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yandere-daydreams · 3 months

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file #2: the amputation fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!gojo satoru x reader (jjk).

length: 2.9k.

warnings: non/con, amputation, unhealthy relationships, abusive relationships, obsessive behavior, amputation (no injury to reader in fic), handjobs, masturbation, and unbalanced power dynamics.

“Babydoll? You wanna let me in?”

A beat of silence, a light knock. You stayed where you were, crumpled on the bathroom floor, and Satoru sighed.

“C’mon, angel. I can’t help from all the way out here.”

You clenched your bloody arm closer, pulling your knees up to your chest. An orange-tinted, half-emptied pill container sat lidless and on its side next to you. Shoko’s pills took care of the worst of the pain, but a steady, persistent throbbing had lodged itself in the knob that used to be your wrist and refused to let-up. It probably wouldn’t for the next hour, if not the next day.

“I can’t take you to see Shoko if you keep me locked out.”

At that, you relented, uncurling with from your self-made bundle. It took a second to shift yourself onto your knees, another to find the doorknob with your remaining hand, but Satoru himself in as soon as the lock clicked out of place. Thankfully, mercifully, he gave you time to skitter back to your corner before crossing the threshold, but that didn’t stop you from withering as his eyes raked over you, as he evaluated the damage. Eventually, he collapsed against the adjacent wall and sunk to the floor, letting out a raspy groan before tossing you a familiar, crooked smile. You didn’t return it. “That mad at me, huh?” You didn’t respond, gaze dropping to your decimated hand – or, rather, the mangled stump that used to be your hand. His smile wavered, but didn’t fall away. “Yeah, no, I probably deserve that. Does it hurt?”

You didn’t indulge him with an answer. “Did you call Shoko?”

“On a mission,” he said with a slight shrug, a strong note of ‘what can you do?’ in his tone. Like this was some minor inconvenience, annoying but ultimately trivial. Like like you weren’t missing an essential part of yourself. “She said she’d swing by as soon as she’s done, but I’d give it another hour. I think she’ll kill me if I keep asking her to make house calls.”

Another beat of silence, another deafening failure to respond on your part. Finally, he turned to face you properly, leaning forward. “…can I?”

He always did this – paused like that, smiled like that, tried to make himself seem so gentle, so loving, so considerate. It might’ve been well-meaning, an attempt to let you know he was sorry without having to swallow enough of his pride to actually apologize, but all it ever seemed to make you feel was cold and alone, stuck in a shell of an apartment with a shell of a man. It was always the same. It was always going to be the fucking same.

And, like always, you relented, looking away as you nodded stiltedly. Satoru’s smile brightened as he closed the distance between you, his thigh pressing into yours as he settled against your side.

When you’d first gotten into a relationship with Gojo Satoru, you told yourself that if things ever so much as seemed like they might be going south, you were gone. You hadn’t known anything about cursed energy or sorcerer hierarchies or malevolent spirits, but you didn’t have to – even if you hadn’t watched him obliterate monsters the size of apartment buildings with a snap of his fingers, he still would’ve been the strongest person you’d ever met, a man capable of shattering bones with his bare hands and breaking open skulls with all the effort it would’ve taken you to swat a fly out of the air. He was dangerous to be around, even if you doubted Satoru could ever intentionally hurt another living, breathing person. He was rich, and pretty, and strong, and used to getting his way. You loved him, but you needed to be able to leave if it ever seemed like that love was going to put you in danger.

And you did leave. The first time you argued, the first time he lost control of his temper and you were left sobbing on the floor with nothing below your left knee, you’d gotten as far as you could as quickly as you could. It’d taken him a full week to track you down, another to convince you that one of his bizarre friends could heal you, and roughly half a minute of Satoru sobbing and clinging to your (newly restored) leg for you to forgive him, to write it off as an accident – just the kind of risk you took when you got into a relationship with someone who could deadlift armored tanks. The second, you’d stayed at a friend’s place for a few days before coming back on your own, as desperate for his miracle-cure as you were for the pet comforts that came with Satoru’s bottomless fortune. The fourth, you’d barricaded yourself in his bedroom for sixteen hours and only come out for Shoko, who’d muttered about your ‘wreck of a boyfriend’ as she rebuilt the three missing fingers on your right hand.

Now, on the ninth, you’d barely managed to keep him locked out of a bathroom for all of five minutes. It was embarrassing, more than anything. You wanted to be able to hate him, you wanted to be scared of him, but it was hard to be scared of someone you loved. Someone you loved as much as Satoru, especially.

You shook your head, dragging yourself out of your own spiraling thoughts. Your attention, instead, moved to Satoru – still slumped against the tiled wall, his head lulled back and his attention focused pointedly on the ceiling. You were dressed to go out, uncomfortable jeans and all, but Satoru looked like he just rolled out of bed – a plain white shirt pulled tight over his broad chest, a pair of pitch-black sweatpants falling low on his waist, the lights dim enough to mean his piercing blue eyes didn’t have to be locked behind tinted glass or thick fabric. That was what you’d been arguing about, even if it was hard to remember why it’d seemed like such a big deal. He had the day off, no class and no cursed spirits to slaughter, and wanted to waste his morning in bed, with you wrapped in his arms. You’d tried to tell him, as slowly and as tenderly as you could, that you couldn’t, that you had an important early-morning lecture, that you’d be back by the time he actually wanted to get up, but he’d whined and pouted and you’d lost your patience when he reminded you that you could ‘always drop out’. You tried to leave, and he tried to catch your hand, to make you stay for that much longer, and—

“Can I see it?” You were almost thankful to hear his voice, if only for the distraction. “Your hand, I mean. If you’re comfortable with showing me.”

You weren’t, but you were desperate not to sink back into your own head, either. Slowly, cautiously, you shuffled that much closer to him, folding your legs underneath you as you gingerly held out the arm you’d spent the better part of the last few minutes cradling. It made you sick to look at a part of your own body so violently distorted, so violently wrong, so you didn’t – keeping your focus trained on your knees as Satoru took up your shortened limb. His own healing abilities had taken care of the worst of the gore, but even with the open, gaping wound at the end of your arm closed, there was still a ring of bruising around your wrist, streaks of dried blood running down the length of your forearm, a raw quality to the skin where his hap-hazard repairs hadn’t quite taken. His touch was feather-light, skirting around the worst of the remaining damage and lingering near your elbow, then your bicep. Acknowledgement came in the form of a low whistle, an airy sigh. You tried not to let his casualness get to you. Sorcerers must’ve seen injuries like this all the time. This was the end of the world for you, but Satoru would be just fine. “I’m not going to let you lift a finger after this. You know that, right? I’ve gotta make sure my pretty baby’s still nice n’ spoiled, even when I go and fuck everything up.”

It wasn’t an apology, but it was as close as he’d ever get. You grit your teeth and nodded, taking a second to find your voice. Even with the delay, it came out as a croak; almost too low and too ragged to be coherent. “This can’t keep happening, ‘toru. I love you, but this can’t keep happening.”

“I know, baby, I know.” One of his hands remained wrapped around your arm while the other, unoccupied, fell between his open legs. “I don’t mean to. If I had it my way, nobody would be able to touch you, but…” A pause, a laugh. “I just get so stressed out when we start fighting, like that. All I can think about is someone hurting you when I’m not there to keep you safe, and I forget how delicate I’ve gotta be with you. It feels like I’m not in control of myself.”

Despite your better judgement, you felt a deep, churning well of guilt open up inside of you. It was your turn to sigh, now, to slump, to let your eyes fall shut. “I love you,” you repeated, like it was the only thing you knew how to say. “It’s just— It scares me, when you get like that. I know you’re just trying to be protective, but it hurts.”

You heard his breathing pick-up, his grip tighten ever so slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to feel. “I know, sweetheart. I’m just trying to take care of you.”

“You do take care of me, but—” You were cut off by a breathy swear, a throat groan. Momentarily, your fear and self-loathing gave way to irritation, a frown tugging at the corner of your lips as you opened your eyes and snapped towards Satoru. He was still focused on your arm – what was left of it, at least – but his gaze was glazed over, far away, and his hand was moving between his—

You put it together too quickly, the force of the realization leaving no time for numbing shock or dampening confusion. He was touching himself, grinding the heel of his palm into the base of his cock. You could see the outline of his shaft against the dark material – already half-hard, if not worse.

If you’d been able to feel anything, you might’ve felt sick.

Reflexively, you tried to pull away from him, but his hold on your arm only tightened, fingertips digging into your bicep as Satoru laughed, the sound strained and airy. “Sorry, sorry, my bad. I know you like a head’s up, but…” Now, he looked at you, but it was too late, too much, too sudden. All you could seem to think to do was gape back at him, unmoving and unthinking. “Guess it’s just what you do to me. I’ll try to make it quick – all you’ve gotta do is sit there and look pretty.”

It was a familiar line, a familiar excuse. You’d heard it a thousand times – mumbled into your neck as draped himself over you in the early hours of the morning, spouted off as he dragged you back to his car halfway through dinner at a restaurant you’d been looking forward to visiting for months – but it didn’t seem to make sense, this time, didn’t fit with the image of your missing hand hovering a few inches above your loving boyfriend’s erection. The dissonance only seemed to get worse, more dizzying as he shrugged the waistband of his sweats past his hips and down to his thighs, freeing his stiff cock. You’d been too generous, before; he was already hard, his tip flushed a dark pink and leaking thick beads of arousal. Again, you tried to get away, and again, he only pulled you closer, until your side was flush against his. There was a deep grunt, a hazy grin as he wrapped a fist around the shaft of his cock, his grip almost painfully tight. His eyes never left the dull stump on the end of your left arm, his raspy breathing soon turning to a deep, heady panting as you watched him pump his fist over his cock, his pace slow and methodical – a far cry from the spontaneous, erratic Satoru you were used to. A soft voice in the back of your mind, awful and treacherous, suggested that he might be trying to savor it, and a dozen more screamed loudly enough to drown it out.

“Satoru,” you said, nearly surprising yourself with how distant you sounded, how detached. You didn’t feel detached. If anything, you almost felt too grounded in the feeling of cool tile against your back, the heat of his body where it pressed into yours. “Please, stop.”

“I don’t really have a choice, babe.” He shot you a playful grin, and for a second, you could almost imagine hating him. “It’d go a lot faster if you helped me out, though.”

You didn’t answer, but he didn’t need you to. His hand was already groping for yours, already forcing your reluctant participation. The position was awkward, your body half-bent over his, but when you shifted, Satoru’s thumb dug into the bone of your wrist and instantly, you went still. This was bad. Not having control of your only remaining hand was bad. But having your only remaining hand taken away from you would be worse.

Satoru didn’t seem to see it that way. Sounds of aching pleasure bubbled past his lips shamelessly, turning the abruptly claustrophobic bathroom into an echo chamber of pitchy whines and raspy groans and the slick, wet clicks of his cock fucking into your balled fist. It was terrible – being able to feel how his cock pulsed against your palm, being forced to acknowledge the little, stilted movements of his hips whenever he decided your (admittedly lackluster) pace left something to be desired. In less than a minute, his head had lulled onto your shoulder, his voice muffled by the proximity as he struggled to speak in spite of his own unabashed moaning. “Love you so much,” he half-mumbled, half-panted. You could feel his breath against your shoulder, his drool starting to pool just above your collarbone. “W-wanna take care of you when you can’t take care of yourself, make sure nobody else ever gets to put their hands on you. I’d be good – cook for you, n’ shower with you, ‘n dress you up all nice n’ pretty,” He paused, nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “You… You wouldn’t hate me that much if we left it that way, right?”

You felt something drop into the pit of your stomach. “Satoru, you’re—”

“Please, baby.” It was the same tone he used when he was begging you to make a late-night snack run with him, or when he wanted to finish inside of you without protection. “Just—Just tell me that you’d let me take care of you. Just say that you’d still love me.”

It felt like your throat was swollen shut, your chest stuffed to bursting with shattered glass and razor blades and spiny needles only just beginning to poke through your skin. You didn’t want to say anything, you didn’t think you could say anything, and yet, when your mouth fell open, you found a voice that was not your own seeping out by means beyond your control. “It’s alright,” you muttered, distantly, as his cock throbbed in your hand. “I’d still love you, ‘toru.”

Although, you were starting to wish you wouldn’t.

You heard him groan, felt something thick and searing spill over the back of your hand. Satoru’s hand, cupped snuggly over yours, kept you moving until every last drop had been milked out of him, until the final ember of his climax had burnt itself out. He went limp against you, his vice-grip finally falling away, but rather than run, you only straightened, wiping your hand on your jeans before tucking it into your lap. How you looked didn’t matter, anymore. There couldn’t have been more than a few minutes left in your lecture, if you hadn’t already missed it entirely.

Silence interrupted only by panting breaths and the beating, drowning drum playing in your ears reigned over the confined space, keeping you in a state of bleary stasis until the sound of a sharp knock, shortly followed by a distant door opening broke through the fog. “That’s Shoko,” Satoru murmured, almost disappointed. He started to separate himself from you, only to relapse – burying his face in the crook of your neck and letting out a deep, contented sigh. “You know that I love you, right?”

“I know.”

“And you know that all I wanna do is keep you happy?”

“I know, ‘toru.”

“Good.” He pulled back, grinning. “’cause all I ever wanna do is take care of my angel. Don’t let anything ‘side from that get into your pretty little head.”

You only nodded as he pushed himself to his feet, as he slipped out of the bathroom to meet Shoko, to explain what vital part of yourself he’d torn away this time. You wanted to get up, to wash the cum off of your hand, to pump feeling back into your numb legs, but your remaining limbs were uncooperative, heavy and awkward and useless. It was all you could do to pull your knees up to your chest, wrap your arms around your legs, and hold yourself as you started to cry.

At least, next time Satoru decided to tear you apart, you might not find it so hard to hate him for it.

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beardedjoel · 6 months

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smother - part i: deliverance

dark!joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | kofi

summary: starving. lost. desperate. you find a cabin in the woods, and to your dismay, it's occupied. a plan to have a quick bite of food with an intense, intriguing stranger turns into more than you'd bargained for when he makes you realize everything you've been missing out on. 8.6k words chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI! noncon, nonconsensual touching, dubcon - reader eventually enthusiastically consents but the syndrome is stockholming so its dubcon, reader is a virgin, big juicy age gap (reader is 19, joel is 55) manipulation/lying/gaslighting, slow burn and tension building chapter, joel is kind of a creepy menace ngl a/n: i'm so so very excited to share the first chapter of my new series! (if this flops after how much i got hyped for it i will be logging off forever) the themes in this story are dark so if the tags aren’t for you it’s understandable & just keep scrollin on by! this will end up being nasty and smutty, but only after a wee bit of buildup so don't fear. comments and reblogs are always beyond appreciated!

Save me. Please, anyone…

Another wave of desolate, crying desperation tears through you as you trudge along, tripping yet again - maybe over your own two feet, a root, the very ground you walk on, something. You’re much too hazy and burnt out to even care what you stumbled on as you just press on, press on, press on.

A wave of pain rolls through your stomach again as it burns cavernously empty. You move as a ghost, a shell of yourself now, using passing trees as support. Your hands touch the cold wood reluctantly, a painful little hiss through your teeth as your fingers practically cramp up from the cold. You’d lost your gloves somewhere along the way, days ago now, what feels like a lifetime. You need to stop and rest desperately now, your body close to giving out. Your heart hammers in fear, wondering if you’d even be able to get up again.

A cabin comes into view in the distance, tucked nicely in a clearing of trees. You think your eyes are deceiving you, that you’ve finally succumbed to the madness that comes with such hunger and loneliness, your brain conjuring up images to comfort you. You see smoke coming out of a chimney on the roof, and your heart equally swells and drops at the discovery - it’s not a shelter for you alone, no. Not a lucky discovery, somewhere to lay your head tonight that’s dry and warm without disturbance. Someone already lives here, has a home here, and they might not take too kindly to strangers. If there’s anything you’ve learned in the last few weeks of your own personal hell, it’s to tread carefully. Always.

You keep your footsteps light and quiet, trying to approach with some semblance of caution. Your empty stomach is pushing you along, begging for any scrap of food that might be inside, hopefully offered up to you by the kindness of a stranger. Berries and the occasional rabbit or lucky can of food found were not enough to live off of anymore - you could feel the way your body faded away by the day, losing any bit of strength you’d had in the first place.

You pause, hitching your breath and then barely daring to breathe at all when you get close enough to hear a sound - a low, throaty grunting followed by the crack of wood. Your eyes scan the area as you sneak closer and then land upon him. He’s broad and muscled, you can see that much from back here. Messy, dark hair that curls all around his head and down his neck. When his body turns enough that you see his face a little bit more, you notice he looks older and has dark, piercing eyes. They send a shudder through you, even from afar, only making you feel colder out in this frosty afternoon.

You wrap your coat a little tighter and decide to get closer, assess the situation, see if he seems friendly enough to give you something to eat and send you on your merry way. He swings an ax high up in the air and brings it down swiftly onto a large piece of wood, splitting it before tossing the logs into a pile already full of more firewood. You press your lips together, noticing how strong he is, betting there are well built up muscles underneath that flannel shirt of his. That makes him a threat, a big one, you quickly assess.

You’re too distracted, not watching your step, when a large branch cracks underneath your boot. You wince and squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, holding perfectly still, your breath coming out in quick, staccato exhales.

“H-hey!” you hear a gruff voice, sounding out of breath. You peek your eyes open slowly to see the man looking in your direction and silently curse yourself. “C’mon out!” he yells, and you see him reach to his waist, hands grazing a shining revolver holstered there.

Your stomach pulls into tight knots and you stand frozen for a few moments. Your brain quickly assesses everything, weighing the options. Running away, with no possibility of eating a single thing is one option, but the likelihood this stranger will shoot you seems high no matter what, so you decide to take your chances.

You put your hands in front of you, palms out, and slowly emerge from behind the trees. You walk gingerly along the crisp, frosty grass, crunching under your feet every step of the way. Your anxious breaths come out in little puffs in front of you as the cold air enters and exits your lungs.

The man falters, his fist closing and then opening again, pulling away from the revolver on his hip a bit. He blinks hard, staring at you in this silent showdown. “W-well shit, you’re just a girl…” he finally says quietly to himself, his posture relaxing a little. You stand perfectly still, choked up now that you’re confronted with the idea of speaking to him, such a large, imposing wall of a man, and those eyes, god, those eyes.

“I’m not gonna hurt you if you don’t give me a reason to, now, girl.” His voice is the tiniest bit softer, and you pick up on his Southern drawl, an accent you’ve heard a few times before. “Do ya need help?” He wipes his forehead with the back of his arm, a gleam of sweat having built up from chopping wood and his large chest still heaving. He takes a step closer to you, and you don’t step back, but feel every muscle coil up tightly as your mind screams at you that this was a mistake, a huge fucking mistake. Your feet tingle, toes flexing and getting ready to run, but you can’t make yourself do it, to take that first step.

Instead, you nod. “I- y-yes…” you say quietly. You’ll never understand why you say it, other than the fact that you’re drawn in by him, by his chestnut hair flecked with gray, his patchy beard that he’s currently scratching. By his build that looks so… safe yet dangerous, but you get the feeling that no, he’d never hurt you. You envision those arms wrapping around you, holding you tightly, shielding you from the world and everything you’ve been through. You never thought much about relationships or boys before - just a few simple and innocent crushes, but it hadn’t been on your radar as such a shy kid and teenager. But this… this was what people talked about - attraction. It nearly stole your breath the closer you got to him, threatening to suck you into what felt like an endless void.

“Alright,” the man replies, trying to match your quieter demeanor. He glances around, eyes narrowed and scanning the woods beyond you. “You with anyone? Or all alone out here?”

You know why he’s asking, you’ve seen what people can do - sending someone innocent and unimposing out to lay a trap, but you don’t lie when you shake your head. “A-alone. I’m alone, swear, sir.”

His jaw seems to tick, noticeable even from the distance you’re at before he answers you. “Okay, then. C’mon a little closer, I won’t bite, okay?” he says, and he’s so convincing that you do believe him, despite your instincts telling you otherwise. The world is cruel and unrelenting, taking away most of the trust you’ve ever had in humanity the second you place it into anything or anyone.

You move a little closer, small, gentle steps, and he nods encouragingly.

“Now there ya go. Look at ya…” he marvels with a click of his tongue, shaking his head once you’re just a few feet away from him.

He takes in your messy hair, slightly matted from wearing a winter hat on and off the last few weeks and sleeping on the ground. Your clothes have seen better days too, your skin smudged with dirt no matter how many water sources you found to try and rinse off a little bit. Even despite all of that, he gazes at you with a curiosity, with that look of interest that you felt like you’d given him without trying to. It’s quiet for another moment, the both of you sizing each other up, until Joel’s look turns a little more pitiful when you shiver as a sudden gust of wind whips past you, your threadbare coat doing little to protect you from the chill in the air here. You can’t be sure if your shuddering has less to do with the wind and more with the way that this man’s eyes are digging into what feels like your very soul.

“We gotta get you inside, okay? You’re shakin’, and you look like you ain’t had a proper meal in… too long…” He continues to eye you up and down, taking in your weak frame.

You stay silent for another moment, swallowing hard and then shuddering again. “I - I don’t know…” you breathe out. You might have some sudden, fantastical dream that this man is your savior, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be cautious - the mind is a tricky, deceiving thing.

“I ain’t gonna ask again, ain’t gonna beg ya, girl. C’mon,” he says a little more roughly, a hand shooting out quickly and grabbing you by the wrist and tugging. “Just want to get a good meal in you, alright?”

You wince at the grasp on your wrist, the roughness and hardness he’s starting to show you, but you let him pull, starting to move your feet and trail after him.

“T-thank you…sir,” you murmur quietly, and he swings his head to look back at you, his eyes softening.

“You’re welcome. Now get inside and get warm. I’ve got a fire goin’.” He lets go of your wrist, trusting you to follow him as his heavy boots clunk up the few steps leading to the front door of his cabin. It’s modest, beautifully constructed, all dark wood around the outside and a small porch. You start to wonder if this man built it himself, or just found it as it is. Your initial impression of him leads you to believe that he does seem like the type to build a whole god damn cabin. He half looks like a lumberjack already in the plaid flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

“Found this place ‘bout five years ago,” he says as if he could read your mind while he swings the door open. “Real nice and private, so don’t worry.”

Your eyes narrow slightly at his last comment, but you try to brush it off as you enter inside with him. The warm air hits your body, an immediate balm to your frayed nerves and chilled skin, a slightly smoky smell from the fire hits your nostrils and you immediately hear the crackle and pop of the logs in the little fireplace. The cabin is mainly one big room, a kitchen tucked into the corner right to the left of the door, and the living room beyond that with cozy couches and chairs, even a TV that you doubt is working but find yourself hopeful for some reason. It’s been a long time since you were able to watch a movie, flashing back to childhood memories when you’d lived in a more stable, thriving community that had power.

Stairs beyond that lead to what you assume are bedrooms or a bathroom, and your eyes curiously take in all the little details and decor - the man’s jackets hanging along the wall near the entrance, his rifle propped next to the door and several different pairs of worn boots.

You realize you’re just standing right near the doorway, silently looking around in a daze while your new acquaintance has been trying to get your attention.

“Hey, girl, I’m talkin’ t’ya…” his voice says, the noise fading back into your consciousness.

You shake your head. “S-sorry,” you say quietly, a shy little squeak. “I was just -“

“S’alright. I got some stew goin’, that okay? I mean y’don’t have much of a choice, but I’ll ask anyhow,” he says with a wry chuckle. You simply nod in response.

“Now go on, put your things down and sit ‘n get comfortable,” he waves towards the general direction of the kitchen table and the couch before turning back to the stove to stir the pot simmering there. You stand, feeling frozen still, panic threatening to climb up through your insides and completely take over. You still don’t feel safe, despite this man offering to warm you and feed you. How could you, you think, when you’ve been running for several weeks, trying to get away from the carnage that became your life.

He eyes you, unmoving and frightened looking and sighs heavily. “I said,” he says, tension thickening in the air around you, “Sit.”

You clear your throat, desert dry and scratchy, and set your backpack by the door, slowly creeping over to the couch, not wanting to make this mystery man any angrier. You settle yourself down and the cushions feel like heaven, your legs and body achy from the lack of comfort you’ve had for weeks. You try not to show just how good it feels to settle into the soft, plush fabric, letting the cushions mold to your body.

“Good,” Joel coos as he glances at you from the stove. “Now that we’ve got you settled in, you got a name?”

You weakly tell him your name and he shows you the first little smile you’ve seen from him, nodding. “Gotcha. I’m Joel, okay?”

“O-okay.” You push the words out while you watch him stir the pot on the stove. You sit in silence for a few moments, thankful for the time to just catch your breath and think. Just one bowl of stew, and you’ll be out of here. You’ll ask if there’s a community nearby, somewhere that could take you in, then grab that information and run, not bother this man any more than you need to.

Joel walks over, handing you a cup of water that you shamelessly start to gulp down before he goes back and ladles some of the delicious smelling stew into a bowl. The second the scent hits you, your stomach rumbles loudly. Joel cracks a smile as he hears it and continues ladling, a brow quirked.

“Hungry, huh?” he asks, walking the steaming bowl over to you with a spoon. You gingerly take it from his hands, being careful not to brush your still chilled fingers against his. You swear his eyes flash at you when he notices how avoidant you’re being, but he turns and walks back to the stove, getting himself a bowl as well. Joel settles down into a chair across from the couch where you sit with a weathered groan, just watching you for a few quiet moments. It does everything but put you at ease, your stomach twisting a little. You blow on a spoonful of stew before taking a bite, your mouth an explosion as it waters and takes in the delicious, rich, food.

“Mmm,” you whine out, unable to help it. Your body wants to lunge forward, lap the stew up until every single drop is in your starved body and you can finally feel a sense of fullness again. You quickly take another spoonful, much too hot, and wince a little as it hits your tongue.

“Slow on down, girl,” Joel says. “Let’s talk a little and it’ll slow down your eating.”

You just stare, noticing your body is trembling a little bit, and has been since you met Joel outside. You try to take a deep breath to settle your nerves, your legs so tensely pressed together that it's starting to hurt.

“You feelin’ afraid of me, that it?” he asks you, looking a little too self satisfied at the observation as he crosses his arms and leans towards you. His biceps bulge and stretch with the motion and you can’t help but find your eyes drawn to them, the way they pull at the soft flannel of his shirt. You feel your face heat up all the way to your ears and you blink hard, averting your eyes.

“I- I mean… I don’t know you…” you mutter, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

“I know,” he says, sounding more sympathetic. “Done some bad things in my time, so hell, maybe you should be scared of me. I ain’t a nice guy. But I won’t hurt someone like you, promise ya that.” His words are enough of a reason for you to hightail it out of here the first second you can, but why do you believe them? Why do you believe him?

“How d-do you know I’m not bad too? That I don’t deserve it?” His eyes narrow and his lip twitches into a smirk before he lets out a mocking little chuckle in your direction.

“Oh sweetheart, a man jus’ knows these things. You never hurt even a fly, now have you?” That smirk stays plastered on Joel’s face as he asks and it frustrates you how little of a threat he sees in you, how little fight you have left to give. Yet you can’t find yourself blaming him, you think. If you were facing yourself in his position you’re sure you’d look like as much of a feeble joke as you feel.

You frown, still unable to look him in the eyes for longer than a few seconds, and shake your head. “No… just for hunting…” you admit.

“Alright then. Y’don’t need to act tough in front of me, girl, got it?” Joel concludes, going back to eating his stew.

“Got it,” you respond quietly, letting yourself sink further into the couch as you feel your muscles slowly relaxing.

“Now tell me... what’s this all about? What’s a little young thing like you doin’ out here by herself?”

You bite your lip and sip slowly on another spoonful of stew. “I’m… uh…” you stutter nervously.

“Spit it out now, there’s nothin’ to be afraid of here, hm?” Joel tries reassuring you, but his words keep coming out so gruffly, doing little to make you feel much better.

You inhale a deep breath. “Okay…” You swallow. “I was in a… community. I lived there a long time. T-they’re all gone now, I think. We got completely overrun and so I ran.” You sniffle as your nose starts to run from the warmth of the house opposing the cold you’d gotten accustomed to.

Joel leans forward a bit in his chair, taking a hearty bite of stew, mulling your words over. “Overrun how?” he asks simply, glancing at you, studying your movements, your body language, everything.

“U-uh, hunters, raiders, whatever they are. Bad.. b-bad people…” You look down at your bowl, not wanting to meet the intensity of his gaze, afraid to fall into his strange, hard warmth.

“Hm… awful fuckers, ain’t they,” he says, scratching a hand down his beard. “You got away, then?”

You nod and bite inside of your lip, taking another spoonful of stew to keep yourself occupied. “Y-yeah. I ran and ran… just kept… going. They took everything, took over all of our homes…”

Joel sighs, his eyes finally going a little softer. “‘M sorry to hear that, darlin’. You know if anyone is still alive?”

You shrug. “No…”

“Your family? They with ya at this community?”

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No. They… all, uh, passed a long time ago.” Why the hell are you being so open with this stranger? You don’t owe him your story, your secrets, any of it. But you sense the urge to share it, anyhow. Maybe you’re just that desperate for human connection right now.

“Mm, sorry to hear it again. We all know that feelin’ in a world like this,” he replies thoughtfully. Your eyes widen a bit at the softness he’s showing you right now and you give him a tight lipped smile to show your own sympathy for his losses.

“You feel up for tellin’ me a little more about the attack? S’okay if it’s too much,” Joel adds on, still studying you with an odd gaze, almost like he’s drinking you in, quenching some thirst he had. His hand twitches, almost as if to reach out to you, but he’s much too far from where he sits right now.

“I’m not sure if t-there’s much to tell…” you start, but then you find yourself spilling out more details, feeling the freeing sensation of unloading your burdens onto someone else. You tell Joel your community was small but well taken care of, plenty of supplies and food, in an abundant time in its history the last few months. One evening everything changed, when an armed group of mostly men came in, a few women and children in tow, looking absolutely miserable, and they aimed their guns in the air and shot off a few rounds to get everyone’s attention. People came flooding out of their homes, trying to run, only to be tackled or shot down, forced to give up our food and belongings. You tried to hide for as long as you could before slipping out of the home you shared with an older couple who had been taking care of you since you were a teenager, Harry and Josephine. They’d urged you to run, run, run, so you did. Then came your lost days, where you had no clue where you were, when you’d find your next semblance of humanity. Just trying to head west, further and further from the bitter memories you’d now have to leave behind. Barren towns and wilderness passed you over the days, hardly seeing another soul as you hid from infected, spending your nights crying yourself to sleep when you had the energy.

And now… here you were, sitting on Joel’s couch and eating stew. Unsure of what the hell you’d do next or where you had to go. You had been an orphan for a long time, but this felt deeper, like you were an orphan to the entire world, almost, like you had nothing to even call your own now.

Joel sits patiently, watching you stumble on words as you tell your story to him, trying not to get too choked up as all the emotions resurface. How empty things had been, how desolate the landscapes to match your faintly beating heart.

He’s leaned fully forward now in his seat, stew somewhat forgotten in his lap as you finish your recounting of the last few weeks. He breathes in and out, a large, heavy sigh that fills the room. It’s still now, fully quiet for a moment.

“You’re a strong girl for goin’ through all of that, you know that?” he says finally, eyes softer than you’ve seen them yet.

You just look down, returning to your stew, taking a few bites now that it’s at the perfect temperature. You’ve stopped shaking now, your body warmed up and starting to recognize that you’re getting full. You can’t eat much, your stomach unable to handle more just yet, so you push the stew away, setting it on the coffee table in front of you.

“Yeah…” you say, not really believing it as you glance out the window to watch the late afternoon sun, glaring off the ground outside, light filtering through the trees.

“You got somewhere to go? After you’re fed and looked over, of course,” Joel asks, his eyebrow shooting up.

You consider lying, just to avoid what you’re afraid he’ll ask you. What you’re afraid you’ll say yes to. You still end up shaking your head silently, clearing your throat. You feel a sting of tears behind your eyes, your whole body going hot with the need to cry, but a deep desire to not show that weakness to him holds you back. You sniffle and blink, studying the knots in the old wood floors.

“Hey,” Joel says, trying to get your attention, to make you show him your vulnerability. “Look at me, c’mon now.” You hear him shift in his seat, a small movement born of irritation as you refuse to do as he says.

You sniffle again and clear your throat, a shake of your head making your hair fall forward, covering and hiding you further.

“I said look at me.” That stern tone of his is back, sending a shudder through you and fear rippling deep inside your chest. You flick your red rimmed, shining eyes up to his, meeting the dark brown stare, lines permanently etched in between his eyes from all his years of worry.

“Atta girl,” he coos, completely pleasant now. “I got you, okay? You can stay, if ya need. I got food, a home, a warm bed for ya. If you have nowhere else.”

One more blink sends the tears falling down your cheeks, fat and overdue as they slide down your dirty skin, leaving tracks. You sniffle and nod, suddenly feeling a rush of gratitude towards Joel. He may be a stranger, but he fed you, got you warm, and is offering just about the kindest thing he can right now - an invasion on his space, his personal sanctuary, all for a girl he hardly even knows.

“Y-you’d really do that?” you ask, a little incredulously, like this is a dream you’re about to wake up from any time now.

He nods, a half smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Satisfaction plastered there now that he’s swayed you in his direction. “I would. Now I don’t wanna hear another word about it. You need to rest, you’ve been through a lot.”

“T-thank you. B-but-”

“Not. Another. Word,” he practically hisses, flashing his eyes angrily before it fizzles out quickly. You can see him practically having to reign in his impulsiveness in the moment. “There ain’t anywhere else to go that’ll keep you as safe as here, I’m tellin’ you that now. You’d be fuckin’ lost out there.” He sits back with his arms crossed now, and you’re worried that you’ve truly upset him now, that unsettling look in his eye glinting again. He wants you to stay… nearly seems to need it. It scares you, yet you feel a tug, a pull, some form of intrigue wanting you to explore that need, understand just what he could see in you.

“I’m s-sorry… I just - you’ve already done a lot for me, and I’d hate to, well, impose, or something,” you say, trying to appease him. It’s mostly true, anyhow, that you do hate to take Joel’s food and time away from him.

He stands up and silently walks the few steps over to the couch, sitting down next to you, turning himself towards you. It feels like every muscle in your body tenses at his proximity - it makes him seem even bigger the way he takes up his cushion on the couch, body sinking in deeply, his wide shoulders practically a shield to you right now to everything behind him. Something about seeing him up this close is sending you reeling, able to study the lines in his face, his strong, wiry beard streaked with a few gray spots. You flick your eyes over his face, hoping to not be too obvious, but needing to drink him in, learn his features.

“I’m gonna have you listen to me right now, okay? Make sure you’re listenin’ real good, sweetheart.” He pauses for a moment to catch your eye, reaching a hand towards you but resting it right next to your thigh on the couch. “I’m offerin’ somethin’ mighty nice to you, ain’t I? You were ‘bout to die out there, if I’m honest. Much longer and you’d be a goner, I think. Don’t you?”

He’s waiting for a real answer from you, you realize, so you nod, eyes practically unblinking as you hang on his words, a hot coil burning in your stomach as you feel uneasiness eat at you.

“Right.” He sighs quietly. “I’m not tryin’ to be mean, sweetheart. In fact, I care a lot, that’s why I’m tellin’ the truth to ya like this. You ain’t built to be on your own, can see that clear as day. So I’ll have ya stay here and get fed and get your bearings. And I don’t want to hear anymore about it.”

Of all the things Joel has just said to you, the thing that is stuck in your mind as you turn it over, is the way he’d said he cares. He cares about you. Would that be such a bad thing to be cared for, even if just for a little bit?

You give him a small dip of your head, a shaky smile coming to your lips. “Thank you. I’m uh, grateful.” You’re not sure what else to say, feeling like you’re signing yourself away to something you don’t feel sure about.

“Ah look at that - a smile,” he says, clearly feeling much more light hearted now that you’ve agreed to accept his help.

You sit back a little, your muscles finally losing some of their tension and start to eye Joel a little more curiously. “S-so you just live here all by yourself?” you ask, wishing you weren’t still such a stuttering mess. The fact was, this man made you nervous, in a way that you weren’t used to. He scared you, but in a way that it drew you in, a magnetic pull you couldn’t quite explain yet. Something in him commanded respect, reverence, almost, without trying. It was mesmerizing to witness, completely scrambling your mind if you started to think on it too hard.

“Mhm,” Joel nods languidly, finishing off his stew and then sitting back with a satisfied sigh. He eyes your bowl that’s only half empty and then flicks them back to your face. “Ain’t gonna finish?” he asks, sounding a little irritated before his face softens. “Probably can’t fit much in your little belly right now, huh? Shrunk right up when you didn’t eat much these last few weeks.”

You nod. “I-it was good, I just… I couldn’t finish. It started to hurt…”

His eyes flash with concern. “We’ll take it slow, then,” he says, a little smile creeping onto his face.

You had noticed his avoidance to say much more about himself, so you decide to try your luck and press him again. You clear your throat, trying to turn towards him a little more as well. “You live alone. Don’t you… do you ever talk to other people?”

Joel chuckles, almost condescendingly. “‘Course I do. Town not too far from here - Jackson. I go once and a while to stock up, trade ‘em for some stuff and they’re mighty hospitable to me.”

You nod, trying not to let his snide laugh and tone get to you too much, blinking away the sensitive little tears that threaten to fall again. Joel cocks his head suddenly, seeming to notice. “T-that sounds pretty nice,” you choke out quickly.

“Sorry if I upset ya. Guess you’re right, don’t get enough practice talkin’ to people,” he says a little lighter now, smiling softly again. Joel’s version of a smile seems to only be a soft upturn of his lips, not friendly by nature. It puts you at ease and unease at the same time, that smile of his, but you’d rather see that than the scowl he was sporting at you earlier today. He pats your thigh a few times, showing his apology, and you watch his large hands move on you, noticing they’re scratched and rough. A man’s hands.

“W-wait… Jackson… this town. It’s close by?” you ask, glancing back up at him, the wheels in your head starting to turn.

Joel’s face falls in an almost dramatic fashion, the lines between his eyes and around his cheeks getting deeper. “Why d’ya ask?” he says, his tone short and frayed sounding, leaning forward again, practically glaring at you from under his eyebrows.

Your own face falls, jaw slack for a moment before it tightens back up. “I just… I want to get out of your hair as quickly as possible, I-I don’t want to be a bother. Could find a new community there, or something…” You feel quiet as a mouse, unsure of how to assert yourself in front of Joel - it feels like there isn’t space for it when you share a room with him.

Joel’s expression becomes more stern. “Didn’t I already tell you, girl, that I’d take care of everythin’?” he spits out, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. You’re visibility tense now, your hands pressing into the cushions of the couch, ready to get up at any moment and bolt. “Y’don’t want to go to a place like that, so big, you’d be lost there, darlin’. Nobody to take care of you…”

He sits back a little, hands falling into his lap and an eyebrow cocked at you. “‘Sides,” he says, glancing out the window for a moment before studying you again. “Too far to go on your own. Can’t have you gettin’ lost in these woods again… look what happened last time, yeah?”

Maybe he’s right. You barely survived these last few weeks without completely losing your mind, and then your life, as he’s been so apt to tell you several times now. Joel… he saved you, and is offering you a place to stay, so the least you could do is be grateful for now. You could always convince him tomorrow, after you’ve had time to think and reset, to take you there, show you the way, and you can see for yourself if it’s a good fit for you or not.

“Y-yeah…” you stutter out, nodding. The look he shoots you has you choking out the next word before you can even think about it. “Yes,” you say more definitively.

“It’s settled then,” he says matter-of-factly, breathing in deeply, his burly chest rising, and then letting it out in a long, slow breath. “You probably wanna get some rest, yeah? I can set up the bed for ya.” Joel says, standing up and grabbing your bowl, taking it to the kitchen along with his empty one.

“Do y-“ you start, standing up off the couch.

“Yeah, I got two bedrooms, don’t worry.” His smile grows, liking that he found you predictable enough to know what you were about to ask. Your shoulders sag a little in relief and you give Joel more of a proper smile now, nodding your thanks.

“That would be great, then, yeah. And if it’s not too much…” you voice trails off and you stare at the ground, focusing your eyes on the pattern of the well worn rug underneath your feet. “Maybe a shower, bath, whatever you’ve got.”

Joel turns to face you and then walks back into the living area. He has a calm, serene expression, slightly lit up. “I’ll do ya one better. Get you some clean clothes to wear after that shower, too.”

Nothing in the entire world sounds better than what he’s offering right now.

You hiss loudly as the hot, steaming water hits your leg when you step in. Within moments, you’re basking under it, watching the dirt and dried blood from your various scrapes and scratches swirl down the drain for what feels like ages, finally seeing the water run clear as you lather up the threadbare washcloth Joel had left out for you and scrub yourself down. Every nook, every cranny, your scalp, face, everywhere you could get three times over. You can’t remember the last time you’d felt so clean, even when you’d lived back with your community. You hum happily for a few moments, letting the water soothe you for just a while longer. You hoped Joel could forgive you for taking a little bit of extra hot water today given the circumstances.

Joel hears the water running from downstairs, his fists balling up and relaxing over and over as he sits on his favorite chair, his gaze facing the stairs leading to the spare bedroom and attached bathroom. He feels tense, rolling his neck, continuing to pump his fists open and closed. A feeling in the back of his neck, traveling down his spine and legs that he couldn’t ignore - an urge. He stands up an instant later, not bothering with his well-ignored conscience, and walks upstairs and through the bedroom door with careful steps as he still has on his boots. He presses a hand onto the brass doorknob, turning it slowly, ever so slowly, pushing the door open just an inch, just… enough.

His eyes fall on the shower curtain, a white cloth that perfectly shows your silhouette through it. The valleys and curves of your body move around, arms scrubbing yourself. Joel can smell the evergreen scented soap drifting through the steamy, thick air, watching your body move fluidly as you start to hum quietly to yourself and rinse off.

He wishes he could lie to himself, deny that he felt the blood rush straight to his cock at this little show he was watching. So content, so sweet, so vulnerable right now. Need consumes his every cell - the need to show you just how good you could have it here, to take every bit of you for himself. He grins, a hungry little twitch of his mouth, moving to shut the door when a floorboard creaks under his heavy boot, and he freezes, shuffling out of the way quickly.

You’re humming quietly when you hear it, just a distant sound, but enough to catch your ear. A creak of a floorboard, something you figure isn’t unusual for an old cabin like this, but you feel a shiver run down your spine and rush to turn the water off. You throw the curtain open, water dripping down into your eyes. You quickly rub your fingers over them and glance around the spacious bathroom to find… nothing. You sigh, shaking your head, nearly laughing at the relief you feel. You’re just being paranoid, you chastise yourself as you grab the towel off the hook, squeezing the extra water out of your hair and wrapping it around yourself, snuggling into the simple comfort of a fluffy towel as you dry yourself off.

Your fingers freeze, running cold when you reach the door, noticing a few inches of space that has the door cracked open. You swore up and down that you’d shut the door behind you, giving you that extra layer of privacy in a stranger's home. It wasn’t possible that… no, you think quickly, shaking your head again. You have to stop being so damn paranoid - your brain is just in survival mode still, looking for threats that aren’t there.

You step into the bedroom, surveying the heavy wood furniture - an extremely cozy, country feel to the room with large logs comprising the bed frame and a patchwork quilt draped over the top. You peer around, feeling somewhat squirmy at the realization you don’t have any clothing. Joel seemingly came in and took your dirty clothes while you were in the shower, failing to leave you anything clean. It made you feel that strange swirl deep in your stomach again, the one you kept brushing off.

This is a kind man. A kind man, got it? Positive thinking.

You decide to pull it together and head out and down the stairs to the living room. You feel your cheeks heat up, a hot heat creeping all over your body as you feel so exposed, standing in your tiny towel as you descend the stairs. Joel’s eyes follow you down, watching your glowing skin, so fresh and clean, hair dripping errantly, leaving water droplets on the floor in your wake. You see a flash of something a little cloudy and hungry in his gaze before it disappears just as quickly as he showed it.

He isn’t saying a word, isn’t offering anything, so you swallow down your discomfort and clear your throat a little. “Er… I noticed there weren’t any… clothes… for me…”

Joel sits up a little straighter, putting down the book he’s been looking at. He offers you a smile devoid of much emotion and stands up, his eyes locking on your hips for a few extra seconds. “Shucks, sorry about that, sweetheart. Let’s get you something right now. Got your old clothes ready to be done next time I do the washin’.”

You nod, fighting the urge to chuckle nervously as he walks over and passes you, his arm brushing your damp, bare one before he heads up the stairs. You’re grateful you get to trail him, afraid of just how skimpy this towel is if he’d have insisted on following behind you. You follow him into the other bedroom, his bedroom, and it’s a little more decorated, some books and little wooden carvings on the surfaces, dirty laundry scattered throughout. He opens up a drawer and tugs out a tee shirt, handing it to you, then a pair of gray sweatpants and warm, thick socks.

“These should fit alright for ya, honey. We’ll get you some more proper fittin’ stuff soon, just gotta have a look around this place. This’ll be nice and warm for ya f’now.” He seems more chipper now, clearly much more talkative than before, and you suppose you don’t mind the change too much. It’s only proving that your paranoia was completely unfounded, just a symptom of your current circumstances. You typically find yourself a pretty trusting person, enough to have gotten you in trouble before, but the events of the last few weeks have broken that for you, leaving you feeling like a shell of who you once were.

You snap back to reality and take the clothing in your arms, nodding in gratitude. “Thank you. I’ll go, um, change.”

Before you turn, Joel’s voice booms through the air again. “Need anythin’ else to eat? Anythin’ I can get you?” He almost sounds hopeful, like he wants you to need something from him. His eyes linger on your body, leaving you feeling just as naked as if you didn’t have the towel over you at all.

You shake your head nervously. “Er, if it’s alright with you, I think I just want to rest… A full night’s sleep in a bed sounds like heaven right now.”

“Let’s get you on off to heaven, then.” He grins, letting you leave the room before trailing after you, waiting outside your door while you change into your clothes. You discover some women’s underwear in the drawers inside of your bedroom, gratefully putting on a clean pair before throwing on everything Joel gave you. It’s comfortable and dry, so you won’t complain about the fit or the style - you’d still be in your dirty, worn down clothes if it weren’t for him.

You creak the door open to find Joel and thank him again for hosting you, only to see him waiting right outside in the hall. You nearly jump, your face completely giving away your tense surprise.

“Jus’ wanted to make sure you got to bed alright,” he says gently, explaining himself.

“Oh…” You bite your lip. “I, uh, I think I’m all set. Thank you again, Joel, really, for everything.”

His smile brightens as much as you’ve seen it and his eyes look much kinder as he nods, a dip of his head. His hand reaches forward and takes yours through the frame of the door and squeezes it. You freeze at the sudden touch, his hand so warm and rough, calloused fingertips grazing over the softer skin of your hands. It sends your entire body into a fuzzy flash of heat for just a moment before it dissipates. He squeezes once more, thumb swiping gently over the back of your hand before he releases it. Your lips sit parted in shock, eyes a little wider and hand starting to tremble a little.

“Anytime,” Joel replies simply, his face falling before he turns to walk away, leaving you standing breathless for several moments before clicking the bedroom door shut behind you.

You jolt out of your sleep, a gasp of breath catching in your throat and dying out as you go to yell, finding your mouth tightly clasped by a large, warm palm pressing in.

“Shh, shh,” the voice comes, right near your right ear. You shudder involuntarily from the hot breath fanning on such a sensitive spot and try to yell again, letting it die out as a whimper against the skin pressing on your mouth.

“Shh, it’s alright. I got you,” Joel coos, his voice coming out hoarse. “No yellin’.”

You squirm helplessly against his hold, realizing another arm is draped across your abdomen, holding you in place. Your body exhausts quickly, still half asleep as you feel your struggle die out. Joel’s hand across your mouth loosens slowly, relieving the pressure.

“You were havin’ a nightmare, darlin’. Shh… c’mon now…” His hand that had been against your lips ghosts up to your head, landing in gentle strokes against your hair. You blink a few times, heavy breaths through your nostrils now as you try to steady your mind and body. Your chest struggles against his heavy arm as it heaves, your body fully taut and mind trying to play catch up.

“W-what…” you murmur groggily, laying stiffly as Joel holds your waist, fingers brushing against your curves, pressing you close as his other hand still works tender strokes along your hair.

“Oh, sweetheart, glad I heard you, hm?” he practically whispers, his face nuzzling close to the skin right under your ear. You feel the tickle of his breath and facial fair, prickly and rough against such delicate skin. You squirm gently, trying to signal that everything is too tight, too much, too… confusing. Joel is lost in his own world, absorbed in the softness of the places he begins to touch, hand grazing from your waist to your bare arms, fingertips exploring hungrily under the guise of being caring.

All he’d needed, alone and laying awake tonight, his body burning and resolve thin, was a simple touch. A chance to show you all that you needed, all he could provide for you. Only to help you, to take care of someone who couldn’t care for herself. You’d proved that much to him - you needed his guidance, his protection, his experience.

“What’re you…”

“Jus’ comforting you, darlin’. C’mon now,” he whispers, never once pulling back or stopping the exploring he’s doing with his hands.

He runs through his list of reasons to convince himself why everything he’s doing is perfectly necessary before losing sight of all of it entirely when he strikes that sliver of bare skin where your tee shirt has hiked up a bit off your waist, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. His hand travels a bit higher, pushing the shirt up and grazing famished fingers across your ribcage and stomach. A small groan ripples across his chest, the vibration felt by where your body meets his. He surprises you next by tugging your shirt back down, covering the bare skin before returning his hand to your hip, pulling you closer. He’s a wall of pure mass, muscle underneath his soft belly and chest, a man who’s strong but still showing a bit of his age. You nearly whimper and shake, feeling a sickly heat coursing through your veins now.

“Mmm…” he mumbles in your ear, your own voice caught in a trap of fear lodged right in your throat. Equally afraid of the way you don’t know how this night is about to end and that you’re not sure you mind where it’s going. You’ve never understood men or their intentions, and never had anyone bother to teach you, no worked up teenage boys offer to show you when you were at that age. No, you were left to guess, giggled at by other girls when you couldn’t pick up on their meanings as they discussed their own secret rendezvous. This had to be everything they talked about, didn’t it? The way you could feel heat and energy practically pulsating off of Joel’s body, his noises anything but natural sounding as he hummed little groans in your ear.

“Y’just needed someone, sweetheart. Y’need someone to take care of you, don’t you?” he finally says, fingers still running their way across your hair, nails scratching against your scalp. You whimper quietly at the feel of it, how damn good it all feels. You don’t move, don’t speak as he goes on.

“Need a man like me, darlin’, y’do. I can see it - need me to take care of everything…” He mumbles similar sentiments repeatedly in your ear before bringing his lips right to your neck, just letting them graze, the wet but chapped skin of his lips pressing in gently on your pulse point. You try not to gasp, the feeling as pleasing as it is terrifying, finding yourself gripping the sheet tighter to try not to give yourself away, give him any kind of response.

“Don’t you, honey? Need me to take care of you?” He sounds a little more desperate now, needy for the answer he’s searching for from you.

He’s broken you down to the point you feel tears stinging at your eyes, the long awaited emotional release you’ve needed sitting right there on the precipice, a small crack waiting to fully rupture. You can’t be sure if you nod, just imperceptibly, you think, but Joel’s body language relaxes against you as he leans his entire chest and torso into you even more, giving you a squeeze. You know then that he got his answer, just what he was looking for. You let the tears slip out, rolling down your cheeks, onto the pillow on one side, likely falling right onto Joel’s face or in his hair on the other. He seems to barely notice, just swiping them quickly off your cheeks before resuming his position wrapping himself tightly around you.

“Good, sweetheart… good girl, I got you…”

You hear his breathing start to even out shortly after, steady rise and fall of his chest against your body, and you realize he’s dozed off. Like he got what he wanted and decided he could rest now. Your entire body relaxes, a careful breath whooshing out that you hadn’t even been aware you were holding in. His hand is still tangled in your hair, other one possessively on your hip, giving you absolutely no room to move. You’re not sure you want to anymore, anyways, never having had such strength covering you, cloaking you from all of the dark, sinister things that the nighttime holds for you.

If you’re going insane, feeling safe with this man who forced his way around your body tonight, then so be it. Why shouldn’t you let yourself feel safe for once? Let yourself feel less of that burden, turn it over to Joel? Your own turning wheel of thoughts starts to scare you, the little voice in the back of your head telling you what you already know and have been trying to ignore. The one little thing that you immediately put your finger on but were too scared afterwards to lift it back up and observe it closer.

You weren’t having a nightmare, no, not at all. You knew when you woke from one, as sure as the god damned sky was blue and the grass was green. It wasn’t a foreign concept to you by any means after what you’d been through in your life. And tonight… tonight hadn’t been one of those nights.

dividers by @/saradika!

thank you @jupiter-soups and @huffle-punk for always beta-ing my shit and talking inspo with me. love you to the moon and back <3

#fic: smother #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #dark!joel miller #dark!joel miller x reader #x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 9 months

Note

If you're comfortable with doing smut, can you do a yan! best friend fic where reader says one night "I'm still a virgin" (yk because he never lets them go out) so he almost immediately changes that.

Will oblige <3

(Reader) cracked open another beer, a small frown on their tipsy face as they sat on their living room floor.

Not three hours earlier, (Reader) had been excitedly trying to sneak out of work after clocking off, hoping to do so without being caught by their best friend. (Reader) had seen their best friend getting chewed out by their management, so a small (not so) guilty part of them hoped that he would be stuck staying late to make up for whatever it was that he had done wrong. But as (Reader) silently clocked off, Max's voice right behind them startled (Reader) so bad they released a squeak.

"Why do you look so guilty?" He had meant it as a joke, but (Reader's) uncomfortable attempt at a smile caught him off guard.

"Heyyy.. I thought you were working late?"

"No? Why would I be?"

(Reader) swallowed hard, a tight smile still twitching on their lips. "Ah, the stars told me so! I knew astrology was a sham!" They replied sarcastically, unable to contain their annoyance.

"Is everything okay, (Reader)?" Max asked in a concerned tone, leaning in to better read (Reader's) expressions.

"I was just... hoping to go out drinking tonight. I was pretty excited to get home quickly and get changed."

Max's concern melted into another happy smile. "Oh, that sounds like fun!"

"Really?!" (Reader) was sure that Max would lecture them on the dangers of public drinking, or the disturbing hygiene levels of pubs, which is why they wanted to sneak out in the first place. Max was an amazing friend. An understanding, ride-or-die kind of man, (Reader's) sidekick since middle school, extremely hot, and the only person (Reader) felt they could trust with (almost) any secret.

There was only one problem..

Max was controlling. He was never mean about it, and (Reader) never felt like their friendship was abusive, but he was so nervous about everything that (Reader) didn't have much of a social life outside of work and it was starting to drive them crazy. He even moved in to the apartment right next to (Reader) so that whenever they tried to go out without him, he always knew.

"Of course! Why don't you start heading home, and I'll go pick up some beers?"

(Reader's) heart sunk. "S-sounds good.." they feebly attempted to appear pumped, smiling while raising a fist.

Which is why (Reader) was now in their comfortable pajamas getting drunk on the floor in front of their couch, increasingly becoming more and more frustrated while their best friend watched TV, oblivious to (Reader's) bubbling anger.

The dumb comedy made Max chuckle, the booze turning him silly. Usually it was contagious, but at that moment his laughter grated on (Reader's) nerves.

Max finally got the hint that (Reader) might be upset when they loudly crushed their empty can in irritation. "What's going on down there, (Nickname)?"

"I wanted to drink at a bar." (Reader) grumbled, reaching for another drink.

"What? Why?" Max asked, honestly confused as to where this was coming from. "Bars aren't safe, especially for cute people like you. Do you know how many people only go to bars to try and take home drunk people?"

His words snapped (Reader's) patience. "That's what I was going for."

"What?!"

(Reader) jumped to their feet, exasperated. "Oh my GOD, Max. I have needs! I want to fuck, Max, I. Want. To. Fuck." They ran their hands through their hair, leaving Max shell shocked and bright red. "It's getting pathetic, like, really sad. I can't even masturbate, because I'm afraid you'll hear me through the walls."

They collapsed back onto their ass, hands covering their heated eyes.

"You've chased away everyone I've ever had a crush on. I've never had a real relationship. I'm still a virgin. I just wanted to go out and have fun..." (Reader) whined, almost on the verge of tears.

Max slinked off the couch towards (Reader's) curled up form, gently prying (Reader's) hands away from their eyes. "Why didn't you ever consider me?"

"What?" (Reader) pulled away, falling back onto their elbows as Max continued crawling over them.

"I spent so many years praying you would look at me like a man instead of just as your friend. If you were so pent up, why didn't you ever turn to me?"

(Reader) flushed, their dumb little drunk mind having difficulty understanding what Max was trying to say. "Y-you're only saying that because you're drunk." They stuttered, the feeling of their friend's breath tickling their lips making them squeeze their thighs shut instinctively.

"Do you remember, when we were in highschool, and you told me that you liked Robin? That less than average looking basketball player?" Max leaned in, trapping (Reader) with his arms as one knee forced apart their legs, pressing against their crotch. "Do you remember how hard I worked to constantly keep you two apart?"

(Reader) bit their lip to contain a moan. Why were they so turned on right now? They tried to convince themselves it was the alcohol, but the scent of Max's favorite aftershave was making them quiver.

"There's nothing embarrassing about being a virgin, (Reader).." Max tugged on their ear lobe with his teeth, "but if you want, I'll gladly take it for you."

Despite his words of consent, Max's lips were on (Reader's) before they could answer, hungry and dominating, tasting every corner of their mouth while he rubbed his knee against (Reader's) fully aroused sex.

Pulling back, Max smirked at the blushing mess under him, wiping some of (Reader's) saliva off his lip with his thumb. "I never wanted to be your friend." He pulled off his shirt, while smiling almost teasingly.

'This isn't like Max...' (Reader's) half gone mind puzzled. It was like he was possessed.

"Do you know how painful it was, being in love with someone as oblivious as you? How many times you would invite me to sleepovers, and I would spend the entire night watching you sleep?"

His large hands reached down to his zipper, drawing (Reader's) attention to the noticable bulge straining against his pants. "I wanted our first time together to be after you finally fell for me, but..." he pulled down the zipper, and released his erect cock out over the top of his boxers. "... I have the rest of our lives to make you love me."

(Reader's) eyes widened at the size. They hadn't seen a dick that big in real life before, their only frame of reference for erections being in porn. "I don't think that'll fit." They spoke quietly, almost in a whisper.

Max smiled wider, his eyes almost watering with how hot they had become. "It will if you make sure it's wet enough." And for the first time that night, (Reader) understood what Max was saying. They sat up, nervously bringing their face closer towards Max's exposed dick. With experimental touches, their fingers danced along his shaft. At first they were scared that in their drunkenness they couldn't make Max feel good, but soon what little was left of their mind was overcome by desire. (Reader) kissed the tip before thrusting Max's cock as deep into their throat as it could reach. They had imagined themselves doing this so many times that (Reader) thought they knew what to do, but the smell and taste, the building yearning in their groin, and his pleasured moans... There was so much happening all at once that it made it hard to focus on just sucking him off.

(Reader) looked up into Max's eyes, searching for approval, searching for a sign that they were doing a good job. Apparently looking up was the right thing to do, because Max cried out suddenly and pulled himself out of (Reader's) mouth. "God, you're so cute! I can't hold it anymore, (Reader)..."

Max stood to remove his clothes entirely, before getting back on his knees to tear off (Reader's) pajamas. As their pants came off, it was received that they hadn't been wearing any sort of undergarments, which made Max pause, eyes widening and scarlet face deepening.

"Is.. is something wrong?" (Reader) asked fearfully.

"You're more beautiful than I imagined."

As (Reader) soaked in his words, Max was already positioning his drool lubricated member against (Reader's) hole.

He slowly entered his best friend, and laughed as he felt their body swallow him up. "God, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this!" The second he was fully submerged he began fucking (Reader) hard and fast, unable to hold himself back, especially when their pleased gasps and cries of pleasure sang from their lips unconstrained. (Reader) clawed at Max's back, not knowing where to put their hands but needing to touch him everywhere.

"Fuck, you look so sexy right now. I love you so much, (Reader)."

(Reader) felt their walls subconsciously constrict at Max's words. They thought about every single time they had ever noticed how attractive he was, and how they would chastise themselves for thinking about their best friend that way.

"I love you too."

Max leaned back, pulling (Reader) up with them as he continued pumping in and out of (Reader) like a machine. "Say it again."

Something was getting tighter in (Reader's) stomach, and they felt like it was going to pop.

"I love you too!"

Max's speed picked up, like a desperate animal. "Again."

"I love you, Max!"

A hot feeling spread throughout (Reader's) insides as Max came inside them, his thick cum triggering their own orgasm.

His hold on (Reader) did not loosen, keeping his grip cemented as though they would disappear if he let go. Even after (Reader) passed out he didn't pull out, simply lying back with (Reader) now on his stomach. Max finally had them, the person he had been head over heels for for the past decade. And as he fell asleep what replayed in his now sober mind wasn't how (Reader's) body felt on his, but their words, echoing on loop in his mind.

"I love you too!"

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere best friend #yandere behavior #romance #thanks for the ask!#i hope you enjoy

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generalsmemories · 6 months

Text

Ginkgo leaves

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ based on the ask: Since reqs are open, you think you could write jing yuans reaction to his lover being Mara-struck? Thank you! - requested by anonymous

✧ contents: established relationship, angst, hurt/almost no comfort lmfao, implied character death, mentions of other characters, pov mostly written in jing yuan's pov, still usage of 2nd pov (referring the reader as you), mayhaps ooc because jing yuan is an emotional wreck.

✧ a/n: when i tell ya'll i legit struggled to be able to write this entire thing. there's been like 3-4 scrapped drafts because halfway through writing i would just NOT be satisfied with the result. to the anon who requested this, i'm so sorry it took this long - but i hope the upcoming trainwreck makes up for it! a trainwreck im still not actually satisfied with LMFAO. but it's better than the other 5 scrapped works. also not beta-read so fellas if u see a spelling error - no you didn't.

p.s: some mara-struck information i give here are totally fanmade for the purpose of this fic alone, as such don't take whatever i write about mara here as what actually happens canonically to characters (then again most of the playable characters have different symptoms of mara themselves).

"Benefactor, am I correct to believe you're asking me if the general has any specific interests?" Tingyun asks with a snicker, the trailblazer looking away from her prying eyes while mumbling a quiet yes.

"Some of the younger... Can I call them younger? Anyway, some of the younger Xianzhou citizens are very infatuated with the general. Seeing as I've been announced as his honory guest, they do often come and ask me various things to try and gain his favor. So yeah, anything at this point will work - so please!" the trailblazer hurriedly explained, clasping their hands together in a desperate attempt to get anything from the foxian amicassador leaning back with a quirked eyebrow.

"Ahh, love truly makes someone go blind doesn't it," she muses out loud, the trailblazers' eyebrow furrowing together in confusion over the foxian's lady choice of words, "... You're not entirerely wrong with that statement..."

"Do you want to know what his favorite flower is?" Tingyun asks, ignoring the confused question that had been uttered to her, snapping her fan open to hide the cheeky smile that spread across her lips - but anyone could still tell that her eyes were gleaming with mischief as the trailblazer nodded their head.

"He doesn't have one."

"Then why did you even-"

"But he likes ginkgo leaves."

The trailblazers' eyes widened in shock, and rightfully so because the very thing ginkgo leaves are associated with are after all...

"He had a lover once, and as far as I'm aware, his last moment with them while they still had their consciousness intact was surrounded by ginkgo leaves."

Jing Yuan whilst having forgotten almost every single moment with you, does unfortunately remember the exact details of the day that your descent into madness started. Because what he witnessed wasn't a futile struggle you had with yourself to not to destroy everything within your vicinity. Instead, he witnessed the slow process of your bright self becoming an empty shell, only capable of uttering a few words.

It's comical really, even when faced with a curse that struck everyone mad - he found out that it oddly fit your character to not go mad, but instead become the complete opposite of your gentle self. A hollow shell of the person he fell in love with all centuries ago.

Jing Yuan knew he had to end your suffering right then and there when you first started to show signs.

But he couldn't - This wasn't something that had to be immediately dealt with, his hand wasn't forced like it was back when he had to slay his own master down before she took more lives.

No, this was a normal afternoon on what would've been another normal, mundane day in both of your lives. But everything went wrong the moment Jing Yuan heard the breaking of glass, and how there was a lone gingko leaf inside the palm of your hand - a ginkgo leaf that you were staring wide-eyed at with a trembling hand.

You were too far from the veranda to have a ginkgo leaf in your hand.

General Jing Yuan would've ended your suffering the moment you turned around to lock eyes with him, your own face twisted into one of utter fear.

General Jing Yuan would've reported you the to Ten-Lords Commissions as the law had stated. But Jing Yuan couldn't - because Jing Yuan knew that the moment he did, he would never see you again.

So he decided for once he would be selfish. Jing Yuan rarely made choices lately that was based off of his own feelings, but his time with you was cut too harshly, so once again he chooses to be selfish. Even if that meant that it would prolong your suffering just a tiny bit more. "... We can figure something out," was the only thing he could muster up the courage to say with a shaking voice. You didn't say anything, your mouth wobbling a tiny bit and your breathing getting harsher by the second.

But still you indulged him - you always did. So with an equally wobbly smile, you only nodded your head slightly, "... Sure."

That wobbly smile and expression of utter fear was the last genuine expression that truly came from yourself.

The descent to becoming fully mara-struck is usually a fast process, the curse able to completely overtake someone's mind within the same day the symptoms appears - rendering the person completely vulnerable with the only alternative to either hand themselves in to the Ten-Lords or wait for the Ten-Lords to come to them personally.

Your usual easy-going smile was gone, in its stead was eyes that kept going in and out of focus. Almost as if you were desperately trying to keep yourself grounded - a battle you both knew would end with your defeat.

Jing Yuan didn't dare to venture outside of the house. One step out and every Cloud Knight would've been on you within seconds to subdue you. He had first initially resorted to just holding you within his arms for as long as he could, to be able to remember how you felt like after your death.

But with the minimal strength you had left, you had wobbled to the garden, every step taken only making you pant heavily. But even with heavy breaths of air leaving your lips, you had refused to take Jing Yuans hand or offer to even carry you out to the garden. When you had managed to reach the ginkgo tree standing tall at the center of the garden, Jing Yuan was sure you were going to collapse in front of it, taking a quick step to catch you.

But instead you had merely reached your hands up, the falling leaves fluttering gently down onto your palms. And while you were in indescriable pain for the last couple of hours - Jing Yuan could only see a serene expression when you looked up at the ginkgo leaves that were continously falling down.

"... They're beautiful... aren't they... Jing Yuan? It's almost a pity... that these beautiful... leaves are associated with our doom," you said softly. Jing Yuan could feel his breath hitch in his throat when you uttered his name.

You're obviously struggling to convey whatever thoughts you still had to him properly, taking a moment in between words to catch your breath, eyebrows furrowed slightly as you fought against the searing pain that was spreading through every nerve in your body.

There's a sudden gust of wind which causes the pile of leaves in your hands to flutter away from your grasp. Your hand stretches out slightly, almost in an attempt to reach out for them - stumbling a bit in your step. The limp causes Jing Yuan to take a quick step forward with his arms outstretched. Perhaps seeing him in your peripheral vision causes you to stop the futile attempt to catch the escaping leaves, arms going limp against your side as you turn to face him - your once blank expression turning into a somber smile instead.

Jing Yuan thinks that it's unfair how normal you look in front of him - almost as if you haven't been becme mara-struck. Like nothing has happened to you aside from the ginkgo leaves fluttering from your lips whenever you cough. The same cough that causes the general of Luofu to flinch every time - without fail.

And perhaps you can see his inner turmoil, the way he tries to make eye contact with you, but is unable to after a few seconds. The way his hands clench too hard into fist to the point droplets of blood fall down to the grass and stains it a deep red while he bites his own lips to not say a word - lest he says something that he will regret.

And you truly wish that you could tell him everything is okay like you usually do.

But for the first time since the day he lost his friends, you can't.

"... I'm sorry," you finally say, the apology making him whip his head up to you again. Mouth opening to say something to comfort you, to tell you that it's not your fault. But the words are unable to leave his mouth when he sees your arms slightly outstretched towards him with a small smile.

And he can't hold it in anymore.

It only takes him a few wide steps to reach you from his position before he cradles you within his arms. The grip is tight, unbearably tight to the point it hurts, but you don't complain. You're limp in his hold, and if this was any day he wouldn't comment, but the fact that you're not moving a single muscle terrifies Jing Yuan to the core. "... Please," he finally manages to whisper, the rustling of ginkgo leaves around you almost drowning out his quiet plea.

"Please don't make me do this again."

He doesn't ask if the tensing of your body is caused by the pain that's rapidly increasing or if it's caused by his silent confession. He can however feel the gentle hand that rests against the lower part of his back and your head resting against the side of his own. The reassurance you try to give him does nothing to help because he's aware that it probably brought you unmeasurable pain to try to move those limbs - instead the general buries his face closer to your neck and squeezes you tighter.

"... You won't." you whisper quietly.

It takes a moment for Jing Yuan to process the meaning behind those two words.

But it's a moment too late, because before he can get his phone out to usher a command, a few resounding knocks can be heard throughout the quiet mansion.

"General Jing Yuan. This is Xueyi of the Ten-Lords commission. I've gotten information that there's currently a mara-struck within these premises."

Jing Yuan feels his blood run cold, he pulls himself away from you to stare at you properly in disbelief.

You're still staring at him with the same somber expression, however he can tell there's a small pitiful smile grazing your lips, "I'm sorry," you whisper once again.

"I asked her... personally," you start, finally letting yourself rest now that the end is near, slumping down onto Jing Yuan's chest, your ear settling itself against his heart to hear his rapid heartbeats.

Jing Yuan loathes the fact that it's at this moment, with the Ten-Lords commission outside of your door and with him completely broken do you actually look at peace - like your battle against time has finally come to its conclusion.

And naturally, the one who lost is you.

"Half a day... with you. Then she would come and bring me there. You won't have to... do this again."

You're not able to see Jing Yuan's face - and Jing Yuan wouldn't want you to see how he looked like right now. The arms around you is trembling, his mind is racing - trying to come up with anything to give him a bit more time with you.

But for once, the general that had a plan for every situation had nothing in mind.

He's lost. And the prize of the loss this time is losing you forever.

"General, I apologize for the rudeness of what I'm about to do, but this is for both of your safety," Jing Yuan hear Xueyi mutter from outside of the door, before he hears the rattling of the door frame start to slide open.

"Wait- no," it's a quiet request that gets ignored as Xueyi strides in alone, the lack of company making Jing Yuan's eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"... Their last request along with the request for my late arrival here was for the Cloud Knights to not see you like this. Naturally I won't tell anyone of what I've seen today."

Jing Yuan doesn't care about that, he could care less about his image right now, pulling you closer to him while his eyes are downcast - he makes no move to hand you over to the judge.

The puppet judge before him does not say anything - nor does she make a move. What she does however is wait, wait for the general before her that has been utterly crushed and broken by the person in his arms start to accept the harsh truth once again.

If he doesn't handle the mara-struck himself, someone else would - but the end result only serves to punish him in the end, the one left behind.

Xueyi hears a silent breath be let out by the general, her once closed eyes opening up to see the general pull slightly away from you, one hand reaching up to cradle your cheek. Your eyes have long since closed, and you're most likely not even conscious to hear what he's about to say.

"My dear... I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you. But I'm afraid you'll have to wait a bit longer before we can meet again," he whispers, bumping his forehead against your own gently, "I hope you won't fault me for that."

A long ginkgo leaf flutters right between the two of you, eventually settling down on your chest.

Jing Yuan sucks in one last deep breath, "I'm sorry I kept you here for so long - I'm sorry you had to be in pain for so long because of me," he leans in to slot his lips one last time over your own, whispering something that Xueyi can't hear before he rises up, your body limp in his arms.

"Thank you for your service Miss Xueyi, please see them off appropiately." Jing Yuan says, voice sounding eerily calm - almost like his usual self.

When he turns around to finally face her, the puppet's lifeless eyes seem to grow a bit in surprise. Before her is the general of Luofu, his usual easy-going smile present on his lips.

Like he wasn't carrying his mara-struck lover in his arms.

"As much as I would want to accompany you to see them off, I'm afraid I have some urgent matters to attend to," he informs, handing your body over to Xueyi - she doesn't comment on how his hands are still slightly trembling or how he immediately turned a bit to the side to ignore staring at her head-on.

Even though Xueyi doesn't want to ask, she still asks either way, "What are your plans from here on, general?"

Jing Yuan only gives her a close eyed smile, turning his gaze towards the large ginkgo tree with his hands behind his back. He gnaws a tiny bit at his lips, finally breathing out.

A couple of seconds passes by before he opens his mouth.

"I think I'll meditate a bit under this tree before heading back to the Seat. I can't leave Luofu without me for too long after all."

5 SCRAPPED WORKS AND I'M STILL NOT ACTUALLY THAT SATISFIED BUT IF I KEEP THIS PIECE LONGER IN THE WORKS THE MORE I'LL BUTCHER IT SO HAHA - THIS IS THE BEST WE CAN DO AFTER 3 MONTHS OF CONSTANT BACK AND FORTH FELLAS. I HOPE IT SQUEEZED YOUR HEART A TINY BIT NONETHELESS.

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail imagines #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr imagines #star rail x reader #star rail imagines #star rail x you #honkai star rail angst #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan angst

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mcflymemes · 1 year

Text

PROMPTS FOR YEARNING, LOTS OF YEARNING... * assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

i had a dream about you last night.

i remember every single kiss you took from me.

you are my everything.

i feel the same way about you.

where you go, i follow.

you're mine. you've always been mine.

i'm in love with you to the point of breathlessness.

after all this time, you still give me butterflies.

you make it hard to breathe, you know.

you fixed me. you fixed my broken heart.

i will not go another breath without you.

i crave you.

i need to be close to you.

i think i've loved you since the day we met.

i'm with you.

you touched me, and i came alive.

the universe isn't big enough to hold the depths of how i feel for you.

are you sure we're not dreaming?

kiss me again, and don't stop this time.

i can't bear the thought of living without you.

you complete me.

i want all of you. every piece of you.

i won't lose you again.

you're the most important person i have ever known.

the universe gave you to me.

you're the answer to every question i've ever had.

i want you close. i want to feel you sigh.

how am i supposed to do this without you? i can't.

all i love i knew before... it's nothing like the love i have with you.

you changed everything. everything looks different now that you're here.

i'm not ready to let go of you.

i want you safe. i want you close to me.

you fixed all of my broken pieces. you stitched me back together.

nothing will take you away from me.

i love you in every language and in every song.

i need you.

i'd rather die than let you go.

i need a whole day with you, spent in bed, just the two of us.

all that i am and everything i'll ever be belongs to you.

do you have any idea what you do to me?

stop looking at me like that. i can't focus.

you can't expect me to just... wait like this.

don't go. do that again, please.

you are everything i could ever want.

i was an empty shell until we met. i was a haunted house, darkened with pain, and you turned my lights on.

you are the most beautiful person i have ever seen.

i'm always going to be madly in love with you.

if you don't kiss me again, i'll die.

i crave the taste of your kiss.

i can't believe you're real.

if you only knew what you did to me...

there aren't enough words to explain how much i love you.

i love you more than anything.

a life without you isn't a life worth living.

don't let go of me.

you're the only one that matters.

you don't know what you do to me.

pretty sure i've fallen in love with you four times today.

you're my love.

lay with me. be with me.

they don't know you the way i do.

don't give up on me. don't give up on us.

you know what that does to me.

not even the poets could properly describe what you mean to me.

i miss the way it felt to be touched by you.

you are the sun and the stars and every other golden thing in the universe.

am i dreaming? is this real life?

i was living life half-alive until i met you.

i've never needed anyone like i need you.

please take my hand. hold it and never let go.

i love when the sun hits your eyes. you're glowing.

be with me tonight.

i've only ever wanted you. just you.

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oweninadaydream · 6 months

Text

𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐩𝐭 𝟐 || 𝐅.𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 : Say Don't Go (Taylor's version) (From The Vault) or 4 times you say 'I love you' and Finnick says nothing back.

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 : Finnick Odair x reader

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 : 2k

𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓼 : angst/fluffy ending i promise, TW: mentions of torture ,anxiety and kidnapping (first story).

𝓪/𝓷 : As promised, here's part 2 of say don't go pt 1 !!! I hope you enjoy the fic!!!

3. 𝓰𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾

You woke up in your bed, yet you could not recall how you got there. Your body felt sore and stiff but nothing could top the way your head was pounding. You were seated against the headboard and you noticed that something wasn’t right ; you couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but you knew deep inside that something was different. To help calm your distress, you tried to remember anything about the day before . You realized right and then that your memory was completely blank, leaving you even more worried than you were prior to that failed attempt.

You had assumed you were all alone, but then you saw Finnick pass through your bedroom door. “Thank God he’s here” you thought, convincing yourself that everything would be alright now that he was there with you (even if you ignored the motivation behind his unexpected visit). He slowly made his way inside and stood in the middle of the room, keeping himself at arm’s length, something extremely unusual that confirmed your gut feeling. Once he had entered your bedroom, you couldn’t help but analyze him and his strange attitude. His movements were robotic as if someone had a remote control that forced him to act like that. His eyes had never been a mystery to you , you could always tell what was going on inside him with a single stare . But this time it was different; he was staring at you with an impassive look that you couldn't quite read, making your whole body tremble in fear and distrust.

You felt intimidated and tried to figure out what was wrong with him “Finn dear, what’s going on?" you asked with a quivering smile. You tried to lift your hand to reach his but ,for some reason, you couldn't. It felt like you were strapped to the mattress and you started panicking, as you couldn't figure out what was happening. Seeking comfort, you pleaded with him in between sobs "I'm very scared Finnick please tell me something, anything. Or just hold me because this is very confusing. I- I feel like- I can't move out of bed, I- I need you"

He simply continued to play his stoic role ; he didn't move one inch before your panic attack or your efforts to set free from the invisible restraints holding you down. "Help me" you whispered with an expression of pure pain on your damped face. Your foggy brain couldn't process the scene before your eyes ; the person who represented love, hope and comfort in your miserable life was being a passive witness to your spectacle of fear and it didn’t seem like he was going to jump into action anytime soon.

You noticed a rapid change in his factions. His eyes burst into flames of hatred and his clenched jaw only accentuated the shift from indifference to hostility. Instead of hurrying to console and aid you like the Finnick you knew would, this empty shell of a man that resembled him broke the distance between you and wrapped his hands around your throat, beginning to strangle you purposefully.

You had been living in survival mode ever since you were chosen as a tribute for District 4 all those years ago, you were no stranger to fighting or death, but never in a million years would you have imagined that the man who swore to shield you from any danger would be the one stealing your breath with his bare hands in an extremely violent manner . You were desperately gasping for air and coughing while he continued to focus on his mission.

For a moment, he seemed to let his hold loose a bit and you took the chance to try and talk him into letting go "Finn, it's me. Why are you doing this?Is anyone making you do this? We take care of each other, remember? I love you more than anything." you told him with a soft but raspy voice as a consequence of his assault. You were tired and wanted to give up, but you continued to fight for him, for your Finn to come back. Apparently, hearing your desperate confession only aggravated the situation, because you felt the strength returning to his hands.

Suddenly, in between your cries and the lack of air , you felt yourself fading away. But before that happened , you heard a very loud scream. In the blink of an eye, you were no longer in your house and Finnick was nowhere to be seen. A white sterile room welcomed you to reality as some doctors accompanied by two peacekeepers entered the room.

Oh, you remember now. You were kidnapped by the Capitol, who had been subjecting you to all kinds of twisted experiments and never-ending abuse for who knows how long. The loud cries and several swear words that made you snap out of that nightmare were Johanna's, whose room was at your right. Peeta was your other neighbor, allowing you to hear them both being tortured at any given time. You looked at your arms and legs and saw the ropes tying you down , justifying the oppressing feeling you had while hallucinating.

The main theme of your punishments for not snitching was him, Finnick Odair. Snow was more than aware of the deep devotion you held for him and how dear you were to him so he figured the perfect torture would be messing with your memories and use several techniques to impose fear and pain in your heart whenever you thought of him or saw his face. That way, you would finally be all alone in this world , scared of the only thing you've ever loved so greatly and he would have to witness you shy away from him in pure terror. To meet his goal, they would drug you and play videos and recordings of him saying the meanest and cruelest words that you knew he would never be able to pronounce, but as the days passed , the truth and the imposed thoughts started to blur in one big and confusing mass.

You were resisting quite well to President Snow's diabolic plan, but you could only hold onto your actual memories for so long. One of the last things you remembered thinking about before you let yourself fall into madness were his eyes, and how much you loved them.

If your suffering assured his survival, you'd tell the Capitol to put you through it a thousand more times , and you would gladly do it again. If only you could have held your sweet Finnick for one more minute before letting him go forever…

4. 𝓪𝓷 𝓸𝓭𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮

The setting sun turned the white-sanded coast of District 4 a soft but enchanting shade of orange. The waves crashing against the rocks accompanied perfectly the idyllic landscape and brought a sense of calmness to the people assembled there. The summer solstice is a day where usually people celebrate the arrival of a new season, but that was not the case this time.

The beach looked magnificent, Effie had been the chief in charge of making everything (and everyone) look ideal for the occasion that brought them all together on that day. The first rows of white chairs were occupied by Haymitch, Effie, Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, Annie and right next to her, there was Mags, the woman who had taken care of you both for so many years and had seen how you two where meant to be from the first time you and your fiancé (soon to be husband) exchanged looks.

Neither you nor Finnick had ever thought about marrying anyone ; under Snow's regime, you were mere pieces of a game with no actual power of decision. But that didn't matter anymore. You were walking towards Finnick, who was nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of his suit , waiting for you at the end of the isle. When you finally arrived at your destination, you couldn't help but to turn around and go back to hug Mags, who received you with open arms and a couple of shed tears over her face. After this emotional moment, you went back to Finnick's side "Hi" you whispered so that the conversation could remain secret from all the guests "You come here often?" he teased with a beaming smile on his face. You let out a breathy laugh to relieve some tension and then you both turned so that the ceremony could start.

"I want to keep this vows short because I would need another lifetime just to expose the million reasons why this is the best day of my life. We're free, my love. It's truly over. This is our reward after a whole life of suffering and holding back. I am so in love with you, it's hard to put it into words. You know? Mags once told me that the thing I needed the most had always been right in front of me and I didn't get what she meant by that in that moment. She just laughed at me and told me that I would understand, one of these days" Mags in the front row was a tearful mess "and now I do. I really do" he stated confidently while holding your hands on his.

"My soul craves intertwining itself with yours until there's no way to separate them. So, with this ring" he then proceeded to grab your left hand so cautiously as if you would break at the minimum touch, and slip the golden ring in your finger "I, Finnick Odair, swear to protect, satisfy and devote myself to you ; my friend, my savior and now my spouse. I can't wait to spend the rest of my days with my forever love, which happens to be you" He had always hated to see you cry, even if they were happy tears, so he had to insert a little joke to see you chuckle and be able to hear the most beautiful sound on Earth ; your laugh.

You could sense that your voice would betray you at the minimum attempt to speak, so you needed to rush through your vows before you would explode into tears "God Finnick, you always know how to leave me speechless." the guests all laughed, moved by the evident complicity between the two of you.

"I always knew you were my soulmate, the person I was meant to find. The love I carry for you in my heart used to feel too heavy, but now that I get to set it free, it's more like energy rushing though my whole body, healing all the broken parts. I have the privilege to experience how it feels being loved by you and I want to try and describe it for all our friends who are here today" you breathed in and out and kept talking "Being loved by you feels like being rocked by the sea, like waking up to the smell of freshly baked goods or like being tucked into a warm bed in wintertime. It's exiting, comforting, amusing and an insane amount of other things that I could say right now" you recited while staring at his piercing green eyes that were completely red and filled with tears . You caressed his cheek and tried to wipe them away. "I will always follow you wherever you go, until the end of time. That's what I've always wanted to do and I couldn't be more exited about spending the rest of my life with such a handsome and amazing man. I love you."

Before you could do or say anything else, Finnick held your face between his hand and kissed you like he had been wanting to do since the ceremony started. You said 'I love you' and he said nothing back, but it wasn't so bad this time.

TAGLIST : @bambikitten , @thefourrealms , @shooting-a-star-at-the-moon , @justtrying2getby .

#the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #the hunger games imagine #the hunger games fanfiction #male reader #female reader #gender neutral reader

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wingheadshellhead · 9 months

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i'm back on my "mcu steve was in the darkest timeline because he never experienced the canon event of tony stark giving him a home and a family" bullshit. post-ice steve was isolated, grieving, lonely, going through ptsd and survivor's guilt and he was constantly fixated on how he had no home or family or identity beyond cap. post-ice in the mcu, SHIELD stuck him in the costume and sent him back into the field, reinforcing the idea that he was nothing more than the empty shell of captain america.

"All my life I've tried to find a place for Steve Rogers—but still he lives under the more colorful shadow of Captain America… Perhaps it's Steve Rogers who's the legend—and Captain America who is the reality! Perhaps I was born to be a red-white-and-blue Avenger—and nothing more! But there must be more to life than endless combat! Others have found a home—a family—why can't I? Or, is Steve Rogers destined to walk alone forever—until the final battle—until he walks no more?"

— Tales of Suspense Vol. 1 #75 (1959)

"[...] But, even in the center of a crowd, I'm an outsider—a misfit! Only when I'm costumed as Captain America do I seem to come alive—to have a mission—a purpose! But, as Steve Rogers, I'm merely a name—a hollow shell—with no roots—no real life to call my own! Other men have friends—wives—loved ones!"

— Tales of Suspense Vol. 1 #92 (1959)

in the comics, the canon event of tony stark, the first person steve meets in the 21st century, giving him all of those things — a purpose, a home, somewhere to belong as himself and not just cap — changed his entire life.

"The first week after I came out of the ice… It was a dark time. I'd lost everything. My best friend. All my friends. All I had. I didn't know what I could hang on to. And then Tony Stark came in with this little… handheld cinema. Future technology. He showed me a newsreel. Right there, I saw a man walk on the moon. For all mankind. And in that moment, I felt hope again."

— S.W.O.R.D. Vol. 2 #6 (2021)

"Mr. Stark, when I woke up in this era, I had no one. Nothing. You gave me a purpose. Somewhere to belong… You gave me a home."

— Iron Man/Captain America: Casualties of War (2006)

meeting tony and the avengers, creating those friendships and connections, living at the avengers mansion with them, gives steve hope that he can still find happiness and belonging in the present day.

i always found it ironic that in the mcu steve projects this ideal of happiness and domestic life onto tony. this scene in ca:cw is a perfect example of that disconnect between the reality and what steve assumed on the surface was tony achieving what he never could — having a partner, his own family and kids. (the fact that cacw tony is 4 seconds away from a heart attack at all times and too busy running around firefighting PR crises just further drives home the irony.)

and then in a cruel twist of fate, mcu actually gives tony all of these things: home, family, wife and kid. we see steve witnessing tony having these things and knowing it's all possible, but just not for him and not in this era. (and ultimately, tony only gets to have these things for a brief period of time before having to give it all up.)

mcu steve never got to have the experiences that have shaped every other universe's steve rogers. the presence of tony stark, his friendship, his home, his love (whether platonic or romatnic), that formed the foundation of steve's purpose within the avengers, is intrinsic to steve finding hope and happiness in the modern day. the mcu changing such a crucial canon event rewrote not only the core of mcu steve's story but the trajectory of the cinematic universe. and in the end, the writers sent steve back to the past because they believed after 6 movies and 7 years, he had nothing left to live for in the present and i honestly can't think of anything more tragic.

#stevetony #superhusbands #stony #@

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pinkworldone · 7 days

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Anyway, just imagine Sunday and Robin as royal people, I believe very similar to what we have in the game, they being famous and influential throughout Penacony. But let's extend this to a more medieval and Manhwas-like view.

You were created with only one purpose: to take Sunday and Robin to victory, even if your life has to be sacrificed for this goal to occur, to make Sunday an emperor and Princess Robin, your goal was to make her happy and marry a good match. A rich man that she truly loved.

So, in this idea, we would have an obsessed reader who loses your own wills only to complete the goal given to you, while we would have two yanderes or perhaps one, of your choice, actively pursuing the reader.

You need and will make them perfect in everything, not in a forced way but careful so that they do not go crazy with the pressure of being Penacony's face. In addition, you know them since they were little, friends as children that soon became something bigger for them, however, but for you. This was just your duty.

You sacrificed everything most precious, your relationships, your health… your life so that they had everything good and the best, so that they would rise in life and you could watch with pride, they didn't even need to thank you.

Therefore, you had to get closer to Sunday and help him in the complicated moments of your life, properly instruct him in his duties and help him whenever you can. Just as you help him in dance and education classes, you almost always hesitated to touch him, but you were kind and reluctant, always respecting his personal space, even if years later he does not respect yours.

The dearest and adorable Robin quickly warms up to you when you were children, she appreciates that you are kind and critical with your words, always being careful not to hurt her heart. Robin lives in this fantasy of you always being together just like children, she felt very hurt and sad when she saw you only neutral, an empty shell that serves to accept and fulfill her desires, so Robin does her best to help you in the things you show the least of interest.

Relating better, you had to give up your own existence and personality when you had to serve both of you, so they had to see your smile disappear so fast that it was painful, to see your healthy self to become more and more psychologically degraded and physically exhausted.

Soon, you realize that the dance classes are getting longer and the touches look different next to Sunday, it seems wrong and too affectionate. He insists on always training so that it is perfect and you appreciate it, but training every day is painful, but you don't care, your body... your life is not important like that, so just accept and follow your master's orders.

Robin keeps doing her best to make you smile, especially leading you to do things you liked when you were little to feel that nice feeling of nostalgia and maybe see the slightest smile on your face. You have become her stage and even tired, on the verge of exhaustion, you continue and support her. So, as Robin knows that you will obey her anyway, she forces you to rest next to her, lying under the flowers and looking at the beautiful blue sky.

#yandere x reader #yandere writing #yandere headcanons #yandere honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #robin x reader #sunday x reader

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teatoptony · 8 months

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The Whole Being Soulmates Thing

summary; in this world, soulmates exist. he has one. it’s just that he already found someone, and your marks don’t match at all.

or, in which a stupidly stubborn punk in stupidly in love with someone who’s not his stupid ‘real’ soulmate.

pairing; hobie brown x reader, spider-punk x reader (soulmate!au)

warning(s); mentions of police brutality, not-too-detailed descriptions of injuries. r is non-gendered, no mention of r’s race. not proofread & written in the wee hours.

i am not black, i don’t have wicks. i did some research on how to properly care for them and wrote tiny parts in here with the info i had, but it may not be totally accurate. if something is wring, let me know. same for the lcp.

also hobie might sound a bit ooc but it’s a quiet fic and we don’t rly see him ‘quiet’ so eat my ahh(/j)

inspired by this post by @corrodedcoffeen ! not exactly 100% accurate but yea

He lived in a world full of soulmates and soulmarks.

Everyone who had a soulmate had a soulmark, like a little tattoo; whether it be on their arm, leg, back, even on their face. Sometimes, a person would have multiple soulmarks. In other cases, they wouldn’t have any at all. Some people were born with their marks, some appeared later down the line.

In most cases, people would do anything to find their soulmate. To be with them. To unite with their missing half.

Hobie Brown was among those who’d been born with a soulmate. Four little streaks that wrapped halfway around his left arm, like a scar from an animal that had halfheartedly tried to claw the whole thing off at birth.

Hobie loved his soulmark.

Not because he’d met his soulmate. Nor was it because the idea of a predestined partner made him giddy. No, it was because he felt a sense of pride whenever he looked at it. Pride that he’d beaten the system when he got you.

His thoughts wander as he sits on your your and his shared bed, a towel flat under his bum to prevent any grime that may be on his suit from rubbing off on the sheets. His vest and T-shirt had been haphazardly folded and placed on the bathroom sink, desperately needing a thorough cleaning after a particularly hard day, which left his torso bare for you to assess and repair the damage he’d been dealt once you peeled off the top half of his suit.

“Bit eager, yeah?” He’d joked as you hastily helped him out of his clothes, that cheeky smirk still shining through on his tear-streaked face. You’d answered with an exasperated laugh.

He had come home at two in the morning, stumbling through the window with a hand over the right side of his mask. When he’d ripped it off, tossing it on a random bit of the floor somewhere, you were met with red eyes, wet cheeks, a runny nose and a blood-crusted lip. Apparently, he’d been at the frontlines of a protest when one of the tear gas shells hit him right in the face, cracking his right eye lense and leaving him vulnerable to the gas’s full effect. You didn’t need to be told what happened to know what came next. After all, it was always the same routine with the pigs - gas the crowd and beat any individuals that strayed from the mass.

Now, as Hobie’s fingers tap a little rhythm on the mattress, your hands glide a washcloth long his skin, being careful to minimize pressure on his bruises. Which, granted, is hard when they cover most of his back and ribcage, but you made it work somehow. Tear gas residue sticks to anything it can, and although his body was mostly had been mostly covered, it gave the both of you peace of mind to clean anything off just in case. He thanks you by softly gripping your other hand, his fingers lacing together with yours.

“Need more milk?” You ask, going to put the cloth down and grab the already half-empty sprayer on the ground next to the bed, having already been used in the bathroom just minutes prior and put there just in case. He shakes his head, the hand that’s not on yours gently grabbing your wrist and guiding it back to his chest.

As you continue, he thinks back to the first time he’d held your hand like that.

It was when the two of you were barely teenagers, when he didn’t fully understand how the whole ‘soulmates’ thing even worked, or how messed up it really was. The only thing he really knew was that people were supposed to stay together forever if their marks matched, even if that wasn’t always the case.

Having known each other since you were just kids, he remembers wishing so badly that your soulmark matched his. He had wished that little planet on your ankle could be washed away, a temporary tattoo or doodle instead of an actual mark. He remembers drawing little black holes at the corners of his school worksheets, hoping that one of them would eventually swallow your mark whole and replace it with four lines identical to his.

Back then, he had wished his ugly little bands would somehow arrange themselves into a square. At least then he could insist that his mark was a planet. A weird square one, yeah, but a planet just like yours.

But as you looked at him with that warm glow in your eyes, he swore you were the best thing that had ever happened to him, soulmate or not.

If only that kid could see him now - here, with you.

He suppresses a smile that threatens to slip onto his face, as moving his lips makes the cut sting.

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” you mutter, wiping at the last bit of his torso. Hobie lets out a low sigh.

“‘M sorry love,” he says back, giving your hand a little squeeze. He really does mean it. He hates seeing the worry and sadness in your eyes every time he came back to you after one of these days. Fuck knows how he’d cope with it if you came home like this just every now and again, let alone what seemed like every other day recently. “I do try to be careful.”

You hum in response, getting up from your spot and holding out your hand for him to do the same. He does so with little to no hesitation, only waiting a moment to brace himself for the soreness that would follow. You lead him to the bathroom.

“Everything off,” you say, then immediately follow it up with, “Don’t.”

“I didn’t even say nothin’!” Hobie protests, feigning offense. As if that glint in his eye didn’t give it away.

“You need to get cleaned off properly.” You stress the lest word, letting go of his hand so that he can strip. “You can’t just go to bed after a quick wipe-down tonight. You need a shower.”

“But it’s gonna be cold.” Hobie groans. Tear gas wasn’t anything new, he’d had to clean the residue off of himself more times than he could count. That didn’t mean he was a fan of the cold showers that did most of the actual cleaning. Despite his complaints, he hastily steps out of his remaining articles of clothing as you start the water.

His muscles tense as he steps into the shower, pulling him out of his somewhat drowsy state. He quickly scrubs every part of his body, wanting to get out as fast as possible.

He washes his hair out last, taking care to not mess them up no matter how much he hates the temperature of the water. He’d made the mistake of trying to shampoo the whole of his head in one go just once before, and he’d be damned if he had to go running to the auntie down the street again to fix any tangles neither you nor him could sort out.

In his defense, he’d almost bled out just a couple hours beforehand that day. Having your first (superhero-related) near-death experience tends to shake you up a little.

“You’re such a man-baby,” you’d teased him as Hobie gripped your hand for dear life, the woman you’d guaranteed could get that nightmare of a knot out sorting through his hair with an arsenal of olive oil and a wide toothed comb.

“Oh piss off—” his reply was cut short as she detangled a particularly nasty bit of the problem, unfortunately having to tug exceptionally hard at his head. “Ow!”

The woman - Aunt Margaret, as you’d introduced her - tsked at him to sit still, poking at the tangle with the handle of her comb to see if it would give way now. Luckily, most of it did. She muttered something along the lines of ‘young people nowadays’, but in a sort of gruffly affectionate sort of way. From what you’d told him, Aunt Margaret was sort of the neighborhood mom, always helping people who needed it no matter how much she gave them grief for it.

The three of you made small talk over tea after his hair was nice and hairball-free, albeit a little slippery. Turned out, Aunt Margaret had plenty of stories of her own to share. Hobie had been delighted to hear about everything that had happened when she was a part of the League of Colored Peoples, almost ready to practically beg the woman to adopt him.

Two weeks later, when he decided to drop by again, the topic of soulmates came up. Aunt Margaret asked if he’d found his soulmate yet, to which he replied he didn’t believe in the soulmate system. She nodded in agreement.

“Just as well,” she had said, a frown making its way onto her face. “I’ve seen too many good people get their hearts broken because of that bloody mark.” She eyed his upper arm, exposed in the sleeveless top he’d worn at the time. “I got mine covered ages ago.”

“Did you meet your soulmate before that?”

Aunt Margaret shook her head. “That’s a story for another time, Bartholomew.”

He still makes time for tea with her every week or so.

The second he steps out of the shower, he’s greeted with a huge, warm towel fresh from the dryer. He wraps it around himself as you usher him back to the bedroom where you’d laid out some comfy clothes for him. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the clothes he’d discarded on the bathroom floor is long gone, along with his vest and tee that were sitting on the sink.

“I put the studs out on the veranda to air out,” you say, noticing him glance at the empty sink. “They’ll need washing, though. My eyes got all weird when I looked at the vest too close, and your belt’s not much different. The rest of everything’s in the machine.”

Pulling on his bottoms, Hobie silently nods at your words before pulling the tank top you’d dug out for him over his head. He then walks over to place a kiss on your head. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to leech off your warmth. He lets out a little noise of contentment when he feels you hug him back.

Wordlessly, he walks the two of you to your the shared vanity, plopping himself down on the seat. You grab the hairdryer off the table, checking to make sure it’s okay for you to help before switching it on to dry his wicks. Hobie closes his eyes as you make your way through each piece, eventually stopping once there’s no more water to be purged. Your fingers sorting through his hair so carefully is calming - almost therapeutic, and it takes all his willpower to keep himself sitting straight up for you.

After that, he clumsily grabs you and throws you over his shoulder, ignoring how you yelp in surprise and unplugging the dryer. He then proceeds to carry you around your place, flicking off all the lights before getting back to the bedroom and (softly) throwing you on the mattress.

“Was that really necessary?” You groan as he throws the sheets over the both of you. Hobie then proceeds to drag himself half on top of you, using you as a full body pillow.

“Definitely.” He replies, his voice a bit muffled against your pajamas.

You laugh. “Sure.”

He tilts his head up to give you a goodnight kiss, murmuring ‘dream ‘bout me’ next to your ear to which you respond by playfully pushing him away.

“Rude,” He mutters, smiling into your clothes as he huffs in indignation. Your laugh echoes through your body, a sound more beautiful than any music he had or would ever hear.

He doesn’t fall asleep too easily that night. Rogue thoughts on soulmates and fate flinging about his skull. For some reason, they’d all picked tonight to bug him to pieces.

Unknowingly, his grip around you tightens, feeling your weight in his arms. It grounds him as all the doubts try to throw him off, to destabilize something perfectly happy.

What if they find their soulmate? Then they’ll decide if they want me or them. (Me.)

What if I find my soulmate? What, like I’d break their heart for a stranger? Yeah. Fat chance.

He swatted those questions away like pesky little mosquitoes until he eventually fell asleep, choosing to focus instead on your heartbeat ringing in his ears.

So what if you two weren’t soulmates? He loves you, you love him. That’s all that matters.

The universe can suck an egg.

—

The next morning, Hobie woke up at 11, as usual. You woke up right after him as he stirred, like you always did. The two of you lounged in the comfort of your the sheets for a while before you had to eventually get up for breakfast.

Hobie was trailing behind you on your walk to the kitchen when something catches his eye.

His reflection in the vanity mirror.

Something’s… off.

Oh.

Oh shit.

“Y/n?” He calls, looking down at his upper arm just to make sure the mirror isn’t playing tricks on him. Sure enough, there it is.

You turned around at his voice, eyebrows furrowed in a confused way. “Hm?”

“Look.”

He watches as your confusion morphed into surprise and then back to confusion again. Then you auickly check your ankle, confusion turning into realization.

“We match.”

Your soulmarks had somehow changed overnight, turning into small, stylized sun symbols that stand out more than either of your marks before ever did, clear as day.

It’s a few moments of stunned silence before laughter breaks out between the two of you.

“You know what we have to do now,” you manage, an arm around the front of your midsection and the other hand on your face.

“I think I do.” Hobie says, practically wheezing

By the end of the day, the two of you have covered up your new soulmarks with mismatching tattoos.

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emlan · 3 months

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I play around with Real Boy Carlo a lot but when it comes to canon I love the idea of there just being Nothing in there… An empty shell who's only default setting is to smile when papa is around, ideal good son 🙏

While I'm at it, I'm also rather endeared to the concept of "Carlo" not actually having any Carlo juice in him but instead being a hypertuned perversion of P; Enhancing his Pleasing Daddy tendencies to the fullest and further fueled by the darker side of being human (=killing is fun). I mean, Geppetto taking the heart, one can see it as him basically just moving a hard drive into another tower?

There's poetry to this because A) Geppetto causes all this mayhem yet he doesn't even "succeed" at bringing his son back (this is already canon-canon since I think it's pretty clear ending Carlo is not true Carlo, and Geppetto's delusion levels are maxed out at this point so whoever that boy actually is doesn't really matter. But, on a meta level it's "satisfying".) And B) makes it extra tragic that P who was making great progress growing into a person of his own is now 100% his father's thrall.

Also makes Sophia's "is this truly the future you wanted?" line even more fitting, since then she is actually addressing the currently living ""P"".

#lies of p #p lies of p #real boy carlo #sir carlo lies of p #ending spoilers #lop #not art #text post #blood #BAD END

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alarainai · 9 months

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'The world that we were busy building.'

non-magic, neighbour au. wc: 2200

James hates the man who lives in Apartment 23.

Remus likes to remind him that it's impossible to hate someone he's never met – never even seen. But James doesn't need to see him to know that his soul burns with anger just knowing that someone exists in that apartment who seems to be on a mission to make his life utterly miserable.

He wonders if he's done anything to personally offend the faceless, nameless stranger or if the mystery man is just a sadist who plans to drive James mad by pettiness and passive-aggressive actions.

It all started with a cat.

James is allergic to cats.

So when he found a Calico sitting on his balcony – a balcony three stories high, mind you – he was at a little bit of a loss on how to react. It scratched at the glass door and meowed loudly as James just frowned at its existence.

At the time, he believed the apartment next to his own was empty, and he wasn't close to any other place for it to have jumped from.

Except from the balcony above, which was completely possible.

For a moment, he ignored it and went to his upstairs neighbour to see whether or not they had a Calico cat. The denial confused him, and he returned to his apartment, ready to call Remus to collect the thing.

He came back to both his balcony and front door wide open. The cat was gone.

A note was left in its place.

Bring my cat back next time, asshole. Apt. 23.

He had knocked on the door furiously then, yelled through the wood that he didn't even realise anyone lived there – added that whoever they were didn't need to break into his apartment and 'How the hell did you even do it? Can you lockpick?'

James didn't get an answer that day.

But the war had begun.

----

The cat – James now knows her name is Isobel – became a frequent member of James' household. He's had to purchase a large quantity of allergy pills and a large bag of cat food.

He hasn't gotten any thanks for it, naturally. But James isn't mad about this development. He's grown quite attached to the tiny demon who causes his daily sniffles.

In retaliation for half the custody of his neighbours' cat, James has taken to loudly – and terribly - singing in the rooms that share a wall with the mystery asshole.

James knows the annoyance is working when he gets several angry knocks. It only makes James sing louder.

The revenge for James' singing is unwanted deliveries to his door. A choir, cold callers, religious groups, and even a mime once.

James responded by leaving eggs right outside his neighbour's door. He heard violent swearing and various threats, but when he looked out his door to mock, only broken shells and yolk were left in the hallway.

It seems to be a back-and-forth between them without an end in sight. James simply refuses to back down, even when he comes home from work one day to find a litter tray on his balcony from his neighbour once again breaking into his apartment.

He's half tempted to call the landlord; he gets kitty litter instead.

For a while, James wonders if this is his life now. Doomed in an eternal battle with an unknown entity.

It's a surprise then when Isobel is absent for a few days. The bigger shock comes from the knock he gets at 3 in the afternoon on a Saturday. He's not expecting a guest – although he half anticipates it being another prank from his neighbour.

If it is a prank, it's not a very good one. The man at his door is the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

He's staring at him with wide, desperate grey eyes, and his skin is lightly flushed around his cheeks. Black curls frame sharp cheekbones, freckles are scattered across his skin. His lips are slightly parted – breathless like he's been running. He's shockingly gorgeous and too good to be at his door.

It's only then that James notices Isobel in this man's arms. Realisation dawns on him.

"You're number 23," he breathes in awe.

23 ignores him, "Isobel is sick," he says. "And my car... it's – I need to take her to the vet right now."

James has half a mind to tell him to fuck off after the hell he's put him through. Another part of him just wants to ask him for his number.

But his rational side takes in his words, and his gaze drifts down to look at Isobel again. She's quiet in 23's arms, eyes closed with shallow breath.

"Shit, okay. We can take my car."

He quickly turns, grabbing his keys and wallet before leading 23 back out of the war and towards the car park. Isobel doesn't kick up a fuss while they're driving, nor when James hastily pulls into the vets his neighbour has led him to.

He parks up while 23 runs ahead, cradling Isobel to his chest.

James' heart aches. He has grown awfully fond of her.

As he walks in, he sees 23 at the reception desk. He looks frantic.

"I just told you. She has insurance!"

"I'm sorry, sir. But it says the insurance was cancelled by a Mr. Orion Black."

James watches' as 23's face falls, and he looks between the receptionist and Isobel with a lost expression. And James knows this man is a bastard; honestly, he does! But that Calico has always been well-loved, and his neighbour looks incredibly broken.

"Please... she-"

"How much?" James interrupts.

Both the receptionist and 23 turn to look at him. The receptionist wordlessly passes him the card machine. He tries not to wince at the number and scratches at Isobel's ear before entering his card and paying in full.

"Thank you, sir," the receptionist says politely, pulling the card machine back, "Please take a seat. Mister Dearborn will call you through shortly."

James nods thanks and walks over to the fairly empty waiting area, knowing 23 isn't too far behind. The plastic green chairs aren't exactly comfortable, but James doesn't complain. Instead, he looks as 23 sits beside him and cradles Isobel.

He looks uncertain. Uncomfortable.

"Thank you," 23 says softly, "You didn't need to do that."

James grins, "Eh, what are neighbours for."

Not for paying that ridiculous amount on Pet Bills, that's for sure. But James makes enough money. Besides, he's been looking after that cat for months. Might as well contribute to some health bills, too.

With the wait, he has time to look at the man from apartment 23. He can't be much younger than James is, although the dark circles under his eyes and his slightly dry skin suggest he doesn't know the meaning of good sleep and proper hydration. James thinks he might look like someone out of a Tim Burton movie at the right angle.

He shouldn't be that infatuated with it.

"I thought you'd be older."

23 frowns at him, "What?"

"With your attitude and obviously appalling taste in music," James explains with a hand wave, "I was expecting you to be a middle-aged Scrooge kind of guy. You're a surprise..."

He pauses, waiting for a name.

23 rolls his eyes, "Regulus."

"Good to finally meet you, Regulus. I'm James."

"Hi," Regulus says dryly, "And I don't have appalling taste in music. You're just a terrible singer."

James gasps in mock indignation, "You wound me. I thought they were beautiful serenades to my beautiful rival neighbour."

"Must you sing every morning, though?"

"Yeah. I need to make sure you're sufficiently irritated."

Regulus laughs. It's a slight, restricted noise – like he's not used to laughing out loud. His skin turns a darker shade of pink, and James finds him grinning. It's actually quite annoying. How can his opinion turn so quickly just because he sees a boy with pretty eyes?

He wonders if that makes him shallow.

He decides he doesn't care.

It seems like Regulus is going to say something in response when Isobel's name is called. Regulus stands, facing James with a small frown, as though he wants to ask for more but doesn't know how to do it. James thinks that his neighbour may simply lack social etiquette.

"I'll wait here," James reassures him.

And then he's gone.

James can't help but feel worried in Regulus' absence. He knows it's tough to lose a pet, knows that they just become an extended member of the family. It's a scary position to be in – and not knowing just makes it so much worse.

It doesn't take long, however. Soon enough, Regulus is stepping out of the room again. Isobel is still asleep in his arms, but Regulus doesn't seem as scared as before.

James stands.

"Well?"

"Feline upper respiratory infection. Nothing too serious or dangerous," Regulus says with a slight smile. He shakes a small box, "These are just for broader symptoms."

"Alright," James lets out a sigh of relief, "We'll make sure she's medicated when it's needed, then."

Regulus blinks, "We?"

"Of course. We are her parents, after all. Or did you miss the part where she spends just as much time in my apartment as yours? Come alone, Regulus. And lady Isobel!"

James turns and heads back to the car with Regulus behind him. His neighbour shuffles into the passenger seat, arranging Isobel on his lap and making her comfortable before he puts his seatbelt on. James notices Regulus looking at him – like he's a puzzle he can't quite work out.

He's content to let him stare.

As the drive goes on, the silence seems to be getting to him.

"I've been horrible to you," Regulus murmurs, "You didn't have to help me."

James hums, "What can I say? I'm a sucker for a pretty boy in distress."

Regulus opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again, failing to give any sort of retort. Eventually, he gives up, and they head home to the sound of a slight purr from the Calico on Regulus' lap.

----

Weeks past. Pranks and despising each other is a thing of the past, thanks to Isobel.

Fever and general illness doesn't stop the cat from switching between apartments whenever she pleases. James keeps his balcony door open, the food bowl full, and the litter tray clean.

The only real change to the entire routine is the presence of Regulus in his life.

He doesn't break in anymore. He knocks and waits.

More often than not, he stays for tea.

And Regulus Black is a wonderful person. James curses himself for not hanging around just to meet him sooner.

He's a student, recently kicked out of his family home with just the clothes on his back and Isobel in his arms. The place he's staying belongs to his brother, who is having an extended holiday with his lover somewhere in Europe with no desire to return.

He's been stressed and struggling – and the feud that James thought was from hatred was actually Regulus' equivalent to human contact.

Regulus is lonely.

Regulus is funny.

Regulus might just be the man of his dreams. But maybe that's because they're raising a cat together. James can't presume how the other man feels about him.

During the second month of knowing Regulus, James makes an error.

He wakes up with a heavy weight on his chest, a dry mouth and a stuffy nose. Blinking his eyes open, he sees Isobel asleep on his chest. He realises, rather quite suddenly, that he had forgotten to take his allergy pills before going to bed.

The rest of the morning is unpleasant, feeding Isobel and himself while trying to ignore the symptoms setting in.

He's ran out of meds, his fault, of course. When his door opens and Regulus steps in, James is relieved to have company. Even if Regulus sees him with tissues to his face and watery eyes.

Regulus frowns at him. "Are you sick?"

"No," James says with a laugh, blowing his nose, "I'm just allergic to cats. I forgot to take my pills this morning."

His neighbour's face turns carefully blank.

"You're allergic to cats."

James blinks, "Didn't I mention?"

Regulus tries again, taking several steps forward, "You're allergic to cats, but you're still doing everything for Isobel?”

"Well, yeah? What do you – mmph!"

Suddenly, lips are pressed against his, and he has a warm body pressed against his own. It's not a pleasant first kiss by any means, especially with the way James simply cannot breathe due to a clogged nose, and his lips are definitely too dry to be nice.

But the enthusiasm and desperation from both of them nearly makes up for it.

Regulus pulls back and gives him a small disgusted expression, "I'll get you some allergy meds, you absolute moron."

James grins, wide and adoring, "You love me."

An eye roll, "I guess you're okay. For a shit neighbour."

Regulus leaves to get him some meds. James refills the cat bowl. Isobel purrs at his toes and looks pleased with herself.

He has a feeling they won't need to share custody of the Calico anymore.

#only warning is maybe pet illness?#but it's fine #this is fluff #they're just being so silly #jegulus #drabble #is it a drabble? eh it is now

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