just there and you gotta make them.”

You could hear him. Feel him, his hand on your shoulder, and you wondered what it was like, but also you knew and you wished you didn’t. You didn’t often wish that, now that you were older. Only sometimes, when Yoongi placed his hand on your left shoulder. Certain things were out of your control and by now you had learned that you didn’t need to control them. Those things made you, just like how they made him.

His hand reached over and you felt a dry fingertip brush past the droplet running down your cheek.

Interrupting it.

“I could have been such a good person,” you whispered and it was a scream to the void within.

His fingers ran through your hair, melting the tear back into you. That was all you had to express. The rest was choked up all inside and couldn’t come out. He knew what that was like and you wished he didn’t. Not because you wanted to save him, because everyone went through hardships. That was the cruelty of life.

You wished he didn’t know because you saw yourself in him and it was hard to look when you didn’t know whether to be relieved or in despair that you weren’t the same.

“Some things can only be born out of adversity,” he said softly, sadly. “You have become the one for the no ones out there.”

“You too,” you said back to him, in the same soft, sad tone.

His fingers ran through your hair, not holding you together but ever-present strength born from adversity that was as much internal as it was external, and it was hard not to punish oneself for the internal adversity inflicted. It was hard to stand up again with you were the one knocking yourself down. Crawling on hands and knees and the weight was you, crushing you to the floor. No one but you, so you hoped somewhere, deep down, there was a response. A reply to all this. Hard not to hope that there was some innate instinct that could save you, because surely.

Surely, it wasn’t meant to be this way.

“Yeah. Me too,” Yoongi murmured.

You could have been someone else but all that was because of a past you couldn’t change and couldn’t remember well and the parts you did remember made you wish you could carve it out of your head so you could never see them again.

But you couldn’t.

The past was in the past.

“I used to think music could make me alive,” you exhaled out. Stolen breath, and the imprinted concept rang in your thoughts, familiar asphyxiation that you could never escape.

“Me too.”

You turned your head and looked up at him.

At a sharp jaw that held a sharper tongue that was honed from hardships. At fair skin shadowed by black strands, over his ears and his cheeks. He felt you move and his dark brown orbs dropped, not really seeing at the darkness at the first place.

Min Yoongi looked into your eyes, at his not-reflection.

“Someday, maybe I won’t want to make music anymore.”

You saw that he believed, once. That it was unlimited. That he always had stories. That he always had what he loved because it came from him, and yet. Sometimes. Music was the solace, but it came from a tortured place.

Did it always have to be like that?

“But then what am I?” he whispered, low and raspy, the voice of solitude nights and isolated tears, and it was a question and a statement, I don’t want to stop, because he knew he had become the one for the no ones and he wasn’t the type to break promises.

“I don’t want to stop either,” you said back to him and he knew you didn’t mean music.

“It’s hard,” he breathed, having trouble admitting it, both because he didn’t want it to be hard and because he had put expectations and a price tag on it. “More and more often now, I feel like I hit those walls. I scream and try to break them down but I always end up only chipping away at it and I wonder if someday…”

Someday.

“You’ll be too tired to chip away any more,” you finished for him.

Yoongi stared into your eyes and you both wondered.

“You don’t always have to win.”

He knew that, but you said it anyway. You knew it too, but he had said it anyway.

His hand fell from your head.

“Just because you’re not music anymore,” you said to him, and this was not in a weighted tone or a freed tone. Just a fact. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to be here.”

Here.

The seat you occupied, physically and metaphorically, at your desk that imprisoned you as much as it freed you, and Min Yoongi knew that, knew that feeling of needing and hating this, this whole business of being surrounded by artificial lights and screens and keys, keys fingertips rested on, keys that meant so little alone, even together, and yet.

Yet.

Art from instinct.

Something unique, to him and to you and to all.

The real you, always there or born from adversity that wasn’t really you, born from you standing there and taking those arrows to the same scars, the scars given to you by circumstances you couldn’t control, but wasn’t it your fault for freezing up and not protecting yourself? The real you, innate instinct or the one in the mirror that became, the one who looked back to see yourself covered in scars? Was all this suffering meant for you so you could become the one for the no-ones?

Was this the only way?

Yoongi knelt down so you were eye to eye.

“The you now… did you make her to protect who you were or to kill who you were?” he asked you.

You could see the answer in his eyes.

You answered with questions. “Did you make him to protect you? Or to kill you?”

Yoongi could see the answer in your eyes too.

“I made him so I could put myself back together.”

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #bts drabble #yoongi drabble #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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fnaf-weeb · 8 months

Text

Broken Mind, Old Soul

This is the first thing I’ve written for my AU. I wanted to showcase the nature of my interpretation of the characters, so forgive me if some parts come off as rushed or weird. I hope you enjoy!

The dead tend to forget.

That was something Springtrap came to learn. After being trapped in the same room, rotting, dying, already dead but still dying at the same time. How did that work? Then he remembered; the remnant was keeping his soul attached to his deceased body. But he could feel himself rotting still, his human body losing more life everyday day. If there was hardly any left. The feeling was unnatural. The whole situation was unnatural.

In that time his soul had been in agonizing turmoil. However, unlike his victims, he wasn’t able to lurk about to satisfy the restlessness growing within him. All he could do was writhe silently.

His memories had begun to slip in that time, lost to the unyielding anger and agony that was consuming him.

"Holy-GUYS COME LOOK AT THIS!"

He had forgotten what it was like to be in the presence of another person. If he could be considered a person anymore.

"Yeesh, the thing looks just as creepy in the light. Hurry up and wheel it into the attraction."

He had forgotten what the outside looked like. His senses overwhelmed with sights, smells and sounds that he hadn’t heard in decades.

"HAHAHA!!"

He had also forgotten that he had helped program the damned suits to follow the sounds of children.

No matter how hard he tried to get to the office, he couldn’t resist when audio played elsewhere in the building. He had already learned long ago-when he was still a person- that the souls were still bound to the programming of the machines they were bound in. The same very much applied to him.

[DING DONG DING DONG…DING DONG DING DONG]

He growled as he watched the nightgaurd rush out the exit. Lucky bastard escaped again.

Daytime mode used to be useful, now it was nothing more than a hinderance he wished he was rid of.

The suit controlled his movements now. It forced him to walk back to his usual starting position. The room wasn’t as blank as the safe room, filled with props of the previous pizzerias.

The irony; to be trapped in a horror attraction based on the murders he committed, as the main star.

Fazbear Entertainment was never known for having tact.

He was now bound to this room until the next night. With a frustrated sigh, he sat down -the suit creaking as he did so - and leaned against the wall.

That pesky guard. He kept toying with him using that damn voice. He clenched his moldy fists.

He’s been so angry ever since he woke up.

He wanted to break something.

More like someone.

He wanted to spill blood, watch the life drain from someone’s eyes.

He wanted to be in control for the first time since being trapped in this damned suit.

And what better way to feel in control than controlling the fate of some poor bloke?

That annoying guard would do just fine.

"Failed again?"

Speaking of annoyances…

"Go away," he growled, not even bothering to look up at her. He knew it was redundant. She wouldn’t leave. He could only hope this was one of their shorter interactions.

"It’s been three nights, do you really intend on continuing this little game of cat and mouse?" The Puppet asked, in an unamused tone that made him want to punch her in her stupid plastic face.

"I’ll do whatever I want to," he glared at the floor next to him. He hated how she continued to nag him like this.

"You have nothing to gain by killing him."

He scoffed. "I’ll gain some satisfaction from snapping his neck like a twig. The place is better off without that annoying rat."

"The annoying rat that is just trying to do his job," she replied, rolling her eyes. "You’re the annoying one in this situation."

He narrowed his eyes and finally turned to glare at her. The Marionette started right back. She was the only other possessed animatronic that remained. All the others he had dismantled. Though, he didn’t know why she wasn’t scrapped with the Toys long ago. Granted she was dirty and somewhat damaged, but she was in much better condition than he was.

"The satisfaction is only temporary you know. Even if you kill him, it won’t last. You won’t be satisfied." She stated, then she leaned forward. "I’ve seen it happen. You feel an uncontrollable rage and want to take it out on whoever is unfortunate enough to be around. But even after the blood is spilled, it’s not enough. It’ll only increase your bloodlust until it becomes habit. Then you’ll be reduced to nothing but a rabid animal."

Her voice was serene and clear, completely the opposite of his own deep and gravely voice. But she spoke with certain gravity in her tone. Warning, almost haunted even. She was clearly dead (no pun intended) serious. And he had a good idea of who she was referring to in this context, a certain golden bear popping to mind.

"Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Puppet?" He grumbled, changing the subject. He didn’t like how familiar her description was to his current situation.

"I told you to call me Charlie, William."

William. Yes, William Afton was his name. It had slipped his mind more than once. He would’ve forgotten long ago had the puppet not stuck around and kept interacting with him. He didn’t know why she insisted on talking to the man that killed her. The people who brought him here dubbed him Springtrap, and the name grew on him.

It was strange. He remembered some things clearly, like his wife’s death, drinking himself into a stupor at Jrs, and killing the missing children of course.

But others, he had a harder time recalling. Like his wedding day, the names and faces of his children, and…why he killed in the first place.

He hated how messy and unorganized his memories were, it was driving him nuts. Just trying to think of the past made him tremble with rage.

He remembered Charlie though. She was the first. Henry’s daughter. They knew each other when they were alive. If anything Charlie should despise him the most, given the obvious betrayal. But she didn’t.

"Fine, Charlie. Why do you insist on interacting with me? Why don’t you stay away like the other brats?"

He knew the others were still afraid of him. He didn’t really care. But Charlie clearly didn’t fear him, nor did she go out of her way to torment him in any capacity as he initially thought she would.

"Because someone has to keep you in line before you add another victim to your list." She answered cooly. That part was true, ever since they got here she’s tried to distract him from attacking the guard, and after he left she’d try to sway him from trying again, as she was doing moments ago.

"And also," she added. "I want to help you too, if possible."

He almost snorted. "Ah, yes. Because there’s good in everyone right? Of course you want to try and save my poor, broken soul." He put a hand where his now physically tattered heart would be, feigning vulnerability.

Though her face has very limited expression, he could tell she was unamused.

"I know you’re mocking me, but yes. I sense that there is still humanity in you. And besides, if I made you see the light, there’d be one less murderous rabbit in the world."

William dropped the facade and scowled, facing away from her again. "Why do you waste your time with this? You should despise me most of all."

"You already got what you deserved. Besides, I was never one to hold a grudge. I don’t have that kind of time." She responded. That rung a few bells in his head. Charlie never liked holding grudges.

Seemingly done with their daily chat, she turned to leave. Looks like this was one of the shorter conversations like he had hoped.

"See you next night William."

And she was gone, leaving the withered rabbit to his one thoughts once more.

————————————————————————

"I’m back." Charlie announced as she entered the room. As soon as she spoke, the various spirits made themselves known.

The children rushed up to her instantly. Though their ghostly feet made no sound. They gazed up at her with the dull but not quite lifeless eyes their spirit forms had since they were freed of their animatronic bodies. Though they still retain characteristics of said animatronics. Like the animal ears and tails and the various accessories. Their clothes had changed to match the color schemes of the animatronics as well.

"Charlie! Welcome back!" Susie greeted cheerfully, bouncing and throwing her hands in the air. Her bib flapping as she did.

"Tell Jeremy that 'hook' is totally valid in rock-paper-scissors!" Fritz exclaimed, rising his pirate hook for emphasis.

"It does not!" Jeremy argued, stomping his foot in frustration and his ears reeling back.

"Why? Hook can beat paper!"

"But it’s not part of the game!"

Charlie shook her head, if she could she'd have a fond smile on her face. This was a common occurrence. Fritz and Jeremy often bickered over silly things. She honestly enjoyed these moments because they got to act like kids again, not bound by the programming of their metal prisons.

She was beginning to wonder if putting them in the animatronics was the right move.

"Did you talk to him again?"

The bickering stopped immediately, and Charlie focused her gaze on Cassidy. She had her arms crossed and a disapproving glare. Evan stood beside her, looking away uncomfortably. They possessed Golden Freddy together, but their appearances were slightly different. With Evan having more attributes associated with Fredbear (purple hat and bowtie), and Cassidy with the current Golden Freddy (black hat and bowtie).

"What else would I be doing after 6 AM?"

"Why do you keep going to him? He’s bad and dangerous!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. Cassidy was the most hateful of all of them. When Charlie started interacting with William she was heavily against it, which was understandable. But Charlie wasn’t deterred. They’ve had this conversation many times.

"You know why." Charlie stated. She didn’t bother to explain herself again. They’ve had this conversation many times.

"Do you really think there might be good in him?" Gabriel asked timidly, shifting in place. Ironically, he was the most shy despite possessing the star of the band.

"He’s a bad person, but still a person. A person I knew. And I have a pretty good idea of why he did what he did in the first place." She said, eyes shifting to Evan momentarily. A grim expression crossed his face. "I want to try, at the very least."

Cassidy scoffed, "Good luck. He’s just a lousy murderer."

"You say that as if we aren’t murderers ourselves." Evan retorted, glancing back at her and crossing his arms. Cassidy twitched and glared at him.

"You-"

"What? You know it’s true."

The other children cringed and held various expressions of shame. Gabriel, Jeremy, and Fritz’s ears dropped and laid flat against their heads. In their rage and confusion they attacked innocent people, thinking they were their murderer. Some of the guards left after the second or first night. Others never left the building.

Though, Evan never killed anyone himself, neither did Charlie.

"Oh yeah? Well if you’re gonna take your dad’s side, why are you too scared to approach him huh?!" Cassidy shot back, poking his chest hard. Evan recoiled a bit, looking conflicted.

"Enough Cassidy." Charlie said, raising a placating hand. "As of right now William is in a state of rage and turmoil, as you all once were. It’s understandable why Evan would hesitate to approach his father in this state. He might not even recognize him."

"But he recognizes you…" Susie pointed out. "Why would he recognize you but not his son?"

"To put it simply; his memories are a mess. He remembers some things, others he’s all but forgotten, or is on the verge of forgetting. He would’ve forgotten his own name if not for me."

"Yeesh, the guy sounds like a piece of work."

Charlie sighed slightly at the new voice. Well, not so new unfortunately.

Kelsey walked in with his hands in his pockets, his usual relaxed grin on his face. He was the first to possess Fredbear, thus his appearance reflected more of Fredbear like Evan’s. He wasn’t a victim of William, unlike most of them. He died via springlock failure, when some bullies shoved him into one of the suits. He was also a teenager like herself. He died around 14.

Everyone had varying degrees of discomfort or annoyance on their faces, except Cassidy.

"Yeah, and Charlie still thinks she can redeem him somehow." Cassidy said with annoyance, rolling her eyes. Kelsey stopped beside her and smirked at Charlie. "Oh yeah? Heh. Pretty stubborn aren’t ya Charl?"

"Yes, I suppose I am." If she could she’d narrow her eyes at him. Despite his chill demeanor, everyone here knew his true nature. He was a despicable, manipulative, bloodthirsty maniac. He lured and killed kids similar to the ones that killed him. But along the way he decided that killing was fun and just became a murderer. Unfortunately, he groomed Cassidy to act similarly. She was attached to him, saw him as an older sibling.

Evan was glaring at him. Kelsey had tried to manipulate him at first too, but thankfully he didn’t fall for it. He wasn’t particularly wrathful anyway, so he couldn’t take advantage of that.

Honestly, the only reason they tolerated him was for Cassidy’s sake. Also because they were literally stuck with him.

"Hasn’t it been years? What makes you think he’ll change now if he hasn’t for the past decades?" Kelsey asked, more genuinely curious than teasing as he usually was.

"Being trapped in an unmoving suit with your own corpse will do that to you. He’s restless and angry. It will take time, but I’m sure I can get through to him eventually." Charlie assured calmly.

"If anyone can help him get better, it’s you Charlie!" Susie cheered with a bright grin.

"Yeah! You can help him like you helped us!" Fritz agreed, confident in her abilities. The others gave their encouragement. Charlie smiled.

"Thank you. And I’ll be able to set you all free too. We’re so close now." Everyone visibly brightened at that, even Cassidy. Soon, they would all be free.

Soon…

————————————————————————

It was night four now.

Another night, another chance to kill that nightgaurd.

Springtrap stalked towards the office with malicious anticipation. It was 3:00 AM and he wasn’t hearing the audio as often, the guard must be getting sloppy. Or the technology was failing him now more than ever.

Whatever, both scenarios meant victory for Springtrap.

He grinned wickedly. Finally, finally reached the office. He could see the red lights blaring inside, and the guard desperately trying to reboot the system. Poor fool hasn’t realize he’s lost.

He stood outside the window, waiting for the guard to take notice of him and freak out.

Then the guard looked up, and they both froze.

This…this wasn’t the same man who’s been here past three nights.

The previous guard had short black hair and green eyes, and he was sure he had a mole. This man had long brown hair tied into a ponytail, and blue eyes, with a scar across his left eye.

He felt like a thousand bells were ringing in his head. Something about this man was so familiar to him, yet he couldn’t grasp why.

His confusion distracted him long enough that the guard was able use the audio to lure him away from the office. The suit took control once more. He blinked and growled in frustration. Damn it! He missed his chance!

Though his frustration was overshadowed by his confusion. He couldn’t help but wonder about the sudden change. Perhaps the previous one quit? Still didn’t explain why he seemed so familiar.

Damn his unreliable memory.

————————————————————————

Mike let out the breath he had been holding. Though he didn’t really need to breath anymore did he?

"So, he really is here…" He muttered. It had been so long since he last saw the Springbonnie suit. Time had not been kind to it, or to him for that matter.

He pulled out a photo from his pocket and gazed at it. A family photo from 1980. Three years before disaster. He focused on the man on the left, standing tall and dignified beside his mother, with a hand on Mike’s shoulder.

"I’ve found you, father."

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #alone together au #william afton #springtrap #charlie emily #marionette #missing children #evan afton #fnaf kelsey #micheal afton

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dollsonmain · 1 year

Text

This will likely be incoherent because I am STRUGGLING with the braining right now.

Bigger things are harder for me to put into words.

I wanted to talk about chronic pain.

Like...... When it’s new, it’s DEVASTATING. It truly is. Your world has just ended. You will need other people to survive from now on and there is so much guilt tied to that thanks to our individualist society. No one wants to acknowledge that it is devastating.

I think that people feel guilt for being devastated.

So not only the pain, but the guilt which is just as heavy a burden, is now on you, forever, unless you can let go of the guilt.

I feel terribly jealous of people that aren’t afflicted until they’re in their 40′s or 50′s or older because mine hit when I was 12, though I didn’t really understand until I was 19 and it got un-ingnorable and could no longer be misinterpreted as laziness. I was in agony. I couldn’t sit, stand, lie down, or move with out hard, sharp, long-lasting blasts of pain.

I lost my future when I was young, I was already floored while my peers were experiencing their teens, 20s, and 30s, building relationships and experiences, learning how to be social adults in this capitalistic world, I was already too tired and in too much pain to exist. I spent my teens in bed.

I am angry about it.

I think some people with chronic pain feel guilty for being angry.

I also have an advantage over people my age only just now experiencing pain that will be with them until they die in that I’ve had time to grieve the future that had been taken from me.

I think some feel guilty for grieving.

That post that was like “I’m used to it I’m used to it I’m used to it GOD PLEASE KILL ME I’D RATHER BE DEAD I’m used to it I’m used to it” was as accurate as it could be. That’s what it’s like. You carry this pain and the guilt that comes with being a burden on others because of something out of your control for a while and it gets heavier and heavier then you have a little tantrum and then you get back to getting by.

When it’s new, it’s so. hard. to keep going. It’s SO hard knowing that you’re going to be like this forever, and keep going.

I think some people feel guilty for this being difficult.

You have to grieve. You have to accept the pain (which does not mean not trying to mitigate or improve it, by all means do everything you can to lessen the pain), and then you have to pick that up, and move forward with it knowing you will never, ever put it down again.

For me, it’s been 23 years.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, if you’re newly experiencing chronic pain, don’t feel guilty for being upset about it and struggling with it. It sucks. That unhappiness is warranted. Be unhappy.

Feel your feelings about it. Have your tantrums now and then without guilt. Acknowledge the anger that comes with chronic pain.

Let yourself grieve the future you expected which is lost. You will not be able to carry this burden if you don’t.

And then drag your ass forward because you still have a life to live. It’s not all pain.

(Though it sure feels like it will be when it’s new.)

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naughtyneganjdm · 1 year

Text

Arcadia - Chapter 12

Summary: With Joel being injured, Negan works with him to try to get him better, but it's not working the way he planned. Y/N tries getting romantic with both Negan and Joel again, but when something happens, she starts to realize that they might have an unexpected problem on their hands.

Characters: Negan, the reader (OC), Joel, Lucy, Nolan, etc.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, smut, etc.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29577489/chapters/110970990

Notes: This may not be my most popular story and I understand that, but I really loved this story and had this planned out very extensively. I know it's been a very long time since I wrote it, but life got really busy and I had to drop a lot of my stories for quite some time. I'm sorry for that. If you read this, thank you. If not, that's okay because this story is important to me and that's really what matters. I promise I will try to start giving attention to my stories again so I can hopefully finish a majority of my stories before the end of Dead City. Sorry I kind of just dropped my stories for a while.

While Negan had been a gym teacher and a sports star himself in the past, those two jobs were nothing in comparison to the work he had to put in while trying to help Joel get better from his injuries. Complicated was an understatement. It had been a few months since they had found Joel and while most things were healing with Joel, his leg was still a mess. The fractures he had gotten with his leg were still healing and he was still having all kinds of trouble with moving his leg. Every day, Negan attempted to do exercises with Joel to help get the feeling back in his leg, but it didn’t seem to be helping. It didn’t stop them from trying though.

“I don’t get this,” Negan huffed while he helped to try to work out Joel��s leg. Joel was stretched out on the ground, his arms covering his eyes while Negan kept up with the same routine he would do daily. “I feel like by now you should have some kind of feeling back in here. Are you stopping yourself mentally?”

“I could have this for the rest of my life Negan,” Joel grumbled, his southern drawl thicker than normal showing that he was frustrated with Negan’s comments. “I think it’s time we just start to acknowledge that I’m probably not going to be able to feel or move my leg again without your help. I reckon the sooner we realize that, the better. I’m going to be gimpy for the rest of my life beating people with my cane.”

“While the imagery is fucking amusing, that’s not going to be the case,” Negan grunted, his hand squeezing over the fleshy part of Joel’s thigh making Joel growl. “You feel something?”

“Yeah, I fucking ache everywhere Negan. That hasn’t changed. I pretty much feel like I’ve been hit by a truck and I’m just doing my best to pull myself back together,” Joel explained with a heavy sigh knowing that while he may have not been able to feel his leg, his body was incredibly stressed and worn out after his workouts with Negan so he reckoned they hurt. “Maybe you just need to give up.”

“Maybe you just need to shut the fuck up and work harder,” Negan’s hand smacked firmly over Joel’s thigh making Joel cry out in agony and he swiftly moved away from Joel watching Joel’s back arch up. “I am so fucking sorry. I’m sorry.”

Faint snickers started to fall from Joel’s throat when Negan tried to tend to him and help him making Negan’s face twist in confusion, “What’s so funny?”

“I can’t feel my leg Negan. I was fucking with you,” Joel lifted up on his elbows reminding Negan of their general problem that they were having right now. Negan’s eyebrows furrowed when Joel confessed he was just faking Negan out. “You could probably stab me in the leg and I wouldn’t feel you.”

“You fucker,” Negan hit Joel in the gut making Joel wince this time when he curled up and wrapped his arm around his ribs.

“Why would you do that? I actually broke my ribs,” Joel reminded Negan making Negan swiftly lower down in attempts to help Joel making Joel laugh again with how worried Negan seemed to get over him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m fucking with you again. The ribs healed after like two months. I still get sore, but they are…”

“What the fuck Joel,” Negan this time gave a pretty firm hit to the center of Joel’s stomach making him groan out for real this time. “I hope that one hurt because the next one is going to be me punching you in the balls.”

“Nope, definitely felt this one,” Joel rolled onto his side, his eyes closing tightly while Negan paced before him. Joel took a few minutes to gain back his breath that had left his lungs after Negan had hit him that last time. “You would never hit me in the balls…”

“You wanna bet?” Negan’s eyebrow arched up, resting his hands on his hips when his pacing came to a stop. “I don’t need your dick to work in order to have sex with you. I may like being the bottom, but I can make do with what we have.”

“Point taken,” Joel covered his groin making Negan laugh when Joel protected the goods from getting injured.

“You know, you were my favorite until the last few weeks. You were the nice one and now you’re fucking grumpy all the time,” Negan blurt out making Joel roll his eyes and drop his head back against the ground. “Your sassy all the time now.”

“First of all, I might be the nice guy, but I’ve always been grumpy,” Joel reminded Negan, lifting his head up from the ground to stare out at Negan with his thick jawline flexed. “And stop talking about favorites. You’re going to be the one losing your balls if Y/N hears you. It makes her feel bad and you know that.”

“She’s not here,” Negan lowered down pressing in over Joel, balancing his weight over his lover making Joel sigh loudly. “You pretend like you don’t like to hear stuff like that, but you fucking do. You know it. You want to be the person that everyone loves the most. You like being the rock in this family. You want everyone to love you the most.”

“Oh, I do?” Joel’s eyebrow arched in curiosity with the warmth of Negan’s breath over his lips. “Tell me more about what I want.”

“Well,” Negan’s palm lowered between them to cup Joel making Joel let out a tense breath. “I’m sure right now you would much rather your cock in my mouth than doing this physical therapy session with me.”

“Well no shit Sherlock,” Joel teased, his hips arching up toward Negan’s touch making a rumble of a laugh fall from Negan’s throat. “I guess I should be thankful it’s only my leg and foot I can’t feel. I think it enhances the feeling on my co…”

The sound of the door starting to pull open was heard and Joel swiftly slid back on the ground to get away from Negan knowing that it could have been one of the kids at the door. When it was Y/N that was there, Joel let out a relieved breath and dropped his head back on the grass.

“Negan, did you move the peppermint for the tea?” Y/N called out to Negan who got up on his knees, resting back while he thought things over. “I’m just not feeling great and I can’t find it.”

“I think it’s in the furthest cabinet on the right on the top shelf babe,” Negan winked seeing her smile and give him a thumbs up when she headed back into the house. Negan took a minute to think about what she had just said while Joel raised up on his elbows.

“What?” Joel realized that there was something on Negan’s mind after she had mentioned needing the peppermint tea. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” Negan shook his head and cleared his throat, getting up slowly from the ground. Patting his hands off on his pants, Joel was giving Negan the side eye and Negan shrugged his shoulders. “What?”

“I know that look. Something is wrong,” Joel responded with a shake of his head, trying to brace himself up. “What is it?”

“I mean, she’s feeling sick a lot lately. I see her hiding it, but she’s dizzy a lot and I just…” Negan took in a long sigh, pressing his hands in over his hips. “I’m worried about her.”

“It might just be the stress of me,” Joel suggested making Negan frown and shrug his shoulders again dramatically. “If it keeps happening, I’ll try to convince her to see the doctor. Just pay attention and if it keeps happening, we will say something. You are right though. On Lucy’s birthday, she didn’t really want to eat anything. Usually, we all love her cake and you were there to make some good food.”

“Right?” Negan breathed feeling a bit worried when he thought about everything that had been going on. In the months that Joel had been injured, they had Lucy’s birthday and Nolan’s. Those were two of the really good days that all of them had, but Joel wasn’t wrong. Shaking his head, Negan didn’t want his fears getting the worst of him when he looked down at Joel again. “We need to get you moving again because it was Nolan’s birthday wish to get you better.”

“We have to be realistic Negan, I’m trying, but if my body isn’t capable…” Joel frowned looking down to his injured leg showing that he could roll it a bit because he still have movement in his hip, but other than that there wasn’t much more that he could do. “I would do anything for that boy, y’know that.”

“I do, but I still don’t feel like you’re trying hard enough,” Negan reached for Joel to help him up from the ground. Giving Joel his cane, Negan stretched out his lengthy body and groaned. “We need to get you to start trying to not count on that cane to move Joel.”

“Oh yeah? How do you suggest we do that?” Joel balanced his weight, a loud grunt falling from his throat when he hit the ground hard. Negan had kicked his cane out from underneath him. This time Joel was actually hurt and Negan realized he could have done that better after he let out an uncomfortable breath. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well, what are you going to do if I’m not here? How are you going to get up?” Negan reached for Joel’s cane making Joel hiss out when he pushed himself up into a seated position showing that he had actually scratched himself up a bit in the fall.

“You do realize my leg is still healing, right?” Joel was actually frustrated this time and Negan could see it. “That was really stupid. It could have hurt my leg more.”

“After I did it, I realized how fucking idiotic it was. Yes,” Negan swung Joel’s cane about watching Joel reach out for the cane as if demanding it from Negan. “Nope. You have to get up on your own Joel.”

“Damn it Negan, give it back,” Joel snapped from where he was laid out on the ground, his face angry and his southern drawl full of venom. The sound of the door opening was heard again and it was obvious that Y/N had seen Joel’s fall which drew her outside, but Negan held his hand up to make her wait. A disappointed breath fell from her throat when she realized this was one of Negan’s ploys. “I can’t move without the fucking thing.”

“At some point, we’re going to have to get you to try to put some strength back on that leg so you won’t need this,” Negan spun the cane around watching Joel trying to pull himself up, his face turning red when he did it. “Try and get up on your own.”

“I can’t move my fucking leg,” Joel snarled and Negan looked to his injured leg making Negan shrug his shoulders dramatically and hold his arms up in the air. Trying to pull himself up again, Joel let out a sound that made it seem like he was in excruciating pain when he dropped back in the grass and covered his face with his large hands. “You are the worst physical therapist. Who the hell takes away a disabled man’s cane so he will fall on the fucking ground?”

“Listen, you’re dropping a whole lot of fuck bombs on me, but you’re not trying to get up here,” Negan pointed out making Joel’s hands drag down over his face to glare out at Negan. “What happened to the master of meditation. Most people would have not lived through what you did out there Joel. You taught me that meditation helps you turn your brain off to the pain. You got hurt and I know you’re in pain, but you’re the one that was so big on meditation. Turn off those pain receptors and get up.”

“I can’t even meditate right now Negan. I can’t move my leg like that,” Joel threw his hands up in defeat before shaking his head. “I don’t even know how I lived through that attack Negan. Twice I should have died and I didn’t.”

“No, I don’t like that attitude. You fought. You showed me where you were on the map. Remember? We marked the areas for people to avoid The Empty when they went out on future runs. I know how far you made it on death’s door Joel. Your leg didn’t work then, but you made it miles on your own bleeding out,” Negan reminded Joel how he had found him originally when he was injured. “Do you remember what you told me when I found you? I couldn’t believe you made it that far and you told me that you kept thinking of one thing.”

“My family,” Joel grumbled under his breath, his cheeks flushing over with red when he felt bad about himself and the person he had become. He went from being potentially the strongest person in Arcadia to being disabled because of his leg. “I wish I could control this Negan.”

“I think your brain is holding you back,” Negan pointed at his head, clearing his throat with an uneven breath. “You don’t think you deserve to be happy. We talked about this. You think because of what you did to escape that you don’t deserve to be here. You’re depressed. You’re letting that control your mind. But you did what you had to in order to survive and get back to your family. Now, we just have to get you back to somewhat normal so you can continue to protect your family.”

“They still have you Negan,” Joel reminded Negan with a frown, lowering his head to look down at his leg. Hitting at his leg made Joel let out a frustrated sound while Negan lowered down to stare out at Joel with a shake of his head. “I have been trying Negan. I’m trying.”

“I am nowhere near as strong as you are. I would have died out there if it happened to me,” Negan suggested, his hazel eyes suddenly very serious seeing that Joel was getting emotional over the fact that he felt useless. “I know you better than anyone Joel. You still have nightmares about what you did. I can tell because every night you shake. Y/N might think your nightmares are about what happened to you, but it’s what you did to those people. Those people who wanted to kill you and your family. Stop letting them control you.”

“Negan,” Joel went to say something, but his emotions were still high and he lowered his head. “I wish I could blame that when it comes to my leg.”

“It’s part of it. You aren’t allowing yourself to get better. Think about your family. Think about Lucy, Nolan, Y/N, me…” Negan slowly stood up watching Joel’s forehead crease while his eyes followed Negan’s movements. There was a sadness and a sense of anger in Joel’s eyes while he stared up at Negan. “You can be mad at me all you want, but you know I’m right. So, get up.”

“I can’t you dumbass,” Joel snarled at his husband managing to slide back on the grass trying to pull himself up, grimacing while he struggled to even get himself up to his good knee. “What part of I can’t move my leg doesn’t register in that brain of yours?”

“You’re being very fucking cranky,” Negan pointed his finger out spinning it in the direction of Joel noticing the way that Joel’s green-hazel eyes were locked on him with a sense of rage. “If you’re not going to be able to use that leg again, then you are going to have to learn to make yourself useful without it.”

“Give him his cane back Negan,” Y/N finally called out from where she was standing on the steps making both men turn their heads to look at her. Joel lowered his head embarrassed that she was there and he stroked his fingers through his short hair. Although it was amusing that both men had the same haircut previously, Joel had cut his hair on his own after a few people called him Negan. Now he had a similar haircut that was close to what he had when she had first met him.

“No,” Negan shook his head, making Y/N walk out to them and he kept a firm hold of the cane. “He doesn’t have faith that he will get better so he never will. If he has a reason to keep moving then he will start having faith.”

“You know just as well as I do that the doctor said there was that chance that my leg would never move again,” Joel reminded Negan who continued to wait for Joel to try to move. Bracing himself, Joel started trying to pull himself up attempting to pull his leg with him to use it as a brace. “Negan, give me the damn cane.”

“Come take it from me,” Negan held it out for Joel watching Joel’s face scrunch up in frustration. Joel’s face was turning red while he tried using his arm strength to pull himself up, but ultimately Joel just fell back on the ground in defeat. After giving up, Nolan had obviously spotted him on the ground when he was passing the front door and Negan’s son stepped out on the porch with a sense of worry flooding his features.

“Dad?” Nolan muttered from the stairs seeing that Joel moved his arm that was resting over his eyes to see the worried expression over Nolan’s features. “Do you need help?”

“Shit,” Joel let out a saddened breath knowing that having his son seeing him fail was not something that he wanted Nolan to see. “I just needed a breather, Nolan. I’ll be okay.”

“I can come help you,” Nolan stepped down the steps, his concerned eyes gazing over Joel. Joel looked conflicted now that he had both Nolan and Y/N watching him ultimately be a failure and not being able to help himself. “I know you can do this, but I know that it also has to hurt. So I understand if you can’t.”

Joel gave Negan one final glare before grabbing his injured leg to place it a certain way before groaning out pushing himself up onto one knee. Using his strength, Joel shakily stammered to his feet, falling forward only to be caught by Negan who gave him a proud smile, “See, I told you that you could get up.”

“That hurt like hell,” Joel whispered trying to grimace through the pain when he reached for the cane that was in Negan’s hand. Bopping Negan on the head with the cane he heard Negan huff out when Joel limped over toward Nolan. “I’m sorry buddy.”

“He really just hit me with his cane like a ninety-year-old man,” Negan pointed out with a surprised expression when Y/N moved in beside him. Nolan was helping Joel toward the steps of the porch to get him to sit down.

“Probably the best use he’s found with that cane,” Y/N declared with a frown when she reached out to stroke her hands in over the center of Negan’s chest. “You kind of deserved worse than that. That was quite malicious what you had done.”

“He was able to get up, wasn’t he?” Negan whispered, pulling her in closer to him so he could wrap her up in his arms. Negan nuzzled his nose in against the side of Y/N’s neck before lifting his stare to see that Nolan was hugging Joel who seemed lost inside of himself. “He needs to be persuaded the hard way to fix himself Y/N. A lot of what is going on with him is mental.”

“What does that mean?” Y/N lifted her head to look up at him with a worried stare.

“It means…” Negan knew that Joel told him everything about what happened with those in The Empty that Joel killed, but Joel never told Y/N about it. There was no way that he could just blurt it out to Y/N because that wasn’t his place to tell anyone what Joel told him in confidence. “He just thinks a lot about what happened when The Empty took him. He needs to think about his family. Family is the one thing that persuades Joel to do things. You saw how he reacted when Nolan came out. He did it for him. Joel needs family to help him get strong. It was an asshole thing for me to do and I know that, but it worked. The power of persuasion when it comes to things you love is really big.”

Looking over her shoulder, Y/N saw the way Joel was cuddling Nolan in close to him and it was visible that Joel was emotional about what he had just done, but she didn’t know if what Negan had just done actually helped him or not.

----

“Hey you,” Y/N moved into the bedroom after Joel had asked Negan for help going up the stairs to rest for a while. Joel was laid out at the center of the bed, his arms folded behind his head while he stared up at the ceiling. It was obvious that he was deep in thought. When he heard her, his head lowered and his green-hazel eyes met hers. “You okay?”

“Where are Negan and the kids?” Joel used his arm strength to pull himself up into a seated position on the bed, pressing his back against the headboard.

“Negan is doing some work around the farm and they wanted to help him,” she informed Joel, closing the door behind her and heading over toward the bed to sit beside Joel. It was the first time she had really gotten to have some alone time with Joel in quite some time so she took it. Negan asked if she wanted to help with the farm work, but her mind was on Joel and how he had been feeling lately. “You didn’t answer me.”

“I’m here,” Joel responded with a sigh, shrugging with his answer. “I’m kind of a mess.”

“You’re my favorite mess,” she reached out to brush her fingers into Joel’s short hair, letting out an amused breath that made him tip his head to the side. “I miss your longer hair.”

“You actually liked that side sweep, huh?” Joel lifted his hand up to wrap his fingers loosely around Y/N’s wrist, caressing the pad of his thumb over her pulse point. “I’ll try and let it grow out. I just didn’t like the cut that Negan gave me. Him and I are completely different sizes, but people were always calling me Negan because of the hair. I’m okay with him and Nolan having the same haircut, but it just feels weird with me having it. It was an edgy cut and I’ve never been…like that. Negan and I are very different…”

“No shit…” she breathed out with a wink making Joel laugh before sighing and hooking his fingers with hers. “Are you okay with Negan doing physical therapy with you? I realize he’s a bit of a brute and things would probably be better if the doctors were actually making time for you instead.”

“Negan is perfect, he just gets on my nerves and that’s probably a good thing,” Joel informed her with a simple shake of his head. Joel knew that Y/N was nervous about how things were and he didn’t blame her, but he couldn’t help getting angry with Negan sometimes just because he wasn’t used to that kind of behavior. Joel knew Negan was good for him though. “I need someone to give me shit and give me a hard time. Not someone who is going to baby me. Someone who coddles me isn’t going to help me. Negan understands that, which is why he is perfect. He wants me better. I know that. I just get grumpy sometimes, especially when I’m in pain.”

“Oh, you get grumpy sometimes?” she teased him with a mischievous smile that made Joel roll his eyes and snicker. “I wouldn’t know that. It’s not like I’ve been married to you for over twelve years or anything.”

“Oh hush,” Joel waved his free hand about. “I agree that some of Negan’s choices are questionable, but they are effective.”

“Lay down,” she instructed making Joel tip his head to the side and she spun her finger in the air multiple times. “You listen to Negan, now listen to me. I’m going to give you a massage. I think you deserve it after everything you’ve gone through today.”

“Oh, well then I’m okay with that,” Joel declared sliding down in the bed, letting out an awkward breath when she crawled in over him. Swallowing down hard, Joel’s lips parted and he let out a sigh when she started rubbing his shoulders. There was definitely some pain in the shoulder he had been shot in, but he assumed it would be sore for a majority of his life. “You know, I didn’t think you would be mounting me in order to give me a massage.”

“Typical male,” she rolled her eyes while caressing down over the center of his chest before back toward his shoulders again. It made Joel’s eyebrows bounce up and he looked down between them to see that her hips were hovering over his. “Turn off the horny for a minute.”

“Right…like you didn’t know that crawling in over me like this wouldn’t get my mind thinking things,” Joel snorted, his eyebrow arching in curiosity while her caress slid down over his abdomen. A frown tugged at his lips when she adjusted her positioning so she was no longer over him and she was caressing over his injured leg. “That was rude.”

“I was actually just trying to make you feel better,” her nose wrinkled and she smirked while she caressed over his body trying to work out the tight muscles. “I think he’s working you too hard.”

“Sometimes I think he should work me harder because I need to progress better. It’s been a few months, I should be better off than this. If I don’t start to get some feeling in my leg, there is a strong chance that I may never get it back. I don’t want that,” Joel acknowledged with a wince when she slid her fingers further up over toward his hip making him smirk. “That’s where I was stabbed and I do feel that.”

“I’m sorry,” she pulled back, pushing at the material of his sweatpants that he was wearing to look at the healing flesh that was there from where he had been stabbed. At this point it was mostly just a scar, but she could imagine that it was definitely sensitive for him. “It looks okay.”

“I’m scarred to high hell,” Joel frowned knowing that he had already had that major scar on his abdomen and back from before, but now he was covered in them. “Might as well just label me as Scar because I probably have more than anyone here.”

“And you’re still incredibly sexy,” she hushed him continuing to rub down over his injured leg. After a while, she started to notice that there was a tent at the center of Joel’s sweatpants and her eyes lifted to his. “Are you sure you don’t feel anything?”

“I don’t,” Joel was honest, his chest rising and falling heavily when he saw that her eyes were focused over the center of his pants. “Yeah, we found out that my dick still works and I’m really sorry, but I see you caressing my leg like that after you were just mounting me…the blood just started flowing there. I’m sorry. I might not be feeling you touching my leg, but my mind is thinking…things and I’m so sorry dear. I’m a man and I’ve not really had a lot of sex in the last few months. Not that that’s a good excuse.”

“No, please don’t say I’m sorry. I’m glad that I can still, well…” she smirked continuing to caress over Joel’s thigh making him grumble and cover his eyes. “I’m glad that I can still make you hard. The two of us haven’t slept together since that night at the apartments. So I wasn’t sure if I could still make you get an erection.”

“Obviously,” Joel chuckled pulling his hands away from his eyes, raising up on his elbows. The facial expression he had made it seem like he thought she was insane for even thinking that he wouldn’t be turned on by her. “The day before I got hurt you rode the hell out of me. I mean, that was some of the best sex I’ve had in a very long time. You took control, you knew what you wanted and shit it was incredible. Why wouldn’t you get me hard?”

“I don’t know, I have bad self-esteem sometimes,” she shrugged, caressing her hands up and over Joel’s hips making him suck in a sharp breath. It had been an exceedingly long time since she had slept with either Negan or Joel. They were all just so busy that by the end of the day they were all so exhausted and they just crashed once they finally had alone time. “You know me.”

“I do know you. You are the sexiest woman I have ever known, you should never feel bad about yourself. You are the best mother, the biggest badass and so beautiful,” Joel growled noticing the way that her fingertips slid in underneath the waistband of his sweatpants to caress at the flesh that was right beneath it. “I guess I should be happy that part of me still works. I was worried at first that I wouldn’t be able to feel things or get it up.”

“Sit up,” she ordered Joel and without question he did what she asked of him. Reaching for the t-shirt that he was wearing, she pulled it up his body and tossed it aside on the floor. Placing her hand at the center of his chest, she urged him to lean back against the bed. Joel’s breathing grew louder while she palmed down over the center of his chest and over his lower abdomen. Joel’s eyebrow arched when she focused on the scars that were left over his chiseled form.

“You feel bad for me when you see my scars,” Joel pointed out with a loud swallow knowing that he was still self-conscious about them. “I’ve lost some of my muscle definition and now I’m covered in scars. You and Negan always loved my chest and my arms.”

“I love every part of you,” she hushed him, lowering down to kiss over the scars that were left over his flesh. Taking her time, she could feel Joel caressing over her shoulders and it made her smile. “You act like you’ve got a dad bod and you don’t. If anything, your chest and arms are still exceedingly nice because you are bracing the entirety of your strength on them. But even if you had a bit of a belly, which you don’t, I would still find you crazy sexy.”

“You’re too good to me,” Joel lifted his fingers, to caress over her jawline when taking in a sharp breath.

“And you’re too good for me, yet…here we are,” she dragged her fingers through the dark hair covering his torso. Getting on her knees, she hovered over him for a moment before depositing a kiss over his lips making him hum in the moment. The placement of her kisses lowered from his lips, down over his jawline following the lengths of his body down over the center of his chest and toward his lower abdomen. Wet kisses continued at the waistband of his sweatpants before she reached for the top of his pants. Covering his hips with faint, tender kisses had him taking in a sharp breath before moaning out.

“Y/N, you don’t have to feel empathy for me you know,” Joel noticed the way she was pampering the certain areas of his torso that would make him a shuddering mess.

“I don’t,” she breathed hearing Joel chuckle when she said it so blatantly like that. Lifting her head, a wicked smirk was pressed in over her features as she shrugged her shoulders. “What I mean is that I’m more so turned on by the idea of you getting a hard on over this. It has nothing to do with empathy.”

“Oh, I see,” Joel nodded, his head tipping back when he laughed and he felt her tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants making him groan when the warmth of her fingers wrapped around his solid length. “I think you and Negan just like the idea of taking advantage of a disabled man.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” she teased him placing soft kisses over his rigid manhood making Joel’s brow line crease. Licking his lips, Joel reached out with his hand to stroke over the side of Y/N’s face. “It does have a certain appeal to it.”

“The two of you are crazy,” Joel breathed letting out a sigh when she wrapped her fingers around his shaft and brought him to her lips. When she parted her wet lips and took him in her mouth, Joel let out a moan and did his best to keep his eyes focused on her. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to get better between you and Negan. Not that I’m going to want to if the two of you are going to keep pampering me like this.”

Joel let out an immediate groan when he felt her taking him back in her throat. The motion had his hips arching up toward her involuntarily and a wet sound filled the air. Looking down, he enjoyed the sight of his wife pleasuring him and bit down on his bottom lip. It felt like both Negan and Y/N were out to pamper him and he didn’t know if it was because they felt bad for him, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“Y/N,” Joel panted lifting up on his elbows while he watched her pleasuring him. Closing his eyes, Joel felt his jaw tensing up and he shook his head. “Stop, stop.”

“What’s wrong?” she pulled her mouth from his body with a wet sound watching the way that he pulled himself up against the headboard again.

“Take your pants off,” Joel instructed seeing her smirk before getting up from the bed. Joel cleared his throat when he watched her head over to the door to lock it. Joel felt his heart skip a beat when she stripped off her pants and her panties before crawling in over him. “I wish we had more interesting positions we could do here, but I’m kind of limited at the moment.”

“You know I like being in control,” she hushed him, letting out a tense sound when Joel reached for her shirt and tugged it up over the lengths of her body when she lowered her hips in closer to him.

“Oh, I’m very aware,” Joel slurred, his eyebrows bouncing up when she reached between the two of them to lead him into her making them both release a moan when he entered her. Taking some time to lower herself down over him, she got used to the feeling again while she felt Joel’s hands caressing up and over the sides of her body. Fumbling with the back of her bra, Joel had some issues getting her bra open making her laugh. “I’m trying here…”

“Right,” she started confidently moving her hips over his, meeting his lips in a fervent kiss. Joel finally got the material pulled apart before pulling it from her arms to toss it beside the bed.

“Fuck,” Joel buried his nose against the side of Y/N’s neck while she rolled her hips over his body causing desperate moans to fall from his throat. “I hate to say this…but being injured hasn’t been that bad. I mean, it’s bad, but I’ve like some of the benefits.”

“What?” she chuckled with a chill flooding her spine when Joel’s fingers dug firmly into her hips. “Why would you say something like that?”

“You and Negan have been pampering the fuck out of me and this whole being controlled thing? I’m all for it,” Joel nipped a the side of her neck, moaning loudly when she used his body in a way that made her feel good. “It makes me not want to get better.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she purred, tugging at his hair making him growl out. Joel’s right arm slid firmly around her waist, helping her movements over his manhood before his head dropped down to kiss over the side of her neck, toward her collarbone and down between the valley of her breasts. The pampered kisses had her tipping her head back while she continued to roll her hips over his enjoying the way that he felt inside of her. A whimper escaped her throat when she felt his tongue lapping at her nipple before suckling tenderly at it. Sliding his left hand up her body, he cupped her breast in his palm making her wince. “Jesus Joel!”

“What’d I do?” Joel jumped, his head pulling back and away when he saw her reaching for her breast to touch it. “What is it?”

“It’s just…tender,” she explained, blowing it off watching his hands settle at her hips. Joel’s eyes were staring at her breasts, his lips parted while he looked her over. After a while, she noticed the way he was looking at her. “What?”

“Are you pregnant?” Joel blurt out making Y/N let out an offended sound and immediately he regretted asking it. “Oh, I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

“Am I looking fat?” she questioned making Joel shake his head. It seemed like he was at a loss for words, trying to not offend her, but he couldn’t help letting out an anxious laugh. “Why would you even ask me that?”

“Well…” Joel felt her movements stop over him and he groaned out, dropping his head back against the headboard. “Please…please don’t stop.”

“Joel!” she hit at the center of his chest hearing him groan, biting into his bottom lip while she stayed stagnant over him.

“Negan said you’ve been feeling dizzy, you’re nauseous, your breasts are tender…I’ve been with you every time you’ve been pregnant,” Joel suggested, gazing over her breasts and offering up a wicked smirk. “And your breasts look…bigger. Not that they aren’t looking incredible all the time because they do, but…”

“I’m not pregnant Joel,” she snorted watching Joel throw his hands up in the air almost in a defensive position. “I’m not.”

“Okay, I was wrong. I’m sorry,” Joel apologized, caressing in over the side of her neck leaning up to kiss her over and over again. It drew her to wrap her arms around his shoulders so she had some advantage in the power of her movements over him. When things felt good, she would add more strength to her movements making Joel moan out. Digging her fingers into his hair, she felt her own heart racing while she worked to bring the both of them to an orgasm. “I love you so much.”

While having Joel hold her in his arms, she knew that she was breathless while she tried to think about what he had mentioned. Trying to recall the last time she had her period, she really couldn’t think about it. She had been so focused on the town and everything happening that she wasn’t really thinking about her period. Then again, it wouldn’t have been the first time that she had gone a few months without having her period. It’s just since Arcadia had been properly established, she had noticed she was pretty regular.

Kissing at the side of Joel’s neck, she stroked her fingers through Joel’s short beard and took her time to gather herself. There was no way that she would have been pregnant. The last time she had sex was months ago with Negan and Joel. She’d be bigger than this by now. Right?

----

After Joel had fallen asleep, Y/N had headed back downstairs where she knew that Negan was with the children. The sounds of giggling was heard making her head toward the office to stand at the partially opened doorway. Leaning against the door frame, she watched Negan read a story to both Lucy and Nolan who were cuddled up with him. Negan was reading to them in silly voices making them both laugh at his antics which brought her extreme amounts of happiness.

Watching them together made her think about what Joel had asked her earlier. It made her think back on how she didn’t want to have another child because worrying about Nolan and Lucy was more than enough for her. When Negan kept pushing for them to have another child, she wasn’t very pro that decision because she thought having one son and one daughter was more than enough. So what if she was pregnant? Right now really wasn’t the time for that. Joel and Negan were both great fathers, but Joel was injured and could barely move on his own without his cane.

There was so much going on. The Empty was still out there. Joel was trying to get better. She was in charge of the community. A pregnancy just wasn’t in the playing cards right now, so she hoped that maybe it was a thought of Joel’s that may have just been brought about by him maybe not realizing his own power in the way that he touched her breast. At least, that was the most she could hope for.

As Negan finished up with the story, Lucy cuddled in closer beside Negan and looked up at him, “You should read us another story.”

“It’s bedtime Sunshine,” Negan closed up the book and set it down in his lap before curling his arms around both Nolan and Lucy’s shoulder to bring them in for a big group hug. “We have a busy day tomorrow. I promise I will read another story to you tomorrow.”

“Dad, come on,” Nolan tried to push his father for another story making Negan let out a long exhale.

“Just read them another one, you know they are going to sucker you into it,” Y/N muttered surprising the three of them that she was there watching them. Negan smirked and pointed over toward the shelves of the books that Joel had collected in his time being at Arcadia. “You’re a sucker. I hope you know that.”

“Runs in the family,” Negan joked watching Y/N head over toward the shelves to look for a certain book. When she found it, she handed it over to Negan watching the way he eyed over the book.

“This was Nolan’s favorite when he was Lucy’s age. You don’t mind if Negan reads this one, do you?” Y/N questioned her son and immediately Nolan shook his head. Sitting beside Nolan, she pulled him into her arms and heard her son laughing when she kissed at the side of his face. “I love you so much. You know that?”

“I love you too mom,” Nolan got comfortable in her arms allowing her to hold onto him while they all got comfortable on the couch together. It wasn’t a short story and Y/N knew that, but she wanted to spend some time with her family. The last few months were so busy that she didn’t really feel like she had a lot of down time with her children. So this was something that she was going to enjoy.

It was already late into the night, so by the time that they were done, Lucy had fallen asleep against Negan’s chest and Nolan was still awake, but just barely. Negan finished with the book and set it aside on the couch.

“You want to take the little one and I’ll get the big guy?” Negan looked down at Lucy, caressing over her shoulders with a smile.

“Deal,” Y/N gave a wink, carefully standing up before picking Lucy up in her arms. Lucy wrapped her arms around Y/N’s shoulders. Lucy’s tired eyes opened and she waved with a yawn.

“Goodnight Ne…daddy,” Lucy had to correct herself making Negan smile that she was trying so hard to remember to call him dad now. He told her that she didn’t have to, but she kept at it. “Goodnight Nolan.”

“Goodnight Lucy,” Nolan waved to his little sister, laughing when he felt Negan picking him up and throwing him over his shoulder. Nolan’s laughter filled the air when Negan spun him around. Clutching to his father tightly, he heard Negan snickering as well before carrying Nolan up the stairs like this. “You’re not going to drop me, are you?”

“Of course not,” Negan stammered following Y/N up the stairs keeping a strong hold of Nolan. “Dang kiddo. You are super fucking tall and you’re just twelve. You’re going to be taller than me when you’re fully grown.”

“Dad,” Nolan gasped when Negan pulled him forward to hold Nolan in his arms making Negan smile. “I’m never going to forgive you if you drop me.”

“I would never drop you,” Negan assure his son heading toward Nolan’s bedroom to carefully lower Nolan into his bed. With a wink, Negan reached for Nolan’s covers to start pulling them up and over his son’s body. “I love you kiddo. See, no dropping.”

“One day, I’m going to carry you like that. I hope you know that,” Nolan pushed Negan in the chest playfully before Negan lowered down to press a kiss over Nolan’s forehead.

“I have no doubts about that. You’re going to be a strong little man,” Negan gave his son a wink before rubbing his fingers through his son’s matching haircut. Tipping his head to the side, Negan couldn’t help but find himself happy while he stared down at his son. “Get some sleep. I need your help around the farm tomorrow.”

“You got it,” Nolan offered up a big smile to his father before looking to his bedroom door to see that Y/N was standing there waiting for Negan. “Goodnight mom.”

“Goodnight baby,” Y/N moved into the room to lower down to press a kiss over Nolan’s forehead making Nolan smile happily. “You’re always going to be my baby, no matter how big you get. You know that, right?”

“Of course,” Nolan reached up to place his hand in over Y/N’s seeing the way that she was staring down at him. “What is it?”

“Nothing, I just really love you,” Y/N muttered with a whisper, stroking her fingers through Nolan’s hair. “You and your sister mean everything to me.”

“We know that,” Nolan insisted with a nod of his head, reaching for the teddy bear that was his that he still kept with him in bed. “I love you and both of my dads very much.”

“We know you do buddy,” Negan assured his son with a sigh, getting up from the bed and heading for the door. Y/N gave Nolan another kiss on the head before heading for the door. Negan smiled, waving to Nolan who waved back and cuddled into his bed. “Goodnight little man.”

When they closed the door, Negan and Y/N stood in the hallway. It was silent, Negan’s hazel eyes staring into hers when he looked over toward their bedroom, “How is Joel?”

“He’s in better spirits,” she didn’t exactly want to elaborate what that meant considering what went down between them. “I told him I thought you were being too hard on him, but he thinks you’re the best possible physical therapist he can get. He doesn’t want to have someone who is going to baby him. He thinks your way of doing things actually helps him more than anyone else could.”

“Ah, see, I know how to work with him,” Negan smirked, reaching up to stroke at the back of his neck letting out a long sigh. “It took a while to figure it out but getting him angry is the best way to make him do things. Either that or using his family. I really do think sometimes it’s more so a lock in his mind. Sometimes I notice him moving even if it’s not much. We’ve been working a lot together and it’s not me just being hopeful.”

“I wish that was true,” she looked toward the door with a worried expression. “Negan, what’s going on with him?”

“I…” Negan swallowed down hard, motioning her to follow him down the stairs again. When they headed to the office, he picked up the book he had left on the couch and returned it to its former position. Y/N took a seat on the couch and waited for Negan to say something, but when he turned to face her, he folded his arms out in front of his chest. “I can’t tell you.”

“What do you mean that you can’t tell me?” she tipped her head to the side, stroking down over the side of her face. “Joel is my husband you know. He was for over twelve years.”

“And he’s been my husband for about a half a year, I understand that you have that over me, but if you tell me something in confidence, I wouldn’t tell his ass either,” Negan explained, throwing his right hand up in the air. It was clear that he was conflicted with what he wanted to say to her, but ultimately, he sighed. “Just…some dark shit happened when he was taken by The Empty and it really bothers him. I think it’s blocking him from healing.”

“Are you suddenly a priest? He told you something in confidence?” she repeated what he said making Negan snort. “That’s not the Negan that I know.”

“The Negan you knew is not the same man that stands before you,” Negan insisted with a firm shake of his head. “I know I was a certain way for a long time, but I’m trying to be better. For you, for Joel…for the kids. I want to be the best version of me that I can be.”

“God, I want to be mad at you and then you go and say shit like that,” she sighed, lowering her head to bury her head into her hands. Negan sighed and headed to sit down beside her on the couch to caress over her shoulders in a supportive sweep. “I’m just really worried about him Negan. I don’t know what to do to help him.”

“Leave that bit to me,” Negan whispered, resting his head in against her shoulder while he took his time to caress over her back. “You both are so stressed. When all you really need to realize right now is that we are here. We are together. Family is the thing that keeps us all fighting. We need to cherish every moment of that.”

Lifting her head, Y/N’s eyes searched Negan’s before she swiftly move forward to wrap her fingers around the back of Negan’s neck to pull him into a kiss. It surprised Negan at first, but he eagerly kissed her back, his tongue brushing between her lips making her whimper. Gasping out, she felt Negan reaching for her leg to pull her in over his lap. Caressing up and over the sides of her body, Negan dropped his head back against the couch and cleared his throat.

“What was that for?” Negan’s fingers pushed underneath her shirt to stroke at her flesh at her lower back.

“I’m just very emotional lately,” she explained with a frown, cupping his face in her hands while stroking her thumbs over the sides of his face. “There is a lot going on and my brain is just…”

“It’s okay to get emotional sometimes,” Negan whispered, lifting up enough to press faint kisses all over her face before finally meeting her lips in another passionate kiss that took her breath away. “You’ve gone through a lot and I don’t think you’ve even had time to register. We found Joel and you had to just go straight into working again. You never take a break.”

“I’d be lost without you,” she whispered, dragging her thumb out over Negan’s bottom lip and he kissed at the pad of it. “I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here. I don’t think I could have been the leader and taken care of Joel at the same time. You don’t think he is upset with me for not having a lot of time to be with him, do you?”

“If anything, I think he feels bad that the weight of everything has fallen on your shoulders. He loves you so very much,” Negan informed her, dragging his thumb over her jawline making her lean into his touch. Lifting up, he pressed wet kisses down over the side of her neck and growled against her flesh. “We both do, you have to know that.”

“I slept with Joel today,” she blurt out making Negan snort and chuckle against the side of her neck making chills run down her spine. Pulling back, Negan’s thick eyebrows arched up and he shrugged. “I just thought I should tell you.”

“Good, do you want to sleep with me today too?” Negan offered making her half laugh before looking down between them. “Did you think I would get upset if you slept with Joel…or…? We’re all together. I want you two to still be as close as you were before I got here. But I don’t mind sleeping with you or him if you two already got it on earlier in the day.”

“I just don’t want to keep things from you,” she whispered watching Negan shrug his shoulders and let out another deep, raspy laugh.

“Thank you for telling me?” Negan bobbed his head about before adjusting her to lean her back against the couch. Reaching for her pants, he tugged them from her body and tossed them aside. “Just makes me hotter thinking about the two of you together. You never have to worry about that.”

“Negan,” she breathed out feeling him hooking his fingers into her panties to get them from her body as well before reaching for his belt to undo it. Licking her lips, she watched Negan pull down his zipper before opening his pants fully to reach inside to pull out his hard cock. Watching Negan stroke his fingers over his erection made her mouth go dry before letting out a nervous breath when Negan lowered in over her. Negan traced the tip of his length through her sensitive folds before leading his body to her entrance and pushing forward. A gasp fell from her throat before Negan’s lips claimed hers. This time Negan was in control of things and it was vastly different from what she had experienced with Joel, but she assumed that’s why Negan was doing it this way.

“Did you still like riding his hard cock?” Negan growled against her earlobe, taking his time to roll his hips against hers again and again. The soft smacks of their skin together filled the small office along with their faint moans. “Did he enjoy it?”

“He told me he never wants to get better if you and I keep pampering him like we do,” she informed Negan hearing him chuckle against the side of her neck. It made her shudder at the sensation before Negan started peppering kisses over her jawline. “Negan…”

Trying to silence her moans, she hooked her fingers into Negan’s hair and buried her head against the side of his neck knowing that she wasn’t very good at staying quiet. Pants filled the air and she could feel Negan slide his left hand up underneath her shirt, his large palm caressing in over her breast making her immediately wince.

“Fuck,” she hissed making Negan pull his hand back immediately, his eyes staring down at her wondering if he had done something to hurt her. After she had been so sensitive both times, she let out a long exhale and sighed. “Shit.”

“What’d I do?” Negan searched her eyes, his movements had stopped completely and he waited to make sure that everything was okay. “Y/N?”

“It’s nothing,” she pulled him down closer to her knowing that in her mind something was going on, but she didn’t want to throw it on him right now. “Just keep going.”

“Yes ma’am,” Negan agreed, lowering back in over her and taking his time to thrust over her. This was drawn out extensively and by the time they were done, they both were laying on the couch together with Negan having her wrapped up in his arms.

“I sometimes wonder if this whole thing happened because I was a bad person,” she informed Negan, drawing circles at his lower abdomen just under his navel from where his shirt was lifted up revealing his slender abdomen.

“Say what?” Negan grunted, his facial expression clearly confused when she lifted her head to look up at him.

“I don’t know Negan. I think sometimes my punishment for this was all of the shit we went through. I knew you were married when I was younger and I continued to see you. What we did to Lucille was awful. Maybe I deserved all the pain and suffering I went through,” she thought aloud making Negan immediately shake his head and let out a huff. “I was so hooked on the idea of you leaving Lucille for me because I loved you so fucking much that I never thought about how horrible I was actually being. Looking back on it now, I don’t blame Lucille for doing what she did to me. I was awful. If there is such a thing as the afterlife, Lucille deserves to knock me out with a right hook once I reach it.”

“To be fair, it’s all my fault that it was happening. I knew what I needed to do to keep you there,” Negan insisted with a grunt, his eyebrows showing an array of emotion while he tried to take in what she said. “Y/N, that’s all on me. You tried to leave me multiple times, but I always kept you there because I knew what to say and what to do. And even at that, this happened to the whole world Y/N. If this is your punishment, I’d say you lucked out. You got married to the nicest guy on the planet and he’s pretty fucking hot. You have two incredible fucking kids. You both are the leaders of this really nice community…”

“But I’ve almost lost Joel twice and to get to this point was rough. You and I were separated for twelve years Negan. I thought you were dead that whole time,” she lifted up to stroke down over the side of his face. “I loved you so much when I was younger, I would have done anything to be with you.”

“And you’re with me. And we have a beautiful son,” Negan hushed her, curling his finger in underneath her jaw and caressing tenderly over her flesh. “You are right here with me. Nothing is taking me away from you anytime soon. I’ve been trying to spend every day of my life making up on the missed time. That’s why I do what I do with you, Joel and the kids. I want to be there for you. And same with Ghost. He's around here somewhere just lounging around. I missed out on so much and I don’t want to regret the past or think about what could be. I like what we have right here and right now. Joel is still alive. You’re alive. I’m alive. We need to focus on that and be happy. We found our own little miracle in each other. And I’m not letting go of that.”

“I love you so much,” she whispered meeting his lips in a loving sweep. When she pulled away, she couldn’t help but feel her heart racing.

“I love you too,” Negan declared with a big smile and a wink before hearing the door creaking making Negan lift his head when he saw Ghost walking into the room to check in on them. It made Negan thankful that they had pulled their clothes back on. “There is the little man.”

Reaching out to stroke over Ghost’s ears, Negan couldn’t help but smile with the way their dog enjoyed the petting he was getting. After a few minutes, Ghost groaned and lowered down to the ground to get comfortable by the couch with them, “Ghost and I have the same attitude. We’re old, we’re tired and we love our family.”

“Negan,” she looked down at the dog they had gotten together, reaching her hand down to pet over Ghost’s fur. “You’re right about a lot of things you know. We’re lucky to be here. And family is the thing that makes Joel fight. I have a feeling he’s going to have a boost for that soon.”

----

“See, you made a lot of progress today,” Negan helped get Joel to the kitchen table once they had done Joel’s exercises outside. “And we didn’t even have to kick the cane out from you. You did it all on your own.”

“Thanks for not doing that,” Joel rest his cane against the table with a half-smile, accepting the glass of water that Negan brought to him. After they started to get comfortable at the table, they heard the sound of the front door opening.

“Hey?” Y/N called out making Negan look back over his shoulder. “Anyone home?”

“In the kitchen,” Negan hollered out hearing her swiftly moving through the house. When she realized it was just the two of them, she tipped her head to the side. “They are doing their homework upstairs because I promised them if they did, we would go get ice cream tonight and camp outside again.”

“What’s wrong?” Joel noticed the way that Y/N was breathing heavily. There was some color in her cheeks and he shifted forward in the chair that he was in. “Y/N?”

“I think this is something that you both need to hear,” Y/N began seeing the way that Joel stared out at her with big eyes. “I know it’s horrible timing. I know it’s wrong to have this happen now, but…”

“But?” Joel pulled himself up with a groan and wrapped his fingers firmly around the cane that helped to keep him balanced. “You’re making me nervous darlin’.”

“I’m pregnant,” she stammered making the glass that was in Negan’s hand drop to the ground and shatter. A moment later Negan was picking her up in his arms and spinning her around making her laugh. That was a pretty immediate reaction that had impressed Y/N. She knew this was everything that Negan had wanted and he proved that in his response. “You might want to be careful with that. I’m very nauseated right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Negan set her down on her feet and cupped her face in his hands. Negan let out a happy sound and Y/N turned her head to see Joel limping across the room to her. Pulling from Negan she headed over to Joel feeling his arm hooking around her shoulders to pull her into a hug and bury his nose against the side of her neck when he hugged her. “When did you find out?”

“Well I wasn’t feeling very good,” she answered noticing that Joel was holding her longer than normal, but she knew it was a special moment as she stroked her fingers through his hair. “I threw up a few times and just thought it was from the stress, but the other day when I was with Joel and he touched my breast, it hurt like hell. Originally, I thought it was Joel just unaware of his strength because he was injured, but he mentioned that he thought I was pregnant. I blew it off because I didn’t…I didn’t think things were good for that right now. But then when you touched my breast later in the day, it was still incredibly sensitive and that’s when I knew that Joel was right when you put things together.”

“See, sometimes I know what I’m talking about,” Joel grunted against the side of her neck, pressing a quick kiss there before pulling back enough to look her over. “Next time, don’t think I’m trying to call you fat or anything like that.”

“You thought she was pregnant and you didn’t say anything?” Negan grumbled making Joel’s face twist with confusion. “I thought she was pregnant, but I kept my mouth shut because I didn’t want to assume things.”

“Well congratulations you were both right,” she tossed her hands up in the air, seeing the way that Joel leaned against the edge of the table to help balance himself before reaching for her hand.

“How far along?” Joel’s deep, raspy southern drawl questioned, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand. Negan moved forward and reached for her other hand making her let out a nervous breath.

“I think we all know the answer to that. It has to be from the week that everything fell to shit. The other day is the first time I slept with you both since then,” Y/N announced, sliding her palm in over her stomach making the both of them nod. “The doc is going to get the ultrasound up and running. We’re going to be able to see it soon. I thought I would be bigger by now since that was months ago, but the doctor told me this is normal, so I guess…he thinks everything is okay right now.”

“Well then you definitely don’t know who the father is because you slept with Joel and I within a twenty-four-hour time-span,” Negan concluded making her nod slowly as he let out a tense breath.

“We weren’t going to care who the father was if she ended up getting pregnant,” Joel reminded Negan of what they had said previously, his green-hazel eyes locked on his lover when Negan mentioned it. “Remember? As long as she was pregnant the both of us would act accordingly. We are both the father. It doesn’t matter who the biological father is.”

“Of course it doesn’t matter,” Negan took a minute to agree with Joel, a half smirk pressing in over his features when Joel wrapped his arm around Y/N’s shoulders to give her a hug again before allowing her to go to Negan. Negan’s thick eyebrows bounced up when he reached out to caress the back of his palm over her abdomen. “I can’t believe I finally get to be here for this…”

“We’re going to have to figure some stuff out here because this is going to be hard,” she spoke up enough to get Negan’s attention. “Having a baby isn’t easy. Especially with everything that has been going on. It’s going to be hard. We have to tell the kids and it’s going to take a shit load of planning. I hope you know that.”

“I’m ready,” Negan nodded his head, visibly the most excited of the three of them. “I’ll do whatever I have to make this whole thing work because I’ve never wanted something more than this in my whole life.”

#Jeffrey Dean Morgan #Negan #The Walking Dead #negan x reader #negan fanfiction #twd fanfiction

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