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nothomegal · 7 months

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"Flashing warnings"

Pyramid Head x GN Reader

Summary: you've been with the executioner for quite some time, enough for you to have your own special bond. You were his, and that fact alone was enough for the whole Silent Hill to avoid you, well aware of what they'll find out if they mess around. However, this little rule is unknown for any unfortunate newcomers that get trapped in this cursed town, and today you've met one of these newcomers... One would think, seeing monsters avoiding you like fire should be enough proof to do the same, but... Eh, some people are way too stubborn and blind.

Warnings: typical violence and gore, (Y/N) getting mistreated by meanies >:(

Word count: 2.9k

(Y/N) been sitting on this old matress for quite some time, they've already tried any possible sitting position yet non made the book they're reading more interesting.

Pyramid Head, or how they began to call him, 'Pyra', left to hunt and punish whatever soul putrid enough to get his attention. He's been gone a good amount of hours and they haven't heard a single sound of his in the distance, no metal scraping against the concrete at the distance or any screams of agony from his victim, nothing. How many hours it been? Three? Five? It's tough to tell, specially when this town knows no day/night cycles and it's always foggy. Even though they're not sure how long it been, they can tell it's the longest Pyra's been gone.

They switch into a laying position as they begin to think about what to do now. They could totaly go out and take a walk if they wanted, but they're concerned they'll end up bumping into the people Pyra is hunting. No, they won't get punished but they don't want to witness a literal slaughter neither, and whenever something (literaly anything) dares to interact with (Y/N), the pyramid headed beast seems to go wild of fury.

This is some very serious issolation, but (Y/N) became fine with it and Pyra is not as bad of a company as he initialy was. Feel him close to them, his big palm resting against their body as a reminder that he's there, the random noises that come out his helmet whenever he seems content or wants to get their attention... To be honest, these little things became more than enough at this point, and it's not like they've used to be the most social butterfly anyways. And even if they were... Well, arguing with Pyra is useless, he never budges, and if (Y/N) starts to get unreasonable or the argument goes nowhere, he simply brushes his togue across their face, purpously waiting for the moment their open their mouth. And ta-da! Argument solved since (Y/N) is too shocked and flustered to continue and Pyra simply let's out a deep and amused rumble.

(Y/N) chuckles to themselves at this memory, when it happened the first time the face they made was probably priceless, and the way Pyra allowed them to hide their face in his chest so the shame goes away... Sigh, they hope he returns soon.

The hairs on the back of their neck stood up when they began to hear the sound of numerous people run and hurriedly yellsomething to each other. (Y/N) of course panics a bit, and to avoid any possible interaction with the group of people they sneak into the corner of the room near the door, so if anyone of the group peeks inside they won't notice (Y/N) right away. It also seems like the people are running away from something, something that is not Pyra because of the lack of known bulky footsteps and scraping sounds.

Unfortunately, their little plan went town the drain when the group of around five man bursted through the old door and attempted to close it, while the creature outside of it was desperately slaming itself against the wooden surface. (Y/N) turned completely still as they shrunk in their place, internally hoping that due to the intense moment these people wouln't notice then and would simply brush off their form as some inanimate object.

Unfortunately, one of the men did noticed them.

—"Hey Dave, there's another one hidin' over he-"—

The man couldn't finish the sentence as the creature from the other side managed to burst through the door, throwing the men on the ground in the process. Some of them stumble back, others pull out their weapons and point at the creature, who resulted to be a monster known as ‘Slurper’, take a guess why it's called that. Not the most difficult creature to deal with but definitely the trickiest, it’s very fast and definitely can handle or dodge some shots and hits from the group.

The monster crawls inside of the room, it’s elongated face making some slurping noises as drool and blood drips from its mouth. But the beast suddenly freezes mid-step, and very slowly and subtly turns it’s head towards (Y/N), making the men look at them as well. The monster suddenly lets out a whine, similar to that of a dog, and practically runs away at high speed, completely terrified.

The group stare at the door in shock, their mouth gaping a bit. (Y/N) remains stiff, their knees pressed to their chest as they think what to do now. The answer comes when one of the man, who seems to be the leader, stands up and starts walking towards them, his expression indescifrable, but his gaze definitely holding malice.

So (Y/N) jumps to their feet as fast as they could and make a run through the doorway and down the hallway. They can hear the group yell something as they chase them, their voices angry and irritated, which only motivated them to keep running since it’s now clear that these people weren’t kind at all.

Things turn significantly worse when they get grabbed by the back of their clothes and then tackled down on the floor, the impact was rough and quite painful which made (Y/N) release a pained whine. The man above them grabs a good chunk of their hair and presses their head agains the dirty and cold floor as he looks at them.

—“The fuck was that? How did you do it?!”— he exclaims strictly, his tone demanding.

—“D-Did what?… S-Scaring the- the monster th-thing?”— you nervously reply, your voice a bit shaky. —“I-It’s not really me, it’s the being tha-that ‘owns’ me.”—

(Y/N) knew they sound like they’re crazy, like they’re out of their mind, but it’s the best way they can explain their unusual situation. It is true, the executioner practically owns them, he has the power to claim and to keep them with him, to keep anyone and anything away from something his, to keep them eternally by his side, his and no one else's.

As expected, the man on top of them only scrunched his face with confusion and disgust, definitely thinking that (Y/N) is just another crazy ex-resident of this hellish town.

—“Yeah… Right.”— he slowly says.

—“Mathew, do you still have the tape? Bring it.”—

A clear sound of a duct tape being unwrapped made them shiver, uh-oh, they’re in a big-time problem. They attempt to wiggle out and keep running, but the man above them slams their head agains the floor.

—“Keep it still bitch, we just want to figure out what the fuck is wrong with you.”— he grumbles angrily and slams your head again.

(Y/N) could feel blood start dripping from their nose. Being forced to calm down since these men clearly aren't fooling around and are not afraid to hurt them if they need, they relax and allow another one to tape their wrists together behind their back, as well as their ankles.

—“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, the executioner will not have mercy…”— you comment, not even bothering to elaborate, knowing that these people are dead meat already.

—“Pff, executioner. If you’re of his property, then why were you in that room just chillin’ all by yourself?”— another man asks.

—“Because he can allow himself to do it, and because any smart creature knows to not fuck around me because of what they’ll found out.”— you say, your tone a bit sassier by the end.

—“Any smart creature, huh?”— the man that was on top of you suddenly grabs you by the throat. —“In my understanding, a smart creature will learn to shut the fuck up, I could easily cut your tongue off right now if I wanted but not sure if that will affect whatever effect you have on the monsters, so I'll give you one last chance to remain quiet, understood? You farm animal.”—

The grip on (Y/N)‘s throat was tight and it was hard to breathe, the male’s eyes were dark and cold, no hesitation in them as he said these threats, definetely not the first time he makes them. Believing his words, (Y/N) nods hurriedly as the lack of oxygen began to affect them. The man grins and let go of them roughly, basically throwing their body on the floor.

—“Aight, who’s going to carry their ass?”—

The men discuss for a short moment, until agreeing that the biggest one of them should do it. Ones everything was sorted out and (Y/N) was being manhandled in his grasp, the group resumed their walking.

The men were shocked, some of them even got smug, at the way the creatures avoided them now. What’s that? A monster does have guts to attack? A single sound or movement from (Y/N) was enough to set the creature from fight into flight. Each time something run away, the men would laugh and cackle loudly, clearly feeling like they've beat the system and are some sort of untouchable beings.

Silly bastards, they don’t know what awaits them.

It’s unclear how long they’ve been roaming around, but it was long enough for the group to get lost, again, and decide to take a rest. The man carrying (Y/N) carelessly (throws) puts them on the ground, face first, as the rest settle down as well. Non of the five bothered to talk or acknowledge (Y/N), though sometimes they would throw some random questions at them, but of course they'd never been able to finish the answer since one of the five would end up rudly interrupting them.

At some point (Y/N) began to ignore them, aware that they're nothing but a gag to these people. The youngest of the group seemed a bit pissed at being ignored, so he stands up and walks towards (Y/N)'s lying form, who was still paying no mind, and out of nowhere kicks them hard on their stomach, making the air inside of them leave in a violent exhale.

—"You talk and look at us when we speak to you."—

They say nothing, still trying to regain their breath. The man above them sighs and rolls his eyes before crouching down and grabbing them by their hair, to posteriorly pull them to their knees.

—"Listen sugar, just because you scare away the crap that lives here, it means shit to us. You're fuckin' helpless and at our mercy, so you do and act as told and when is told, understood?"—

Before (Y/N) could do anything, a sudden deafening roar resonated through the whole building and from an unknown direction. The noise similar to some huge unknown beast fiercely howling through something metallic. A shiver of anticipation ran through (Y/N)’s spine, Pyra must’ve found their drops of blood and figured out what happened, and now he’s on his way to take them back.

The other five noticeably tensed up and frantically looked around, as if trying to locate the creature through the walls...

Walls.

(Y/N)'s gaze was already focused on one of he walls, knowing that their lover would't waste his time in searching for an entrance. The man, who's still holding them by their hair, slowly drags his gaze to the same wall.

—"Guys..."— he says uneasily.

—"Yes, we heard that too, dumbass."— one of the other four hisses back.

—"No, guys, get away from the fuckin- "—

A loud crashing sound resonated behind the mentioned surface, followed by the well known heavy footsteps and scraping of metal. The other four quickly get behind the fifth and (Y/N), who was currently having the brightest grin on their face, relieved that he came for them.

—"{The fuck was that?!}"— one of the males yells half whispers to you.

—"That?"— you let a little hum as you close your eyes and look away so the dust doesn't get directly into your face. —"That is the reason why everything in here avoids me."— you say with the calmest tone possible.

—"Wha- "—

Another loud crash and a huge wave of dust cut off his question completely. While the dust was still on the air, the previous heavy footsteps were quickly approaching, making the floor shake with each step. When the men saw the silhouette of this massive unknown creature they paniced, since it showed no hits of stopping, quite the opposite actually. The one, that been holding (Y/N), pushes them roughly forward without thinking, actin on some desperate instinct.

—"Here! Take them instead!"—

The five were ready to run, but got stopped by their own shock when the monster reached out and caught (Y/N) before they fall on the ground. It was still hard to see what exactly the beast did, due to the still thick layer of dust, but the sudden loud and deep metallic growl that the beast let out was enough for them to defrost and set into running. They don't get too far though, since their legs get suddenly caught and tangled into a bunch of rusty wires and thorns coming out of the floor, whick held them still and cut their soft flesh with the mildest movement.

A small chill jolted through (Y/N) at the sight of the mysterious thorns. They knew it was Pyra's doing, he rarely used that hability of his and they learned that he only uses it when he's trully pissed. And he wasn't just that, he was livid. The sight of bruises on (Y/N)'s neck from the previous grab really railed the monster up, just how dares that filty mortal touch and mark something his? Only he has the privilege to touch (Y/N), to hold them, to look at them, to hear their voice and all the things they say in that calm and sweet tone they always use when they're happy... Just how dare they attempt to take all of this away from him? The executioner.

The monster tears the tape off (Y/N)'s wrists and ankles before putting them down, his movements a bit rough due his agitation yet he did his best to keep it under control.

He then rises to his full height, sword in hand, and slowly walks towards the group. The closer he got, the more desperate the man acted, pulling their legs out of the sharp wire-mess just for it to tangle around their limb even tighter.

The beast's first target was the youngest one, the one who had the guts to hold (Y/N) by their hair and threaten them, Pyra really didn't like that one.

The male has no time to even inhale to start begging, as the monster simply cuts him in half with his sword. (Y/N) of course didn't want to see the gore that is about to happen, so they carefuly and quietly leave the room through the hole their beast of a man made durning his enrance. The last thing they've seen before leaving was Pyra practically tearing one of the man up apart like paper, going specially slow to inflict even more pain.

(Y/N) is unsure how long it took Pyra to finish them, they simply remained sitted on the floor with their legs pressed against their chest and covering their ears to silence the screams and the wet gory sounds of muscles and bones breaking. They let out a yelp when their body is suddenly pulled up by a pair of large arms and is pressed agains a broad torso. Pyra held (Y/N) in this posessive embrace for quite a while, the mildes movement from them would make the beast growl and press them even closer.

(Y/N) however, still attempted to soothe their lover by gently nuzzling agains his chest and rub it with their hand.

—"I am so sorry..."— you apologize, though you both knew it wasn't really your fault. —"I was just hanging out in that room we've been before, and... And these people entered there while running away from another beast, and- "—

They couldn't finish the explanation since Pyra suddenly shoved their face further into his chest, muffing the rest of their little rant. The action, which embarassed (Y/N) a bit, also made them understand that their lover doesn't need any excuses or explanations, he's content to have them back and unharmed. They sigh softly and eventually relax in his grasp and going practically rag doll, in response and after some time, Pyra's body also relaxed a bit, yet his grip on (Y/N) remained strong and firm like iron, refusing to let go.

—"Pyra."— you manage to move yout head just enough to say it.

A low grumble resonated from his helmet and chest, though it didn't sound hostile, more like his version of 'hhmm?'.

—"I love you, thank you for being around."— you say honestly, as you move just enough to reach his neck area and kiss the little skin exposed between his clothes and helmet.

The little sweet gesture was answered with a low purr as Pyra's large hands roam around their body for a bit, caressing and feeling each curve through their clothes. The touches weren't suggestive surprisingly, which meant that this affection was genuine and not the product of his monstrous lust towards them.

They both stay like this for a while longer, (Y/N) saying and whispering things in a soft tone that Pyra absolutely adored to hear, and he kept holding them against himself, pawing their body time to time just to feel them more. Their warmth, their pulse, their breathing...

To feel them.

To feel them being all H̸̫̥͙̮͍̮͋͑Ḯ̴͓̦̻͈̜͍̇̃͋͠S̴͖̘̍̓̉̑.

#nothomegal fic #nothomegal oneshot #pyramid head #pyramid head x reader #gn reader #slasher x reader

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softlyspector · 6 months

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Born lucky, under a bad star.

Summary: Joel has always been lucky, in the worst of ways.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~13k (sorry)

Warnings: game!Joel, major spoilers for tlou part 2, angst with a happy ending, major injuries and recovery, anxiety, depression, relationship healing, mentions of death, mentions of violence, suicidal ideation

Disclaimers and A/N: Though this fic was based around some events in tlou part 2, almost all of the canon after the divergence from the canon timeline is thrown out. This fic is also based entirely around game events, characterization, and canon. This is honestly one of the most difficult things I've ever written. It took months and many many drafts, but I'm very proud of her. I hope you love her too, she was a labor of love.

As always, thank you for reading! I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!

Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red. - Kait Rokowski.

The lights of the clinic are so bright they’re blinding.

Your hands are still shaking, covered in Joel’s blood. It’s been hours since you returned to the safety of Jackson’s walls but there’s still a frantic, frenetic energy in the air. Everyone is shaken. It feels a little like a thousand year old tree has been felled, like a giant has been swung at and leveled, like something monstrous and infallible has been brought to its knees.

You’ve seen it happen before. Rebar right through his belly. It should have killed him. It would have killed anyone else. You’ve pulled more bullets out of Joel than you would care to count, and swaddled him in probably several football fields worth of bandages over the years.

Still, nothing like this.

Because Joel has always been lucky, even when he hadn’t wanted to be.

Lucky, in all the worst ways.

That fucking rebar, you think bitterly. It should have hit at least one organ, should have severed his fucking spine. But it didn’t. He walked it off, really, mostly, at the end of it all.

This though — to see him tortured, beaten, bleeding to death slowly—

Your edge of your vision tips black, like your mind is already refusing to go back to that room, like you’ll pass out if you think of it for too long.

A part of you wonders if maybe it’s your fault. Maybe you forgot to stick lavender in his pocket before he left that morning, like you always do.

Someone pushes the door open, snow swirls in against the tile. Voices, rising and falling. The cold that rolls through the tiny waiting room is frigid.

It’s still so red, his blood, even dried and crusted around your fingers and up your wrists.

Tommy is still bleeding and even Maria hasn’t been able to convince him to sit down and let someone look at him. No, all attention needs to be focused on his brother. Anyone with any medical know how, has to be with Joel.

You agree.

Tommy, you, anyone else—can fucking wait.

Ellie is sitting next to you, looking just as numb and shocked as you feel, her fingers twined with Dina’s.

The chatter reaches a crescendo. Something about the worsening storm, something about tracking folks with that big of a headstart through a storm like this one, something about the rapidly deepening darkness, night coming on, something about well who could do something like that anyway? Who the fuck would we even send?

The quiet that follows is painful.

Joel.

Joel is the one you send. Joel is the one that could get a job like this one done, the one that could track people through a blizzard with a dogged determinism, with pragmatism and infallibility.

“What did they want?” Someone asks the room at large. You aren’t sure who asks, you can’t make the shapes in the room resolve into people you know. “Why us? Why Joel? They wanted something right? Who were they?”

You and Tommy look at each other, Ellie makes a half muffled, pained sound beside you. Joel crossed a lot of people, maybe there wasn’t any sense in guessing.

No one answers. You look at your hands again and wonder if the crimson will ever fade.

Someone says your name and you look up. A coat is tugged over your shoulders. You didn’t realize you were shivering and you don’t know what happened to your own coat. One of the patrolmen is looking at you, his name slips your memory but Jesse is standing behind him, Maria on the other side.

You feel the ghost of Ellie’s hand against your arm. Odd, you think distantly, because she hates you. She has for a long time.

“What happened?”

You look around, but Tommy isn’t where he’d been standing just a moment ago. Did they ask him, too?

There’s a dark hole in your memory.

“I don’t know.”

And it’s the truth.

There’s no one more dedicated, more involved, in keeping Jackson safe, than Joel.

Aside from Tommy, maybe.

Joel is an effective killer, like an executioner with a mission. It’s the thing that scared Tommy the most about his brother, and it’s also the thing that had kept him alive long enough to get his second chance in Jackson. It’s the thing you have always loved most about Joel, the violence born of necessity.

And, you suppose, that’s what he’d been. Dispatcher, destroyer.

Protector.

At the heart of it all, the meat of it is, that it had always been that with Joel. It had always been in the name of protect, provide, survive. He never shied away from telling you of his days as a hunter, or, something close to a hunter. And even then, it was keep Tommy alive, it was survive until Boston, it was we needed fucking food.

Survive and provide and protect.

Joel.

Jackson had been wary of him, at first. The stories of his dealings with infected and raiders alike at odds with the way he moved in the commune, with kindness and a certain gentleness, a competency and dependability, with something so soft in his gaze when it came to that little girl he arrived with.

That reticence and worry had dissolved as quickly as it had come.

They describe him as quiet and funny, because he’s prone to good natured teasing. They describe him as fierce and short to anger, because no one can say a word about him or his. They describe him as wonderfully dependable, ask Joel for something on a supply run and you would have it in short order; sigh about the state of something in your home and it would be taken care of, fixed, the very next day.

Jackson loves Joel.

Especially that softened up, gentle creature that had emerged in the wake of everything that had happened between Boston and Jackson. Joel had always had a soft interior, trotted out in brief glimpses over the years, but the shell he wore had been so thick and sharp it was near impenetrable, nearly unknowable.

Ellie is around plenty in those first couple of weeks after. She even takes to sleeping on the living room couch. She doesn’t say much to you or Joel, hardly anything at all, but she’s there and you figure that’s what matters. It seems like she isn’t sure what to say, and desperate for the connection that nearly shattered.

The first few days when Joel comes home from the clinic, someone knocks on the front door every couple of hours and you open it and have the same conversation over and over and over again. It’s always people worriedly asking after Joel’s wellbeing, dropping off food, expressing their anger that something like this could happen to one of their own, that it could happen to someone so widely and wildly beloved.

When the knocks finally stop coming, and you can convince Tommy to go home to Maria, before Maria has to walk over and collect her husband again, you take the stairs slowly up.

You’re exhausted. You hardly sleep and when you do, you have nightmares of Joel. Formless, mind numbing dreams that you can never remember when you wake up gasping. You aren’t sure if Joel dreams of it, too. He’s always mumbled in his sleep, eyes flickering behind closed lids, so it’s hard to tell.

And he hasn’t really been coherent enough, awake enough, to ask, anyway.

“Hey,” Ellie says when you round the doorway into the bedroom, lowering the comic book in her hands. She’s beside Joel, sitting on your side of the bed, back against the headboard. “Sleeping again.”

“Was he awake?”

“A little. Drank some water.”

Despite the tension of the last few years, you know she’s thinking of another time that Joel had slept a lot, injured and only half alive.

Now isn’t like then, but in some ways, it’s worse.

You nod and take a seat at the edge of the bed by her feet. “That’s good,” you reassure her. “It’s a good thing that he’s sleeping. He needs it.”

Ellie just holds up the comic in her lap and then jerks her chin at the box on the bedside table, Joel’s glasses and book about space pushed aside. “I, uh, found them in the study.”

You shrug. “He always picked up any he found on supply runs.” You watch her from the corner of your eye and then shift your gaze to Joel. The slow rise and fall of his chest is reassuring in its steadiness, though you hate how still he is.

The skin by his temple is puckered and red, the stitches a neat little row up to his hairline. It still looks raw as a live nerve, the swelling extending to his eye, purple and shadowed in a dark bruise that trails down his cheek and jaw.

“He never said—” She stops and shakes her head. “So stupid.”

“Well,” you scoot closer and pat her extended leg. “You didn’t exactly want to talk then. We tried giving them to you, once. Left them outside your door. They got a little rained on.”

“Yeah,” she says, mouth twisting to the side. “Some of them are. . .can’t fucking peel the pages apart.” In that moment, she sounds like that little kid you left Boston with, being told not to touch something and doing it anyway.

That might have been when you fell in love with Ellie, watching her snap at Bill, and watching Joel react like any father would. It had come back to him so quickly, so naturally.

There’s a long pause in which Ellie flips rapidly through the comic book and doesn’t say anything, her fingers nervous. She looks how you feel — exhausted. “Why don’t you go get some sleep in your own bed?” You ask, reaching out to twitch a fallen lock of auburn hair behind her ear. “You’re just across the yard. If anything happens, you’ll know.”

She looks up at you, eyes flicking over your face. “I was fucking mad at you too, you know,” she whispers suddenly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You drop your hand and shake your head before looking back at Joel. He sleeps deeply now, deeper than you thought possible for someone like him, even drugged and injured.

There’s a knot tangled in your chest, that only tightens further with her question. “It wasn’t my place. He didn’t. . .he didn’t say anything to me about it for a long time, either. Wouldn’t explain what happened while we were separated. He told me the same lie. And you were going to be mad at me, too, no matter what. It had to be between the two of you.”

“And you think he was right,” she accuses hotly.

“And,” you level your eyes to hers, “I think he was right.” You dip your head. “I wouldn’t change anything, Ellie. I wouldn’t. You know Joel wouldn’t either. You matter more than that.”

Her bottom lip trembles for just a second. “Even knowing this happens?!” She gestures around the room, maybe just the situation at large.

Some of the tension knotting up your shoulders bleeds away. “He’s still here. It’s not too late.” She glances away and sucks in a harsh breath. You wait until she meets your eyes again. “And Ellie, it is not your fault. It’s not. None of it.”

“It almost was.” Her voice is strained. “Too late.”

You shrug. “He knows you care. Trust me, he does.”

She scrubs roughly at her eyes with the sleeves of her hoodie. “Yeah, uh, well, I’m still gonna sleep on the couch.”

“Why don’t you just stay right here, then? With Joel?” You ask and stand. “I’ll take the couch tonight.”

It is the ultimate admission of how scared she is, that she does not argue, doesn’t even try to.

For the first few weeks after the attack, Joel is in and out of consciousness. He sleeps much more than he’s awake.

And, it’s hard to tell, at first, why he’s sleeping so much. The pain medicine? That carefully doled out, nearly impossible to come by miracle drug — was it just knocking him out? Was he just sleeping because that’s what his body needed? Or, was it something deeper? Brain damage?

“He’s fucking. . .old!” Ellie says to you one morning around a mouthful of toast. It’s kind of odd, how easily she’s taken to old routines. And how weird the old routine is, because the third piece of your puzzle is missing, sleeping. “Old people take longer to heal, right?”

Right.

But he’s also Joel. And he isn’t that old.

It feels wrong, that he’s so still and silent.

“It’s not—” Her fist opens and closes. She sets down the toast in her other hand on the plate and turns, pacing the length of Joel’s kitchen, fidgeting with her fingers as she goes, white morning light slatting over her. You eye the toast. It’s hard to get her to eat, these days but you figure most of one piece is better than nothing. “His leg. It’s not infected or something, right? We’d know if it was.”

“It’s not infected,” you agree. When your own hands start to shake, you set down your mug, afraid to drop it or spill hot tea all over the floor, and make Ellie even more anxious in the process.

You don’t like to talk about it. You don’t like to think about it. The memories are like a hot brand.

The staircase creaks with the heavy thud of footsteps, before Tommy appears in the kitchen archway. You’ve always thought Tommy and Joel resembled each other, but now you see similarities in the kinds of expressions they make, too, the quirks in their movements that only siblings could share, and Tommy is sometimes a little hard to look at.

“Heading out?”

“Yeah, he’s, uh, sleepin’ again.” He leans against the doorway and crosses his arms over his chest.

Ellie doesn’t say anything, just slips past Tommy and heads up the steps. Tommy looks after her and then back at you. “She won’t say it but she doesn’t like leaving him alone,” you explain.

Tommy nods and then pushes away from the door to settle at the kitchen table. “Well, I don’t like the idea of it either. Good she’s with him.” He tips the chair onto its back legs and tilts his head. “How ya holdin’ up?”

“Probably about as good as you are.”

He huffs a bitter laugh. “Yeah. Maria told me you want off partols.”

You swallow and look away from him as you take the seat across from him at the table. “I - I know we’re down people already but I can’t. . .Tommy I can’t even look at the goddamn gate without feeling like—” You shake your head. “I just don’t think I can do it. I’d get somebody killed.”

“All right,” he says, not unkindly. “We’ll figure it out. It’s okay.”

A burn starts at the back of your eyes so you stand again and swipe your fingers against your cheeks. “You want coffee before you head out?”

“Nah, save that for Joel.” Then, “How you think this is gonna go? When he’s awake more?”

“I don’t know. You’d know better than me.”

Tommy laughs. The chair scrapes against the linoleum as he stands. He looks tired, and worried. It’s an odd look on him. It isn’t like Tommy at all. You and Tommy have always bonded over teasing Joel. There’s none of that now.

“Like hell. You’ve spent the last fifteen years with him, not me.”

“He’s your brother.”

“And you’re the love of his damn life.” He pauses and leans on the counter next to you.

That makes your mouth twitch, the pleasantly warm feeling in your chest consumed in the next second by a lancing pain that can only be an approximation of grief for someone and something that still breathed.

“I just can’t help worryin’,” he continues. “This might be enough for us, but not for him. If Joel can’t ever do anything again—”

“He just needs time, Tommy,” you cut him off quickly. Not able to stomach the thought. “We’ll figure it out. He’ll figure it out,” you say with more conviction than you feel. “We can probably figure something like a prosthetic out. People have been making them for thousands of years. We can do it. It’ll be fine. But it’s going to be different.”

Tommy’s right. You’ve spent the last fifteen years with Joel. You aren’t sure who you are without him anymore. You aren’t sure you know how to get along without him anymore. And you never want to have to find out. “He’s alive,” you finish with a nod. “Everything else, we can figure out.”

He nods. “You think we shoulda went after ‘em?”

“Maybe. But this is more important.”

Before he goes, Tommy wraps you in a hug. “So long as you and that girl stick around, it’ll be all right.”

“Ellie’s been playing the guitar up there,” you answer.

He nods and pulls back, one big hand clapping down on your shoulder. “See? Things might be all right yet. Always told Joel she’d come around eventually.” He releases you and heads toward the door then. “And get some sleep. Y’look terrible,” he calls over his shoulder. “Orders from Maria.”

For the first time in weeks, Joel wakes with some semblance of clarity. The bedroom is warm and dark, the tiniest pool of light washing over the form next to him from a little light plugged into the wall.

It’s the nightlight he found for Ellie when they first got to Jackson and her nightmares gave her more grief than she cared to admit to.

His whole body aches. He feels sick.

The sharpness of the pain is disorienting. He’s only been awake in brief, muddled flashes, the dulled fingers of drugged pain lancing through him and consuming most of his thoughts. He’d only been awake long enough to eat or drink or be helped to the bathroom like some kind of damn—

He remembers Tommy at his bedside. He hears the ghost notes of music in the air, your voice in his ear, the gentle slide of warm fingers over his skin. He remembers Ellie reading aloud, curled on her side next to him, like she used to do when she was younger, like when they’d stop for the night on the road.

That can’t be right, though. She hasn’t done that in years. She wouldn’t do something like that. Not anymore.

You’re next to him now, face tilted against the edge of his pillow. It’s hard to make you out in the dark, the shape and slope of your features hidden in the dim light.

When he says your name, you twitch, the slightest wrinkle to your nose, the tiniest spasm of your fingers against the sheets. “Darlin’,” he tries again. His voice grinds, catches and snags around his teeth. It feels like he hasn’t spoken in years.

He reaches for you and it’s agony, because his shoulder must be broken. His ribs contract painfully right, like the shrapnel of the bone is digging up into his lungs, piercing his heart. But your skin is soft and warm, pliant, beneath his fingers. It smells like you’ve been burning sage again. He wants to burrow his fingers beneath your skin, you’re so warm.

The cut of your cheekbones are sharper, the angle of your jaw reminds him of winter in the QZ, winter traveling with you and Ellie. Discolored circles line the space beneath your eyes like little hollows. You look exhausted, wan.

You blink, slowly at first, then more rapidly. “Joel?” Your voice is a whisper, like the dark is stealing it away.

Your fingers slide through the backs of his against your cheek when you shift closer, so careful about it, until you’re pressed to his side. “Joel,” you repeat, eyes sliding shut, forehead against the edge of his sore jaw.

He breathes you in, the warm scent of your skin, the smells of hearth and home, lavender and sage and woodsmoke. He closes his eyes for just a second when you shift up and tilt your forehead against his, breath whispering against his chin. “Joel.”

“You all right?” His voice still sounds rocky but clearing it doesn’t seem to help any.

Slowly, you sit up, hand still in his when you pull it away from your face. “You’re asking me that? You’re kidding, Joel,” your voice creaks. You’ve never really been a crier, but there’s a thickness in your mouth, softening out the vowels and snapping at the consonants. “Are you - We didn’t want you to be in pain. But you’ve been sleeping for so long, we gave you a lower dose so that—”

“I feel okay,” he interrupts your fretting, sweeping his thumb against the back of your hand. “Considerin’.”

You swallow and nod. “Hungry?” You glance at the window, where a gray, pale morning light is starting to leech into the room, the color of dirty snow.

“Yep.” He wishes you’d keep your eyes on him. “If you’ve got somethin’ ready.”

“We have anything you want,” you assure him. “Anything.”

Joel nods and attempts to push himself up next to you, chest and shoulder aching something awful. He bites back a groan but it still pushes past his teeth.

“Careful,” you say sharply. Before he can protest, you’re up and around the bed, one hand behind his back. “Your shoulder is broken in a million places.”

“A million?” He grunts.

“Three.”

“That ain’t a million.”

You don’t laugh and your hand doesn’t move from his back. “And broken ribs. Now lean back.” He does as you ask, real careful about it so you don’t worry.

An odd feeling creeps up inside his chest, dulled by the lighter dose of pain medicine coursing through his veins. It ain’t just a sick feeling, but something else. A helplessness, maybe. It feels wrong, in more ways than one.

Joel becomes acutely aware of what he already knows, every single injury, the graveness of them. He knows about the broken shoulder and ribs that had to be reset, torn skin that had to be stitched together, that he has internal bruising but by some miracle no internal bleeding. His face throbs suddenly, his temple tight with pain. He feels his heartbeat behind his eye and in the swelling in his cheek.

And, the worst of it, leg amputated to just above the knee. Sick crawls up the back of his throat. He doesn’t dare look.

The feeling in his chest swells until it chokes him.

Helpless, useless — something hard and fanged digs into his mind. It feels like grief, but what is he supposed to be mourning, exactly?

Everything, maybe.

His whole damn life.

“I’m fine,” he grunts suddenly. Sharply. “Quit fussin’.”

He feels like fucking crying.

“Just - shut up, Joel,” you snap back. “You almost fucking died.”

A fist curls around his throat, warm and tight. He almost can’t breathe through it. “Yeah,” he croaks, voice breaking the word in two.

“Yeah,” you snarl. “So shut up and let me fuss.”

You turn and leave before he can say anything else, footsteps rapidly descending the stairs. Voices trundle up, creased and folded, rising but muffled. You’ve always been mean when you got scared, ever since Joel can remember. You were mean as hell when he first met you, a hissing kind of frustrated, new to the QZ and new to trying your hand at smuggling.

You’ve softened up over the years. He hasn’t seen you like this in a long time, maybe not since you got separated in Salt Lake City.

More footsteps, this time heavy, stomping, coming upwards.

Ellie appears in the doorway a second later. Her hair is messy; her eyes are wild. She’s in sweatpants and a shirt that’s too big for her. She looks tired but unharmed. The knot tangled up around his lungs eases just a little. “Hey, kiddo.” He tries not to sound surprised.

Her eyes flick over him and then away. She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t leave either. Instead she picks up a book from the corner of the dresser and settles in the chair across the room.

A firm but unyielding presence.

He closes his eyes, tips his head back against the wall, and tries to push down the feeling of failure rising in his throat like a tide.

Joel’s fingers are clumsy.

He can’t walk, can’t work, can’t do much of anything without irritating every ligament and tendon and bone in his body.

But even worse than that, he can’t remember how to play the guitar.

And nothing makes him feel so helpless as that.

Even after not playing for twenty odd years, the notes and the placement of his fingers on the strings and frets had come back easily to him, almost like he’d never stopped playing at all.

Now, it doesn’t.

In part his shoulder is to blame. Even nearly healed, it’s stiff. But the other part of it is that he can’t remember how to play. Every note seems wrong, and he can’t decide if he’s hearing it wrong, if there’s something wrong with his hearing, his perception, or if the note really is just wrong.

Ellie plays for him, instead.

It’s easier than talking. Neither of them are really good at that, anyway. He’s just glad she’s around at all.

He can’t help but think of that last conversation he’d had with her on the back porch, that she wants to try to forgive him, even if she thinks she might never be able to. He supposes this is her way of trying her hand at that.

Sometimes he wonders if it would be like this if he hadn’t almost died, if he wasn’t collecting sympathy from everyone like there was some kind of shortage. Maybe that conversation on the porch would have meant nothing, otherwise.

The thought hurts him, no matter how glad he is that she’s there.

One evening, pretty late, as snow peppers down through the early winter black that curtains the window, she stops playing.

The living room is quiet, aside from their breathing and the crackle of flames in the fireplace.

“I was going to invite you over to watch a movie.”

The metallic twang of the last note she plucked hangs in the air.

“I was - I was going to fucking ask you to watch a movie with me. That night. One of those dumb action movies you like. Like the ones we used to watch, remember? Curtis and Viper 2.”

She doesn’t look at him. She stares at her fingers, idly, nervously, twisting the tuning pegs of the guitar. “Think I saw that one before,” he answers, voice a little choked. “Pretty good.”

Ellie rolls her eyes and doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. “Yeah, you would think so, old man,” she replies eventually but still doesn’t look up, her mouth twisting to the side. “I just - don’t want you to think I’m only here because you—” She shakes her head, and props the guitar against the wall before she stands and paces the room twice, toying with her fingers in that way she always has. “I never wanted anything bad to happen to you. Even when I was really mad.”

“Ellie,” he says but she doesn’t seem to hear him. “I know.”

“Anyway, I meant what I said.”

“Ellie.”

“I wanted things to get better. I wanted to try. I was going to.”

“Ellie.”

She spins suddenly toward the front door, one hand on the back of her neck, rubbing awkwardly. “I gotta get going.”

“Kiddo.” This time she turns and finally looks at him. The scent of pine and smoke fills the room. The red of the flames flash across her face, so serious and anxious.

When they first came to Jackson, they spent a lot of nights on the couch together. His neck always ached the next morning from sleeping upright but he’d never complain about it. Then the distance between them had grown, and he doesn’t know when the last time something like that had happened.

But that same distance is slowly shrinking now, even if things might never, never be the same again.

So many times when he looks at her, he still sees that fourteen year old kid. He’d had the same problem with Sarah, looking at his twelve year old and seeing her at five and eight. It was just how it went, being a parent.

“I know, Ellie,” he reassures her. “I do. It’s all right. Even if you didn’t mean a word of it, it’s all right. I meant what I said, too.”

And even though she said she needed to leave, she nods and sits down again. She plucks a few notes out on the guitar when she pulls it back into her lap.

“D'ya still wanna watch it?”

She does.

Joel is whittling.

It is decidedly not going well.

He’s too distracted for it. He never realized how much pressure settled on his shoulder, how much it pulled at the muscle around his ribs, from doing something as simple as this, and he doesn’t like the nausea that comes with the pain.

But it’s something he can do, so he does it.

It’s snowing outside again, wind raking against the siding, rattling the window panes. There’s a thin stream of air coming in around the window’s frame, cold.

His hands are chapped and raw, blood pooling at the seams of his knuckles.

The fix would be easy enough, but everything he needs to do it is in the basement. And the basement is a near impossible location for him to reach, so he puts up with it, hands growing more frustrated by the second because he wants to fucking fix it.

You use the office, his work space, often enough, and it’s one thing for him to be cold and uncomfortable, but another thing entirely for you to feel that way.

But he can’t make it down to the living room without help these days, let alone down two flights of stairs to the basement, and then back up them, too.

“Joel?”

He glances over his shoulder to find you standing in the doorway. You have a pair of shears in your hands.

“Still want me to cut your hair?”

He wants to do it himself. But you’d offered earlier, because you’ve been doing it for him for a long time, for years and years now. And he’d always liked it because your hands are kind with it and you’re better at doing it, anyway. But now it just feels like one more thing he can’t do for himself, one more thing he’s relying on someone else for, and that makes guilt and shame choke him.

Joel can’t seem to do a damn thing, not for himself, but, worse, not for anyone else either.

“Joel?” You ask again when the silence stretches until it’s uncomfortable. “I don’t have to; you can do it yourself.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s all right, darlin’.” You start forward when he labors up from the chair, teeth gritted, but quickly stop when he meets your eyes, warning you away with a glance.

You don’t say anything else, just back out the door and pad down the hall to the bathroom.

He isn’t sure if your feelings are hurt or not, all his focus directed on hauling himself upwards and then limping down the hall with one crutch under his arm. Feeble threads of pain lance up his leg, centering in his joints, the hinge of his knee. The space under his arm is sore too, from the crutch, even wrapped in cloth.

Joel is used to pain. He’s used to temporary aches, the sharp stab of healing wounds, the quick rip of a bullet or knife through skin, chronic pains from age and long healed injuries. On cold days, his side aches something fierce, like that rebar never really came out of him.

But this pain is different, without origin, and he’s having a hard time adjusting to it. Or maybe he’s just having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that this is not a healable injury, at least, not in the way he wants it to be.

For the rest of his life, he will be disabled. He’ll never get back to himself, never be what he once was.

The bathroom light is gold. It washes his skin into a better color, not so pale and strained and pained looking.

He hates looking in the mirror now. Joel never considered himself particularly good looking, never thought about it much, really. And, for most of his life, looks haven’t really mattered anyway.

But seeing his reflection now is a reminder of his failures. It’s a reminder of everything he can’t do.

His whole body is nothing but reminders.

He is a patchwork quilt of scars.

He doesn’t know how you can stand to look at him. But you just brush your hands through his hair when he leans the crutch against the counter and sits heavily on the stool you dragged upstairs.

The bathroom is thick with the scent of lavender and earth. Every winter it turns into a makeshift greenhouse, all the plants that can’t survive the winter dragged inside for the season.

The feeling of your hands through his hair is soothing and the tension in his shoulders slides away.

“I can do it myself,” he grumbles, despite himself, and without conviction when you run a comb through his hair.

You hum under your breath, not really paying him any mind. You know he doesn’t really mean it. Even if he feels like a fucking burden for it, it’s something you’ve always done for him, so it’s a little easier for him to accept. “I know. I like to.” You tilt his chin up and Joel steadfastly avoids looking in the mirror. “Besides, I’m better at it. You take to it like it’s a hack job.”

The trim doesn’t take long, since he keeps his hair longer anyway. It’s mostly an excuse for you to rake your fingers through his hair.

“The window needs fixin’,” he says when you slide in front of him and set about trimming his beard without asking. That’s fine, too. “I know you been, uh, kinda cold in that room.”

“It’s not so bad,” you say when you finish with him, brushing your fingers against his cheeks and then through his hair. You smile, eyes crossing his face, tracing his features like a well known map, before you twitch a lock of hair away from his forehead. “You gonna fix it for me or what?”

“Mighty big ask of ya,” he grouses, irritation itching at the edge of his mind.

You’re still smiling faintly, touching his face, the curl of hair behind his ear, the scar along his hairline and then the one over his nose.

“I just can’t see how,” you say and Joel almost snaps. He wants to. He wants to say you don’t fucking get it, that you don’t want to get it, that it’s different now. He wants to say he’s not the man you’ve always known, that shit ain’t as easy as it’s always been. He can’t do shit for you, anymore, and isn’t that the reason you’ve stuck around all these years?

But then you continue. “I left that damn caulking gun on the side table three days ago.”

“You what?”

You shrug. “Thought you might have noticed it too. And I’ve always been so bad at that stuff.”

The guilt that settles in him is heavy, but familiar. The shape of it is different, but it's still like shrugging on an old coat, it’s so natural and intimate.

He must be destined for some kind of failure, born under a bad star, something.

Everything he touches falls apart, no matter what he does. Everyone he holds dear, leaves him, one way or another, somehow. His mama, Sarah, and then Tommy, and then Tess. Most recently Ellie, though maybe things there were being mended. Maybe you were next, soon as you came to your senses.

Joel has spent most of his life taking care of people. And when he wasn’t taking care of people, he was moving, working. He hardly ever sat still. He didn’t have time to sit still.

Not before the outbreak, and certainly not after.

Even in Jackson where the pace of the world is slower, he was always busy. If he wasn’t on patrol, he was on wall duty, looking after Jackson’s security. Or, he was fixing something for someone, building something, helping with the horses. If he wasn’t doing any of that, he was improving his house, he was working on a new carving, he was playing the guitar.

Healing up, it’s involved a whole lot of sitting still and feeling useless. It had involved a lot of other people fussing over him.

A lot of sitting still and feeling like he was failing everyone he knew. Like he had already failed everyone he knew. For all the effort he put into it, it would never be enough. He cares wrong, he loves wrong, and now he can’t even do that.

He fails you in this, too. Of wishing he could accuse you of all the things he thinks of himself.

Joel knows you think of it too, you just haven’t gotten frustrated enough with him to say it yet. You haven’t had the full weight of his broken, uselessness on you, yet.

That day will come. There’s no way it won’t, because he can’t do for you what he’s always done, what he was put on this god forsaken earth to do. The one thing he’s always been able to do. Not just for you, but for everyone. Ellie, Tommy and his family, Jackson at large.

It’s always been the thing he could point to and say look, this is why I am like this, this is why you need me, why I’m around. You survived because of me. Because I made sure you did.

So he’s not worth much now, really, and all the promises he made you and all the promises he made to himself, he can’t keep them anymore. And isn’t that why you stuck by him all these years? Despite all his shortcomings?

“Sorry, darlin’,” he cups your face in his hands, smoothes his thumbs over your cheeks, the hinge of your jaw. “I’ll get right on fixin’ that for you.”

“I know you will. Thank you, Joel.” The full weight of your head tips into his hands, and your eyes slide shut. His hands are large against your jaw, scarred and calloused, harsh. Reminders, maybe, of what he used to be. He looks at the hollows beneath your eyes, the raw, worried skin of your bottom lip.

You don’t sleep anymore and when you do you have nightmares. You hate to leave the house. And sometimes you flinch even when nothing is happening around you, like memories are snapping at your heels.

He did all that to you, too. Terrible gifts he’s given and can’t take back.

When he glances back up to your eyes, you’re staring at him, a worried, anxious kind of look lodged there that he absolutely hates.

“What?” He asks, smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks and then the delicate hinge of your jaw.

“Nothing.” Your eyes shift away from his, and you twitch in his grasp. He already knows what you’re about to say, because you’ve never gotten better at saying it, just like him. He doesn’t need you to say it, but you do anyway, and he hates how much he likes hearing it. It’s like a ray of golden sun. “I love you, Joel,” you murmur and hook your hands around his wrists.

For a long time, you just look at him, the silence is heavy with unsaid words, but he isn’t sure which of you is the one not saying something. “That enough?” He eventually grunts. “For you?”

You frown. “Why wouldn’t it be? Do you think it’s not?”

It shouldn’t be. All those promises stack up in his mind again, everything he can’t keep.

“It shouldn’t be.”

You pull his hands away from your face with a shake of your head and lean in to kiss him. Your lips part softly against his, the hitch of your breath sweet against his mouth. The heat of you is so close and intoxicating, it’s something he never wants to have to give up, not when your thumbs are pressed to the pulse in his wrists, and not when you taste like apple, honey.

He shakes one of your hands away to wrap his arm around your back and pull you closer, until the warmth of your body is pressed securely to his chest. Your tongue slides against his, teeth nipping gently at his bottom lip. Something warm floods his cheeks and his chest goes tight.

When you pull back, you tug on a piece of his hair then touch the blush pinking on his face. “You look real handsome, Texas.”

He tucks his forehead against your collarbone, and you fold your hands against the back of his head. “It’s enough,” you say. “Always has been.”

The next day, he finds that most of his tools have been relocated upstairs, either to one of the cabinets in the living room, or to the office upstairs.

Either way, he no longer has to traverse two staircases down and back up.

He isn’t sure when you had the time to do it, or why he didn’t at least hear you doing it.

Joel’s chest swells with love for you, right alongside the guilt that does nothing but grow.

He fixes the window.

Some days are easier than others.

He has good days and bad, and some of the bad days are worse than others. He sows the feelings up inside himself, cocoons the bad away inside his chest. It’s easier that way. And it’s necessary now. It’s just another thing you’d have to deal with.

He’s never been good at saying the things that needed said, anyway.

He tries not to snap at you. He’s trying not to get mean, and he can’t just walk away like he used to be able to when his mind got messy. But he’s been failing because he wants you to fight with him, wants you to hate him.

Joel wants you to say that he fucking failed, that he’s been failing his whole life at the one thing he was supposed to be able to do. The one thing he’s really good for.

“Stop it,” Joel snarls one day in the spring, when you offer your hand down the steps to the living room.

He doesn’t mean to snap at you like that, but he doesn’t take it back either. He’s in too much pain. And he doesn’t want to admit it.

The smile slips off your face as you step back from him, a stoney expression sliding over your face instead. It’s routine, you helping him, and maybe that’s the problem. He grits his teeth, that look reminds him of Boston, reminds him of the time before you used to trust each other.

“I ain’t helpless.”

You raise your hands and take another step back, looking away from him as you do.

The breeze that comes in the landing’s open window is cool. It isn’t quite warm enough for the window to be open but the house needs airing out after such a long winter, such a hard winter. The air is crisp with the scent of pine and the lavender hung in dried clumps above each doorway.

“I know, Joel.”

When he looks at you, you visibly brace yourself.

A wave of self-hatred so hot it burns immediately follows the guilt. But it also doesn’t stop the angry, frustrated pulse beneath the surface of his skin, pressing against the back of his teeth.

“I don’t know why you didn’t just leave me there.” The words are bitter, poisonous. Accusatory. “You should have left me to fuckin’ die.”

Whatever you might be expecting him to say, it isn’t that. Your breath catches hard.

You can be cruel, too. He waits for your anger, the burn of words he deserves to hear, something mean and hateful but true.

But the words don’t come; your anger doesn’t come. You just look tired and empty, sad.

You pace the landing, the soft shush of your footsteps echoed by the creaking of the floorboards. Your silence pricks at him. He wants you to scream at him, blame him, for failing, for being so fucking stupid.

“What if it was me?”

Your voice is so low, he almost doesn’t catch your words.

The quiet of your footsteps come to a halt. “What if it had been me, Joel? It could have been. It could have easily been me. They knew who you were. We’ve done a lot of the same shit. We’ve made a lot of the same enemies over the years.”

Your hands are shaking, your breath comes in quick little pants. The acrid, bone aching feeling of cresting anxiety and panic floods the little landing. “Me and you and Tess, we were kind of a package fucking deal. So, what if it was me?”

The breeze sliding through the open window feels different now. Colder, older, more brutal.

“That’s fuckin’ different and y’know it,” he snarls.

“Why?” Anger floods your face, the curl of your fingers harsh against your arms when you cross them. “Why would that have been different? Because you think I always need to be taken care of?”

He doesn’t answer. He looks away from you, but he can’t go anywhere. He’s at your mercy and you both hate it.

Joel leans heavily against the wall, his right hand curling around his left wrist, a nervous, anxious tick he’s never been able to shake.

“Tell me,” you beg. “Say it, Joel. How is it different? Why?”

He shakes his head once, slowly, and doesn’t look up at you. “You can say it,” you continue, your voice eerily quiet. “You never trusted me to have your back.”

That ain’t it at all.

It’s not your failure. It’s his, in every single way. He doesn’t blame you or Tommy or Ellie or anyone else. He doesn’t believe for a second that you don’t know that.

It would have been better, probably, if he died.

He doesn’t understand the guilt you feel.

He can’t take care of you anymore, can’t protect you anymore.

Worse, he can’t do that for his kid.

If he’d died, maybe that final sacrifice would have been enough to make up for everything else. Maybe it would all just be done.

He’s the one breaking promises, not you, just like he always has been.

Sometimes, when he thinks of Sarah, he can only remember her final moments. He can’t think of anything else but her blood, how red it was in the dark. He can’t think of anything else than what could have been. He can only see the halo of that mounted flashlight glaring into his eyes, his own voice pleading. Please don’t.

If he’d just been shot, he would have died first, he wouldn’t have ever known how bad he failed in that moment. He would have died first, like a parent was supposed to. No good father should ever outlive his kid.

Maybe, this had been his second chance, to finally die first.

Born lucky, bad star, like always.

So, what would he do, if it had been you? He’d have taken care of you, just like you’re doing for him. But that is not anathema to him; that is just how things are supposed to go. It wouldn’t have been a failure.

He’s no use to you anymore, no use to anyone.

He doesn’t say any of that.

Instead, he nods.

“You’re right.” He shrugs and pain splinters across his shoulders. “It would have been different.”

Your expression flickers blank and you turn away. It would have been easier to stomach if you screamed at him, if you slammed a door.

But you’re just quiet.

Once, during the late autumn, when you were traveling with Joel and Ellie, you noticed Joel wasn’t eating.

Food was in short supply. None of the houses or buildings you looted turned up anything edible, and wild game had been elusive for weeks as the weather turned wetter and chillier.

You’d noticed him doing it a few times before, but nothing like then. Joel would dole out carefully rationed food and not allocate any to himself. The bags under his eyes deepened. His temper was shorter. He’d gotten pale and hollows appeared in his cheeks that meant he hadn’t been getting enough. Joel had always been huge, broad and strong and tall, with thick arms and thighs, but when he dropped weight, it always showed in those little hollows first.

Then, one evening, after clearing out a barn of infected, he’d stumbled, hand to his forehead, pale as you’d ever seen him. “Christ,” he’d mumbled.

“Joel?” Ellie’s voice had pitched up with worry. She’d looked at you, and said, “He hasn’t been eating.” The words were all a rush, accusatory and begging for you to do something.

“Ellie—” He’d growled.

“I know she’s right, Joel,” You’d interrupted with a snap. “You think we wouldn’t notice? You think I wouldn’t notice?”

He’d gotten pissed off and marched off into the woods to the stream to refill your canteens. You’d given him a wide berth for several hours, making the newly cleared barn into something livable for the night with Ellie. When dark had started to set in you went after him, boots crunching through frozen leaves.

He’d been sitting by the creek bed, an inscrutable expression on his face. “We ain’t got enough,” he’d said, not looking at you. “You and Ellie need it more. I’m fine.”

“But you're not. You can’t just not eat. You can’t take care of us if you aren’t okay, Joel.”

The air had smelled like earth and decaying leaves and stagnant water and ice. The scent reminded you of better times, of apple cider and cinnamon and new beginnings, of autumn fairs and coffee shops.

You’d sat behind him, pulled him against you for just a moment, chin on his shoulder, and said, “It’s all right to let me look after you, too.”

You figure that even with the change in circumstances, things are still like that with Joel. He’s always doing the metaphorical equivalent of making sure everyone else eats first, even if it means he’s starving.

He’s never been one to give up or give in or let go. When Tess was bitten, Joel hadn’t wanted to leave her. He’d wanted to stay and fight. To fight a useless and unwinnable fight. That mindset was never going to fade.

You don’t speak for a few days. Guilt swallows the whole of your heart and leaves you dry and empty. Joel blames you, you think, even if he won’t say it.

He comes to you late one night.

It’s dark and the bedroom is overly warm. He sits heavily but without help at the edge of the bed. He’s getting better at that, even if he doesn’t think he is.

His hair is longer and it falls into his face when he leans over you, fingers against your forehead and temple and then your cheek.

“When I was real young,” he says. “My dad died. We didn’t have much money and my mama worked all the time.”

You turn on your back and try to make his face out but his expression is unreadable.

Joel hardly ever talks about his folks.

“I got my first job when I was fourteen, to help with the bills. Money was better on account of half of it not bein’ drank away, but we still needed the cash.” Joel pauses and you scoot over. It takes a minute for him to find a comfortable position with you but when he does, he continues. His voice echoes against your ear, the beat of his heart pounds against your cheek. His chin rubs against your forehead, one large hand splayed across your shoulders.

“Since she worked so much, I was always takin’ care of Tommy, of damn near everything else. And my mama, too, sometimes.” He swallows, and you feel the bob of his throat against your forehead. His chest is warm beneath your cheek, even through the two layers he always wears. “So I knew I was young when Sarah came along, but I didn’t really feel it. I took care of her and her mother, ‘til she went her own way. Just the way I always had.”

The rise and fall of his chest is steady. He cups his free hand around yours and tucks your palm against his heart.

“I know I’m not easy, in any sense of the word. I never have been.” A heavy tug of shame weighs his voice down. “Too mean and bitter, I guess.” There’s a long pause, and you want to protest but you’re sure if you interrupt, Joel won’t finish saying whatever it is he needs to.

“So anyway,” he continues. “I try to make up for it. By doin’ what I always have, even if it means I end up alone. I wouldn’t change anything. I don’t know what I’m good for if—” His hand slides up your spine, thick fingers resting at the base of your neck. “And I can’t do it anymore. Can’t take care of ya. So, it woulda been different, if it had been you. Because it’s you we’re talkin’ about.”

Joel goes quiet after that. His palm continues its nervous path over your spine. The bristles of his beard are soft against your temple. The rhythm of his breathing is still slow and even, but you feel the prickle of nerves in the way he touches you.

It isn’t easy for Joel to say the things he feels, even to you, even all these years later.

His body is so familiar to you, so warm and strong beneath you. Comfort, in short, in its purest form.

You aren’t expecting him to say any more, but he does. “Things. . .they always have a way of fallin’ apart, in the end.”

When you lift your head, he doesn’t look at you. You press a finger against the edge of his jaw, turning his head gently until his eyes meet yours. “Joel,” you touch your forehead to his. You aren’t good with words either, but you try. “You are more than that. More than what you can do for people.”

He’s quiet for a long time, eyes fluttering closed, his breath a calm pool against your mouth. “And I’m more than that? To you?”

“Joel, if I only wanted some guard dog, I would have gotten one that could listen better.”

He snorts, and a little of the tension melts away. “Yeah, I reckon you would have.”

The dark is a warm cocoon of things less easily said in the light.

“Yes,” you say quietly after a long, peaceful silence. “Joel. You’re so much more to me than that.”

It’s late spring again. The Wyoming air is mild, and heavy with the scent of blooming life.

Sage grows in dense clumps up in the mountains, deep between the ridges of the sharp peaks. The smell of it, earthy and crisp, chases itself on the breeze, all the way down to Jackson. It twines with the smell of flowers painstakingly planted along his front path.

Arrowleaf. Goldenrod.

Lavender, right by the mailbox, courtesy of some superstition held onto from before the outbreak.

It’s thick, cloying, pungent.

It’s overripe, rotting. It smells like death.

It’s making Joel fucking nauseous.

He squeezes your arm, a warning without words that he needs a break.

It’s the smell.

It’s the sun and the gentle breeze.

He tells himself the sick, crawling pain mixing sourly in his stomach has nothing at all to do with his newly fitted prosthetic leg.

Slowly, without a word, you turn and guide him back through his familiar backyard to the porch.

He sits heavily on the steps, just inside the cool pool of shade, and pulls in deep breaths that rattle in his lungs and do nothing to stave off the dizziness, or the pain.

Your hand slides up and down his back before your palm settles against the back of his neck and urges his head down between his knees.

Joel feels like a fucking kid. His hands are shaking.

“Damn thing is useless,” he growls after a minute when the nausea passes and he can lift his head, because it’s the only thing he can do, because it’s goddamn humiliating.

Everything is, these days.

You just bump your shoulder into his and hum low under your breath, used to his attitude, used to his bark that only sometimes has a bite.

You’re patient with him, but tough, not willing to indulge his foul moods. “It’s just something you have to get used to,” you assure him. “It’s not going to be like before.”

Joel doesn’t want to admit that he wants to take the prosthetic off. It’s like admitting defeat before he’s even gotten a chance to fight.

And he’s tired.

Exhausted, really.

“Hey,” you dig your nails into his wrist. He meets your eyes, pragmatic, practical, his match in everything. “We aren’t supposed to go at it so hard anyway, remember? You did really well.”

He doesn’t want to admit that, either, that your praise washes pink in his veins, that he likes to hear it, thrives on it. If he’s doing right by you, good in your eyes, things can’t be awful as they might seem.

That’s what he latches onto. Your pride. Your acceptance.

“This was just the first time, Joel,” you continue. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

He ain’t so sure about that, not with the way his leg aches. A leg that isn’t even there anymore, chopped off right above the knee, to save his life, apparently. It’s part of why it hurts so goddamn much. Feels like he’s pushing his calf into something it can’t fit in, like the long gone meat and bone are getting ground up into his thigh.

But if he gets the hang of it, then things will be better. He’ll at least be able to move on his own. He might be able to find some way to work again. Wall duty was looking pretty good, because all you really have to do is sit there and watch the horizon and be able to shoot pretty well.

There is hope in the future. There is hope in you reminding him of that, realistic to a fault, pragmatic to your core.

And unlike Joel, you’ve never had it in you to lie.

Joel tightens his hand on your forearm again, pressure on your sun warmed skin. It’s a poor substitute for the thank you that you deserve. You seem to get his meaning though. Your hand feathers through his hair again and the sun doesn’t feel so abrasive, and the smells of spring don’t seem so weighed down by death.

“Ellie’s coming for dinner,” you offer. “Said she’s got a movie or a game or something that she wants to show you.”

Yeah, so maybe the day ain’t so bleak as he thought it was.

“All right.”

You offer him a hand up, and slip your arm behind his back. He carefully drapes his arm around your shoulders, mindful, even now, of his weight against yours. “What a strong thing you are,” he comments, not able to stop the corner of his mouth from twitching. You look so determined.

It’s the way you always look, when put to task.

You roll your eyes. “Lucky for you.”

“Lucky for me,” he says, soft about it.

The stairs are the worst part of getting back inside, but it's much easier than it had been before.

It’s a relief to collapse into the couch and take the prosthetic off. The phantom pains still ache and stretch painfully tight, like the skin is being pulled taut, like there was a knot that just needed massaged out. He grits his teeth and represses the urge to reach down and rub sore muscle that no longer exists.

It’s a relief to collapse into the couch, even if guilt punches him in the chest for it.

It’s an even bigger relief when you press yourself into the space next to him. He doesn’t know how you stand it sometimes. How you can look at him and still not hate him for every mistake he’s ever made.

“Knee always fuckin’ bothered me anyhow,” he comments, turning his head so his words brush against your temple. “Don’t gotta worry about it gettin’ stiff now, I reckon.”

You reward him with a snort, the scrape of your fingernails against his cheek, a kiss.

It’s easier to get around, with the prosthetic that he hates.

But he’s slow. Slower than he’s ever been in his whole life. And sometimes, most times, it frustrates him.

Being able to walk is one thing. It’s a fine thing. But he needs to be able to do more than that. Run, fight, shoot. A fucking pipe dream. But he’s back to building, carpentry, and that’s something at least. Something useful.

Joel has tried asking you about that day, because he doesn’t remember a whole lot besides the pain. But your chest goes fluttery with panic, the rise and fall of it unfamiliar to him. You don’t get nervous. You never have, not over anything.

But when he asks about that day, you mutter something about Tommy and blood, and he can’t get anything else out of you. Tommy does the same, eyes cast to the side, thumbs hooked in his belt, foot starting a nervous rhythm.

He doesn’t understand what’s wrong with either of you, what the goddamn problem is.

In some ways, Joel’s always thought you were tougher than him, a balance of brutal and rough and unforgiving with softened sweetness. Bash the skull of a hunter in with a metal pipe, then use your unsullied hand to stroke back Ellie’s hair, to offer help to strangers, to pat the nose of your horse gently.

He would never want to be on the other side of the wrath you kept wrapped up inside your heart.

But, now, you don’t leave Jackson anymore. You haven’t been outside Jackson’s walls since that day.

Tommy tells him you can’t even bear to take a shift on the wall, which mainly comprised of sitting at the top of the wall and doing a whole lot of nothing, looking at the horizon, shuffling your feet to keep warm.

It’s unlike you. You love to patrol, just like him.

That’s his fault, too. Your nightmares, your sleeplessness.

Ellie plays the guitar for him, even after he gets the hang of it again, even after he’s walking on his own again, the chords coming back to him easier and easier. They don’t have to talk much, that way.

She’s still mad, but he almost died, and she’s willing to try with him.

She comes over for dinner. She always brings a movie.

It gets easier.

And slowly, by the end of the summer, she smiles when she sees him.

He’s gotten the hang of walking again, which is never a sentiment he thought he’d have about himself. Joel always assumed he’d be killed before something like really old age could set in, or something like this, a disability he doesn’t want to learn to live with.

It’s rained recently and the yard smells like perchitor and the ever present mountain sage. The grass is just a little muddy from the many loops around the yard. “You’re going to fall and break your neck, old man.”

“Breakin’ my neck can’t be much worse than what it is right now. We ain’t goin’ around the yard anyhow. Now c’mon, put your shoes on, kiddo.”

“It’s still raining,” she complains.

“Means no one’s outside to see me humiliatin’ myself.”

Ellie only rolls her eyes but does it anyway. He doesn’t need a hand anymore, but he’s shaky sometimes and despite your best efforts he’s still refusing a cane. But he also hasn’t been using the track in the yard in weeks.

That, and he actually has somewhere to be these days, figuring out better security for Jackson, looking after the patrol teams, assessing who was ready to be put into rotation. Managing is what he should be calling it, though he doesn’t care for it. He and Maria butt heads too often for it to be anything close to enjoyable.

When they pass the mailbox, Ellie points to the lavender. “I never thought to ask about it before. It’s everywhere. Some nailed above the door and everything.”

“Some kinda thing about protectin’ the home,” Joel explains. “Far as I remember, it protects from bad energy. Somethin’ like that.”

“I thought that was sage?”

“Sage you burn,” he explains. “And we get plenty of that too. Whole damn house smells like it.”

“Seems like the kinda thing Dina would do,” she says and then seems to realize who she’s said it to. But she doesn’t change the subject. “Didn’t take her for the superstitious type. Doesn’t seem like it really works anyway.”

Joel shrugs. “She was before the outbreak, I guess.” He watches Ellie from the corner of his eye. She’s steadfastly not looking at him, but she also doesn’t usually say so much to him. “Didn’t have reason to think of it for a long time. Lavender wasn’t exactly in high supply in Boston.”

Ellie nods.

“She used to, uh, put some in your backpack when she knew you was goin’ out. Same with me, always put some in my pocket.”

There’s a long silence. Jackson’s streets are oddly empty in the pouring rain. Lights glow in the windows; inviting, homely. “She didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs and his shoulder only aches a little for it. “It’s just the kinda thing parents do, even if it don’t make any damn sense.”

“Yeah,” Ellie agrees as the turn toward the center of Jackson. “You wanna stop in the Bison?”

“Sure,” he agrees. “For a minute.”

“Full schedule?” She teases. “Aren’t you supposed to be in your sunset years?”

“Well, gotta have something to fill up the days, kiddo. Maybe one day you’ll actually be able to keep up.”

She just scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, whatever."

Joel tries not to smile.

Being mobile again, busy again, feels good.

It feels good, but it also means he’s in near constant pain.

He tells himself it’s good, that pain sharpens him, makes him better.

Until he’s slumped on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night, heaving his guts up from the ache in his leg.

You find him there, sweaty and panting, with a glass of water in hand. Joel pushes himself upright against the wall with a sigh as you close the lid of the toilet and flush it before sitting beside him on the cool tile.

“You’re overdoing it again,” you say, not unkindly.

“I ain’t tryin’ to,” he mutters and takes the glass of water when you offer it to him.

“I know.” You cover his free hand with yours. “Wanna get up?”

You smell faintly of peppermint, burned incense.

When he shakes his head, you stretch to flip the light switch over your head. He’s plunged into darkness, alone, for just a moment, before you settle again. The warmth of your head against his shoulder feels stolen.

For a long time, neither of you say anything. He breathes through the pain still crawling around his knee, the phantom flesh of his calf.

“I was a goddamn fool,” he whispers into the silence. “You know what I was thinkin’ that day?” He’s not sure where the words come from, the confession. It feels a little like the words are being pulled up out of his body, yanked right from the center of his chest.

“Tell me,” your nose is warm when it bumps against his collarbone.

“‘Bout Ellie. How I’d want someone to help her, if she needed it. So I helped that girl. Almost got all of us fuckin’ killed.”

You don’t answer, not at first. But eventually, you lean into him and say, “If you want me to blame you, I won’t. I will never find fault in kindness.” Your thumb strokes his knuckles slowly. “Never. Especially not yours.”

He brushes his mouth along your hairline, skin silken against his mouth. “Y’know when we was on the road, I was sure you’d get us killed. But y’always knew when to trust someone. How much to trust ‘em.”

“I. . .” you start and then trail off, fingers squeezing around his. “I was always lucky, and I always knew I had you at my back. If I messed up, you were always there.”

His eyes have adjusted to the darkness of the bathroom, and when he meets your gaze, he can see the glaze of tears in your eyes. You suck in a shaking breath and clear your throat but don’t continue. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t there the same way.”

“This ain’t on you,” he says. “Don’t think that. It’s me. It was a long time comin’ somethin’ would catch up to me.”

You settle in against him, one hand digging into the sore muscle of his thigh. The heat feels like, the flex of your gentle fingers even better. The pain that doesn’t exist fades just a little.

“And for the record, darlin’, you were there the same way.”

It’s autumn again when you go back onto the patrol rotation. There’s frost on the windows and on the spikes of overgrown grass in the front yard. He just got back from a night watch on the wall.

You’re taking his old routes with Tommy, and you don’t tell him about it until the morning of. Not a fucking soul breathed a word of it to him, and he’s the one figuring out the goddamned rotations.

And Joel realizes though he’d been worried about you not wanting to leave Jackson anymore, not even being able to go near the gates, he was glad you hadn’t wanted to. It meant you were safe. Even if he couldn’t keep you safe anymore, the walls of Jackson could.

“I’m not doing this with you right now,” you say before you leave, pretending like he can’t clearly see your hands shaking before you walk out the door.

He follows you onto the porch. He can’t remember what he says, just that you look upset and then hurt, just that you don’t say goodbye when you walk away and that you probably don’t have lavender tucked into your pocket like he always did.

“Please.” A word he hardly ever says, a plea he never gives into.

He says it to your retreating back as you pass the mailbox, but you either don’t hear him or choose to ignore him.

Maybe he didn’t say it at all.

That day is hell. It’s long and pocketed with anger and anxiety. If something happens to you, he isn’t sure what he’ll do. He doesn’t like that you left him upset.

Maria doesn’t entertain his outburst about it when he finally corners her after looking for her all morning. “She was ready.”

“I didn’t even know we were considerin’ sendin’ her back out!”

Maria just levels him with a glare that could freeze hell over. “That isn’t up to just you. And why do you think she didn’t want to tell you?”

He’s at the stables with Ellie that evening when you come home, waiting. It’s cold and his leg is aching something bitter and awful but he doesn’t move and Ellie doesn’t suggest going back home because she knows he won’t hear it. Dina stops by and he listens to them talk. Ellie’s face softens when she looks at Dina, cheeks a soft pink in the fading light, ducking her head and fidgeting with her fingers.

Joel tries not to pay them any mind, but it's hard not to find endearing.

When you and Tommy get back, it’s full dark. He wants to throttle his brother for not telling him you were going back out on the trails, but it’s too cold for much of that. All thoughts of strangling Tommy fly from his head as soon as he sees you, because you have a smear of blood on your cheek and down your neck.

“Goddamn it, what happened?” He demands, hands against your face before you’ve even fully dismounted.

“I’m fine.”

“That ain’t what I asked,” he sweeps his thumb over your skin, flakes of red shifting to the ground. The knot in his chest tightens as he watches it flutter through the air. “What happened?” He growls again. “Tommy?”

“The usual, Joel,” you pull his attention back to you. “It was just cleanup. A couple of infected. Nothing.”

“Uh huh,” he tilts your face one way and then the other.

“Just some splatter.” You shrug and smile at him; your mouth twitches, and he realizes you’re teasing him.

“Splatter,” he repeats flatly. “That ain’t funny. You ain’t funny. C’mon, let’s go home.”

Ellie and Dina have disappeared with your arrival but they aren’t far; he can hear their chatter as they walk along the street toward the center of Jackson, the echoes of their voices reaching back towards him. “I’ll deal with you later,” he says to his brother.

Tommy just raises his hands and says he’ll stable the horses. But he’s grinning and maybe that’s a good thing. It’s been awhile since his brother has seemed himself. It’s been awhile since the two of you have given him grief together.

“Leave Tommy alone,” you say as you walk toward Rancher Street. You seem steadier than you had been that morning, more confident, more yourself. It isn’t a long walk back, even with his leg, though he limps worse than usual because of the cold. You wrap an arm around his waist, your fingers digging into his back pocket, body warm against his side. “We did good together today.”

“Mhm. I’m sure you did.”

“You mad at me?”

“I wish you’d tell me,” he murmurs. “When you’re goin’ off to do somethin’ stupid. I need you to talk to me. Worried the whole goddamn day. You ain’t exactly in practice out there anymore.”

You hum and then nudge closer to him. “Put your arm around me.”

“I’m fine,” he grunts, maybe a little harshly.

“Joel,” you laugh and nuzzle your face against his shoulder. “C’mon. I’m cold and I had a rough day. Put your arm around me.”

So, he does. And he leaves it there until you’re in the bathroom, sitting on the counter in front of him, lavender plants stacked in the sink behind you once again as the colder weather sets in.

This is better. So much fucking better, than the other way around. This is right.

He cleans the blood away, finds the swell of a bruise on your shoulder and a cut lengthways over your collarbone.

It’s easy enough to take care of. It isn’t as bad as what he’d been imagining all day long.

He’s well in practice for this sort of thing, for bandaging and assessing wounds.

“Sorry,” he says as he works. “For this mornin’.”

“Mhm.”

“I worried all day. Not much I can do now, if you get into a spot of trouble.”

“I handle myself fine. Tommy was there. He’s a good partner out there.”

Joel grunts, dabs rubbing alcohol along the cut. “He is,” he agrees reluctantly. He supposes if you had to go on patrol with anyone, he’d prefer you go with his brother.

You touch him as he works, fingers patting over his jacket, the collar of his flannel, the frayed edge of the t-shirt beneath that. “I had to go back out, Joel. You would have argued with me and I can’t be afraid and useless forever.”

“Useless,” he scoffs and unspools a length of bandage. “You don’t know nothin’ about that.”

“Joel,” you say softly, exasperated. “Baby, you don’t know what it was like that day. I thought you were already dead.” Your voice trembles and you have to swallow harshly before you can continue. “Helpless and useless doesn’t even begin to cover what I felt. What I still feel.” You shake your head and cup your fingers around his. “I dream about it every single night and I still don’t really remember what happened. That scares me a lot.”

He slides his thumb along the gauze, your eyes wide and worried when he meets them.“I’ll never be who I was, sweetheart.” His voice sounds mournful to his own ears.

“You’re exactly the same man, Joel. I’m just happy you’re here and alive and you’re worried you aren’t alive the right damn way.” You shake your head. “I can’t ask for much more than what I have. Than what we do. Me and you. Ellie back in our life. A home. Food. Family. You,” you touch his jaw and smile. “Still here. Still taking care of me.”

There’s a lump in his throat, hard as a stone. “Yep.” He coughs in an attempt to clear his voice but he sounds just as wrecked when he speaks. “Patrol musta been real good to y’today.”

You just laugh, and the sound of it is wet. “Yeah. It was. I thought it would be terrible but I missed it.”

“I know you did.”

“You should come on a ride with me sometime,” you say slyly. “I bet it’d feel good to be back in the saddle. You’ve always been a good shot from the back of a horse.”

He has.

Maybe he should.

💞 If you made it this far, thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

surftrips · 4 months

Note

Maybe you could do single dad jj maybank he’s in college and has to do a project with the reader and has to bring the baby with them and they bond and start to hang out a lot then they start to date also maybe she’s a single mom I feel like that would be like a unique thing

thank you so much for this request! i hope you don't mind that i switched it up a bit (and got carried away lol) but reader is the single mom here and her and jj have known each other their whole lives :)

when you know, you know

pairing: jj maybank x reader

summary: y/n needs a babysitter and jj is the only person available.

word count: 3.5k

"Okay, I understand. Thanks, anyway," you sighed, running your hands through your hair and hanging up the phone. Your babysitter had just canceled on you, and the timing could not have been worse.

You had been planning this night for months. Between your classes, a part-time job, and taking care of your 2-year-old Margo, it was nearly impossible to schedule anything. But you desperately needed a night out and your friend Emma had so kindly offered to set you up on a blind date.

You scrolled through your contacts list, looking for anyone that was sober on a Friday night, a seemingly impossible task. Glancing at the time, you realized that you only had an hour left to find a babysitter and get ready.

As panic set in, you received a text from the P4L groupchat.

JJ: Wtw tonight?

Not now JJ, you thought.

Y/N: Trying to find a babysitter, mine just canceled :/

Kie: Oh no, Y/N!! I'm so sorry :(

Cleo: Sorry babes, I totally wouldd but I already lost count of how many drnks I've had 2nite xxx

JJ: Wait, you guys went out already?

Sarah: JJ, we told you it's a girls night.

JJ: In that case, Y/N, I'll watch Margo!

Absolutely not, was your first thought. JJ Maybank was probably the last person you wanted to take care of your child, he was practically one himself.

Besides, since you had Margo, he was always acting weird around you. Before, you two would hang out all the time, but now he only saw you if there was another person there as a buffer. He hardly visited or called, but you were so preoccupied with raising a baby on your own that you hadn't had a chance to talk to him about it.

In the beginning, people assumed it was his baby you were pregnant with, but you never crossed that line because your friendship meant the world to each other. He was the first person you told when you found out you were going to be a mother, and you remember how excited he was for you. It was hard to believe how distant he had become, and you wondered why he had volunteered himself tonight.

You assessed the situation: you hadn't gone out in nearly two years, and who knew when the next opportunity would be? You sighed, hardly believing the words you were about to type on your phone.

Y/N: Ok. How soon can you be here?

Y/N: You better be sober, JJ.

You turned your phone off before the others could protest, knowing that half of them were drunk anyway.

"Uncle JJ is going to come over and watch you tonight, okay? Mommy is going to be gone for just a few hours," you said to your daughter, picking her up and placing her in your eye line so you could do your makeup.

"Jay Jay?" she repeated.

"Yes, honey," you smiled, trying to reassure her, or yourself. Out of all the pogues, Kiara and Sarah babysat Margo the most. She had probably only met JJ a handful of times and you worried about how well she would do with him alone.

As if he could read your mind, your phone began ringing and you looked over to see his face on your screen.

"JJ, please don't tell me you're canceling too."

"What? Oh, no, it's not that. I was just wondering if you needed me to bring anything for Margo?"

"Oh," you relaxed. "Hmmm, I think we have everything we need here. But thank you for asking, JJ."

"Of course," you could hear him smiling on the other line. "You know, thanks for letting me watch Margo. I've been meaning to visit her more."

"JJ, you know you're weren't my first choice," you teased. "But yeah, of course. Thanks, I owe you."

You hung up the phone, thoughts from earlier creeping back into your mind. You always assumed that the baby scared JJ away, but sometimes you couldn't help but wonder if there was something more going on.

However, now was not the time for you to be thinking about this, considering that you now had 30 minutes left until your date showed up and you had yet to pick out a dress.

"Hmmmm, let's see. Any suggestions, Margo?" you asked your daughter, combing through your closet for something appropriate. You settled on a short black dress with a boat neck, and black knee high boots to go along with it.

"What do we think, sweetie?" you smiled at Margo.

"Pretty!" she clapped her small hands together.

"Why, thank you, baby. Come on, let's go see if Uncle JJ is here yet," you picked her up and checked your phone for any notifications.

Blind Date: Be there in 5! :)

Crap, you thought. Where is JJ?

You shot back a confirmation for your date and looked out the window for any sign of JJ. You weren't sure if he was biking over or he had borrowed the Twinkie, but there was no sign of anyone outside.

Growing anxious, you gathered Margo's favorite toys and books into the living room and tidied up your apartment to pass the time.

Exactly 5 minutes later, the doorbell rang. You smoothed down your dress and checked your hair in the mirror one last time. Putting on your best smile, you went to open the door.

"Hi–" you started. "Oh, it's you."

"Come on, that's what I get for dropping everything and saving your ass?" JJ responded.

"Sorry, weren't you the one with no plans on a Friday?"

"You know, I can just turn around right now-"

"Stop!" you pleaded. "Okay, sorry, I've been anxious about this all day and I just want to get back to Margo as fast as I can."

"Relax, Y/N. I'm here now," he took in your appearance. "You look great, by the way."

The last time he saw you remotely dressed up like this was prom night.

You couldn't help but blush, looking around for Margo to hide your face. "Margo, look who it is!"

"Jay Jay!" she babbled.

"Oh my god, she knows my name!" JJ replied, looking a little perplexed.

"You know what, I'm surprised too considering she's only met you, like, four times," you said.

"Alright, you're no fun," he looked at you as you traded your daughter over to his arms. "Miss Margo and I here are going to have the time of our lives. Aren't we?"

He tickled her, causing her to giggle. She seemed so comfortable in his arms, you wondered why you were ever worried in the first place.

"Thanks again for doing this, I know we haven't talked in a while-" you started.

"So, where's the lucky guy?" he interrupted you.

"Uhh," you looked over at the clock. "He said he would be here by now."

"Late to the first date? That's a red flag, Y/N."

"As if you're not a walking red flag, JJ. What did you get here on? Your bike?"

"Hey! I refurbished that bike all on my own! It takes a lot of skill to do that."

Just then, the doorbell rang. You rushed to open the door, a smile plastered on your face again.

"Hey! You must be Emma's friend! I'm Tom." he greeted you with a hug and a bouquet of flowers. "I'm sorry for being late, I went to get these flowers for you and was distracted by the girl scouts selling cookies outside. I had to support them, you know?"

"Oh, no worries! Yes, how can you say no to them?" you laughed softly. You took the flowers from him and went to place them on the table closest to you, beckoning him to come in.

"Tom, this is one of my friends, JJ. He's babysitting my daughter, Margo, while we're gone," you said.

"Ah! What a pleasure," Tom went over to shake JJ's hand and politely wave at your daughter. "I promise not to keep your mom out too late tonight."

"That's right, need her back before midnight," JJ remarked.

You playfully pushed him in response, grabbing your keys. "Alright, you have my number so please call me if you need anything. Bye Margo, mommy loves you!"

With that, you and Tom headed outside and into his car.

On the drive over to the restaurant, you learned that Tom was a psychologist, he liked to cook, and reality TV shows were his guilty pleasure. At the restaurant, which was a higher-end place near the water, he pulled out your chair for you.

"I hope this place is okay, I wasn't sure what kind of food you liked so I thought somewhere nicer would be safe," he said.

"Oh, this is perfect. Don't even worry about it," you smiled. "I haven't had a proper night out in so long, I wouldn't have minded if you took me to a burger joint."

He laughed, "Margo is adorable, by the way. How old is she?"

"She's 2," you said. Then, feeling the need to clarify, "I had her when I was 20, at the beginning of my junior year in college."

"I see, how was that? How did you manage classes?" You were surprised at his demeanor, half-expecting him to judge you or run in the opposite direction any second now, but his inquisition was genuine.

"Well, I could still go to classes during the first trimester, but it got more difficult after that so I took a leave of absence. I'm taking night classes now because I work in the mornings."

"Oh nice, what degree are you going for?"

"English, I want to be a teacher," you explained.

"My mom was a teacher," he smiled. "What age do you want to teach?"

"Oh no way! I want to teach elementary school kids. Everyone always tells me how hard it will be, but raising Margo... I don't love anything more than that."

"That's really sweet, are you close with your family?"

You paused, trying to figure out how to answer the question. "Depends on who you consider my family, I guess," you laughed awkwardly. "I'm not close with my parents, but my friends? Those are the most important people in my life."

He smiled, "I understand. I'm glad you have a support system, being a single mother can be hard."

"Yeah, I'm super grateful. Actually, my babysitter for tonight canceled last-minute and JJ came to the rescue. I don't know what I would've done without him."

Tom's smile faltered for an unnoticeable second. "How long have you known him for?"

"JJ? My whole life, probably. I can't imagine a time when he wasn't by my side. He was there for me throughout my entire pregnancy, but after..." you trailed off.

"After...?"

"Afterwards," you hesitated, not wanting to bad-mouth your friend. "I guess he started to distance himself more, I think Margo scared him away honestly."

"You think it was Margo and nothing else?"

"What do you mean?"

"I just mean," he sighed. "Do you think there could be any other reason why he would be so supportive of you before and not after you had Margo?"

"I-I'm not sure. I haven't had much time to think about it, I guess."

"You want my opinion?" Tom asked. You searched his face for any sign of spitefulness, but came up empty.

"I saw the way he looked at you and Margo, earlier. That boy is not scared of either of you. In fact, all I saw was love. Did you ever think he’s grappling with those feelings?”

"His feelings? For me?" It was not the first time you thought about it, but it was the first time you heard it verbalized.

"Yes, I know I sound crazy, but seriously, Y/N, what other reason could there be to explain his behavior?"

You racked your brain for all the possible explanations. Tom had a point, if JJ had feelings for you at some point in your friendship, or still does, he might feel the need to distance himself to protect you.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"I told you, I'm a psychologist. I notice these things," he smiled.

"Is this how all of your first dates go?" you laughed.

"Not all of them, but I’ll admit, a few are like this. But tell me, am I wrong to assume there was something more going on between you two before you got pregnant?"

You sighed, "No, you're not wrong. Our feelings for each other were a truth that neither of us wanted to confront. We were young, we didn't want to be tied down, it was college. But he was always there, by my side, through everything. Of course, I loved him."

"Well, there you go. There's your answer."

Tom dropped you off around midnight. You assured him that there was no need to walk you to your door, you both knew that you needed to have a conversation with JJ.

"Thank you again for tonight, we seriously need to meet up again," you said, before shutting your door.

"Absolutely, I'll give you the address to my office," he joked.

You turned the key into your door as quietly as possible, in case JJ was also asleep with Margo. Inside, the lights were off and you pulled out your phone flashlight to search for him.

You went into Margo's room first, seeing that she was fast asleep in her crib. "Hi baby," you whispered. "Where's Uncle JJ?"

After making sure she was tucked in properly, you turned to go into your bedroom. Sure enough, there was JJ, fast asleep in your bed.

You couldn't help but smile, recalling memories from high school when you two would have sleepovers. Being sure to keep quiet, you changed into your pajamas and got ready for bed.

Trying your best to not wake up JJ, you pulled open the blanket on your side of the bed and slipped in next to him.

"Goodnight, JJ," you whispered.

—

In the morning, you woke up to the smell of pancakes in the kitchen. For a second, you weren't sure you were even in your apartment, remembering that you live alone with Margo and surely, you weren't asleep long enough for her to know her way around the kitchen.

But then you remembered that JJ was babysitting last night and had fallen asleep in your bed before you got home.

After a long stretch, you got up and went into the kitchen.

"There she is, good morning pretty," JJ smiled at you.

"Morning... When did you learn how to cook?" you questioned.

"What do you mean? I've always known how to make pancakes."

"Okay, that is just a straight up lie. In high school you would have chips for breakfast."

JJ put his hand to his chest, taking mock offense. "If you must know, I started teaching myself how to cook last year when I moved off-campus."

"Wow, I must say, I am impressed, Mr. Maybank."

"Please, that's my father. You can call me JJ," he said, causing you both to laugh.

Were his eyes always this blue? You thought, as you admired his features in the morning light.

After a moment, you broke the silence. "Uh- I better go check on Margo. How was she last night, by the way?"

"Oh, amazing. Best kid ever."

"Really? She didn't give you a hard time at all?"

"Nope, must have remembered me from when she was in the womb."

You smiled, turning around to your daughter's room.

Sure enough, Margo was sleeping like the baby she was. You checked the clock, she wouldn't be up for at least another hour.

"Margo's still in one piece?" JJ asked when you reentered the kitchen.

"Yes, somehow,” you mused.

"Good, want to try these pancakes now?"

"Yes, please, I'm starving," you sat down across from JJ.

"Starving? Your date didn't feed you last night?"

"Very funny, if you want to know about my date, you can just ask."

"Okay, how was your date?" he relented.

"He's a psychologist."

"Cool, anything else?" JJ looked slightly confused.

"He was very normal and nice," you added.

“I would hope so.”

“Yes, and he likes to cook too.”

“That’s great, how was the date itself?”

“Oh the date itself…” you trailed off.

"Y/N, why are you acting weird?"

"Weird? Me? I'm just telling you about my date."

"You're talking about him like he's your therapist."

"Well, in a way, it was like a therapy session."

"So the date went bad?"

"No, it was really nice."

JJ looked around the kitchen, "Did I accidentally put something in the pancake batter to make you act like this or...?"

"These are great, by the way," you said, pointing to the pancakes with your fork.

"Thanks, but can we get back to the date?"

"Oh, yeah, well, basically," you started.

"Y/N." JJ was rarely ever serious, but he was starting to look concerned with you.

"Okay, fine. It started off really well, we got to know each other. Then, he was asking about Margo and my family, and I told him about my parents, you know. Then he asked about you, and I told him I've known you forever, but after Margo, you started distancing yourself and we haven't seen or talked to each other in a while, and then-" you rambled.

"Then what?"

"And then, he told me, or rather he made me realize, that maybe we need to address the feelings we may or may not have had for each other before I got pregnant," you finished in a rush.

JJ was silent, you weren't sure if the expression on his face was scared or bemused.

"JJ, please say something."

"Was that all?"

"More or less."

He sighed, "Y/N, I think one of the reasons why our friendship worked so well was because we both knew that at any moment, we could pursue something more, but we didn't. We both knew that doing that would ruin our friendship, something we've had for nearly twenty years. I thought college was going to be four years of partying and distractions, but instead, I had to face reality”

“Distractions?”

“Everyone that wasn’t you was a distraction, in case that wasn’t clear.”

“Uh, no. It wasn't, actually. JJ, you kept telling me you were trying to meet ‘the one!’”

“Well, I was lying! Okay? You were always the one for me. I just didn’t feel like I was the one for you. So I was stupid and I decided we would be better off as friends, but when you got pregnant…”

“When I got pregnant…?”

“When you told me about Margo, I panicked. I knew you were strong enough to do this on your own, but you shouldn’t have had to. I told myself that I was going to be there for you every step of the way, and I was, until you gave birth. I saw Margo for the first time, and I-I’m sorry. I just couldn’t do it.”

“Do what, JJ? You know I never needed you to be her father.”

“I know, I know. I saw her and I couldn’t imagine hurting her. I didn’t want her to know me, because to know me is to be disappointed by me,” he sighed.

“JJ,” you stood up now to wrap your arms around him. “Are you kidding me? I was never, never disappointed by you. I was just worried, babe, that’s all. You stopped talking to me after that.”

JJ allowed himself to fall into your arms. “I’m sorry, it just felt like too much at the time. I loved- love you and Margo so much, that I didn’t know what to do with all of it. So I thought it was best to give you some space, until I was better.”

You chuckled, “Is that why you taught yourself how to cook?”

“Stop, I was actually starving and had no choice.”

“And are you better now?”

“When I heard you were going on a date, do you want to know what I thought?”

“What?”

“I thought, I let her go again. I let you go a million times in college, and here I am, letting you go again.”

When you didn’t say anything, he continued, “You’re the one for me, Y/N. I came over here tonight to show you that. I’m ready for whatever this is going to be, whatever this friendship evolves into. I spent too much time denying the truth, and I think you have too.”

There were not enough words to describe how you were feeling, so you leaned in to kiss your best friend. JJ held your face with such gentleness, you wondered if this was all in your imagination.

Eventually, you pulled away. “I’m done lying, to myself and to each other. This is real, yes?” you asked.

“Yes, I love you, really.”

“I love you too, Maybank.”

You leaned in for a second time, but not before you heard the familiar cries of Margo in the other room.

“Don’t worry, I got it,” he smiled with that boyish grin of his that you loved so much. That you have always loved.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #jj maybank imagine #obx #outer banks #obx x reader #obx imagine #rudy pankow #rudy pankow x reader #jj maybank x you

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wileycap · 2 months

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The Stupidest Things In Netflix's Avatar The Last Airbender: A List

a.k.a.

a whiny rant from someone who has dedicated far too many of their already limited number of braincells to atla i know it's just a tv show but come on this is what tumblr is for let me whine

For your consideration, with many spoilers:

5. Katara Being Smug After Kicking Jet's Ass

In the original, Katara is betrayed by Jet. You can feel the raw emotion in the words "I trusted you! You're sick, and I trusted you!" immediately followed by her concern for the innocent people Jet has seemingly murdered. It's not a triumph, it's a wound, and the next time she sees Jet, her first reaction is "kill on sight".

This is great. It's heartwrenching, it's humanizing, and Katara using violence against Jet isn't a victory for her. It's just pain.

In the live action, Katara very mildly chastises Jet for trying to kill innocent people, which is... an interesting characterization for her, to say the least. Jet then tries to grab her, immediately followed by Katara throwing him and freezing him. She then just tells him goodbye. Her tone is placid, almost unaffected.

And then Jet says "Look at the power you have. That's because of me!"

Katara: "That wasn't you. That was me."

And then she strides off with a small smile, and that's the end of that. Sokka and Aang are not present. It's an incredibly hokey moment that's meant to emulate the style of feminine empowerment, but it has none of the substance. It glosses over any human feelings of hurt and betrayal. All that the it ends up doing is removing a story beat for Katara.

4. The Badgermoles

"They're blind! They sense feelings and react to them! Anger, fear... but mostly love."

Katara and Sokka hold hands in a cave and it makes the badgermole stop attacking them.

The blind badgermoles. Navigate by... love.

Yeah.

Do I need to say anything? Can we all see (pun intended) how stupid that is?

3. Bumi Makes Aang Choose Between Killing Him Or Letting Himself Die To Make The Dumbest Point Imaginable

Remember Bumi? Aang's old friend, a fun, kooky king? Well, here he's an actual fucking psychopath.

He collapses part of the roof onto Aang, and Aang holds it up with airbending. Another part of the roof collapses on Bumi, and Bumi just... shrugs his shoulders, fully intending to die. Aang holds that one up as well, and Bumi, instead of helping, makes the dumbest fucking point I've ever heard about "making tough choices", and urges Aang to let the boulder crush him.

Again. Bumi, the fun, wise king, wants Aang to kill him.

The situation is defused by Katara freezing a little strip on the floor so that Sokka can very slowly slide on it and tackle Bumi to safety. I can not emphasize how slow his slide is. Running would have been faster. Bumi has time to look at him and say "Huh?" as Sokka slowly slides across the floor. Oh, yeah, they were led onto the scene by the love-sensing badgermoles.

Then it's Aang's turn to be dumb. He says "you CAN rely on your friends" and hands Bumi a friendship rock. Bumi is pacified for now, but there is no telling when his next Saw trap will activate.

This made me actually feel bad. I just. I kept expecting for it to turn into a secret lesson, like Bumi in the original show, but it never did. Bumi's just a spiteful psychopath who is easily swayed by the gifting of rocks.

2. Koh The Face-Stealer Has A Backstory Now

Why? Mother of Faces? What? No.

No.

Iroh Is Intimidated By Zhao, And Then He Kills Zhao

Ah, Live Action Iroh. The most ineffectual man on the planet.

So, Zhao has the Moon Koi in a bag, and is ready to stab it with his special stabbing implement. Iroh is standing right behind him. RIGHT BEHIND HIM. Iroh has been there the whole time. Iroh does not want Zhao to kill the fish.

Iroh says: "Whatever you do to that spirit, I'll unleash on you tenfold!"

Remember how in the original, where that was like a big, shocking moment that he got angry? And how Zhao immediately let go of the fish, only to then have his anger get the best of him? How Zhao attacked the spirit by surprise?

Well, here it's a little different. For one, like I already said, Iroh doesn't come in suddenly, he sort of gets bullied into looking for the spirit by Zhao. Then he looks for the spirit, and after Zhao finds it, then he decides that he really has a problem with killing the spirit. He did protest before, but then he kind of just caved and helped anyways.

He threatens Zhao, and Zhao just... brushes him off. "Spare me your empty threats." Then the firebenders next to Iroh sort of... glower at him menacingly, and Iroh looks worried.

Zhao offers Iroh a place at his side once he becomes Fire Lord, which, uh? Okay. Fine. I actually don't have a problem with Zhao wanting to be Fire Lord, that seems to be entirely on brand for him, but everything he does to get to that goal is just stupid.

Aang arrives, they talk, Aang says "I don't matter", and then Iroh, who has sidled past the Glowering Firebenders Who Do Nothing Else, shoots the fish out of Zhao's hands. And then, as Zhao is on the ground, reaching for the fish with his special stabbing implement, Iroh forgets that he can shoot fire out of his hands, and lets Zhao stab the fish.

AND THEN Iroh, who literally stood by two different times and let Zhao kill the fish, decides to kick everyone's ass. And the Glowering Firebenders do nothing. One of them just stands in the background. Iroh doesn't even attack that guy.

In the original, Iroh immediately leaps into action after Zhao kills the spirit by means of surprise attack, takes out Zhao's guards in about a second, and Zhao escapes.

Here, he doesn't do anything at first except help Zhao find the spirit he doesn't want to see killed, then back down, then do something, then back down again, then do something again, then forget that he can do anything, and then he does something again.

It's just... so dumb. (So dumb it's brilliant!) No! It's just dumb!

And then, fifteen minutes later, after Zuko has dueled Zhao, Iroh kills him. Iroh just barbecues him by striking him from behind. Gee, Iroh, if you were willing to do that, why not just do it when Zhao was holding the fish?

Dishonorable mentions:

The fact that all of the actors fit their characters so well and have some great moments, but the show just doesn't support their performances at all. I feel so bad for all of them, being robbed of a chance to shine by some truly awful writing, editing and direction

The Ocean Spirit making Godzilla noises

June flirting with Iroh (didn't they say that they wanted to remove iffy stuff from the original? Well, that whole thing was iffy in the original. Why didn't you cut it entirely?)

Zuko doing the jazz hands to charge an attack

All the clunky and unnecessary exposition (for example: after Aang turns into the Ocean Spirit, Yue immediately turns to Sokka and narrates that Aang has turned into the Ocean Spirit, for almost 30 seconds)

The fact that Aang can only communicate with each Avatar at their shrines

The Ice Moon

The Cabbage Man literally turning to shout his line to the heavens while fire rages around him

The Secret Tunnel song being shoehorned in for no reason

Iroh's entire backstory being shoehorned in for no reason

Ozai being a caring dad actually

Zuko being shocked that Ozai prefers Azula

Gran Gran's speech

The fact that they showed Gyatso being killed by Sozin (literally nobody needed a big action scene, because that's what it was, predicated entirely on the genocide of the Air Nomads)

And finally, the fact that Sokka and Yue's reason for going to the Spirit Oasis is that Momo was fatally injured.

#avatar the last airbender #atla netflix #netflix atla #netflix avatar #aang #zuko #iroh #katara #jet #sokka #atla spoilers #atla zhao #fire lord ozai

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satvruu · 3 months

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ೀ how they hug you

rewritten and reposted of my hc set from my old blog @/star-puff! thank you to all my old dedications as well as my new ones @kurooppi @wyllsravengard for making my return to this fandom possible <3

feedback is very appreciated!

ft. yuuji, megumi, gojo, getou, nanami

itadori yuuji embraces you warmly, fondly, sunlight streaming through the window and scattering over your bare skin. it's someplace safe and comforting, enveloped in his arms like he's taken it upon himself to protect you from everything horrible in the world; he is your knight, he is your shield, your safe haven to escape to, no matter how many wounds he will endure in the process. ("yuuji," you whisper, a hand coming up to rest gently on his arm. he bleeds desperation. "i'm okay, i promise." yuuji squeezes you tighter, trembling, and you wonder what you can do to make it true for him, too.) he holds you for far too long for it to be anything casual, but you can't really complain about it anyway—it's better this than to witness the alternative. after all, what is the sun without a place to hold its warmth; what becomes of a hero when they fail to protect the things that matter most?

fushigurou megumi comes to you slow, steady, a ripple of water in the pond. you coax him out gently, holding your arms out before wrapping them around him. his breath hitches (always, no matter how many times he tries to hide it) and his body stiffens, arms frozen at his sides. but slowly, surely, your head buried in his chest, megumi's arms begin to wrap around you in a manner you can only describe as tender—as if you could break if he held onto you too tight. (truthfully, megumi thinks he's just afraid. the jujutsu world is a dangerous one, after all, even to those who only know of it by name. megumi has lost too many people, and you're the one person he can't afford to lose.) he flinches at the thought, pulling away. you draw yourself closer in him, instead. moonlight behind the clouds, you'd gladly hold onto this night forever if it meant megumi was by your side.

gojo satoru is known as many things—a child prodigy, the strongest, a boy-god making his presence known on the lowly earth, but to you, he is simply just obnoxious. satoru makes it a spectacle each time he sees you: hollering, gallivanting, draping himself over you with his long limbs and impossible-to-miss frame. you huff and complain and uselessly try to drag yourself away from him each time, but satoru hooks onto you and refuses to let you go, nuzzling his face into yours. (they're mine, the action screams, a blaring warning to anyone unfortunate enough to get caught in the collateral. you've been too caught up in your irritation of him to notice this, of course, and you're certainly not someone who would take the explicit meaning of it kindly, but satoru finds that he doesn't really care. not when he has more important things to attend to.) gojo satoru is many things, but the one thing he absolutely isn't is someone who can share.

getou suguru smells of sandalwood incense, a musky amber you think you could identify blind. sometimes, you think you remember a different suguru, a kinder suguru, one that had easier things to worry about, a brighter look in his eyes, an easier weight to his gait. if you think back far enough, you suppose it might have been because he had somebody else by his side to keep it that way, a brighter light shining next to him to keep the darkness at bay. (but that was a long time ago. now, suguru is the one left to be lit by the fire, stuck in the ashes of his own kin for a future little understand. you're not sure who is to blame for that anymore.) you're not the light that can save him—no one can be, not anymore. when suguru reaches out to you, rare vulnerability bubbling over in a way you can only describe as drowning—as crumbling—the only thing you can do is curl yourself next to him in the incense burner, smearing yourself in the ash.

nanami kento thinks you need this, especially after a long, hard day. the melting comes slow: his hands on your back, gentle pats and quiet whispers of comfort as he rests his chin on your head. and then comes everything else. his hands slot perfectly into the dip of your back, the small of your waist, thumbs rubbing small circles over the fabric of your clothes, and in the eyes of no one but yourselves, the two of you begin to sway back and forth to a quiet melody nanami begins to hum. you cling onto the fabric of his shirt, trying to memorie the smell of his cologne, the rumble of his voice, the warmth of his arms. (it's too much, to have a memory of a future that will inevitably happen. you almost want to cry. don't go, you want to say, a lump in your throat, wishing for the impossible. don't go.) and still, selfish as you are, nanami hugs you like you're slow dancing in the dark.

#jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #itadori x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #getou x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #yuuji x reader #yuji x reader

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themaclean · 14 days

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We Don't Have To Be Friends (2/2) Characters: Cooper Howard/Lucy MacLean. Summary: 4,244 words, Post Season One -- character study with porn. Warnings: Nothing you wouldn't see in the show. ( Ao3 ) > Part One | Part Two <

If Cooper were an honorable man, he wouldn’t have yanked Lucy’s hair like that.

That thought had buried itself deep into the back of his mind as he wound and unwound the stained rag in his hand. He remained on the marked table in the corner of the hotel room, the evening air musty but quiet. Dogmeat had taken to the bathroom when they’d arrived and Lucy…

His brow twitched as he adjusted his shotgun, his thumbnail dug into the etchings on the side.

Fuckin’ Lucy.

His hand flexed at the thought of her soft hair tight in his grip.

If he were half the man he’d been before the bombs fell, he’d never have done it. Never even thought to do it.

But then she’d slung the word ‘family’ around and started making assumptions about his life. Call it gut instinct or benign cruelty, whatever you like, but he needed her to back off. He didn’t have the words to make her back down, as everything became a debate or a conversation like she needed to know every little thing.

Without words, there aren’t many options left.

He yanked her hair to make his point and shoved her away just as quickly. She hadn’t cried or shouted or done much of anything. She just gawked at him like a child who’d never been scolded, and then she shot off to the bathroom.

Lucy hadn't come out of the bathroom yet.

But then the mental math kicked in, of how the world is how it is now, and it’s hard to care much about honor. It’s that back-and-forth of how he could have done much worse and how he’d gone easy on her, really.

He flexed his fingers around the phantom ache in his palm, that whipcrack decision to push into her space. Worse yet, it wasn’t anger or frustration that spurred him on. It was the underlying hunger that held a light hand against the back of his head, pushing him towards the living.

He thought he might bite into her, to savor her, but he hadn’t.

This time, at least.

During his stint as a Hollywood heartthrob, his friends traipsed with whatever starlet they could get their talons into; Cooper loved Barb. Never strayed, never so much as looked at another woman with intent. He’d been the model husband and kept himself trained on Barb.

All for her, everything for her.

He loved her so much he'd been blind to the shit she'd helped make happen within Vault-Tec. That's its own phantom ache, how being a loving husband rippled out to the end of America as he knew it.

But he isn't in the old world. He isn't even married to Barb; he hadn't been since before the bombs dropped. Divorce, alimony, public humiliation, the loss of his status after Vault-Tec caught on that he’d heard too much.

And yet...

After two hundred years, it’s not living anymore; can’t be. You get numb to the tastes and smells of things and nothing is new anymore. There’s no novelty, no experience you haven’t had. Except in how people die, he supposed. But the day-to-day of life for two hundred years became something else a long while ago.

It's pure instinct, doing whatever you think will best serve you in the moment. Everyone you know dies, and you stop attending funerals or even sticking around long enough to see if they leave flowers for the fallen. Not really any flowers anymore, come to think of it.

With enough time, you can forget most people.

Maybe that was what made the empty thoughts so tempting -- the ones that told him to bite down on Lucy's throat and tear her apart. It wasn't like the zombie shit you see in the movies where it's a switch, where you die and come back with a hunger for brains.

That hunger guided him, even now.

“I wanted to apologize.”

Cooper’s jaw ticked to the side, his head twitched to shake out the instinct to growl. “No.” His gaze flicked up from the shotgun to Lucy’s slim silhouette in the cracked bathroom door.

“You can’t just say no,” Lucy said with a scoff. “Look, I clearly overstepped and upset you. So, I’m sorry if I was prying or pushy. I won’t bring up — that, again.”

Cooper rested his forearms on the edge of the table. The girl had the survival instincts of a goddamn cat curled up in a wheel well in the middle of winter.

“So, I’m sorry. Do you accept my apology?”

“Y’ain’t ever let a thing lie in your life, have you, girl.”

Lucy gave a tight-lipped smile and a slight shrug as if that were a point of pride. “When you’re in a vault, it’s kind of hard to hold a grudge. You have to see people every day and depend on one another, so you — you have to talk it out.”

Cooper’s gaze rolled to the ceiling as he begged for whatever powers above to give him strength. He let the silence sit between them as he clicked his shotgun back into place and ensured a few rounds were ready to go.

He roughly scratched at his neck before he popped his hat back on. His joints clicked and cracked as he got to his feet, the day’s aches setting in. In a few long strides, he set his shotgun on the bedside table.

In all this time, he refused to look at her, even as she implored him with those wide hazel eyes.

“We’ll take shifts,” he said, flat on his back in one heavy thud. He angled his hat over his face, though he could see the door to the room if he tilted his head just right.

“You can’t go to sleep mad.”

Cooper exhaled into the hollow of his hat. “I ain’t mad.”

“You are.” Before Cooper could do much about it, she’d snatched his hat off his face. She stood beside the bed, his hat held hostage as she stared down at him. “I can tell.”

“Yeah, I’m startin’ to get mad; you’re onto something,” Cooper shoved himself onto his elbows, unhappy with her looming over him. He shifted his weight, and his legs snapped out over the edge of the bed. She didn’t have a chance to adjust, now stuck between his knees.

Lucy held his hat high as if he couldn’t stand up and take it back from her. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to have a hostage situation; I just need to know we’re okay.”

“Why’s it so fuckin’ important to you, that we be friends or — or somethin’?”

“Why’s it important..?” Lucy made a raspy noise from the back of her throat as she tried to hold the hat higher. It was pathetic to watch, in all honesty. As if it were something worth bargaining for. “Because it’s about teamwork and caring about each other. And we have to trust each other.”

“Trusting you to keep watch while I sleep is plenty enough to show I trust you,” Cooper said, his tone flat. He wasn’t sure he should trust her now, given how erratic she was being over something as petty as him accepting her apology.

“What if—“ Lucy rolled her lips between her teeth, something painful going on behind her eyes. “What if you decide you don’t need me around and leave me? Then what do I do?”

Cooper caught her hip in the flat of his palm, and his fingers dug into her cotton-clad flesh.

“It happened before, and — and don’t think I forgot how you wouldn’t give me water, and how you sold me for drugs, and — I know there’s going to be a day when we fight and you decide I’m worth more as a bartering chip than as… As someone that you care about.”

“Give me my hat back, darlin’.”

Lucy strained her arm into the air, her gaze fixed down at him. “Just, promise me you aren’t going to hold a grudge and… And that we’re a team, or co-workers, or something.”

Cooper felt his patience hit critical mass as the hand on her hip shifted her weight to pivot her onto the bed. It wasn’t hard to do, to shift his free hand to her throat as he hovered above her.

“Now, darlin’, I hate to say it, but you are bein’ five kinds of hysterical right now.” His grip on her throat wasn’t hard, with most of his weight on his knees and by her hip. His index finger toyed with the hard column of her throat, gentle enough to not hurt her.

Lucy looked strangely relieved by the shift in position. All the prey fear in her eyes had simmered down to something patient and distant. It was like she’d been waiting for him to snap, to turn back into this facet of the man she knew. All the anticipation fizzled out to a stern word and a hand on her throat.

“All I said was,” Cooper adjusted, a deep breath taken for the sake of softness. “Don’t talk about my family. Simple rule.”

Cooper could tell it took everything in her to stay quiet, given how her muscles twitched beneath his calloused fingertips.

And then things shifted around him like he hadn’t been able to see the parts for what they were. They were alone, for one, in a cheap room in a glorified brothel. It’d been weeks since he’d been in anything close to a real bed, albeit moldy and threadbare. Lucy was pressed against him, their knees notched together, one beside the other.

Cooper couldn’t think when he’d last been in this situation. It might’ve been when he still had hair or a nose. The murky haze of shapeless bodies couldn’t compete with the warm-blooded woman with frantic abandonment issues beneath him.

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

Lucy had a damn complex about being abandoned again. Hard to miss a wound that he himself bore. His jaw clicked as he caught the faint smell of soap and sweat on her skin. The cavernous gap where his nose had once been couldn’t pick up much, a small mercy, but it hung in the air between them.

Maybe it was because of a human scent, something about that ghoulish instinct to track down beautiful things and shred them with his teeth.

Lucy didn’t move to push him back, and he didn’t want to move much either. She hadn’t been so quiet since he’d first sent her sprinting to the bathroom out of fear, even though she’d come crawling back with unneeded apologies.

But then he caught it — that redoubled heartbeat as she glared up at him.

Her slim shape beneath him was as fine as any steak. He'd eaten some foul corpses and torn apart bodies to survive. He'd eaten fallen friends and pets. And the longer this went on, the easier it was to commit such acts.

But this hunger wasn't so simple.

"Cooper?" Lucy exhaled, the fine shape of her sternum taut with pale skin and bone.

Cooper trailed his fingers along the bone, dismally aware of how much force it'd taken to pry open her ribs and fish out her organs. Red and gushing and filling — but not worth it. It wasn’t worth it. Cooper’s head twitched to the side as he bit down, that malicious ache for carnage twisted up with the need to bury his cock in her.

“You wanna be something, huh?” His breathing rasped like sandpaper as his fingers slid beneath the faded white button-down.

Lucy gave him a puzzled look but nodded all the same.

His palm lay flat against his tit, in search of her heartbeat. He didn't think about how his scarred skin grazed her nipple or how her rib cage twitched in response. Force of habit drew his thumb back, toying with the sensitive bundle of nerves as a half-smirk kicked the corner of his lips up.

Lucy wouldn't even look at him. Her lips were pursed tight together as she strained her head to the side like she didn't know if she should scream or moan.

It's an unfair trade, as are most in the wasteland if you’re smart.

He's rotten and falling to pieces while she's fresh from a vault. The difference in radiation alone should be enough to make him back off, but he doesn’t care much. And neither does she from how she arched into his hand, despite how angry she looked.

"Sweet thing, your heart's going a mile a minute."

Lucy widened her eyes at him, and her head snapped towards him. “You’re touching me, of course it is.”

"Barely touched you," Cooper said, not sure be cared if it was fear or arousal.

“Sex doesn’t involve this much talking normally.”

“Normally, as per the one time you fucked your husband,” Cooper said as he continued to thumb the soft flesh of her breast. She keened into each movement, not shy or unsure as he’d feared she might be.

“You just like the sound of your own voice,” Lucy said under her breath, her eyes fluttered shut.

Cooper had to laugh, even though he didn’t much want to. If he’d known how easy it’d be to bridge the gap between traveling companions and this, he might’ve tried something sooner.

“You’re reactive,” he said with a tweak of her nipple.

“That’s so weird and gross,” Lucy stumbled over words, her voice too thin to mean what she was saying.

"You're the one who wants to fuck a monster."

"You aren't a monster."

Cooper smirked, unable to help it. "That's the part you wanna argue?" He had her on his back and at his mercy, but she still wanted to argue for his humanity.

Lucy stayed silent, glaring up at him.

Cooper grabbed her by the hip and, in one firm tug, had her cunt flush against the hard shape of his cock through his jeans. His hand snaked from her hip to the soft spot behind her knee, pushing her leg back to angle her to his liking.

"Can we..." Lucy exhaled, her question lost as his hips canted against her.

“Can we what?” Cooper pressed harder against her, his arm twisted around her thigh so he could crack open his belt. He didn’t bother beyond unfastening it, and his jeans peeled aside enough to free himself. He couldn’t hide the hiss of satisfaction as the sensitive head of his cock met the soft fabric and heat between her legs.

“Can ghouls and…” Lucy’s words continued to stick to the roof of her mouth, her eyes trailing over him in the shadows. It was better this way, in the dark, where she couldn’t make out the rough skin and frayed edges where the radiation had hardened and rotted him.

Again, his end of the bargain was far sweeter than hers. He wasn’t sweating it, of how she might recoil and pale at the sight of his mangled flesh. It wasn’t the same as when he’d been human, but the instinct to resist her certainly faded easier.

Cooper couldn't even recall a time he'd jerked himself off. The drive to bury himself in something warm and soft had faded long ago.

It was nice to be in a room with a lock, alone, not surrounded by sand and open air. Dogmeat was asleep in the disused bathtub, with a bunch of blankets Lucy had thrown in there for her.

Nothing to interrupt, the kid down the hall --

No.

Like lightning, deja vu grabbed him by the throat. His face twitched as he put his mind right. There was no kid, and this wasn't his wife. It was the uppity brat from a vault, the product of every fucked part of the old world.

“Like, are we allowed to fuck?” Cooper asked, incredulous.

“No — I mean, I… For the future of humanity,” Lucy stumbled over her words. “If I got pregnant — ”

“Ain’t gonna happen,” Cooper said in a flat voice. If she was worried about some fucked up little irradiated babies, so far as Cooper knew, it wasn’t possible.

“Oh, well, okey-dokey.”

“Okey… Jesus,” Cooper snorted.

Cooper caught the sides of her pajama pants and yanked them out of place in one firm tug. He caught her calves and set her legs over one shoulder, a hand on her ankle while the other settled on the bed beside her. From the look on her face, she was curious to see how this worked — whatever they’d been taught in the vault mustn’t go further than missionary.

In an act of pity or chivalry, he slid back, his eyes narrowed up at her. Some fucking gentleman he had to be to give a fuck, even now when she had no idea what she was after. Not really, not beyond the act of repopulating the Wastes. He hitched her thighs over his shoulders, tongue and radiation-thinned lips flush against her wet cunt.

So much wetter than she should be, given they’d done little more than grind for a few moments. He rattled out a growl from low in his throat, unable to really taste her but wishing that he could. Scent and taste were long-dead, but he’d catch moments of it, faintly, and he was buried between her folds now.

His fingers slid along where his tongue teased, and his gaze fixed up at her. She couldn’t stay still, writhing and desperate, and her pajama shirt pried free now. The slight swell of her breasts and the sharp jut of her jawline were all he could make out as he did his best to get revenge on the fucks in room five who couldn’t stop screaming.

Cooper dipped back, tonguing his lips as she twitched and tensed. “Can feel you holding back.”

“It’s — I can’t, it’s too much.”

His hand stilled. “Should I — ”

“No,” Lucy caught his head, her fingers skating over his leathery scalp. “Please don’t stop.”

“Then you stop holding back,” he said, his fingers curled inside her. “Make a mess of it, ain’t our fuckin’ bed.”

Lucy looked horrified, but Cooper didn’t stop. He kept the same pace, his fingers thudding against that spot that made her tense and shove at him. If he pulled back, she’d drag him close again. His name fumbled past her lips here and there, like she was mad at him, and he just worked her harder.

And then her thighs snapped and near cracked his damn head off, her back arched against the bed, and a desperately wet patch formed beneath his chin between them. He couldn’t hide the shit-eating smirk as he rested his cheek against her thigh, a rumbling noise of satisfaction that some things couldn’t leave you.

Cooper didn’t leave her a chance to recover, owing to the heavy throb at every little noise she made. His cock damn near hurt, and there wasn’t much he could do about it.

Well.

It took a moment, but he had her thighs settled around his hips as he kept it simple for her sake. It stopped being about sex or need and became something even more abstract, that hot ache for warmth and to be inside her. She whimpered with that dazed, empty-faced bliss as he caught her behind the knees. His ruined, rough hands had no place near her pristine vault-grown flesh.

And yet he had his ex-wife to thank — much obliged Barb, you fuckin’ snake. It’s a lashing thought he bit back, that constant push between loving the woman and hating what she’d done. But this was simpler, a pretty young thing slick and waiting for whatever he sought to do with her.

All the times he could have done this shit back when the world was whole. But he never would have. Not back then.

Now…

That lead-weight heat in his stomach spurred him on; a few shallows thrusts were all he could manage before he buried himself inside her. It was such a bone-deep satisfaction he couldn't recall why it'd been so long.

But then he was face to face with her, that pretty, doe-eyed shock as she played catch up with him. He caught her cheeks between his finger and thumb, pushing her head back and pouting her lips.

"This what that vault of yours taught you? Lay back and think of America?"

“It was — our duty…”

“To get fucked?” Cooper couldn’t help but laugh, each long, slow thrust, another scratch to an impossible itch. “Bet your daddy will be real proud when he finds out you fucked a ghoul.”

Lucy mumbled in protest, her fingers digging into his forearm’s patchy flesh. She kept pace with his thrusts, the bruising bite of his fingers on her hips. His other hand remained on her face to keep her looking at him as he bore down.

Their room quickly became guttural noises, his exertion an undercurrent to her yelps and pleading noises. She clawed at his hand, the one that was keeping her honest and facing him. She didn't get to look away and pretend this was some other man fucking her.

Lucy fought against his grip, stuck between glaring and panting. The orgasm she’d squirmed through before and broken to had her dazed and gentle like she was on cloud nine. But the slow increase of pace and pressure had her writhing again like when he’d had his tongue and fingers deep inside her.

Cooper slid his hand lower, his grip fastened to her throat. He gave a few shallow thrusts before he set into a steady rhythm, focused on how damn good he felt. The tighter he pinched the sides of her neck, the tighter she got. That slick flutter of her cunt out of fear and adrenaline, of whether he'd let the blood go back to her head or not...

He really could do any number of terrible things to her, and no one would know. But she came to this seedy hotel room and lazed around and trusted him like the fucking moron she is. And he clung to what thin shred of honor he had to not hurt her beyond what she might enjoy.

It isn’t some big, beautiful moment where they rode out a climax together — it’s far messier, the juts of his hips all the warning he got as he cracked his hips closer to hers. And then there was that tug low in his stomach, the jitters in his pelvis so desperate he couldn’t catch it.

Cooper tucked his head against her neck, his teeth buried into her shoulder as he came. His fingers dug deep into the mattress, a heinous growl between gnashing teeth. They’d stopped the banter long ago, probably due to his comment about her dad — he didn’t care much. He appreciated the silence.

But she was breathing, long and soft, and his teeth were still buried in her shoulder. He couldn’t breathe as easily, a rasping, rolling sound from low in his throat. He swallowed a few times and coughed out of habit.

“You need your meds,” Lucy said, her voice drifting and gentle.

For a moment, he wanted to let go all the way. But he left it at the deep bruise on her shoulder, that crescent of teeth swelling from the pressure. He thumbed the mark and drew back, dressed enough that he was able to tuck himself away in a moment, ready to run or fight if needed.

Lucy…

Cooper coughed into the crushed shape of his fist, her body marked with his grip on her hip, her leg, and her throat. He didn’t feel anything at that, no pride, no guilt. He couldn’t even muster that satisfaction of seeing a naked woman.

Lucy’s hand dipped between her thighs, her fingers tested against herself. He’d come inside her and hadn’t really thought to pull out or ask. Another cough caught him off-guard; his mind shifted to the RadAway in his pack.

“It’s a shame,” Lucy said, a distance in her gaze. “That you couldn’t get me pregnant, even if you wanted to. I feel like you’d be a good dad.”

Cooper had no idea what to say to that.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Lucy said as she moved to get dressed. She didn’t meet his eye but didn’t seem angry.

Cooper strode over to her, his hand on her cheek and his thumb on her bottom lip. He met her eye for a long moment. He bent down to place a kiss as gently as he could manage on her forehead, the cavity of his nose bumping against the top of her head.

Lucy bounced up to peck him on the lips, so chaste you wouldn’t believe he’d just fucked her into the mattress. She smiled that same empty-eyed Hollywood smile. She touched his cheek, her thumb brushed against the hollow of his cheek and over his hairless brow.

“You aren’t mad at me anymore, right?”

“No,” Cooper said, unwilling to get back into it.

“Good.”

There isn’t any room to cuddle, not that he’d want to. Not that she would want to, either. He can’t quite make out what happened between them. But it seemed like it’d put Lucy’s mind at ease, that he wouldn’t turn on his heel and leave. Maybe this was the ‘something’ she needed from him.

Just something that they shared, something deeper than a shared destination.

Just, something.

#vaultghoul #cooper howard #cooper x lucy #my writing #lucy maclean

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belit0 · 7 months

Note

ahh, i just found out tobirama was about 40 when he became hokage! which makes him even hotter🤭. can you do a hokage tobirama and his young pregnant shy wife meeting his family and like people around the village

I need to EXPLICTLYYYY know where you got that information from bc confirming that he was a daddy brings a different flavor to his character🫠❤️‍🩹

For clarification purposes: Madara is blind in this piece. Hashirama healed Izuna before he died, under Madara's acceptance of peace, and Aniki never took his younger brother's eyes, preferring to go blind rather than steal his sight.

No one dares to look him in the eye, let alone question the possessive hand that won't let go of (Y/N)'s hips. Her belly is too prominent to deny the situation, but no one is used to seeing the current Hokage with his wife.

Senju Tobirama devoted himself to hiding the woman he promised as a bride, unable to tolerate stares at her and unfortunate comments. Both men and women would send lust and desire toward her, and he would have no way to stop them all. What better remedy than to shelter (Y/N) until his ownership is undeniable?

Tobirama can be quite capricious.

The man even went as far as not allowing his own older brother to meet her, Hashirama himself excluded from the equation. To think that the former Hokage could betray his younger brother like that was ridiculous to everyone, but it wasn't about lust with him. No.

Tobirama hid (Y/N) because he refused to lose the one ray of light in his life (after Anija's solar shower, of course). His past is made up of death and disappointment, built as an unfeeling weapon of war by his father, robbed of the ability to empathize with anyone until the creation of Konoha.

His wife brought a peace he didn't know he needed into his life, a breath of fresh air even as nations struggled to not cooperate with peace, freedom among so much horror and suffering. (Y/N) showed him that life could be spent out of survival mode, that he could relax for sleep and accept another person into his bed without danger.

Having found what he always sought without knowing it, Tobirama could not afford to lose it.

Keeping her away from everything and everyone (beyond his possible jealousy) was also composed by the need to protect her, to remove her from the spotlight that inevitably comes with being the Hokage's future wife, to prevent her from being used against him. The albino's attitudes were based on affection, but now that (Y/N) is round with his creation, full of him, he can't help but proudly display her.

He strolls through the market streets with his head held high and his wife tightly in his grip, shooting hostile glances at anyone who looks at them for more than five minutes at a time. Of course he expects people to be surprised, but he doesn't want her to end up with the evil eye either.

"Hokage-Sama! Here, here!" shouts a little old lady from his favorite food stall. He can't ignore people from his village, those who trust him, and comes up to her stall to give her a smile unbecoming of Tobirama. "You look very happy, Hokage-Sama!"

"Ah... how could a man not be, having such a beautiful woman by his side?" And (Y/N) blushes, waving slightly at the little old lady and trying to hide the redness of her cheeks behind the sleeve of her yukata.

The elderly woman smiles, and hands them both a small package of food without accepting anything in return, "here, here, take this, enjoy life!" She practically pushes them out of her stall, and they resume walking to the point they agreed on with Hashirama.

People stare and stare at them, some even dare to congratulate the Hokage, give him blessings, ask if he could feel how many children are there. Some inquiries make him uncomfortable, and with just a blunt look he gets rid of those prying eyes.

They receive more gifts along the way, offerings of love and respect, food and decorations, townspeople declaring their eagerness to meet the Hokage's offspring. Tobirama would not expect to have interacted with so many people in such a short distance, and his social battery is noticeably drained, squeezing (Y/N) more and more protectively against his body.

By the time they reach Hashirama's house, the Hokage no longer wants anything to do with anyone.

"Ayoooooo! Tobi! You made it!" his older brother waits for them sitting at the door, like a little kid waiting for his dad to come home from work. The problem is, Hashirama is not a child, and not little one either. He pounces on the two, wrapping his arms around them and pressing their faces to his chest, invasive and effusive as always but enhanced by (Y/N)'s presence.

"Aaaa! (Y/N)! Finally released from your confinement! It's so beautiful to finally meet you!" Anija lets go of him, only to squeeze her separately, give her kisses on the crown of her head and clench her cheeks like a grandmother. Yes, Hashirama could be compared to a grandmother. "Have you looked... I mean, in there? See what's in there? We could ask Izuna to-"

"No."

"But-"

"No. It's a surprise." Tobirama pulls (Y/N) out of his arms, and hugging her enters the house he knows by heart. He heads straight for the courtyard, where he knows Hashirama (who comes behind him with his head down and feigning sadness) enjoys afternoons of tea.

Of course, he does not expect the surprise his brother has prepared for him there.

The whole clan, the whole damn family is gathered around a huge table, different from the one Anija prefers for his solitary lunches. Sitting in the two main seats, the Uchiha brothers, who have no business in a Senju house, full of Senju men and women.

Is this what peace looks like? Graphically represented? Tobirama wants to vomit.

"TOBIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!" He is greeted by his entire family as a whole, and the elders soon hover over both of them. Females kidnap (Y/N) to shower her with questions and love, all a carbon copy of how Hashirama behaves but boosted to the tenth.

The albino is also abducted, but by the young men and his older brother, who seems to have regained his cheerfulness. They sit him down in front of the Uchiha brothers, and it's like sending a cow to the slaughter.

"Tobi Tobes... I didn't know your family called you like that, neither that your wife was SO pregnant... He hides too many things from us, right Aniki?" Izuna starts, as usual, not missing a chance to poke him with whatever comes in front of him.

"Hm."

"How many children do you have there? 3? She's... prominent!"

"Get my wife out of your mouth before I make you remember why the war existed in the first place." It's a blunt threat, and the young men around him tense up. Peace is old at this point, but the habits of a life that no longer exists are hard to forget.

"He's joking! Yes, yes, he's kidding! No tobi?" Hashirama tries to disperse the waters, and it works, at least with those who don't know them inside out. Madara knows what's coming, and so does he somehow.

"You want me to see how many are there? With the Sharingan, I mean... it's not like I actually want to get inside-"

"Izuna. Enough." Aniki tries, and succeeds until the albino glares at his little brother.

"Madara... you're blind, but if only could you see the size of that woman's belly..."

"IZUNA!" This time it's Hashirama, who gets indignant every time the Uchiha speaks so lightly about his brother's eye condition. Maybe it's the way they both have of cooperating with the situation, but it's still terrible in his ears.

The Uchiha leader chuckles under his breath, and it's all the validation Izuna needs to go on.

"So, what do you say, Tobi Tobes, want to check it out?" and before he can activate his Dōjutsu, two huge branches stop them both. Tobirama, who was in the process of pulling out a kunai and jumping to his throat, is imprisoned in his seat. Izuna, about to reveal the mystery the couple wanted to keep, has a huge trunk wrapped around his head in the eye area.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you too."

"Fuck all of you guys." And everyone turns around in surprise, because this time it's (Y/N) doing the talking. She puts a hand on her husband's shoulder, dodging the wood on him, and gives a pleasant smile to the Uchiha brothers. "We'll find out how many children are here at the time of delivery, for the time being, I appreciate your efforts, Lord Izuna."

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clbrq · 6 months

Text

SHE WAS A DANCER - C. BROCK

warnings; SLIGHT SMUT, fingering, cursing/swearing, stripping, implied sex, sexual dancing.

MINORS DNI

-/-

Keep your hands right there, I popped two more she’s in my mind somewhere,

The loud music struck through your body like an earthquake, feeling how the rumble pulsated through you with each beat. The low bass of the song erupted around the crowded room as you watched the room in front of you, observing everyone in it.

The most common type of people who came in were young men—early twenties and looking for a fun night out with their friends after a few too many drinks. Some were on their Stag Do, enjoying their “last night of freedom” before their wedding. And some were old, creepy men, mostly likely perving on younger girls, who wanted lap dances for big bills.

Won’t let my mind go there, I took too much, don’t let me drive no where,

You were on stage, bright, colourful lights blinding you as you twirled elegantly around the cool, metal pole hugging your skin. Your provocative outfit doing little to hide your private areas—the lacy, black bra slightly revealing your nipples through the fabric, and the matching thong doing the same to hide your pussy. As your black heels hit the ground, you slowly turned around—your backside facing the audience as you dropped down to the ground, flashing them exactly what they wanted to see.

Keep your eyes on mine, and if you want I’ll tell you lies. Tell you I’m yours for life, and tell your friend she’s next in line.

As the song continued, you carefully made your way down from the stage, and walking towards the bar—ordering a shot. Downing it in one, the bartender laughed as you winced as the alcohol burnt your throat.

“I thought you were a pro?” Aryia asked, smirking at you as he shook up a cocktail.

“I am,” You fired back, clealry in denial, “I just haven’t had a drink tonight.”

“I made you two vodka and Coke’s earlier.” Aryia spoke flatly, giving you a look.

“Fuck,” You chuckled, in defeat, “You win.” Aryia laughed as you shook your head, giggling with him.

Aryia was your good friend, and co-worker. He had been apart of your friend group for years, been there to support you at your lows, and most importantly, to hide your job from your other friends.

He had hooked you up with the job two years ago when you were running low on money, knowing it made good cash and you’d enjoy the attention. You knew your other friends wouldn’t approve considering they all did social media. You know if their fans found out they were friends with a stripper, they would get a lot of confused comments and you would face a lot of backlash after being in a lot of their content.

You were lucky that no one had recognised you from their videos, you tried to limit the amount of lap dances you gave to younger men, not knowing if they’d watch your friends’ videos’ or not.

Sam and Colby, your two best friends, were the most popular on social media in your friendship group. They had been doing social media for years, dating back to when they did Vine and now Youtube videos. They were well-paid and well-liked, and mostly had female fans—luckily for you. You were very confident in the fact that they wouldn’t approve of what you did—they weren’t best pleased when Aryia told them he bartended there. Meaning they would freak out when they found out you stripped there, too.

Sam and Colby, and the rest of group never came in to your club as it wasn’t their thing—plus they wouldn’t want to interfere with Aryia’s work. However, a recurring thought always played in the back of your mind that maybe, one day, they’d show up.

“Here, these are for table 20.” Aryia told you, sliding a black, plastic tray full of drinks towards you, “Be careful, there’s a few on there.”

“Hey, I may not be a pro at handling my drinks, but I can sure carry trays full of them.” You joked, rising a laugh from him as you carefully picked it up and walked away.

Watching mainly where you were walking, you arrived at the table full of 6 men, all laughing and joking to each other—clearly enjoying their night.

“Good evening, fellas,” You started, placing the tray onto the table, and setting the drinks down in front of them, “How are we all tonight?”

As you looked up, your heart dropped as the familiar faces looked back at you with a similar expression. Sam, Colby, Jake, Corey, Mike and Kevin all sat before you, all with a shocked look on their faces as they took you in.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You spat, confusion riddling your body as your hands shook.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sam shot back, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, “And why are you wearing that?”

Words failed as you eyes glanced over all of their faces, embarrassment filling your emotions suddenly.

“No fucking way, do you work here?” Jake spoke up, looking over at your other friends as he did so.

Gulping, your eyes caught Colby as his eyes ran all over your body, his face flooded with confusion. Shaking your head, you turned around and walked away—not being able to face them any longer. Tears rimmed in your eyes as you ran back to Aryia, your bottom lip quivering.

“Yo, what’s wrong? Did one of them touch you again?” Aryia questioned, walking around the bar to see who was sat at the table. As his eyes caught onto all of his friends, his face dropped as they got a glimpse of the two of you stood together.

“Holy shit.” He whispered, looking back at you, “What did they say?”

“T-They just asked if I worked here, and why I was dressed like I am.” You informed him, swallowing down the lump in your throat, “What am I supposed to do?”

As you looked at Aryia for an answer, your manager waltzed over to the pair of you, placing a warm hand on your shoulder to grab your attention.

“Hey, sweet pea, table 21 requested a lap dance,” She told you, smiling at you.

Fuck, the table right next to them.

“Uhm, I need to go on my break.” You mumbled, not meeting her gaze.

“Yeah, sure, just after the lap dance, and then you can go for 10 minutes.” She stated, patting your back and then walking away.

“Oh, fuck.” Aryia whispered, “I would offer to do it for you, but this isn’t a gay club.”

You laughed slightly, wiping your eyes. Aryia always knew how to make you laugh in your worst times. Whenever a weird guy would touch you unnecessarily, Aryia would be there to shut it down and help you out of the situation safely. He really was your rock at work.

Letting out a deep breath, you began walking towards the table next to your friends. It was 4 men, a bit younger than Sam and Colby, probably around 21, all drinking heavily.

“Hi there, boys, heard you needed me?” You spoke, sensually, batting your eyelashes at them as their smiles increased at the sight of you.

“He does.” One spoke, pointing to a red-faced brunette, smirking at you. He wasn’t unattractive, he just wasn’t your type. At least he wasn’t in his 60’s.

“You ready for me?” You asked, walking over to designated boy.

“Anytime.”

Turning around, your placed your ass onto his crotch as you slowly grind on his obvious bulge. His hand flew to your waist as your flicked your hair around your shoulder to look back at him with a cheeky grin on your face. You tried to ignore the eyes you could feel watching you from the table next to you, but you forced yourself to not look their way as you faced the excitable boy face on—straddling his legs.

Rocking your body back and forth slowly, you ran your hands slowly down his chest as you whispered sweet nothings in his ear. One of your hands reached up to squeeze your tits, and the other to run down your torso sexually. But, standing up once more, to finish off the lap dance, you shook your ass gracefully onto him, letting him watch in awe as your body rippled in front of his face.

As you returned to your standing position, you placed a sweet kiss onto his cheek before jutting your hip out to him. He slipped 100 dollars into the band of your panties, thanking you quietly.

“No problem, babe,” You winked at him, “Anything sweet from you over there, boys?”

His friends all gave you 10 dollars each, racking your tip up to 130 dollars in total. It was cheap considering you make thousands in a day, but they were young and stingy—you wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

You could feel your friends watching you as you walked away, not daring to look back as you pushed open the back door to go outside. Sitting down the curb, wincing as the cold hit your bare skin, running your fingers through your hair.

As soon as the silence started, it was killed as the back door swung open to reveal Colby stood in the doorway. You looked up at him, your face blank as you had no words to give him. You were tired and weren’t in the mood to fight.

“Stripper, huh?” He spoke, finally, taking a seat next to you.

“Yeah,” You breathed, looking out at the rushing traffic on the street in front of you.

“Why do you do it?”

“I needed the money,” You replied, shrugging, “Aryia said it was well-paid and that I might enjoy it. And it is, and I do.”

Colby didn’t reply as you both stared out into the night’s sky.

“Why did you come tonight?” You asked, finally turning to look at him.

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” He chuckled, “I already knew you worked here, Aryia accidentally let it slip a few months ago when he was hammered.”

Your mouth fell slack in shock as you took in his words, “That fucking prick, I’m gonna kill him.”

“I don’t even think he remembers.” Colby smiled, looking at you, “But, I wanted to come to see you. Watch you.”

Your mind felt fuzzy at his words. You’d always felt something for Colby, in one way or another. Sometimes, you look at him and want him to take you out for a nice dinner, and make you his girlfriend. But other times, you wanted him to take you from behind and absolutely ruin you.

Right now, you wanted him to fuck you into ecstasy from the way he was looking at you. His pupils were wide, his eyes almost looking black as he licked lips, while his eyes flicked down at yours.

“And, my God, watching you dance on that guy, I’ve never been more pissed off in my life.”

Not saying anything more, you grabbed his face as you connected your lips. Teeth clashed as you clambered into his lap, letting his hands rest comfortably on your waist. The difference between how that guy’s hands and Colby’s hands feel on your body—with Colby’s you could feel the arousal begin to pool in your panties as his tongue swirled around in your mouth.

“Fuck, touch me.” You whined in his mouth, your fingers running through his locks, your hips subconsciously rocking back and forth onto his lower half.

His fingers quickly flew down to your core, slipping past the fabric and straight to your throbbing clit. You moaned loudly into him as he rubbed teasingly slow circles onto your sensitive nub, bathing in your whines.

“Tell me where you need me, baby.” Colby whispered, the smell of alcohol wafting into your face as he spoke.

“Inside, please, Colbs.” You muttered, pecking his swollen lips, enjoying the taste of vodka on his tongue.

As soon as the words left your drunken lips, his thick, ring-clad fingers slipped deep into your aching hole. Your moans picked up as he curled his fingers to abuse the delightful spot inside you, causing you to arch your back into his heaving chest. His lips left yours as they travelled down your neck, to your prominent breasts, letting him suckle and kiss your skin as he fingered you brutally into ecstasy.

“You gonna cum all over my fingers, baby?” He slurred, your eyes meeting as a smirk grew on his face, “Gonna make you feel so good, aren’t I?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Colby.” You pleaded, slightly tugging on his hair as thumb abused your clit, whilst his other fingers obliterated your quivering hole.

“So slutty for me, hm? Been begging for this for so long, haven’t you, sweetheart?” He pushed further, making you whine in agony as your finish drew closer.

“Oh, fuck, Colby, I’m there!” You cried, one hand grasping his shoulder as the other gripped his hair tightly.

“Yeah, cum for me, angel, all over my fingers.”

The orgasm hit you hard as Colby talked you through your pleasure, loving how you soaked his fingers and how you whimpered his name. You saw stars as your orgasm concluded around him, causing your chest to rise quickly as you caught your breath.

“Fuck.” You whispered, resting your forehead on his as he pulled his fingers out of you.

Colby proceeded to bring his fingers up to his mouth, and sucked your slick clean from them. You bit in your lip in arousal as you watched him groan at the taste.

“So fuckin’ sweet.” Colby murmured, smiling as your cheeks flushed red as you stared at him.

“Thank you.”

Colby didn’t reply as he pecked your lips, “Come on, go finish your shift, and then I’m taking you home.”

“Thank you, you don’t need to do that.”

“Oh, you’re not going to your house.” Colby chuckled, “You’re coming home with me.”

You’re lips parted slightly at his words as you watched as his eyes flickered in the light, listening closely as he spoke to you,

“I’m not done with you yet, baby.”

good night y’all i’m so tired

but i love writing about stuff that i’ve come up with, i’m sorry some of the fics have been shit recently i’ve not been getting enough sleep for sure

but i love y’all sm thank u for the support

b <3

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steleir · 21 days

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sick of these posts yet? well too bad. i’m not done not when me along with some of my moots keep discovering more and more disgusting shit adults get away on this play for which is not ok.

i know a lot of people with disagree a lot on this one more than the others because in here i will put screen shots from someone’s blog and i don’t wanna see no anon in my inbox go “you can’t do that” well if i need it to show you how disgusting someone is and the people defending them are, how weird their posts are then i don’t care if i can’t or not.

thank you to @satorisoup and @omitea for providing me with these screen shots.

and lastly, report me, hate, block, un follow, i don’t care what drama this brings. i don’t care if i loose respect from moots or followers, this is something. i wholeheartedly believe is wrong, and im willing to loose this blog for it.

where do i even begin with this one?

maybe i’ll just start on why writing smut for minors is wrong.

first of all i gen see it as borderline pedophilia.like call that exaggerated this character looks like a minor. because they are a minor. “aging them up” is still them as a minor.

and i hen dc if your not going along with the manga. this character needs a CANNON time skip for this shit. sure, aging up is common, even in fluff, but that’s different. most fluff writer are minors themselves, they aren’t ADULTS writing PORN for MINORS. see the difference?

aging up is all imaginary, this character is still a minor.

and iv even seen people go as far as aging down adult characters. like thats just as a bad?? tf is wrong with yall???

a minors is not to be specialized, even if the manga artist does, why are you?

“well it’s not real”

warm i don’t give to flying fucks. it’s a problem whether you like it or not. their MINORS. need i say it again? MINORS.

now beginning with the screen shots i’m goin to start with these:

look at these. bakugo is 16. itadori is 15? who i t heir right minds commissions this as a person in their 20’s? especially the itadori one.

he’s 15 and your imagining him stuffed in your boobs? like hello? do you not see how wrong that is?

oh and also look at them? do they look aged? NO. FUCK NO. they still look like the do in the anime. and in the anime their MINORSSSSSSS.

i have no words for this one tbh. just fucking digusting.

i love how the creator saw this message and because they literally CANNOT defend themselves they post it. mot probably expecting a defense from their followers and moots.

look at the things underlined. this girl has many good points. but what did the creator do? ignore. not at all address what she said. simply laughing when in all honestly, she is the laughing stock.

shes over 25 years old obsessed with a 16 year old.

someone who is under the legal age.

a person who cant consent for themselves. “it’s fiction” erm idc.

“the is own has me rolling” girl go get a life. the person who sent the message is more than right. and you know that.

but your so fucking weird to the point you can’t let go of a character nine years younger than you.

this replies are so fucking funny.

every one of them talking about the fact she kink shamed or the insults she used but not at all addressing her point.

notice that? none of them had an answer. non of them tasked about the fact this girl point out the fact this over 25 yo was a hypocrite and literally a pedo.

why? because they are all immature adults who are blinded by hot MINOR CHARACTERS. these characters are not for you. sorry to break it to you.

these MINORS were not made for your digesting piss fantasies.

“she kink shamed after saying she wouldn’t!!” go cry to mommy kink shaming is no where near as bad as writing porn for a minor.

now, i’m not in the mha fandom. but i’ve watched some of it, and you have most of the villains AND the pro hero’s to simp for. why the fuck are you choosing the students? like girl. bffr.

that entire message and alll that anon cared about was the smut with a piss kink the person was talking about?

like? i can’t even.

notice the fact she ain’t addressing what the person who sent her the message sent?

why? because she obviously knows it’s wrong. she obviously knows. every adult on here knows.

but they are head empty that they laugh it off and brush it off bcs the person is a minor and still attending school so it really dosent matter what we say.

like us minors aren’t idiots. and bye the looks of all these posts it seems we have WAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY more common sense than all of you combined.

202 notes · View notes

writingwithciara · 2 months

Text

Love Or Something Like It ~Quinn Hughes~

summary: quinn's girlfriend sucks but y/n's boyfriend is the best

word count: 3.2k

pairing: quinn hughes x roommate!reader, brief elias pettersson x reader

notes: another quinn x roommate fic. not set in the same universe as the last one. italics are the past. was supposed to post this on valentines day but did not have access to my laptop

masterlist

quinn and y/n were best friends. had been since they were younger. after she finished her schooling at the university of michigan, she followed quinn to vancouver, per his request.

he needed her nearby and somehow, knowing his best friend was there, made him play so much better.

although they hadn't seen each other in person for months, everything easily went back to normal. it was as if the distance was never a problem.

things were easy, until they weren't.

quinn had gotten himself a girlfriend the third month y/n had been living with him. rebecca was only nice to y/n when they were with other people but when they were alone, she would get angry and threaten y/n with anything she could think of.

it was very clear she was jealous. but why did she have to be? y/n wasn't as pretty as rebecca, a fact that she pointed out whenever they were alone, and she didn't want to be with quinn. she had her own boyfriend back in michigan. one she loved with her whole heart, despite all the red flags he gave off.

it hurt quinn to think that y/n wasn't being treated the way she deserved. he knew he had to do something to fix it. and since valentines day was coming up, he thought it'd be perfect to set y/n up on a blind date & rebecca agreed, offering up tons of suggestions. but quinn already had the perfect person in mind.

so, on valentine's day of 2023, y/n was sitting in a fancy restaurant with quinn and rebecca while they waited for the mystery man to show up.

"hey. sorry i'm late."

y/n looked up when she heard the voice. she had heard it many times before at canucks events. elias pettersson stood before her. his bright blue eyes staring back at her with a smile that didn't seem to want to leave his face.

"no worries." y/n smiled up at him as he took the seat across from her. she may have had a boyfriend but in the moment, her only though was how good elias looked tonight.

as they ate, y/n & elias got lost in their own little world. quinn tried not to notice it but the more she laughed, the more distracted quinn got. he didn't think he was jealous until later that night when rebecca brought it up.

"if you're so into her, why did you set her up with your teammate? better yet, why are you dating me?"

"becca, please can we not do this right now?"

"why not, quinn? it's the perfect time to address these feelings. i've been holding mine in since we met. every time you brought her up in conversations, it made me feel small. you're my boyfriend. you're supposed to love me, not her."

"my love for you is completely different than my love for her."

"so you admit that you love her?"

"of course i do. she's been my best friend since we were 8 years old. i've got nothing but love for her." quinn took a step closer to his girlfriend. "but i'm not in love with her. that's the difference here."

"are you trying to convince me or yourself?" rebecca grabbed her bag and walked to the door. "call me when you get it right, hughes."

and just like that, rebecca was gone.

quinn had tried multiple times to call her and tell her he only wanted to be with her, but only received her voicemail each time.

over the next few weeks, y/n spent more and more time with elias. she was almost never home anymore and quinn was alone 90% of the time. he would drive to practice alone and he would watch as y/n slowly transitioned herself from a hughes fan to a pettersson fan.

she started wearing elias' jersey instead of quinn's and it created an unfamiliar pain in his chest the more it became evident.

when y/n found out her boyfriend had cheated on her, she didn't run to quinn. she ran straight to elias instead, breaking quinn's heart.

he realized that the unfamiliar sting in his chest was jealousy. quinn didn't want to see y/n with anyone but himself but unfortunately for him, he was a little late to the realization.

one night while quinn was at home, y/n was over at elias' place. she came home with a big smile on her face that night & quinn knew why, but he asked anyway.

"what's got you so smiley tonight?"

"elias made me dinner and asked me to be his girlfriend."

and there was that stinging feeling right where it didn't need to be. only it was 10 times worse this time. he was hopelessly in love with her & had no idea how to deal with it.

it wasn't until the beginning of february 2024 that quinn had hope again.

he and y/n were washing the dishes together when she rubbed her eye with her forearm. some of the suds came off on her cheek and as quinn went to wipe them away, her breath hitched and her cheeks were turning red.

"here, let me get that for you." he wiped the suds away and smiled. "there, all gone."

"gee, thanks quinn." y/n flicked some water at him, causing the soap suds to go everywhere. the look in quinn's eyes was enough of a warning for her. she took off out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

"you've got nowhere to run now, y/n." quinn smirked evilly, moving closer to y/n until her back was pressed against the wall. y/n swallowed the lump in her throat before looking at his lips. this only caused quinn to lean down and whisper in her ear. "gotcha." he wiped the suds on her face and smiled. when he looked down at her, she was staring at his lips. "what's on your mind?" he teased.

"n-nothing." she quickly looked away and moved away from the wall. she headed back into the kitchen to finish the dishes. quinn took a moment by himself before joining her.

"so, valentines day is coming up in a few days. you and elias have anything huge planned?"

"he won't tell me." y/n washed the last plate and handed it to quinn. he dried it and put it in it's place before turning back to y/n.

"does he know you hate surprises?"

"i don't hate them, quinn." y/n shook her head.

"you don't like secrets and those are practically the same thing."

"i guess so." y/n turned to quinn. "but elias has been off lately. did anything happen at practice?"

"no. why?"

"i don't know why he's acting this way."

"what way?"

"dodgy? i think that's the word to describe it." y/n sighed. "he's not seeing someone else...is he?" the sadness in y/n's voice made quinn's heart break.

"no. of course not. elias is a good guy. you just gotta talk to him and see what's going on."

"i'll try." y/n walked to her bedroom but before she entered, she turned to quinn. "hey. are you still dating rebecca?"

"no. she, um, broke up with me. almost a year ago."

"good." she looked up at him and backtracked her comment. "i mean, not good as in it's good she broke up with you. i meant good as in it's good that she's gone. she was terrible."

"yeah she really was. and i'm sorry again for what she did and said to you."

"it's not your fault, quinn."

"it kind of is. if i hadn't been dating her to cover up the fact that i was jealous- nevermind." he caught himself before he revealed too much.

"jealous of what? you can't just leave the comment there. who were you jealous of?"

"nobody. just forget i said anything." quinn smiled at his roommate. "good night."

y/n stood in her doorway with a puzzled look on her face. why did every guy in her life have to keep a secret from her.

y/n shook her head and went into her own room. she called jack because he was the only she knew who wouldn't keep a secret from her.

"hey. what's up y/n?"

"jack, i need some information and i know you'll give it to me because you are the only one i know who never hides things from me."

"well, i can definitely give you information. but it also depends on what it is. i might not know what you're asking about."

"fair point. but it's about quinn and i know you know all about your brother."

"yeah i do. what's the information you need?"

"5 minutes ago, he said he was only dating rebecca because he was jealous but he wouldn't tell me why he was jealous or what he was jealous of."

"he's jealous of you and elias." jack responded with no hesitation, causing y/n to gasp a little louder than expected.

"but he was dating rebecca before i started dating elias. how could he be jealous?"

"maybe jealous wasn't the word he meant to use. he probably was trying to say he was only dating her because he was trying to get over how he felt about you." jack thought for a second. "or maybe he was jealous of you and that michigan douchebag you were dating when you moved to vancouver."

"that's a little more logical. but he doesn't love me, jack. and even if he did, it wouldn't matter. i'm dating elias and i love him. not quinn."

unbeknownst to y/n, quinn had come out of his room and had heard her say she didn't love him. the last few pieces of his heart shattered and he suddenly couldn't breath.

before he made any noise, he made his way back to his room, collapsing against the door. why did he have to love his best friend? his very not single best friend.

for the next 2 days, quinn would avoid y/n at all costs. he would wake up super early and leave the apartment before he saw her & he wouldn't even acknowledge her at practice or at games.

it was breaking her heart but it wasn't known why it was affecting her so badly.

on valentines day, elias had set up a romantic picnic for her in his backyard. she appreciated it but her mind was stuck on the way quinn was treating her lately. and elias wasn't blind or stupid. he could tell she was hurting.

"hey, love. are you alright?"

"i'm fine." y/n smiled and sipped her champagne. "why do you ask?"

"because i know you're not fine. i can see the far away look you have in your eye. you're deep in thought about something and i can tell it's hurting you. and i love you so please tell me what's going on with you. i just want to make you feel better."

"quinn has been my best friend forever but this past year alone, i've been feeling him pulling away and i don't know why." she sighed. "do you think he's tired of having me in his life?"

"what? no that's impossible. who could get tired of having you in their life? and quinn is the very last person who would want to do that to you. he cares about you, a lot."

"i know that's how it's supposed to feel but lately, things have been different. if he cared about me at all, he wouldn't be avoiding me whenever he had the opportunity to do it."

it was elias' turn to sigh. "it's because he's finally realizing he's in love with you. he has been for a while."

"no he hasn't. why does everyone keep saying that?"

"because it's true." elias took his girlfriends hand and smiled. "and i don't blame him. you make everyone fall in love with you like it's the easiest thing to do. and you don't even know the effect you have on us. you should've heard the way quinn talked about you the night he asked me to take you out on that date for valentines day. i already knew you and i had already said yes but he kept saying all these really nice things about you. things a best friend wouldn't say. i'm telling you, y/n. quinn is in love with you." elias sighed. "and i think you love him too."

"well, of course i do. he's my best friend." y/n smiled. "but that doesn't matter. i love you, elias. and that should be what matters here."

"i love you enough to know that being with quinn is what you need." by now, it was obvious they both had tears in their eyes.

"why do you have to be the sweetest human being on this planet?"

"well, i am swedish." he smiled and held her close. "you're always going to be the best girlfriend i've ever had. and not just because you're the only one i've had. you're always going to hold the crown."

"so does this mean we're breaking up?"

"yes. but i still love you. always will." he held her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "now, let's get you home so you can tell quinn."

back at the apartment, quinn was trying to put something together to express every emotion he was feeling. after he had everything put together, there was a knock on the door.

he opened it and rebecca walked in. she looked around the apartment then back at quinn.

"well this isn't what i was expecting when i came here." she smiled. "but it's thoughtful, quinn. can't believe you went through all of this for me."

"actually, i-" he didn't have time to tell her it was for y/n before rebecca was pulling him in for a kiss.

"seriously?" y/n was standing in the doorway, watching the whole thing unfold. rebecca pulled away from quinn rather harshly at the sound of y/n's voice.

"y/n, this isn't-"

"i'm ruining a romantic moment. i'm sorry. i'll leave."

"you're right. you are and you should. bye." rebecca waved and y/n turned to walk back out.

"no, y/n wait!" quinn called out to her then turned to rebecca. "you need to go."

"what are you talking about?"

"this wasn't for you, rebecca. it would've been if you hadn't broken up with me a year ago. but it's not now."

"then who's it for?" rebecca searched quinn's face for a sign before her eyes landed on y/n, who was halfway out the door. "seriously? for her? thought you said you weren't in love with her."

"yeah well maybe i am now!"

y/n stopped in her tracks and turned back around.

"what?" y/n and rebecca responded.

"yeah. and maybe i always have been. it may have been a subconscious act and maybe that's why i always needed her to be close by. we can't help who we love and you can't be mad at y/n for the way that i feel. she did nothing wrong."

"she's done nothing but come between us since the moment we started dating, quinn."

"just leave, rebecca."

"no. i think i'll go. elias is waiting for me downstairs anyway." y/n turned around and walked out of he building. she got halfway down the street before it started raining.

a car sped past her and she knew it was rebecca just by the way the car aggressively sped through a puddle and nearly splashed her.

"oh tonight could not get any worse!" she shouted in frustration, kicking at a rock in her path.

"y/n, wait!" quinn shouted as he ran up to her.

"quinn, i'm not really in the mood to talk right now."

"then just listen to me. i'll do all the talking."

"fine. but can we go home? i'm freezing."

"of course." they both stayed silent as they headed back to their apartment. quinn wanted to say everything he was feeling but he wanted to wait until y/n was in a better mood. he knew she hated wet clothes so as soon as they walked through the door, he was rushing to his room to get her a tshirt and a pair of sweatpants. she accepted them without a word and went to the bathroom to change.

when she came out, the smell of hot chocolate filled her nostrils and it brought her a sense of joy. only quinn would be this thoughtful when she was mad at him.

she walked into the living room and sat down, silently taking the mug quinn offered her. she took a sip and smiled. that's when quinn knew he was doing good.

"okay. i'm ready to listen." y/n held the mug close and looked at him. his hair was still wet from the rain and she suddenly found herself wanting to run her fingers through the mess.

"okay. um, first off, rebecca and i are most definitely not together. just want to clarify that. and all of this," he glanced up at y/n & gestured around the apartment. "i set it all up for you. i know you're dating elias and you probably got something super romantic for valentines day but i wanted to do something for you too, even if it's only platonic between us. and im fine with that because you're my best friend and im sorry for rebecca and im sorry for ignoring you. it was a bad move on my part. but i heard you talking to jack the other night and you told him you didn't love me so i figured you'd want some space."

"elias and i broke up." y/n set her mug on the coffee table and stared down at her hands. "but it's okay. he's still a really good friend and that makes me happy."

"why'd you guys break up?"

"he could tell i was hurting and he kinda figured out how i feel about you."

"and how's that?"

"i didn't think i loved you until he pointed it out. but now it all makes sense. i was so eager to leave my life in michigan just to move out here to be closer to you & now i know why. i also know why it was weird seeing you with rebecca. it felt unnatural because deep down, i knew you and i were supposed to be together. we've been together our whole lives but never in a million years did i think there was a reason we were so attached to each other." y/n glanced over to find quinn staring at her already. "i do love you, quinn. and i know you love me too."

"i do. i definitely do." he smiled and moved closer. "i always will. and i'm willing to wait for you, however long it takes."

"you're perfect, quinn. i love you so much." she moved forward and threw her arms around him. he held her close and pulled her sideways onto his lap to make her more comfortable. "how about we go on a real date next saturday?"

"that sounds perfect." he looked at her and it took all of his willpower to not kiss her. she didn't care. her hands went to his cheeks and her lips attached to his.

it was a perfect moment for the both of them and neither of them cared about the world around them. as far as they were concerned, it was just the two of them for the rest of their lives.

taglist: @worldlxvlys @fearfam69691

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