#possible fanfiction

[pascaloverx]

Fanfic Proposal: with jungkook x reader x taehyung love triangle

Title: Invisible Bonds: The Power of Destiny

Author's Note: This fanfic contains possible strong language and explores themes of unconventional love. The relationship between the protagonists will be handled with sensitivity, without explicit scenes.

Preview

chapter one

Today is the big day. My best friend is marrying the love of his life. It's a pity that this means I will lose mine. But in today's world, feelings are not taken into consideration. In a world where upon meeting the person you are destined to love, you gain what we call the bond of predestined lovers. This bond allows you to connect deeply with the feelings of the person you are linked to and can hurt you if they get hurt. Unfortunately, this bond ends up becoming deadly for those who choose to keep it. To break the connection, you need to undergo a painful detachment, removing the mark given by destiny that led you to your soulmate. This mark, imprinted on the soul, must be removed through a ritual. It's not scientific, it just happened.

My grandma used to say a witch cursed our nation with a spell where you'll be bound to the person you despise the most, even if you fall in love with someone else. Meanwhile, my mother believes some scientist altered people's DNA to create perfect pairs. In the world, there are several theories about the reasons that brought us to where we are now, but no one knows how to reverse it. While this helps people not to be alone, there are those who fall in love regardless of the soul bond, and others who would prefer not to get hurt or die with the person they love.

My case fits into those who, despite fearing the consequences of breaking the bond, ended up falling in love with someone who is not their soulmate. Actually, I have no idea if getting to know the person linked to me would improve or worsen my situation. When I was in college, I met my best friend, Kim Taehyung. He was already a senior student, and I was just a naive freshman. At first, it was difficult to strike up a conversation with him because he is an extremely attractive person. And even though nowadays I see that he is more introverted than extroverted, at that time, everyone was talking about him. Him and the group of friends he had. We started talking when I had difficulties in a subject he was tutoring. Since then, he has been my right-hand man, always lifting me up when needed or giving me a reality check. About a year ago, the moment I dreaded the most happened. He found his better half. She's so kind and truly perfect for him. Basically, she is everything I can't be for him.

And now they are getting married. To each other. And they will live a modern happily ever after while I watch from the sidelines.Or that's what I thought was going to happen. Until I met him. Jeon Jungkook, or Mr. Charming Smile and Perfect Hair. Jungkook was standing next to Taehyung while I was checking if everything was right for the ceremony. He is Taehyung's best friend who spent some time living abroad. They have known each other since childhood. And I think he might be... my other half. Otherwise, there's no explanation for the fact that we both passed out together before the bride walked down the aisle. Fate must be playing a trick on me.

#jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #bts fanfic #possible fanfiction #soulmates au #bts reader insert #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #taehyung fanfic #namjoon #jimin #yoongi #jung hoseok #friends to lovers #strangers to lovers #jin

[writehardwhumpharder]

I may or may not bring this blog back from the dead to indulge my latest obsession, The Magnus Archives.

(P.S. Carson is alive and well)

#im back #the magnus archives #carson series #sorry i abandoned this blog #whump #possible fanfiction

[on-coming-dusk]

(4 November 2022) Stranger Things Journal Rambles

Give me a fic where Eddie dies in Dustin’s arms. Where he sees Chrissy in that state of limbo between being alive and being fully dead – the place people who have survived near death experiences talk about in the books they write about seeing the afterlife.

Give me Eddie seeing Chrissy and hugging her, breaking apart at the seams, shattering into a million pieces because he is so, so sorry he couldn’t help her.

Give me Chrissy flashing her blinding smile up at him, free of any signs that Vecna was the thing that put her here, wrapping her arms around him. She pieces him back together, her laugh piercing through the overwhelming grief that is finally, finally escaping him, helping him remember how to breathe.

Give me Chrissy squeezing him so tightly as she tells him she knows he did everything he could for her back at the trailer. She thanks him for his amazing solo performance in the Upside Down, tells him how she would never forget a show like that, especially not when it was dedicated to her.

Give me Eddie Munson clinging to her – desperate mot to let her slip away again – only for her to brush his hair behind his ears and kiss his cheek. She gives him this long, soft look before telling him that he must go back. And now Eddie is confused, he doesn’t understand what she means?

Give me Chrissy squeezing his hands – (where blood was visible. Where did that come from? Had it been there the whole time?) – telling him, “I’m glad I got to share these moments with you, Eddie. And I want to thank you again for trying help me when no one else even knew that I was hurting. But you can’t stay here, you have to go back now.” Eddie knitting his brows, shaking his head. He just got to her, how was he supposed to leave now? “You’re not meant to die yet; it just can’t happen. I don’t care what plans the universe has in store for you. You can’t leave Dustin or Steve or Robin or Nancy or your Uncle Wayne behind. Eddie, you’ve got your band back there waiting for you. You have to graduate like you promised yourself you would. You have to finish writing your campaign for Hellfire once school is back in session! Basketball is over for the season; Lucas can play again! And you can consider being less of a hardass and moving it to a different night in the future so your whole party can play, Eddie Munson. Don’t be mean to Lucas just because he is brave enough to walk in two worlds at once and you aren’t.” Another soft kiss on the same cheek. “I’m sorry that I died. I’m so, so sorry you had to see that. But you can’t die yet, not like this, Eddie. Go back. Can’t you hear them calling for you? Go back and live out your days. Make memories and music and exist – if not for yourself then for me. Remember me, fondly, I hope. Cry when you need to Eddie but damn it, please don’t let go yet. They need you more than I do, more than I did. You have to go back now, but I promise that when it really is your time I’ll be waiting.” He can feel her fading, her presence getting more and more distant. “Oh Eddie! Thank Max for me! She’ll know what you mean!”

And Eddie wakes up with a heaving gasp, in the back of his uncle’s moving van.

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie musnon #chrissy cunningham #possible fanfiction #my writing #stranger things writing #stranger things fanfiction #work in progress #because of course #i started writing this out #near death experience #non canon compliant #eddie lives #the afterlife #mentions of #steve harrington #dustin henderson #robin buckely #nancy wheeler #lucas sinclair #wayne munson #uncle wayne #stranger things rambles #my thoughts #thoughts? #feelings? #general vibes?

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Stephanie had hit the jackpot. She had been heading back to base to get cleaned up after a fight with Condiment King, grumbling all the while. She stopped on a rooftop after some mayo from her hair had fallen into her face.

Suddenly, there was no mayo. All of the condiments that she was covered with were now on the rooftop around her feet. She didn't even see this kid approach. "Huh?" She said without thinking

"Sorry." The kid, who looked like adoption bait smiled sheepishly as he used the hand that had density shifted the food off of her to rub the back of his neck. "I thought you would like that stuff off of you."

Somehow she convinced him to help her with the aftermath of fighting messy villains in exchange for snacks, but in a move of petty revenge she refused to tell the other bats how she managed to get clean so fast and not smell like mustard for a week after.

This, of course, leads to the whole bat clan attempting to stalk her to figure out her secret.

#dpxdc #fanfiction prompts #prompts #danny phantom #danny fenton #stephine brown #spoiler #batgirl #steph is going to keep danny all to herself for as long as possible #and begins to uncover many of his secrets

[sleepwalkersqueen]

#litterally just #this #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #litterally every fandom I am in #but mostly #bnha #supernatural #mob psycho 100 #theres a lot in the #tmnt #fandom but #imagine being at the doc and not having anything to read :') #complaining on the highest snobbiest level possible <3

[steddiehyperfixation]

accidental eavesdropping (steddie ficlet)

based on this post by @imjust-that-shy. i hope i did this vision justice <3

The doors to the bathroom burst open, and - on some pure, inexplicable instinct and with nearly inhuman speed - Eddie darts back into the stall he'd just been about to come out of and leaps to perch on top of the toilet seat, crouched there like some sort of creature. 

He hears the sound of retching and the stench of vomit fills the air. He holds his breath, wrinkling his nose and trying to imagine what possible context could be behind Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley bursting in here together to puke their guts out. Eddie knows the two of them work together, he’s seen them sharing shifts at Scoops Ahoy when he's walked by. (Not that he often intentionally passes by the ice cream parlor and slows down just to catch a glimpse of Steve or anything… Although who could really blame him if he did? Like, come on, Steve in that uniform? Hello, sailor.) His mind is busy spinning stories of possible explanations, ranging from spoiled ice cream to sneaking alcohol and getting too drunk during their break. 

Eddie's leaning towards the 'drinking on the job' explanation, especially when the retching finally ceases and Robin says something about the room no longer spinning. Those little rebels, Eddie thinks approvingly.

“When’s the last time you, uh…peed your pants,” Steve is asking Robin now, in response to her telling him in a Russian accent to interrogate her. 

Eddie curls over his knees, tilting his head to try to peer through the gap between the stalls and the floor to put an image to his eavesdropping. Might as well, he’s kind of stuck here and there’s really not much else he can do right now. He can see Steve’s legs, one bent and the other stretched out in front of him, and Robin in the stall past him laying on the floor with her legs up against the stall wall as she answers, “Today…” 

“What?” Steve questions.

“When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw!” Robin says. 

Okay…what? Russian doctors and bone saws? Eddie’s now thoroughly intrigued, if a little (okay, a lot) confused. Maybe they’re talking about a movie they watched or something.

Steve’s legs shake with his laughter. “Oh my god.” 

“It was just a little bit, though.” Robin pinches her fingers together as she twists her body in Steve’s direction while he laughs again and mutters that whatever it is they took is still in her system. She pushes her feet off the stall and slides to sit against the opposite wall. Eddie can only see her legs now. “Okay, my turn. Have you…ever been in love?” 

Steve answers that he has, with Nancy, and makes a sound mimicking an explosion. Eddie remembers that, remembers seeing Steve and Nancy being all touchy and cute in the hallways at school while he was trying his damndest to convince himself that he absolutely definitely did not wish he was in Nancy’s place. It didn’t work very well. And it’s not working very well now either as Steve starts to go on about some new girl he likes now instead - some girl who’s funny and smart and can crack secret Russian codes (okay, seriously, what is it with these two and Russians?) and oh shit, he’s talking about Robin. 

Eddie very suddenly feels like he should not be here listening to this, eavesdropping on Steve confessing his feelings for someone. Not only is that, like, a private and personal thing, but also what if Robin likes him back and they start kissing or something right here in this bathroom where Eddie has to sit here and listen to it and that would just be horrible for him for so many reasons and- Eddie’s getting ahead of himself. Robin hasn’t even said anything yet, and her knees are pulled up to her chest and her voice shakes when she confirms she’s still alive after Steve asks if she’s OD’d there in the silence and she uncurls with a deep sigh. All signs that she doesn’t actually like Steve back. 

Eddie watches as Steve shifts and slides under the stall into Robin’s, and catches sight of the nasty bruise marring nearly half of Steve’s otherwise beautiful face as he does so. Now concern has been added to the list of emotions this eavesdropping experience has rollercoastered him through so far. The bruise looks fairly fresh and Eddie can’t help but wonder what the hell gave Steve a black eye like that and if he’s okay. 

After a brief spiral of concern for Steve’s face, Eddie tunes back into reality to find himself staring at Steve’s ass as Steve now sits with his back against the stall wall opposite Robin. Eddie blinks, expands his tunnel vision to include Steve’s lower back and Robin’s legs which are also visible beneath the gap in the stalls. 

“It’s not because I had a crush on you,” Robin is saying. “It’s because…she wouldn’t stop staring at you.”

“Mrs. Click?” Steve sounds confused.

“Tammy Thompson,” Robin clarifies. “I wanted her to look at me.”

Oh. Eddie should really not be listening to this. Robin is trying to come out to Steve, trying to share something deeply personal and vulnerable with him and only him, not knowing that she’s outing herself to an eavesdropping near-stranger as well. Eddie feels violating and intruding. He can’t imagine how he would feel if he found out someone he barely knew had been secretly listening in on him coming out - probably not great, probably terrified. This is something he shouldn’t know, not like this. 

“But Tammy Thompson’s a girl,” Steve says, his tone unreadable, and Eddie’s heart nearly stops, sure his own anticipatory anxiety is likely only just a fraction of what Robin must be feeling right now. 

“Steve…” 

“Yeah?” A pause. “Oh,” Steve’s voice goes soft. “Oh… Holy shit.” 

“Yeah,” Robin sighs. Eddie can see her hands nervously rubbing at her shins. “Holy shit.” 

Steve is silent for a few painfully long moments. Eddie’s hands curl nervously around his own shins. Is Steve going to be homophobic? Should Eddie be worried for Robin now? 

“Steve, did you OD over there?” Robin asks, trying to be light but Eddie can hear the anxiety in her voice. 

“No, I just, uh- just thinking,” Steve responds. 

“Okay…” Robin’s voice is barely audible. Eddie is holding his breath.

“I mean, yeah,” Steve says finally, “Tammy Thompson’s cute and all, but the only reason I never gave her the time of day was because I was too busy staring at Eddie Munson.” 

The aforementioned Eddie Munson releases the breath he’d been holding with an involuntary squeak and claps a hand over his mouth. Thankfully, neither of them heard him over the sound of Robin shouting. “What?! Eddie Munson?! You liked Eddie Munson?” she squawks, voicing Eddie’s own stunned thoughts perfectly.

“Yeah,” Steve confirms casually, completely unaware that he's throwing an eavesdropping Eddie into an absolute crisis right now. There's a soft thudding sound like Steve's hitting the back of his head against the stall wall. His voice gets kind of wistful, almost dreamy, as he says, “His rings, man. Rings and tattoos…and that long hair and those chains he'd wear… Honestly just his whole punk aesthetic thing had me mesmerized.” 

“Pretty sure he's metal, not punk,” Robin corrects him. 

Thanks, Robin. Also, what the fuck is happening right now? 

“Whatever. Still hot as hell,” Steve says. 

Eddie squeaks again and practically shoves his whole fist in his mouth to keep himself from making any more noise, his teeth knocking against his rings. The rings Steve likes, apparently. He feels like he's going to pass out, his heart beating so erratically it's making him lightheaded. King Steve - the popular, preppy, stupid, gorgeous, dumb jock Eddie's been crushing on since forever - just called him hot????  

“Did you hear that?” Robin asks suddenly, voice low and cautious. 

Shit. 

“Is anyone else in here?” Steve calls out. 

Fuck. 

Eddie bites down hard on his knuckles and holds his breath, going impossibly still. If they get up and search the bathroom, then he’s about to be caught red handed, crouched on top of a toilet seat with his fist in his mouth and his face flushed scarlet, eavesdropping on their private conversation about secret Russians and gay crushes. Eddie contemplates falling into the toilet and attempting to flush himself down it. Every god imaginable is receiving a silent prayer from him right now as he watches apprehensively through the gaps in the stall. One of those gods must've heard and taken pity on this poor gay disaster of a man crouched like a goblin in a bathroom stall, because after a few horrible seconds of silence, all Steve does is lean down to peer beneath the stalls for a moment before sitting back up and saying, “Looks empty. I think the drugs are making us hear things.” 

“Yeah, probably,” Robin says. Then she giggles, knocking her leg against Steve’s. “I still can’t believe you were into Eddie.” 

Steve flicks Robin’s knee. “I can’t believe you were into Tammy.”

“What’s wrong with Tammy?!” Robin protests.

“What’s wrong with Eddie?” Steve counters. “At least he’s actually got talent. Tammy’s a total dud - she wants to be a singer and shit but she can’t even hold a tune.” 

Eddie is going to die. He is actually going to die right here, right now, because Steve Harrington thinks he’s hot and talented. And then Steve starts mimicking Tammy, singing Total Eclipse of the Heart in a ridiculously goofy voice, and now Eddie is going to die because he finds that so stupidly endearing and adorable. Maybe he should just flush himself down the toilet, save himself from this hopelessly pathetic crush of his. Instead, he’s saved by the bathroom doors bursting open again and a new voice shouting at them, “Okay. What the hell?!” 

Steve and Robin collapse into a fit of giggles before being dragged to their feet by the newcomers and led out of the bathroom, leaving Eddie alone and reeling and struggling to process literally everything he’s just overheard. He finally hops down from his toilet perch and exits the stall like he’s in a daze. He’s not sure how long he had been camped out in there - probably only about ten minutes - but it felt like hours, so long that the world outside of that single bathroom stall almost feels foreign and unfamiliar now. 

Eddie grips the bathroom sink and stares at his flustered reflection in the mirror and whispers to himself, “What the actual fuck?” 

---

Later, years later, only after he and Steve are already dating, Eddie tells him all about this experience, and Steve laughs so hard he nearly cries.

#saw that post and immediately wrote this within the next four hours lmao. i hope this is what you were imagining #i literally watched the s3 bathroom scene like five times to make this as accurate as possible lol #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #platonic stobin #season 3 steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #ficlet #mine #(now also on ao3 under the user brokenfandoms) #5k #!!!!???!??!!! #holy shit y'all thanks for all the love on this <3

[piromina]

me writing fanfiction

#memes #fanfiction #ao3 #well um yes this is about 'to defy a reality' what else #*looks at all my other fics* yeah....no other possible suspect for this meme #NO ONE else is experiencing trauma like these characters #what do you mean their all the same characters im writing abt #HAHAHAHAHAHA #HAHAHAHAHA whats this Oprah meme doing hre #no. really #im literally not. doing that to my characters. #hahaha what is she talking abt EVERYONE IGNORE HER

[sweetiepie08]

Hey I got this comment on one of my fics this morning and it looked pretty sketchy. Anyone know anything about this?

Update: I have reported this as spam, but please keep spreading this to help fellow fanfic authors.

#fanfiction #Ao3 #archive of our own #fanfic problems #sketchy comments #possible bot? #possible scam? #idk

[snail-noodle]

"my my my... what do we have here?"

you shivered in fear at the gigantic being before you. you and your cookie friends had tried your best to seal the rift in the tree with white lily cookie. however, your actions proved pointless. white lily cookie's powers were still too weak and your time had run out. you all watched in horror at the towering cookie grinning down from above.

"it's been so long since we've seen new faces! we were starting to get bored being by ourselves in here..." shadow milk cookie smirked as he took a look at each cookie standing before him. when his eyes had reached you, his gaze stayed far more longer on you than the others. you trembled from his piercing stare, a small whimper escaping from your lips as you backed away and hid yourself behind pure vanilla cookie.

shadow milk cookie chortled at the pathetic display. "Oh, how I have missed the faces of fear from you cookies! Never gets old!" now that the rift had opened big enough for him to pass through, shadow milk cookie stepped out of the silver tree that had kept him and the others imprisoned for so long. the smaller cookies screamed in terror as they scrambled to get out of his way. every footstep he took practically shook the earthbread beneath their feet.

"pure vanilla cookie!" fear clouded your mind as you tugged your leader's arm in desperation. "what are we going to do?!" anxiety gripped your heart when he hesitated to think of a solution. one of the most powerful beings in all of cookiekind has just been unleashed and is ready to bring chaos to the world once more. just how on earthbread will any cookie be able to stop such beasts?

before pure vanilla cookie could even think of an answer, you cried out in alarm as you were suddenly lifted into the air. the other cookies screamed your name as you watched their forms grow smaller and smaller. you gasped as you were face to face with the grinning jester.

"what a cute little cookie you are." he eagerly examined you as if he were a child that had been given a new toy, turning you this way and that. "it's been ages since i had a little pet to dote on. you'll make a fine addition to my collection!" your mind raced as you tried to understand what you have just heard. a collection? a pet to dote on? what on-?!

your thoughts were interrupted as you heard a snap of... fingers? confused, you found yourself locked inside some sort of bird cage; the bars were thick enough to keep you from escaping. shadow milk cookie cooed as he watched you attempt to break free. "no-!" you tugged and pulled at the bars keeping you in.

"no! y-you can't keep me in here! Please!" you cried out to him in desperation. shadow milk cookie only giggled and shook his head, "ah, ah, ah! you're staying right by my side, my little cookie." you shuddered in fear as he began to summon his powers once more. shadows seeped out from your surroundings and from his body. multiple cold blue eyes stared at you and the cookies still down below.

"now, my dear..." with a clap of his hands, monsters of every kind stepped out from the shadows, ready to obey their master. with a manic grin, shadow milk cookie spread his arms out in grandeur to the cookies below. with a perfect view from above, you could only watch in horror as your friends were surrounded at every side by monsters of different sizes.

"let the show begin!"

#i believe in giant fallen heroes #just imagine them actually being much larger than normal cookies #anyway yeah i want to smooch the jester #this is short but i do plan on writing more; possibly make longer fics #just need some motivation aaaaa #not really a canon x self #but it could lead into it... hmmmmm #anywayyy enoyyyyyy :] #shadow milk cookie #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #shadow milk cookie x reader #crk #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #fanfiction #selfshipping

[writingwithfolklore]

Is it Possible for an Idea to be Beyond Your Skill Level?

                I think writing as a skill is often underappreciated. In that, I mean I think even writers hold ourselves to a standard that no other creator does. Out of all the skills or hobbies, it’s probably one of the least physical ones, which is often seen as the “benchmark” for skill, or the limiting factor in someone improving something.

                For example, musicians get more nimble and can reach their notes quicker and more accurately, allowing them to play more difficult pieces. Athletes get stronger and gain in endurance, allowing them to score more goals or otherwise go farther in the season with their team.

                I see writers all the time who believe they should be able to do anything because they don’t have that physical benchmark to limit how far they can go, and then the draft doesn’t come out how they wanted it to, and they get discouraged.

                Here’s my take, writing as a skill is just like any other. It needs practice. It’s not something you’re either born with or not, it needs to be developed and strengthened.

                With that in mind—I promise your idea isn’t beyond you. No one is ever going to finish a perfect draft on their first try—that’s never how anything works, and it has nothing to do with how “talented” you are.

                Rewrite the scene until it’s capturing what you want it to. Rework that character until they are who you need them to be. Edit until your motifs are coming through. It’s all practice, every draft is another practice towards nailing the end product. Do you think artists nail drawing hands on their first try? What about on their tenth try?

                So why are you holding yourself to this idea that it’s taking too many drafts to perfect?

                It’s okay to keep trying. If you’re really struggling with realizing a concept, take it out of its context. Write the character you want to see in different situations separate from your project. Read how others have done something similar, take notes. Gather sources and inspiration for what you want to do. Reach out to other writer friends for advice.

                Overall, don’t not write because you think it’s beyond you. With a little bit of work and practice, there’s no story you can’t finish.

                Good luck!

#writing #writers #writing tips #writing advice #writing inspiration #creative writing #writing community #books #film #filmmaking #screenwriting #novel writing #fanfiction #writeblr #is it possible for an idea to be beyond your skill level? #writing skills #writing talent

[mean-vampyre]

Archie realizing he is bisexual in his 30s but panicking because he is so far behind in his gay education he hardly knows how to gay, goes to the riverdale gay bar and freaks out because they ask him if he is into twinks or bears and he has flashbacks to that time he fought a bear and goes home in survival mode, and jughead is there like hey archie what's wrong dude did someone try to kill you again? but archie is like no jug i don't think i can do this bisexuality thing, betty makes it look so effortless but she doesn't get asked if she is into twinks or bears because everyone knows she is into woman who kill, and jug is like hey pal calm down I'm sure we can find a way to help you out. so they visit gay kevin for a crash course in gay but kevin is soooo condescending and gatekeeps gay because he doesn't want more dating competition, so jughead is like archie pal we have been going about this whole thing wrong we must ask the bisexuals. and they go ask fangs and toni but they assume that jughead is tagging along because he too is bisexual and toni says why don't you two come to the bi night at the white worm you can meet other bi people. so archie and jughead show up together to the bar but everyone assumes that they are a couple and keep refering to jughead as his partner and archie is like yeah haha my partner in crime. and the next day everyone thinks that jughead also came out when cheryl sends them a fruit basket and a congrats bert and ernie card.

#im unpaid riverdale writer at this point #riverdale #i know i could just write fanfiction but my calling is to make it as riverdale episode as possible in order to manifest it #perhaps Roberto if you are reading this I'm still unemployed hit me up we can figure out a new riverdale spin off

[sameheart-sameblood]

Love in the Time of Cordyceps

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: when the world ends, you promise you'll never love again. joel miller makes that rule hard to stick to

words: 7.1k

warnings: mentions of gore (pretty tame but still), swearing, sickness, angst, fluff, two dummies not realizing they love each other until one of them almost dies 🙄

a/n: this was supposed to be more angsty but then i remembered life is hard enough already. and i just want soft joel soooo here we are. also i meant to write 2k at most but boy do i love to ramble

read on ao3!

After the world goes to hell, you promise yourself you’ll never love again. A person, an animal, a place, nothing. Only a fool would choose to make themselves that vulnerable, needing every fiber of your being one hundred percent devoted to your survival and nothing more. 

Was a life without love worth living? Every time that question enters your mind, you swat it aside. It’s like a nagging fly that buzzes around you until your persistence finally drives it away completely. Of course you could live without love. You’d been doing it just fine these past fifteen years. 

Living without attachment proves useful in the new world you find yourself in. It makes the countless people you lose along the way easier to move on from. In the early days, your heart still twinges as the people around you drop like flies. Most fall victim to the bites of clickers, some to raiders’ gun, a few by their own hand. 

The first group you had travel with is filled with Midwesterners who see the terrors of the new world and still somehow have a smile and a joke for you. Their joviality can’t save them, though. Clickers swarm you one rainy night two years after the fall of civilization. The sight of Gail, a woman who reminds you of your grandmother, having her stomach ripped out by an especially voracious clicker cures you of your need for any connections to the living. 

Over the years, you make your way to the East Coast. Smiles, defiant in the face of adversity are replaced by permanent grimaces etched into the faces of everyone you meet. It seems as though every survivor has lost the ability for happiness of any kind. Good, you think, they’re finally learning. You wonder what took them so long. 

Tales of peace the Canadian wilderness has to offer reaches your ears. In your heart you know it is most likely a tall tale spread by desperate survivors. But the good thing about a zombie apocalypse is you now have nothing but time on your hands. Working your way north, if all goes well, you’ll reach Saint John by May, continue to Port Elgin and then decide if you’d try for Prince Edward Island or turn east to Nova Scotia. 

Plans are made to be broken, though, and yours, along with your ankle, break clean through one day as you make your way through Boston. It would have been over for you if not for the two survivors that find you nursing your injury in a department store that will most likely be swarming with clickers by nightfall. 

The woman, after she puts her gun away, introduces herself as Tess. The man doesn’t offer his name, preferring to keep the barrel of his shotgun pointed at you. As they argue quietly over what to do with you, you observe their faces. Both are etched hard with years of loss and worry. Even harder than your joyless face. It’s impressive albeit in a sad kind of way. 

Tess had somehow persuades the man to help you back to the Boston QZ. Joel. You hear her call him Joel. “Fine,” he had grumbles as he places your arm over his shoulder for support, “but if she scans red, I will not hesitate to put her down.” Oddly enough his threat somehow makes you almost like him. You sense a kindred spirit. Another follower of the “no love, no attachment” way of life. 

You do not, in fact, scan red and are allowed to enter the QZ. An apartment is assigned to you, a crappy little studio with faded lime green paint. The old you would have adored it, called it quirky and planned out how best to decorate it with your meager funds. The new you just appreciates a safe place to sleep. 

After your ankle heals, Tess invites you to join her smuggling scheme. Thoughts of Canada flee your mind for the time-being and you gladly welcome something to keep yourself occupied. 

“But what about the cowboy?” you ask. 

“Joel? What about him?”

Your eyebrows arch, “He threatened to shoot me.”

“Only if you were infected. Just don’t get infected.” She says it like you’re discussing the weather. 

Joel allows you into the group begrudgingly, probably because he thinks they can use you as bait or a distraction if needed. Fine. Let them label you bait. You’ve been called worse before. 

The first few months working together are tense. Joel reprimands you for the smallest mistakes and warns Tess you’ll get them all killed. At first, you bite your tongue, reminding yourself of the part he had in saving you. But one night after he scolds you for the millionth time about not checking your blind spots for clickers, you snap. “Fuck off, Joel! I survived the clickers for fifteen years. I think I know what I’m fucking doing!.”

He holds up his hands in surrender, wandering off with a hurt pout like he wasn’t the one who was just being the asshole. You wonder why your victory leaves you feeling hollow. 

After that, Joel keeps his mouth shut around you. No nagging, no “helpful” tips. Just the bare minimum of whatever he needs to convey. You’ll never admit that it hurts. You don’t have to, though. Tess, at the end of her rope, explodes one night as the three of you eat dinner in awkward silence. “Couple of fuckin’ babies I’m working with,” she seethes. “If you don’t grow up I’m finding a new crew.”

It’s decided that you and Joel will do the next supply run to Bill’s. Alone. No Tess there to act as buffer between you and him. Joel grunts at that but doesn’t argue, always deferring to your leader. The trip to Bill’s goes as well as you can ask. There are no arguments between the two of you at least. You’re sure you even see Joel crack a smile. Of course it’s when you clumsily tripped over a raised tree root…But hey, progress is progress.

With the supplies in tow and Frank’s compound behind you, you actually think this trip might be a success. A gang of raiders lying in wait to sabotage you dashes your hopes of that. They had seen the two of you lugging your supplies and thought it would be an easy win. At first, they are correct. They outnumber you and Joel in size and wickedness. The four of them aren’t content to kill you outright. They tie you up and discuss what to do with you next. 

Of course their attention quickly falls on you. The man with an ugly gash across his face leers at you. “Maybe we should keep her around awhile. She looks like fun.” Try as you might to act tough, that sends the blood rushing through your ears. 

You almost don’t hear Joel snarl at them. “You lay one finger on her and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.” The venom in his voice snaps you back to reality. While their attention is on him, you discreetly start ripping at your bonds with the little pocket knife you thankfully decided to stow in your back pocket. 

They beat Joel senseless by the time you get free. You honestly think you’re too late as you stab the goon nearest to you in the thigh, by some miracle hitting his femoral artery. The others turn to you, blindsided as you go wild at the sight of your bloodied and broken companion. Gash-Face comes roaring at you, all brawn no brains. The look of surprise as you lodge the knife in his neck makes you smile with sickening glee. 

The remaining two corner you, murder in their eyes. Your gun is just beyond them, taunting you to come retrieve it. The only “weapon” you have is the belt you’re wearing, it’s clasp heavy and silver. You undo it and swing it at the nearest man. He grabs it, cackling victoriously as he uses it to pull you closer. In their grasp, you become the target of their blows. You curl into the fetal position, angry that after all the near death experiences you’ve had, this will be the way you go out. 

A shot rings out, then another. Two thuds on the ground next to you make you open your already swollen eyes. As you look up, you realize your savior is Joel. Back from the dead. His face is covered in blood, like some kind of ghoul. But in that moment, you have never seen someone look more like an angel. The two of you limp back to the QZ where Tess nurses you as she simultaneously curses the deceased thugs. 

Joel corners you in the bathroom the next day as you study your bruised face. “You could have run,” he hisses at you, making you jump. You don’t know what he wants so you just shrug. He invades your space, making you back against the counter. “Why didn’t you run?” His voice has gone low, anger simmering just beneath the surface. 

Faces inches from each other, all you can muster is a weak, “We’re a team. I wasn’t going to leave you.”

Several emotions flicker across his face in quick succession. Anger, fear, worry and something you can’t quite put your finger on. Pride? Maybe that was you projecting but you hope you were right. Joel studies you for a moment longer, then reiterates, “Next time, you run.”

******

After that, things change. Joel is still a man of few words but the ones he does grace you with are softer and more intentional. Instead of berating you for the knowledge and skills you lack, he takes them time to teach you. He shows you how to identify fake ration cards and to spot the kind of guard you can bribe. Nights are spent with you following behind him like a shadow as he shows you all the secret ways in and out of the QZ. When your hands shake during target practice, he places his calloused ones over yours. It steadies your hands but frays your nerves, threatening to awake a feeling long thought dormant. 

It goes both ways. Joel lacks attention to detail in certain situations and you show him how to read people and ascertain their flaws that can be exploited. During your runs you point out the flora that can be consumed safely or used as medicine. At Flynn’s, the only bar in the QZ, you teach him how to play pool. An essential to survival? No. But it sure helps you win a huge stash of ration cards from your fellows survivors. It also gives you an excuse to sidle up behind him and mold your body around his, all in the name of helping him get the “proper pool stance.”

Your excuses to fleetingly touch one another became more and more common. They are all perfectly innocent but carry the weight of something elicit, at least to you. Joel is never one to give away his innermost thoughts, happy to wear a permanent poker face. For all you know he couldn’t care less about you. Maybe he just knows keeping you alive is good for business and that’s why he takes a particular interest in making sure you’re safe. Whatever the reason, you hope he never stops. 

******

During one supply run, a torrential thunderstorm forces you to spend the night at Bill and Frank’s. You know it makes Joel nervous to be indebted to anyone for such hospitality but you can’t hide your glee. A night there means a cozy bed and a hot shower, something hard to find in your home where the water runs tepid at best. 

Afterwards spending way too long in the bathroom, you curl up in your bed, toasty and content, only to find sleep won’t not come. Your hosts are dear to you, even the grumpy Bill, but their snoring through the wall you share makes hopes for a deep sleep impossible. 

After an hour of tossing and turning, you decide to go make your bed on the couch. As you tiptoe down the stairs you run into Joel, on his way up . “Going somewhere?” he drawls, exhaustion making his voice deeper than usual. You shrug, “Couldn’t sleep. There are two buzzsaws in the room next door.”

Joel chuckles, “I’ve had that room before. Can’t say it was the best night of sleep I’ve ever had.” You lived for these little snippets into Joel’s life before you came around, always eager to hear more. But the trek to the house through never-ending sleet and over the turbulent river left you more tired than you had felt in years. Right now all you want is to get where you could pass out immediately. “I’m just gonna make camp on the couch,” you say, stifling a yawn. 

Joel shakes his head. “You take my room. The couch is good enough for me.” This man. Hadn’t anyone told him chivalry is dead. You sigh tiredly and beckon for him to come back up the stairs with you. “It’s a big bed. We can share.” There is silence behind you where there should have been footsteps. Joel’s smile disappears as his forehead creases in thought. “Please,” you pout, “I can’t sleep in my room and I won’t get any rest knowing you’re crammed on that dainty little loveseat.”

It takes far more coaxing than it should but finally Joel gives you a little nod and follows you into his - your - room. You gesture to the bed, “Care which side you get?” Joel thinks, then shrugs. “Left is good.” You flop onto the right side, eyes immediately drooping shut. Once again, there is no movement from your companion. Without opening your eyes, you chide him, “If you’re gonna be weird and watch me sleep all night then you can go sleep on the couch.” That got him moving again. 

The sound of the shower turning on lulls you to a sleep that is disturbed only when you feel the dip of the bed several minutes later. You watch through barely opened eyes as Joel does a strange shimmy under the covers. It’s clear he’s trying his best not to wake you. The sight makes you laugh softly and his head whips to you. 

“Thought you were asleep,” he murmurs. 

You hum, “I was. You woke me up.” 

It’s meant to be a joke but Joel grimaces. “Sorry.”

The sight is sweet and your heart flips, his frown making him look almost boyish. “It’s ok. It’s your bed.” 

As you burrow into your cocoon of blankets, Joel props himself up, a pillow behind his back. He looks from you to the bedside lamp and back again. “You mind if I read for a few minutes?” 

That surprises you. In all your time together you had rarely seen Joel do something just for the pleasure of it. There was usually no time. But Bill and Frank’s is a sanctuary and even the hyper-vigilant Joel Miller is able to slow down here. You nod enthusiastically, perking up. “What are you reading?” 

It’s like you had asked him what his darkest secret was. He reddens, then finally grabs a book from the table. Pride and Prejudice. He stammers, “It’s just…I never had a lot of time for reading before and this was a favorite of…it was a favorite of somebody I knew.”

“You can read out loud to me if you want,” you offer with a grin. Honestly it was half in jest and half a serious hope. It had been decades since anyone had read aloud to you. Joel, always thinking you were making some sort of fun of him, smirks sarcastically. “Not a chance.” 

Your glower slowly melts away at the sight of him putting on his reading glasses and settling in. Silently you curse as you feel your hardened heart crack just the tiniest bit. Idiot that you are, you try to talk yourself out of your own feelings. You aren’t attached to Joel. How could you be? He’s just a handsome, rugged man who keeps you safe and reads Jane Austen in his spare time. Maybe some lesser fool would fall for him but not you. No, sir.

The next morning, you find yourself curled into him, chest pressed against his back and arm draped over his side. Like a bomb diffuser, you carefully try to extricate yourself from the position, every movement slow and precise. Joel, still asleep, lazily grabs your hand, keeping your arm around him. He sighs contentedly as you settle back down and you swear under your breath, nestling your head at the crook of his neck. You are so that lesser fool. 

******

The thunderstorms of summer give way to the pleasant days of autumn. Those good days don’t seem to last long enough. You should have appreciated them more while they were there but so is the way of being human. 

Winter in Boston isn’t fun. Ok that’s an understatement. It makes you long for the soul-sucking, never-ending Midwestern winters you had lived through for most of your life. There is something about being next to the ocean that makes everything feel colder. 

The nights are especially hard, the wind seeping through the cracks in the walls of your apartment. No matter how many blankets you tuck around yourself, your body never truly feels warm. Runs to Bill’s or anywhere outside the QZ become less frequent and more difficult. Only those deemed truly necessary are attempted and even then there is always a long discussion beforehand weighing out the pros and cons. 

Runs between the months of November and January are too risky and after much debate, it  is decided you three would lay low in the relative safety of the QZ. In the meantime, you’d assess your stockpile, make connections over the radio and wait for the spring thaw. With less food smuggled in from the outside, you decide to put your energy into earning ration cards. Even though no one could argue you don’t pull your weight in the group, you often feel like the weak link. Making sure Tess and Joel have a hot meal every night is the least you could do. 

Joel had always told you to stay away from sewer work. It paid double what the other jobs did but at a high risk. Besides not being able to wash the stink off for days, the tunnels under the city were treacherous. Many had gone down there only to be blindsided by a stray clicker or jumped by a loner who made their home away from society up above. Some just got lost in the labyrinth, never to be heard from again. Or at least you had been told. You hoped those were just myths. 

You and three other desperate souls are sent down to the sewers with the task of clearing the rubble from a recent cave in. A hard day’s work definitely but you were optimistic that you could get it done in a few hours time and be on your way.

The first few hours go well, the biggest pieces of the concrete being cleared easily enough. Your back aches and callouses quickly form on your palms. But still, all of that you can deal with, mollifying yourself with the thought of the stack of ration cards you’ll proudly gift to Joel and Tess. 

Maybe if you hadn’t been daydreaming you would have heard the shouts of your fellow volunteers sooner. Finally coming back to reality, you move just in time to avoid another piece of falling rock. You save yourself from being crushed but lose your footing, coming down hard on your shin. 

A stream of bright blood instantly trickles from the gash and you swear as you try to keep the tears that spring to your eyes at bay. Wanting to prove yourself, you brush off your group’s insistence that you go get it checked by the doctor. It doesn’t matter if you complete ninety percent of your shift. You still don’t get your payment if you leave early. So you suck it up for another hour, slogging through the muck as you finish the job. It’s fine, you tell yourself, it’s just a scratch. You’ll wash it off when I get home and be good as new. 

With the job done and ration cards tucked away in your pocket, you hobble back towards your apartment. The thought of a shower, as lukewarm as it will be, is the only thing keeping you upright. That is until you feel someone putting your arm around their shoulder. Joel helps you the few blocks to your house, his icy silence hurting you more than the cut that now throbs with every jostle. 

It’s only after you get inside and are deposited on the couch that Joel speaks. He rolls up the leg of your jeans, cursing as he sees the already festering wound. “I told you to stay out of the sewers.” 

You suck in a pained breath as he starts wiping away the dirt. “I’m fine. It’s just a little cut. Besides, it was worth it,” you pull out the stack of ration cards and present them to him proudly. The sight gives him pause. But the look on his face isn’t one of gratitude, it’s worried exasperation. His signature grimace returns, “It’s not worth it if you lose your leg.” And people claim you’re dramatic. 

Pushing him away with a shoo, you rise, limping to the bathroom. “I just need a shower. Then I’ll be right as rain.” As you peel off your now ruined clothes, Joel hovers on the other side of the door. “I can hear you pacing,” you call over the sound of the warming shower. 

Even through the almost closed door you can hear Joel sigh. “I just think we should take you to the doc. Make sure you’re alright.” The water hitting you makes you audibly moan, the filth on your body washing down the drain and with it, the memory of the hard day. You appreciate the concern but all you want to do know is forget about the day. You call out to a still pacing Joel, “I’m fine. You worry too much!”

******

It turns out Joel worries the right amount. Of course he does. As eager as you are to forget about your day, it’s not long before you can’t ignore your leg. The wound is an angry red and the area around it has swollen, leaving it tender and throbbing. Thankfully you have Joel there to dress it because, honestly, you can’t stomach the sight of it. These past years have been filled with much blood and gore at your own hands. But there’s something different when it’s your own blood. 

In any other circumstance you would have reveled in the feeling of Joel holding your leg so tenderly, his fingers brushing against your skin as he wraps the bandage around you. It would have driven you insane seeing him crouched in between your legs as he is now. But at the moment all you can think about is how you much pain you’re in. 

You try not to show your discomfort, but your poker face is nonexistent. Joel’s eyes flick up to yours as you slowly exhale, trying to keep calm. Avoidance has always been one of your favorite tactics when dealing with uncomfortable situations so you pipe up, overly perkily, “See? All better. Now about those ration cards, I was thinking for dinner-“ 

Joel rolls his eyes, standing with a groan, his knees audibly cracking. “The only thing you’re gonna do tonight is rest.”

You slowly turn your body to prop your leg up on a pillow as he watches. Pouting has never worked on Joel but you figure it never hurts to try. “I still have to eat,” you mope. 

“You will. I’ll open a can of soup or something.”

The disappointment is real and bubbles to the surface quicker than you realized it would. “I just wanted us all to have a nice dinner. You and Tess do so much and I feel like…” Thinking how you feel is different from saying it out loud and you have to psych yourself up. Joel’s softening gaze helps you continue. “I feel like I’m useless. I just thought this was one thing I could do to really contribute.”

The silence between you feels heavy as you avoid his stare. Finally, he speaks, confusion contorting his features, “Of course you contribute. We wouldn’t have kept you around if you hadn’t.” It’s meant to make you feel better but it doesn’t, especially in your current laid up state. 

“So are you going to get rid of me if I’m no longer useful?” you gesture at your leg, feeling your eyes beginning to sting with tears. 

Joel sits down next to you. Your fear has made you defiant and you meet his gaze, wanting to fight. But Joel speaks in a soft, level voice, as if teaching a child a lesson. “First of all, you’re going to get better. You just need to be patient. Second, you’re thinking there’s only one kind of way to be useful.”

“I can’t shoot like you two can. I can’t fight. I can’t threaten people into getting what I want. I can go on runs and earn ration cards. That’s it. I’m too soft for anything actually important.” 

Joel frowns, “You say that like it’s a bad thing. ‘Being soft’ in a world like this is an act of defiance. It’s brave as hell. What you consider important? I don’t want that for you.”

Warmth spreads through your chest as you observe him. He’s trying so hard to find his next words, to make you believe his truth. “Me and Tess, we let the world harden us more than it needed to. It was easier that way. But having you around reminds us there’s still innocence and good out there.”

The angry tears have turned to ones of gratitude. The sentiment is too much for you, unused to such vulnerability from Joel. You give him a small smile and he returns it, leaning over to wipe a tear off your cheek. “You’re useful just being you.”

While you still wish you matched Joel and Tess’ levels of badassery, the conversation helps ease your mind. You might not think much of your survival skills but you remind yourself that you’ve stayed alive in a world that wants you dead. Fifteen years you’ve been fighting and surviving and that’s nothing to look down on. 

“And for what it’s worth, “ he adds, “you scared the hell out of me the first time we met.”

You grin at him, shocked, “Really?”

He nods, smirking cheekily, “Really. Still do sometimes.”

******

Joel heats up a can of tomato soup for you to share. You try not to think of how old it must be as he prepares it. But actually, it’s not bad, the taste reminding you of your childhood. 

It also helps that you’re sharing it with someone you care about. A part of you hates that how easily you’ve let him into your heart. The one thing you swore off all those years ago is now all you can think about as you watch him sitting across from you, ladling out the steaming liquid. 

He catches you staring and breaks the silence, “Were you even going to tell me you got hurt today if I hadn’t run into you.” The fuzziness of your feelings for him makes your brain a little mushy and instead of having a grownup conversation, you reply with a childish, “No, I thought I’d let it be a soup-rise.” 

Joel rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. You chuckle and continue eating your rapidly cooling dinner. You sober up a bit and add, “The extra ration cards will be good, though. Right?” 

He nods, “Yeah. I think it’s soup-er.” His eyes flick up to yours as they crinkle, the only sign that he finds himself amusing. 

After dinner, Joel excuses himself to go work his overnight shift. When he leaves and you’re left along, the throbbing in your leg returns with a vengeance along with a mild fever. Your usually chilly apartment now feels stuffy and you have to remove all of your layers except your t-shirt to be even somewhat comfortable. 

Worry creeps in as you sit there, alone and increasingly unwell. You long for the company of Joel or Tess, anyone to reassure you that you’re fine. But you’re alone and the dark thoughts creep in, whispering in your ear that whatever is brewing is not good. Unsure of what else to do, you slip in to bed, hoping that whatever this is will be better by morning. 

******

You don’t wake for two days. Or at least, you have no real memory of the past 48 hours. Later, when the worst is over, Joel will tell you the details of that lapse in your memory. He’ll recount how you faded in and out of consciousness, sometimes submitting to your fever for so long that he wasn’t sure you were coming back. His voice will waver as he remembers how bad it got and how fragile you looked…

But for now, he stays by your side, foregoing his own health to make sure you stay alive. The first thing you remember is waking up to the sounds of Joel and Tess arguing in hushed tones. 

“We need to get her to a doctor. Now.” Joel’s voice sounds strained, like he’s trying desperately not to lose it. 

Tess still maintains her signature composure. “We can’t, Joel. It’s too late for that.”

Joel must make some kind of face because Tess sighs and re-words. “It’s too late to take her in because if we bring her to the hospital all they’ll focus on is her fever. They’ve put people down for way less. You know that.”

In your addled state, you wonder who they’re talking about. Your throat hurts to much to speak up though and ask. 

“The doc will give us the meds. We’ve bribed him before.” 

Tess shakes her head, “Antibiotics are on lockdown. Shipments have been delayed because of the weather. No one gets any without FEDRA knowing. Breaking in guarantees we get caught. We’re no good to her dead. ”

Joel scoffs, “So what do you suggest we do?”

“She rides it out.”

“She’s been ‘riding it out’ for two days. Look at her,” Joel’s voice gets closer as he peers down at you, “she’s fighting but she’s losing.”

Oh. Fever may have taken hold of you, making your brain fuzzy and concentration near impossible, but you understand now that you are the subject of their argument. For Joel to sound so forlorn you must look bad. 

If you’re dead soon, you want to let them know to leave it and just let you slip away. Your well-being means nothing if it puts them in unnecessary danger. Rule be damned, they’re your family now and you care about them. If you’re being honest, you’ve cared about them since you met them. It breaks your heart thinking you won’t be able to tell them that now. It nearly kills you right then and there to know you won’t get the chance to tell Joel you love him…

Opening your mouth to articulate all of that takes great effort and when you do try and speak, all that comes out is a strangled groan. The two rush over, Tess sitting down beside you. She takes your hand, an uncharacteristic show of tenderness. Yep, you’re dying. 

“You’re ok, kid,” she whispers, “you just have to hang in there.” It would be easy to ignore reality and blindly trust her. But you’ve always been stubborn and so you shake your head and continue trying to speak. Again, nothing comes out but garbled nonsense as you writhe around trying to make your limbs do what your brain wants. 

You must look a sight because Joel lets his anger overflow. “Maybe you can sit here and watch her die, but I can’t.”Heavy footsteps and Tess yelling are all that you can focus on as you fade back into oblivion. 

******

Living is hard and unconsciousness is addicting. Peaceful and cozy are feelings you can scarcely remember having. It would be easy to stay in that enveloping darkness but the feeling of the back of someone’s hand on your clammy forehead pulls you back to the realm of the living. You grumble weakly as you’re made to come to. 

Everything is painful. Stabbing jolts of electricity radiate up your leg from the cut. Your chest is tight, making breathing troublesome and your eyes can barely stand the dim, watery sun coming through the shades of the window. Someone places a damp cloth on your forehead to keep the fever at bay. Still out of it, you try and swat it away. 

A gentle hand grabs yours, shushing you. “It’s alright. It’s only me.” 

Joel. Maybe you have died and this is heaven. The man you love by your side, nursing you so tenderly. It’s more than you could have ever hoped for. This might be the afterlife believers talk about if only you weren’t in so much pain. The neurons in your brain begin firing more rapidly as your fever dies down. They remind you that you and Joel aren’t lovers. Your cowardice, disguised as intelligence, has kept you from telling him how you feel. 

“What’s happening?” Your voice comes out croaky and soft but at least it’s intelligible. The bed dips as Joel moves closer to you. As you peer up through barely opened eyelids you can see him leaning over you. His tired eyes look down at you as he caresses your hair. 

“You got real sick, honey. That cut you got festered and turned into a fever. We thought we were gonna lose you.” The slight falter in his voice makes your already tight chest contract. 

“How long was I out?”

“Three days. We got you some meds, though. You’re gonna be ok.” He says it firmly, which does some good in easing your worry. 

Trying to open your eyes a bit more you continue your questioning, “Where did you get the antibiotics from?”

Joel hesitates, “Bill and Frank had some.”

You try and sit up, angry that he made that trip and put himself in danger. Even now, you can see the snow whipping around outside your window. Knowing he made the trek there and back through that storm makes you curse. Joel tuts and puts a gentle hand to your chest, keeping you down and resting. 

“It’s done. No use getting angry about it now.”

You glare up at him even though you’re really just upset with yourself. “Why would you do something so stupid?”

His smiles peacefully down at you, exhausted but eyes bright. “We’re a team, remember?”

It’s too much for you to handle. You cover your face just in time to hide the angry, relieved and grateful tears that spring to your eyes. Silent sobs wrack your frame, making you seize with pain. 

Joel pulls you into him, shushing you as he resumes stroking your hair. You hide your face in his side, trying to regain your composure. Crying shouldn’t be something you feel the need to earn. But you’re all sorts of broken, so you take this rare opportunity to not judge yourself and weep with abandon. You almost died, for Christ’s sake. Surely that warrants some show of emotion.

After a few minutes, the tears stop and your breathing calms. Peeking up, you see Joel has his eyes closed. His face is the most serene you’ve seen it in ages, most of the worry lines softened. There’s still a few that refuse to relax, though. The crease in between his eyebrows remains stubbornly indented. You gaze up at him as he continues to run soothing patterns along your back. 

Feeling the weight of your stare, he opens his eyes. Coward that you are, you glance away. “Thank you,”is all you can mumble out as he gazes at you. After a moment, you add a shy, “I would do the same for you. You know that, right?”

Joel pulls you gently into him, almost to remind himself you’re still here with him and that the danger has passed. He nuzzles into your hair, murmuring an affectionate“I know, honey. I know.”

******

After a few more hours and another dose of antibiotics, you begin to feel more like yourself. Joel still won’t let you get out of bed yet, except for a trip to the bathroom for a quick shower. Even though you’ve been dead to the world for much of your ordeal, you’re quickly getting bored with bed rest. But you’ve learned long ago that resistance is futile with Joel. So you shower like a good patient, scowling as the water hits your scabbing cut. 

Once you finish, Joel hops in and washes the grime and worry of the past three days off. As you settle back in bed, you can hear him singing softly to himself. Through the patter of the water you can hear his soft rendition of Fleetwood Mac’s Songbird. It’s one of your favorites, too, and you hum along as you settle back into your pillow. 

After a few minutes, sleep still won’t come. You toss and turn as Joel finishes getting ready for bed. He comes in to find you still awake. “I thought I told you to get some sleep.” He says it like a loving mother gently scolding their rebellious child. 

You flail as you try and get comfortable. You shoot back a moody, “But I’m just not tired.” Joel chuckles as he sits down into the arm chair next to your bed. He smooths back his wet hair and gives you a faux stern look. “Your body’s been through a lot. You need rest.”

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

Joel looks confused, wondering what he did wrong. “Sorry I just thought I’d sleep here tonight in case you need anything. I can leave, though.” 

“No!” you yell out, completely abandoning any hope of looking cool. You give him an apologetic smile, “I want you to stay but you’re not sleeping in that chair one more night.”

Joel glances to the spot on the bed beside you, then looks to you for confirmation. He sighs, a smile playing at his lips. “If I stay will you promise to go to sleep?”

You nod very seriously. “Of course.”

Joel grins, knowing you too well to believe you. “Liar,” he chuckles but still gets up and makes his way to the other side of the bed. You pull back the blankets so can get in, then cover him up. Settling on your side, you watch as he suddenly looks lost, unsure of what to do now. It’s cute, this powerful man rendered helpless by something as innocuous as sharing a bed. 

You can’t help but laugh at him and he looks down at you, eyes wide. Taking pity on him, you make a suggestion. “If you’re not tired you could read to me.” Joel opens his mouth to refuse but you blurt out a quick, “I did almost die, you know.” He glares at you but his lip quirks up. He grabs the book from the other room then flops back down in bed, opening to a spot in the middle. 

Frowning, you reach out to touch Joel’s arm. “Do you mind starting from the beginning?” He rolls his eyes but flips back to the first page. You grin triumphantly as you settle into his side. Joel places his arm around your shoulder as he begins to read. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife…” 

His southern drawl mixed with the Romantic Era style of writing makes for an amusing but  pleasant combination. After a few chapters, your eyes get heavy and Joel feels you nodding off against him. Jane has just been invited to Netherfield Park but even that can’t keep you awake. Joel puts the bookmark in to save your spot and places the novel on your bedside table. 

You grumble in weak protest as he tucks you in and turns off the light. “We can keep reading tomorrow. But right now you’re going to sleep.” Joel lies down beside you and with the pale light of the moon through your curtains you can see him studying you. He caresses your face and you close your eyes, delighting in the sensation. 

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he whispers. 

You force your eyes open, needing him to see the truth of it when you pledge a soft,“I won’t. I mean it.”

Joel nods gratefully and you reach out for him. He slides into your arms and you rest your chin on the top of his head. He’s watched over you for long enough. It’s your turn to take care of him and reassure him that, in this moment, you both are safe. 

For most, an outright admission of affection is needed to understand how you feel about the other person. But you and Joel are cut from the same cloth, stubborn and slow to reveal your feelings. In this world, for people like you, ’I love yous’ are rare and replaced with actions and deeds. 

You realize that even though you've never told Joel that you love him, you’ve shown it. Joel has been showing you all this time too and you were just too dull to realize it. While you know you’ll long to say the words to him soon, for now it’s enough to have him in your arms. 

Joel’s breathing deepens and you feel him completely give himself over to sleep. Looking at his face bathed in the moonlight he looks like a new man. His edges soften and his vulnerability brims to the surface. It tugs at your heart and you understand how rare of a sight this is for Joel to allow anyone to see. 

Smiling sleepily, you close your eyes and nestle into him. This feeling coursing through you is something foreign but familiar, an old friend you thought you had said your final goodbye to long ago. The love you have for Joel will leave you vulnerable. But it’s a price you’re willing to pay a thousand times over. 

******

#im on a mission to make joel as soft as possible lol #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #allie writes

[leighsartworks216]

In The Moonlight

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Lowkey wrote this for @niermortem bc the Astarion hyperfixation goes hard

I've never written for Astarion before and I'm still not 100% comfortable with his speech patterns and stuff but I had to write this or I would not be able to sleep tonight. Tbh y'all are lucky he even spoke at all. I was going to have Tav shush him lmao

Warnings: Cazador, mentions of past abuse, mentions of biting, vague implications of sex, like one swear

Word Count: 1,110

Masterlist

AO3

He’s so beautiful, just like this. The moon reaches through the window and caresses his hair, turning already-bright white into pure starlight. His pale skin glows. And when the sun rises and casts beams of yellow-orange over him, it’s almost as if blood flows through him once more.

You cannot sleep. Despite how tired your body was, your mind couldn’t sit still. It pondered over the day’s events - if you made the right choices, what you could have done better, your companions - endlessly spiraling out of sleep’s embrace. And you would still have been going over these questions and concerns, if Astarion did not look so damn pretty.

He fell asleep a while ago. With a gentle kiss to your cheek and a whisper of thanks, he’d tucked one arm under his head and draped the other across your waist, and drifted off. A hint of a smile still lingered there. Creases by his mouth and eyes proving a simple joy that followed him into his dreams.

It felt wrong to watch him like this. Like studying how his curls fell across his forehead and the flicker of his eyes behind his eyelids was in some way betraying his trust. The thought alone - of ruining this beautiful foundation of trust and patience and understanding - should have been enough to have you close your eyes or turn away. And yet, something inside you yearned for more. An ache in your chest that urged you to touch him, to be closer to him.

And the urge was stronger than your perceived guilt.

Slowly, you raised a hand to his face. At first, all you did was brush the curl from his forehead. The stubborn thing only bounced right back.

Your eyes trailed from his hair to his eyebrows. So often did a crease find its way between them, pinched in frustration or confusion. Your hand followed. With the barest brush of your thumb, you smoothed out the imaginary crease. Astarion breathed in deeply - causing you to hold your own - before sighing softly. His face relaxed even more, shoulders easing into the pillows that cushioned him.

You focused next on his eyes. Deep, bloody red irises hidden behind thin lids that held so much worry and uncertainty and joy and hope. Hope. It had taken so long for the vampire to actually be optimistic about the future. He had no idea what would happen next - between Cazador and the tadpoles, there was little to be optimistic about. When you helped him, despite his original plans to manipulate and use you, he realized things did not always have such awful outcomes. Even your first encounter, with his blade to your throat, had somehow brought you here, together and warm and safe.

Despite being an elf, he had such deep bags beneath his eyes. Even the crows feet and laugh lines that appeared with his smile were unusual. He’d told you sparingly about his life under Cazador. The things he fed on, the poem carved into his back, and the horrible things he did. Undoubtedly, the lines came from that time. Barely eating enough to survive, luring people in with his charms for an uncaring master, being tortured in the dark. Yet, you couldn’t imagine Astarion without them. He was so pretty when he smiled.

You move on to his nose and his cheeks. His features are all well defined, sharp. It makes him seem dangerous, even at a first glance. Like a snake, hiding fangs behind shimmering scales.

Beckoned by the analogy, your eyes flicker to his lips. They’re so soft, despite the way he chews his bottom lip. Where before his kisses were rough, demanding, now they’re slow, careful. He no longer kisses you like he has to woo you over and get you to play his game. He kisses you like he’s savoring the last drop of wine. Even his bites are gentler, pricking your neck as carefully as he can unless you ask him nicely to be rougher.

“Too distracted to sleep, are we?”

His voice makes you jolt. You weren’t expecting his lips to move so suddenly. Nor did you realize before how your hand cupped his jaw and your thumb stroked his cheek. You can feel his smile as he chuckles.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, my dear,” he coos. “But don’t you think it’s a bit late to be admiring my features?”

You take a moment to compose yourself, urging your heart to still from the scare. Damn you for thinking so much about his mouth. Astarion is nice enough to wait and listen as you relax once more, though you continue to trace over his skin and brush the curls in front of his ears back.

“I couldn’t sleep. And you look so beautiful in the moonlight.”

He slips his arm from underneath his head as he turns into your hand, holding your wrist in place as he kisses your palm. “I appreciate it, my love. But it’s been a long and exhausting day, and we both need our beauty rest.”

Red eyes watch, half-lidded, as you smile - he loves it just as much as you love his. Before, he couldn’t care less. Now, oh the things he would do to see you happy every waking moment of the rest of your lives.

The blankets shift against each other as you move to be closer. You tuck yourself into his chest, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your face into his neck. You are so warm. He lets out a soft breath as he curls around you, protective and safe all at once. Slender fingers tangle carefully into the hair at the nape of your neck, keeping your head tucked away under his chin.

For so long, he charmed and manipulated people. They touched and got close to him, in ways he quickly detached himself from. For so long. It was still difficult to fathom how he sought it out with you. How he did not go through the motions of physical intimacy, how he actually wanted to be physically intimate in more ways than just sexually. How long he’d been deprived of something genuine like this. He wanted to savor every gods-forsaken minute of it.

Your warm breath fanned across his neck as you spoke. Had he been able to, it would have sent a chill down his spine.

“I love you.”

His fingers curl into your waist, grounding himself into your body as your skin gives under his fingertips. In return, you squeeze him in your hold, solidifying even more that this is real. You are real.

“I love you, too, darling.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #fluff #touch starved #literal sleeping together #possibly ooc #pov second person #second person pov #drabble #gn reader #gender neutral reader

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Cullen: *trying to distract Ras Al Ghul for his sister who he just found out was Blue Bird* Why do you worship Lazarus anyway? What does it give you?!

Ras Al Ghul: It gives me endless life and eternal youth.

Cullen: But I bet it can't give me a boyfriend.

*Lazarus green portal opens up in the sky and shoots a guy down at Cullen feet*

Ras:

Cullen:

Nightwing:

Bluebird:

Robin:

Cullen: Dibs

Robin: That is a demon. A pit demon.

Cullen: and I called dibs

Phantom: ????

Phantom: I know a place if you like burgers

#dp x dc #fanfiction prompts #prompts #danny phantom #danny fenton #batman #cullen row #cullen row x danny fenton #do they have a ship name yet? #i know nothing about cullens comic charecter other than he: #1 has a crush on tim #2 has low self esteem #3 seems kinda desperate for a boyfriend #somebody help this guy #with the self esteem issue if nothing else #the bats are gonna lose it if danny just disappears with Cullen #which he totally would #maybe he gets Phantom to fight Ras too #bad news #cullen is now seen as a possible Lazarus saint or something idk and the loa wants him bad

[simplyavatrice]

avatrice + that one fleeting moment when anything felt possible

#avatrice #avatriceedit #warrior nun #warriornunedit #ava silva #sister beatrice #tbh i still can't believe this whole scene #episode #first two episodes #season 2 in its entirety #actually exist #because it's just all so perfect #it is like a fanfiction come to life #in the best way possible #myedits #save warrior nun

[mysteriesmuse]

I need to be able to be in the car with the bnha boys just gossiping and bitching about people. Like it’s inbetween classes midweek and we’ve gone out to grab some drive through. I’m sitting with French fries in hand and a steady beat is pumping through the radio as we sit it the car. The static hum of the AC mingling with the whizzing of cars on the road. Just fully able to decompress as we playfully tilt our converse clad toes like windshield wipers sipping on the straw of our soda. Katsuki who absolutely eats that kind of shitty friendship smack talk sessons UP. He’s leaning over to turn the radio down as you continue to talk at the red light. Katsuki always immediately jumps in to your defense and gives the best grievances in commentary to your argument. The chances are he doesn’t even know this girl, but he does recall you complaining about this same classmate a few weeks back, and on, and on. He knows she’s not good news. And the man lives for the way he verbally obliterates people in your defense. Something about hearing Katsuki do it in his natural snarl and growl has you punctuating the end of his comment with an exaggerated “thank you!!”

Shoto is buckled in for the ride as your passenger princess. he’s quickly gotten a handle on gossiping without ever having mentioned a name. He’s already shoving a fry into his mouth as you drive off down the road complaining. In the other hand, Shoto is cross-referencing Instagram, Facebook, and the like to match up names and faces himself. Once he finds it to confirm he purposefully tilts his phone under your nose and shows you the worst possible photo as their reference. He lives for the moment where you give an excited little gasp. It’s his sacred duty as the “friend of a friend” to provide a dozen infallible cover stories where together you can gracefully escape any encounters with said individuals. “Of course, love.” He’s already got his notes app pulled up to get started and he’ll crack open the drawer of manilla folders when he gets home. Izuku seems to enjoy hearing you rant on and on as he nods feverishly and passes you nuggets and French fry’s that have been lightly cooled by holding them up against the AC vents. He loves to sit and hear you talk even if you’re upset while doing it. In fact, he usually ends up admiring the strength you have to ignore the other person. Internally, Izuku is hanging onto every word and always trying to figure out the best solution to your dilemma. After your long-winded ranting is complete he’ll shake off the adoring doe eyes and now he’s offering up more than just delicious food - he’s offering up the perfect kind of comeback from the literary analysis he’s been doing this whole time. Every once in a while there’s an option he rattles off that nearly makes you choke until he frantically hands you your drink. It isn’t until you finally drink and sigh, “that’s good.” That he relaxes again and puffs up his chest at the notion of him having helped you.

#mysteriesmusing #bakugou katsuki #shoto todoroki #izuku midoriya #bakugou x reader #shoto x reader #izuku x reader #mha fanfiction #Been feeling really gossipy as the semester goes on #I just need people to stop being terrible and narcissistic in every possible public situation I’m in with them