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yesimwriting · 1 year

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Pulling Away

A/n did i write smut for once? yeah. also timeline wise is this perfectly accurate? it’s iffy,, but this fic isn’t about the plot too much so it’s okay

Summary: You’re not the only one that’s feeling a little territorial thanks to the influx of people you’re around in Jackson.

warnings: 18+, implied age gap, no condom, a tiny bit manipulative if you squint, brief mention of losing virginity.

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He’s not a force of nature, no matter how hard he might pretend to be for the sake of those around him. Joel can’t actually change anything. So the shift in temperature you feel as Joel stills has to be a byproduct of what’s in your head.

The kind of burning cold that better fits a fever runs through you and you hate yourself for it. This isn’t the first time you’ve been delusional when it comes to him.

You’re working off of a quarter of his face against low lighting. It doesn’t make sense for you to be able to feel so much from the little of him that you can see. It’s not anger. Or at least, not just that. There’s definitely a subdued rage radiating from him, but it’s undercut by something that punches you straight in the gut.

Maybe you’re being a little unfair, but you have a right to it at this point. You can’t follow him around blindly like some kind of puppy forever. Especially now that you’re both settled enough to be able to think of things outside of pure survival.

“Ellie’s asleep.” A flat observation that you can’t explain. Maybe it’s the need to break the silence, or maybe it’s a genuine attempt at making things feel normal. You two should still be able to talk. You never wanted that to end. “Swore she wasn’t tired, but passed out as soon as her head touched the mattress.”

Joel lets out a small sound from the back of his throat. It’s a spike in the atmosphere. “Think I’m gonna go to bed, too.” You don’t understand your awkwardness or the urge to create distance. It’s not like Joel would hurt you, but then again, the buzz of adrenaline doesn’t seem to be coming from a place of fear. It’s an uneasy burning that worsens when you raise your eyes enough to meet his. “Night.”

The one word is a little better and somehow so much worse. Not aggressive or trying to make things better. It’s just there. Civil.

When he says nothing, you take it as your sign to call it a night. Tomorrow could be better. Sure, your rocky dynamic might be going through growing pains while you set boundaries that should have been established long ago, but you’ll likely survive this. You’re all staying together in the same house in Jackson for the time being and you both care too much about Ellie to separate over something small.

Even if Joel won’t directly admit to it, the part of your relationship that feels like co-parenting is sacred. That’s part of the reason why the feelings you’ve been fighting with yourself to dismantle are so complicated. He cares about Ellie more than he wants to admit and the last thing you need right now is to tear away the little stability she’s finally been given. Not over a few awkward conversations and stiff moments.

The weird irony that vaguely reflects the issues of the world before isn’t lost on you. If someone were to squint at the situation, you’d seem like a wife trapped in a marriage for the sake of her children. Maybe if it was happening to someone else you’d have enough energy to find it funny.

You turn carefully, like a too loud squeak of your shoes could be what snaps the thinning thread tying you two to a hint of casualness. You don’t need to pass him to get to where you’re sleeping. The three of you had been set up in a space that allowed for each person to have their own room. It’s like that in theory, but in practice it’s more like Ellie’s room, Joel’s room, and the spare.

A comfortable enough bedroom that you’ve maybe spent the entire night alone in twice in the weeks you’ve been here. You can’t even pretend that you keep the few things you own in there either. Joel’s an even lighter traveler than you, so slowly your items made their way into the drawers in his room. Now, your room is basically just where you go to change into and out of sleepwear.

You’ll get used to it, used to the draft that originally led to you giving up on rocky sleep the first night you ended up sleeping next to Joel. Your dreams kept you up even more than the cold, but when Joel’s drowsy voice called out to you in the dark, asking why you were awake, you blamed the night’s chill. That’s how it first happened.

It was a mistake you should have never let turn into habit. You’re correcting it now. Setting boundaries to prevent heartbreak. It’s only a matter of time considering the way the women here look at him.

“Since when do you sleep in there?”

His voice is so gruff it instinctually freezes you. Any sarcastic comment at the back of your throat vanishes immediately. The both of you are fully aware of how you end up each night, but it’s a boundary in itself not to mention it. You’re not sure if it’s more him or you, but what happens at night and early in the morning is never mentioned.

It’s a dip into another reality. A space where Joel’s a little lighter, almost more open. Sometimes he’ll drag your arm with him when he moves onto his side, a silent way of asking you to stay close. On the best nights, he’ll joke about it, letting your limbs meld together under a blanket and swear he’s just trying to keep you warm out of the kindness of his heart.

His humor is the worst. The kind that some might justify as a result of years of it being at a stalemate for years considering the tragic state of the world, but you know better. They’re the kind of jokes that take a second to settle because of his general exterior, but are meant to be so dumb they force out a smile. In another life, the little comments are dad jokes.

The peace bleeds into the mornings now, he’ll keep the closeness and remind you that you don’t have to get up immediately by mumbling something about Ellie still being asleep. Like she’s the only thing significant enough to get you two to return to reality.

You’re convinced that these moments exist because neither of you mention them. He’s crossing a line you didn’t realize meant so much to you and he’s being dramatic it, too. It’s not the rarest thing for you to ‘attempt’ to sleep in your own bed. Sure, you’re more likely to lay in that room for a few hours on nights where Ellie stays up a little later, but this isn’t the strangest thing you’ve done.

He’s ripping any chance of returning to that separate world away from you. It stings more than it should. “Thought I’d give it a try,” you voice is too low, too defensive, “It’s not a big deal.”

The defense sounds so weak in your own ears, you don’t even want to imagine what he took from it. “Bullshit.”

His voice comes out in such a low huff you feel it more than hear it. If the sound had felt any less dangerous, you would have pretended to mistake it for another wordless grunt. Your lips part slowly as your mind struggles to create any kind of logical response.

Pretending is clearly getting you nowhere. The only reason you ever pretended it would was pure delusion. Joel has always been able to see through you, through any shift in mood. Even when your lies are better, his ability to sense them is uncanny.

He turns with no warning. Joel crosses the space between you before you can even fully register his steps. Your body tenses as heat rushes to your face in result of an oddly charged parody of fight or flight. You almost step back, one heel shifting back, but then you meet his gaze and the determined glint behind his eye is enough to melt you into place.

There’s something else there, too. A focus that pins you into place even further. Holds you there better than the barrel of a pistol could.

The absurdity of the warmth rooted in your chest should be enough to make the feeling go away. It doesn’t, so you force your lips to part again. You need to say something. Anything. “Joel?” Not that. Not just his name in a voice that feels violently small.

“You’re pullin’ away.”

The accusation in his voice leaves no room for argument. You try anyways, “No.” The rest of your thoughts can’t come out while you’re looking at him at the same time. There’s shame in dropping your gaze to focus on your shoes and the little space between you. “It’s not like that.”

Joel lets out a low sound. The creak of the floor as he steps forward again snaps you out of your trance. You step back in a desperate attempt to keep the space between the two of you equal. Your back hits the wall before you can come close to achieving your goal. It’s a knee jerk reaction that leaves your face feeling even warmer than before. A part of you expects Joel to laugh at the sound or at least comment on it. He doesn’t. He continues forward until his mouth is so close to your ear the warmth of his breath lingers when he exhales.

He takes a second there, relishing in your stillness. “Don’t lie to me.” Joel pulls away just enough to look you in the eye. “You don’t want to talk to me, you’re talkin’ about leavin’.” The southern drawl of his voice is increasing with his frustration. It’s distracting in a way that feels too convenient. Like he’s doing this on purpose.

You swallow once. “You found your brother. I have a sister out there, I’d--I think now that things are more settled with Ellie it wouldn’t be the worst thing for me to look for her.”

“And you don’t want us goin’ with you, but you’re more than willing to let the guy that’s always lookin’ at you--”

“Oh my god, is that what this is about?” You are insane. Of course his issue is who mentioned it. John knows travel, leaves Jackson and comes back in one piece when he needs to. He wouldn’t be the worst person to have with you if you did want to start a rudimentary search for your sister. “I didn’t make any plans with John, it just came up.”

“You don’t want us goin’ with you.”

Your throat feels dry. The thought of it makes you feel cold. You haven’t seen your sister in a few years and so much has changed. You’re no longer in the QZ and your sister has no way of knowing that. She can’t reach out if there’s trouble or good news and she has no reason to assume that you’re safe. You know where she lives, and if she’s not there, you know a few of her usual spots. She doesn’t typically stray too far from her bubble. It wouldn’t be a long trip, just long enough.

Long enough to give you some space. Long enough to remember what it’s like to not be around Joel all the time. Long enough to feel less about him.

And you’d come back. You wouldn’t just walk out of his life and Ellie’s forever. The little bit of space you’re trying to get would make it easier for you to stick around in the long run because it’s the only way you can think to get rid of the feelings that are trying to ruin everything.

“We haven’t been here that long and Ellie’s finally starting to feel settled. I don’t want to drag her out of that yet and make her feel like her entire life is just going to be her being dragged around the country.”

Your words are a jumble, rushed together in a way that makes the honesty of them less effective. It’s a good point. Ellie just called her room hers the other day and even asked about moving the bed against a different wall.

Joel lets out a low breath, eyes hardening. “You’re right. She’s settlin’ and she needs you.” He knows he’s hit his mark when you don’t respond. “How do you think she’s gonna take the news that you’re leaving?”

“Leaving to visit my sister.” You struggle to swallow. “Temporarily. It’ll take less than two weeks.”

His lips pull into a frown as his eyebrows together. Moody and brooding. The look you’ve openly referred to as his old man scowl. “With John.”

Ugh. This again. Why does it matter? Yes, John will be there, but it’s not like it’s just you and John. Your sister isn’t that far and she has access to supplies that aren’t common, she has an understanding with people that have easy access to medical supplies.

But even if it was just you and John, it doesn’t matter. There are a lot of areas in which you factor in Joel’s opinion, but this is definitely not one of them. You two aren’t together and with the way he does nothing to show any discontent when the girls here start to look at him, he definitely doesn’t need you keeping his bed warm at night.

“If I go, he wouldn’t be the only one there.” The fact that you’re trying to justify John’s presence leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You’re a grown woman, free to associate with whoever you want. You might jokingly call him your old man from time to time, but he has no right. “And if even if he was, what does it matter?”

His jaw locks and the downwards tilt of his chin erases the little bit of confidence you’ve managed to build. “You’ve seen the way that boy looks at you.”

You have to bite your tongue to avoid from blurting out that he’s also seen the way majority of the women you see on a daily basis look at him. Joel’s also exaggerating. John does not have any feelings for you, and if he did, it wouldn’t matter. It’s not like you see John as anything more than a friend. But even if you did--it is not his business. At all.

“He doesn’t.” There’s little point in saying that, Joel’s not one to have his mind so easily swayed and he’s been wary of John since the beginning. Sometimes it even feels like the more you insist that he’s a good friend, the more Joel seems to dislike him. “And if he did, it doesn’t matter.”

Your words feel like a retreat they shouldn’t need to be. Small, the meaning of the sentence compacted and straining against the limited syllables. A part of you expects Joel to understand what you do mean. That it doesn’t matter because it takes two interested parties to form any kind of relationship. That your mind isn’t even there in terms of feeling safe...that the only person who has ever made you feel safe enough to imagine anything beyond friendship is right in front of you.

For the first time, Joel doesn’t pick up on the relevance of what isn’t said. You can feel his lack of understanding in the way he moves, placing one hand on the wall, near your head. You blink, trying in vain to explain the motion, explain his proximity. He’s caging you in.

The heat of his body is practically inescapable, amplified by the way he smells. Joel showered a little earlier, his natural scent combining pleasantly with that of plain soap. After so many nights next to him, you would think you would have developed a tolerance. You haven’t. And even if you did, you doubt it’d matter...this is different. Dizzying.

“Doesn’t matter?”

He’s somehow even closer and somehow not touching you. The realization that that’s the worst part of this leaves your stomach fluttering. You need the feeling gone, so you force out the first words that come to mind, “It matters as much as all the girls that look at you like that.”

It feels more bitter than it comes out, leaving a metallic taste on your tongue. You need out. You need space. You need sleep. Joel’s silence feels like opportunity, so as subtly as you can you try to shift away from the wall. Your back is off the wall for less than a second before you’re pushed back against it.

Your body hits the wall before you can realize that Joel’s hand is on your hip. There’s too much surprise for that fact to settle, so you look up at him almost bewildered. You expect him to let go or at least look somewhat apologetic. He does the opposite, moving the hand on the wall under your jaw and closing the distance between you in a motion so quick you can barely register it.

His mouth is on yours before your mind can catch up. It makes no difference to him. He’s rabid in his patience, taking what he wants without forcing your lips to part. His hand squeezes your hip and all at once it connects. You gasp and Joel pins you to the wall even more securely, deepening the kiss with an expert’s ease.

It lasts until you can’t breathe and ends with his teeth grazing against your bottom lip as he pulls away. “All of this,” the words are exhaled lowly, “’Cause you’re jealous.”

The kiss left you so light headed your first instinct is to just agree. To not think and do or say whatever you need to in order to get him that close again. But his tone is too sure, too teasing, and the implication isn’t something he can just get away with. “Jealous?” His smugness is hard to take with him holding you against the wall like this. It’s too vulnerable, like this might be some kind of game to him. It makes you feel transparent. Hollow. “Fuck whoever you want, I don’t care.”

It’s like you’ve said nothing until Joel has the audacity to squeeze your hip. “Whoever I want?” His hand shifts up your hip, your shirt moving with him. “Hm.” His hum settles beneath your skin, effectively silencing you as his eyes take their time raking over your face and down your body. “Those were some big words from you.”

Heat rushes to your face. It’s ridiculous--you curse more than that on a regular basis. He’s playing into context, too aware of what he’s doing. The urge to push burns twice as hard as buzzing in your chest. “They’re true. We’re not--we’re not anything, so if I want to go with--”

“I’m not losin’ you.” There’s a desperation in there that comes out so hard it circles back to vulnerable. “You wanna go see your sister, we go see your sister. That’s how we got through everything else.” The hand on your hip moves down, his fingers dipping beneath the elastic waistband of your shorts. You hate yourself a little for the way your breath audibly catches. “Understand?”

His hand lowers even further, long fingers pressing against the fabric of your underwear. You’re not breathing right and you can’t bring yourself to care. The only thing you can think of is closer. “Y-yes.”

“’Yes’ what?” No sympathy in his voice or anything that would give away that he has a hand shoed down your pants.

His touch picks up pace, rubbing against you until a whimper escapes your lips. “Yes, sir.”

Joel moves his hand away with no warning. The whine that escapes your lips doesn’t feel like your own. He’s barely touched you and you’re already like this. “Barely touched you and you’re already listening.” He hooks two fingers in between the band of your underwear. “Should’ve done this awhile again, then.”

You’re burning all over, the only thing you can manage is a quick, “Shut up.” It lacks any bite.

He pulls at the band of our underwear, letting it snap back into place. If you didn’t know any better, you’d consider the flash of something softer across his face as amusement. “If you want me to stop, you’ve gotta tell me.”

Your nod feels desperate. Your entire body feels desperate. For the way he kissed you, the way he touched you. “I-I’ll tell you.” He’s still not moving, not doing anything. It’s some sort of punishment. It has to be. “Joel...”

“You going to say ‘please’?”

You have half a mind to tell him to fuck off, but then his fingers hook around your underwear again. A promise. “Please, Joel.” This is all unfamiliar but you trust Joel to get what you want, what you need. “Need you.”

With no warning, he yanks down your shorts and underwear. They fall down your legs and you blindly kick them to the side. “Need me?” He tilts his head down, pressing an open mouthed kiss against your cheek, then two to your jaw. “Need me where, sweetheart?”

God. Anywhere. Everywhere. Your desperation reminds you of how incredibly unfair it is that you’re already down to just our t-shirt and Joel’s still fully dressed. You move your hand slowly, carefully tugging at whatever piece of clothing on him you can reach.

He’s unimpressed. “C’mon, use your big girl words.” His hand is in between your thighs, his fingers teasing at your entrance in a way that makes it impossible to focus on anything else. “You were usin’ them just fine a second ago.”

“Joel,” he kisses your jaw again, forcing away all train of thought. It has to be intentional. “Joel,” again, too soft.

“I know,” he exhales the words against your neck, “I know, sweetheart. Need me to take care of you.” Joel doesn’t wait for a reaction, just pushes his fingers fully into you. You gasp too loudly, Joel moves his free hand over your mouth. “Be a good girl and be quiet. Can’t wake up Ellie.”

Shit. How did you not think of that? “You’ll be good and quiet for me? Let me stretch you out a bit first?” There’s a knot in your stomach that’s slowly taking over all of your senses. As long as Joel keeps working at it, you could promise him anything. You nod against the palm of his hand.

You bite your tongue to keep from whimpering too loudly. “Need you to relax,” he presses into you even more firmly, “Get you ready for me.”

He slowly eases his hand off of your face. “Joel, please.” You’re not even sure what you’re asking for, you just know you need more. You want him to consume you entirely. Feel him until he’s all there is.

You hear the sound of a belt buckle and his jeans shifting. Instinctually, you move a hand towards him, wanting to help, wanting to feel him. “There’ll be time for that, right now it’s about you.” You’re about to argue when he skillfully adds another finger. Fuck. “You’re tight,” he breathes, “No one’s ever touched you here?”

His fingers curl inside of you and you have to burry your face into the fabric of his shirt to keep from crying out. “Only you.”

“Look who’s found her manners.” He’s picking up the pace and smoothing down your hair as you squirm against him. “Should’ve done this sooner.” Just as the coil in your lower stomach tightens, Joel takes his hand back.

You push yourself off of him, staring at him with an expression you know he’ll consider pouting. “Why’d you--”

“Because I want you to remember this.” He pushes you back to the wall, pressing his body against you. The head of his cock brushes against your entrance. With no warning, he pushes into you. Your sharp gasp overlaps with Joel’s low groan. “Y’need a man to fuck the attitude out of you.” He moves slowly, the friction unbelievably overwhelming and somehow not enough. “That boy wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

Joel presses you further into the wall, sinking into you as deep as possible before pulling out just to sink back in. His pace is even until his breathing picks up. You’re a mess against him, hiding your face in his chest when he starts fucking you with full force.

“You’re squeezing me so good.” Joel practically pants the words into your skin. “Fuck, ‘m going to--you gonna finish with me, sweetheart?”

Your mind is mush, you can barely nod against him as his thrusts start to lose their focus. You’re pushed over the edge as Joel’s teeth graze against your neck. He pulls at your orgasm, dragging it along until your legs are jelly and he’s pulling out in order to not finish inside you.

The two of you stay holding onto each other for what feels like a long time and not enough. “You’re not goin’ anywhere, okay?”

You pull your head off of him enough to look him in the eye. “Not without you.”

He smiles, lines that you can imagine kissing forever etching themselves into his skin. “That’s my girl.” Joel runs a hand up and down your back fondly. “Let’s go to bed,” he presses a kiss against your jaw, “Give me the space to properly appreciate you.”

The thought makes your body burn all over again. “You sure you aren’t tired out, old man?”

Joel huffs out what’s almost a laugh, “We’ll see who’s tiring who out, sweetheart.”

#joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #tlou fanfic #tlou x reader #the last of us x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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tainbocuailnge · 2 months

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Hey, do you have or know where to find a breakdown on the "people die when they are killed" line? I distinctly remember reading an analysis of the meaning that was lost in translation/adaptation, and I thought I saw it on your blog, but I can't find it now (though I've enjoyed the excuse to deep dive good Fate posts again).

that line has been such a hot topic of discussion for so long that there's been a billion posts you could be referring to so I'll just give you the explanation myself again

"to not die when killed" is a pretty common japanese turn of phrase. "to be killed" should be understood here as "to be lethally injured," and "not dying even when killed" means "being able to survive even lethal injuries". it does not read as something odd to say in japanese, and in english it does not read as something odd in context either.

what shirou says is "people die when they are killed, that's how it's supposed to be." the scene in question happens near the end of fate route, when he's giving avalon back to saber so that she's better equipped to fight gilgamesh. shirou, until this point, has not been dying when he gets killed because of avalon's restorative powers, and he'd been relying on these restorative powers to throw himself headfirst into danger to satisfy his traumatic saviour complex. saber asks him if he's sure about giving up that safety net, and he responds by saying yeah, this isn't something I was supposed to have anyway. avalon is what allowed him to repeatedly throw himself in front of saber to "protect" her and live to get scolded for it later, and giving it back to her means he will truly trust her to fight for him now.

also, people die when they are killed. shirou, for most of his life since kiritsugu saved him until this point, hasn't really been a person so much as an empty husk propelled forward by trauma and survivors guilt. he'd been throwing himself into these lethal situations because he doesn't value himself and his life as anything other than a tool to save others. but through his growing relationship with saber he's been forced to confront this way of thinking and how the ways he endangers himself hurt the people that care about him as a person. people die when they are killed, and shirou hasn't been dying when he's killed, but he's ready to be a person now.

#grammarpedant #metapost #king of asks

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auras-moonstone · 9 months

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Hi beautiful, are you ok? You could write where Ethan has a "best friend" who is really in love with him and purposely creates a situation where he is confused who to believe, leaving the hurt reader not wanting to see him for a while. It can be a anguish with a happy ending, please :) thank you.

hi! i’m okay, hope you are too💖 this turned out to be longer than i expected, hope you don’t mind! enjoy <3

hell is when i fight with you — ethan landry

word count: 3,227

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

summary: ethan takes y/n to his hometown to introduce her to his family and friends. kara, ethan’s best friend who is in love with him, makes up a lie that makes the couple fight.

WHEN ETHAN INTRODUCED Y/N TO HIS FRIENDS AND FAMILY, SHE FELT HER HEART MIGHT HAVE BURSTED FROM HAPPINESS. She had been in relationships before him, but never felt quite what she felt with Ethan. With him, Y/N was the happiest she had ever been, and sometimes she wondered if it was a dream, but the touch of his hand and his sweet kisses reminded her it wasn’t. It was real life, and she was extremely lucky to have found someone like him.

She loved him, and of course she wanted his family to lover her too, so Y/N was quite disappointed when she sensed Ethan’s best friend, Kara, didn’t entirely like her. Scratch that, she could feel her hatred for her with just one look. So Y/N made it her mission to change that.

“Hey, Kara! How are you?” Y/N greeted her.

“I’m good” she said drily. “What do you want?”

“I heard they’re playing The breakfast club at that old cinema down the street. I was wondering if you’d like to go with me? You know, it’d be nice to get to know the other” Y/N said with a sweet smile.

The girl shifted uncomfortably “I don’t think so… I mean, I’m busy with college assignments and all that. But, you can ask the rest of the group. I’m sure they would love to go with you”

Y/N furrowed her eyes in disappointment “I understand. Well, good luck with your stuff. And if you happen to have some free time or want a break, I’d love to hang out with you”

“I’ll keep that in mind” the fake smile on her face made Y/N know Kara’d rather drown herself in finals and assignments than spend time with her.

Y/N walked back to Ethan’s house completely defeated. She didn’t know why Kara was acting that way towards her. They met hours ago, Y/N and her had barely interacted, so she didn’t understand where her attitude was coming from.

“Hey, love” Ethan welcomed her with a kiss and a tight hug.

“Hi, Eth” she laid on top of him on the couch, burring her head on the crook of his neck. “Oh, they’re playing The Breakfast Club tonight!”

Ethan smiled, knowing how much she adored that movie “You want to go?”

Y/N nodded “I was thinking we could go with your friends, to get to know them better. If that’s okay”

The boy caressed her cheeks as he looked at her with eyes filled with love and adoration “You’re the best girlfriend in the world, did you know that?”

“You’re exaggerating a bit” Y/N laughed “It’s literally the bare minimum”

“Well, I don’t care. I love you for it”

Ethan kissed her. His hands went to her hair, gripping it with a bit of force, and she couldn’t help but moan. He rolled them over, so that he was now on top of her. Ethan then started kissing her neck as his hand wandered under her t-shirt.

“We are not having sex in your parents’ couch” Y/N giggled, pushing him off.

“It’s fine, let’s go to our room” his lips attached to her neck.

Y/N rolled her eyes in amusement “Let me re-phrase that. We are not having sex in your parents’ house”

“There’s a motel down the-“

Y/N cut him off “I’m sure you can survive four more days without sex, you hormonal idiot” she hit him with the pillow, making him detached his lips from her skin.

“I really doubt that. I really miss being insid-“

Y/N put her hand on his mouth “No dirty talking either”

“Why do you have to be so respectful?” Ethan rolled his eyes in frustration.

“I’m sorry, babe. Kissing and cuddling will have to suffice”

“Fine” he crossed his arms in front of his chest and huffed. Y/N couldn’t stop her laughter “Don’t laugh at me, I’m mad.”

“I’m sorry, but you look so adorable. I love you very much”

He opened his arms so that she could cuddle his side “I love you very much too”

AFTER THE MOVIE, TARA INVITED Y/N FOR A SLEEPOVER AT HER HOUSE, WHICH SHE GLADLY ACCEPTED. Turns out, Ethan’s friends welcomed her to the group with open and warm arms—except for Kara, of course.

“Ew, Econ” Y/N said, shivering in disgust, when she saw the book lying on Tara’s desk. The four girls—Tara, Mindy, Quinn and Anika—laughed at her reaction. “It haunts me, I swear. I have to do the final exam next week”.

“We’re so lucky to be on summer vacations now” Mindy smiled contently.

Y/N furrowed her eyes “You are?”

“Yup, our college gives us one more week. So we started vacations this week” Tara explained.

“But-“ Y/N shook her head. “Never mind”

“No, tells us” Quinn encouraged.

“It’s just that today I invited Kara to the movies, and she said she had lots of college assignments to do, so she couldn’t come” Y/N said.

The girls exchanged glances “Maybe she just wasn’t in the mood and didn’t want you to feel rejected” Anika suggested.

“Yeah, that makes sense… yes, maybe you’re right” Y/N said, feeling a little bit better. Maybe she was overthinking.

“I mean, she did tell us we should invite you to a sleep over so you’d feel more comfortable” Tara said.

“Really? That’s nice of her. Yeah, I’m totally overreacting” Y/N shook her head, the pressure on her chest loosened.

“You’re really cool, Y/N/N. I don’t know how Ethan pulled you” Mindy said, making his girlfriend elbow her in the ribs. “Ouch! She knows I’m joking”.

Y/N laughed “You guys are really cool too”.

hey babe!

everything okay?

She texted Ethan, who replied a few short minutes later.

yup, everything’s good

um, when you get here in the morning we should talk

That text made Y/N confused. He seemed dry, but she didn’t want to think about it so she just answered him shortly.

yeah, okay

we’re going to sleep now, so see you tomorrow<3

good night

Y/N fell asleep with a big knot in her stomach. She could feel something was not right at all, and it scared the hell out of her.

Y/N AND QUINN WALKED BACK TO HER HOUSE THE NEXT MORNING, and the red-head could sense something was going on inside her head. She looked completely sad and her face was the physical representation of anguish.

“You’re like an open book, you know? Come on, tell me what’s wrong” Quinn said. Y/N sighed and showed her the texts from last night. “He seems normal, he always texts like that”.

“Not to me”

“What could you possibly have done wrong? He was fine when we left the cinema, and then you didn’t talk to him until that text”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m worried”

“Well, whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll both be okay. I know my brother very well, and I can tell he loves you very much. Like literally, you don’t know how much he talks about you, Y/N/N” she bumped her shoulder with hers.

“I hope it’s nothing, because he’s everything to me” she smiled sadly. At Quinn’s curious glance, she explained, “After my parents kicked me out of the house, because I didn’t follow the career they wanted, I was left in a dark place. And then I met your brother, and he helped me heal. I don’t know where I would be if it wasn’t for him, so the thought of losing him completely terrifies me”.

Quinn hugged her in comfort, her heart breaking for the girl. “You’re not losing him, Y/N. Couples fight, but they talk and they solve it, especially when love is present. And you and my brother have an incredibly amount of love for each other.”

“Thank you, Quinn” Y/N smiled gratefully.

“Anytime, you’re part of the family now, which I’m glad because you’re a sweetheart”

When they both arrived to the house, Quinn went to her bedroom, after telling Y/N to keep her updated on what was going on, and Y/N went to Ethan’s room. He was sitting with his back against the blue bedpost and was watching Tik Toks.

When he heard the door of the room being opened, he looked up and frowned “You didn’t sleep well” he stated, looking at the bags under her eyes.

“Um, no. I couldn’t sleep, I was worried about your texts, to be honest. You seemed off, is everything okay?”

“Kara came here last night” Ethan said.

Y/N frowned “Okay?”

“She said she came here to confront you”

“Confront me?” she asked confused.

“Because of the invitation” Ethan explained.

“Oh! It’s not a big deal” Y/N brushed it off.

Ethan scoffed and looked at her in anger, taking her aback “Not a big deal? What the hell, Y/N?”

“Why are you angry?” Y/N asked surprised.

He stood up from the bed “Oh, I don’t know! Maybe because my best friend was crying because my girlfriend leaves her aside. Because she wanted to get to know you and you just hung out with the rest of the group, but not with her”

“How is that my fault?!” Y/N asked in disbelief “I didn’t leave her out of the plan, she was the first person I asked to come!”

“Then why wasn’t she there?” Ethan asked in an accusatory tone.

“Because she told me she had college stuff to do and wouldn’t be able to make it” she explained.

Ethan laughed drily “Come up with a better excuse, Y/N, they are on summer break. Look, I understand if you are jealous, but you honestly have no reason to be. I love you and only you, you didn’t have to act like a bitch.”

The last word felt like stab to the chest “I didn’t do anything! I now know that she’s on holidays. The girls told me, they said Kara might have said that because she wasn’t in the mood for movies and didn’t want to make me feel bad for declining the invitation. But now she’s acting like I have been scheming against her, so I don’t know what to think anymore” she scoffed. She couldn’t believe Kara would be capable of going that far.

Ethan sat on the edge of the bed and sighed “I don’t know, Y/N”

“You don’t believe me” it wasn’t a question, it was an statement. And it pierced her heart that Ethan couldn’t even look at her “You really think I’m a crazy jealous girlfriend that only wants you to herself” the sadness was mixed with disbelief.

“I just… I need time to think” Ethan said softly, which made her a bit angry. He really believed she was capable of doing something like that.

Y/N shook her head, trying to hold back the tears “Whatever, Ethan. I just want you to remind you that I came here because I wanted to meet your family”

“Y/N-“

“I made sure all of your friends were going to be here, I made a fucking list of things we could do to get to know the other, I wrote down recipes I could do with your mom and sister-“

“Okay, I get it” Ethan said, trying to grab her hand, but she pushed it away.

“Do you?” her voice was thin, and she hated it. She hated crying so much “Because you didn’t hesitate for a second to believe I would be capable of purposely doing something to hurt the people you love”

“She’s my best friend” he tried to explain.

“Yes, I get that. But I’m your girlfriend, and I don’t expect you to call her bluff instantly, but you had no trouble at all believing I would do something as shitty as that” she pressed her lips in a thin line and brushed the tears off with her hands “And that fucking hurts. Especially because you know how much you mean to me”

“I’m sorry, Y/N/N. I’m just really confused” Ethan sighed, the sight of her crying made him feel like he had just kicked a puppy.

“I’ll give you space” Y/N said, grabbing her suitcase.

“What are you doing?” Ethan asked, panic present in his voice.

“You need time to think, and I do too” Y/N said, starting to pack her things.

“Are you breaking up with me?” the pressure on his chest was like nothing he had ever felt before. As if someone was stepping on it, not allowing him to breathe properly.

“No. We can’t talk to each other when we’re like this, we need time to process everything before we discuss it. We will end up saying things we might regret” Y/N said, facing away from him.

The pressure decreased but Ethan could still feel it. “Where are you going?”

“Back home, you should stay here. I’ll see you in a couple of days” Y/N said, standing in the doorway.

Ethan watched her walk away, fingers itching to hold her back. That was supposed to be a happy trip, she had been so excited to meet everyone. “Fuck” he grabbed a pillow and buried his face there, allowing the tears to fall.

ETHAN’S HEAD FELT LIKE EXPLODING AFTER CRYING SO MUCH, SO HE DECIDED TO GO FOR A WALK. He tried to take a nap, but without Y/N by his side, it was impossible. He felt complete emptiness now that she wasn’t around, and even if it had just been a couple of hours since they last saw each other, he missed her insanely. They had never fought like that, and it felt like hell.

“Ethan! Hey, we were just going to your house” Chad said, the rest of the group standing next to him.

“The cinema is playing Mamma Mia, Y/N’s favorite, and we thought we should definitely go” Anika said.

Ethan felt a pang on his heart at the mention of her name. “Um, Y/N left.”

“Oh, where?” Tara asked confused.

“We had a fight. It was pretty bad, and she went back home” even mentioning the fight made him want to crawl into a ball and cry like a little kid. He could hear his own broken voice.

“What happened?” Chad asked, rubbing his friend’s shoulder in a comforting way.

“Kara came over last night to tell me Y/N left her out of the plan because she was jealous of our friendship” Ethan said.

“That doesn’t sound like Y/N” Mindy said confused. “In fact, I think Kara was the first person she asked”.

“That’s what she told me, but Kara says the exact opposite. I don’t know what to believe, I mean, I trust them both and one of them is definitely lying” he exposed his frustration.

“Wait, Kara was the one who told us to invite Y/N for a sleepover” Anika said, frowning. “Why would she want to make Y/N feel part of the group if she was supposedly leaving her stranded?”

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s weird” Tara nodded.

Mindy gasped, scaring the group “What if she told us to invite her so she could talk to Ethan alone?”

“You make her seem like a movie villain, Mindy” Chad rolled his eyes. “But then again, this feels like a movie conflict”.

“Besides, she has a motive” Mindy said, ignoring her twin’s comment. Ethan looked at her confused, and the girl rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. Are you that oblivious? Kara’s been in love with you for ages.”

“What?” Ethan asked shocked.

“Actually, now that I think about it, Kara had been acting strange since Ethan told us he would be coming with his girlfriend” Chad spoke.

“I’m a fucking idiot” Ethan groaned.

“Agreed” Mindy said, and Anika elbowed her on the side.

“She’s hates me now. She’s going to break up with me” Ethan said in panic.

“She won’t” Anika reassured him. “Wish you’ve heard how she talked about you last night, Eth. She has you on a fucking pedestal, don’t worry about it. You’ll be alright.”

“I hope so, guys. Because I love her way too much, and I don’t know what I’d do if I lost her”

THE SECOND THEY FIGURED IT OUT, ETHAN ALMOST GRABBED HIS KEYS TO CHASE AFTER HIS GIRLFRIEND. But his friends convinced him to let her be for a couple of days, which felt like torture because Ethan couldn’t stand being far away from her. He was so used to being with her that now he didn’t know how to be without her.

Now that the days had passed, he drove back to the city. His gaze constantly fell on the seat next to him, as if expecting Y/N to materialise there, he longed for her terrible voice screaming Taylor Swift songs like crazy.

Ethan stared at the door of their shared apartment anxiously. His stomach was revolted and his hands were so shaky that the knock on the door was barely audible. Yet, Y/N opened the door instantly, almost as if she had been expecting him—which she had.

When Ethan left his town, Quinn sent her a text telling her, so she could be prepared. And when she heard the sound of his knuckles against the wood, she ran towards it with desperation.

The couple almost cried at the sight of the other and in that moment, they both somehow knew they’d be okay. They still needed to talk, though.

“Hi” at the sound of her voice, he couldn’t help but engulfing her in a hug. They both melted at the touch of the other, and relief washed over their bodies. “I’m sorry, Ethan. Fuck, I missed you. I’m sorry.”

“No, no” he said, closing the door behind him while still hugging his girlfriend by the waist. “I’m the one who should be apologising. Shit, I’m such an asshole. Of course you’d never do something to hurt me, I’m sorry, Y/N. That thought should’ve never crossed my mind, and you had every right to be mad at me.”

“Yes, but I should’ve been more understanding. I mean, you had known her for longer than you’ve known me. Of course you wouldn’t distrust her”

“Still, I said some shitty things I really don’t think. You’re not a crazy jealous girlfriend or a bitch. You’re the best girlfriend I could ever ask for, and I’m so lucky to have you”

“I’m lucky to have you too. I missed you” she pressed her forehead against his, bumping their noses. Y/N traced the outline of his cheekbones delicately, loving the feeling of his soft skin and the way it seemed to relax him.

They went to sit on the couch, and Ethan pulled her on his lap, hugging her waist as she rested her head on his chest.

“I missed you too. I should’ve chased after you. I was about to do it, but the group held me back, saying you needed some time”

Y/N smiled “That was probably wise. I was a bit mad”

“They loved you, by the way. Especially Quinn” he said playing with her hair.

The girl laughed “I loved them too. Especially Quinn too, like I might have a tiny crush on her”

“Ouch, one visit and you’re already leaving me for my sister?” Ethan poked her in the ribs, making her squirm.

“Sorry. She’s just that great” Y/N said.

Ethan rolled his eyes and then smiled “I’m really glad you like her. Um, she told me that if I don’t fix things with you, I shouldn’t bother to go back”

Y/N giggled “See? She’s fricking awesome”

“Stop complimenting my sister, compliment me” he gave her a fake pout.

Y/N shook her head, grinning “You’ll always be my number one, Eth”

He pecked her lips “And you’ll always be mine.”

#ethan landry #ethan landry fluff #ethanlandry #ethan landry drabble #ethan landry fic #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x you #ethan landry x reader #jack champion #jackchampion #jack champion x reader #jack champion oneshot #jack champion x y/n #jack champion imagine #jack champion fluff

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canmom · 4 days

Text

So a little over a month ago I was reached out to by @peterkats, a gay refugee currently living in a camp with a small group of other gay and trans refugees.

Peter has, to put it mildly, had a fucking time of it. In his home country, Uganda, his partner was murdered for being trans. He stayed for some time in Kakuma refugee camp in Kenya with a group of gay and trans people (pictured above), but violence from police forced them to move, and they're currently in a refugee camp run by the UNHCR. (I've been asked not to explicitly name the country but you can probably figure it out.)

Unfortunately this has not in any way been a reprieve. They've managed to flee right into an impending famine, and if that's not enough, they're still facing violence from police and other refugees, and general indifference from the UNHCR medical staff - who are also facing supply shortages. But it's not completely hopeless. When Peter contacted me, he needed money for food - I sent him some via an intermediary and he was able to get quite a bit (the exchange rate seems to be favourable). With help, things can be quite different.

We've stayed in touch since then, talking about our respective lives, the lgbtq situation in different countries, even videogames and music. He's a really sweet guy, despite it all still trying to find a place he can live free. For real, I would not survive any of this shit.

Recently a couple of people in Peter's group have caught malaria. They are currently sleeping on bare mats without mosquito nets. There seems to be some confusion about the exchange rates but as far as I have been able to gather, about €150 (~20,000ssp) gets a mattress and €10(~1000ssp) a malaria net. The UNHCR have not been able to provide any medication except paracetamol, and it's raining which promotes mosquito activity, so this is kind of an emergency.

I would very much prefer if the new friend I've made doesn't die of starvation or malaria. Unfortunately, I do not have the money to support Peter and his group alone. I've sent him money for one mattress (via PayPal for expediency, it won't show up on GFM), and I would be immensely grateful if you would be able to contribute a bit to getting them another (which would be just about enough to keep six people safe from mosquitoes if sleeping three to a mattress).

Beyond that, these guys are prohibited from working so they would definitely benefit from food money. And if anyone has an idea for a long term plan to get them somewhere safer where they're less likely to get bashed, I am sure Peter would appreciate hearing about it. We talked a bit about the UK asylum process but getting everyone here would be very difficult (passports, flights etc.).

But still like, I can only do so much on my own, and I want to give these guys a fighting chance. So if you could pass this around and donate if you can spare a bit? I'd be insanely grateful.

#signal boost #lgbt #gay #refugee support

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digital-domain · 1 month

Text

slip

Feitan x Reader drabble // word count 1.5k

In which you dream about someone you shouldn’t, and talk in your sleep.

Tags/Warnings: yandere, kidnapped reader, mention of blood and gore (past and imagined), knives, implied noncon, implied threat of death (to reader), implied murder (not reader), reader is gonna be fucked up over this forever

A/N: first time writing this man, not sure how I feel about it but it’s either post or stare at it forever

As always - 18+, read the tags, if you don’t like the tags then don’t go below the cut. Thank you and enjoy.

There is a knife against your throat, and you barely know how it got there, much less why. You didn’t do anything. Didn’t run, didn’t try to shove your tormentor away, didn’t tell him that you wished he was dead, or worse. You wouldn’t have had the time to do these things, even if you wanted to. You hadn't been awake for a second before his hand stirred from where it had lain on your waist. And now - the blade twitches, slightly. It doesn’t press quite hard enough to make you bleed, but certainly enough to make you picture what would happen if it did. If it kept going, long past the point where red rivulets stained the threadbare sheets beneath you.

A small noise escapes your mouth. You get nothing in response. It takes time for Feitan to speak, when there’s something on his mind.

It’s taking too long, even for him.

Last night, you thought you were safe. He kissed you, after meticulously washing a stranger’s blood out from beneath his nails. He watched you fall asleep, kept a hand on you until exhaustion finally forced you to nod off in the early hours of the morning. The strange affection he gives you is worse than any cruelty you could imagine, but not nearly as bad as the thought that somehow, you’ve managed to lose it. There are no words in your mind, now, only scattered images of what might happen, what you might become, the barely-recognizable thing strewn out across the floor -

“What were you dreaming about?” Feitan’s voice is dull and quiet, as always. Like he’s asking you this over breakfast, and not on what could be your deathbed.

You don’t remember, and you don’t answer. There is no air left for you to speak.

“What were you dreaming about?” he repeats. It’s almost the same voice, but there’s a hint of urgency, now. The barest hint - but you’ve grown used to interpreting the faint indications he gives you. “Talk.”

“I don’t”- You gasp, but seem to take in nothing. “-don’t remember”-

“You were talking when you were sleeping.”

Statements like these are dangerous. He expects you to understand what he means, always. He does not like to elaborate.

“I…” You screw your eyes shut, try to forget where you are just enough to remember where you were. “It was night. In the dream. And I was…” Oh. No. You can’t say that part out loud. Never, ever, ever. When you open your eyes, your vision is blurry. They close once more, of their own accord. “I was sitting with someone. Talking.” Someone. Someone has no face, no name - you pray that he’ll let you leave it at that. That he won’t ask for more.

“You said…” His face is close to the back of your neck, and yet, you cannot feel his breath on your skin. “When you were sleeping, you said I love you.”

Your stomach threatens to infringe upon your throat. You curse your sleeping mind for giving you something beautiful to dream of, and for letting it slip out of your mouth. Beautiful things do not survive here, and your mouth is always better kept shut.

“Who?”

You’d think, in your present situation, that you wouldn’t have enough room in your head to feel terrified for anyone else. But you do. Terrified enough to try something stupid.

You’re sure Feitan can feel the tension in your body, the instinctual way it readies itself for a fight (you would lose instantly) or an attempt at escape (you wouldn’t make it an inch). “It wasn’t about”- you choke on your own breath, try again. “It wasn’t about anyone real. Just a dream-person.”

“Bad liar,” he accuses. You do not protest. It was pointless to try.

And yet, you try again. You know that your answer matters. Enough for you to force more lies across the blade that still presses against your skin. “Someone I used to date. A long time ago.” Really, it was only a few weeks before Feitan….found you that things ended. But time is subjective - it certainly feels like a long time has passed since then.

“Oh.” If he suspects that you’re lying again, he doesn’t say it. But he does tend to leave a lot of things unsaid.

“He”- You suck in a breath as the knife twitches again. The movement is not an accident. It’s never an accident - his hands are unnaturally steady, when he wants them to be. “He ended things. I don’t think he thinks about me anymore.” This needs to be true. He needs to believe that it’s true, or-

“But you still think about him.”

Your stomach churns. “It was just a dream.” Technically not a lie, either. You’d have to say no for it to be a lie.

Feitan pauses for a moment. You’d have expected him to be furious, to take this out on you in some unimaginably awful way. Instead you hear a single sigh, feel it soft against your skin. “He let you go.” He sounds almost confused, his muted voice drawn out just enough to make his resentment clear. The knife turns slightly, and this time, you’re not sure if it was on purpose. “He must be stupid.”

You bite down on the inside of your lip, sharp and hard enough to tear a bit of the lining away. It’s awful when he says these things. Words that could be sweet, if you removed everything around them.

“I can’t control what I dream about,” you whisper, almost too quiet to be heard. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” He withdraws the blade, swings his feet off the bed - the floor, decrepit as it is, should creak when he stands, but it never does. “You don’t need to tell me anything else.”

You know better than to be relieved, so you turn over, to your other side, and fix your gaze on the floor. Watch him carefully, indirectly. You listen, your breath almost as silent as his, as he picks up his jacket from the end of your bed, puts it on.

And he smiles. His face is covered, but you see it in his eyes. “I can figure out the rest.”

The rest.

Your heart hammers, but your blood stands still. Frozen in your veins. You know why he’s put on his jacket. Why he’s leaving. Where he’s going.

The knife still dangling from Feitan’s hand catches a shard of your reflection, a smudged picture of a terrified eye that disappears before you can look any closer.

The rest. Name, face, address - all too easy. There are clues in your confiscated possessions, in the place where you used to live.

It’s as if the knife is still held to your throat. No. It’s as if your skin has already broken beneath it. You do not think in words. You think in gory pictures, infinitely clearer than the haze you see before forcing your eyes shut. Your blood, mixing with what you’re sure will be on that blade by day’s end. Skin-gushing-red-bones-out-something being buried, dirty hands returning to you, staining your face, your clothes, the things underneath, silent breath coming alive, painfully soft in your ear -

You open your eyes. You want to scream at him to stop, to stay. But your mouth stays shut.

“I won’t draw it out.” For a moment, he looks down, and you swear you see his face color. Like he’s said something overly sweet, and can barely stand it. “I promise.”

It’s enough to make it real. Enough to unseal your lips. “Don’t…” You should be yelling. But it’s all you can do, finding enough strength to make a near-silent, desperate appeal. “Please. You don’t have to. I’m not going to - to run. To him or anyone else. I’m not gonna do anything. I don’t - it was just a dream…”

“Stop.” His smile drops, eyes narrow. Voice even quieter than usual, deathly calm.

You go silent. Perfectly still.

“If you keep trying to save him, I’ll break my word. I already want to.”

You forget how to breathe.

This can’t be a choice you have to make. This can’t be in your hands. There are words in your head, finally, and you can’t say them.

You have to say them.

“I’m sorry.”

"Okay." He stares at you for far too long, unblinking. For seconds, or maybe hours, or maybe days - they’re all the same, to you, now. “It’s okay.”

No. He is unforgivably wrong. Nothing will ever be okay again. You’re in some other world, in your mind, and it’s going to take more than you have to yank you out of it.

You can barely see him in front of you. His voice reverberates strangely in your head. But when he moves, it’s like your senses pull themselves together. You realize that your eyes are wet, that a tear is rolling down the bridge of your nose, that you can breathe after all, but only in ragged gasps…

“You look…nice…when you cry.” He drops his gaze once more, tugs up on the cloth that covers his face. His smile is back, creasing the corners of his eyes, and it is the ugliest thing you have ever seen. “Wonder if he thought that, too.”

#feitan x reader #yandere feitan #tw blood #tw yandere #tw kidnapping #tw violent imagery #tw implied noncon #tw implied murder

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diejager · 4 months

Note

ive always been meaning to ask this- but has big brother! simon ever tried to convince his little sister to... well, quit the military? or like find ways to get her out? i kinda imagine him going beserk when his lil sis gets critically hurt in any way

Cw: injury, protective Ghost, gunshot wound, blood, canon-typical violence, tell me if I missed any.

He wasn’t against you being in the air force, you were a medic, often in the safety of your field hospital or behind them in missions. He figured that the safest place for you would be beside him where he could physically protect you from any kind of harm. How could he protect you if you’re miles away? How could he prevent you from having your heart broken if he wasn’t there to prevent it from the start and stop the bastard who took it in the first place? How could he care for you if he was countries away, being flown across oceans to fight someone else’s battle?

He was sure he’d be able to protect you at all cost, doing his best to ensure your safety and livelihood in the Task Force and as his field medic. He made sure that he did everything right —until he watch you crumble behind him, curling into yourself with panicked breaths as you held your abdomen. He was confused, unable to grasp at the situation until he caught red bleeding into your fatigues, dripping down your gloves from the pressure you put on your open wound. He dropped everything to rush you to safety, behind the line of safety and back on a help for a medevac.

He watched you being wheeled away from him on a stretcher, your panting and groaning figure, abdomen blooming red and face pinched in a wince, pulled away from him with great reluctance. He stuck around, lumbering in the hall while you were in operation to take the bullet out, biting his nail and ripping his hair off until he was told to sit down by his Captain and join the rest of his team in the waiting area while you were out.

Despite being promised that the chances of your survival was at a hundred percent, Simon couldn’t eat or sleep, he spent the night in your hospital room, eyes wide open and exhausted. He was frantic when you woke up, blinking away the exhaustion and pain killers in your blood, and he relaxed, lost all the tension in his body when you smiled at him. He took two weeks of leave to care for you, watching you while you recovered from your wound.

This attack had clicked something in his mind, it made him hover over you, a lingering shadow of worry and protectiveness. He worried that if you continued on following him, coming back to the Task Force and joining them on missions, you’d risk dying. It scared him. His paranoia conjuring up images where he would come home to a cold and silent place, desolate and lacking life. He couldn’t bear to live in a world devoid of you, missing your bright light that made his heart beat, that insured that he continued on living and breathing. You were the reason he bothered living after all the shit he survived.

The only solution coming to mind was to have you retire, convince you to get out of it while you were still breathing. Perhaps keeping you grounded on land, acting as a doctor rather than a combat medic would be safer if you still wanted to work —if Simon wanted to be able to keep you within his grasp. He’d have to run it past Price first, see what his thought were on his and your situation.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia @notspiders @velvetsoulweaver @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #mw2 ghost #ghost #mw2 ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost cod #simon x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #ghost simon riley #simon riley

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motherroam-rs · 2 months

Text

Wrap Me in Your Skin and Bones

NSFW - 18+

Warnings/Tags : Cockwarming, Nightmares, Mentions of Trauma and PTSD, Angst, Comfort, Love Confessions

Relationship: Crosshair/Fem!Reader

Summary: After solitary confinement on Mount Tantiss, Crosshair is plagued by nightmares that lead him to seek comfort in your body.

A/N : Wrote and posted this to AO3 before season 3 but wanted to put it here too 🫡 I just had this angsty lil thing in my head about how a touch starved Cross would deal with physical contact after the empire 🫶 (even though I firmly believe Tech survived the fall - he’s dead for the purpose of this I’m SORRY)

NSFW BELOW THE CUT

The sharp hit to your ribs has you springing into a sitting position, eyes wild and scanning the room for a threat. Muscle memory from years in the war has you reaching for the blaster and pointing it towards various shadows in the room.

You would be a lousy shot with the way your hand shook from the adrenaline in your veins. But, there are no imperial agents hiding in your room, no battle droids under your bed, the source of the attack lays next to you, writhing against imaginary forces in his nightmare.

Crosshair.

Abandoning the blaster on the floor, you work on tearing the bedsheets away from him before he can tangle himself any further in the restrictive fabric. Every muscle in his body seems to be rigid, even once you manage to free him, but he still thrashes, as if fighting against invisible restraints.

The sight of his struggle has your stomach forming knots.

“Crosshair, wake up,” your pleading hands press to his shoulder, thankful that the prominence of his collarbones has eased over the last few weeks, but he’s still nowhere close to as healthy he was the last time you saw him before the war had ended.

Unlike the rest of the batch, you hadn’t seen Crosshair during his time under the empire, and although during his absence you were thankful for it, this only made it worse the day his brothers brought him home.

Crosshair had always been the leanest of them, you had even joked with him on several occasions that he resembled the toothpicks which always hung from his lips, but the breath had been stolen from your body when Echo half-carried him down the walkway. Crosshairs face was almost as hollow as Echo’s had been after Skako Minor, and it was now flecked in silver stubble, with a large scar that stretched across the side of his head where patches of hair were entirely missing.

Just as the pair passed you by, Crosshairs eyes had met your own. You were used to a range of emotions in them, from heated glares and desire filled gazes, occasionally there was even an amused look that framed his eyes with a hint of laughter lines. However, what you didn’t prepare yourself for was for them to be entirely void of any emotion, it was if you were just one of the stone pillars that lined the streets.

After a week in the infirmary, it became evident that Crosshair couldn’t sleep alone. With Hunter preoccupied with Omega, the responsibility fell to Echo the first few nights, he was the closest to understanding Crosshairs situation after all.

On the third day after the rescue, Hunter had told you although Omega was kept somewhat safe with another female clone, they had found Crosshair in solitary confinement. Something deep in your chest broke at the unsaid weight of the information. Despite his aversion to most people, Crosshair had spent years of being in tight living spaces with his brothers, only to be thrown in a cell alone for maker knows how long.

Maybe this was why he gravitated towards you once he was finally in good enough physical condition to be released from the infirmary.

Between Echo’s own complicated relationship with sleep, Wrecker’s inability to not snore and wake everyone in the immediate vicinity, and Hunters responsibility for Omega, it was you who took him in.

If Tech was still here, he would have been the one to stay with Crosshair. You push that thought down, but the pain still resonates in your chest.

You give Crosshair another shake, and the second your other hand presses to the bare skin of his face, his eyes snap open. He lashes out like a snarling animal trapped in a snare, gripping both your wrists and pinning you beneath him with a speed that causes the room to spin around you.

“It’s just me, Cross.” You speak in a hushed tone, attempting to calm him as you fight against his grip.

Reality bleeds into his eyes, momentarily easing his pained expression, but then he’s choking on the air, collapsing onto you.

“I need,” although his face is buried in your neck, you hear the emotion crack his voice, and you already know the broken look that on his face. “Please, I need you.”

“It’s okay, Cross.” You nod and widen your legs, allowing his hips to settle between them. Your bodies act on the familiar routine you had both fallen into over the last few months since he moved into your spare room - which he has still never spent a night in. Crosshairs shakes have already begun to ease with the contact, his hands have at least stilled enough so he can effectively rid you both of the few items of clothing until you were bare against each other.

He coils himself around you at first, as if he were a snake trying to suffocate its prey, but you only wrap your arms around him in return, welcoming his touch. You aren’t certain if it’s the solitary confinement that made him need the contact, or if it’s some lingering effect of the chip, but either way you still offer yourself to him.

Seemingly unable to wait for his heart to settle, he chases the comfort only you can provide, and begins the slow push of himself inside you. Crosshair’s breaths are escaping him in desperate pants and he’s pressing as much of himself to you as possible, seeking the warmth of your body to drive away the sensation of the cold interrogation table that plagued his mind.

The stretch burns with the little preparation you have, and Crosshair senses your silent discomfort. He draws his hips back with a mumbled apology, so only the tip remains inside you, and draws slow circles on your clit with his thumb. It doesn’t take long for the resistance to ease with your wetness, and soon enough he’s rocking back into you with a groan, allowing you time to adjust.

He doesn’t attempt to bring you to the precipice, or anywhere close to it. Once he fully settles into you, his hand withdraws and instead tangles itself in your hair.

Right now Crosshairs need for you isn’t sexual, despite what it seems.

Some nights it will delve into more once his body relaxes, and he’ll take his time to have you come undone beneath him with more care and attention than he had ever possessed before the rise of the empire. But tonight, as he does most nights, he stills once fully seathed inside you, his only desire being your embrace.

“Where was it this time?” Sometimes he would answer, but other times he would give a slight shake to his head in response.

“Barton-4, then the interrogation room.” His voice is strained, and you recall everything he’s already told you about these places, specifically the haunting memory of Mayday’s death.

“You’re safe, we’re both safe, Crosshair.” You press a kiss to his temple as if it would help the promise sink into his mind. One of your hands moves to the back of his head, cradling him against your neck as the other traces patterns on his back.

It takes a few minutes of silence for his breathing to fall in sync with yours, and despite his cock being inside you, the light exhale against your neck has your face heating at the intimacy. His shakes have entirely ceased now, and you think he’s fallen asleep, until you hear the broken whisper.

“I love you.”

Your body freezes at the admission, both hands stopping their comforting movements. His throat bobs against your neck with a dry swallow, and you wonder if it’s his body trying to subconsciously take back the words.

You had been somewhat together during the clone wars, but it was never emotionally intimate. He had a physical need for you in a way that led to fucking you from behind against almost every surface on the marauder. And yet, true to his cold nature he never faced you, or even kissed you. Once he finished, he would neaten his armour and leave without a goodbye, yet you would still allow him back every time he gave the word.

“Crosshair-“ you start, but he’s cutting you off before your mouth can form another syllable.

“I know it’s not the right time to say it, but I do, I always have.” He rasps, trying to force the confession out in one breath, as if ripping the bacta patch off a wound.

Always have?

Your mind begins unravelling years of your self-imposed torture during the clone wars from biting down your feelings, pretending not to care when some pretty girl inevitably threw herself at him in a bar.

“You need to sleep.” He bites out, hurt evident in his tone at your lack of response, but he doesn’t dare peel himself away from you. Despite the hurt seeping into him, he’s too selfish to let you go unless you ask him to leave.

“Crosshair.” There’s no response, but something possesses you to reach out anyways, and you’re pressing your hand to his face, craning your neck to meet his stare. His eyes are open, but still avoid your own.

Your brush your nose against his, and your thumb traces over the sharp angle of his jaw, memorising the way he ever-so-slightly leans into your touch.

“I love you too.”

His eyes close, a shaky breath of relief escaping his lips. Crosshair had never needed a helmet to mask his emotions before his brothers brought him back to Pabu, back to you. His face had always been set in an ever cold smirk, whether it be when he was taunting a reg, on a stealth mission, or when you caught glimpses of him in mirrored surfaces in the marauder as he fucked himself into you. However, at your words, something akin to peace washes over his face, allowing it to morph into a rare expression of something softer, like that of a soldier returning from battle finally setting eyes on his home.

When the morning comes, you half expect the bed to be cold, or at least as cold as it can be in the climate of Pabu, but when the midday sun casts its warming rays over your skin, he’s still inside of you. Slender limbs have tangled with your own and his face is nestled against your neck, but you can tell from his breathing that he’s already awake.

“Stay.” It’s a whispered prayer against your skin, a desperate plea to some deity that seems to have abandoned him long ago in that cell on Mount Tantiss. But you don’t think the gods, the Empire or even the force could keep you apart now, and you don’t want them to. You press your forehead to his, a wordless answer to him that you aren’t going anywhere, that he’ll never have to be alone again.

#tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x fem!reader #tbb crosshair #crosshair bad batch #clone trooper crosshair #crosshair #crosshair x reader #the bad batch #bad batch

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odocoiileus · 2 months

Note

Hiii! Can I ask for general headcanons about relationship with RZ Michael? And what the reader should do for him to not kill them in the first place?

pairings: rz! michael myers x gn! reader

warnings: mentions of murder, blood/gore, reader develops Stockholm syndrome if you squint, reader has nightmares (fueled by michael), michaels kind of an ass

a/n: sure! thanks for the ask🫶

let's start off in the beginning - you running from from this huge goliath of a man, fighting for your life.

rz michael is huge and extremely strong, obviously brutal, too. so rightfully, you're terrified.

I think the best ways to survive would be : A. fight until you can't anymore, prove your strength in a way - or B. try your best to empathize with him.

either way, if you survive, you're extremely lucky. sort of. michael won't simply let you go after surviving him, you're stuck with him now.

obviously it will take you a very long time to get the slightest bit comfortable around him, and vice versa. deep down, you know what he's capable of, and you never feel truly 100% safe.

Michael has never had a good example of what love should be like. let's not sugarcoat it, he's far from perfect as a romantic partner.

I can see him being very demanding (silently), and he has no care for your belongings or surroundings. so don't be surprised if he breaks stuff or ruins your shiny wooden floors or white carpet with blood. he'll just stare at you.

you can try to show him some humanity by cooking him meals, forcing him to shower showering with him, washing his clothes. it's foreign to him - a feral animal being forced into domesticity.

it'll be a verrryy long process, and it isn't linear.

even when he softens a bit, when he's just a bit more considerate — when he's laying in bed beside you, knife discarded on your bedside table and he's shown a sense of protectiveness over you --

you still have nightmares. who wouldn't? michael may show that he's protective (or possessive..you can't tell at this point) over you, but he's still a murderer. you know you're still at risk.

by no means will your relationship with him be perfect, but you relish in the soft moments you have with him.

braiding his hair, showering with him, laying with him (or on him, I mean, you could use him as a pillow), and cuddling.

you'll even put on some music you think he'll like: kiss, iron maiden, megadeth, etc.

it makes you feel like you're in a regular relationship, for just a moment.

despite your fears of being stabbed in your sleep or something wild like that, you soon find yourself not wanting to leave.

michael's a wild animal, and you're the one that's decided to put your life at risk by trying to domesticate him and show him love.

I do imagine he'd murder someone for you if you were ever in a situation where someone tried to hurt you,,,or tried to steal your attention away from him - maybe they were being just a bit too nosy, too curious about the stains in your floor, wondering why you never left the house.

you'll soon forget what loneliness is, anyway. you have Michael — a huge, silent giant who proves to be gentle with only you.

#odocoiileus #odofics #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher community #rz michael myers x reader #rz michael myers #michael myers #michael myers x reader

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chahnniesroom · 2 months

Text

for better, for worse | part 2

pairing: lee minho x female reader

summary: an arranged marriage is anything but ideal. minho knows that when it comes to his role as a husband, he's lacking, but you haven't exactly been the perfect wife either. a phone call from you leads to a shift in priorities.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: angst, descriptions of a car accident, non-graphic descriptions of injury

a/n: this was a highly requested part 2! please please read part 1 before you read this, otherwise it will not make sense. thanks to everyone who commented on the first part, it really motivated me to finish this! i did minimal/basically no editing, so sorry if there's any mistakes!

part 1 | till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

Traffic has slowed to a crawl and Minho tries his best to stay calm, but based on the way his driver keeps checking the rearview window to look at him, he’s not doing a good job.

They don’t even know the right hospital to go to. You had never specified in your call, so Minho had just looked up the closest one that was on the route to the hotel.

Honestly, he’s also shocked that he dropped everything to go to you. He just can’t shake the way that you had sounded on the phone. Scared, yes, but mostly… resigned.

You didn’t think that Minho would care, he realises with a jolt. You didn’t think that he would give up this work opportunity to go see you. He feels terrible, of course he does. At the end of the day, it’s not that he hates you, or even dislikes you, but just hates this whole situation.

He needs to talk to you. Make sure that you’re okay. Explain himself. Apologise.

But first, he has to get to you.

The longer they sit at a standstill, the antsier Minho gets. He can’t stop his leg from shaking and he has to rip off his tie because he feels like he can’t get enough air in.

“There was an accident,” the driver says, speaking for the first time since they left the hotel. They inch forward a little bit more until Minho can see one of the cars in question. It’s completely mangled, the front end is destroyed and there’s debris strewn along the street. It’s no wonder that the traffic is so bad, the site that has been closed off is almost an entire intersection.

“It looks awful,” Minho says, a sudden feeling of dread coming over him. He cranes his neck to try and see the other vehicle and-

It’s almost unrecognisable, but somehow, Minho knows that it’s his car that he’s looking at.

He doesn’t process anything until he’s out on the street, stumbling through the police tape. An officer approaches him, saying something in a calm voice, but Minho doesn’t even notice until they put a hand on his shoulder. He shoves it off immediately. Another officer grabs his arm, this time with more force.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but you can’t be here.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Minho fights against their attempts to restrain him. “It’s- I have to- my wife.” His voice sounds ruined, as wrecked as the vehicles in front of him.

They let him through.

Minho knows that you’re okay, that you were being treated, that you had been able to call and talk to him. But the damage is so extensive that he’s suddenly doubting himself. It seems impossible that anybody could survive this.

Before he can get close enough to really see inside the car, he stops in his tracks. It already looks so terrible, he can’t bear to any more details that would no doubt haunt him in his dreams.

“Do you know where they took her?” he manages to ask.

“Sir?” The officer closest to him steps closer to hear him better.

“The person that was a passenger. What hospital did they take her to?”

The officer names the closest hospital to the site, the one that Minho had guessed previously. Minho thanks him and spins on his heel, rushing back to where his current driver has been idling on the side. They make it there in record time.

The hospital staff redirect Minho to the intensive care unit when he arrives, giving him sympathetic glances as they do so. It’s on the second floor and Minho doesn’t have the patience to wait for the elevator, opting to run up the stairs instead.

The nurse at the desk in the intensive care unit looks up as Minho approaches. He must look like a mess, but she must be used to this level of dishevelment from visitors based on her lack of reaction.

“I’m looking for Lee Y/n,” Minho pants.

“What’s your relation to the patient?” she asks.

“I’m her husband,” Minho says and for the first time, the title feels natural.

“One moment, please.” The nurse takes her time, typing on her keyboard and clicking her mouse. Minho has to resist the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she understands the urgency of the situation. “She’s currently in room 103.”

Minho immediately starts walking in that direction before she calls out.

“Sorry sir, but her current conditions means that only one visitor is allowed in at a time. You’ll have to wait.”

“What do you mean?” Minho demands. “There’s already someone here? What’s her condition?”

“Yes, Y/n-nim has a visitor with her at the moment.”

“Who.”

“I’m sorry, I was not the attending nurse when he arrived. I don’t know who it is.”

“Can you get them to leave?”

“Pardon me?” The nurse blinks up at him dumbly.

“Leave. I need to see Y/n, she’s my wife! Why can’t I-”

“Sir, I’m going to need you to calm down, otherwise I’m going to have to call security to escort you off the premises,” the nurse says slowly. Minho closes his mouth abruptly and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to take deep breaths.

“Okay, okay, I’m calm. Please can I see her?” Minho pleads. “Can you talk to whoever the other visitor is, tell them that I’m here? I need to know if she’s okay.” The nurse purses her lips together, then stands. Minho almost feels dizzy with relief.

“I will inform Y/n-nim’s doctor and the visitor about your arrival, but that is all. You will have to wait for them to leave before you can enter.”

“Thank you,” Minho says.

He trails after her for a moment until they get to the room that you are staying in. After a pointed glance from the nurse, Minho drops into one of the chairs that line the hallway. She enters the room, closing the door behind her. A moment later, the nurse exits, alone.

“I let them know that you were here, sir,” she says. She leaves, walking back to her station before Minho can get a word in.

Minho sits and waits and tries not to worry and fails. He spends his time wracking his brain on who could be in the room with you and why they would refuse to let him in. He can’t think of who would be informed and have enough time to arrive ahead of him, not when he knows that your parents are currently out of the country.

The door finally opens and out steps Kim Seungmin, your childhood best friend and one of Minho’s least favourite people on the planet. He slows to a stop in front of Minho and takes a moment to study him. Seungmin’s eyes are red and swollen like he’s been crying, but his expression is a careful mask of indifference.

“Minho-ssi,” Seungmin says politely. “I didn’t think I would see you here.”

“Of course I’m here,” Minho bristles. “I’m her husband.”

“Hmm,” Seungmin says, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes as he considers his next words. “That’s never seemed to matter before.”

Minho hates Kim Seungmin.

“I-”

“Take care of her, Minho-ssi.” Seungmin moves closer until he’s practically breathing the same air as Minho. His tone is no longer condescending, just sad. “She’s already hurting. Don’t make things worse.” He side-steps around MInho and continues down the hall. Minho stares after him until he disappears around a corner.

Minho hates Kim Seungmin, but really, Minho just hates himself. Hates that Seungmin has a spot in your life that Minho will never have.

He had been impatient before, but now Minho feels nervous about seeing you. He’s treated you poorly in the past, maybe you wouldn’t even want to see him. Not like you would want to see Seungmin.

He takes a deep breath, then pushes the door open.

You’re awake, but your eyes look hazy, gaze drifting around the room until they lock onto Minho. Your brows furrow then jump in surprise.

“Minho-ssi? What-” You scramble to sit upright, letting out a hiss of pain the second that you move. The doctor, who Minho hadn’t even noticed, rushes forward, urging you to lie back down without success.

“Please, Y/n-nim,” the doctor says. “You need to rest right now.”

“But-”

“Y/n,” Minho says. Your gaze snaps to him. He hadn’t even realised he has made his way to your bedside until he reaches forward a hand and it touches your shoulder. He leads you back to rest against your pillows and this time, you go willingly.

Now that you’re calmer, the doctor stands. Minho glances over, but immediately turns his attention back to you. He can talk to the doctor later, right now he wants to make sure that you’re okay. Behind him, he hears footsteps leaving the room and the click of the door closing.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

“But, the speech-”

“I was worried about you. I needed to see you with my own eyes,” Minho says quietly. You close your mouth slowly, unable to think of a response.

There’s countless cuts and scratches littering your skin, bandages peeking out from beneath your clothes, bruises blossoming in the remaining skin, and that’s just what he can see at a glance. Almost nothing has been left unscathed. At your side, there’s a number of screens that are each monitoring something and a cluster of IV drips lead back to your arm.

Minho’s afraid to touch, afraid to hurt you even more.

He ghosts his hand across your cheek before shifting slightly to push back some hair that’s fallen over your face. You watch with wide eyes, not saying a word, although your cheeks slowly flush under his attention.

“I’m sorry,” Minho says eventually, but doesn’t feel like enough. “I know I haven’t been a good husband.”

You open your mouth in protest, but Minho bulldozes on, determined to make things clear even if his heart is hammering in his chest and his words are coming out shaky.

“I’ve been distant, negligent, too focused on work. I know that this situation has been… difficult. That for both of us, it wasn’t what we expected for our futures, but it doesn’t excuse the way that I’ve behaved. I know that even though it wasn’t my intention to, I hurt you.” He takes a deep breath to collect his thoughts. You stay quiet, clearly sensing that he hasn't finished his train of thought. “Y/n, I know there’s nothing that I can do to make up for the hurt that I caused. I know I can’t take back the pain you went through. But I promise, from now on, I’ll put you first.”

“Okay,” you say, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Okay?” Minho asks.

“We can start over, make things right. I know I haven’t done my best in this relationship either, but I want to try again.”

“Thank you,” he says in a hushed voice. “I’m sorry that it took this to make me come to my senses.” He reaches out, grasps your hand in his, careful of all the little cuts.

Minho holds your hand and he doesn’t let go, even when you drift off to sleep.

part 1 | till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

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littlestpetgoth · 4 months

Text

the big Tris post. here it is.

(originally i had it so that his parents were dead and he grew up alone, somehow surviving on his own and integrating himself into society, but that’s kind of ridiculous so i decided i'd scrap that narrative and make his experiences more human.)

for as long as tris has been alive it’s been noticed that his body has been capable of quickly recovering from any injury. as a child his scraped knees would smooth over by the next day, his paper cuts heal in instants, broken bones were better after a night’s rest. he was blessed with some kind of miracle that kept him safe from harm, it really helped his family save on medical bills, but as he grew older he started to see this blessing as more of a curse.

tris has always isolated himself, even at a young age. he purposely went to spots of the playground where no one else would play, ignored other children who would approached him, actively went out of his way to be alone. he doesn't like being around others and gets overwhelmed when forced into social situations. his overwhelming feelings sometimes grow into violence and he would lash out at his peers and hurt them when he got frustrated, throwing objects and tugging whatever he could grab onto, so most of the time he was left alone to avoid these outbursts. he grew up with few to no friends given how difficult it was to be around him.

tris takes out a lot of his frustrations and confusions not only on others but also on himself. even at a young age

his parents had him set up with a behavioral therapist to try to understand why he would lash out this way and why he wanted to be alone, and his answers have always been straight forward. he doesn't want to, and he doesn't like it. he doesn't like the way it feels to be in crowded classrooms, he doesn't like how noisy the other children are, and he doesn't like looking at the smiles his teachers give him to try to get him comfortable. His parents still had hope that he'd eventually open up and be like a normal child so they continued letting him go to public school. His teachers would avoid forcing him to closely participate with the other students for their safety. These efforts didn't mean things got better or anything.

tris at a young age developed a fascination for dead things. dead animals, dead plants, little tris would always somehow get his grubby little hands on something deceased. he has no respect for the dead by any means but instead his fascination is in the reactions that others have towards the dead. tris's favorite activity as a child was dangling a dead animal in the face of the kids around him. the kids around him were afraid of whatever awful thing he'd pull out of his pocket next, running away from him and scooting their seats to be as far as they possibly could. this reputation further isolated him, and even got him into some trouble with kids who didn't like his odd and awful behavior. there were many fights, scuffles, insults thrown his way. he was infamous for being problematic and no one wanted to try getting to know him, they all knew he was going to pull out some dead bug and throw it in their hair whenever he got the chance.

in tris's teen years he hasn't improved much, but has found a couple of ways of coping that keep the people around him safe. he's occupied himself with creating art, sculptures and drawings depicting his thoughts and fantasies, they're morbid and grotesque and one of the few things he finds joy in. he does his best to completely isolate himself and skips out on classes just to be alone with a sketchbook. around this time he also was coming to terms with his own identity, he doesn't like to identify as trans and just claims he's always been a boy and snaps at people who question that. he's overwhelmed with anxieties and frustrations when interacting with people in person, face to face, but he feels a lot more confident when socializing behind a screen via the internet.

it's easier to hide his face and figure, easier to get in touch with many people, and easier to lurk and observe without having to leave the safety and comfort of his room. he loves to start fights online, anonymously, and send horrific images and videos to unsuspecting people that make him feel sick. some of this content he's curated from various parts of the net but a lot of it he's made himself. diy snuff films feat yours truly, he enjoys brutalizing himself and sending it to his poor victims, relishing in their horrified reactions. of course he's ran into a few individuals who are fascinated with him, and want to learn more about him or get him to make personalized content, but he has no interest in interacting with these few and is irritated by their existence. alongside harassing and haunting the poor souls who catch his attention, tris posts his work on an art account where he eventually learns to take commissions from. he doesn't have much interest in games, movies and shows, or comics. every now and then he'll find something just to make the day go by faster.

tris has cycled through several therapists, has been prescribed various medication from a psychiatrist, has even been sent to camps to try and fix his odd and destructive behaviors but he is very uncooperative. he's made little progress in his journey of bettering himself and doesn't care to put any effort in it, even feeling resentful towards his parents for forcing him to even try. they've spent a lot of time and money into trying to find out what's wrong with him and trying to get him to be a normal child with friends and normal hobbies, but their every attempt has been for nothing. sometimes it seems tris lashes out in spite. he's also spoken with school counselors numerous times, they've tried to get a better understanding of him, he always shuts them out and doesn't reveal anything about his thoughts and feelings or why he does the things he does.

because he pays little attention in school and skips out frequently, he's been held back a year or two academically. tris has done some summer schooling to make up for this but he cares so little about his education that it hasn't caught him up. he still gets in trouble with other students and often is caught up in fights with peers who think he should be punished for his awful behavior (deserved really). he gets the shit beaten out of him pretty often, by bullies and what not, it makes him angry but he's not strong enough to fight back very well. he has resorted to keeping sharp objects on him that he can use to do real damage, and this has gotten him into so much trouble that he's been expelled from schools and forced to transfer elsewhere. he's in and out of hospitals and juvenile detention for all sorts of shenanigans.

there's no real specific events to make note of, a lot of his memories are a blur and people rarely capture his interest enough to remember them at all. he gets into photography at some point and starts taking photos of anything disgusting or depressing he can find. garbage, dead animals, puddles of blood after whatever he gets himself into, crying children, it's a miserable collection of things but it's what he likes to focus on. he'll photograph people at the park while people watching and imagine horrible things he thinks they deserve to go through just for existing.

ill wrap this up quickly because it's a long stupid post and i really don't need to keep going into depth on him, but one day while out taking photos he spots a young man. something about this boy captured tris's attention unlike anyone he's ever seen - maybe the way he smiled or the way he spoke so enthusiastically to others - and tris latched onto this feeling as hard as he could.

he found where he worked, where he lived, where he went to school where he liked to shop what he liked to do what his routine was. every thing tris could learn about this boy he managed to get his grimy hands on, that boy was cody. (ko's silly little emo boy oc)

tris had found a new hobby: stalking a guy he'd never spoken to, a guy who didn't even know he existed, and he hated him. he hated him with every cell in his body, seeing his stupid cheesy grin made his stomach churn and hearing his obnoxious voice made his jaw clench tighter. he wanted nothing more than to ruin the happiness that this young man experienced day to day. so what does any deranged teenager do when you hate someone? you cyber bully them online and send them cryptic awful messages until you see them break.

he'd dm him on throwaway accounts, sending images of his mutilation and paragraphs of graphic threats. cody never did anything to wrong tris, poor thing was probably scared out of his mind. what do you do when some crazy stranger is stalking you and sending you graphic content? probably block them over and over and over and just hope they leave you alone. but tris was determined. determined to make this guy who radiated light succumb to the darkness and also probably kill himself. he wanted to do everything he could to make cody miserable and to get rid of the swarming thoughts in his mind..

one day tris visited cody's place of work (i think its like a gas station, some sort of small store) and he is watching him quietly in a corner while pretending like he's shopping around. either cody got suspicious of him, or wanted to make sure he was ok, something happened that got cody to speak up and say hello to tris.. and tris froze up! he froze up, couldn't muster out a response and couldn't brush him off like he could other people. he could feel his heart pounding and his face get all hot.. darted out of the shop with several things stuffed into his pockets and got the hell out of there.. probably threw up afterwards. humiliating experience, unexplainable feelings. but those feelings weren't hatred and anger like before.. turns out he had a big gay crush on this white boy and didn't know what to do with himself. but he didn't know how to go about it .

idk. some more stuff between them, they warm up to each other and tris stops sending cody evil malicious messages. they're like totally in love... and tris is super possessive over him (craazy) while cody is doing his best to live with the horror that is tris yeah lol. its like. toxic evil yaoi to normal loving and sweet romance between two emo boys.

rushed at the end because otherwise i would never upload this, its been ssitting here for i think months now. tris means a lot to me.

#oc #gore #blood #tris #pookie :3 #sh scars #ref #death #dead animal #blarrh #cw

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mari-lair · 5 months

Text

I feel like Teru is this angry because he made it personal. There are two reasons for this.

The first is as you mentioned Anon: He trusts Akane, we can see him turn his back on him, letting Akane cover him many times, all of which Akane never disappoints.

I guarantee Teru wouldn't go "This will be the first and last time I'll ally with a supernatural" if Akane wasn't a part of the clockkeeper.

Teru is confident Akane would pick him over the clock keepers, that if the other keepers got aggressive for any reason, Akane would have his back.

But instead Akane hit him in the back.

This is the second time he assumed he was a loved one's priority, and was proven wrong.

Akane is not the first blow he got, Kou's opposition, this betrayal to the idea "family will always be on my side" happened recently, so he takes it very personally, he is not acting rationally at all, he doesn't even let Akane explain.

The second reason I believe he is so fucking angry, is cause Akane switched sides so fast. Kou had shown a lot of signs he is overly attached to supernaturals but Akane always, consistently complains about them. It comes out of nowhere for teru, like he switches from "yeah yeah, lets be allies" to "Sorry situation changed" in a span of a few pages (so a few minutes? at most)

Being literally hit in the back doesn't help either. Teru is a fighter, I am sure that survival instincts activate when someone hit you in the back without you noticing. Which is not a good instinct to act on when you're feeling betrayed.

As for Teru holding this against Akane... I don't think so.

I do think Teru will be salty but it won't destroy their trust or anything.

Akane accepted his role in this chapter, he is not acting as Akane but as the keeper of the present, he has said that many times throughout this chapter. Even how he refers to Teru changes.

But Teru ironically cannot see it, he can only see his friend, his student council colleague, and human: Aoi.

When he does talk to Teru about his personal feelings, he is sorry, is nothing against Teru as a person. But Teru won't hear it.

He is just doing his duty, which I believe is to judge.

Cause Mirai cannot pass proper judgment without Akane.

It is also heavily implied that Kako does not need to be present for judgment to be passed on others, since Akane decided the court have started.

EDIT: KAKO IS THERE!!! I only noticed on re read.

That makes a lot more sense. You need the three clock keepers to start the judgment. Akane can't be absent, just as Kako can't be absent

Akane claims the clock keepers are the most dangerous ones to the school at the moment, but since he included himself as part of the danger, I don't think he means the clock keepers want to destroy the school or anything of sorts, he would never side with them if that was the case.

My theory is that he is being forced to judge everyone that may have broken the clock, and passing judgment to others can yield very dangerous results.

Perhaps they lose their lives.

Considering how warped he sees Mirai and Kako, I am confident he doesn't trust them to make a fair judgment.

I believe Akane will protect Teru in court, I truly do, but he needs to be a non-biased arbiter, so he will fight tooth and nails not to doom him, but I can't see him coddling Teru either.

Once Teru stops taking things so personally and realizes he is being forced into his role, he is not betraying Teru because of personal feelings or preferences, he should be able to understand and calm down.

Why Akane feels forced to obey them is a different story.

It could be something related to their contract that we aren't aware of, or even related to Aoi, because it is strange we don't get any panel of her reacting to the flower petal monsters Sakura made as a distraction, and we could not find her in the auditorium with the rest of Nene's class when time stopped. We don't know where she is, we don't even have hints of her whereabouts. which is suspicious.

But it is honestly, hard to say.

I personally would like if they didn't get the clock keepers yorishiro, failure is good for the MCs sometimes, but since I am pretty sure the yorishiro will be destroyed by the end of the arc anyways, I at least hope it is not by Hanako or Tsukasa's hand, who don't even know what/where the yorishiro is.

Maybe the judgment will go wrong and Akane will take off the Yorishiro seal himself (Cause the mysteries are capable of destroying their own yorishiro, that was an important thing to learn with Sumire)

Cause unless the yorishiro becomes Aoi when he tries to destroy it (which I have my doubts, I don't think a living person (even one that was 'dead' for a while before coming back to life) can be a yorishiro.) I can't see Akane not putting an end to the court if it goes too far.

But... As dark as it is I would be, I am down for exploring how Akane, mister "murder is unforgivable" would react to losing control of a situation and accidentally being an accomplice/having a hand at killing someone.

#tbhk #tbhk 108 #toilet bound hanako kun #aoi akane #akane aoi #minamoto teru #teru minamoto #jshk #jibaku shounen hanako kun #tbhk spoilers #I went off the rails by the end but this chapter made me a bit insane #mirai tbhk

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xagave · 7 months

Note

pleasepleaseplease recommend some danphan fics!!

Sorry these are on ff.net I was into danphan before AO3 was really A Thing. Invisobang also just completed and a whole wack of new fics are also now out for your enjoyment so I suggest taking a look there too Lab Rat - Danny (as Phantom) is captured by his parents and vivisected in the lab. THE MOST iconic dp fic from this era of fandom and also the first dp fic I ever read which single-handedly got me into the fandom. I also recommend anything else by this author[sequel]

Pits - Danny is captured by Walker and thrown into the Pits to fight for his life. HANDS DOWN my all time favorite dp fic. I drew a bunch of fanart for it and never showed the author LMAO [sequel]

In The Way - A twisted tale of a summer spent all alone

Wondering - Danny's been captured and tortured by his parents, but he refuses to say a word until his psychiatrist starts connecting the dots. Can he risk keeping it a secret any longer?

Dreams of Light - A cute box ghost fic with a fun twist at the end

Phantom's Sketchbook - Mr. Lancer finds himself in an unparalleled situation, he has access to something which can give him incredible insight into the personal workings of Amity Park's local ghost teen hero, Danny Phantom

Masks - Lancer has had enough of his most enigmatic, frustrating student Daniel Fenton and forces him to stay in detention with him until Danny tells him The Truth. A story examining Danny's relationship with the human race. Another BIG FAVE of mine [sequel]

Darkness - Part 1 of Illuminations saga. [part 2][part 3][part 4] Maddie and Phantom are trapped in the dark and must work together to avoid dying. I don't remember much about this but I do remember it being super creepy and I bulldozed my way through all 4 parts so it must have been good lol

I'm Still Here - Danny's been locked away in a forgotten thermos, buried in the backyard for 70 years. When he's finally released, happy isn't the word he'd use to describe his new life

Real Life - A very creepy take on ghosts and the events of the show, where they're more inhuman, feral, and scary. I don't remember much about this but it's unfinished

Lopeholt - Valerie must survived the night in the third scariest place on earth. **VERY** creepy, I remember reading this in the dark and it gave me nightmares. Another top fave. I def recommend reading anything else by this author

Running to the Enemy's Arms - Danny runs away and ends up on the doorstep of the person who's dead last on his list of favorite people - Vlad. Danny/Vlad father son relationship. A fun and interesting view of what Danny's life would be like had he been the son Vlad always wanted. Incomplete but also another BIG FAVE of mine. Tolerate the first 1-2 chapters and the rest is golden

Checkmate - Vlad forces Danny to leave everything behind in order to save Jazz's life. But just when the billionaire believes to have won his chess game against his young rival, Danny makes a single unexpected move.

A Secret Uncovered - Danny's transformation is caught on tape and now the whole town knows who he is Photoshop - Dash and Kwan find an old class picture and start having a little too much fun on Photoshop. Will someone's secret be revealed?

Chained - It starts with a fire at the Guys in White headquarters, where a vengeful Valerie stumbles across an imprisoned Danny Phantom. It starts with injustice. But what happens when justice and revenge are confused for one another? Where does a hero end, and a villain begin?

Phantom of Truth - Locked away in a secret government lab with Phantom as her subject, nothing stands between Maddie and the truth… except, perhaps, herself [Sequel]

The Soul Sepulchre - Something foul is stirring in Amity Park and it all starts in the bowels of Amity Park's Museum of Natural History

Moral Code - Moral code says to never kill or capture a specimen that you did not weaken yourself. Maddie finds Danny Phantom wounded late at night after a hard battle. After she helps him, she finds there is more to him than she ever thought possible. Mother/son bonding

Connections - Maddie knows that the Booo-merang has keyed into Danny, for whatever reason, so what's she to think when she sees it collide with Phantom? [Sequel]

Isolated - It's just a wish that's been granted with the wrong twist, but for Danny, it's a nightmare that's become reality. He's stuck as Phantom, his family's hunting him, and everyone who can help him is gone

Little Earthquakes - They say that a man is defined by what he does when he thinks nobody's looking. Does the same hold true for ghosts?

Tortured Truth - Danny's parents discover that the ghost boy is half human. Now that they've captured Danny, will he submit to torture and reveal himself, or is the revelation just the beginning of their problems? [Sequel]

Estrelas - AU. Sam's attention is captured by a lonely ghost haunting her grandmother's attic…and discovering his secrets will take everything she has.

Criteria of Life - Every living thing must follow the Laws of Life; however, Maddie wonders if Phantom can somehow follow these laws as well. The fact that he is a ghost is putting a knick in her plans, but what if Phantom can follow the Laws of Life?

#ask #danny phantom fic recs #i have soooo many danphan fics to rec but alas tumblr character limit #def recommend checking out invisobang though #it was my first year participating and i cant wait to look at everyones stuff when i have the time :0

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shiningshenanigans · 4 months

Text

If I had a nickle…

For every time I shipped a guy and a girl…

Where the guy comes from a semi-privileged background and stable home life (albeit with a very dysfunctional family who is kinda mean to him)…

and the girl is a scavenger who has been fighting to survive her whole life because of a totalitarian regime…

and they’re forced into a situation where they have to work together and kinda start getting attached to each other…

and the guy is HOPELESSLY head-over-heals besotted and in love with the girl and, like, doesn’t even try to hide it…

and the girl… kinda likes him back? But like it’s hard to tell? Because like I said, Girl has been fighting to survive her whole life, and is still very much in survival mode, and her fight-or-flight response is so through the roof right now it’s hard for her to feel that way about anyone at the moment…

also there’s kind of a rebellion/revolution going on against the totalitarian regime I mentioned earlier, and Girl is very focused on killing The Leader of said totalitarian regime, so romance is kinda the last thing on her mind…

but also their love is like this weird powerful force that’s fueling said rebellion, so she can’t really get away from it?

And she acts super cold and indifferent toward him but the second he’s in any kind of danger she immediately throws herself under the bus to save him…

(by the way they balance each other out really well, because Guy is not really much of a fighter, but he’s super charming and good at negotiating with people so he helps Girl grow in that area, cause she’s really bad at it)…

and they’re being mentored by a slightly cynical middle-aged man who “loves a good drink”…

(who totally has a crush on his cute-but-brainwashed-by-the-badguys female superior)…

oh yeah and remember The Leader of the totalitarian regime I mentioned earlier? He’s, like, weirdly invested in their love story and has been watching it unfold this whole time…

(and we don’t really know why he’s so obsessed with them, other then that they remind him of a situationship he was in ages ago, which ended really badly because he was paranoid, so now he’s living vicariously through them while at the same time scrambling to maintain the fragile power of his regime or something like that)…

and he keeps using his power to make them play weird games where he constantly tries to pit them against each other and get one of them to kill the other…

(he actually does almost brainwash the guy into killing the girl at some point, but Guy wakes up and is like “Naw man, I’m in love with her, I will endure endless psychological torture before I do that.”)

and don’t forget, “This series is actually incredibly profound and thought-provoking and has some really deep things to say about freedom and government control and the value of human life, but for some reason nobody wants to talk about those things because all they care about is shipping drama (even though shipping should be a non-issue because the narrative makes it 100% clear who the cannon romance is)…”

…I’d have two nickels.

Say it with me kids…

#thank you for reading this stupid post #once I started I couldn’t stop #sylki #everlark #loki series #the hunger games

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luveline · 2 years

Note

ZOMBIE AU YES steve and you but reluctant allies - forced to travel together and when you get stuck in a tight spot, you fully believe he's going to leave you behind. but steve does what he does best, he comes back

tysm for ur request! reluctant friends to lovers arc starts now. tw for zombie typical gore, violence + apocalypse struggles (near enoigh starvation, weight loss, isolation) this got longer than it was meant to

It's not that you don't like Steve. Though maybe that's what he thinks. He doesn't seem to like you all that much.

Steve Harrington is pretty. He's a pretty boy. You hadn't expected him to be able to fight or defend, or even run all that fast. He'd proved you wrong on each account eventually — "I ran track, idiot," — but the reluctance of your pairing has remained.

You can't like everyone. You and Steve simply don't fit. You didn't in high school and you don't now, and you know in reality that he doesn't like you. Not really. He tolerates you and he shares with you because you have more chance of surviving together than apart.

He searches the waste of Indiana for his friends. You follow. You have nothing else to do.

You're scouring for supplies in a mall not unlike the Starcourt in Hawkins. You imagine it's as desolate and derelict as this one. Escalators frozen in time, storefronts destroyed by time. Dangerous. There's a thousand places for a zombie to be dwelling. They aren't good at hiding, obviously, but you're also not good at finding them. Steve says you have poor observational skills.

"Yes, well, I'd hardly have any reason to need them if it weren't for the end of the world," you mutter.

"Why do you talk like that?"

"Like what?" you ask with a scowl.

"Like- like a rich girl. A really rich girl."

"I don't sound anything like you."

"Weak insult based in sexism. Next."

You drop the shirt you'd been looking at. "Right, I forgot. Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High, progressive."

He meets your gaze and smiles at you. He does this, sometimes, where he forgets he doesn't like you. Then something happens, a disagreement or an argument, and you're back to square one, Steve and his burden.

"I'm very progressive." He looks between you and the shirt he's holding, a men's cut, plain with long sleeves. It looks warm. "I think this'll fit. Come here."

You step over a fallen mannequin and let him hold the shirt to your abdomen.

"You're losing weight," he murmurs.

"Lucky me."

His hand touches your shoulder and he draws very close. "Bad news."

"I had it to lose."

"You need all the help you can get." He doesn't bother saying why. You're both more than aware of how dire the food situation is getting. If you can't find anything worth eating here, you're probably fucked. You might be fine. (You're fucked.)

You take the shirt. "Do you think it's silly to put it on now?"

"Definitely. I'll turn around."

He turns. You put your bag on the floor and quickly take off your outerwear. Your shirt smells bad because you smell worse, the strong smell of sweat no matter how much you scrub at it lingering. The fabric is imbued with a permanent odour.

New t-shirt in place, you preen at the feeling of new cotton over your skin.

"Are you done?"

"No-"

"Hurry. We need to move."

You always 'need to move'. You think Steve says it to sound cool.

You pull your clothes back on and hang your backpack from your aching shoulders. Over time, the bag feels heavier. Funny, as it's contents constantly lighten.

"We haven't found anything for you yet," you say.

Your shirt had needed replacing, it was thin and stained with a seam slowly unthreading. Steve's pants are worse. The zip is tied closed with a hair tie and the cuffs are pulling apart.

Steve reveals a pair he'd already set aside. "Tada."

"Put them on!"

"Sheesh, hold your horses."

"You could've been changing while I was. You always nag about wasting daylight."

"And leave us both defenseless. Good idea." His tone suggests a genuineness he doesn't possess.

You stand guard. Steve changes. You have that intrusive thought to turn and look at the sound of his belt unbuckling, the shucking of fabric. Intrusive, unreal. You don't look because you're not a pervert. You do, however, wonder about it. His naked legs, his thighs.

You shake your head and bite the inside of your lip to stave off bad thoughts. Stupid.

"Let's go."

Out of the clothing store and back to the walkways. You and Steve skulk with your backs to each other and some space between you, watching the open shutters for zombies or other people. You don't know which is scarier.

The mall is wrecked. Smashed glass, mysterious liquids, no electricity. Daylight streams in bright and unhindered by the huge skylights above. Nature struggles to fall in with it, but it does. Birds nest in the rafters, bugs cling to the walls. You suppress chills at the scuttling sounds of vermin and almost trip over an upended rack of stuffies outside of the toy store.

"You okay?" Steve asks. You don't know if he's looking at you, your eyes pinned on the stairwell across the way. Accidental or otherwise, making noise is a signal to the zombies that you're here.

If there's anybody here, they definitely would've heard you.

You don't answer Steve's question. He doesn't ask again.

"There's, like, a hot pretzel stand to the right," he says, intrigued.

You check what's in front of you one last time and then catch up to Steve. You'd love to take his arm, not because you think he'd let you or anything, but it's easy to miss touching people and he's right there in front of you.

"Under the shutter," he says quietly.

You crawl under and emerge in the dark. Steve joins you with his torch already in hand, flashing light quickly in all four corners of the room.

"This might be a bad idea," you whisper.

"It's okay. I doubt zombies can crawl."

"If they can?"

Predictably, Steve ignores you.

He weaves between untouched chairs and tables. You catch onto the end of his shirt and he's generous enough to pretend you haven't, the two of you making your way to the front counter. There might've been edible food behind the glass once but now it's all infested. It's disgusting.

You've seen a lot worse.

"That's gross," Steve says.

You tap the display and a dead fly falls off of the glass.

"Lift the counter?" you whisper.

You make your way to the employees only door. "Be careful," he reminds you under his breath, "be quiet. You have your knife out?"

"Got it."

He throws the door open quick and looks around. There's a walk-in freezer to the left, an old couch in the middle, and a storage area to the right. Steve again checks each corner with the flashlight, the both of you holding your breath. You're holding the knife so tightly you can feel each divot of the grip moulding your skin.

"I think we're clear."

"I think we need another torch," you mumble.

It's really scary in the dark.

"They'll have batteries somewhere," Steve says. You think he might be humouring your fear. He's likely tired of having to reassure you.

Again, you grab his shirt. It's too dark to navigate the room without him.

Steve leads you to the staff kitchenette, opening the cabinets one by one. There's mugs in one, plates in another. Untouched by dust.

He has you hold the torch while he searches through drawers of kitchen tools and equipment.

"Do you miss pretzels?" you ask.

"Mm. With the cinnamon sugar."

"You like cinnamon?"

He pushes aside what looks like an ice cube tray of all things and finds an old key. He offers it to you with a peculiar smile, as if to say What do you think that does?

"Everyone likes cinnamon," he says.

"Not everybody."

"Everybody I knew did. Robin fucking loves cinnamon. At Christmas, she'd make me take her out for warm cinnamon cookies and... frozen cokes." His tone had started soft. It ends strangled.

"Frozen cokes? In winter? Isn't that sorta weird?" you ask.

He shuts the drawer harshly and doesn't answer. Your attempt to cut the tension backfires once again with him. Who could've guessed.

The next drawer is a motherlode.

"Yes," you say, cheeks taken by a sudden smile.

There's enough batteries to power your torch for a year. Steve tears open the packet and holds a hand up without looking at you. You scramble to open your bag and pull out your torch. Bigger and heavier than his is, it illuminates larger spaces and makes for less nerve-wracking supply runs, but it eats batteries like no tomorrow.

Steve cracks open your proffered torch and loads it up with batteries. The light flickers on before he's put the closing back into place.

He shines it straight in your eyes.

"Nice," you grumble.

"Now you got your own you can quit clinging," he says. "Why don't you go look in the freezer?"

"It'll all be spoiled. There hasn't been electricity in forever."

"Might find a can of something," he says with a shrug.

"If you want me to leave you alone, just say that."

"I want you to leave me alone."

You huff and spin away. Your torch shines over the couch, an ugly mess of floral pattern that went out of fashion a decade ago but is surprisingly new for a staff room. You drop yourself into it and stare at the ceiling for a while, dust motes drifting in the ray of torch light like snowflakes. You haven't seen snow in a long enough time that you're surprised you can remember what it feels like. If you close your eyes, stick out your tongue, a cold like ice feels sharp on your taste buds.

Steve cusses to himself. You sit up and find him sucking on an injured finger.

"Need help?" you ask.

He sticks his knife into the top of a cardboard box. "What did I tell you? Go look in the freezer."

"Steve, there's not gonna be anything in there."

"I worked in a place like this before. Just look."

You roll your eyes, feel super guilty about rolling your eyes, and then roll your eyes again when he says, "Don't be lazy."

"I'm not," you defend. Your whining falls on deaf ears.

The freezer door handle is fucked. You pull and pull until your palms burn and can't get it to unlock. Changing tactics, you press all of your weight forward and feel something click like it's not supposed to. The door crashes forward and you fall to one knee with a startled shriek.

Your heart slams between your ribs. When you're trying to be hypervigilant of every small sound, every movement, every change in your environment, sudden events are like a shot of adrenaline.

You land on one hand. Your torch flickers further in the room.

"Fuck," you mutter.

"What happened?" Steve asks, his footsteps fast and moving toward you.

You scramble forward to grab the torch before he can see you've broken it. You're ashamed at your own idiocy — you burn with it, a flush of heat in your cheeks that. Steve won't lie to you to make you feel better, so if the torch is broken he's gonna call you an idiot for it.

"Nothing!" you call.

The smell hits you like a freight train. Spoiled milk. Shelves and shelves of spoiled milk and batter. You gag and throw a hand over your nose. It smells almost as bad as a zombie, and they smell like fresh hell.

"Y/N," Steve says.

You throw your eyes over your shoulder and realise the door has closed behind you. There's a sound of a jiggling door handle on the other side. From your side it doesn't move.

A sinking feeling begins.

"Steve," you say, hitting your torch against your thigh. The light flickers off completely. You gawp.

"Can you open the door?"

You push your weight against it urgently. The handle doesn't want to move.

"I can't get it," you say, panicked.

"Push it inward."

"I am!"

"Okay, alright. Hold your horses."

"Steve, it won't open."

"I heard you the first time. Don't worry. I'm gonna get it open."

You throw yourself at the door. Steve must guess from the sound. "Stop," he says, frustration seeping into his low tenor, "that's not gonna work. It's hinged inward. Stand back, okay? I'm gonna force it."

"It's dark in here," you murmur pleadingly, moving away from the door.

"What?"

Your own fast breathing echoes around you. You hit the torch with the meat of your palm and the light flickers. You hit it again and it dissapears. You shouldn't be so scared, but the door closed means your trapped and the dark feels so oppressive now. Dark means you die, because you won't see a zombie before it bites you.

You realise that there's more than one person breathing.

Or rather, an illusion of breathing. A moan.

Your blood turns to ice as you spin. Your torchlight flicker flicker flickers, illuminating the face of somebody long dead.

"Oh my god," you say. It sticks to your throat like each word has been dipped in honey. Or ichor. "Fuck, Steve! Steve!"

"What?" he shouts back, equally freaked.

One eye opens. The other remains closed. One second, you can see the open socket, half an eyeball. The next, pitch darkness filled only by the grind of clicking teeth. Your breath catches in your throat and you keen as you walk backwards, the torch shaking in your hand.

The light flicks back on with your movement.

The zombie's face appears in front of yours.

You scream and fall flat on your butt, backpack preventing you from slamming onto your back. The torch turns off. You scrabble for your knife — where the fuck is your knife? Where's your knife?

Steve hammers against the door. "What the fuck?"

"There's a fucking geek in here!" you squeal, throat tight. You can barely get the words out. The zombie can't see you in the dark but it can hear you, it can smell you, and it's footsteps draw closer, one after another.

"Steve, get me out of here!" you beg.

He doesn't answer.

"Steve?" You don't sound like yourself. You're not sure you've ever made this sound before.

Nothing.

Your hands shake hard. You can't feel them as you bring the torch into your lap. You try to find the catch in the dark. When you can't you mess with the lens, screwing it tight to the right. You feel it move in, spinning back on.

The light exposes the zombies gained distance. He towers over you and you can't speak, can't breathe, can't sob. You hold your arms in front of your face and hope it won't hurt.

The door slams open. You get pushed roughly into the zombie's legs, the breath knocked from your chest.

You crumple in on yourself.

Footsteps slide with a rubber screech over the linoleum and you search the floor for your torch, breath coming in shirt pants. Your hand closes around it and you flick the switch with little success. Broken again. You must've loosened a fuse.

"Steve," you say desperately. Please don't die.

The zombie makes a noise like retching, Steve groans in extertion and then there's a sound of wetness, a sinking. A body falls to the floor.

Silence.

You flinch as he turns on his torch and shines it in your face.

"Oh, thank god."

Steve leans down and helps you up into his arms. You struggle to catch your breath, your face pressed hard into his chest. You can't cry though you desperately want to, too busy fighting for air.

Steve holds you, hands at your back. "It's okay. You got it, dummy, just take it slow."

You nod. You can't really focus as he pulls you out of the freezer. The air noticeably changes from brain matter to plain old stale.

"I thought you-" You swallow against an aching throat. "I thought you were gonna leave me."

"Why would you think that?" Steve asks.

"I was- I-" you stammer to a halt.

Your arms move of their own accord, over his shoulders and behind. You hide your face in the crook of his neck, hot tears spreading over his skin as you pull him in close, as close as you can.

Steve's hand is slow at first, hesitant against your shoulder. Your backpack stops him from hugging you properly, but you think maybe he might try otherwise.

"I wouldn't have left you here," he says.

There's hints. Confusion, sincerity. A rawness. You can't see his face, his torch pointed up at the ceiling, only where the light kisses his brow, the bridge of his nose.

Steve let's you cling until you've caught your breath.

"Let's sit down," he says.

He encourages you onto the old couch and shoves his small torch between the cushions. You miss his touch as soon as he leaves, an anxiety at being left alone dawns like a yawning chasm between you. Your relief when he returns can't be understated: you feel like a spent, abused nerve.

Cortisol and adrenaline crash through your veins. All that's left to do is come down. Hard, when you don't feel completely safe. Haven't felt completely safe in a long time. Steve's return helps.

"Don't touch the rim. It's sharp," he says, pressing an open can into your hand.

"Steve, is this-"

He passes you a spoon. "Sure is."

You don't have the luxury of nausea. Life or death situations start to wear off quicker when you're hungry, half-starved, and after a few good mouthfuls of pudding you're starting to feel better. Not perfect, not any less afraid, but there's a door between you and the zombie's dead dead body, and a door with a chair propped under the handle between you and the rest of the world. And there's Steve, a spoon between his lips with your poor torch in hand.

"You left your knife on the table. Do you know how stupid that is?" he asks, a spoon hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Yes."

"Hm." He whacks the torch with his spoon. "Shit."

"I'm sorry."

"About the knife? You should be. You were totally defenseless."

"The torch."

He puts your torch down on the floor besides your gathered things. "Couldn't be helped."

"How'd you open the door?"

"Running start."

You sniffle and eat another spoonful of pudding. The last thing you'd eaten was half a gronala bar in the early hours of the morning when Steve had insisted you'd need your energy. It had been a year out of date and chalk in your mouth. The pudding may as well be straight molten gold for how valuable it feels.

It goes down soft. Calms your aching throat. By the time you've finished you almost feel settled. Almost.

"Steve... I'm sorry. For thinking you'd leave me. That's not fair. I mean, I know-" Why is it hard to talk to him? He's the only perosn you've had for company in God knows how long and you're still fumbling for the right thing to say. "You wouldn't do something like that to me. You have morals."

"I would do anything for my friends," he says, like he's disagreeing. "I would do anything to see them again. See them safe. Anything."

You bite your tongue. Tears sting. Hypocritical tears, because haven't you had that thought before? You'd do anything to get what you want. You'd do anything to live. Steve doesn't owe you anything.

"I didn't think you'd come back," you confess sheepishly.

"I'm always gonna come back for you."

You look up at him, finding his eyes illuminated in the dim light sweet and soft and brown.

"I want you to be safe."

"Are you saying I'm your friend?" you ask.

He glares at you. "Are we in middle school?"

"What?"

"What do you mean, what? What, I have to invite you to my birthday party or something? We need to go rollerblading together?"

"You're an asshole."

He snorts. "Asshole just saved your life."

"I didn't even wanna go in there, if you remember. I expressly said that I didn't wanna go in the freezer. It's your fault I was even in there in the first place."

"That's ridiculous. And a low blow. And fuck you."

"Not very friendly."

He laughs abruptly. It's a pretty sound, made golden by it's genuineness. Steve does sarcastic snickers and mocking chuckles, and none have ever sounded as his true laugh does now.

"I'll show you friendly," he mutters.

You raise your eyebrows. He moves enough to make the couch shift, upheaving your empty can and spoon. They fall together with a metallic clinking.

You watch mournfully. "I kind of wish I hadn't eaten it that fast. When's the last time we had sugar?"

"Don't speak too soon."

Steve shows you the stash. An entire box of pudding, enough to feed you both for a month, though the sugar might rot your teeth.

"We'll be sick of it in a week," Steve promises.

You're not so sure. Chocolate is chocolate, whether it's eaten during the zombie apocalypse or not.

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