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joelsgreys · 7 months

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a safe haven l nine

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter l next chapter

summary: When you find out that you’re pregnant, everything comes crumbling down around you.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A SCENE THAT HEAVILY IMPLIES DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. this chapter it also contains a very uncomfortable scene with reader and Luke, but despite the sexual nature of the scene, READER DOES NOT GET SA, BUT SHE DOES GET INJURED. INJURY there is a description of an injury as the result of DV HEAVILY IMPLYING STRANGULATION. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. pregnancy, mentions of high risk pregnancy (not reader), mentions of child loss (not reader), mentions of pregnancy related symptoms (missed menstrual cycle, morning sickness), protective Tommy Miller, protective Joel, and last but certainly not least, feral Joel. this chapter is a lot, just proceed with caution if anything in bold can be a potential trigger for you.

word count: 11.8k

October, 2024

It’s the middle of October.

By now, the pain had become almost unbearable. Time certainly wasn’t healing the wound.

If anything, time only seemed to be making it worse.

So, so much fucking worse.

It drags, and you almost feel as if you’re paralyzed by it. But the only thing that you can do about it, about any of this, is just pretend.

Pretend everything is okay.

Pretend it doesn’t hurt.

Pretend you don’t feel empty.

Pretend you don’t need him.

But you do need him. Oh, how you fucking need him.

The hole in your heart is growing bigger by the day, and only Joel Miller is capable of filling the void. Only he has the ability to make you feel whole again. Complete.

“Be honest with me—what does this look like?”

You pause your knitting and glance over at Maria.

With her due date approaching, you had offered to help her prepare for the baby’s arrival. At about six months, Maria was expected to give birth towards the middle of winter season, and instead of trading or having to use rations for certain baby items, like blankets, little socks and mittens, you’d decided to show her how to make them instead. Not only was it saving her from having to trade or use her rations on things that could easily be knitted, but it served as a decent, albeit temporary, distraction, giving your mind the chance to focus on something else other than how deeply you were hurting without Joel.

Tilting your head slightly, you eye the soft, butter yellow wool she’s holding in her hands. “Um, is that the start of another baby blanket?”

“No.” Maria’s face falls. “It’s supposed to be a hat.”

“Oh. Um.” You lean forward in the brown leather armchair you’re perched on, squinting hard at it as she holds it up. “Okay, yeah, I can kind of see the shape of it now. I can totally see it being a little hat for the baby.” She tosses you a knowing smile and you squirm slightly, heat prickling at your ears.

“I appreciate you lying to me.” She giggles and sets down her knitting needles beside her on the couch along with the ball of wool yarn. Leaning back, she places both hands on her belly and sighs. “At the very least this child will never go without a blanket seeing as blankets are all I’m capable of making.”

You flash her a small, but reassuring smile.

“You’ll get the hang of it, Maria, I promise. It just takes some practice, that’s all.”

“Well, now that Luke has put me on strict bed rest until I have the baby, I’m going to have all the time in the world to practice,” Maria remarks, exhaling another sigh. Craning her neck, she peers at your own knitting project, which you’ve been working on in something of a secretive manner in your lap and out of the expectant mother’s view. “What are you making over there, anyway?”

Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

“I’m so glad you asked since I’m just about done.”

Crossing the last stitch, you set aside your knitting needles and then hold up the finished product. “What do you think of these?”

Maria’s hand flies to her mouth, tears welling up in her dark eyes the moment she sees the pair of little brown baby booties in your hands. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, a tear rolling down the side of her face as you stand up and walk across her living room to present her with the shoes. Sitting down beside her, you hold them out in the palms of your hands. With trembling fingers, she accepts them. “Kevin had a pair just like these when he was a newborn. I kept them even after he’d outgrown them.” She lets out a small laugh in spite of herself. “You know, I’d always complain that he was growing up too fast. I used to wish that I could slow time down a little so I could enjoy my son being that young longer,” she admits, sniffing. She reaches up, dabbing at her damp eyes with one of her hands. “And now Kevin is frozen in time, forever a three year old little boy.”

She sets the booties down on her belly and inhales deeply, willing herself to keep her composure.

Swallowing back your own emotions, you brush a single, stray tear from her cheek with your thumb. It wasn’t the first time that she’d opened up about losing her child—but Maria often kept her emotions hidden, tucked away along with her son’s memory. For the last several years, she’d dedicated most of her time and energy to Jackson and to its people, pouring herself completely into her role as the community’s leader. But now that Luke had placed her on strict bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy, Maria had no choice but to step down, temporarily handing the role over to Tommy, along with a small council she’d handpicked herself.

It hadn’t been easy for her, after all, there was only so much she could do to keep herself preoccupied while being confined to the four walls of her home. She found her mind wandering to Kevin a lot more often than not lately, and the pregnancy hormones did absolutely nothing to help in the matter.

“Maria?” you say her name softly. “You okay?”

She slowly exhales the breath she’d been holding.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she finally replies, sniffing again.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She pauses momentarily. “I just—there’s a part of me that still has trouble believing I’m going to be a mother again. It’s been so long, you know? What if I’ve forgotten how to be a good mom?”

Dropping your hand from Maria’s face, you offer it out for her to hold. She accepts it and you give her hand a gentle squeeze as you vouch, “This baby, they couldn’t be any luckier than to have a mother like you, Maria.”

“And a fuckin’ hell of a dad like me,” a voice teases from the doorway.

Tommy, who had been down at the commune’s market picking up some potatoes for dinner, saunters into the living room with a brown paper bag in his arm. Setting the bag down onto a nearby table, he then makes his way over to his wife. Noticing that she’d been crying, he leans over and presses his lips against her forehead, softly murmuring, “You doin’ alright, sweetheart?”

“I’m alright,” she assures him with a nod. “I’m just extra sensitive and hormonal right now. The usual.”

He hums. “Uh, yeah, I kinda figured that out when you bawled your way through Old Yeller at the movies the other night.”

She pouts. “Pregnant or not, that movie’s a tear jerker, okay? Only people made of stone don’t cry when the dog dies.”

“She’s got a point, Tommy,” you agree with a shrug. “I cried too, and I’m not pregnant.”

Drawing himself back up to his full height, Tommy glances at the booties resting on Maria’s belly. He picks them up and holds them both in the palm of his hand.

“Well, ain’t these just the teeniest things I ever did see,” he remarks with a soft chuckle. “Who made these?”

Maria jerks her chin towards you. “She did.”

Tommy’s eyes meet yours and it feels like a punch to the fucking gut—they remind you of his brother. “Almost feels like a crime, havin’ you make clothes for our kid for free,” he states, shaking his head as he hands them back to Maria. “You’re makin’ the baby’s entire wardrobe at this point, little lady.”

Sheepishly, you wave a dismissive hand at him. “I made one sweater and a couple pairs of mittens for them. I wouldn’t exactly call that a wardrobe, Tommy.”

“It’s a hell of a lot more stuff than we had before. I gotta be honest, it just don’t feel right acceptin’ all these things from you without payin’ somehow. I’d really like to at least trade you somethin’ for them.”

Shaking your head, you politely decline the offer.

“I appreciate it, but I really don’t need anything.”

“What ‘bout Luke?”

“He doesn’t either.”

“But—”

“Honey, don’t waste your breath,” Maria chimes in with a sigh. “I’ve been trying to get her to accept a trade all week long and she simply won’t budge.”

Tommy purses his lips together, slowly rubbing his chin in thought. “Okay, I’ve got an idea,” he proposes after a minute. “How ‘bout you and Luke both come on over and join us for dinner later tonight? That ain’t too bad of a deal, right?”

You silently mull over the offer for a second.

“If I accept the invitation, then will you two knock it off with all this damn trade nonsense?” When he eagerly nods, you sigh. “Alright then, I accept. We’ll come over for dinner tonight. Granted he doesn’t come home late from the clinic again.”

“Perfect,” he grins. “See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Knowing he only means well, you decide to be a good sport about it and smile at him. “No, Tommy. I suppose it wasn’t.”

“Great!” Maria beams. “We haven’t had a chance to get together for dinner in months. Lately when I see Luke, it’s as his patient,” she muses. “I have to admit, it’ll be so nice to have a conversation with him that doesn’t revolve around my uterus for once.”

Tommy jokingly makes a face. “Yeah. Tell the doc to leave all that medical stuff at the door before he comes over. Last thing I wanna hear ‘bout while I’m chowin’ down on some big, juicy bison steaks is what fuckin’ size my wife’s uterus is—”

“Tommy! That’s not funny!” Rolling her eyes at her husband, Maria turns to you to apologize but she stops short when she notices a sudden, not to mention drastic, change in your complexion. Frowning, she reaches up and touches your cheek. “Hey, you don’t look so good. Are you feeling alright?”

You can taste the bile at the back of your throat.

“I—I’m sorry, what did you just say was for dinner?”

Tommy shoots you a strange look. “Uh, steaks?”

The mere mention of the word sends a violent wave of sickness crashing over you—slapping your hand tightly over your mouth, you scramble to jump off the couch and make a beeline for their downstairs bathroom right across the hallway. You’d made it just in time to fall to your knees in front of the toilet. Clutching the sides of the porcelain bowl, you gag loudly, and the sickening sound of your retching bounces off the walls.

As your stomach heaves, you feel one hand gather your hair to hold it back and out of your face, while the other rubs soothing circles into your back.

“Let it all out,” Maria encourages you. “It’s alright, just let it all out. There you go, get everything out.”

Tommy pokes his head into the bathroom.

“She okay?”

“Tommy! Get out of here!” Maria scolds him over her shoulder. “She doesn’t need an audience!”

He holds up his hands. “Alright, alright! Sheesh, I was just makin’ sure she’s okay, you ain’t gotta bite my head off!” He huffs at her. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you two need me.” Without another word, he spins around on the heel of his boot and disappears.

Once you’re certain there’s nothing left, your trembling hand reaches for the handle on the tank and pulls it down, flushing the toilet. You then sit back, slumping against the wall. “Jesus. I am so fucking sorry. I have no idea what the hell came over me,” you groan, the embarrassment evident in your tone as you wipe at your mouth with the sleeve of your flannel shirt.

Maria peers at you with a suspicious glint in her eyes.

“You know,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, “About five months ago, I went through a phase where I couldn’t stand the thought of meat—any kind, but red meat had to be the worst. I just could not stomach it.” Her hand falls away from your face and she rises to her feet with a labored grunt. Leaning back against the sink, she continues to say, “Poor Tommy, he couldn’t even mention it to me or I’d throw up on his boots. Not long after that, I found out I was pregnant.”

You stare at her, your lips parting slightly. “Maria, you can’t seriously be insinuating—I am not pregnant. No, it’s not possible, you know that I can’t have kids,” you sputter out, furiously shaking your head. “There’s just no fucking way that I’m—”

Maria holds up her hands to stop you. “When was the date of your last menstrual cycle?”

“It was recent.”

“How recent?”

Silently, you start counting the weeks and you freeze the moment you realize you’d missed September completely, and October’s cycle had been due two weeks ago. You’ve been so lost in your own grief, so busy trying to keep yourself from falling apart, that you hadn’t even realized you haven’t bled since—

“August,” you breathe out in a terrified whisper.

The last time you had your period was in August.

August.

Before you had slept with Joel Miller for the first time.

Maria whirls around and starts digging in the medicine cabinet above the sink, and then in the one below it. After a minute of rummaging, she turns back around and extends a hand out to you, offering to help you to your feet. She lets out another grunt as she helps you stand. “I had one left,” she states, holding out her other hand to you, an individually wrapped pregnancy test in her palm. “At this point, I don’t think you even need to take a test, but it doesn’t hurt to have solid proof.”

You can hardly choke out her name. “Maria—”

She hastily shoves the test into your hands. “Just take it. I’ll be back in to check on you, okay?”

Not giving you the chance to protest, she steps out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

You look down at the test in your palm and then up into the mirror, meeting your own wide eyes in the reflection.

It can’t be possible. It just can’t be possible.

You can’t have children.

With shaking hands, you unzip your blue jeans and then tear open the package. Your mind is in such a haze, you have to read the instructions three or four times before the information finally sticks. After taking the test, you lay it down top of the counter with the results window facing down. You pull your panties and jeans back into place and wash your hands using the bar of soap next to the sink—all the while, the sheer panic has started to settle in, the fear that accompanies it seeping deep into your bones.

Swallowing harshly, you realize it’d been well over the three minutes the package had instructed you to wait for the results.

“It’s negative. It’s negative,” you affirm quietly over and over underneath your breath as you pick it up and flip it in your hand. “It’s negative. It’s negative—”

You stop, and for a second, your heart feels like it stops too.

Horrified, you blink furiously, as if somehow you’ve misread the results—but there is no fucking mistaking those two solid little pink lines.

Your blood runs cold in your veins.

You’re pregnant.

Luke hasn’t touched you in months.

And you’re pregnant.

Luke hasn’t touched you in months.

And you are fucking pregnant.

Maria knocks lightly on the bathroom door.

“It’s been a few minutes now—can I come in?”

She waits, only to be met with complete silence.

“Hey, hon.” She knocks again. “Is everything okay?”

Again, there’s no response from the other side of the door.

“Christ, Maria.” Tommy suddenly appears beside her with a glass of water in his hand. Flashing his wife a teasing look, he quips, “Can’t you let the poor girl do her goddamn business in peace? What’s wrong with you, woman?”

Maria frowns. “I think something’s wrong.”

His playful grin falters. “What do you mean?”

“She’s not answering me.”

Tommy chortles, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Maybe ‘cause she’s actually in there doin’ her business?”

Hesitantly, Maria bites down on her bottom lip.

“What? What is it?”

“I gave her a pregnancy test to take.”

Tommy’s eyes widen. “You fuckin’ with me?”

Maria glares at him. “No! I’m not fucking with you, I’m being serious! I gave her the test and then told her I would check back in with her after she took it, but now she’s not answering me and I’m kind of worried.”

“The door locked?”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think it is. Should we just open the door and see if she’s okay? I don’t want to barge in there but—”

Tommy hands Maria the glass of water. “Hey,” he calls lightly as he raps on the door with his fist. “Everythin’ alright in there?” He waits for a minute, but when you don’t reply, he grasps the brass doorknob in his hand and says sternly, “Now you listen here, little lady. You had best answer me right now, or we’re gonna have to come in, you understand me?”

Silence.

“Last chance, talk or I’m gonna open this door.”

Nothing.

“Alright then, suit yourself. Hope you’re decent.”

Tommy turns the knob, cracking the door open—when he doesn’t see you, he tries pushing it open further. The door stops halfway, and he peers around it only to find you sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, preventing the door from going any further. “Shit, she’s sittin’ right behind the goddamn—fuckin’ hold on, Maria! If I try shovin’ it open, I could hurt her!�� Being careful so as not to hit you or step on you by accident, he squeezes his way into the bathroom. He crouches down beside you, cupping your cheek in the palm of his hand. “Hey, what is it? What’s the matter?”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his.

You can’t speak. You can’t move.

All that you can do is stare at him. Petrified.

“C’mon, little lady,” he coaxes, softly. “Talk to me.”

“Tommy! Let me in!” Maria demands, impatiently. “Can you move her? I can’t squeeze through, my belly is way too big.”

Tommy slides one arm around your shoulders and the other arm under your knees. “I’m just gonna move you out the way so Maria can come in, alright? C’mere.” He gingerly slides you across the tile and cradles the side of your body against his chest. He then calls out to his wife, “There, that should be enough room!”

Maria pushes the door open and rushes inside. “Is she okay?” Gripping Tommy’s shoulder, she slowly lowers herself to kneel beside you. Her eyes go straight to the test clutched in your hand. She just about has to pry your ice cold fingers off the white stick one by one. “It’s positive,” she gasps. “Your results are positive—you’re going to have a baby!”

Tommy lets out a loud, gleeful laugh. “Did’ya hear that, little lady? You’re gonna have a baby! You’re gonna be a mama! Ain’t that great news?”

Finally, you snap out of your trance. Your eyes anxiously bounce between Tommy and Maria, heart pounding as they eagerly wait for your reaction with smiles of pure excitement on their faces.

“I—” Unable to utter another word, you burst into tears.

And they’re certainly not tears of happiness.

No, the sobs coming from deep within you aren’t full of joy at the news that you’re going to be a mother.

They’re pained. Cries full of sorrow, anguish, and fear. As the confusion flashes across their faces, all you can do is weep harder, and louder.

“Wait a minute, I thought you would be happy.” Maria’s hands reach for yours and she holds them tightly as she tries to understand what it is that is causing such a negative reaction. “You and Luke tried for a really long time to have another baby. Why are you so upset?” She keeps her voice calm, kind. Warm. It wasn’t that she was judging you—Maria wants to help you, however there’s no way for her to help you if she doesn’t know what’s causing your grief in the first place. “What’s the matter, honey? Are you afraid after what happened last time?”

“I can’t be pregnant,” you rasp out. “I can’t—”

“Hey now, it’s alright. C’mere.” Tommy shifts and he moves to sit down beside you against the wall. His arm drapes around your trembling shoulders in an effort to comfort you. As your entire body shudders with sobs, he pulls you close against his side, rubbing your arm with his hand. Once they’ve subsided and little hiccups are all that are left, he finally speaks again. “You can talk to us, little lady. ‘Bout anythin’ that’s on your mind. We care ‘bout you a whole lot. Y’know that, don’t you?”

“Tommy’s right,” Maria nods. “You’re like family to us. You can come to us about anything. We’ll do whatever we can to help you, okay?”

You shake your head tightly. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

She lets out a small sigh and glances at her husband with a look of defeat. “I think you should run down to the clinic and get Luke. He’ll know what to do to calm her down.”

“No!” you shout loudly, startling them both. “I—Luke can’t find out that I’m pregnant. He just can’t know, or else—” A fresh batch of tears spring forward as you clamp a hand over your mouth, muffling another wail.

“Or else what?” Maria asks, raising an eyebrow.

Or else he was going to fucking kill you.

Tommy grabs your wrist, gently tugging it away from your face. “Or else what?” He echoes his wife. “What is goin’ on? Is there somethin’ we should know ‘bout?”

Yet another sob escapes you and his fingers curl tighter around your wrist, firmly, but he’s careful not to be too harsh.

“We’re gonna need you to tell us what’s goin’ on.”

There’s no way around it. Around any of it.

You have to tell them.

Swallowing harshly, you admit, “There is.”

The couple waits expectantly.

“The baby isn’t Luke’s.” You mumble it so quietly and incoherently that neither of them hear it despite being in such close proximity.

Maria furrows an eyebrow. “What did you say?”

“The baby isn’t Luke’s!” You cry out, yanking your wrist out of Tommy’s hand. “This baby isn’t his and that’s why he can’t fucking know!”

And just like that, the truth comes tumbling out.

Luke’s violence towards you.

Your romantic affair with Joel.

Ellie discovering the abuse and telling him about it.

Your stubborn refusal to let either of them do anything to help you.

You spare no details of everything that had taken place over the last several months, and by the time you had finally finished, both Tommy and Maria were rendered completely speechless.

“Can one of you say something? Please? Anything at all?” Your voice is small, feeble.

After a minute, Tommy pulls his arm from around your shoulders and stands up. He helps Maria up to her feet before he extends his hand to you. “Alright, first thing’s first. Let me get you up off this floor, little lady.”

His voice is soft, and so is his gaze.

“Tommy how can you—after everything that I’ve done? Your brother—”

“Please. Just let me help you off the floor and then we can talk ‘bout it. Okay?”

You accept his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Much to your surprise, he doesn’t let it go as he leads you out of the bathroom and back into the living room where he sits you down on the couch. Maria, who hasn’t said a single word, takes a seat beside you.

Tommy kneels down in front of you, placing a warm and gentle hand on your leg. He almost looks a little bit guilty, as if he should have known what was being done to you behind closed doors. “Look, m’gonna ask you a question and I need an honest answer. How long has he been doin’ this to you?”

Anxiously, you start wringing your hands in your lap.

“Tommy, I can’t. Please, don’t—”

“Tell me,” he encourages you, softly. “When did it first start?”

Your throat bobs. “Two months after my dad died,” you confess, another tear rolling down the side of your face.

Maria stiffens. “Luke has been putting his hands on you for two years?”

“Yes.”

You can hear the shame in your own voice—shame for letting the abuse go on as long as it has, for everything to come to light like this.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Tommy sighs heavily and hangs his head. “Joel told me. He fuckin’ told me.”

You wipe at your swollen eyes with your forearm.

“What are you talking about, Tommy?”

He sighs again.

“Months ago, the day after the big summer party,” he begins to explain. “We were at the bar. Joel was askin’ me ‘bout you and Luke. Said somethin’ just wasn’t right when he saw you two together for the first time. He tried to tell me somethin’ was wrong and I—I didn’t fuckin’ believe him. Told him he was seein’ what he wanted to see ‘cause I knew he liked you. I fuckin’ told him that you and Luke were happy. He tried to tell me and I didn’t fuckin’ listen to him.”

“Tommy, please don’t blame yourself for this,” you beg him. “I’m the one who chose to hide it. This is my own fault, okay? This is all on me, not on you.”

Maria furiously shakes her head. “It’s not your fault and it sure as hell isn’t on you. You’re the victim here.”

Victim.

The word makes you cringe.

“But it is my fault, Maria. I hid it from you guys for two fucking years.”

“But why? Why did you hide it? Why didn’t you come to us?” Tommy’s voice is strained. “You should’ve told us what he was doin’ to you. We—I could’a done somethin’ to stop it. I could’a helped you.”

“Because. I didn’t want to risk getting him thrown out of the community. Jackson needs him, Tommy.”

“Like hell we do,” Tommy rises to his feet. “Ain’t no way that we’re gonna tolerate that fuckin’ shit here.” With his hands curled tightly into fists, he spins around and starts heading towards the front door.

You stand and chase after him, catching him just as he opens it. “Where the hell are you going?”

“To confront that pathetic son of a bitch—”

“Tommy, please! Don’t do that.” Grabbing his arm, you shoot him a pleading look. “Please, think about this for a minute.”

“Ain’t nothin’ for me to fuckin’ think ‘bout, alright?”

“Yes, there fucking is! This town needs a doctor. They need Luke—Maria needs Luke.” You glance over at her just as she appears in the hallway with both hands on her belly. “God forbid that something goes wrong—she goes into preterm labor or she has a complication when she gives birth. Did you think about that?”

“We’ve got two nurses,” he reminds you.

“Two nurses who only know basic neonatal care. That’s it. If something serious happens, Maria’s going to need Luke. And the baby’s going to need him too.”

You knew you’d gotten your point across when Tommy turns to his wife, helplessly.

“Fuck,” he curses, slamming the door shut. “She’s right. I fuckin’ hate to say it, but she’s right ‘bout that.”

“I am right,” you state and his attention flits back to you. “Luke has to stay and you both know that as well as I do. For the good of Jackson, he has to stay.”

Conflicted, Tommy growls out in frustration. “So what, I’m just s’pposed to give him a fuckin’ pass? How the hell can you expect us—how can you expect me to let that motherfucker walk around this place knowin’ what he’s been doin’ to you over these last two years?”

Your fingers dig into his arm, a fresh batch of hot tears stinging your eyes. “Tommy, if this community suffers without Luke because of me, it will destroy me. The guilt will fucking destroy me.”

Finally, Maria decides to step in. “Listen, I know that you’re trying to look out for the people of this town and I get that. But you’re risking your own life by asking us to let him stay here.” She walks over to you, taking your hands in hers. “Honey, I know men like Luke because I used to prosecute men like Luke. I would take them to court on murder charges.” Her eyes find yours. “I don’t want to scare you, but if that is the only way for me to get through to you, then I will sit you down and I will tell you all about what happened to the women who swore to me their abusive husbands would never, ever take it that far.”

You swallow harshly and a chill runs up your spine.

“I’ll leave,” you squeak. “I’ll leave him.”

“And what if he doesn’t let you walk away?”

Tommy crosses his arms over his chest. “He will if I’m the one who fuckin’ talks to him. I ain’t gonna give him the choice. He has to let her go.”

Panicked, you furiously shake your head. “No! I can do this on my own, Tommy. I can handle him alone. I don’t need you to do it for me. I can fix this without your help, okay?”

“You can’t,” he says, firmly. “You just can’t.”

“Yes, I can—”

He cuts you off with a pleading look.

“You need to let us help you. Please. Let us help you.”

You had agreed to it, but only on one condition.

“I need a couple of days,” you’d told them.

Tommy frowned. “No. It’s happenin’ tonight. We’re gonna talk to Luke, you’re gonna pack up a couple bags, and we’re gettin’ you away from him. You can stay here with us for a while. You’ll be safe.” Taking notice of the shocked look on your face, he said, “I know you ain’t crazy enough to think I’m gonna let you go home to him tonight. Ain’t no way in hell.”

“I—this is all happening so fast. It’s too overwhelming, Tommy. I just need a day or two to process everything before I take that leap.”

“And give Luke the fuckin’ chance to hurt you again?”

“He hasn’t laid a finger on me in weeks now.”

Tommy scoffed, “Well, someone give him a fuckin’ medal!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “He hasn’t hit his wife in weeks! What a fuckin’ guy!”

You recoiled, his sarcasm stinging like he’d poured salt straight into the open wound.

“Tommy,” Maria glared at him. “Not helping.”

He immediately shot you an apologetic look.

“Shit. Sorry, little lady. I’m just real worried ‘bout you. I don’t like the idea of you goin’ home to him tonight, and much less knowin’ that you’re pregnant, y’know?” His eyes had fallen to your stomach with sudden curiosity. “When, uh—when do you plan on tellin’ Joel ‘bout the baby, anyway?”

Heat flooded your face and neck.

“I—I’m not really sure about that yet.”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy! She just told you that she’s feeling overwhelmed,” Maria chastised him. “Let’s take it one step at a time, okay? Our first priority is going to be to get her out of that house. She has already agreed to letting us help her, so I think there’s a bit of room for compromise. Here’s the deal.” She put a hand on your shoulder. “As much as I don’t want to let you go home to him tonight either, I’m going to allow it so you can take a breather. Tomorrow in the afternoon when you get home from work duty, I’ll come over and help you pack some clothes and necessities, and we can bring them over here to our place.”

Nervously chewing your lower lip, you asked, “And then what?”

“I’ll go confront Luke,” Tommy stated. “Best if you ain’t there when I talk to him, little lady.” He turned to Maria, placing a hand on her belly. “I don’t want you to be there either, sweetheart. I ain’t takin’ any chances and puttin’ you and the baby under stress so I’m gonna have to handle him alone, alright?”

Maria nodded, shifting her attention back to you. “So? Do we have a deal?”

Meekly, you had nodded in agreement. “Yes. We have a deal.”

The rest of that evening passes by in a blur.

Autopilot had taken over the moment that Tommy took you across the road and dropped you off at your door.

“Any problems, you come get me,” he’d said. “You come and get me. No matter what time it is, alright? You fuckin’ come and get me if he tries anythin’.”

All that you could do was give him a weak nod and then you’d turned around, slipping into the house.

You don’t remember cooking dinner.

You don’t remember looking at the clock, noticing it was well past dinnertime and realizing that Luke would be home late as usual. You don’t remember fixing him a plate and leaving it on top of the stove for him to find when he came home, storing all of the leftovers, and washing the small pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

You don’t remember heading upstairs afterwards, you don't remember taking a long shower, brushing your teeth or changing into your pajamas.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the bedroom door opened and Luke walked in, that autopilot finally disengaged.

“You’re still up?”

You’d been sitting on the foot of the bed anxiously picking at your fingernails without even realizing it until he glared at you—he’d always hated the habit and spent months smacking it out of you.

Ceasing from messing with your hands, you drop them into your lap.

“You’re home really late again,” you say, quietly.

“I made a last minute house call. John’s little boy came down with a hell of a fever tonight.” Luke sets down his satchel bag and shrugs out of his jacket—as he does so, you catch sight of the tiny, reddish purple bruise on his neck, right below his ear. Draping his jacket over a nearby chair, he arches his brow as if he were silently challenging you to confront him, as if he’s daring you to ask him who had given him a love bite.

You don’t care. You don’t care about what or who Luke has been doing over the last several nights when he’s been coming home so much later than usual.

Kicking off his black boots, he saunters over to you, his mouth stretching into a cruel, satisfied little smirk.

Oh, he knows damn well you’ve already figured it out.

He wanted you to figure it out.

“Spend the afternoon at Tommy and Maria’s again?”

“Yes. I did.”

“I see.” He hums. “She was telling me during her exam this morning at the clinic that you’ve been helping her knit some clothes for the baby. Is that so?”

“I have,” you murmur, looking down to avert his curious gaze as he stops in front of you. “We’ve been making blankets for the baby, too.”

Luke cups your chin, forcing your eyes back up to meet his. “Well, isn’t that sweet of you.” He roughly curls his fingers around your jaw, his thumb brushing along your quivering lower lip. He hums again. “Something about you seems different, darling. Been looking a lot prettier to me these days.” He lets go of your jaw and brushes your hair behind your shoulder, his finger skimming the strap of your cotton pajama top. “How long has it been now, sweetheart?”

Your throat goes dry, your lips parting in shock as Luke pulls it down your arm, his palm grazing over your skin.

No. This can’t be happening. He wants to—?

Without waiting for a response, Luke grabs one of your hands and places it over his belt buckle.

Noticing your expression, he laughs again. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“You—you haven’t wanted to touch me in months.”

Luke shrugs. “Well, what can I say? I’m suddenly in the mood for my pretty little wife’s cunt.” His grin stretches from ear to ear. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky this time. Maybe we’ll have a little one of our own running around this place. I’m feeling rather optimistic tonight.”

You’re going to be fucking sick all over him.

No, you can’t let him do this to you.

You can’t let him touch you.

He pushes your hand lower, right over his bulge.

“No!” Tearing your hand away, you jump up and roughly shove him away from you. “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

He stumbles backwards, but he catches himself before he can fall.

Your chest heaves a d he stares at you, bewildered at what you had just done. “I’m so sorry that whoever you fucked before you came home wasn’t enough for you, but you are not fucking touching me,” you spit at him. “In fact, you’re never touching me ever again because I’m leaving. I’m done, Luke.”

“Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard me.” Your voice trembles—you can’t be sure if it trembles out of anger or out of the sheer terror you feel. Maybe it’s a bit of both. “It’s over, Luke. This marriage is fucking over. I’m not putting up with what you’ve been doing to me for the past two years. I’m not going to tolerate it. Not anymore. I’m not going to allow you to keep on hurting me.” Lifting your hand, you slide your wedding band off of your finger and toss it at him. It clinks as it lands on the hardwood floor near his feet. “I’ll be out of the house by tomorrow evening.”

“Let me take a guess.” He speaks calmly, much too calmly, as he starts towards you. The time bomb has started ticking. “You’re going to move in with Joel Miller and his feral little rat of a kid?”

Hands curling into fists at your sides, you seethe, “Where I move is none of your fucking business, Luke.” He steps closer and your courage starts to falter. You can feel yourself wanting to back down—the thought of your unborn child is the only thing that keeps you from completely losing your nerve. “Here is the deal. You’re going to let me leave and you’re going to stay the fuck away from me. If you do that, then I won’t tell anyone anything about the things you’ve done to me. It’ll be like none of it ever happened. We both move on with our lives. Separately. Got it?”

He draws closer and closer. Much too close.

“Oh, you silly, silly girl,” he tsks. “Do you really think you can call the shots? Do you really fucking think you have the upper hand here? That you can make the decision to end this marriage, just like that?”

Closer, until his chest brushes against yours.

“Luke, I’m giving you a fucking chance here,” you say, backing away until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. With nowhere else to go, to run, you fall backwards onto the bed, scrambling up towards the headboard. Your heart is pounding, too hard and too fast—would it give out before he even has the chance to get his hands on you? “Luke, please, just let me go.” Clasping your hands together in a plea, you beg him, your back pressed against the headboard, “If at any point in our relationship you loved me—if at any point in our marriage you actually cared about me, you will fucking let me go in peace. Please. Just let me go. Let me fucking go.”

Luke stands at the foot of the bed, his face blank.

Emotionless. There isn’t a single ounce of compassion in his eyes. No mercy.

“Please,” you whisper once more. Curling both of your arms around yourself, you subconsciously protect your belly.

Luke reaches down and unbuckles his belt.

You watch, your stomach churning, as he slowly slides the black leather from the loops of his jeans.

“I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

“I mean it, Joel. Stay away from Luke.”

Joel clutches his stallion’s reins tightly in his hands as the pair fall into a slow, easy trot behind Tommy and his horse, Ranger.

He follows his brother as he leads the way through the quiet, tranquil plains of Wyoming. Instead of scanning their surroundings for signs of potential danger, all Joel can do is think about you—that was all he could ever do these days, was fucking think about you and about that fucking night.

The memory plays over and over in his mind on a loop, torturing him day in and day out. It never fucking stops. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

“I mean it, Joel. Stay away from Luke. And maybe it’s for the best if you just fucking stay away from me too.”

That’s precisely what he had done. He had stayed away from Luke. And against his better judgement, he had stayed away from you, too.

“How’s it feel to be back out here?” Tommy asks over his shoulder. He tugs at the reins and gives Ranger the cue to slow his trot, giving Joel and his horse, Bandit, the chance to catch up and ride at their side. “Bet you couldn’t be fuckin’ happier to be off house arrest, huh?” he adds, a light joking edge to his tone.

After about four and a half weeks, Joel had made a full recovery, and he was cleared to return to patrol duties. Wanting to ease him back into the swing of things after so much time off, Tommy decided to pair up with Joel as his partner for that morning’s watch. The two took a route just a few miles west of the community, one that was scoured every couple of days since it was so close to Jackson’s main gate.

“S’alright,” he mutters with a shrug that causes him to wince. His shoulder’s still a little sore. Ellie had assisted with his physical therapy, badgering him every single night to do the exercises in some book she’d found in the town’s library with Dina’s help. He had full range of motion again, and that’s all Tommy had needed in order to allow him to return to patrol.

“You feelin’ alright?” His brother notices the slight look of discomfort on his face. “Shoulder’s good?”

“Any particular reason you’re bein’ so annoyin’ today?”

Tommy feigns offense. “You got fuckin’ shot, Joel. Just makin’ sure you’re okay. Jesus.”

Joel lets out a small huff through his nose. “M’fine,” he assures him. “Shoulder’s good. Still hurts a little and the cold weather ain’t doin’ a whole lot to help, but ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle.” Sitting back in his saddle, he lets his thighs close around Bandit. “Whoa,” he utters to the animal, his fingers squeezing the reins as he signals for Bandit to come to a halt.

“What’s the matter? Why are we stoppin’?”

“This route’s clear, Tommy. We should turn around and go find the rest of the group. Check and see if the other routes are clear too.” Joel clicks his tongue, prompting Bandit to move again. He steers the stallion and starts turning around to lead them back east, but then stops once more. He glimpses over at Tommy, who hasn’t moved a muscle. Noticing the odd, pensive expression on his face, Joel frowns, asking, “What’s wrong?”

Tommy chews the inside of his cheek, his apprehension written all over his face. “Uh Joel, there’s something we need to talk ‘bout and maybe it’s best if we do it while we’re out here, just the two of us.”

Confused, Joel’s eyebrows pull together. “What is it?”

His brother hesitates. His lips purse together, a sudden look of regret flashing across his features.

“Tommy?” Joel prompts. “The hell’s goin’ on?”

Exhaling a heavy sigh, he states, “You were right.”

“Right ‘bout what?”

“‘Bout Luke.”

Joel freezes in the seat of his saddle.

“You were fuckin’ right ‘bout him mistreatin’ her.”

His grip around the reins tightens, skin stretching thin over his knuckles so tight they’d gone white.

“She was over at mine yesterday afternoon. Ended up tellin’ me and Maria everthin’ ‘bout Luke and what he’s done.” Rolling his lower lip between his teeth, Tommy pauses for a second before repeating, “You were right. You were fuckin’ right ‘bout that bastard from the start and I’m real sorry that I didn’t fuckin’ believe you, Joel.”

Joel’s mind begins to race.

What had prompted you to finally tell Tommy and Maria about the abuse? Did something happen to you that he didn’t know about?

Ellie had been pretty good about keeping him posted. He would ask her about you the very minute she’d walk through the front door after her shift at the stables and she would provide him a full report.

“She’s fine. She ain’t hurt,” Tommy reassures him, as if he’d read his mind. “We’re plannin’ on movin’ her outta the house later on tonight.”

“What?” Finally, Joel speaks, his voice rigid.

Tommy holds his hands up in defense. “Now, hold on. I need you to give me a minute and let me explain—”

“She told you Luke’s been abusin’ her and you just let her go back to him? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? Why didn’t you and Maria fuckin’ stop her?”

“Why didn’t you fuckin’ stop her the night you saw the bruise on her?” He shoots back at him.

Joel stares at him, his lips parting slightly.

How did he fucking know about that?

“She told us the truth ‘bout the affair too, Joel.”

“She did?”

“She did,” Tommy confirms with a nod. “I had a hunch, y’know. The day of the ambush, I thought I saw panic in her eyes when I told Ellie you’d been shot. Then I saw it again when she saw you there sittin’ on that table with a bullet in your shoulder, but I brushed it off. Thought she was just real worried ‘bout the kid seein’ as those two are thick as fuckin’ thieves, y’know?” Despite the serious nature of the conversation, he can’t help but let out a chuckle when he thinks of you and Ellie. “But now I know she was scared of losin’ you. That girl loves you, Joel. I know you love her too. I’m willin’ to bet it’s the reason you let her walk away that night. Why you kept her secret.”

“Jesus.” Joel exhales a shaky breath. “Y’must think I’m a real fuckin’ coward for knowin’ what he’s been doin’ to her and not doin’ a goddamn thing ‘bout it, huh?”

Tommy shakes his head.

“It’s a complicated situation, brother. She only did what she did for the good of the community. She’s still trying to do what’s best for Jackson, believe it or not. She, uh, she wants us to let Luke stay.”

“She wants you to let him stay?”

“Girl’s got too big of a heart. Doesn’t want the town to be without a doctor.”

“Ain’t no goddamn way you’d let him stay! After all the fuckin’ shit he’s done to her?” When his brother doesn’t respond, Joel narrows his eyes at him. “Jesus Christ. You can’t fuckin’ tell me you’re actually considerin’ it? Are you fuckin’ serious, Tommy? You and Maria would let that son of a bitch stay in Jackson? Knowin’ he’s spent two fuckin’ years puttin’ his hands on his wife?”

“Look here, alright? I don’t like the idea as much as you don’t, and neither does Maria,” he says. “But this ain’t exactly black and white, Joel. I really fuckin’ wish it was. But the hard truth is that Jackson does need a doctor, and unless one magically falls out of the fuckin’ sky, we ain’t got much of a choice here. My wife and child, they might need him, y’know? Maria’s considered a high risk ‘cause of her age. If somethin’ happens and there’s complications when she’s in labor, she and the baby are gonna need him. Our nurses, they ain’t really trained to handle things like that, y’know?”

Joel’s lips press together into a tight, thin line.

Of course it’s black and white to him—because he loves you. You’re his fucking priority. There’s no gray area for him. None.

But Tommy? His priority is Maria and their unborn child.

Joel can’t fault him for that, and he certainly isn’t going to try. But what about you?

“Listen, Joel. I know this is real fuckin’ hard, believe me I do. I care about that girl a lot, a whole fuckin’ lot. I saw her as family long before I knew ‘bout your relationship with her and before I knew she was—”

He stops abruptly, red splotching his cheeks.

Joel still doesn’t know he is going to be a father. Again.

“Before you knew she was what, Tommy?”

“Tommy!” A woman’s voice shouts. “Joel! Over here!”

The two brothers glance over their shoulders and see the rest of their morning patrol group heading towards them.

Tommy bites back a sigh of utter relief. That had been too fucking close.

He turns to Joel, lowering his voice. “Joel, I need you to listen, and listen to me real good. We’ve gotta take this one step at a time. First thing’s first, me and Maria are gonna get her outta that house. She can stay with us at our place for a while. She’ll be safe with us. That much I can promise you.”

“Then what?”

“Don’t know yet. We get her out first and then we figure things out from there. In the meantime, I’m gonna need you to stay calm, Joel. Please. Don’t go off and do somethin’ stupid, alright?”

That had been a lot easier said than done.

Joel needed to talk to you.

He needed to fucking see you.

But his brother had been adamant.

“Don’t fuckin’ get involved, Joel. Not ‘til we get her out. I don’t want things to fuckin’ explode in our faces, alright? Let me handle this.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel leans back into the couch and looks down at the guitar in his lap—he’d just spent the last hour carefully polishing it in an effort to keep himself occupied. He thought back to that night you’d come over to gift it to him, how he had kissed you for the first time mere hours before you showed up on his doorstep with your father’s Gibson.

As he gives the guitar a gentle test strum, he recalls the request you made for him to sing you a song and a dull ache settles in his chest, right over his heart. He’ll sing you every song you want to hear, if given the chance.

Part of him is optimistic that he would get the chance.

You were meant to be his. He was meant to be yours.

He just fucking knows it.

Joel’s train of thought is shattered by the sound of the front door opening, and then loudly slamming shut.

“Ellie?” He calls out.

Her voice comes from the hallway. “Yeah?”

“C’mere, kiddo.”

Ellie grumbles incoherently as she walks into the living room, hair disheveled, clothes filthy, and her sneakers caked with muck from the stables.

Joel frowns at her. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Today was just really fucking shitty and while that was a great pun, for once, it was not fucking intended,” she sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “If you called me in here to ask me about her, I’d save my breath. She stayed home today. She’s sick.”

Joel’s stomach instantly drops. “She’s sick?”

“Yeah. With like a really bad cold or something.”

Putting down the guitar, he questions, “And who told you that?”

“Dina,” Ellie replies, looking puzzled. “She said Luke told her—” She stops abruptly as he jumps to his feet and immediately shoves past her, heading towards the front door. She spins around on her heel, following him. As he flies down the porch and starts down the road towards your house, she is forced to jog along beside him just to keep up with his stride. “What, what? What is it? Fucking answer me, Joel, what is it?”

“She ain’t fuckin’ sick, Ellie.”

“What do you mean she’s not—oh fuck. You don’t think she’s hiding out at home because—?” Ellie’s heartbeat stutters when the realization sinks in. “Luke.”

When the pair arrive at your place, they find a very, very distraught Maria Miller standing on the front porch, her hands wrapped around the doorknob. “Hon, I need you to let me in!” She turns and pulls the knob, desperately. “Please! Open the door for me!”

Your tearful voice comes from the other side. “Go away, Maria!”

The sound of Joel’s boots prompt Maria to turn around. “Joel,” she breathes out his name in relief. “I can’t get her to open the door. Tommy went to see if we have a spare key for the unit. He hasn’t come back and I don’t know what to do.”

“Break a fucking window, maybe?” Ellie snaps at her.

Joel silences her with a glare and then takes Maria by her arms, moving her to stand behind him. “Open the goddamn door!” he commands firmly, pounding his fist harshly against the wood. He can almost feel the way you freeze on the other side the moment you hear the sound of his voice. “Open this fuckin’ door right now!”

Ellie chimes in, “Come on, please open the door!”

“Go away!”

Joel continues to beat his fists against the door. “Show me what he fuckin’ did to you!” He shouts as he drops his hands to the doorknob, clawing at it as if somehow that’s going to do the trick and open the door. “C’mon! Show me what that fuckin’ bastard did to you!”

“Please, go away, all of you! Just leave me alone!”

“You know we can’t do that,” Maria calls. “You’re going to have to open this door and let us—”

Losing what very little patience he has to begin with in the first place, Joel cuts her off. “I will fuckin’ break this door down if I have to,” he threatens. “I’ll cause a scene and let everyone in this whole fuckin’ town know what Luke does to you. Is that what you want?”

He hears the lock click almost instantly.

Finally, you crack the door open and peek out to show them your face. “There, you fucking see?” Your face is blotchy, your eyes red and swollen from crying. “I’m fucking fine! Now fucking go away!”

You try shutting the door, but Joel is too quick and slips the toe of his boot in, wedging it between the door and the doorframe.

“Move, Joel!”

“Nope,” he says, keeping it planted firmly in place.

Not wanting to break his foot, you let up and he shoves his way inside with Ellie and Maria trailing behind him.

Taking a clumsy step backwards, you gather up the front of your knitted cardigan in your trembling hands, bunching it around your neck to conceal it. “Get out! Please, just get out!” you beg them through your sobs. “Please leave! I’m fine! Look at me, I’m perfectly fine—”

Heart hammering painfully against his sternum, Joel walks over and he takes your wrists. “Let me see. Baby, please. Just let me see.” His voice is raw, thick, as if he were on the verge of tears himself. He just knows he’s failed you, failed to keep all those promises he had made about never letting anything bad happen to you. He’s fucking failed. Again. He tries to find your gaze, but you refuse to look him in the eye. “Let me see,” he chokes out again, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast against the iciness of your own. “I’ll force you if I have to, so please just show me. Please, just fuckin’ show me what he did to you.”

Letting out another agonized sob, you drop your hands and let go of the material, letting it fall back into place at your sides and exposing your injury.

Maria gasps into her hands. “God.”

“Fuck.” Ellie’s eyes widen in complete horror.

Joel drops your wrists, taking a step backwards as his eyes glaze over the severe discoloration around your neck.

He feels fucking sick to his stomach, but it isn’t until he notices the clear imprint of a square belt buckle on the column of your throat that Joel thinks he might actually be sick all over the floor.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Luke’s voice suddenly echoes through the foyer. He stands near the front door, looking thoroughly confused—that is, until he sees you standing there, exposing what he had done to you the night before with his belt. The very same belt he’s wearing now.

No one has the chance to speak.

No one has the chance to think.

No one even has the chance to breathe.

Joel charges at Luke. He roughly snatches the collar of his jacket and pulls him further into the foyer of the house, away from the open front door so that he has nowhere to run.

You rush towards them. “Joel, stop! No!”

Maria quickly hurries to stop you, grabbing you by the back of your sweater. She yanks you back and out of harm’s way. “Don’t!”

Horrified, you watch as Joel slams Luke straight into the mirror hanging on the wall—head first. He pulls him forward, then slams him back even harder, the impact completely shattering the glass. Hundreds of shards go flying across the hardwood floor.

“Oh shit! Watch out!” Ellie jumps back as a sharp piece of broken glass lands between her sneakers.

“Joel, stop it! Please, stop!” you cry out as Maria grasps your arm to keep you from jumping in the middle of the altercation. “Stop it!”

But Joel is too far gone. Ignoring your desperate cries, he wraps one hand around Luke’s neck, holding him in place. His other hand curls into a tight fist and he starts delivering bone shattering blow after bone shattering blow to his face. “You wanna fuckin’ hit someone?” He snarls as the man’s nose cracks beneath his knuckles. “You wanna fuckin’ put your hands on someone? Huh? Then you fuckin’ put ‘em on me! C’mon, I fuckin’ dare you to put ‘em on me!”

Throwing Luke onto the floor, Joel climbs on top of him and he secures both of his hands around his throat. He feels the uncontrollable urge to do to him what he had done to you—only, unlike Luke, he doesn’t need a belt, and unlike Luke, he isn’t going to stop.

He isn’t going to let him live.

Joel squeezes Luke’s neck, cutting off his oxygen.

“How do you fuckin’ like it,” he hisses, irises going from brown to black as he presses harder on his windpipe. “C’mon, tough guy, tell me how you fuckin’ like it.”

Luke feebly claws and scratches at his hands, gurgling as blood starts coming out of his nose and mouth.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy rushes into the house, his boots scraping against the floor as he skids to halt. Without hesitating, he jumps into action. “Joel, stop! Fuckin’ let him go! Let him go!” He reaches down to pull him off.

“Look at what he did to her! Fuckin’ look at her!”

Tommy turns his attention to you, and the color drains from his face. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes out, shocked by the mark around your neck. He has half a mind to step back and allow Joel to finish the job, but with you, Ellie, and Maria watching on in terror, Tommy doesn’t have a choice. He grabs fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt and tries to tug him off the man he’s about to kill. “Fuckin’ let him go, Joel! Right now! That’s an order!”

Luke’s attempts to fight him off grow weaker. His face is beaten beyond recognition, and there’s a pool of dark red growing under him, dripping from a deep laceration he’d sustained from the being slammed head first into the mirror. His hands fall from around Joel’s wrists. He’s close to losing complete consciousness.

“Joel, let him go!” Tommy bellows. “Now!”

“Tommy, be careful!” Maria warns him, worriedly.

Somehow, he finally manages to peel Joel off Luke. He shoves him up against the nearest wall, pinning him in place. Behind him, Luke coughs and sputters violently, gasping as he frantically tries to breathe some air back into his lungs.

“Fuckin’ let go of me!” Joel growls, his eyes wild as he drives his fists into Tommy’s chest. “I’ll fuckin’ kill him! Let me fuckin’ go!”

Tommy cups Joel’s face in his hands and tries to meet his gaze. “Hey, look at me, I need you to calm the fuck down—I said fuckin’ look at me, Joel!” He demands. “I need you to calm the fuck down. I know that he fuckin’ deserves it, alright? Trust me, it’s takin’ all the strength I’ve got in me not to fuckin’ let go, let you kill the son of a bitch. Hell, there’s a part of me that wants to help you fuckin’ do it! But it ain’t the way we handle things here. M’gonna need you to take a breath and calm down, big brother. If anythin’, just do it for her sake, alright?”

Joel’s chest heaves, his breaths rough and ragged as his eyes flicker over to you. His heart sinks at the sight of you sobbing uncontrollably in Ellie and Maria’s arms.

Groaning, Luke rolls over onto his stomach and spits a mouthful of blood into the floor. “You can fucking have her,” he rasps, looking up at Joel through swollen eyes. “Keep her. Keep the useless little whore.”

Blinded by white hot rage, Joel starts thrashing around in Tommy’s grasp and tries to break loose. “Fuckin’ call her that again you fuckin’ son of a bitch—”

“Shit.” Dropping her arms from around you, Ellie steps forward, standing protectively in front of both you and Maria.

“Get the fuck off me, Tommy! M’gonna fuckin’ kill him!”

Maria tucks your face into her shoulder. “Don’t watch.”

“Joel, fuckin’ stop it already!” Tommy struggles to keep him in place. “You’re scarin’ her half to death!”

“I don’t fuckin’ care—”

Tommy’s fingers curl around the collar of his shirt. He slams Joel back against the wall so hard, the mirror, or at least what’s left of it, falls. The square frame breaks in half when it hits the floor.

“Well, you should fuckin’ care! She’s pregnant, Joel.”

You lift your head from Maria’s shoulder. “Tommy.”

Ellie spins around on her heel to face you. She stares at you with wide, round eyes. “You’re fucking pregnant?”

Joel looks over at you. Just as shocked, if not more.

“What?”

Tommy grabs his chin, forcing his older brother to look at him once more. “It’s true,” he murmurs quietly. “So please, just take a goddamn breath and calm the fuck down. For her sake—and for the sake of your child.” He releases Joel’s shirt and takes a careful step backwards towards Luke, who is still groaning in pain on the floor. Once he realizes Joel isn’t going to charge him again, Tommy turns around and grabs the injured man by the lapels of his jacket, pulling him up to his feet in a rough, careless manner. “Get the fuck up,” he says. He drags him towards the door. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Tommy? Where are you taking him?” Maria questions him.

“Town jail. M’gonna throw his sorry ass in a fuckin’ cell and leave him in there ‘til we figure out what to do with him.” He glances over his shoulder. “I’ll get the council together for an emergency meetin’ tonight.”

“Jesus,” Ellie mutters under her breath as soon as they disappear. “Did this really just fucking happen?”

Chest still heaving, Joel glances down at his bloodied, torn knuckles and then turns to you, his eyes meeting yours. The tension between the two of you is almost palpable.

Maria lightly clears her throat. “We should probably get out of here,” she suggests. “Let’s head on over to mine and Tommy’s while we wait for him to get back.”

“Are you cold?” Ellie asks, worriedly.

She holds up a blue fleece throw blanket she’d dug out from the hallway closet despite you warning her not to snoop around the house while Maria’s in the bathroom tending to Joel’s hand.

Shaking your head, you sigh, “I’m fine.”

“But it’s cold in here.” She drapes the blanket over your hunched shoulders. “Can I get you something? Water? Are you hungry? You should probably eat something—”

“Ellie, please stop with all the fussing.” You pat the spot on the couch beside you. “Just sit here with me. That’s all I need right now.”

Nodding, she sits down and angles herself toward you, getting a closer look at the wound you’d been left with.

“Shit,” Ellie mutters under her breath. Grimacing, she lifts a hand and gingerly presses her fingertips to your neck in disbelief. “Fuck, dude. How bad does it hurt?” She touches a particularly sore spot on the column of your throat and you hiss in pain. She retracts her hand and sputters an apology, “Fuck, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Wincing, you assure her, “It’s fine. It’s just a little tender right now, that’s all.”

“A little?” she scoffs.

“Okay, maybe more than a little,” you admit.

Ellie observes you for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“It’ll heal, Ellie. It looks worse than it really is.”

“No, I mean—” Pausing, Ellie moves her hand, placing it on your stomach. “Is the baby okay?”

You glance down at yourself, almost as if you expected to see something different about yourself, but then you remember you’re only about six weeks along and there is nothing to see, no significant changes to your body. Perhaps it’s the reason why there’s a part of you having a hard time grasping that Ellie’s asking if the baby was okay. If your baby is okay.

After a minute, you nod. “Yeah, I think so,” you reply softly, putting a hand over hers.

Relieved, Ellie flashes you a small smile. “Good.”

“How are you two doing in here?” Maria appears in the living room with Joel trailing behind her. His right hand is wrapped up in a white bandage.

“We’re okay.” Ellie glances at Joel. “You okay?”

He gives a quick, subtle nod of his head. “M’fine.”

“We can take her home now, right?” When Ellie doesn’t ge the immediate response she’s seeking, she shoots him a tiny little glare. “She’s coming home with us, isn’t she? I mean, she fucking has to come home with us.”

He still doesn’t answer her question.

All Joel can do is stare at you, jaw clenched and his lips pressed into a tight, thin line.

“Hey, Ellie, how about we go into the kitchen and make some tea?” Maria beckons to her with her hand.

She snorts. “Seriously? Who the hell wants fucking tea after that fucking shitshow—”

Maria pins her with an exasperated glare. “Ellie.”

“Oh shit, okay. I get it now,” Ellie quickly realizes it’s simply an excuse for the two of them to leave the room. Dropping her hand away from your stomach, she jumps up to her feet and wraps her arms around you. Her hug is brief, but full of warmth and reassurance, as if she’s silently telling you everything’s going to be alright. She releases you and follows Maria to the kitchen, leaving you and Joel alone.

Nervously, you stand up, your knees wobbling.

You feel torn—torn between wanting to run over to him and jump into his arms, and wanting to run away in the opposite direction to find somewhere to bury your head in shame. You’d promised him he had nothing to worry about, swore to him you couldn’t bear a child, and now here you were, carrying his and putting a responsibility on his shoulders he didn’t ask for. A responsibility that, surely, he doesn’t want.

On top of everything else he’d been through with you.

No, because of you. And now this?

Somehow, you muster up enough courage to speak.

“Joel,” you squeak his name. “Say something.”

“You sure you’re pregnant?” He asks, quietly. He stands across the room, making no move to come closer.

Swallowing harshly, you nod. “I’m sure.”

“How long have you known?”

“I only just found out yesterday,” you swear.

“And Tommy and Maria fuckin’ knew before me?”

It’s hard to tell if he’s angry or if he’s disappointed—not that either was a better option than the other.

“I was here with them yesterday in the afternoon. I got sick out of nowhere. Maria’s the one who suspected it and suggested I take a pregnancy test when I realized I haven’t had my period since August. After the first time that you and I—well, you know.” Shifting from one foot to the other, you continue to explain, “It never even fucking crossed my mind, Joel. I didn’t notice anything. I didn’t notice the symptoms. Missing my period, the dizziness, and the nausea. I was so busy trying to keep myself from fucking falling apart without you that it all went right over my head.”

Joel’s harsh expression suddenly softens.

“I took the test. When the results turned out positive, I just lost it. I fucking lost it, and I told Tommy and Maria everything because I was scared.” Your voice breaks, and a tear slips out from the corner of your eye, rolling down the side of your face. Several more threaten to follow, but you blink them back. “They offered to help me, Joel. They wanted to get me out of the house last night, but I was too fucking stubborn. I didn’t listen to them. I thought I’d be fine for one more night, but when Luke came home, he wanted to be intimate with me.”

Joel sucks in a sharp breath. His anger boils in his veins all over again. “And did he—he touch you like that?”

“No, of course not. I didn’t let him. I couldn’t let him. I told him not to touch me and I pushed him away.”

“Then what happened?”

“I told him that it was over. That our marriage was over and I was leaving. That’s when he took off his belt and he—” Gesturing to your throat, you start sobbing again as images of the night before flood your mind.

Luke had done pretty horrific things to you before, but this?

This had been the worst of them. He almost killed you.

“Baby.” Joel rushes over to you and pulls you right into his arms. “Shh, darlin’. S’alright,” he soothes. “S’alright, you’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Whimpering, you met into his touch, the very touch you have been missing with every fiber of your being. “I’m so sorry, Joel,” you croak into his chest. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

He pulls away slightly, peering down at you. “Sorry? For what?” Without even giving you the chance to answer, he assures you, “There ain’t nothin’ for you to apologize for, sweet girl. Alright?”

You let out a tearful scoff. “Joel, I’m pregnant. And it’s fucking yours,” you remind him, the guilt in your tone loud and clear. “Don’t you remember how worried you were about it? And how I told you that you had nothing to be concerned about?”

“Don’t put it all on yourself, peach.”

You almost smile.

Oh, how you’ve missed hearing him call you that.

“Look, this is on me too, baby. Part of me knew there was still a possibility, but I didn’t care. All I cared ‘bout was makin’ you mine every fuckin’ chance I got.” Joel’s hand cups the side of your face. He chuckles nervously and says, “Y’know, at one point, I kinda thought I was at the age where I’m shootin’ blanks more than anythin’ else. Guess we were both wrong, huh?”

“Joel—”

He cuts you off. “And if you’re worried I’m upset ‘bout you bein’ pregnant, you’re wrong ‘bout that too, darlin’.”

Surprised, you blurt, “You mean, you want the baby?”

Now it's his turn to be taken aback.

“Y’thought I wouldn’t want it?”

“Yeah,” you confess, sheepishly. “I thought you would be mad about this, if I’m being honest, Joel. I wasn’t sure if you’d even want anything to do with it.” Noticing he’d taken some offense to the notion that he wouldn’t want his own child, you exhale a small sigh and place a hand on his chest. “Come on, Joel, can you honestly blame me? When you were the one who was so damn worried about me getting knocked up in the first place? Wouldn’t you have thought the same if you were me?”

He grazes your cheek with his thumb. “Can’t lie to you, sweetheart. I probably would have.” Letting his hand fall away from your face, Joel takes a seat on the couch and pulls you down onto his lap. “Sure as hell wasn’t in my plans to have another kid in my fuckin’ fifties. But y’know, the idea of having a little one runnin’ around, it ain’t all that fuckin’ bad.” He pauses, adding with a faint grin, “‘Specially if he or she happens to look like you.”

Relieved, you lean into his chest, shoulders sagging in exhaustion.

“You alright?” Joel murmurs, pressing a kiss into your hair.

Burying your face into his neck, you breathe him in. “I am now that I’m with you,” you confess as he wraps his arms around you, holding you tighter than he ever has before.

“M’gonna take real good care of you, darlin’. Both of you,” Joel reassures you, softly. “Nothin’s gonna hurt you, baby. S’long as you’re with me, nothin’ or no one is ever gonna hurt you ever again. Swear it on my life.”

#fic: a safe haven #fic: ash #joel miller series #Joel Miller angst #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #tw: dv #tw: domestic violence #tw: pregnancy

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charliemwrites · 5 months

Text

Part 5 of kidnapper/kept pet series:

You’re trying again with Johnny.

Or, more accurately, Simon is going to bring Johnny over so that you can (hopefully) adjust to him. Desensitize, at least. Warm up, best case scenario. Simon knows better than to get his hopes up.

He tries to set up for success though. Tells you that he’s bringing Johnny over this time. You make an annoyed noise, scrunch up your face. But he can see a little bit of intrigue in your eyes. You really could use a little more socializing.

He preps Johnny this time too. Reminds him that your shy (standoffish) and cautious (feral). Not to make any sudden movements towards you, or try to grab at you. If you come near enough to touch (unlikely) it’s in his hand’s best interest to let you make first contact.

“Be patient, she’ll come ‘round,” he reminds as he lets Johnny in.

And you, in pure spiteful fashion, are no where to be found. Simon sets Johnny up with a beer and goes searching, finds you curled up on the sun porch angrily crocheting.

“Time to come inside, feral.”

“But he’s here.”

“He’s not so bad, I like him.”

“Exactly.”

You fuss and grumble, but ultimately there’s very little you can do when he scoops you up. He brings you inside, your crocheting things in one hand, you secure with the other. Johnny watches your little parade with arched eyebrows. But he doesn’t say anything.

You get deposited on the couch, a scritch to the back of the head that makes you scowl even as you lean in a bit. Johnny has taken up residence in an armchair a healthy distance from you. When you eye him distrustfully, he chuckles and pulls his shirt collar aside.

“No tags this time, stray.”

You scoff and turn back to your crafting. Simon takes the other end of the couch, knows you’re a bit keyed up today. There, but not imposing on your treasured personal space. You settle in, more or less, though your eyes keep flicking to Johnny while he and Simon talk.

He’s much different from Simon; it’s why he wants you two to at least tolerate each other. You need the enrichment. He louder, brasher, more energetic. Eventually, you slink off to the kitchen for a snack.

“Grab us another beer, eh?” He calls.

You stalk out with a scowl. “I’m not a dog, get it yourself.”

Simon huffs with amusement as you curl up on the couch again, nibbling on your snack. Johnny points at you, empty beer in hand.

“You’re ill-mannered.”

“Says the guy that doesn’t know ‘please’.” You hop off the couch and retreat to your room.

Simon shakes his head, though his eyes crease with amusement. “Keep fucking around and you’re gonna find out. Again.”

“You spoil her,” Johnny complains.

Simon sighs. He still doesn’t get it.

“She’s not a pet, yeah? I’m just keeping her.”

“What the difference?” Johnny groans, standing to get another beer.

“A cat is a pet. A panther is not.”

“Och, and she’s a panther, is that it?” Johnny rolls his eyes.

“I don’t want her domesticated, Johnny. I want her taken care of just the way she is. If you’d stop pissing her off, you’d see why.”

Johnny grumbles, but lets it go. Lets the thought sit. Considers all the things in this specially made house just for you. The tv, the overcrowded bookshelves. The plants for you to attend to and the craft supplies lying about. The room that is yours alone, off limits to johnny, even simon rarely enters.

When you emerge again, it’s because there’s food. You’re hungry and demand a plate from simon, hovering at his elbow while he makes it up for you.

Johnny makes more of an effort, keeping all the things Simon told him in mind. He knows your unlikely to speak to him unless antagonized, so he talks at you - a lot like how Simon did when you first started out.

Luckily for him, Simon’s paved most of the way for him here. At first you pretend to ignore him, but eventually you can’t help it, he is a very engaging story teller after all. So you end up watching him openly, eyes darting from his face to his waving hands to his shaking shoulders.

You’re so focused that he and Simon even manage to coordinate Johnny giving you dessert, him getting close enough to touch as you take the slice of cheesecake from his hand. He’s careful not to touch, doesn’t want to break this spell.

But the real victory of the evening comes when he’s actually stopped paying direct attention to you. He’s still got some cheesecake left, more focused on talking than eating, as usual. And unnoticed, you slip from your chair, circle him and…

“Oi, did you just-? Get back here!”

In a move of pure strategic genius, you tuck up behind Simon. First out of caution and a little genuine fear for his reaction, then when you see him floundering, out of safe smugness.

“Ah, yeah, should have warned you about that. She likes to ‘share’.”

Several times now, you’ve eaten directly off his plate, off his spoon, from his fingers, even. You especially like doing it when you think he’s not paying attention.

“Feral brat,” Simon chuckles, “I would have gotten you more.”

“Tastes better when it’s Johnny’s,” you reply.

#my writing #cod #fanfiction #reader fic #thoughts™️#ghost x reader #simon x reader #x reader #john soap mactavish #dark fic

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konigbabe · 1 year

Text

heavenly sin

Pairing: RE4!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Tags/warnings: smut (pure unfiltered filth, no plot); voice kink; p-in-v sex; unprotected sex; female gendered anatomy; female masturbation; fingering; cunnilingus; established relationship; no y/n; references to Christianity and ferocity; extensive wordplay

Summary: It's been known that Leon is one kinky bastard.

A/N: Written as part of my A to Z kinks game. N is for narratophilia aka being aroused by sexual storytelling.

Tried something a little bit different to explore my knowledge of English. A wordplay of sorts (I basically threw random words together in hopes that it'd make some sense). Bon Appetit.

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“You enjoying yourself?” As Leon discards his gloves, casting them aside like insignificant relics, you feel the pillow crumple beneath his weight. A testament to the force of his being. The air feels sizzling hot, thick with heat and suffocating in its intensity. “If I knew my words would get you so riled up,” his other hand cups your breast, thumb circling the erected nipple and watching as goosebumps rise over the sensitive skin, “I’d do this much sooner.”

It started as a joke, a fleeting spark in the sea of banter. Leon’s flirtatious nature entwined in perfect harmony with his tender heart.

Fresh out of the shower, your heart longed for the man whose sudden departures have become routine. A standard in your life.

The sun made its final descent below the horizon, the sky painted in shades of amber and gold – the bedroom awash in a warm and inviting glow, as if every object was kissed by the sun's final rays. The light filtered through the sheer curtains, creating patterns on the floor that danced like flickering flames.

And in the midst of it all, Leon's call came through, cutting through the stillness.

The conversation began innocently. Calling to let you know he’ll be home soon. It was as though his tenderness was butterfly's wings, fluttering in your chest and making your heart skip a beat.

His sincere words slowly spilt over into something else. Something more. Something promising.

It’s now that the phone lies next to your ear, and Leon's voice, like a silk ribbon, unwinds into your consciousness, stirring a deep and primal desire within you. Building the anticipation need inside you.

“After that, I’d bent you over the table. You’d already be naked and dripping,” Leon’s voice a song of Solomon, “but I’d be far from done with you.”

A gasp, soft and quiet, escapes your parted lips. Every fibre of your body, every cell is set on fire. The setting sun casting flames over your naked skin of yours. Flesh burning. Body wrapped in a cocoon of passionate flames – your palm pressing against the sensitive nub, the pressure light as a feather. Slow, languid strokes of your fingers follow Leon’s words.

Muscles tightening as the pressure keeps adding with each sentence. Slow and steady. With a pace of a gentle stream. Dipping one finger deep inside your slick walls, only to stop when you reach fully inside.

A stream of docile moans flows from your throat.

“Just to feel you take my cock. Hear those gorgeous gasps as you beg me to give it to you,” hand gripping the messed-up sheets underneath you, squeezing tight as you add another finger, curling them upwards.

“Rough, just how you like it. Pretty sure we’d break the table,” Leon’s words are accompanied by a light chuckle, hiding much more sinister and vivid ideas inside his head.

The way his name rolls off your tongue makes him cuss. Your voice carries the weight of longing, desire, and devotion. Making Leon wish to finally be home.

“Fuck. Could spend all day between those lovely legs of yours.” Leon’s voice descends to a low murmur, tinged with raw, feral hunger.

With a touch as tender as a butterfly’s wing, thumb circling the aching nub of nerves; it ignites a wildfire of ecstasy within your body. As you lightly graze your opening, feeling the softness of your slick walls, a delicate gasp escapes your mouth, akin to a prayer of submission to this moment of pure passion and pleasure.

“Just to taste that pretty pussy of yours on my tongue.”

Leon's voice pours into the phone, rich and sinful. You hear the front door open with a soft creak, the sound echoing through your body. He's finally home, his presence filling your senses with a heady aroma of musk and lust, a tantalizing potion that you can't resist.

He gazes at you with eyes like storm clouds brewing with desire. The air is thick with the scent of sex and your yearning, hanging in the dimly lit bedroom, resembling a heavy fog. You keep your gaze locked with his, transfixed as Leon strides in, his figure outlined by the glow of light seeping in from the hallway.

You don’t stop–

–instead, your fingers delve deeper. Nails grazing the tender walls, the slight discomfort only adding to the pleasure. Like a deer caught in headlines, your eyes stay on his.

The sound of your slickness echoes in the room as you thrust in and out, unconsciously matching the rhythm of Leon's steps – left in, right out, left in, right out – a dance of carnal desire.

And just like that, he stands on the side of the bed.

Leon’s eyes gleam with a fierce intensity. A perfect blend of predatory sensuality and effortless ease. With the grace of a pather; clad in a black henley shirt, the first two buttons undone, exposing the slight curve of his clavicles. It molds to his chiseled form as though it was a second skin, making Leon exude a primal magnetism that draws you closer to your high.

Spellbound by the scene in front of him – by you; fingers deep inside, eyes glazed over with orgasmic ecstasy as your work yourself to your high.

The air is thick with the sweet scent of your desire, a heady aroma that fills his senses with an overwhelming urge to indulge in your rapture.

He steps closer, placing one knee on the bed. The mattress creaks under his weight, but his gaze never leaves yours. It's as if you're the only person in the world that matters to him right now. The heat emanating from his body is palpable, and you feel your heart race as his presence commands the room.

“You enjoying yourself?”

His tone is low. A seductive purr sends a wave of electricity through your veins. Hot like molten lava. Dripping like honey, sweet and luscious. They linger in the air, coating everything around you with a sticky warmth.

His name leaves your lips in a deep sigh. Soft walls squeeze your fingers.

As he discards his fingerless gloves, casting them aside like insignificant relics, you feel the pillow crumple beneath his weight. A testament to the force of his being. The air feels sizzling hot, thick with heat and suffocating in its intensity.

Leon’s arm flexes, the sinewy muscles bulging when put to work. Your eyes lock onto his, drinking in the raw masculinity and primal allure of his being. A contented moan escapes your lips, an instinctive reaction to the overwhelming sensuality of the moment.

“If I knew my words would get you so riled up,” his other hand cups your breast, thumb circling the erected nipple and watching as goosebumps rise over the sensitive skin, “I’d do this much sooner.”

His towering form casts a shadow over you as he leans closer. Lips so close you can almost taste the desire that emanated from him. The heat of his breath dances across your skin, making your senses swirl in a dizzying haze of lust; igniting a fire that burns with the intensity of Samson's strength.

“Wanna gimme a kiss?” he whispers, his lips almost brushing against yours. You’re still able to feel the soft graze of the plump skin atop of yours, sending a fluttering sensation to your heart.

You can't help but feel intoxicated by his voice, each word rolling off his tongue with a silky smoothness that sends shivers down your spine. It's almost like he's casting a spell, using his voice as a weapon to ensnare you in his grasp. And you willingly surrender, caught in the web of his honeyed words; like Delilah, powerless to his will, swept away by the power of his seduction.

Lips grazing his, you push your face upwards to be closer. The kiss is both gentle and fierce; a tantalizing dance of lips and tongues that leaves you breathless and wanting more. The taste of him a mix of mint and spice. You stop the movement of your wrist between your legs. Stilling, feeling the wet squeeze around your fingers, your mind becomes a blank canvas, a vast expanse of nothingness.

The taste of him lingers on your tongue as he pulls away. Thick fingers wrapping around your wrist, he nudges your fingers out of you. A displeased grunt leaves your lips at the sudden emptiness. Only to have your breath stop; watching as Leon brings your hand, fingers visibly sticky with your juices, tongue swirling around the tip of your index finger before taking two of the fingers in his mouth. It’s as if he’s tasting the forbidden fruit, savoring the flavor of your arousal like the sweetest nectar.

Feeling the wet tip of his tongue swirl around your fingers, you can’t help but let out a soft moan. The rough texture brushes over the pads of your fingers. Licking every drop of you off of your fingers, leaving them clean before he licks his own lips.

“Missed that taste.”

His eyes never leave yours, dark and intense with desire as he slowly releases your hand.

“Missed you almost that much too.”

His words wash over you like a warm embrace, seeping into your pores and settling deep within your bones. As his body moves over yours, his hands glide across the burning expanse of your skin, tracing patterns of passion that leave you breathless in anticipation. The soft touch of his lips on your navel sends ripples of pleasure through your body, each sensation building on the last until you're gasping for air.

Leon sinks to his knees at the end of the bed; his movements smooth and graceful. Years of never-ending training left him in full control of every muscle. Arms sliding underneath your knees, he holds you firmly as he grips your hips with unyielding strength.

A single tug. Confident in its prosecution. He brings you to the edge of the bed, your glistening cunt hovering in front of his face. The sight of him there, between your legs, both captivating and overwhelming.

The wet tip of his tongue peaks from within his kiss-bruised lips.

Before you know it, you’re completely undone. A mess. Leon's tongue turns your body into a temple of pleasure; his movements sinuous and calculated. With each flick and swirl of his tongue, he's coaxing you to heights of ecstasy.

His tongue traces every inch of your throbbing cunt, flicking and teasing your clit as you squirm beneath him, one hand grasping his soft hair while the other squeezes your breast. His fingers, thick and rough, plunge deep inside of you, finding all the right spots to drive you wild. Each thrust of his hand sends jolts of pleasure through your body, making you moan and writhe with need.

"Such a fucking filthy little thing," he growls against your skin, the heat of his breath making you shiver. He devours you with his mouth and hands, taking you to the brink of ecstasy and back again; fingers scissoring and pumping, working you over until you're a quivering mess of desire.

The blunt pressure of the tips of his fingers pressing mildly against your inner walls sending pinnacles of bliss across your body until you’re mewling at the sharp pleasure that ripples down your spine.

You claw at the sheets, unable to control the waves of sensation that crash over you.

And then, with a final, shuddering gasp, you let yourself go, your body convulsing in waves of pure pleasure. Ecstasy; Leon’s name a sweetened melody on the tip of your tongue.

He stands up afterwards, a towering figure before your eyes. Your aching legs fall from his shoulders onto the bed. Leon looms over you, appearing almost god-like, a divine being sent to ravage you with its passion.

Disposing of his shirt, you lay on the bed motionless, senses on high and in anticipation as you watch the man strip. With every article of clothing that comes off, Leon’s body reveals itself in all its glory. Shoulders and chest sculptured, shaped by years of intense training. Someone who’s worked hard to achieve such a physique. Rippling muscles that flex with every movement he makes. His arms thick with veins and biceps that bulge with raw strength, capable of holding you up effortlessly. You can see every ridge of his abs, each one chiseled to perfection.

“Enjoyin’ the view?” he rasps after ridding himself of the last article while you shamelessly stare at Leon’s sheer size and the strength of him.

“Very much,” you breathe out when he crawls on top of you.

His cock rests atop your stomach, heavy and pulsing with need; leaking as he marks you in his precum. Yet, neither of you moves. Unbothered, you remain locked in his gaze before his lips capture yours in a short passionate kiss. Drawn together by the irresistible pull of gravity, your lips meet in a collision of desire and longing.

Legs wrapping high around his waist, his hand leaves the side of your neck and travels the side of your body, igniting a trail of heat as it goes. Leon strokes the length of your thigh, only stopping when his fingers rest under your knee momentarily. Then you feel the blunt tip press against your aching cunt. The anticipation inside you unravels like a tightly wound spool, releasing a flood of sensations that spreads throughout your body.

“Ready?” he breathes out; his warm breath tickles your skin as his lips brush against yours once again.

The silky texture of his hair brush against your fingertips. Legs tightening around his upper body, you pull him closer to you. “Yeah.”

The pressure against your throbbing cunt intensifies as Leon presses forward. The crown of his cock splits you open with ease, enveloping him. Welcoming him eagerly in your wet heat. As if he belongs there.

Leon’s touch’s electric, sending shivers down your spine as he claims you with each bite and kiss. His teeth graze your chin, softly nibbling at the skin as he lets out a guttural grunt. Keeping one hand on the side of your neck, possessive and tender, surely to feel the rapid pulse of your jugular vein, he hooks his thumb underneath your jaw and pushes upwards.

When your head is tilted upwards enough to his satisfaction, his lips latch on the front of your neck. Small, quick bites decorate the stretched skin. Followed by a wet kiss, he sucks on the skin. Vulnerable and exposed.

Moans cascade from your lips, an ode to his cock splitting you apart slowly. A divine intrusion into your depths, filling you.

He stills when he’s buried balls deep inside of you; bottoms out in your quivering walls, slick with post-orgasmic arousal.

The feeling of fullness, of being completely filled, is almost too much to bear. Your breath hitches in your throat, body trembling with pleasure as it strains to accommodate him; to make enough space to take him in.

Your eyes flatter shut as he waits, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck while his hand cups the underside of your breast with his thumb teasing your nipple in a leisurely manner.

A moment of content falls between you. Bodies molded together; two halves of a whole.

After a few seconds, you press the sole of your feet into his skin, feeling the taunt muscle contract underneath you.

A subtle but unmistakable gesture. A wordless plea for more.

A fuck me of sorts.

Your body speaks volumes, a language he's learned to decipher. And with a low growl, he responds to your invitation. A low roll of his hips. A test of your readiness. It becomes a measured beat that tests your strength, the pressure of his cock firmly pressed against the walls of your cervix.

It has you sent into a harmonious frenzy.

Leon continues with the rhythm. Relishing in the tight squeeze of your cunt, in the way you sing for him, his name a sacred hymn on your lips. Your body responds eagerly to his touch, every nerve ending on fire as pleasure courses through you.

His hands sear a blazing trail on your burning flesh. Every touch feels as if he’s branding you, etching himself onto your skin.

The wetness of his lips causes goosebumps to raise on your skin. Moving like a reverent prayer. Worship of your body as his tongue swipes over your sensitive nipples.

Your name escapes his lips and is met with a low moan.

Tantalizing and peaceful.

Leon’s unhurried movements slowly transform into something more. Rough and hasty. Teeth nibbling at your jawline, feeling the bone underneath the skin, your nails bite into the tight muscle of his shoulder blades. Surely to leave indents that will bloom into bruises and marks. Your back arch, offering yourself up to him as you focus on meeting his thrusts.

As his hand wanders down the length of your body, his fingers dance along the curves of your waist and hips before grazing the globes of your ass; giving it a rough squeeze before wrapping his fingers under your knee and pulling away from your neck.

Meanwhile, his other hand braces his body weight by your face. Leon’s fingers entwine around your ankle. Pushing your leg up and over his shoulder, you moan over the painful stretch of your hamstring as he gazes at you.

He moves with a frenzied urgency. Lowering himself to rest on his elbows, his fingers find their way to your clit.

The way he flicks over the sensitive nub elicits a series of moans and cries from you only to be silenced by his lips crashing onto yours.

The kiss is wet and messy. Hungry. Both of you eager to take and dominate, his tongue dancing with yours in a frenzied manner.

It's like he's a man possessed, lost in the rhythm of his movements and the feel of your body beneath him. You writhe and moan, lost in a haze of sensation and desire as he takes you higher towards that ultimate release. That sweet orgasm. Every motion is a symphony, a perfect blend of power and finesse, as he explores the contours of your body with a deep hunger.

Mind becoming blurry, your senses are consumed by the raw, primal desire Leon elicits with his thrusts. Moving to brace himself better, it feels impossible when you feel the blunt pressure hit even deeper than before. Gasping, you move your hips, trying to take him as deep as possible.

The smell of sweat and sex fills the air, and you can hear the sound of skin slapping against the skin as Leon moves with increasing speed and intensity. His determination to tear you apart only grows each time your hips meet, sending bolts of electricity throughout your every cell. His thumb flicks over your clit, applying pressure and circling the aching bud until you’re quivering underneath the mass of a man above you. Inside you.

The sound of his grunts and moans blends into a symphony of pleasure, each note building up the tension within you. You feel like a volcano on the brink of eruption, bubbling with molten passion until it finally snaps. Erupts.

A tidal wave of pleasure washes over you. Sweeping you in a vortex of delight. A thousand stars explode in your mind, each one brighter than the last, painting your vision with vibrant colors. Your body convulses, spasming in rhythm with the waves of pleasure that ripple through you.

Gasps leave your lips. Desperate for air, you cling to Leon, whose thrusts never wavered. Whose fingers continue to tease your clit, now throbbing and exploding with sensitivity. His eyes lock on yours, lips parted with low moans escaping from between before you bring his face down to you, swallowing each cry of pleasure but eventually, he pulls away.

You watch as Leon’s eyes snap shut, brows furrowing in pleasure as he stills. His full length buried inside of your spasming cunt, filling you up with his cum.

Your body’s spent. Yet your mind’s still reeling from the sheer intensity as Leon remains buried inside; his breath ragged and uneven before he pulls out with measured slowness, teasing your oversensitive clit with a gentle tap. You shudder at the sensation of him trickling out of you.

“Hi.”

The simple word leaves your mouth in a breathless whisper. A mere welcome that was meant to be addressed when he first entered your home instead of now. A warmth spreads through your body, settling low in your belly as you take in the sight of him; the way his blond hair falls across his forehead, resembling a halo of an angel. Cheeks tinted in light pink and lips curved into a small smile as he looks at you.

“Hi.”

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youunravelme · 2 months

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Who are some other writers we should check out?

Love your fic recs 😁

omg i LOVE this ask! (and i love that you trust me to rec things/blogs/fics! it's a huge honor)

i'm gonna put this under a read more because there's a lot of people i think are worth following (and if i rec'ed you and got your pronouns wrong, please tell me and i'll fix it!)

so i'm gonna attempt to organize this list by player. disclaimer: i don't read for every hockey player in existence.

mat barzal (obvi number one bc he's the loml)

@barzysunflower - lolo (she/her) is the first mat barzal writer i actually read and when i tell you i binged her masterlist???? it's so good, my favs are the you are in love series and the unexpected series!

@thewintersoldierdisaster - literally anything she writes is great, i go feral for it tbh. she writes for a few canes players as well, but my favs are the mat fics (for obvious reasons being that i'm in love with him). especially the fics with the baby (whose name i cannot remember) and when mat calls reader squeaks???? i'm in love.

@islesnucks - clara (she/her) has so many good mat fics and headcanons (seriously, headcanons are underrated and need more love in general). i think she was also a writer that made me fall in love with mat because she just writes him as the dream romantic hero every single time.

@hockeywhy - i am almost positive that they are tired of me tagging them, but the truth is, they are the writer of my all time fav mat series caught in the middle! but they also have other great mat fics and matthew tkachuk fics that i've enjoyed almost as much! i don't think they're as active anymore writing wise BUT if you want amazing writing and haven't checked them out, you should!

auston matthews

@bagopucks - ella (she/her) hands down my fav auston series is her single mom!reader series. it's the perfect balance of angst and found family and it's just flat out wonderful. she also has a masterlist full of other fics too, that series just happens to be my favorite. but if you wanted another fav of mine, read the jack hughes fic "a little funky," it's about a reader with ocd and as someone with ocd, it was really impactful!

jack hughes

@chewingcyanide - emme (she/they) literally writes the most poetic fics i think i've ever read. everytime she publishes something new, i am stunned. seriously, i honestly take notes from her writing style. stories aside, if you wanted to become a better writer, check out her stuff, it'll really inspire you to use more descriptive words! her breakable heaven series is what introduced me to her writing and it's phenomenal!

@babydollmarauders - faithlynn (she/her) i'm almost positive that faithlynn was the first hockey writer i really followed because jack hughes was my gateway drug into the hockey world. she has so many fun series and aus going on not only for jack but for other devils players, so if you love the devils, definitely check her out!

@jackhues - naqia (she/her) also has a really fun series called mockingbird and it's technically more focused on the friendship/brother-sister relationship jack's gf (reader) and quinn have but it's really sweet. she also has a great auston au as well!

others

@ladylooch - b (she/her) is great! i put her in this category because i feel like she writes a lot for a lot of different players. i've loved her stuff with nico and mat alike. she also has a pretty consistent schedule as well from what i've gathered (which, girl, share your secrets please)

@troubatrain - kim (she/her) wrote my fav beau fic (set it up) and has written some really good fics for matthew tkachuk too! i absolutely adore the soccer player!reader fic and the blurbs that go along with it!

@comphersjost - m (she/they) again, i've said it once, i'll say it again SHE WROTE MY FAV MATT SERIES OF ALL TIME (all for you). I GO BACK AND READ IT OFTEN. literally had me weeping at times. she also wrote some other fics for auston that i've really enjoyed as well!

@sydnikov - sydney (she/her) has written some realyl great fics for andrei and some for nico hischier and jack hughes (and a few others i think, but those are the ones i've read) and they're just fantastic! she's also a canes fan if you want more canes content!

feel free to reblog this with your own author recommendations (in fact i highly encourage it! there are so many good writers on this godforsaken site and these are just the authors i find myself reblogging every time they post!

#kenn's fic recs #fic rec #screaming crying throwing up #author fic rec #ask

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sugar-omi · 9 months

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Kinda a request but also not: I would like to see jealous/possesive!MC bc I've been somewhat lurking in the tags, and I haven't seen any of it besides one person scraping an idea of both Cove and the MC being yanderes for each other. Like I'm insane about Cove, ik I'm not alone 😭.

It would be super interesting to see how a jealous/possessive!MC responds to Baxter during the step 3 prologue when he hits on Cove. 🤭

i can ramble abt this forever n ill prbly end making a part 2 to this lol pls even a few of my first post have a lotta jealous/possessive reader w a light yandere theme since im not completely in the scene but the possessiveness makes my brain churn LOL <333

tags : Suggestive, step 3, slight yandere theme, jealous/possessive reader

synopsis : you might be a bit too possessive with cove. but if he loves it and it sets the record straight, what's the problem?

when baxter starts making subtle flirtatious comments to cove, it makes your head spin

of course you know your boyfriend is attractive!

you've seen the way tourists look at him, and when you were still in school, you heard and saw the way other students ogled and giggled to each other about how cute cove is.

unfortunately, you can't just put a collar on him with your name on it. although a small part of you thinks cove might like it.

so even after baxter gets the idea that you're both taken. (not that it needed to be said with the glare on your face and the way you straighten up, pulling cove into you)

you still go to some lengths to make sure he remembers that

instead of just holding his hand, you'll pull him into your lap of you can, wrapping your arms around him and kissing his shoulder/neck occasionally

and if you're in cove's car after a dinner date, and baxter just happens to walk out of his condo where he can see you stretched over the middle console, tangling your fingers in cove's hair and kissing within an inch of your lives...

well that's just a coincidence <3

and if you're coming back from a trip at the beach that was getting much too steamy with your hand dipping under the leg of cove's swim shorts, and run into baxter on the way back

you won't easily admit that it brings you too much happiness to see cove fidgeting, itching to get away so he can be alone with you, and how baxter's eyes widen a bit at the blooming marks on cove's skin

if you can put the grudge aside enough to hang out with baxter during the "sightseeing" moment, then of course the topic of dating and crushes comes up

baxter smiles when you say that cove has only ever been with you, and vice versa.

of course you note the melancholy look on his face, and you feel like he's being sarcastic. or at least half-hearted in his well wishes

maybe the look on your face is a bit too much on the sour side, but you don't worry about that. "cove and i will certainly spend the rest of our lives together. our souls are intertwined after all."

your smile is a bit sickly sweet, but you move on anyway

I wanna talk a bit abt cove though...

yk how in step 2, if you punch/scare/cuss at jeremy, cove admits that he likes it?

I think he knows and sees how jealous, how possessive you are and feeds into it sometimes

it makes his heart beat (and even turns him on) that you're claiming him in any way

he sees how you pull him into your lap, or how you hold onto his arm, or how you kiss him even more when in front of baxter

he knows that when you ran into baxter, you find too much pleasure in how he squirms. and when you finally get back to his room for a little privacy, you're almost feral with how you touch and kiss him

he sees the way you leer and smirk when baxter walks by you two, and cove flushes because even though he's embarrassed bc baxter definitely saw you making out, he's also a bit... excited by it

it doesn't make sense, and it embarrasses him more just thinking abt it, but it just makes him feel so warm and tingly when you act like this that it overrides his shame <33

#olba #our life: beginnings & always #cove holden #cove holden x reader #cove x mc #cove x reader #cove our life #our life cove #cove holden x mc #yandere #yandere reader

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gffa · 8 months

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I cannot even BEGIN to describe how feral this trio of characters makes me, like set aside any potential shipping stuff, just as three characters who each have unique relationships with each other but each of those relationships winds up affecting the other character in this trio. Like-- Dick and Babs are sometimes a team together, two young heroes who are developing a friendship, two young heroes who understand what it's like to work with Tall Dark and Spooky and his need to control everything, that they both understand the other has a need to prove themselves, a drive that will not be stopped no matter what Batman tries to tell them. And eventually they will have an unshakeable relationship, whether romantic or platonic, they will always support each other. And Bruce will use that dynamic to help give Babs gear that will keep her alive until she ~wises up~, and Dick plays along with it, pretends that he's giving it to her because he has a crush on her, meanwhile it actually came directly from Bruce. Yet it also does help give her a sense of someone rooting for her, because Dick genuinely is! Dick and Bruce have a whole encyclopedia set of issues and undercurrents totally separate from this, god knows I've devoted like two hundred posts to trying to chip off even a fraction of Whatever Is Going On Over There, while here they're not yet father and son, but they're not not at that point at the same time, they're just not acknowledging it, but they're also partners, they tag-team Barbara with the good-cop/bad-cop routine when they have her in the Cave to ask why she's doing this, but Dick will turn on a dime and spray her with the knock-out gas, even though he'd projected a harmless aura and sneakily being on her side up until then. Bruce and Barbara have a conflict-driven dynamic, she wouldn't mind having his approval, but it's not why she does what she does, she's not driven by it, she's not motivated by it, this isn't about him. But when they clash, she's often mad as hell, because he wants to treat her like he treats Robin, someone that he can set the rules for, someone he has the right to interrogate and she tells him, no, you don't have a monopoly on helping people or even wearing a Bat-themed symbol. He's not an influence in her life and she genuinely does not want him to be, but at the same time he casts such a long shadow and he's set the mold for all of them, that he's an influence in everyone's life in the Gotham vigilante scene.

And I keep thinking of that one future Gotham Knights issue where Dick tells Bruce that he and Babs are dating and she's so annoyed because SHE wanted to be the one to tell Bruce just so he didn't get to pretend to be all-knowing on her, when Dick just laughs in her face because she's being so cranky and weird about it, he thinks it's hilarious that they're trying to use him as a pawn in whatever chess game they have going between them, because he loves them both but also he's not going to play by those same rules, you guys have fun with that, he'll just watch with popcorn from the sidelines and laugh at you.

Just!! The slippery and sliding dynamics between these three!! At ANY GIVEN TIME two of them could be going through something that spills over onto the third and you never know which two it's going to be! And it's complicated and thorny and crunchy in the best way, there are always good moments and bad moments, and no two dynamics are the same, like what Barbara has with Dick is completely different from what she has with Bruce, which is completely different from what she has with her dad, while what Dick has with Barbara is completely different from what he has with Bruce, while what Bruce has with Dick is completely different from what he has with Barbara, and I'm not sure any other trio really comes close to that (other than maybe Bruce & Tim & Steph, but other than in a few runs, I'm not sure how much of a foundation that is to who the characters are to each other on a bigger narrative level). It's not that they don't exist outside of each other! It's very easy to find Bruce & Dick stories that aren't influenced by Babs at all, it's very easy to find Dick & Babs stories that aren't influenced by Bruce at all, it's even reasonably easy to find Bruce & Babs moments that aren't about Dick at all. They're not all tied up in each other. But they have built their foundations around each other. Bruce, because Dick was the one who knocked down his emotional walls and opened his heart up to having a family. Dick, because Bruce raised him and gave him a path forward in life, gave him direction. Barbara, because if she's going to love Dick (as a friend or as a boyfriend, whichever), he doesn't come without the Bat influence and she has to be aware of the space that takes up in him, as well as if you're a Bat yourself, you're eventually going to clash with Bruce, and boy has she.

And I'm just really, really into that kind of "multiple moving pieces on the board" dynamic, especially when it's not always nice or soft, because each of them care about the other (some more than others, granted) but they are all massively stubborn and often angry people who do not get pushed around easily, who will find a way around you if you try to get in their way, and you never know which two are going to be in conflict and just how that's going to spill over onto the third. I JUST REALLY LOVE DYNAMICS THAT DON'T FIT NEATLY OR EASILY INTO A SINGLE CATEGORY.

SORRY NOT SORRY ABOUT HOW UNHINGED I AM ABOUT THEM WHILE READING THIS COMIC.

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #dick grayson #bruce wayne #barbara gordon #not really #dickbabs #but not NOT dickbabs either idk #batgirl year one #long post

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aheckinmess · 2 months

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Fire in the Hole [Bakugo] (Fluff)

(One-shot 2/? in a collection of My Hero Academia one-shots posted regularly on Saturdays.)

Read on AO3.

Tags: Bakugo x OC, Katsuki Bakugo, Dynamight, Pro-Hero Bakugo, Pro-Hero OC, Feisty OC, Fluff, Fluff with maybe a little angst, one explosion boy.

Word Count: 1,202 words

Summary: Everyone knows that Dynamight can be a hot-head. But Tigress notices that his aggression is doubled when directed at her, and she's in for a wild surprise when she finds out why.

Author's Note: This one-shot isn't a part of a series, so if you're ever looking to see what character I'm writing for, I'll give a character name and whether it's angst, fluff, or smut in the title. Enjoy!

Ichijiku (Tigress)

It’s a little off-putting to say the least when Dynamight starts acting weird around me. Every time we team up against villains, he seems to get more feral and aggressive towards me. Granted, he’s always been feral and aggressive…but he really likes laying into me.

Today he pushes a little too far. I step into his agency to visit a friend and he roars his displeasure.

“WHY THE HELL IS THIS DAMN CAT HERE AGAIN?!” He bellows at me. “YOU’VE GOT SOME NERVE–”

My fist swings around to meet his face and he blocks it with surprisingly quick reflexes. I use the momentum to slam my foot up into his stomach as I scream at top volume, pumping fear into him.

I’m not surprised when he lands a hit into my side, but I remain on my feet with bared teeth.

“Stop treating me like a damn disease, Dynamight!” I hiss. “I came here to visit a friend, not listen to you complain!”

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” He grits his teeth with a glare at me.

I try not to admit to myself that he makes me feel warm inside. That despite his abrasive exterior, I appreciate his authenticity and the subtle ways he takes care of others. Even though he hides it.

“Ichan! You made it!” Sayuri chirps from behind. Her face instantly turns into a scowl as she wraps an arm around me and guides me away. “Leave my bestie alone, Dynamight. We’ll be back.”

“You’d better. I don’t pay you to goof off, Phobos.” He growls.

“We’ll be fifteen minutes, tops, pretty boy.” I huff over my shoulder.

“You better make that ten, extra!”

“I’ll make it twenty if you piss me off!”

. . . . .

Lunch with Sayuri has become habit at this point. It’s friend time carved into the week in order to help me maintain my mental sanity. I recline at the table as we wait for our waitress.

“So, how are you and Kiri doing these days? I miss hearing about my besties!” I giggle, smiling at the waitress as she comes by to take our drinks and orders.

“He’s the best! And I’m sorry we haven’t been keeping in touch much. You know with the move we’ve been pretty stressed. And there’s been a tick in crime this fall season.” She surveys the area as she says it before grinning. “But aside from that, things have been well. It still seems crazy that we’ve already been married for six months.”

“It feels unreal.” I agree, before the waitress brings our drinks.

I get quiet as I sip my tea and look at Dynamight’s bright sign for his agency next door. Why is he so mean to me anyway? Little brat is asking for a visit from my claws. I don’t realize my facial expressions show my thoughts so loudly until Sayuri speaks up.

“Sorry about Dynamight. He’s a bitch.” She chuckles, sipping her water. “I hope it didn’t bother you too much. I know sometimes loud noises are hard for you.”

“Is he always like that?” I ask, wondering if maybe I’ve been exaggerating how he behaves around me. I’ve always heard he’s a hothead, so maybe I’ve just been walking in at the peak of his tantrums?

“To an extent,” Sayuri begins, before looking thoughtful and adding. “He always seems more aggressive towards you now that I think about it. Did you do something to piss him off?”

“I knew it!” I set my chair all the way down just as the waitress comes by and drops off our sushi. I pull out my chopsticks as I sigh. “I don’t know what I did to him. All I know is that every time I enter the room, he targets me. I swear it’s like he’s got a tracker on me.”

“Yeah…I’m sorry. I know you like him.” She shakes her head and pops some sushi in her mouth.

“It’s nothing serious.” I shrug, even though it hurts more than I bargain for.

While we both pause to savor the flavor, I start turning over memories of fighting with Dynamight. Even since the first time we worked together, it feels like he’s only ever had it out for me. In fact, I barely interacted with him that first time. What the hell is his problem?

We make it back to Dynamight’s agency exactly fifteen minutes after we left thanks to quick service at the sushi shop. When we walk in, Dynamight’s busy with a group of rookie sidekicks.

“You idiots! You’ve got to try harder. If you keep making little mistakes like that, they’ll pile up and it could mean someone’s life instead of a faulty budget. Go fix it!” He hisses, but it lacks the venom he uses with me.

“See?” Sayuri whispers. “I don’t get it. The little shit.”

When the rookies move away, he notices us and his face twists in anger.

“There you are! I told you you had ten minutes!” He snaps.

“And I told you that we’d be back in fifteen.” I stand firm, glaring at him.

“Shove off, Dynamight.” Sayuri rolls her eyes and storms past him, looking professional and ready to work. I don’t miss that she stops just outside her office to watch us, though. When we don’t go for each others’ throats, she steps inside.

“I have a question for you, Dynamight.” I say with piercing eyes. “What did I ever do to piss you off?”

“Tch. You’re wasting my time. I’ve got an agency to run.” He turns and stomps off.

I head towards him for a moment, before I clench my fists and start walking back downstairs to leave. Not worth the energy. Just a stupid crush. I’m rounding the corner of the stairwell when I’m shoved into a dark, empty room.

“Goddamn it…how do you do it?” Dynamight’s voice growls in the darkness. When I squirm, he grips my wrists and turns on the light. His red eyes bore into mine, pupils huge. “What made you think you’d pissed me off?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you’re meaner to me than everyone else.” I growl, despite the growing attraction buzzing in my chest. I shield it with anger. “It doesn’t matter when I’m here, you always single me out!”

My pulse picks up speed as I struggle to maintain eye contact, but he’s a lot stronger than me. At least in this moment. He grips my chin with his hand and gets closer to my face. My eyes flicker to his lips for half a second.

“Don’t you understand anything?” His calloused thumb rubs my cheek, making me meet his eyes again. “I’m only more pissy with you because you make me feel like doing this.”

His lips capture mine and I could swear his quirk extends to my heart as an explosive force draws my arms around his neck. I tangle my fingers in his hair before pulling my other hand down to rest at his chest until we both pull back, our expressions much softer and uncertain.

“You know…you could have just told me that instead of making me think you hated me.” I swallow thickly.

“Whatever.” His cheeks tinge the slightest shade pink. “I get off at 7. You like sushi, yeah?”

“I do.” I smirk.

“Then your ass better be here by 7:05.” His lips ghost my ear before he leaves.

#mha fanfiction #mha one shots #bnha #bnha fanfiction #my hero academia #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugo #dynamight #kacchan #bakugo x oc #katsuki x oc #fluff #okay maybe fluff with a little angst #after all it's our favorite explosion boy #feisty oc #original characters #ichijiku

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toxicanonymity · 10 months

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Do you ever struggle with feelings of discouragement or inadequacy if your fics don’t do as well as you had hoped?

I’m struggling with that myself. I try not to get so hung up on it but it’s very hard, especially when something I’m so proud of doesn’t do as well as my other works.

I don’t even feel motivated to write bc I don’t wanna set myself up for disappointment

Discouragement, sure, I think that's natural sometimes. But I really don't feel like stats have anything to do with adequacy. Baring my soul, yuck. But fuck it we ball. Sorry it's a long answer.

I don't think I've ever answered a serious ask aside from the time i created Dr. rock which hardly counts but I've seen a lot of people struggling with this lately and hope this might be idk comforting to a person or two without leading to debate/discourse.

You mentioned something you're proud of isn't doing as well as your other works, and I can see how that would be disappointing. For laughs, I'll compare 2 of mine. These fics are impossible to compare (as are most, I think) but I def understand the urge to measure yourself against what you see as the potential. Aches: <1k popular trope I banged out in no time, wasn't sure about it, literally thought "people don't have to like it" before I hit post. >4 notes per word. Left in Lincoln: >22k posted so far, challenging, writing it for months. Has possibly driven me crazy bc I had this passing thought the other day and not about TLOU. (I didn't feel like re-reading it all): "I should just rewatch the movie. . .wait." 🤡 The whole Lincoln series combined has fewer notes than Aches lmao. But it's far more rewarding in getting to see it come to life, quality of engagement, and stretching myself 😏. It's not for everyone, for various reasons. Surely would have better stats without the twist I went with. But at what cost??

-------

Often, if people don't read or like something, it's a reflection of their own interests, limitations, and assumptions. And the right "fit."

I don't rly read much in general, but specifically, I rarely read long stuff (if I do I prob scan a lot tbh). I normally only want, if any, just enough plot/premise to build sexual tension. I don't read fluff or angst. I don't have the attention span / commitment to get invested in original characters. I tend to avoid stuff similar to what I'm working on. I make assumptions - If there's no word count, maybe it's too long. I know a lot of the fics I skip for these reasons must be fantastic. Assumptions I experience - I've seen very popular fics in the wild that strike me as dark, creepy, or pervy but aren't tagged that way. So some things that are tagged dark, etc., including plenty of mine, might not be dark in the way people assume based on their own ideas, or based on what others do tag. Also some people think I only write dark when sometimes it's just horny (see master list).

I've sometimes found myself thinking "It sucks more people don't read this bc i bet they would enjoy it" (not just my own fics). It might sound egotistical but I think it's often true.

------

Of course I want engagement because that means more people reading something which can mean more interaction, discussion, learning what you liked, what you think, etc. that's what I love.

But notes aren't rly near the top of what I care about, even though it does feel great to get them and I truly appreciate every single one.

Night walks doesn't get nearly as many notes as some of my other stuff, especially these days, but it's fun to write and I like to feed his feral fans who only get more into him with time. Same with raider: among those who do read and engage, I sense rising enthusiasm, thirst, and rate of falling in love with him (my bad). That's all worth more than 1000 likes to me. I have a good time writing these guys, so I write them more than other ones that get way more notes 🤷. I'm not saying notes don't matter at all, I know they affect exposure and engagement. But if just did what gets notes, I don't think I'd have such high quality engagement bc I'd just bang out more stuff with the most popular tropes instead of our fave Joels and those destined to become our faves bc they offer something special.

My outlook was the same before I had so many followers btw. Rock Bottom (22k) was what I felt like writing, still more ambitious than anything I've done in the Halloween fandom. I was disappointed it got way less attention than my one shots, but I know it's a banger, just certainly not for everyone lol.

I'm sorry for what you're experiencing and feeling, but I think it's very common and hope you can reframe it to not feel inadequate. I especially hope it doesn't discourage you from writing. ❤️

#ask #how the sausage is made #toxicanonymity writer's room #this doesnt mean i answer serious asks now lol

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attorneys-against-court-violence · 9 months

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Alright sit down I'm ranking Dual Destinies culprits. Spoilers abound!

Just going to list my thoughts on all 5 culprits in order of beloved to beloathed. Expect me to be mean.

Marlon Rimes

Easily the most nuanced and sympathetic of them all, and a well-written one to boot! His grudge against the orca is understandable, yet flawed in a very human way. He had no intentions of harming anyone - in fact he wanted to save his co-workers from what he saw as a dangerous animal. When Sasha was arrested he went out of his way to lie in order to get her off the hook. When push came to shove, he accepted his sentence to save her and punish himself for unintentionally setting up the Captain's death. It's all the more heartbreaking that Azura wasn't even killed by the previous orca, rendering all of his hatred and actions resulting from it irrational and unfounded. He sort of reminds me of both Simon and Aura in a few ways; taking the fall to save a friend, trying to enact revenge on someone he saw as a crazed, emotionless animal... his plight has plenty in common with both. 5-DLC gets a lot of praise in my books for its parallels to the main conflict (not that the other cases lack them) and Marlon is no exception.

The thing that makes Marlon so compelling is that he isn't a monster. He doesn't even have much of an ego, calling himself too weak to save anyone. He's a man who acted on his rage and made a dreadful mistake in doing so, trying to right his wrongs and eventually being forced to give up and admit that he had no right to do what he had done. Even agreeing that he had no right pruely on the basis of it causing someone to die inderectly. Him being rehabilitated at the end is the feather-on-the-cap to show that he's someone the characters genuinely care about and wish to do better in spite of his flaws. It took a while and plenty of evidence, but the Captain's words finally got through to him and he's a lot better for it. His animations are wonderfully creative, by the way! Turning the spyglass into a faux microphone, re-using the bucket of fish for a Popeye-esque transformation, the name-tag turning into a rapper's gold chain, his breakdown turning the witness stand into both a helm and a set of prison bars - so much visual creativity with this guy! It's such a treat.

The worst I can say about him is that the rapping is a bit of a stereotype. Yes, this is the same game that body-shames the one fat character, has no idea what a trans person is, and... well we'll save that part for later. No one enjoys that. That said, I'm willing to say the good far outways the bad here. It lead to one of the funniest witness testimonies in the series so I can't be too mad!

2. Ted Tonate

What a peculiar character... semi-verbal, anti-social, obsessed with explosives, and overall a strange specimen to behold. It doesn't feel like he has a specific quirk more than it feels like everything about him is off-beat, ranging from uncomfortably still to absolutely feral. I like it!

More importantly - while he did commit murder and assault - he does serve an important role in the plot and is not completely incompetent or heartless. That courtroom would have become a graveyard without his warning, after all! He's a bit like Frank Sawhit where he'll resort to physical violence under pressure but doesn't seem to have intended to kill necessarily. Difference is Frank was a common thief, while Ted's a bona-fide member of the police's bomb disposal unit who - black market deals aside - actually carries his duties out and does a good job. Nice little misdirection there too. That opening monologue fits the phantom better than Ted but we don't figure that until near the end. It doesn't erase the fact he's done some terrible things but at he's not a monster. Just a woefully anti-social guy who doesn't respond well to being called out.

Dual Destinies gets a surprising amount of mileage out of its Case 1 antagonist and it's a treat to watch. There's plenty that case does to give the game a bad first impression, but Ted's not one of them. He can stay!

3. Aristotle Means Aaaaaaaand we've nose-dived. Prepare for snark.

Means is emblematic of a much larger issue with Dual Destinies; it doesn't seem interested in treating the main conflicts of its cases as much more than generic good vs evil despite having an abundance of material to make things more interesting. Yes, I know Ace Attorney culprits aren't the most 3-dimensional bunch - usually the character conflicts they cause are the most interesting parts. Though they usually make things fun by being smarmy bastards. Means is just repeatitive. It's one thing to be a shallow bad guy, it's another thing entirely to beat you over the head with a single catchphrase without putting any spins on it. Manfred has the same one-track mind in his philosophy but he never felt this aggressively tedious about it. There's also the fact that, well... the ends DID justify the means in the end. Dual Destinies' main conflict would not have been solved without Aura taking extreme measures to save Simon. Having that while saying "doing bad things is bad no matter what!" with this guy makes him feel all the more flimsy and misguided. Him wanting to save Juniper and honour her wishes by any means necessary is a nice way to add flavour to the conflict but it's grossly overshadowed by him being a flat cartoon for the most part.

I feel like there's a sorely missed opportunity here for him to point out that Phoenix Wright also exercised that philosophy at times. Yes I'm talking about forging evidence in 4-1, it would have been a nice way to make his conflict with Athena more interesting. Pointing out that her boss is an exemplar of "the ends justifies the means" - especially with Apollo in the same room - is an idea that fills my brain with thinks. Might have even been the reason why he invited Nick to the academy too... oh well. It takes a lot to bouy a one-track villain like him up as it is without actively adding more baggage through redundancy and lack of presence. He doesn't even do much of anything or have a chance to BE evil before his hair stands up like other villains. He's just. Annoying. I know I keep comparing him to Manfred, but imagine a version of him that didn't do anything until the tail-end of the last trial and with none of the backstory and gravitas. That's the level Means is at.

A crappier Manfred. Joy to the world!

4. ???

YOU COULD HAVE BEEN SOMEBODY! YOU HAD SO MUCH POTENTIAL! Hell, he arguably does have dramatic weight as-written. He's the embodiment of the distrust and denial of ones true feelings/identity that has caused this racket in the first place. Dual Destinies as a whole is a game about people who put on masks to do what they feel is right or necessary, then being forced to take the mask off, confront themselves and their actions for what they truly are. Having a villain who's hidden his identity this entire time is such a fitting choice! It's just a shame that he, oh you know, it's small thing it doesn't really matter... DIDN'T HAVE AN IDENTITY WORTH HIDING TO BEGIN WITH!!! Dual Destinies beats you over the head about how scary this guy is for having no personality. And that's exactly the problem. When you spend that much time telling people the villain isn't worth caring about then that's what people are going to take away. Nevermind that his personality for most of the game was a goofy detective man who valued JUSTICE! above all else, a man who is willing to question his own definitions of it despite what others may think but still allows it to justify doing awful things like zapping Simon. Maybe that could have been the answer! That he allowed his perception of JUSTICE! to warp so much that he became this ghoulish ghost who kills and commits acts of terrorism without remorse. His life being threatened when his literal mask falls acting as a metaphor for how he is unable to confront himself for who he is and what he's done; he, in his own eyes, would be the least justified of them all, and so he has forsaken his identity to avoid that truth. A truth that would spell the end both within and without.

But no. The game does everything in its power to tell you he's a hollow, empty husk of a human being. More importantly, even if the above was the case it doesn't do anything at all with the concept. It just comes across that his main conflict is "who tf am I?" Which is... oddly sad and worrying? Yes, I do think the idea of letting your true self go leading to awful, terrible things and the horror of realising that that's exactly what you did - even denying it or using it as a point of strength - is an interesting and befitting idea. They just don't do anything with it before he's already carted off to the pile of characters we'll never hear from again. There's nothing there by design to the point where it doesn't feel like there was anything he COULD have discarded in the first place. His lack of identity feels less like a concept the writers wanted to explore and more of an excuse to get a twist villain who could pretend to be anybody.

It's a diservice to both the story and to the false identity he had before this. "Bobby Fulbright" somehow ended up a more interesting character and he's the one who's chastised by other characters for being a simple idiot! And he was discarded for this guy! "Bobby" should have mattered more, both to the characters and to the phantom's identity. Not get an unceremonial "he was dead the whole time" reveal and be completely divorced from the phantom's character in every way the story can think to do. Erasure in more ways than one... no wonder people felt betrayed. In a bad way. You shouldn't feel betrayed by the writing if it's any good and that's how plenty - myself included - felt. Oh, and having the only character who's low/no emotion be the shallow bad guy is not a great look... I'll say it again; the problem isn't that he's the antagonist. It's that he's not a well-written one. A psychopath would be fascinating as a character in ANY role in this psychology-focused mystery game if Dual Destinies had the gall to make one that's actually interesting. Remember what I said about Means crushing the conflict into something too simple for the concept behind it? The phantom does that on a wider scale and it deals a massive blow to Dual Destinies to have its overarching villain so infuriatingly empty and disposable. It makes themes of trust and masks I mentioned fall flat.

I'd rather Athena kill Metis over this. It'd be a similar concept with more justification behind it without completely dismissing the players emotional investment or cheapening the themes of the game. Or at least execute those things in a better way than this. In justice we trusted...

Sidenote: I was torn between ranking Means or the phantom here. While Phanty is definitely more interesting to talk about than the living staute, him sucking hurts more than Means due to his status as the main villain. It's easier to get away with being a shallow puddle when you weren't meant to swim much in it to begin with.

5. Florent L'belle

You'll notice I didn't put an emotional marker on this guy. That should tell you everything you need to know. At least the phantom makes me feel something, even if it is abject despair at how much of a gaping hole he leaves in the story. Florent just... I mean he's... His breakdown's creepy, that's kinda fun... I got nothing, he's just sort of there.

Lick a toad, you inferior Redd White. I'm going need to borrow Bobby's Jolt of Justice next time you show up.

At least I'd feel something that way.

#dual destinies analysis #dual destinies spoilers #ace attorney spoilers #aa5 spoilers #aa4 spoilers #marlon rimes #ted tonate #aristotle means #the phantom ace attorney #florent l'belle #lotta text in this one watch out! oooooo!

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the-teapot-hatter · 1 year

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Off Script | Character Roles

So, when I first thought of this Au, I was thinking of a Fantasy Au. Of course, if anyone likes the concept of the Au and wants to use it for a Modern Day Au, by all means. All I ask is that you tag me, because I want to read your work! ^^

Aside from that, before actually writing anything for the characters, I figured I would assign them roles in the fantasy setting.

I wrote this in a way that it can be read off as if it was a description for a route in an otome; Or at least attempted to do such.

| Heartslabyul |

Riddle Rosehearts -- The young heir to the Dukedom. He's always working to make sure the territory is thriving. He's said to be extraordinarily strict, and will fire anyone of his works that doesn't match his perfect standards. Wonder why that is?

Trey Clover -- He works at the popular bakery in the Dukedom that is revered by nobility. It is even said that he personally caters to the young heir's social parties. He seems relatively easygoing, but perhaps he has something to hide?

Cater Diamond -- He works at a local newspaper company, and as such, typically has all of the latest information available to the public! He has such a friendly personality, that most everyone knows him and is friends with him. Though, there are some rumors that he works for an information guide. So, maybe it isn't the best idea to trust him?

Deuce Spade -- A new guardsmen working at the Dukedom. He isn't the smartest, but he's got the spirit! And he's strength and abilities are no laughing matter. Some say that it's because he used to be a criminal back in his youth. But there's no way that can be the case with such an upstanding guardsman, right?

Ace Trappola -- He's the Baron's boyish second son. Seeing as he isn't the heir, he's known for goofing around and never taking anything seriously! More often than not, he can be found at the casino, gambling away. Though, it is said that he often disappears some nights to somewhere unknown. Even the maids working for him have no clue where he could be disappearing off to. Surely, it isn't anything illegal.

| Savanaclaw |

Leona Kingscholar -- He's a brutal pirate known for his cut throat declarations. He won't hesitate to sail over anything and anybody that get's in his way. Selfishly claiming everything as his own. It's rumored he's the second prince to some far off country, but surely that's just a rumor.

Ruggie Bucchi -- A well-known thief that has been seen interacting with the ruthless pirate Leona Kingscholar. He plunders from town to town, and for some reason that guards have never been able to catch him. It has never been found out why he steals so much, but it's assumed it's because of his greed.

Jack Howl -- An up and rising star on the Military's Navy. It's even said that he's gotten close to catching Leona Kingscholar! It's believed that the pirate got away due to Jack's gruff nature and unwillingness to work with others. That has to be the reason, right?

| Octavinelle |

Azul Ashengrotto -- An up and rising merchant that was rewarded the title of Viscount due to his contributions. He's been one of the only people that has managed to get supplies across the sea without interference from pirates. He seems to be an honest businessman. Aren't the people so blessed to have him on their side?

Jade Leech -- One of the Marquis's Leech twin sons. The one that is said to be the most likely heir. They deal with information. It is said that there isn't a thing that the Marquis Leech's do not know and will not find out. It is said that they prioritize honesty above all else. Surely, they aren't hiding anything themselves.

Floyd Leech -- One of the Marquis's Leech twin sons. He's known as being violent and getting into fights at taverns. However, the guards never seem to be able to find anything on him to arrest him. It's even said that he's taken up a job as a mercenary and goes off to fight feral monsters that have lost their humanity. Perhaps someone like that isn't completely bad.

| Scarabia |

Kalim Al-Asim -- He's the Duke Asim's oldest son. A family that is known for their trade all over the world and has even endorsed Viscount Ashengrotto's work. They're a friendly family that is known for helping those in need and throwing frequent parties. They seem a bit careless, but at least they're completely harmless.

Jamil Viper -- He's the loyal servant of Kalim. The Viper's have been serving the Asim's for generations. He's a butler that does anything and everything perfectly, but somehow still seems perfectly average. He's presence isn't typically noticed behind Kalim's.

| Pomefiore |

Vil Schoenheit -- Marquis Schoenheit is known for endorsing talent in the social industry. He's son and heir is just the same, and is frequently seen and places such as opera houses. He even has a booming business for perfumes and skin care products said to be made with magic. Such a business couldn't hide anything heinous, could it?

Rook Hunt -- One of the Count Hunt's many children. He was known for visiting opera houses and hunting animals, until he suddenly became the heir apparent Vil Schonheit's guard. Considering many merchants have said that Rook is an appreciater of beauty it is believed that is the reason why he took up the position of Vil's guard. Though, strange enough, for as open as the man is, there is a period of time where his actions aren't recorded.

Epel Felmier -- He's one of the people endorsed by the Schoenheit name, said to have a talent for singing. So much so, that he has become a rising stare at the opera that people have started calling a "beautiful canary". For some reason, he always looks a bit sad.

| Ignihyde |

Idia Shroud -- He comes from the Earl Shroud family that is known for producing magicians. Idia is even the owner of the Magic Tower! Though, he never seems to leave. He's said to always be obsessively working on something. Wonder why that is?

| Diasomnia |

Malleus Draconia -- The Crown Prince Malleus Draconia. Not much is known about him except for the fact that he's extremely powerful.

Lilia Vanrouge -- The Archduke, one of the closest aids the Majesty Empress Dowager has. He has an extremely youthful appearance and a playful personality. One of the nobilities that commoner's feel comfortable approaching. But it always feels as though he is hiding something.

Silver -- A commoner that doesn't even have a last name that somehow raised in the ranks to become one of the Crown Prince's personal guards. The Archduke Vanrouge seems to be especially fond of him.

Sebek Zigvolt -- The Baron Zigvolts have served as guards for the royal family for generations. And Sebek is no different, being the other personal guard of the Crown Prince. He's known to be loud and actively look down on others. But, he's also strangely earnest and helpful?

| RSA |

Neige Blanche -- A commoner that was granted the title of Baron because of his skills as an opera signer.

Che'nya -- A merchant that is frequently in and out of the Rosehearts Dukedom.

| NBC |

Rollo Flamm -- The young pope of the church. Known for being fair, righteous, and exceptionally hard working.

#off script au #au concept #character roles #disney twst wonderland #twst wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland

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nirikeehan · 5 months

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word search game!!

YAY IT'S MY FAVORITE MEME. Thank you @theluckywizard for the tag! The words she gave me to search my fics for are CRACK, GRAZE, and HARSH.

Crack: From one of my Kirkwall Kops (Cullen & Samson working together as Templars) fics, The Greater Good — Cullen has been subdued by a runaway mage, and is powerless to stop whatever the apostate, Danyel, and Samson do next.

Above him, Samson and Danyel circled each other. Samson had his sword sheathed, his hands in the air. “Listen, Dany. Listen. It’s not too late. I know a guy, all right? I can get you in touch with him. He can get you out of the city. I just need you to calm down. Just calm down, and you and I can walk out of here, forget this ever happened.” They’re leaving you. Leaving you to die. The voice slithered through Cullen’s mind, and it sounded so much like Uldred’s that he began to shake. That’s what everyone does to you in the end. Samson had his arm around Danyel. “Hey, look. Where’s your staff?” The boy turned, searching for the fallen weapon. Cullen coughed, gasping for air. Samson looked up, his deadpan grey eyes meeting Cullen’s own. Samson inhaled once; without breaking Cullen’s gaze, he raised his mailed fist and slammed it against the back of the boy’s head. With a sickening crack, Danyel crumpled to the floor, unconscious. I love this bit because it really casts Samson in moral shadow — was he planning to help Danyel escape and had a change of heart, or was he deceiving the boy from the start and always meant to help Cullen? Plus what he does to incapacitate poor Danyel really is quite brutal. I wince every time I read it.

Graze: ahahahahah the closest I could find is "grazed" and uh. Well I've gone to an unpublished Thalia x Samson chapter for Through a Glass, Darkly that I pull out and work on when I'm feeling especially feral.

Thalia set to work unraveling the multiple braids she had plaited into her hair this morning. At last she shook it all out, so that her auburn hair hung in heavy waves about her shoulders and down her back. A stray strand fell across her face. Samson leaned forward, brushing it aside. His fingers grazed her cheek, rough and calloused and raw. Nails bit down to the quick, with dirt and who knew what else caked beneath them. Thalia shuddered. “I’m not a complete monster, you know,” he murmured. “I’d prefer you enjoy yourself, too.” Something in Thalia’s chest twisted painfully. “I don’t see how that will be possible.” Ahahahahah if you have to assure a woman you're not a complete monster, I think you're doing it wrong. There's a gentleness to him in this scene that sets my teeth on edge. I want to believe he's capable of genuine tenderness, but there's always this threat of violence simmering under the surface.

Harsh: A long ago DADWC fill envisioning a post-Trespasser reunion between Thom Rainier and Sera. This was the first time I conceived of Thom starting an ex-con merc company, I think.

“Well, well,” he said, “look what the cat dragged in, eh?” “Oi, Beardy!” Sera leapt clear over the desk and crushed him in a hug. “You know how long it took me to get here? Fucking tit.” Thom returned the embrace. She was easily a foot shorter and about a third of his width, but he was vaguely concerned she’d crack a rib if she squeezed any tighter. “It’s good to see you, too.” Sera released him and perched on the edge of his desk, kicking her feet in the air as she looked around. “Hell of a place you’ve got here, innit? Fixed yourself up real good.” “It’s had its ups and downs.” The success, though easily measurable by any metric, had left him with a sort of hollowness, though it was difficult to articulate why. Most jobs were clean and easy; the ones too messy or morally questionable he refused by default. He was doing good work out there, he knew it. He did not like to dwell on why it never felt like enough. Thom leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms.“Sera, why exactly have you come?” She let out an indignant huff. “What, can’t a girl go see her oaf-y old friend? I mean it — like, old. You’ve got grey in your beard now! Huh.” “Time is a harsh mistress.” Thom resisted the urge to run his fingers through the offending facial hair. “But that’s not really why you’re here, is it?” This is a world where Thom is thriving, but things never quite feel right. Thalia has married Cullen, and the tension between her and Thom never got resolved. I was low key envisioning a longer story where they reunite over the growing threat from Solas and the love triangle rears its head again, but I have a strict rule never to predict future canon, so I ended up leaving things pretty vague.

Thank you, this is always fun to do!

I am going to tag @oxygenforthewicked | @monocytogenes | @delicatefade | @ammoniteflesh | @bluewren if you would like to play! Your words to search are PLAYER, SIP, and FAVOR.

#word search game #meme

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no6secretsanta · 1 year

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The Things We Do For Love

To: signpainter1 (ao3)

From: @glorifiedscapegoatpegoat

Happy Holidays, signpainter! I really hope you enjoy this! Your prompt was really fun, and I was excited to work on this! It's been a bit since I've written anything, so I really hope I did it justice and that it brings a smile to your face!

~ 0 ~

Nezumi watched Shion slowly reached under the tree at Karan’s bakery. Anxiety zipped through him, a pool of discomfort in the pit of his stomach. Ever since they’d woken that morning, Nezumi had been on edge. The tips of his fingers felt numb and cold, his heart thumping in his chest and echoing in his ears.

He had no real reason to be nervous. He’d spent enough Christmases with Shion to know that anything Nezumi gives him is a certified home run. Hell, two Christmases ago, Nezumi couldn’t come up with anything suitable and simply drew a picture of an aster on a napkin from his dressing room at the theater where he worked and gave Shion that. Inukashi had mocked him mercilessly, but that same drawing had been pinned with honor above Shion’s desk at the Restructural Committee.

Karan sat on the other side of the room, a soft smile on her face. As Shion drew a small box out from beneath the tree, Nezumi saw her eyes dart to him. She’d helped him wrap the gift late last night; it’d been nestled comfortably in a box by then, and Nezumi knew she was curious about its contents. She’d helped demonstrate how to wrap the paper neatly, plopping a soft green paper bow on top.

The gift looked, at least on the outside, perfectly suitable. Nezumi’s heart clenched as Shion’s soft crimson eyes lit up. He looked over the small tag, announcing that it was to ‘His Majesty’ from Nezumi.

“Oh,” Shion said, sounding just a bit surprised.

Nezumi couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t known for exceptional gift-giving. Usually, Nezumi gave gifts in the form of acts of service. Small acts of PDA in public, which Shion enjoyed, or assisting in an arduous task. Time spent together rather than material items. Shion had come to expect such things from Nezumi, and so, the sight of a physical present, in a medium-sized box, no less, was an unanticipated surprise.

Nezumi fought back a smile. His blood buzzed as Shion’s fingers slid over the paper. This was the moment he’d been anticipating. He’d crafted scenario after scenario in his head, playing them over and over again as he’d drifted to sleep. He hoped reality was even a fraction as good as his imagination. If Shion appreciated the gift even a little bit, then it would all be worth it.

The world seemed to slow down as Shion quickly undid the wrapping paper. Shion had a methodical way of unwrapping things; ordinarily, Nezumi found it endearing, the way Shion tried to take care of everything he opened and avoid unnecessary wreckage. Today, however, he wished Shion would go feral and rip the paper to shreds. The brief entertainment would definitely be worth it.

After what felt like an eternity, Shion set the wrapping paper aside. He’d folded it into a neat square, placing the green bow on top. Nezumi’s fingers curled into a sweaty fist as he watched Shion turn the blank box over, gently.

The contents of the box rattled inside, and Nezumi’s stomach dropped. He hoped it hadn’t broken. He hadn’t really inspected it since he’d acquired it; he kicked himself. How could he have been that stupid?

“I wonder what’s inside,” Karan mused, tapping her finger to her lips. She gave Nezumi a knowing look, and Nezumi returned it, despite knowing that Karan was just as curious as her son. Perhaps she was anticipating something much smaller than the actual contents, something thin and silver. That would come much later, however, and Nezumi hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed.

Shion thumbed the tape on the side of the box and gingerly peeled it aside. He plucked the cover of the box open, and Nezumi’s vision tunneled until all he could see was Shion reaching into the box and withdrawing the contents.

It was about the length of Nezumi’s forearm—average, he supposed. The body was thin and curved, painted a deep shade of glossy black that caught in the morning sunlight. The flared base held a pair of gentle paws, and the rest of the body morphed into the shape of a sleek cat that disappeared into the wide lamp shade. Its little head, ears and whiskers and soft green eyes, peeked out from the top. The shade itself was crafted of dark pink cheetah print, speckled about with paler pinks and a few splotches of white.

The shade threw the whole thing off. The lamp would have been cute, Nezumi assumed, if the shade itself didn’t look so garishly out of place. The cat’s tail curled around the base and fed into where the cord would extend into the wall. Nezumi hadn’t seen the thing lit up, but he assumed it would cast a weird pink glow everywhere.

Karan’s expression flickered, but only for a second. She plastered a supportive smile on her lips and said, “O-oh, how cute. It’s a—”

“It’s the lamp!” Shion shouted, and the sheer joy in his voice banished the anxiety that’d gripped Nezumi for the past three days.

Karan seemed surprised by the excitement in Shion’s voice, but Nezumi just smiled. He laughed as Shion carefully set the lamp to the side, out of the way, and scrambled across the floor to drag Nezumi into a tight hug.

“Oh, my God, you found it!” Shion gushed, climbing into Nezumi’s lap. Nezumi shifted his legs and held him close, body buzzing with pride. “How? It—it was sold out! We went back to get it, remember? You couldn’t have bought it before then! You were with me the whole time!”

“I know,” Nezumi replied.

“Then how? Did you get Inukashi to get it for you?”

Nezumi shook his head.

“Rikiga?”

“Nope.”

Karan looked at the lamp and cocked her head. “You must have really wanted this lamp. It’s certainly… unique.”

“How did you get it, Nezumi? Tell me!”

Nezumi smiled and pressed a quick kiss to Shion’s forehead. “Never mind that. I’m glad you like it. All you need to know is that it wasn’t difficult to get.”

But, what Shion didn’t know and what Nezumi would never tell him was that it had been extremely difficult to get.

~ 0 ~

Three Days Ago…

“This doesn’t seem a bit excessive to you?” Inukashi asked.

Nezumi resisted the urge to shrug. It did feel a bit excessive, he supposed, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Whenever his resolve began to waver, he remembered the joy on Shion’s face when he’d found that stupid cat lamp in the thrift store, and the devastation when he’d dragged Nezumi out the next day to actually purchase it and found it had already been sold.

It was early in the evening, and Nezumi stood outside a squat brick building with Inukashi in tow. The building, at one time, had been a brothel, Nezumi knew. After things shifted and the Restructural Committee began making positive changes to the world around them, the brothel transformed into a restaurant. Nezumi had never been inside, but he’d heard stories.

Since the fall of No.6’s wall, Nezumi hadn’t asked Inukashi for any favors. Six long years of treating his former informant as an acquaintance and, if he were to accept Shion’s thoughts on the matter, friend, without expecting anything in return. It felt strange to reach out to Inukashi and ask for assistance, and even stranger to see how quickly Inukashi slipped back into it.

Perhaps they, too, struggled a bit with quelling that itch, that drive deep inside them that desired a return to the old days. Though things were notably better now, Nezumi couldn’t deny that old habits were hard to break. Sometimes he found himself dreaming of the freedom of the open road, the thrill of bartering and the poisonous kiss of living each day with the fear of death on the back of his tongue. He’d spent most of his life on the streets. It was difficult to simply dismiss.

“Excessive, maybe,” Nezumi replied. He left it at that, because before he could say anything else, the door to the back alley swung open and a tall, thin man in his early twenties stepped outside.

“You’re late,” Inukashi snapped, straightening their spine. They’d dressed in a black long sleeved shirt and a pair of simple slacks, but it was still strange to see them with shoes on. Nezumi knew it was only because they were planning to go inside the restaurant for Nezumi’s plan to work, but it was still odd.

“Yeah, sorry about that, man,” the man said. He shoved his hair out of his face. Sweat trickled down his face, and Nezumi’s stomach tightened. “Got busy. Things’ve been nuts in there tonight.” He paused, then reached out to shake Inukashi’s hand. “By the way, name’s Keita. Nice to meet ya.”

Inukashi waved their hand, and Keita dropped his. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Did you bring the thing?”

“‘Course.” Keita opened the back alley door leading into the restaurant. He reached inside and withdrew something large and gray from within. He plopped it out into the alley, and Nezumi suppressed a shudder.

It was uglier in person than Nezumi had imagined. He’d never been a fan of mascots, not even a little bit, but seeing them up close was much different than spotting them at a distance. The suit itself looked rundown and cheap, the eyes much larger and soulless than the pictures painted on the front of the restaurant. Why someone would choose a rodent as the mascot of a restaurant, Nezumi couldn’t guess. The irony wasn’t lost on him, however. He shouldn’t have inspected anything less from a restaurant that bore the name Bojangles’ House of Cheese.

Inukashi made a sound behind him that might have been a laugh. “Oh, my God,” they muttered. “I wish I’d brought a camera.”

“I’d kill you if you did,” Nezumi snapped back.

“Of course you would.”

“This here’s Bojangles,” Keita explained. “The rat himself.” He patted the mascot costume on the head. “Just finished the first performance, so there’s another one scheduled in about twenty-five minutes. You got the script I sent when you first contacted me, right?”

“Child’s play,” Nezumi said. It had been. The performances at Bojangles’ House of Cheese lasted only five minutes at a time, and there wasn’t much choreography involved. The script was minimal, at best, and Nezumi memorized it in a matter of hours.

“All right, all right. Love that for you, dude.” Keita smiled.

Nezumi swallowed back a frustrated groan. When he’d first tracked down the cat lamp from the information the owner of the thrift shop had given him, he’d hoped it would be easier than this. The man who played the mascot at Bojangles’ House of Cheese, Takanawa Keita, was easy enough to locate; however, to Nezumi’s chagrin, Keita had already given the lamp away as a gift to his boss, the current general manager of the restaurant. As far as he knew, his boss had the lamp in her office.

Bribing Keita into giving up his costume for an hour maximum hadn’t taken nearly as much effort as Nezumi expected. A few extra dollars and the promise of some green leaf, procured and provided by Rikiga, were more than enough to get the mascot’s actor to surrender his performance schedule and access to his costume, as well as entrance to the backstage of the restaurant through the back alley.

“The boss should be in her office,” Keita explained. “After the show, no one’ll think it’s weird if they see you going back there. She usually wants to talk about the guests, anyway.”

Nezumi exhaled. He’d run through the mascot’s schedule multiple times. He’d been just a bit surprised by how thorough the notes had been. When he’d first interacted with Keita, intelligence hadn’t been one of the traits he’d attribute to the man. But the notes depicted a thorough detailing of the mascot’s routines before and after the show, and Nezumi had no doubt that he’d be able to nail it.

“Here, dude,” said Keita, nudging the costume toward Nezumi. “He’s all yours.”

Nezumi cringed and picked the mascot’s cranium off the ground. It was… lighter than he’d anticipated, the fabric beneath his fingertips soft and plush. The costume looked ratty from a distance, and certainly no better up close, but the material appeared to be in decent enough condition.

“Really wishing I’d brought that camera,” Inukashi chortled, and Nezumi glared as he pulled the costume over his head.

Inside, it was much worse than he’d anticipated. Claustrophobic and reeking of sweat, the costume’s massive head obscured Nezumi’s vision behind a wall of black mesh. He could barely see through it, and the thought of being confined in something like this from head to toe made his blood chill.

It’s for Shion, he told himself as he plucked the body of the costume off the ground and stepped into it. He slid it up his shoulders, wincing at the warmth trapped inside and the damp sensation of sweat. It’s for Shion.

Through the black mesh, Nezumi could see Inukashi biting back laughter. The mascot stood beside them, an idle smile on his face. From the smell inside the costume, Nezumi concluded that he hadn’t been smoking anything recently, but definitely partook on more than a few occasions. No wonder, he’d been easy enough to bribe with the promise of some green leaf.

Once the whole costume was in place, Nezumi took a moment to catch his breath. It was difficult, the inside of the costume blisteringly warm and unpleasant smelling. Nezumi had spent years of his life in West Block, however, and considered himself a master of turning off his senses and compartmentalizing. He had a mission to complete—and Shion was worth the discomfort of the situation. If Nezumi had to humiliate himself a bit to get that overjoyed smile to return to Shion’s face, he would do it.

“Lookin’ good, man,” Keita drawled, and Inukashi couldn’t hold it back anymore.

They doubled over and laughed, harder than Nezumi had ever seen them. Nezumi watched, unimpressed, as Inukashi scrubbed their eyes and grasped their stomach.

“Are you finished?” Nezumi grunted, after a few moments. “We are on a time limit.”

“Yeah—yeah, hold on.” Inukashi coughed, wiping tears from the corners of their eyes. “OK, OK, I’m good.” They looked up at Nezumi and gave him a malicious grin. “You look ridiculous.”

“Shut up.” Nezumi’s face burned, and he was grateful that the mascot costume’s head covered his face completely. Inukashi would never let him live it down if they saw him blushing.

The whole situation was mortifying—but Nezumi swallowed his pride and endured it. It was only for half an hour, at most, and Shion was worth it.

“You know the plan, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, I know it,” Inukashi replied. They’d managed to pull themself together, though they still sported a vicious smile on their face. “See you inside, Bojangles.”

Nezumi narrowed his eyes, but the action went unnoticed. With another snicker, Inukashi left the alley and rounded the corner. The restaurant wasn’t nearly as busy as they’d expected it to be, but Nezumi didn’t mind. The less people around to witness this ridiculous charade, the better.

“All right, man, showtime.” Keita leaned back against the wall and drew a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it up, took a long drag, and exhaled a smoke ring above his head. “Taking a thirty minute paid break. Merry Christmas to me. Just make sure you keep Bojangles in one piece, yeah?”

“Sure,” Nezumi ground out.

“Cool.”

Nezumi suppressed a groan and ducked out of the alley and into the restaurant’s back stage. The heavy door slammed shut behind him, and the stench of burnt cheese and pizza dough slapped him in the face.

Between the scents inside the mascot uniform and the restaurant’s interior as a whole, Nezumi was beginning to feel a bit sick to his stomach. He quickly shoved the part of his mind that wanted to gag into the backseat. There’d be time to be disgusted after this whole thing was said and done.

For now, Nezumi had a mission to complete.

Memorizing the layout of the restaurant’s backstage hadn’t taken Nezumi more than an hour tops, and in less than two minutes, he found himself huddled backstage with a handful of costumed mascots all primed and ready for their routine performance. Despite the restaurant’s rat and cheese theme, Nezumi spotted a handful of mismatched mascots that he suspected were just gathered to keep children entertained.

A bright pink duck with false eyelashes and a frilly skirt looked over at him as he came into place. Quacksie, Bojangles’ best friend and the second most important mascot in the lineup. Keita had made sure he understood that. Quacksie might be all sunshine and rainbows, but the girl beneath the mask, Emiko, could be a real bitch when things didn’t go her way.

“You’re late, jackass,” Quacksie muttered.

“Uh, yeah,” Nezumi replied, doing his best to mimic Keita’s unbothered drawl. “Sorry about that.”

“Whatever. Just don’t fuck this up.”

Nezumi rolled his eyes. How could anyone mess up such a basic routine? Say a few lines, jump around like a lunatic, say a few more lines, then dip offstage. The whole thing seemed asinine, at best, but Nezumi wasn’t about to question the interests of children. The mascots were designed to keep them occupied while their parents drank beer and thought about something other than overdue bills and upcoming school events.

From the stage, the ancient PA system gave a loud squealing sound. A rusty voice, prerecorded, burst forth and announced, “Let’s give it up for our furry friends: Bojangles and the Skipperoos!”

An explosion of claps erupted from the audience. The curtain began to rise, but before Nezumi could step out, another of the mismatched mascots, a blue fox named Bluebell, slid forward and whispered to him and Quacksie, “Hey, uh, Aya’s not feeling good. She said she’s taking off for the night.”

“Shit,” Quacksie muttered. “Well, whatever. Let’s just do Show #3. We can manage that one without her.”

“Wait, what?” Nezumi asked, but Quacksie put her hand on the small of his back and shoved him out onto the stage ahead of her.

Wait—wait, no. This was not how this was supposed to go. Keita had never mentioned there being other shows. There was a schedule! Keita had only given him the script and choreography for this performance.

Panic spiked down his back as he took his place in the center of the stage. At his right, Quacksie took her place, and on his left, Bluebell positioned herself. Off to the far right, a green pigeon in an orange sundress stood, and where a dark purple bunny should have been standing was an empty space.

Shit, Nezumi thought. Shit, shit, shit.

He looked up desperately into the crowd. It took a little while, but then, relief flooded him as he spotted Inukashi perched at one of the tables in the back. They’d already ordered something to drink, from the looks of the glass on their table, and through the haze of cheap stage lights, Nezumi could just barely make out the shit-eating grin on their face as they beheld him standing at the head of the stage. Nezumi was never going to live this down.

It’s for Shion, he reminded himself. I’m doing all this for Shion.

“Hey, idiot,” Quacksie muttered, so softly Nezumi was sure the crowd couldn’t hear. “What are you doing? It’s your line!”

“Right—right.” Nezumi swallowed the lump in his throat. This was it. Time to make a complete ass of himself. Slipping into actor mode, Nezumi lifted his head, peered out through the black mesh, and called out in his best impression of Keita’s Bojangles voice: “Hey, there, folks! How we feeling?”

“Good!” the crowd called back.

“I can’t hear you,” Nezumi crowed.

“Good!”

“All right, all right!” Nezumi clapped his hands and looked out over the crowd. There were a fair amount of adults with their children in tow, some looking bored and more than a few looking to be battling with the effects of too-much soda and candy. “My name’s Bojangles, and we’ve got a wonderful show for you tonight! Ready, Quacksie!”

“Ready, Bojangles!” Quacksie replied, her voice high-pitched and cheery.

“Ready, Bluebell!”

“Ready, Bojangles!” the blue fox called.

“Ready, Pidge!”

“Ready, Bojangles!” replied the green pigeon.

“Here we go!” Nezumi yelled, embarrassment welling up inside him. At least this would be over soon.

The music swelled, and Nezumi stepped to the left—and already, things were off to a bad start.

In the choreography Keita had given him, Bojangles was meant to step to the left along with Quacksie and Bluebell, while the other two mascots stepped to the right. But Show #3’s choreography must have been different, because Quacksie stepped to the right, and Bluebell crashed into him.

“Ow!” Bluebell muttered. “Keita, what are you doing?”

Fuck! “Sorry,” Nezumi whispered, but Bluebell was stepping back in time with the music, and Quacksie bumped into his back.

“The hell are you doing?” Quacksie snapped under her breath, buried beneath the loud thumping music that blared through the speakers.

Nezumi whirled around, trying to see through the black mesh of the mascot costume. The other three mascots were sliding and twirling in different spots around the stage, and none of it matched the choreography Keita had given him for the performance. How could the whole thing be so drastically different just because one mascot couldn’t be on stage?

As a seasoned actor, Nezumi considered himself to be exceptional at reading a room and adjusting his performance to improv if the situation demanded it. But this? This was something nightmarishly different than what Nezumi had ever experienced. The mascot costume was clunky and warm, and moving around in it proved to be difficult, especially when he couldn’t anticipate where the other mascots in their clunky suits would be moving around the stage.

OK, the hell with this. Nezumi turned to face the crowd and lifted his hand. He’d made sure that Inukashi understood the signal, should anything go awry—Nezumi would draw a big ‘N’ in the air, hopefully misinterpreted by the crowd as just a simple wave or part of the choreography, and Inukashi would begin phase two of their plan.

Nezumi dropped his arm and drew a large ‘N’ in the air, aimed right at Inukashi. Through the black mesh, squinting through the stage lights, he could see—

Inukashi wasn’t looking at him.

They were currently nose-deep in the menu, looking over the cheap arrangements of salads, soups, and kid-sized pizzas. They didn’t look up at the stage, and instead began talking to the waiter that sauntered over to check if they were ready to place an order.

FUCK. Quacksie slid to the right, and Nezumi, who hadn’t moved, felt her smash into him. He stumbled forward, righting himself, and ignored her indignant griping. Inukashi, you jackass! Pay attention!

He aggressively drew another ‘N’ in the air, thumping his foot on the stage and hoping that the sounds would cause Inukashi to lift their head and look. It didn’t. They continued to pour over the menu, their lips moving as they asked the waiter a question. Nezumi didn’t think anything would be more interesting to them than Nezumi degrading himself on a stage in front of a bunch of kids, but hunger and access to some form of income seemed to outweigh everything else in their mind.

Inukashi! Nezumi stomped his foot on the stage again, desperation and rage warring for dominance inside him. Inukashi, you asshole—

Bluebell slid across the stage, a little too hard, and collided with Nezumi. The sudden strike caused Nezumi to stumble, and the weight of the mascot suit sent him crashing to the ground. He flailed, and Quacksie slid into his path. Nezumi crashed into her, and the momentum sent her to the ground as well.

The two of them landed in a heap with a loud crash; the crowd gasped, and Inukashi finally lifted their head and looked at the stage.

“You asshole—,” Quacksie snarled, struggling to get out from underneath Nezumi. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Nezumi ignored her. He gestured desperately at Inukashi, drawing an ‘N’ over and over again in the air. Phase two. Phase two. Phase two, you fucking asshole!

Inukashi’s shoulders relaxed, and Nezumi felt a wave of relief as they closed the menu in their hands. They looked at the waiter standing beside them, looked at the stage, and then threw themselves out of their seat.

They caught the waiter around the waist and the two of them went crashing to the ground. The tables around them erupted with activity—Inukashi apologized profusely, making up a story that they’d been feeling dizzy and must have collapsed, and the others around them turning to catch sight of whatever drama was unfurling around them.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Nezumi rolled out from underneath Quacksie and off the stage.

“Where are you going?” Quacksie shouted, no longer caring if the crowd heard her. Between the loud music and the commotion from Inukashi’s table in the back, Nezumi didn’t think anyone would hear her anyway.

“Bathroom break!” Nezumi shouted back, and before Quacksie could say anything else, he took off in the direction of the manager’s office.

A few children cried out “Bojangles!” as he raced by, but Nezumi ignored them and hurried down the small alcove leading to the general manager’s main office. The sounds of shouting echoed behind him, but Nezumi ignored all of it. His body buzzed and burned with adrenaline, humiliation twisting through him like a snake.

He’d suffered endless indignities throughout his life, endless embarrassments in the name of securing a place to sleep or food to eat. Anything to ensure that he’d live to see another day. But this—this was the first time he’d ever willingly gone into something so deranged simply to make someone else happy.

Shion wasn’t in danger. Not getting that stupid cat lamp wouldn’t kill him. No one he cared for was trapped in a prison or on the verge of death. Nezumi didn’t have to do any of this.

But Shion—Shion was worth so much. Nezumi could never repay Shion for all the love he’d shown him throughout the years. From the moment they’d first met as children, Shion had decided that Nezumi was someone worth saving. When others would have sent him to the Correctional Facility without hesitation, Shion had bandaged his wounds, fed him, gave him someplace warm and safe to sleep. It’d been the first good night’s sleep Nezumi had experienced in years. Even now, almost a decade later, Nezumi could still remember the feeling of Shion’s warm body beneath his, the comforting hug Shion had given him and the pleasant aroma of hot chocolate that permeated the air around them deep into the morning.

I would do anything for him, Nezumi thought, and he knew he meant it. He’d walked into hell, into certain death, for Shion once before. Shion had done the same for him countless times, with no expectations and no alternative agendas. Shion loved him, and Nezumi would do anything to make him happy.

Squaring his shoulders, Nezumi reached the general manager’s office. He didn’t bother knocking; he shouldered the door open, swallowing his pride, and stormed inside.

Prior to the restaurant’s opening, the general manager’s office must have been a storage closet or something equally as small. The room didn’t hold much, and inside was a small, worn desk, a few file cabinets, and the ugliest green carpet Nezumi had ever seen in his life.

Behind the desk, a woman in her mid forties sat. She, like most things in the restaurant, looked mismatched and out of place. Despite the casual theme of the restaurant, she wore a plum pantsuit and a crisp black button up beneath. Her blond hair, dyed and showing just a few strands of gray at the temples, was drawn back in a tight bun at the back of her skull. She looked stern, her mouth twisted in a surprised frown when Nezumi opened the door and closed it behind him.

“Keita?” The general manager narrowed her blue eyes at him. A thin rim of brown rested around her irises—colored contacts, Nezumi guessed. He’d seen enough people wearing them in his travels to recognize that it had become a popular fashion trend in the past few years. “What are you doing back here? You’re supposed to be performing.”

“There’s been a change in schedule, actually,” Nezumi said, not bothering to disguise his voice.

The general manager sat back in her swivel chair. She looked momentarily frightened, but kept her voice steady as she asked, “You’re… not Keita, are you?”

Nezumi shook his head slowly.

“Where is he?”

“He’s safe,” Nezumi replied. He didn’t think it necessary to mention that Keita was probably outside in the back alley, taking a nap. He seemed like the type.

The general manager didn’t seem comforted by his words, but if she was worried about Keita’s well-being, she did a decent job of concealing it. Nezumi briefly wondered who she was before the fall of No.6’s wall. She reminded him of one of the Security Bureau officers: cold and calculating, but timid beneath the harsh exterior.

“What is it you want?” the general manager asked. Her eyes flickered to the desk. “Our safe’s under my desk. I don’t want any trouble.”

“I’m not here for the safe.”

“Then what?” Her shoulders tightened, and her eyes went wide. “Oh, god. Are you with the Department of Labor? I already told you—I don’t know how those time cards were misplaced! You have no proof!”

Nezumi raised an eyebrow. “Time cards?”

“You people already tore my restaurant apart, and you couldn’t find anything! Did you think going undercover would yield different results?” The general manager kicked the leg of her desk. “Well, go ahead! Look! I’ve scrubbed everything clean! You can’t prove that I did anything illegal!” Her eyes, if possible, went even wider. “I mean—No! You didn’t hear that! I didn’t scrub anything clean because there isn’t anything to scrub! I’m not going back to jail! You’ll never take me alive!”

“What the—I’m not with the Department of Labor!” Nezumi snapped. “I’m here for the cat lamp!”

“…The what?”

“The cat lamp Keita gave you the other day.”

The general manager stared at Nezumi. She sat back at her desk, and in a moment, her calm façade was back in place. “You’re… here for the cat lamp.”

“Yes.”

"The one Keita gave me."

"Yes."

“You’re not with the Department of Labor.”

“I’m not.”

The general manager gave him a long, hard look. Nezumi shifted from one foot to the other. The mascot’s costume felt heavy, and he was already sweating. Ugh. There wasn’t a shower hot enough to wash this day off.

“All right,” the general manager said carefully. “I’ll give you the cat lamp. In exchange, you don’t tell the Department of Labor what you heard me say. Deal?”

“Deal,” Nezumi said. He didn’t have any interest in talking to the Department of Labor, and even if he did, they wouldn’t listen to him. They would listen to Shion, however, and Nezumi was pretty sure a little bird would find some way to let Shion know that something shady might be going on at Bojangles’ House of Cheese.

The general manager bustled to one of the file cabinets and plucked a box out of the top drawer. Nezumi’s heart sang as she crossed the room and handed it over to him. He took hold of it, cradling it in his palms like a precious gem. He could already see the excitement in Shion’s eyes, the pleasant smile stretching across his face.

“I think you’d better leave now,” the general manager said.

Nezumi didn’t bother answering. With his prize in tow, he left the office and hurried down the hallway.

The commotion had died down, and before Nezumi got too far, he shucked the Bojangles costume into the hallway and left it for Keita to find. He was dripping with sweat, but the buzz of elation in his body did an effective job of erasing the disgust. He’d gotten it. He’d managed to get Shion the perfect Christmas gift.

Sneaking out of the restaurant was a simple task, and in the alley on the opposite side of the building from where he’d entered, Nezumi found Inukashi waiting for him with a pizza box in hand. They raised an eyebrow at him as he approached, eyes darting to the box tucked under his arm.

“Whatever that is,” they said, “it must be pretty special if you’re willing to go through all that bullshit.”

Nezumi ignored them. It didn’t matter what they thought. Just the chance of being able to see that smile on Shion’s face again had made it all worth it. Inukashi didn’t understand. They would never understand the lengths Nezumi was willing to go to repay Shion for the years of love and acceptance he’d shown him. Inukashi would never understand the things Nezumi was willing to endure to show Shion that he loved him.

With his hard-earned prize tucked safely under his arm, drenched in sweat and feeling oddly accomplished, Nezumi hurried to Karan’s apartment. He had a gift to wrap.

The End

#submission #no6 #no 6 #no.6 #no. 6 #no6secretsanta #glorifiedscapegoat #signpainter1 #nezumi #shion #inukashi #nezushi #karan

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jimblejamblewritings · 2 years

Text

not a soldat | part 19.

Summary: Y/N L/N is not a superhero. No serums, no agencies. Just a civilian from a long line of family that’s served in the military. Y/N’s a history buff and bit of a spy in her own special way. This somehow lands her in trouble she never saw coming and straight into the hands of Falcon, Captain America, and Black Widow… if she doesn’t get caught in the unbreakable grasp of the Winter Soldier first.

Warning for the Series: violence, angst, slow burn

Pairing: Bucky x black!reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

“My Queen, we’ve gotten the attackers at the border… they’re Americans mainly and a few others,” Okoye said to Ramonda.

After T’Challa and Shuri were dusted, Wakanda asked for Ramonda to step up and lead. No one dared challenge, even after she almost begged. But she pushed through her own grief to lead her people.

“Take them to Sergeant Barnes for questioning.”

“The White Wolf is still on his mission, Your Highness.”

Bucky threw the smugglers into the back of the giant armored van and got back into the passenger’s seat. W’Kabi started up the van and they drove back to Wakanda. After checking that the prisoners were all locked up, Bucky headed back with W’Kabi to the palace to report to Okoye and Queen Ramonda.

“I’ll get to the attackers on Friday. They’re probably working for someone else.”

“Thank you, James,” Ramona said. “Will you be okay tomorrow?”

The three native Wakandans looked at him. Bucky swallowed and shifted in his spot, it would be the anniversary of the dusting. Five years and it was well known that the former Winter Soldier never took it too well. The only thing he wanted to do was drink himself into forgetfulness when the day came around and getting drunk was the one thing he couldn’t do. He usually went to the outskirts of town and returned early in the morning to do his job, acting like nothing occurred the night before.

“I will be, I think I’m going to stay at home actually.”

“That seems like a good idea, we’ll leave you to it.”

Bucky nodded and proceeded to walk out of the throne room before Okoye stopped him. “W’Kabi and I are having a simple dinner tomorrow. Would you like to join us?”

“I don’t… maybe I should. Okay, that sounds nice, thank you.”

The apartment was too empty when he returned. Bucky knew it was unhealthy to stay but he couldn’t bring himself to move apartments. All of your stuff he kept in the master bedroom and he moved into the smaller guest room. Bucky washed off and sunk into the small bed.

He looked over at the clock. 4 a.m. The sheets were wracked with sweat from his nightmare. He sat up and looked around the dark room. Grabbing his phone, Bucky opened to his messages and searched for a text he hadn’t played since getting on a quinjet to Wakanda.

“Bucky, I want you to know that you’ve become an amazing person. Do you hear me, James? I care about you, okay. I care about you so much, James Bar—”

The tears rolled down his face and Bucky clutched his phone in his right hand. The only reason he wasn’t throwing it was because it held your last voice message. He got up slowly, everything felt numb. After getting out the shower and changing the sheets, Bucky let his eyes wander to the door he’s kept closed for five years.

He approached it carefully and slowly as if there was a feral tiger behind the door. The dust that was gathered flew up before resettling as Bucky entered the room. His fingers dusted across every surface, stopping at a picture frame. Sam had taken it— you and Bucky, asleep on the couch. His dog tags, that you had stopped constantly tucking in, caught a flash on the camera.

Bucky set down the picture and kept looking around. It was all your stuff or things he had bought you yet it felt so foreign somehow. Your phone laid dead on the nightstand along with your family’s tags. Aside from occasional calls and visits to Steve and Natasha, Bucky didn’t really see the rest of the team. However your family, what was left, he made sure to always call. Cookouts were way more somber and he knew it when Ella sat next to him two years ago and started asking about you and him in a casual, almost friendly way.

Your mom and dad were both still alive. The third cookout when Bucky showed up again, the entire family knew what was up even if he didn’t. Bucky was in deep. And he knew it when at the fourth cookout, your mom and dad gave Bucky their rings. It was a symbolic gesture since he’d never be able to give you one but Bucky wore them like he used to wear his tags, always and tucked under his shirt.

Finally his eyes landed on your journal that he had set on the bed. Bucky sat down on the bed and picked it up gingerly. The same way you never looked at Bucky’s personal notebooks, he never looked at yours. But just this once, he opened the pages. The book almost flew from his hands when the first page showed your drawing of the Infinity Stones. The reason they were in this damn mess. But Bucky persisted and kept thumbing through, reading the pages just to look at your handwriting. His phone rang and he was brought out of his trance, taking your notebook with him to go answer it.

“Steve… Do you know what day it is? If you’re fucking playing with me I swear… okay, I’ll be there soon.”

“Alright. We’ve got the how, now we just have to figure out the when and where. We have limited particles to retrieve the stones. This has to be perfect,” Steve said.

Tony paced back and forth. The team was pulling up a hologram to try and place the stones when Bucky walked in. He noticed them before they saw him.

“2012. You’re looking for three of them in 2012,” he said, causing the team to jump and look at him.

He walked over and opened your journal to a page where you traced timelines. Everyone looked and followed your handwriting.

“She knew,” Tony said as he started copying down the timeline onto the large screen. “The minute Thanos landed, she knew what could happen.”

“Yeah, and wrote it all down in case she got dusted,” Bucky said, tense. “What are we going to do about the Soul Stone?”

“What about it? She said it’s on Vormir, 2014.”

Bucky flipped back to the earlier pages with the descriptions. “To get the stone, you have to kill for the stone.”

“What?”

Tony grabbed the notebook and turned it towards him. If it wasn’t a life or death mission, Bucky could’ve wrung his throat for handling your notebook so harshly.

“Not just anyone. It’s a sacrifice of someone you care about.”

“I’ll do it,” a woman who Bucky had never seen before said.

Nat reached for her arm. “Yelena.”

“It’s fine, Nat. I’ve finally made peace with myself. Let’s do this one last thing for the good of everyone… Natasha and I will go to Vormir,” Yelena said with determination.

Bucky was quickly taught by Tony how to run the machine. His metal arm, especially a vibranium one, was too noticeable and valuable to risk him being seen in the past if they couldn’t get out smoothly. Bucky sat at the controls as everyone came out, suited up.

“Alright, everyone meet back in a minute.” Steve adjusted his time travel suit. “You find the stones and come back safe. Encounter any problems, don’t have them. Don’t stop fighting till you’re dead. Get killed, walk it off.”

“Hell of a speech, Stevie. See you guys soon,” Bucky said as he started up the machine.

“It was nice meeting all of you,” Yelena said. “Give him hell for me.”

Everyone stood around the lab as Tony, Rocket, and Bruce finished setting the stones in the new glove.

“Alright, glove’s finished,” Rocket said. “Now the question is, who’s going to snap their fingers?”

Thor jumped up, only to be stopped by basically everybody. He was still hurting, it was understandable why he would want to do it.

“Just wait,” Steve said. “We should at least discuss it.”

“Look. Sitting here and standing about isn’t going to bring everybody back. I’m the strongest Avenger, okay? So let me,” Thor started.

“I’m telling you, you’re in no condition,” Tony said.

“Do you know what is coursing through my veins?”

“Cheese Whiz?” Rhodey retorted.

“Lightning. We need to do it… do something good, something right, do…”

“It’s not that simple, buddy. That glove holds enough energy to light up a continent,” Tony said.

“I’ll do it,” Bruce said. “I’ve spent months in the gamma lab. I’m the closest here to Thanos’ composition and I should be able to withstand it.”

“You sure, Bruce?” Natasha asked.

“You saw what those stones did to Thanos. They almost killed him. It’s up to me.”

Everyone looked at each other. Bruce was right.

“Alright,” Tony said. “Remember, bring back everyone Thanos snapped away five years ago. Don’t touch the now.”

“Got it.”

They all suited up to protect themselves from the potential blast of the stones. If it went wrong, there was a possibility that nothing would happen or that they would all die… and they were hoping that if failure occurred, it would be the former problem not the latter. The glove stretched around Bruce’s hand. He suddenly kneeled under the power of the stones. Thor yelled for him to take it off but Bruce assured everyone that he was fine. The glove smoked until Bruce snapped. Nothing happened. But they weren’t concerned about that. Bruce, whose arm was charred and smoking, was the main focus. He was groaning as he lied on the floor.

“Don’t move him,” Tony said as Steve approached.

Tony blasted something from the Iron Man suit to ease the pain.

“Did it work?” Bruce asked.

“We’re not sure, are you okay?” Thor asked as he knelt next to his friend.

They slowly sat Bruce up and assessed the damage. Not too bad once the smoke had settled, just a wicked radiation burn that could’ve looked worse if it wasn’t for the fact Bruce was right. The gamma from Hulk made it look more like a burn from fire. Scott stared out the window when they all heard it. Birds. They all smiled, it actually worked. Bucky’s phone started ringing.

“I missed you, James.”

“(Y/N), darlin’, I—”

The team stopped and looked at him. With shaky hands, he put the phone on speaker so they could all hear you but no one interrupted or spoke over him.

“(Y/N), I’m at the compound but I’ll come get you soon. Alright, printesa? I’ll be right there. I promise you, I’ll be right there. I swear.”

“Breathe, Bucky. Honey, breathe before you pass out please. I’ll be waiting here at the apartment. Have guys put Steve on ice like I wrote?”

“Steve?”

“Um, hi (Y/N). I’m right here,” Steve spoke up.

“Steve? Steven Grant Rogers, why are you not getting iced right now! There’s bound to be radiation left from the glove, what are—”

“(Y/N). I didn’t use the glove, Bruce did. Well, Hulk did.”

“Bruce?! What the hell is wrong with all of you? Did you read my notebook at all?”

They could hear your pacing around the apartment— small and confined to the length of the charger cord. Bruce stuck out a hand and Bucky gently placed his phone in Bruce’s palm as if the phone was the only thing proving you were alive and he wasn’t going to risk dropping it.

“Yeah we got the timeline notes. You saved us a lot of trouble.”

“Did you only read the timeline pages?”

“And the stone notes, the Soul Stone would—”

“Did you even flip to the back?! I said Steve should snap.”

“Hulk was the best for the gamma. We didn’t even let Thor—”

“Yeah, yeah. Strongest Avenger whatever… why did you spend so much time in a gamma lab Bruce? You were all trying to recreate the super soldier serum. One that Steve was blasted with radiation to create and he survived it perfectly… does no one read Erskine’s notes!”

“How could we they were all water stained or hidden, we thought it was just the serum and a heating container.”

“Yeah, a heating container of radiation! Jesus, Steve would’ve been just fine… are you okay, Bruce?”

“A little hurt but I’m fine.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be yelling, it’s over now anyway, doesn’t matter…”

The team heard gunshots go off and then a small scream from you.

“(Y/N)!”

“Who the hell are you?” They heard you ask.

“Ma’am, I need you to calm down. I’m Doctor Stephen Strange.”

Bruce quickly spoke up, “(Y/N), we know him. You can trust him.”

“I’m going to need you to hang up the phone now,” Strange said, giving you a look that it was something important.

“James?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

“I’ll see you later okay?”

You said your byes to Bucky and hung up the phone. You set it down and turned all your attention to the weird man who portaled into your apartment.

“I think you and I know there are two ways out of this, we need to talk.”

You were on pins and needles as you waited for Strange’s signal. Strange in the middle of battle was antsy, talking to you was a potential risk. Normally saying what happened meant that it wouldn’t happen but normally people didn’t know the plan. You did though, because you had spent so much time trying to figure it out like him and you got lucky that you got the outcome randomly on your third assessment because Strange had to look through the thousands of scenarios. So he talked with you and came up with a plan, one that wouldn’t get Tony killed. What Strange didn’t discuss with you is how they should be glad Hulk did the first snap.

Strange’s signal was hard to miss. It was a portal in your living room super small that let you see the scene unfolding in front of you. You picked up the phone and dialed the number on the comms, pressing the number 1 to make it a private line.

“Steve? Don’t let them do something stupid.”

“(Y—”

You cut him off knowing that his comm was still connected to the others.

“Don’t talk, I made my end private with you. Just hurry up and don’t let Tony be stupid. That’s all I can say. Roger that, Captain?”

The line cut out before Steve could switch his comm to a private line. He had no clue what had just happened. Steve looked over to Bucky who was fighting with a vengeance and then to everyone else. No one else had stopped like him, you did make the line private and he wasn’t sure why. Steve looked around again just as Thanos knocked Tony back. Thor hit him before Thanos could grab the gauntlet. He held the axe to Thanos’ neck and that sprung Steve and Bucky into action.

They ran behind Thanos to hold him. The axe almost cut him before Thanos threw his head back to knock Steve and Bucky off and then slammed forward into Thor to knock him off again. Thanos slipped the gauntlet on. Carol blasted beams at him while Sam tried to swoop in and grab the stones. Carol grappled with the gauntlet, keeping Thanos’ fingers spread far apart. Thanos grabbed the power stone from the gauntlet and used it in his other hand, to knock Sam away. Steve looked around and saw Tony who wasn’t looking at him but Strange, holding up one finger. Tony nodded and your words rang in Steve’s head. Don’t let Tony be stupid. And then he remembered you yelling at Bucky and Bruce over the phone. What the hell is wrong with you? I said Steve should snap.

Steve threw his shield at Tony and ran as fast as he could to the gauntlet, grabbing the stones when Thanos looked confused at Tony suddenly flying away from him. Everyone watched in horror as he held the hand with the gauntlet up.

“I told you, I am inevitable. This universe can’t avoid me.”

Thanos snapped and everyone braced themselves but when the snap rang out and they opened their eyes, it was Thanos’ side that was fading to dust. They all looked around in wonder until they heard Steve groaning. He dropped the stones and Bucky raced over to his friend who seemed relatively okay, minus half of his suit was burnt as well as his arm being scarred up. Steve plopped most of his weight onto Bucky as his friend helped him sit on a pile of rubble.

“I see why (Y/N) said I needed the ice. Shit, that hurt.”

“Crazy. You and printesa are both batshit crazy,” Bucky chuckled.

Strange opened a portal for you to Tony’s cabin where he had moved most of the team since the compound was absolutely trashed. Apparently the cabin was still in New York just far from the city and had enough space to set up the time machine again so they could return the stones. You ran through the portal and jumped straight onto your boyfriend’s back. Bucky set you down and immediately turned around, his arms pulling you into the tightest hug imaginable.

“(Y/N),” he breathed out.

Bucky pulled back and you almost jumped with how quickly his lips were on you. He held your waist tightly. Despite the fact that the team was in Tony’s backyard, Bucky kissed you like there was no tomorrow. You gently pulled his bottom lip between your teeth causing him to bring you closer to him if possible. You two finally pulled away after what felt like an eternity when you needed a breath. Bucky rested his forehead against yours.

“Five years, printesa, five years and I’ve seen no one but you.”

You gasped and the team turned around, focusing on you two instead of the stones. Bucky was down on one knee. He took the necklace from around his neck and you could see rings dangling there, your mother’s ring easily recognizable. Bucky removed one of the rings from the necklace and held it up. He hadn’t even said anything yet but Bucky was already smiling as he watched your little head nods and the happy tears in the corner of your eyes.

“I don’t want to see anybody but you. You’re the end of the line for me, will you let me be yours? I don’t just care about you. I also love you, will you marry me?”

“Yes! Absolutely yes.”

Bucky stood up and slipped the ring on your finger. As sweet as the moment was, it soon turned silly as Sam and Steve began to argue over who would be the best man. You stepped aside to let Bruce start up the machine to return the stones. Bucky had you up against the entire time as you waited for the others. His arms snaked around your middle and you tapped on his hands.

You and Bucky weren’t the only shock of the day. Steve handed Sam his shield. He was done with the Avengers life, his arm and part of his face were still scarred. Both Stark Industries and Wakanda’s Science Department offered him technology for his arm since he lost a lot of feeling in it and couldn’t use it to fight, only perform basic tasks.

But Steve old-fashioned Rogers refused and said it was right that he just stepped down and handed it to someone else who deserved the mantle. Since you’ve known him, you knew Sam was the second embodiment of freedom and righteousness— arguably a little funnier than Steve. You were proud of him for becoming the new bearer of the iconic shield. Steve came over to you and Bucky while Sam talked with Sharon about how his new position would work. You gently punched Steve’s arm.

“Welcome to the HouseWives’ Club.”

He chuckled. “Are there membership perks?”

“Constant worrying about your Avengers partner, lots of nights with empty beds, and Tony’s money.”

“I plan on racking up a bill.”

“Hey, Cap!” Sam called out, bringing you all to his attention. “Does this mean I get the title of America’s ass too? Cause I’m just saying, look back at it!”

He turned around making you all bust out in laughter. The day was good. The world was saved, most of the team was choosing to stay in New York, damn near everyone was alive and uninjured, you just got engaged. You turned in Bucky’s arms and kissed him again, trying to make up for five years missed.

(end)...

#bucky x reader #avengers fic #marvel fic

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