#so prepare for the number to potentially rise even more | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ginnsbaker · 8 months

Text

it's just dinner

Summary: Another installment from the Dentist AU, sequel to the follow up; You and Wanda enjoy a quiet dinner at your home--or so you thought

Word count: 3k | Tags: Fluff, Some Blood (lol), Wanda being clumsy

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Author's note: There will be one more installment after this. It's been really fun writing something so wholesome :)

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Wanda Maximoff is breaking up with you.

Before you two are even an item.

And the first date hasn't even finished yet.

Two hours earlier

Every attempt at a date with Wanda Maximoff is a tragicomic misadventure.

The first attempt was promising: a quaint dinner at a hidden gem of a restaurant. Yet, on that very day, your apartment's plumbing decided to rebel, turning your living space into a mini lake. You remember Wanda's sympathetic chuckle on the phone, suggesting a rain check. The next date was set, but it still wasn’t in the cards. Just as you were picking out a shirt, Wanda’s phone buzzed. An urgent mission. She sent an apologetic message, punctuated with a little red-faced emoji. “Next time,” she promised.

Your third attempt seemed foolproof. A coffee date, something short and sweet. Yet, irony dripped as you got a call from the dental clinic. An emergency extraction that couldn't wait. As you gloved up, you couldn’t help but think of the universe’s odd sense of humor.

(Maybe it's trying to send a message, and you've been too stubborn to listen.)

But resilience is your middle name. So, here's attempt number four.

A cozy dinner and a film at your place. Simple. No grand expectations. If, by chance, this date still falls through, at least you're already home. Your bed awaits, just steps away, to provide solace for any potential disappointments.

As the clock ticks closer to the agreed-upon time, you arrange the table, blending classic dinnerware with contemporary accents. Wine glasses shimmer under the subdued lights, their elegant curves catching the candle's dance. The gentle melodies of a classical piano accompany the inviting aroma of the goulash, creating a setting that might just captivate Wanda's heart.

Not that you’re already aiming for her heart. That'd be rushing things, wouldn't it? Only a week ago, you and Wanda were each wary of the other—you, daunted by her powers, and her, intimidated by, well, you.

A mere dentist.

In your bedroom, you've changed outfits multiple times, finally choosing one that finds the right balance between casual and slightly dressy. Every detail matters, from the watch you're wearing to the cologne you've spritzed.

Sure, there's a hint of anxiety, but above all, you're buzzing with anticipation. You can picture it—Wanda's appreciative smile as she digs into the goulash, both of you snuggled up during the movie, and then chatting about everything and nothing as you both start to get sleepy.

Your phone buzzes, snapping you back to the present. You see a message from Wanda: “On my way. Can't wait!” accompanied by a heart emoji. Your spirits rise instantly. You send a silent plea to every god out there who’s watching, hoping for no more mishaps tonight.

Time seems to move both too slow and too fast. Every tiny noise from outside makes you jump, wondering if it's her arrival. You go over your preparations one more time: the temperature of the goulash, the volume of the music, the soft glow of the candles.

A soft knock sounds at your door. The moment has arrived. Your heart races as you move to answer it, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You open the door, and there she stands—Wanda Maximoff, perhaps the most powerful Avenger, clad in skin-tight jeans, a long coat over her shoulders and the same nervous smile you’re wearing right now.

“Hi,” she murmurs softly, that European lilt making it sound almost musical.

“Hey, Wanda,” your voice quivers ever so slightly. “Please, come in.”

She steps inside, and you instinctively reach out, helping her slip off the long coat. The soft fabric is warm from her body heat, and you can’t help the blush that creeps into your cheeks.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you suggest with a gesture towards the plush sofa. She gracefully obliges, her eyes scanning the room.

She takes a moment, head tilted ever so slightly, her nose twitching as it picks up on the scent wafting from the kitchen. “Is that... goulash I smell?” she says, eyes twinkling in delight.

A pleased chuckle escapes you. “Someone's got a good nose.”

In the midst of tweaking the table's placements, you're painfully conscious of every inch of space between you and her. Wanda Maximoff, right in your apartment, seated gracefully on your sofa. The room temperature is already set at the lowest, but you feel unexpectedly warm in your clothes.

You take a few deep breaths. Center. Ground. Every preparation led to this moment.

Distracted by your own thoughts, you almost miss the soft rustling from the living room. Wanda's eyes are now fixed on the elegantly wrapped gift resting on your coffee table. The parchment paper, crinkled just right, holds a tag with her name in your neat handwriting.

She arches an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “For me?” she asks, her finger running over her name on the tag.

“Uh, yes,” you stammer, feeling a flush creep up your neck. “I thought...well, it's our first, you know, date... and I wanted to get you something.”

She gives you a soft, appreciative smile, her fingers deftly unwrapping the gift. The sight of the Sokovian cookbook draws a genuine, surprised chuckle from her. “You really did your homework,” she teases.

“You're worth the effort,” the words slip out before you can reign them in, and suddenly the room feels a few degrees warmer. But Wanda doesn't seem to mind. In fact, she seems... pleased.

“The jasmine rice will be ready in just a few minutes,” you mention, as you drape the apron on a hook by the kitchen entrance. Deep breaths, you remind yourself. It's just dinner. With Wanda Maximoff. No pressure.

You then make your way to join her on the sofa, deliberately choosing a spot that's comfortably distant. Not too close to be presumptuous, but not too far to seem distant. Or so you think.

However, Wanda doesn't let the spacing go unnoticed. “Why are you sitting all the way over there?” she asks with a playful pout.

You blink, momentarily lost for words. “Oh, I just... thought I'd give you some space?”

Wanda smirks, tilting her head slightly, “You're sweet, but you can sit a bit closer if you'd like.”

Swallowing your nerves, you slide a tad bit closer, closing the gap. Now, your knees are almost touching. The proximity introduces you to more intricate details: the scent of her perfume, the subtle shadow on her lids, the faint tint on her lips.

She leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Much better, don't you think?”

You gulp, trying to swallow down your body’s reaction to her voice. “Yes,” you breathe out, attempting to find your bearings again. “Definitely better.”

“So,” Wanda starts, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “How does someone like you end up as a dentist?”

“Well, my dad was one. After high school, I honestly didn't have a clear path in mind.” You shrug, your gaze distant as you recollect. “It was kind of a 'fall into the family business' scenario.”

“But do you enjoy it? Being a dentist, I mean.”

“Sometimes, I wonder if I made the right choice,” you confess, a far-off look in your eyes. “I had other hobbies—gardening, painting. There was a time when I thought of diving into the arts.”

“But you didn't?”

You shake your head. “Practicality won over passion, I guess. Dentistry is stable, and I do like it.”

She studies you for a moment. “Do you ever regret it?”

You ponder for a second, thinking about all the what-ifs and could-have-beens. But then, your eyes find Wanda's, and a smile creeps onto your face. “Well, being a dentist did allow our paths to cross. So, in that sense, I can't really complain, can I?”

Wanda's cheeks turn a delicate shade of pink, the faint blush enhancing her striking features.

You’re not entirely sure how you’ve survived so far on this date.

Clearing your throat to ease the building tension, you attempt to shift the topic. “Speaking of paths, how did you end up becoming an Avenger? If you don't mind me asking.”

Wanda's expression quickly darkens, and an immediate regret washes over you. You wish you could retract your question, hating the thought of being the one to bring such sadness to her eyes.

Wanda tells you her story with a distant look in her eyes, like she's replaying a bad dream. She tells you about the Battle of Sokovia, how she lost her twin brother in the midst of it, and how she felt totally alone afterward. With no family or close friends left, she ended up with the Avengers. At first it was a choice of convenience, but she soon started to think of them as her new family.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” you say, not knowing what else to say. You’ve never experienced such pain and loss, especially with your parents and sister living in different states, leading their own lives.

“Thank you,” she whispers, the edges of her eyes glistening. “It's... difficult. Sometimes more than others.”

The soft beep of the rice cooker slices through the heavy atmosphere. You turn towards the kitchen, then back to Wanda, offering an apologetic smile. “Looks like the rice is ready,” you mention, almost sheepishly.

She laughs softly at your politeness and says, “Good. I’m starving.”

Wanda Maximoff has a big appetite.

This becomes amusingly clear when she polishes off her plate and shyly requests more rice, eventually consuming the entire portion you'd prepared for the evening. Honestly, you hadn't anticipated this outcome, especially since you weren't entirely sure how goulash was supposed to taste. But seeing Wanda devour nearly all of it not only boosts your confidence in your cooking but also in how the date is progressing.

Honestly, it's been ages since you've been on a date. You keep wracking your brain for topics, wondering if you're saying the right things. But thankfully, it's Wanda who takes the lead, her inquiries steering the chat in various directions. And each time she poses a question, that unique Sokovian accent of hers tugs at you, almost hypnotic. With every word, every soft-spoken syllable, you can feel yourself being drawn closer into Wanda's magnetic pull. It's both exhilarating and terrifying—mostly because you're not sure if you ever want to resist.

Just as you're about to suggest some movies to watch, Wanda's phone rings. You watch her facial expression shift slightly as she answers, her tone professional and measured. “I understand. I'll be right there in an hour,” she says, ending the call and turning to you with a regretful look.

At least you both got through a nice meal. Still, you’re a little disappointed.

“It's the compound. I've got to head back soon. Not an urgent situation, but...” Wanda trails off, her eyes reflecting her regret.

“How long do we have left together?” you ask, trying to keep the disappointment from your voice.

“About thirty minutes?” Wanda estimates. She then glances at the aftermath of your dinner, “Let me help you clean up.”

“You really don't have to.”

“It's easy. I can just use my powers,” she says, beaming a little proudly.

“I’m intrigued,” you say.

The idea of seeing her powers up close excites you, but as she begins to wave her hand, intending to levitate the dishes, something goes wrong. A misdirected wave of her magic, perhaps due to her eyes being trained on you as she watches your every reaction, causes a sharp knife from the counter to fly towards you. You only realize what's happening when you feel a sting on your arm.

Blood starts to seep through your shirt and Wanda's eyes widen in horror. “Oh my god, I didn't mean to... I'm so sorry,” she stammers, her face pale.

You look down, trying to assess the damage. It's not too deep, but it's definitely more than a scratch.

“Don't worry, it was just an accident,” you reassure her, but the sharp pain suggests you might need medical attention.

Wanda immediately wraps your wound with a clean towel and offers to take you to the hospital. It's quite the unexpected turn for your first date, and as the evening winds down with you in a hospital room, getting stitches, you can't help but chuckle at the situation.

Wanda's face, however, is a picture of raw concern, which to be frank, you find endearing, albeit in a dire context. She stays uncharacteristically silent, her expressive eyes darting between the cut on your arm and the sterile surroundings of the hospital room.

“Hey,” you break the silence, “Talk to me.”

“You know... maybe it's best if we don't see each other again,” she begins, hesitantly. “It's just the first date, and I've already sent you to the hospital.”

Wanda Maximoff is breaking up with you.

Before you two are even an item.

And the first date hasn't even finished yet.

And you’ve yet to kiss her.

(You really, really want to.)

“You can't break up with me,” you blurt out.

She looks bewildered, “Why not?”

“Because,” you smirk, wincing a bit as the doctor tightens a stitch, “We're not together. Yet. And if this is your way of getting out of a second date, you're going to have to try harder.”

She looks at you, searching your face as if trying to discern whether you're joking or not. But you're serious. Deadly serious.

Then an idea comes to her. “Fine, then I want you to be my girlfriend.”

“What–”

“I mean, if we're doing this, it's so I can properly end—”

“No,” you say, your smile widening, your eyes crinkling at the corners. “Wanda Maximoff, I don’t want to be your girlfriend.”

Her expression grows more solemn, her tone somber. “You need to understand. Being with me is nowhere near normal. I’m dangerous. Everything around me, everything I deal with—it's all dangerous.”

The smile doesn’t leave your lips. “I understand,” you say, “But I still refuse to be your girlfriend.”

“You don’t give up do you?”

“Ask me again on our second date,” you suggest, nodding appreciatively at the doctor to subtly hint it's time for him to leave, as he’s been watching you both fall into each other a bit too long now.

“And I can’t have you blasting ‘Lips of an Angel’ throughout the compound if we call it quits now, can I?”

Wanda's eyes widen in horror, her hands flying to her face. “How did you even know about that?”

“Vision,” you chuckle. At this point, you’ve totally lost it for this girl. “He sent me a message, thanking me on behalf of Natasha for finally getting you to switch off that track.”

Wanda groans, her face still partially hidden behind her hands. “I can't believe he did that. I'm never going to hear the end of it now.”

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, leaning in closer. “I think it’s adorable.”

Still, Wanda remains quiet, and even though she’s the one who can read minds, you can hear just how loud her thoughts are. Gently, you grasp her hand and stand, pulling her up with you.

“What are we doing?”

“I’ve been patched up,” you note, motioning to your arm. “I’d rather not end our date inside a hospital. Come on.”

You insist on driving her back to the compound, despite Wanda's deep concern that you’d be able to handle a stick shift given your recent injury. However, after teasingly reminding her that she’s technically "in debt" for the unintentional knife incident, she finally gives in.

You really just don’t want the night to end with her simply walking away.

And while the two of you bickered over the technicality that Wanda can't really break up with you, there's an underlying fear in you that perhaps this might be the last time you see her.

The drive ends up being a quick one, and in just fifteen minutes, you’re pulling up the compound’s spacious driveway.

Both of you sit there for what seems like an eternity, neither willing to make the first move. Your heart races, beating loudly in your chest, as you keep stealing glances at Wanda, trying to read her expression.

“I... um... had a good time tonight, despite the… yeah,” you stammer out, trying to fill the silence. “Thank you for being there, Wanda.”

She nods, lips parting as if she's about to say something but doesn't. “Thank you for the meal and the cookbook,” she finally says, her voice soft, almost fragile. “And I'm really sorry about your arm.”

“You're welcome, Wanda,” you reply, your heart heavy in your chest.

She offers a small smile, one that doesn't quite reach her eyes, and opens the car door. For a fleeting second, the thought of pulling her back crosses your mind, but you squash it down, not wanting to push your luck. As she steps out, you hope for a 'see you soon' or even just a casual 'later'. But nothing comes. And with a quiet thud, the door closes behind her, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You rest your forehead against the steering wheel, mentally kicking yourself for letting Wanda do the dishes. Maybe none of this would've happened, and she might still be looking forward to another date. You're so lost in your ‘what-ifs’ that you almost miss the sound of hurried footsteps approaching.

Suddenly, the passenger door swings open, and before you can react, Wanda is back inside. She leans over the center console, gently cradling your face with one hand and pulling you into a soft, tentative kiss.

It's over in a heartbeat, leaving you both breathless.

She pulls away slightly, cheeks flushed, and her eyes brighter. “I didn't want to leave things like that,” she admits.

You smile, still in shock from the unexpected moment. “I'm glad you didn't,” you say, leaning in for another kiss.

Even if Wanda had thrown every knife in the room at you, it would still rank as the best date ever.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x female reader

627 notes · View notes

projectionistwrites · 1 year

Text

EQUIFINALITY | WINTER

PART ONE, sequel to GESTALT

Joel Miller x afab!reader (7.3k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: angst, grief, mentions of death and injury, age gap (not mentioned), reader is kinda harsh, no smut in this part DISCLAIMER: although this is a continuation of my series titled GESTALT, it could potentially be read as a standalone. however, i strongly suggest reading the first series to provide context for the reunion and background on the relationships between the characters. ALSO, before any joel apologists come after my head, i LOVE mister joel miller but this chapter does kind of call him out on his bullshit. try to contextualize everything with the events of the first series and remember where the reader is coming from before getting mad at me. :) NOTES: this part takes place during episode six of the last of us tv series, titled “kin.” the next installments will occur after the finale episode, when ellie and joel return to jackson.

next part →

43.4799° N, 110.7624° W.

Good luck, cowboy.

Joel’s fingers fiddled with the softening, worn edges of the cockled scrap of paper in his jacket pocket. Ellie was packing up her things further back in the cave, the crackling of the fire between them settling into a pile of smoldering embers and cinders as the sun began to rise. He didn’t need to take the note out again to know what it said—he had the entire thing committed to memory by now. He’d been mulling the numbers and letters over in his head for months, nagging at the back of his brain and gnawing an ulcer of uncertainty into his stomach.

They’d reach the coordinates within the next day. They were close. Just across the bridge over the River of Death, or whatever Ellie had taken to calling it. He wasn’t sure what they’d find—maybe Tommy and a small group, alive and well; or maybe Tommy, cold and alone; or worse, Tommy in an unmarked grave, six feet under the frigid tundra soil.

But cowboy.

The nickname felt like a punch straight to the gut, and shotgun shell straight through his chest. The message had come in three weeks after Tommy had stopped responding to his transmissions—Joel had already been planning on packing up and heading West from Boston to search for him, but he figured he’d stop to check once more with Abe. Maybe Tommy had finally responded, maybe he was alright.

But when he’d marched through the line of people in the cramped hallway and slipped the parcel of cigarettes across the table to the man in question, he was actually surprised to hear that he had, in fact, received a response.

It just wasn’t from Tommy.

“Listen, Joel, this is good news, isn’t it?”

Abe had asked, watching Joel over his thick-rimmed glasses as his eyes swept over the note in this hands.

“How d’you know it wasn’t Tommy?”

Joel breathed lowly, his chest feeling tight. The scrawled letters on the paper in his fingers were all jumbling together in his mind, eyes losing focus.

“Because I do. Came in late the other night. No signoff, no updates, no name. What you have in front of you is all I got.”

Joel’s head was swimming. Was this some sick fucking game? Would Tommy really stoop so low, to manipulate him into a false sense of hope by using that nickname, just so he’d follow in his footsteps?

“Look, Joel.”

Abe sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He leaned forward conspiratorially, taking a drag from his smoke.

“Those coordinates—I did some digging.”

He gestured for Joel to retrieve his map, and he obliged, laying it out flat on the desk in front of him. Abe picked up a dull pencil and prepared to mark.

“It ain’t too far off from where Cody Tower is—where the messages have been comin’ in from your brother.”

He made a small dot on the paper, somewhere in the middle of Wyoming.

“—and those coordinates, over here.”

He swiped another pencil stroke a short distance away, across the river on the map. He looked up at Joel.

“All open country, out there. No telling what you’ll find, and we don’t even know who it’s from—”

“Thanks.”

Joel had muttered, and it was the closest thing to gratitude Abe had ever received from the man as he stormed back out the door, the note clutched tightly in his right hand.

And now he was here. Cody Tower had been a ghost town. All these miles, all these months—he’d lost Tess, and Bill and Frank, and Henry and Sam. There was a lingering doubt in his throat—he’s come all this way. What if he didn’t find what he was looking for? What if—what if this had all been for nothing?

This wasn’t just about Tommy anymore. But then again—it never really had been, had it?

“So... who’s Y/N?”

Joel’s blood ran cold. His grip on the sniper tightened as his neck snapped around. Ellie was staring at him expectantly, fingers wrapped around the straps of her canvas backpack. His lips pressed into a line.

“The hell did you hear that name?”

A shadow crossed over his face, but Ellie knew better than to be intimidated. Still, she could tell she’d struck a nerve. She trekked forward, bumping into him playfully as she passed.

“You still mumble in your sleep. Say it a lot.”

Joel slung his backpack over his shoulder, tucking his leather jacket into the strap as he and Ellie trudged onward through the snow.

“…was she someone special?”

The insinuation in her tone was hard to miss. Joel swallowed. Months ago, he would’ve shut her down completely, probably chided the girl and iced her out, but now, after everything, he just sighed.

“Just someone I used to know.”

She knew better than to press any further. If the tick of his jaw was any indication, she had to tread lightly on the subject. They continued in silence of awhile, snow packing beneath the weight of their heavy boots, before Joel spoke again.

“S’was my neighbor. Lived next door, back home.”

“In Boston?”

Joel blew out something reminiscent of a chuckle, scratching his head.

“No. No, in—in Texas. Before—all this.”

“Hard to believe there was ever a before.”

Ellie muttered, and Joel hummed in agreement.

“Yeah. Was a long time ago. Doesn’t matter anymore.”

The girl's eyes narrowed as she watched him in her periphery.

“Seems like it still matters to me.”

Joel gave her a hard look, but she smiled innocently up at him, widening her gait just a bit to put some distance between them. He let out a long sigh, running a tired hand down his face. It didn’t matter—it shouldn’t matter. But he still tasted your name on his lips; still heard your laughter in the back of his mind, mingling with the innocent giggles of his late daughter; could still see the tears flooding your eyes and spilling down your cheeks as you fell to your knees before him, sobbing for him to stay, Joel, please, I am begging you, don’t do this, I love you, please—

They’d reached the bridge. Towering steel columns lined the path ahead of them, cold and unforgiving. To Ellie, cold and unforgiving seemed awfully familiar.

“The River of Death.”

She announced in a menacing voice, eyes wide for dramatic effect, and Joel shook his head, trying hard to fight the tinge of a smile that was making its way onto his face.

“What do you think is over there?”

Joel shrugged, cautiously taking his first step onto the platform before gesturing for Ellie to follow.

“Guess we’ll have to see if it lives up to the name.”

Joel could feel the familiar tightness in his chest as he clumsily swatted at the tears below his eyes, purposefully avoiding his brother’s sympathetic gaze.

The smell of sawdust once would’ve soothed his frazzled nerves, but the workshop in Jackson reminded him too much of home—a place he could never go back to.

And now Tommy had a home. And a wife. And a kid on the way—Joel had traveled hundreds and hundreds of miles to save his brother from some inevitable doom, but he was perfectly fine without him. No, it was worse—Tommy was better off without him.

I’m failin’ in my sleep.

The whole reason he’d agreed to take Ellie was because he was already planning on heading West himself—and now he was here, and it was just another dead fucking end. Another failure. All the people he’d lost, all the pain he’d suffered—it’d all been for nothing. He wasn’t rescuing his brother from something—he didn’t get to play hero. He should’ve fucking stayed in Boston. Then he’d still have Tess, and Ellie would’ve been better off with Marlene anyhow—and Y/N. Of course you weren’t here, of course Tommy had sent that radio transmission, of course Joel had been kidding himself all along—

“Come with me.”

Tommy’s voice pierced the silence that hung in the air, and Joel flinched at the sound. When his glassy eyes finally turned to his brother, he gestured with a nod of his head to follow him out of the woodworking shed and into the chill of the evening.

Joel grunted as he forced himself into the new boots Tommy had given him—they were snug, and warm, and way nicer than the weathered pair he'd been sporting up until this point. He stared down at them once he’d laced them up, wondering when in God’s name a new pair of boots had become such a fucking luxury.

“Joel.”

Tommy urged, and the man finally stood, following his brother outside and into the town square. As they walked beneath threaded strands of yellow lights, past decorated Christmas trees and families making their ways home, Joel was disgusted to feel a pang of resentment fleet briefly through his mind. Tommy had actually managed to find—create—some semblance of normalcy, of comfort, and Joel was jealous. It wasn’t fair—how could life still go on when so much had been lost?

Tommy spared him a look as he paused in front of a large wooden door, and Joel’s eyes flitted upwards to read the carved sign hanging above the entrance—MEDICAL. The building was right on the edge of the square, a decently sized structure with harshly tinted windows and a tiny handwritten card plastered beside the door—in black letters, with a tiny reversable placard beneath it.

THE DOCTOR IS: IN.

A bell chimed when Tommy shouldered the door open, holding it so Joel could step in beside him. The waiting room was cozy, filled with a mismatched collection of armchairs and recliners, a coffee table in the center with coloring pages and crayons strewn about. In the far left corner was a repurposed dining table that obviously served as a makeshift reception desk, although the chair behind it was vacant. There was only one door in the place, seemingly leading back into the examination room, and from just beyond, Joel could barely make out the sound of a child’s laughter.

Tommy lifted a hand to gesture for Joel to remain where he was before walking towards the door and slowly lifting his fist to knock. Joel felt anticipation well inside of his stomach, a swirling pool of uncertainty beginning to settle in. Tommy’s knuckles rapped against the wood.

“Hey, doc?”

He called softly, and Joel heard a woman’s voice over the sound of giggling.

“Yeah, just a sec, boss-man.”

Joel’s brows furrowed as Tommy came to stand back beside him, watching his expression shift carefully. He cleared his throat just as the door in front of them popped open and a little boy came bursting out.

Joel felt the breath get caught in his throat as two women followed the young child from the room, chitchatting animatedly with each other. One of the women was young, seemingly the child’s mother, but the other—

It was you. He watched as you threw your head back to laugh at something the woman across from you had said, you hand flying out to pat her good-naturedly on the bicep. The woman thanked you quickly before she chased after her child, the bell chiming as the pair exited—but Joel couldn’t hear it as your eyes met his.

You looked—the same. Or at least, more so than he had imagined. Your hair was shorter, and darker, not sun-bleached from long summer days spent out in the Texas heat. Your figure had filled out; even beneath the pair of pale pink scrubs you were wearing he could see that your soft curves had toned into a sturdy layer of muscle. Your eyes were lined with crow’s feet—wrinkles indicating that even after all this time, you’d never stopped smiling, never stopped laughing, and as your gaze met his, it was just...you. The same gleam in your eyes as the last time he’d seen you. The only notable change was the long, thin jagged pink line running down from your forehead and cutting into your right brow—a fully healed scar, indicative of some sort of injury from long ago.

The man was frozen, and suddenly all too conscious of his own lackluster appearance—he wondered how different he seemed to you, if behind his graying hair and deteriorating body you could still see any trace of the man you knew all those years ago. He wondered if he bared his sins through the lines on his face—if you could somehow see every horrible thing he’d done just by sparing him a glance.

But if you could, you didn’t show it. Instead, your lips flickered up at the corners, just barely, but enough that there was the notion of a grin on your still perfect pink lips.

“Joel.”

You acknowledged, although you didn’t make any move further to greet him. He was shocked at your ability to remain so collected—he was flustered, speechless, his mouth opening and closely dumbly like a fish out of water. He didn’t know what to say—didn’t know what to do. He wanted to pull you into his arms, wanted to apologize for everything he’d ever done to harm you, wanted to fall to his knees and thank a God he didn’t even believe in that somehow you’d made it.

But instead, he snapped his jaw shut and cleared his throat, shuffling his weight a bit awkwardly on his feet. Tommy glanced at his brother in his periphery—saw the tension that hovered over him and rendered him practically incapacitated. With a sigh, he decided to throw him a bone, and turned to you.

“Just thought—Just thought you two might like to, uh, catch up.”

Tommy offered sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders to display his discomfort. You leaned against the doorframe.

“Does Maria know about this?”

Joel watched as you quirked a suspicious brow at his brother, a small smirk on your face. Tommy’s eyes widened in panic.

“Well—no, but I just figured—look, please don’t tell her, I know—”

“Relax, boss-man, I’m just teasin’ you. She brought in the girl to see me earlier today.”

Joel was startled to learn that.

“You—You met Ellie?”

Your eyes snapped back over to him, as if surprised he was actually able to speak. You regarded him softly.

“Yeah, I met Ellie. She’s a fuckin’ pistol. Only fourteen?”

You clarified, and Joel nodded. You whistled lowly, smiling mischeiviously.

“Jesus, cowboy—two decades ago, you thought 22 was too young.”

Tommy’s hand flew to his mouth in an attempt to cover up the bark of a laugh that spilt out. It took Joel a few seconds to register your comment, but when he did, his entire body stiffened, eyes widening in blatant offense and, frankly, incredulity.

“The hell is wrong with you? She’s just—”

“Oh, chill out, cowboy, I was just joking.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. Joel narrowed his eyes, and just like that, the tension between you was back, but Tommy was not oblivious to it, this time. He cautiously made a move towards the door.

“Well, I’ll just leave you two to—”

“No!”

You exclaimed, sounding borderline insulted.

“You’re just gonna leave? The fuck do you want me to do with him?”

Joel scoffed at the way you were referring to him, your hand gesturing to him as if he were a child you were being forced to babysit. Tommy threw his hands up in defense.

“Easy, doc. I gotta go see the missus—we’re puttin’ him up in 38, right across the street from us. Just—I don’t know, Y/N, just do your doctor thing and then walk him over there. You’re fine.”

“And whose idea was it to put him in 38?”

You glowered threateningly, the scar on your face contorting with the expression, and Tommy swallowed at your clear disdain.

“Actually, that was Maria’s.”

“Fuckin’ classic.”

You murmured angrily, and when Tommy turned to leave once more, you waved a dismissive hand towards him, scoffing in distaste. The door banged shut behind him, and just like that, you and Joel were alone.

His eyes flitted from the door and back to you, finding your eyes already on him. He could see the maturity in them—you seemed older, wiser, your gaze more calculating and scrutinizing. Even with the new scar that you adorned, you were just as beautiful as the day he last saw you. Your shoulders sagged in defeat before you jerked your head to the side.

“Come on, then, cowboy. Time for your appointment.”

Joel silently walked towards you, shuffling past you and into the examination room. He felt the heat of your body as he brushed past you, and fuck, you still smelled like—like you, all these years later. Clean, like freshly folded linens or laundry straight out of the dryer, with just a dash of citrus.

He paused in the threshold, taking in the room. It was fairly spacious, with a steel examination table pushed up against one wall and your desk on the other. The wall straight across from him was lined with shelving that contained more medical equipment than he thought existed—jars of various medications, bandages, gauze, pads and tampons, antiseptic and antibiotic ointments, and other various supplies that he didn’t even know the name of.

“Well, up you get.”

You nudged his back with the knuckles of your right hand, gesturing towards the steel examination table. He shot you a silent glare, but you masked your satisfied smirk as he hoisted himself up onto the surface, leaning back against the wall to face you.

You sat in your threadbare office chair, rolling it away from your desk so you could face him. He watched as you reached into a jar full of tiny white pills on the corner of your desk, grabbing a few and tossing them back into your mouth with ease. His jaw slackened.

“Ain’t that against your bylaws, or somethin’?”

He managed to jab, quirking his brow, and you rolled your eyes at him, chewing the tablets in your mouth.

“They’re sugar pills, dumbass. I give ’em to the kids when they get hurt—placebo effect. You want one?”

You picked up the glass jar and tilted it towards him, but he just shook his head, never taking his eyes off of your face. You rolled your eyes at him, stealing one more from the jar before tightening the lid back on and sliding it back onto the shelf.

You spun your chair back around to face him again, folding your hands in your lap as you watched him. He just stared right back, jaw set stiffly, arms crossed over his chest, mask impenetrable. You pursed your lips, stubborn enough to not want to break the silence that befell you. Joel finally cracked.

“You’re a long ways from California.”

His voice was gruff and husky, but even beneath the rough edge, you could make out a hint of familiar softness. You blinked at him.

“You’re kiddin’, right?”

You started, and the man’s brows furrowed more, indicating his confusion. You laughed incredulously.

“Twenty years, you’ve had to come up with a conversation starter, and that’s what you settle on? Jesus, Joel.”

You huffed, leaning back into your chair and reclining slightly. Joel’s jaw rippled at your mockery.

“Well, hell, forgive me for not meeting your expectations, darlin’.”

He expected you to fire back at him, to humor him with the witty back-and-forth banter that he’d missed so much, but you just sighed, sinking further back into your chair and shaking your head softly to yourself.

“Took you long enough to get here. I was startin’ to think you hadn’t gotten my message.”

Joel felt his heart skip a beat, and his guarded expression briefly exposed a look of realization.

“So it was you.”

You let out a humorless laugh, avoiding his gaze.

“Yeah, Joel, it was me. But I hope to God you kept that to yourself—Maria would kill me if she knew I’d contacted you.”

“Get the sense that she’s not my biggest fan.”

Joel grumbled, leaning his head back against the wall behind him. He was surprised to see your hardened eyes soften a bit, full of something resembling pity.

“She’s just—she’s protective. Tryin’ to keep me and Tommy safe.”

He tried not to read into your words too much, but he felt himself grow defensive.

“Safe. From me.”

You tilted your head back, squeezing your eyes shut and drawing in a sigh in an attempt to maintain your composure.

“Well, you’ve certainly earned yourself quite the reputation, Mister Miller.”

You scoffed, and Joel felt his face fall slightly, his mouth turning into a frown.

“So you’ve heard about me, then?”

You still avoided his eyes, your own arms crossing over your chest.

“I mean, just things from Tommy, but I doubt he told me everything. Still, Maria—Maria doesn’t think you were the best role model for your brother.”

“And what do you think?”

Joel leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and you swallowed, opening your mouth to reply just as the door to the clinic abruptly slammed open, the bell nearly flying off the hinge from the sudden rattling. You and Joel immediately burst into action, and you raced out of the exam room to investigate the intrusion.

Joel paused behind you when you slowed, taking in a relieved deep breath when you realized there wasn’t an immediate threat. The young boy from earlier had barged in, tears trailing down his round, rosy cheeks as he stared up at you with a look of almost betrayal. His mom was attempting to catch her breath, standing in the doorway hunched over, and young girl was standing to her right, presumably her daughter, who looked to be barely older than ten.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,”

The mother began to explain, her hand pressed against her chest to try to regulate her breathing.

“We were heading back to the mess hall for movie night but Jenny made a comment to Ben about his splinter, and—”

“Why don’t you wan’ me to get better?”

Ben interrupted, more tears falling from his wide eyes as he pouted, holding up the index finger of his left hand to showcase the bandage that you had put there earlier.

You startled backwards.

“What are you talkin’ about, Ben? Of course I want you to get better, that’s my job.”

“Then why didn’t you use your powers on me?”

He stamped his foot in frustration, and Joel stood back, watching the scene unfold before him with furrowed brows. Your eyes snapped over to his older sister, Jenny, who was trying to hide her amused smile behind her hand. Finally, you knelt down in front of the young boy, who sniffled and avoided your eyes.

“You’re right, Ben, I totally forgot. I’m so sorry. Can I fix it now?”

You asked carefully, holding your hand out for him. He contemplated for a minute before nodding carefully, offering you his left finger extended in front of him. Joel felt a weight settle onto his chest as you carefully pressed your lips to the pad of his injured finger, making an exaggerated smooching sound as you pulled away. The young boy’s face immediately brightened, and you smiled at him.

“There! Did the magic kiss make it feel all better?”

You leaned down to look into his eyes, and he nodded at you happily before quickly turning back towards the door and running into his mother, clinging to her legs.

The woman smiled at you, both apologetically and gratefully.

“Thank you, Y/N, and again, I’m so sorry—”

You waved a dismissive hand.

“No worries, Beth. Seriously, it was my fault, I should’ve remembered. Thanks for the reminder, Jenny.”

You winked at the older girl teasingly, and she hid her face further behind her hand, biting her lip to hold in her laughter. As the family turned to leave, you shouted a reminder to them.

“Be careful on the benches in the mess hall! They haven’t been sanded well and I don’t want him to get any more splinters!”

The door shut behind them and Joel watched your shoulders immediately sag when they left, your lungs exhaling a long, exhausted sigh. When you turned around to go back into the office, you jolted slightly, as if you’d forgotten that Joel was there. He studied you carefully, analyzing you, and you hastily pushed past him and back into the exam room.

“Sorry about that. You know how toddlers are.”

You settled back into your office chair, but as the door clicked shut behind Joel, he remained standing, leaning back against the wood with his arms crossed. You were looking at some paperwork on your desk before your eyes lifted to glance at him. He remained stoic, silent, and you sighed.

“Ellie’s a cute kid. Reminds me of someone.”

You gauged his reaction, watching his muscles tense and his jaw clench at your admission, his eyes casting down to his feet. He didn’t respond—you decided not to push it.

“How’d you get stuck haulin’ the walking cure across the states?”

That caught his attention. He stood abruptly upright, his eyes widening as he stared at you, a brief look of panic rising in him.

“How—she told you?”

You made a motion for him to calm down.

“Relax, it’s fine, seriously. I saw her bite marks. Pretty fuckin’ wild, though.”

“Why’d she tell you?”

Joel seemed unsatisfied with your answer, taking an intimidating step towards you, his voice low and threatening. He seemed to be forgetting the fact that his fear tactics wouldn’t work on you.

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m easy to talk to. Good at makin’ people feel comfortable. Besides, she said she’d heard my name before. Apparently you talk in your sleep?”

Joel’s arms fell to his sides, his jaw clenching rhythmically and hands balling into fists. His eyes dropped to the floor, but you let out a short, bright laugh.

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind. That’s actually one of the first things Tommy told me when we met back up.”

Joel threw his head back with a frustrated groan, particularly annoyed when he heard you cackling from your seated position in front of him, obviously deriving great pleasure from his discomfort. When you’d finished laughing, however, the mood quickly soured once again, his dark eyes fixing you within them carefully.

“You can’t say a word to anyone about it.”

“What, about you dreamin’ about me?”

“Y/N. You know damn well what I’m talkin’ about.”

He was practically growling at you, his eyes narrowed as he took another menacing step closer. You were getting fed up with his attempts at intimidation.

“I’m not gonna say anything, okay?”

“Swear to me.”

To your surprise, Joel leaned down and grabbed the arms of your office chair, spinning it so you were facing him completely. He leaned down in front of you, eyes level with yours, only a foot away as he challenged you silently with his gaze. Up close, he could see the jagged edges of the healed cut through your forehead, marring your perfect complexion.

“Swear to me, you won’t tell Maria, or anybody.”

You scoffed, surprising Joel by leaning closer towards him instead of away, not breaking eye contact as you fixed him with your own intense stare.

“I promise. Besides, you already know that I’m great at keepin’ secrets.”

He pulled away from you harshly, abruptly, your chair sliding back a few inches at his sudden release of its arms. You smirked to yourself, somewhat satisfied with your ability to still get under his skin, even after all this time.

“Now, go sit back down, and tell me everything. From the beginning.”

Joel opened his mouth the protest, but you pinned him down with a glare.

“Don’t. This is my town, Joel—you’re the outsider here, not me. Which means I get my answers first.”

He pursed his lips, trying to come up with some way to contradict you, but he knew deep down that you were right—you had the upper hand in this situation. Begrudgingly, Joel pushed himself back onto the table across from you, grunting with the effort as he settled back against the wall. You rolled your chair a bit closer to him, leaning back and watching him intently.

“Alright, then. Tell me the story about how the cowboy and the little firefly managed to survive their journey out West, searchin’ for a brother and a cure.”

Joel regarded you carefully, fighting the urge to correct you.

And searching for you.

Instead, he opened his mouth and began to speak.

Joel’s brows furrowed as you rejoined him on the gravel street from the house you had stopped by. Your arms were holding a variety of clothing items, pressed tightly to your chest as you nodded for him to follow you.

“What was that about?”

He asked, maintaining several feet of distance between the two of you as you lead him further away from the town square.

“Stopped by to see Mary-Ann. Her husband is about your size, and I figured you wouldn’t object to a new set ’a clothes.”

You jokingly looked him up and down, scrunching up your nose in disapproval at his current attire. Even with your teasing, Joel felt gratitude sneak up on him as he watched you.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He spoke lowly, and your quick pace faltered slightly at the tenderness that breached the surface of his words. Your smile wavered.

“Yeah, I know. S’really not a big deal.”

You shrugged it off, refusing to expose any vulnerability to the man. You were bound and determined to keep your head up in the face of his sudden reappearance in your life—the last thing you needed was for Joel to think he still had power over you.

“What’d you trade for it? I’m sure there’s somethin’ I can—”

“Joel, s’fine.”

You snapped, harsher than you had intended. You sighed.

“I’m the town doctor, and I treat everyone and don’t expect anything in return, so when the time comes that I actually need somethin’, people are more often than not willing to help me out.”

He didn’t respond, and you continued your trek through the snow in silence. After a few more tense minutes, you reached house number 38, pausing when you saw light peeking through the curtains in a room upstairs, the window cracked to let cool air into the stale home.

“So, this is you. Ellie’s already upstairs, m’sure.”

You paused in front of the door, turning to face the man head-on. The familiarity of looking up at him like this, his brown eyes regarding you with undivided attention, filled you with a deep sense of melancholy. The proximity was dizzying. You refused to acknowledge the sensation.

You offered him the clothes in your arms—a fleece-lined burgundy flannel, a pair of jeans, boxers, socks, and an undershirt—and he accepted them gratefully.

“Tommy and Maria are right across the way, and... I’m, uh, right next door if you need anything.”

You tried to hide the resentment that soured your lips as you told him where your own home was located, and although he didn’t say it out loud, you saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes that you were, once again, neighbors. How serendipitous.

You hesitated, staring at the ground in between the gap of yours and Joel’s boots, contemplating. Finally, you figured you’d extend an olive branch.

“Listen—after you get cleaned up, if you wanted—I mean, I have to talk to Maria quick, but ’m probably gonna stay up for awhile, so if—you know, if you’re not too tired, I wouldn’t mind—”

“Thanks.”

Joel interrupted your senseless rambling, indicating that he understood your winded invitation for his company. You blew out a breath, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you met his eyes once more before stepping around him and closing the short distance to the house across the street. Joel watched as you walked away.

He was fuming, but his flaming hot anger was quickly tempered by a lingering sadness that threatened to consume him. Ellie had some fucking nerve—bringing up Sarah, trying to manipulate him into taking her the rest of the way. He felt nauseous, his jaw clenched tight as he sat on the edge of the bed in his own bedroom, his eyes flickering up to stare out the window that shrouded him in moonlight.

There was a cool breeze filtering in through the crack in the window, but when he looked out, he saw you. You were staring up at Ellie’s window, your hands buried in the pockets of your winter coat and your face painted with discomfort. It was only then that Joel realized Ellie’s window had been open, as well—how long had you been standing there? Had you heard everything?

Joel found himself rising, walking to stand up against the window. The movement caught your attention, your gaze briefly shifting as you made eye contact with him. The silvery-pink skin of your scar seemed translucent beneath the streetlights. You stared up at him, wordlessly confirming that yes, you’d heard every goddamned word before you turned and stomped over towards your own home, downtrodden and damaged.

He wasn’t consciously in control of his body as he swiped his jacket from the end of the mattress and descended the stairs, exiting the front door just in time to see yours slam shut. He swallowed, letting his exhale cloud out in front of him in the frigid air before he followed your snowy footsteps, pausing on your front porch and staring at the closed door.

You wouldn’t want him to join you anymore, surely—not after you’d been subjected to his aggression towards Ellie. Your silence signaled your disinterest, or so he told himself. Still, he hesitated. His calloused fingers brushed against the doorknob, twisting sharply, and to his surprise, the door swung open easily.

An olive branch.

The hallway before him was dark, but there was a soft yellow light emanating from deeper in your home, and he could hear the clanking of dishware and cutlery as he stepped into the threshold and closed the door behind him.

His heavy footsteps echoed loudly against the creaky wooden floor as he followed the sounds, the hallway opening up to a small kitchen where you were facing away from him, the smell of coffee filling Joel’s lungs as he breathed in deep. Real coffee. Even better than goddamn liquor.

He watched as you poured two mugs of the dark, steaming beverage, setting the pot back on the counter before picking up the mugs and turning to face him. You still didn’t speak, didn’t even look at him as you squeezed past him and set one mug on the end of the round wooden table before sitting down on the opposite side. Joel took the hint, the legs of the chair scraping the hardwood as he pulled it out and cautiously seated himself, his hands instinctually coming to cradle the warmth of the mug in front of him.

“You heard all that?”

He croaked.

You took a small sip, your head turned to stare out the back window and into the darkness of the trees outside. He waited, silently, for you to set the tone of the meeting. He watched your jaw clench as you finally opened your mouth the speak.

“Just—”

Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat. There was grimace on your face, words wobbly and cautious.

“Just when I think you can’t possibly let me down even more, you somehow find a way.”

He scowled, but felt his beating heart sink, an anchor weighing him down at your confession. He didn’t say anything—just kept watching your face. Your features always betrayed you; you wore your heart on your sleeve. He could read every expression with practiced precision, and now, he studied you diligently.

You finally turned to look at him, eyes glossy and sad. He swallowed.

“You know, I—I stuck my neck out for you. To Maria. Even after all the shit I heard from Tommy, even after everything, I still thought—still thought there might be at least some trace of the man I knew all those years ago.”

“That was your first mistake.”

His gruff voice interjected, posture stiff.

“I ain’t the same person I was. And neither are you.”

“You’re wrong.”

You shook your head with such conviction that Joel faltered.

“I haven’t let the world harden me, Joel. I’ve grown, and I’ve learned, but I’m still the same person I’ve always been."

“You’re lucky to be alive, then. Naive to think that you can still care about people in a world that doesn’t care about you.”

You studied him, cold and calculated, before nodding sharply, a look of disapproval in your eyes. The scar that ran through your brow curled as you scowled.

“You just feel so fuckin’ sorry for yourself, don’t you?”

Joel was utterly taken aback, blinking once, then twice, before his eyes narrowed.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You think—you think you can use your grief, your pain, to justify your actions, like it can excuse the person you’ve become. We don’t have control over anything that happens to us, Joel. Shit happens, and the world still spins. The only thing we do have control over is the way we react to it—how we choose to let it affect us.”

You were glaring daggers through him, resentment contorting your attractive features into a snarl, your scar pinched inward with the furrow of your brow.

“Ellie was right. You’re not the only person to lose someone. Your grief does not justify your actions. I’ve heard about the things you’ve done, Joel. The horrible things. You don’t get to say that the world forced you to become what you are—you made that choice. You let your grief consume you, you let it control your life, you let it turn you cold and callous and spiteful and cruel. That’s not the world, Joel—that was you."

He felt his chest grow tight, stunned by your words. There was anger growing in him, blazing hotter.

“Don’t—”

“No.”

You snapped, and Joel could see his own rage reflected in your eyes.

“No, Joel, you’re gonna shut the fuck up and listen to me, for once. I’ve waited too damn long to say it, and you at least owe me this.”

He silently seethed, fists clenching beneath the table as his leg began to bounce with anxiety.

“Look around you. All of these people—me, too—have suffered, have been put through so much, but we’re still here. We’re trying. We’re fighting. We found hope where there wasn’t any, in spite of everything, we’re choosin’ to move forward. So you can’t say that the only way to survive is to become as hateful as the world around you—there’s still good left.”

He stayed quiet, head silently shaking at your words. HIs jaw was rippling as it clenched. You grew silent for a moment, before hesitantly speaking up. Your tone was much softer, now.

“You’re not the only person to lose her, Joel. You’re not the only person who lost Sarah.”

His eyes snapped to you, his expression turning stony at the mention of his daughter. He despised the look of pity in your eyes—the look of sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry about Sarah, I can’t even begin to understand how hard it must’ve been for you to go through that, but—but you don’t get to own that. That grief doesn’t belong to you.”

You swallowed. There were tears welling in your eyes, threatening to fall.

“Do you really think this is what she would’ve wanted you to become? What she—”

He stood abruptly, anger bubbling over and spewing from him as he shouted at you.

“You have no fucking right—”

“I loved her, too, Joel!”

You screamed, standing to meet him, and the man recoiled, flinching as tears began to track down your cheeks. You fumed.

“I loved Sarah, and I loved you, and I spent every single day missing you and hoping that by some godforsaken miracle, you—my family, was okay.”

My family. His gaze dropped to his shoes as he swallowed thickly.

“And when I heard from Tommy what had happened, I just—my heart broke for you, Joel, of course it did, but that little girl—I know she wasn’t mine, but I loved her, too. And don’t tell me I have no right to talk about her, because I did know her. I spent every day for five years with her, watchin’ her grow up, and—and I know it’s not the same, but you can’t take that from me. As hard as you try—as hard as you tried—to erase me, to push me away... I’ve never stopped loving you. Either of you.”

You turned away from him, trying to mask the pain that was erupting from deep within you—years and years of repressed anguish spilling from every pore.

Your back was to him, your shoulders rising and falling with shaky breaths, your sobs subdued by your willpower alone. As much as he tried to fight it, Joel felt guilt nesting within his soul.

“I know your world ended that night, I know you lost everything—but my world ended the night before.”

His lungs felt like they were shrinking.

“Y/N—”

“I’m gonna ask you something, Joel, and I already know the answer, but—but I need to hear you say it.”

You turned to face him once again, your sadness briefly replaced with cool calculation as you scrutinized him. He gave a barely perceptible nod.

“Did Sarah die that night, thinkin’ I just up and left without saying goodbye? Without knowing the truth?”

He felt the blood drain from his face, his mouth dry and tongue like sandpaper. He didn’t respond—he didn’t need to. You saw it in his eyes, the silent resignation, the shadow of shame that crested his features, the way his jaw rippled. You nodded slowly, the last of your tears drying up as you sniffed, and Joel could see the resentment slowly taking control.

“Darlin’, I—”

“When I saw you with Ellie, I thought maybe I was wrong. Maybe there was still a part of you in there that could love, that could care, that could be a father. Ellie is someone’s daughter, Joel. What if it was Sarah? You can’t—don’t turn your back on her. Please. Don’t—don’t break my heart again.”

He swallowed thickly, unable to meet your gaze. You shook your head again, an uncharacteristic calmness suddenly possessing you.

“I’ll pack you a bag and put it on my porch for you to take tomorrow morning. Some rations and clothes and everything you’ll need."

You started walking towards the door, as if ready to lead him out, and he shook his head frustratedly.

“I can't take her, Y/N, I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.”

You clipped, a glare piercing through him as you opened up the front door for him.

“Because if you don’t, m’gonna have to listen to you bitch about how much you regret it for the rest ’a your sorry life, and I’m not willing to put up with that.”

True to your word, there was a new backpack sitting on your front step early the next morning. Joel knocked twice on your door, but if you were home, you ignored him. He rifled through the contents quickly—you’d even included a makeshift first-aid kit, a thermos of coffee and some grounds.

As he shouldered the bag, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. It was a note, messily scrawled in your familiar handwriting. He felt his heart skip a beat as he reread it, over and over, his lips parted in shock.

Cowboy—

I kept my eyes closed, but five minutes is starting to feel more like twenty years—but I'm still waiting. I'll always be waiting for you, Joel.

Good luck. Maybe when you get back, you can hold up your end of the bargain. I've learned to be patient.

Your perpetual neighbor, Y/N

P.S. I'm sorry. And I forgive you.

You remembered.

TAGLIST: @spiidergirlsworld @canpillowscry @str84pedro @daddy-din @pedropascal-whore @pppmitt @thirdoffive @elliescumsl0t @kagajgajaguwbeidheubqk (please comment to be added/removed)

#tlou #the last of us #tlou series #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel x reader #tlou smut #tlou imagine #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfic #joel and ellie #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #projectionistwrites

244 notes · View notes

todoroki-waifu · 1 year

Text

Super late, but this is from the poll results! Thank you again to those who voted. :)

Itadori x Reader

Warning: Gender neutral reader, a small, slightly suggested part, and cursing.

Scenario: How Itadori shows he really cares for you.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1,896

----------------------

You returned from your two day mission late that evening, exhausted and sore. You also didn't recover from the previous missions that were given to you prior to the one you just came back from. Because of your abilities and the rising numbers of high grade curses, you were needed more frequently. You either went solo or in a group, but lately it's just been you.

"Good morning, everyone." A yawn is laced with your greeting as you walk towards the entrance of the dormitories. The others were training, but stopped when they saw you.

"Good morning? It's already evening!" Itadori straightens up from his defensive stance to rush over to you.

"__(y/n)! It's been forever!" Kugisaki beats Itadori and has her arms wrapped around your body.

"I know, I've been a bit busy with these assignments." You returned her embrace.

"I'm gonna yell at Gojo-sensei for taking you away from me. I'm getting hives from being around these two monkeys for so long." She jests as Fushiguro sends her a glare while Itadori raises a brow.

"You might have to hold on just a bit longer. I'm leaving again tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Already?" Itadori was starting to agree with Nobara about scolding their white haired sensei.

"Yeah, but it's at night! Hopefully it'll just be a one day kind of thing."

"I hope so! Anyway, go get settled. We're finished here then we're gonna make some hot pot."

You nod at the three of them, agreeing to join them later once you finish taking a shower and changing into comfortable and intact clothes. Yuji leaves Megumi and Kugisaki to walk with you back inside.

"You sure you're gonna be okay going tomorrow?" He then grabs your bag and belongings, offering to hold them for you. You attempt to get them back, but Yuji wants to help. Even if it's something as tiny as this.

"Yeah, I mean...I don't really have a choice, but even if I did, I'd still take it. There's people in danger so I want to do this."

"You're over exhausting yourself." He frowns at the consequences your body may potentially suffer.

"I'll be fine. Promise." You give him a smile as you make your way towards your room. Once in front of your dorm, that was when you both departed to get ready for dinner.

You're gathered on one table with a boiling pot of soup and various ingredients scattered around. You thanked those who prepared it since none of them allowed you to help and instead encouraged you to rest. A few minutes into dinner and your body was starting to crave sleep.

"Whoa, hey, you okay?" Itadori sees your head in an alternating up and down motion with your eyes fluttering and bowl almost tilting forward. He puts down his own bowl to stabilize yours as you finally lift your head up.

"Sorry! I just got so tired suddenly."

"We can save you some if you want to go to bed." Megumi suggests and you shake your head.

"I'm hungry, too. Wish there was a way I could both eat and sleep at the same time." You tried to rub the sleepiness from your eyes.

"Oi, why don't you feed them? They can barely hold their bowl. Help them out." Nobara points her chopsticks at Yuji.

"M-me?!" A red tint develops across his face.

"Duh, of course you! You're the one sitting next to them."

Itadori grabs your utensil and dish, picking up some noodles before telling you that he'd assist feeding you.

"You mean I can close my eyes and eat? Perfect!" You turn your body to face Itadori with your eyes shut and mouth open to accept some food. Itadori's blush only deepened and he could feel his blood was being directed elsewhere.

"Oh my God!" He shouts suddenly, earning confused stares from his friends.

"What happened?" You ask and Itadori shakes his head.

"No-nothing. Sukuna was just being...funny."

"Fuck you, kid. You know you were thinking the same thing." A toothy grin appears on his right cheek, making Itadori yell at the cursed spirit residing in him.

"He's having a moment...Fushiguro, you go feed __(y/n)." Your brown haired friend elbows the shikigami user and he starts to stand up.

"N-no! I got it. Just give me a sec." The pink haired boy was able to quiet a laughing Sukuna before focusing on you. You went back to your previous position and Itadori had to bite down on his tongue to fight off another blush. He thought back on how tired and hungry you were which redirected his concentration.

Yuji made sure that the food wasn't too hot or too big for you to bite on. He kept a steady pace and managed to find a way to feed himself in between. After a few more bites and enjoying being fed by your crush, you took back your bowl. It was fun to see his reaction, but found it sweet at how determined he was that you fulfilled your nutritional intake for the day.

Once everyone was satisfied with warm and full bellies, you attempted to wash the dishes. Again, none of them allowed you and Kugisaki sent Itadori to bring you upstairs.

"You should get some rest." He starts leading you to your room.

"Not yet! I've missed you!" You immediately swerve in front of him then your eyes widen at what you just said. "A-and Nobara! And Megumi, too! I haven't hung out with you guys in a long time."

"Well, Kugisaki and Fushiguro are gonna head to bed early since they leave for a mission in the morning. Mine isn't until the afternoon so I can hang out with you if you don't mind just me?"

"Of course, not! I love hanging out with you. C'mon." You grabbed his hand, dragging him to your room. You both occupied your bed, you leaning against the headboard while Itadori was laying sideways on the foot of your bed.

Within a few minutes while Itadori was catching you up on the past few weeks, you were nodding off again until you plopped on the bed. The pink haired vessel wasn't offended, instead was relieved that you finally accepted some sleep.

He carefully maneuvers you into a better position, covering you up to your shoulders with your blanket. As he adjusts the pillow under your head, he frowns at the number of bandages and bruises on your person. He then exits the room after turning off the lights, pulling out his phone to dial his teacher's number.

"Itadori? What's up?"

"Please let me take __(y/n)'s mission."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I know they have one tomorrow night. Let me take that instead and switch theirs with mine."

"Why?" Gojo asks after a brief pause.

"Be-because I...I just..they've been, you know and I just-" He stutters, face and ears becoming warm. "Just let us switch! Please, sensei."

The white haired male exhales loudly before explaining the details of the case. "This is going to be a difficult one for you, Itadori. Based on __(y/n)'s abilities and technique, they could finish the job in 3 days, but for you, 6 days. Are you prepared for that?"

He had no idea that there was such a difference between yours and his fighting levels. Itadori was going to need to catch up so you didn't leave him behind or worse, be a burden to you.

"Yes. I'll take it. Do I need to wait until tomorrow? Can't I just go now?" Itadori had the energy and resolve plus if it was going to take him 6 days, maybe he could cut it down if he starts now.

"I don't see why not, but be aware that even if you leave now, you're only shaving off maybe...half a day earlier. Anyway, pack your things. I'll send a ride for you in 20 minutes."

--------

It's been almost a week since you last saw Itadori and when you noticed the changes to your assignments. They've become lighter and you were able to finally work with Megumi and Nobara again. You also found out that Itadori had swapped missions with you and you were anxiously waiting for him to return so you could question why.

As you sit on the front steps of the dorm, you see a familiar white and pink haired teacher and student. You're the only one to greet them since Nobara went shopping and Megumi was visiting his sister.

"Yuji! You're all beat up." He sees concern swimming in your __(e/c) eyes.

"I'm okay, promise! That curse was a tough one, but I did it!"

"I heard what you did. Why did you switch our missions? Were you afraid that I couldn't handle it?"

"Wha-no! That's not it at all!" Itadori fidgets in his spot, trying to explain it in a way that doesn't devalue your sorcery skills. Behind Itadori, you see Gojo a few feet away, laughing quietly at the boy who was in love with you. Your teacher makes an outline of a heart with two fingers then points at Itadori.

Ah, now you understand.

"I didn't think that you couldn't handle it. I just felt like you were being overworked and I wanted to help you. I wanted to relieve at least a bit of your workload because you deserve some rest, too. And you know, teamwork makes the dream work...ahehe..."

Gojo slaps a hand over his blindfold, shaking his head at Itadori's missed opportunity to tell you exactly how he felt. But you already knew what he was trying to say. Maybe it was time for you to make yours a bit more obvious.

"Thank you, Yuji." You take one step towards him, aiming your lips to his cheek. Instead of feeling a soft, somewhat flat surface, another pair of lips touch yours. You gasped, pulling away as you realized that you had kissed Sukuna's mouth and not Yuji's cheek.

"Sukuna!! What the hell?!" Yuji places his hand over the side of his face, covering the cursed spirit.

"Hey now, I did most of the work so I should be getting some kind of reward, too."

"Well, thank you, Sukuna, for all your hard work." You cut off their bickering and you move to the other side of Yuji's cheek. However, a mouth and eye were staring at you, showing off a toothy grin. Before Yuji yells at the King of Curses, you press your lips to his, finding that it was a safe place where Sukuna couldn't appear.

You removed yourself after a few seconds, giving Yuji a sweet smile. "You should probably shower and change. I'll make you some food. It's tiring after a long mission."

"S-sure!" He nods then jogs to the dorm entrance, but immediately stops to turn back to you. He plants a quick kiss to your lips this time, a big grin decorating his face as he walks back to his room.

You giggle at the extra energy Yuji has in his stride, happy that he returned to you in one piece and with a surprise. Gojo comments about how both of them are going to be a handful, but you knew that already. You love all of Yuji, even the King of Curses that resides in him.

218 notes · View notes

olivia-anderson-fanfic · 7 months

Text

How to train your Drake, Ch1

TWs for this chapter: self-harm (for religious reasons), religious trauma (also for religious reasons), lies, manipulation, and possessive behavior (not religious, actually)

Stay safe everyone!

Marinette had trained in the art of the blade for months, had heeded the townspeople’s warnings of flames and danger, had made the treacherous trek through a land filled with criminals, had balanced on the precarious bridge spanning between the world she knew and the one that belonged solely to the dragon, had climbed one of the tallest towers to get a good vantage point…

She had not been prepared to find a random, hot guy at the top of the tower.

Hot in temperature, maybe, as it pertained to the fire that the hulking beast could spew, but not… an attractive person, sitting at a desk, his long hair just barely falling into his face despite how often he pushed it aside, his shirt sliding down one of his shoulders, and sharp eyes that found her before she could even make a sound.

His gaze zeroed in on her sword, still outstretched in front of her.

She hesitated, unsure, before slowly lowering the weapon.

“Uh — I —…” she cleared her throat, awkward. She had not been prepared to pull on her persona (it wasn’t like a dragon she was either going to kill or die to would care if she acted ‘knightly’), but she could improvise! “Fear not! I’ll make sure you get out of here safely!”

For a moment, the stranger stared at her.

And then he smiled, resting his head in his hand. “Yeah?”

“Of course!” She bit her lip, glad that her armor covered her face. Honestly, she hadn’t heard a thing from her mentor about a potential captive, and that worried her more than she’d ever admit aloud. “Are you aware of any other people that may be in this castle?”

“Not any that I know of,” he said easily. “Couldn’t hurt to check, though.”

“That’s a sound plan,” she said. “Come with me, I’ll protect you.”

He snickered, even as he got to his feet and walked over. “You don’t have to be all formal, you know.”

She felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Perhaps not, but it is my job.”

“I won’t tell,” he said, smiling, holding out a finger as if for a pinky promise.

She glanced down at it, hesitating. Considering he had been locked up in this tower for who knows how long, he probably didn’t need his first interaction with a non-dragon to be quite so stiff.

“… okay.” Hesitantly, she lifted her visor to send him a slightly nervous smile in return. “I can’t do that, though, my armor will pinch your fingers.”

“I think I can handle it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe, but you shouldn’t have to.”

He tilted his head to the side as if considering that — or, maybe, considering her — before giving a small hum. “If you say so.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes gleaming with something she couldn’t quite decipher. “You can call me Tim.”

‘You can call me Tim’... the specific wording threw her off. Why did it sound like that wasn’t his real name?

Perhaps he was a faerie.

She looked him over again, this time with a far more critical eye. He had the right number of teeth, but they were slightly too sharp, as if he had only ever eaten meat, but this wasn’t particularly damning, as the whole reason the town had sent her had to do with the dragon stealing their livestock. His nails, too, were sharper than they probably should be, though she didn’t count any extra fingers. He radiated a slight heat, to the point where she might have normally worried that he had a fever. His eyes, though normal in color, seemed just a little too bright – not only reflecting the light of the room, but glowing from within.

But the main giveaway as to when someone was other was that they were often too perfect. Without a single pore or blemish in sight.

And that definitely described the person in front of her.

Why would a fae be here, though?

She recalled stories of faerie granting gold and fortune to those that they liked… perhaps they had a mutual agreement going on – gold for protection. Still, that didn’t explain why the fae might be staying there full-time.

Maybe ‘Tim’ was indebted to the dragon in some way? Or it had his True Name?

Either way, she couldn’t risk giving him hers.

She smiled, doing a tiny salute. “I’m Mari, I’ll be playing the part of your savior for the day.”

He snickered. “Not using your real name. Smart. But I don’t want to call you something untrue.”

“I don’t think giving you my True Name would be in my best interest,” she said.

“Well, then, lead the way, ‘Savior’.”

She was less than happy to do so. She would much rather stay here, bantering with Tim, than go back to braving the depths of the castle. She had yet to see the dragon, and it was putting her on edge.

Admittedly, the castle was huge, and she had heard that the dragon was relatively small, only having survived this long thanks to its speed and supposed cunning, so this wasn’t too surprising. Just unnerving.

And it didn’t help that she was quickly tiring. Her armor was heavy and bulky — it had to be, in order to be effective against a dragon’s claws and teeth — and she wished they had let her wear something more form-fitting because lugging it around was exhausting. Not to mention that, if the dragon ever happened to round a corner, she wouldn’t be able to run fast enough to dodge any of its flames, and the metal would only help it cook her alive.

Her only real chance of survival was Tim, really… and that was only if she assumed that faerie could be hurt by flames, and that the dragon would hesitate to send any their way because of it.

Basically, her chances of survival weren’t high.

Not a fun thing to think about. Especially not when she was suddenly aware of the fact that she must check every room from now on for other people that might have been taken by the dragon, and that she might end up finding said dragon instead.

“How’d you end up stuck here, anyways?” Marinette asked, partially because the silence was a little awkward when he wouldn’t stop staring at her like a puzzle he needed to solve, and partially because she just needed to distract herself from a possible impending doom.

“Dragons are possessive creatures, as I’m sure you know. If they want something, they’ll have it. Even if that ‘something’ is a human, so long as they’re precious enough.”

He glanced to the side, nerves creeping across his expression for the first time.

She bumped her shoulder with his playfully, and his expression immediately brightened.

“Oh? And what’d you do to get a dragon’s attention?” she teased.

He pressed a hand to his heart, giving a mock gasp of offense. “Excuse you, I like to think I’m plenty charming!”

She tipped her head back in a laugh, only for her smile to quickly fall. She cast her eyes around, silently praying that she hadn't accidentally alerted the dragon to her presence.

He noticed, his own eyes narrowing just slightly.

“You know… for a knight, you don’t seem particularly ‘knightly’.”

She snorted. “I think you’re calling me a coward, but I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”

“It is one,” he confirmed, winking. “Knights are my least favorite kind of person.”

Her expression twisted. “Why?”

“I think that’s kind of obvious,” he said, glancing down briefly to step over an empty armor set delicately, careful not to so much as bump it. “You guys are kind of annoyingly persistent.”

“It’s not really by choice,” she defended, once again wishing her own armor were off, if only so she could cross her arms over her chest. “It’s not like we all want to go on suicide missions.”

He gave her a mildly skeptical look. “Really? You’re not doing it for honor, or riches?”

“I mean… some people are, probably. I know the last person, Otis Cesaire, volunteered because one of his cattle was stolen and he was pissed off,” she said.

Tim hummed. “I can get that. I’d be pretty annoyed, too.”

Marinette, privately, disagreed. She had never much cared for material possessions, and the cow had been old, certainly not worth dying over. But to each their own.

She eyed the gold coins littering the floor, careful not to step on any for fear of the metal clinking against her armor and damaging one of them, which would definitely land her on the dragon’s To Burn Alive list (assuming she wasn’t already on it). More and more precious things could be found in this area, and she thought it was safe to assume that the dragon’s lair was somewhere nearby because of this.

With that in mind, she grabbed Tim by the hand and immediately steered him away. She’d check that last, and only after she had ensured he was safely somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Tim looked at their interlocked hands and immediately added his other one, allowing her to lead him along with a brilliant smile.

She couldn’t fully bring herself to match the expression.

“Trust me, pretty much no one wants to die a fiery death. Most of us only come here because we were drafted.”

“Oh,” was all he said, but there was something darker in his expression now. Or maybe that was just because his eyes seemed to be glowing even brighter, making the rest of his face look darker in comparison. Regardless, there was something Other, something wild, in his gaze when he met hers again. He gripped her armored hand tighter. “They won’t hurt you again,” he promised.

She gave him a wry smile. “I thought I was the ‘Savior’ here. Shouldn’t I be telling you that?”

He huffed. “Fine, we can protect each other, then.”

“Oh, how terrible, you’re under the protection of a knight,” she said, rolling her eyes with a tiny smile. “I’m so mean for… ah, let’s see what my crime is… right! Doing my job.”

“You are! How dare you!”

She snickered. “Okay, okay, I get it. You don’t like knights or whatever. But I wouldn’t be here if the draft hadn’t made me, so you can’t be that mad about my job, right?”

He hummed, considering this. And then shook his head. “Nah. I’m choosing to hate the humans who sent you here and thank the gods for letting me meet you.”

The next door she had been about to look through swung open on its own, and Tim gave an abrupt laugh at the sight of whatever was inside.

She peeked around the frame, and wasn’t entirely surprised by what she saw:

An altar.

Whether this room had originally been devoted to a god, or it had been swapped with another one in the castle for the sake of the ‘thanks’ that Tim had promised, she was unsure. But it didn’t matter either way.

Marinette wasn’t particularly surprised to see one, even here. She had yet to meet anyone, human or Other, that didn’t, at the very least, have a patron god. Nor was she shocked that the runes etched into the wall above the window said it was devoted to Plagg, the god of destruction and chaos and bad luck, for Other beings tended to love the god, and he loved them. She had never really been sure whether the prayers to the god were supposed to prevent them from facing his wrath, or if the people praying to him wished to invoke his wrath upon their enemies.

He wasn’t her patron, wasn’t even a popular god among humans due to his fickle nature, so forgive her for being a little uninformed.

Tim stepped inside, and she watched him take careful, practiced steps toward the knife sitting on the table. The blade was clean, though Marinette knew you weren’t supposed to clean ritual knives yourself, which meant… Plagg actually listened to the people in this castle’s prayers.

Or, at least, he was willing to stop by and take their offerings.

Tim pushed his sleeves up over his shoulders, and then gingerly picked up the knife. He tipped his head back to look at her. “You coming?”

Well, she wouldn’t risk snubbing a god by leaving their altar empty.

Slowly, hesitantly, she removed her armor. The dragon likely wouldn’t attempt to kill her in a holy place, she would have sanctuary there, but she wasn’t safe while just outside of it. Unfortunately, she couldn’t take the armor off inside, either, as being armed in a holy place, especially one belonging to a god she had never sacrificed to before, could and would be taken as a threat.

But the dragon didn’t come, and she was finally freed. She breathed a sigh of relief, the cool castle air like a balm even through her bodysuit. She stretched stiff, tired muscles.

And then she walked over, rolling up her sleeves. Her right arm, dedicated solely to her patron, had a single scar trailing down the entirety of her forearm, the line still perfectly straight despite how many offers she had given over the years. Her left arm, however, was devoted to the gods she gave offerings to out of courtesy – she wasn’t theirs, and they weren’t hers, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t a level of respect there (and, besides, you never know when you’re going to need to call in a favor that your patron might not have dominion over, so sacrificing is always in your best interest). A series of lines, similar to tally marks, lay in her skin. Some were deeper, such as the one dedicated to Kaalki and another to Wayzz, while Trixx’s line was so thin she had to squint to see it.

She noted, absently, that Tim had only one mark on his left arm, though it was a shockingly deep line. She wondered who he treated as a secondary patron, even if it was often seen as rude to ask after someone else’s relationship with the gods.

Tim caught her staring, and she flushed a little, but his eyes flicked over her arms as well. “Who’s your patron?”

Or not, apparently.

She supposed it made sense for someone that was Other to not really mind that societal convention. Why would you care to hide your patron, when almost everyone already knew who it was?

“Ask me again when we’re not in Plagg’s domain,” she said, smiling weakly. “You might get an answer then.”

His eyes gleamed. “Fine then, keep your secrets,” he joked lightly.

She rolled her eyes. “Just give me the knife,” she said, sticking her hand out.

He handed it over, and she looked over her left arm for a good spot. After making sure that she was positioned well over the table, she sliced a new, neat line into her skin.

It wasn’t a particularly enjoyable experience, offering, but it wasn’t supposed to be. It was supposed to be a sacrifice, a show of devotion. If it didn’t hurt, then what was stopping people from simply tearing themselves open over every altar in hopes of as many blessings as possible?

She had heard of people who did it regardless, and she had heard that it never went well for them, anyway. If you’re willing to devote yourself to every god, are you really devoted to any of them?

She tipped her head forward in a silent recognition of the god, and then handed off the knife to Tim.

He was much less careful, dragging the blade down his arm almost carelessly, which she supposed made sense for Plagg, even if she could not personally imagine herself doing it.

As expected, he closed his eyes in a proper prayer. She looked down at the altar to give him some semblance of privacy, watching Tim’s blood join her own. At first glance, his blood was completely normal, but the moment it was next to hers it became clear that there was something off about it. The color was a shade too orange, the light of the setting sun streaming through the window bounced off of it just a little too much.

Tim gave a contented sigh, unclenching his fist and turning his arm to face the ceiling to somewhat keep the blood trapped inside. She wondered, absently, what Plagg did to tell his patrons that he had heard them. She usually felt a rush of warmth when her patron wanted her to know that she was listening, but she knew other gods had different signs.

Tim walked around the back of the altar to grab some bandages.

Normally, she would refuse to be treated first, as Tim had offered far more, but the blood welling on his arm wasn’t quite as bad as it probably should have been. She wasn’t sure whether this was Plagg’s doing, or if Other creatures simply had faster healing rates than humans.

Either way, when he told her to stick her arm out, she did so without complaint. However, she did complain a little when she realized that Tim wasn’t going to stop looping bandages around her arm until he ran out.

“Humans aren’t that fragile,” she said, though she didn’t really try to stop him from looping the roll of bandages around her another three times before deciding it was enough.

He only grinned at her and offered the much-depleted roll, holding his only barely bleeding arm out expectantly. She hummed as she worked her way up and down his arm in a practiced motion.

Her town had been full of devout followers, with an altar in almost every home, and many temples dotted liberally between the houses beyond that. Marinette herself had always been particularly religious, spotted visiting a temple as often as she could without bleeding out.

It hadn’t helped keep the dragon away from our livestock, a traitorous part of her mind whispered. It hadn’t prevented me from getting picked.

She shook her head to clear the thought.

The gods were kind. They were millions of years old, they had no reason to help people. They asked for very little in return. She closed her eyes, reminding herself that everyone questions the gods from time to time, and that it is only through questioning that your faith can truly become stronger.

Even now, the stinging in her arm had muted to a dull tingling sensation, and Plagg wasn’t even her patron. He didn’t have to help her through her pain, he simply chose to. It was likely that their skin would heal over the moment that the wounds were fully out of sight, even the more fickle gods weren’t likely to let their believers bleed out, if not out of compassion then at least because they didn’t want to lose their steady stream of offerings.

She tied off the bandage and then set the roll down on the altar, glancing outside. The sun was gone, now, and it was a starless night, leaving the only light in the room to come from the faint glow that came from within Tim’s irises, only a little more than a foot away, fixed solely on her. It was quiet in the room, save for the torches flickering in the hallway outside and the quiet drip-dripping of blood beginning to slide off of the altar table.

Marinette lifted a hand to cup his cheek, her thumb trailing beneath his eye. A hand covered her own, his face leaning into her touch.

“What… are you?” she asked.

He hesitated, his gaze flicking away briefly, before his eyes found their way back to his own. “A fae,” he admitted.

She hummed lightly. “Is that why I’m so enchanted by you?”

“Well, I do like to think I’m pretty charming,” he joked once again. “But, I promise, I’m not enchanting you.”

“And fae can’t lie,” she said.

He smiled. “Exactly.”

She pulled him down for a kiss, smiling when he kissed back just as eagerly. Arms wrapped themselves around her tightly, dragging her in close, and she was happy to reciprocate, her free hand sliding into his hair.

And if the slightly-too-sharp nails dug into her, just a hair too possessive, then she didn’t notice.

>>>>>

Next part

#i hyperfixated again...#maribat #timari #timinette #timmari #fantasy #dragons #knights #fantasy religion #tim drake #red robin #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #shutterbug

23 notes · View notes

french-unknown · 9 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 (𝟐) | 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫

finnick odair x fem!reader

summary: Both in their twenties, (Y/N) and Finnick have been friends with benefits for several years. However, tensions will rise as their summertime relationship begins to evolve.

warning: none

word count: 3.2k +

[ masterlist ] - [ previous chapter ] - [ next chapter ]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐 | 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐫

Armed with a sword twice as heavy as its usual weight, (Y/N) approached the dummy in the training room. She warned herself, then began to give it powerful blows. First simple and repeated strokes to get used to the heavyness of the weighted weapon before continuing with more and more complex sequences until arriving at a fluid and controlled choreography that would have been fatal to any opponent.

After countless attacks, the girl decided to take a break.

She could feel the sweat running unpleasantly down her skin as the muscle fatigue was felt in her arms and trunk. That feeling of pushing into the void followed her as she grabbed her water bottle from her bag and began to drink.

It was quite late so many of the potential tributes had left the District 2 training facility.

The now empty gymnasium was immersed in silence, apart from her loud gasps as well as her soles crunching against the smooth floor. The ring for hand-to-hand combat in the back of the room was no longer even lit and the various weapon handling workshops all around were also plunged into darkness, making them stand out like ghostly presences that were barely distinguishable in the dark. Only a few flashes of light reflected were visible on the metal surfaces of the blades worn by their many uses.

Axes, knives, shields, or spears.

(Y/N), seeing the time, picked up her things and regretfully put down her practice sword before leaving, exhausted. The Capitol's unpractical redistribution of District 5 electricity meant that the complex's curfew was soon to come. So she walked through the streets of the district to make the short trip from the Careers Center to Victors' Village, being careful to buy a healthy meal on the way back.

When she arrived in front of her house, she did not even notice the extinguished lights on the porch before passing the door. She directly went straight for the stairs, pointedly ignoring the bright lights in the living room and the happy voices and laughter that accompanied them. Instead, she continued to shamble up the stairs, because of the body aches, to get to her room.

It wasn't long before she washed, ate, and fell asleep.

The next day, she woke up at dawn and left the silent house within half an hour without having eaten. She went straight to the district black market which she knew exhibitors had been preparing for since long before dawn. Indeed, she found a good number of stalls there and immediately began to stroll freely, looking out of the corner of her eye for her potential breakfast.

However, instead, her gaze met that of a blonde woman barely older than her who was staring at her from several meters away. Sitting behind a stall displaying a wide range of knives of all kinds with an older woman, her anger and resentment dripped so deeply from every pore of her skin that the (H/C)-haired girl could feel the rushes of hate that were strangling her from where she was standing. (Y/N) didn't doubt for a second that she must be dying to pick up one of her articles and throw it between her eyes.

And the former victor knew that the blonde was perfectly able to do it.

But a victor is a victor so, out of pure pettiness, she hesitated to come and tickle the exhibitor a little, knowing that she would not risk anything against the knife seller. Just a simple conversation would have been enough to inflame her, she knew that. Just a smile. Just to avenge the old days. She just had to look into her eyes to see the hatred that gnawed at her even after all these years.

However, she decided to continue on her way, judging that her indifference would perhaps enrage the blonde more than her attention. Nevertheless, she hoped that was the case.

Further, she was alpagated again. She then turned around and found herself facing a middle-aged lady she had never seen before who was waving her arm like they had known each other forever. Intrigued, it was only when she saw the characteristic ebony black stones on her stand that she recognized her as coming from her native village. She approached her, curious.

"You have grown so much!" The gray-haired woman cheered. "The last time I saw you, you must have been what… 8 years old?"

The former victor was going to answer her but did not have enough time.

"Even back then, you were running around the village with your little pickaxe. A real ball of energy!" she continued as a nostalgic smile settled on her lips. "And here you are now a victor. Your parents were right to come and move here for your training, they must not miss the dust of our mine very much."

Faced with the blank that her interlocutor left in the conversation, the younger girl knew that it was her turn to speak.

"Yes, it's sure." She nodded with a fake smile. "How are you doing over there?"

"Alright! Stone from our mine has been popular in the Capitol lately, so we're all living pretty well for now." The woman immediately assures her enthusiastically before continuing to talk to herself. (Y/N) only reconnected to her chatter when she started talking about the Capitol. "You are so lucky, everything must be beautiful there! I heard that the other victors were all equally impressive. And how beautiful they were! The one from District 4 would have been to my taste if he wasn't such a heartbreaker!"

The girl felt a slight burn of annoyance in her chest.

One of her very many memories of Finnick with his string of fancy lovers appeared in her mind as well as his famous charming smiles that he addressed to them when he spoke to them, laughed with them, and took them to his room. No doubt he still kept it while he laid them on his bed and made them the same things he made with the (H/C)-haired girl. Or maybe he was dropping it to give them the same desperate look of contact he gave her when they were both in bed. A look that had made her tremble many times before.

(Y/N) gritted his teeth but still forced an even sweeter smile at the stranger.

"You know, the Capitol mostly likes to exaggerate rumors." she explains with the lightest tone she could find, even if she had more of the impression of whistling it between her clenched teeth. "And I think I've earned my place there pretty well."

The woman didn't even notice the abrupt change of subject and rushed into the breach.

"Yes, of course!" she readily admitted. "All this dryness in your arena, how awful! And the heat must have been excruciating! It's too bad the boy who went there with you died in that fire."

"He was killed by a mutt snake." immediately corrected the girl who was getting tired of this conversation.

"Were there snakes in your year? I didn't remember!" answered the gray-haired woman, surprised. "In any case, your parents must be proud of you!"

"Yeah, I guess. If you don't mind, I have to go join them."

Suddenly embarrassed, the woman hastened to greet her after giving her a pebble of the black onyx stone to remind her of her good old childhood village and (Y/N) left immediately.

Her gloomy mood remained throughout the day.

At least, until she went on the musculation floor of the Careers' Center at night and worked her arms on one of the machines. From afar, she spotted Enobaria coaching two potential tributes as usual. However, she saw the gaze the older former victor gave her and then the look she cast on her body. The two young girls who accompanied her had stars in their eyes when they looked at her, but she nevertheless remained frozen under the judgmental gaze of her eldest. The (H/C) did her best to act as if nothing had happened as she felt her pupils pass over her muscular arms, her toned belly, and her trimmed legs.

But, when a smug smile bloomed on Enobaria's lips with her teeth clearly filed down, she felt the weight in her stomach get relieved as flutters of pride were felt in her chest.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

On the morning of the Victory Tour's departure, (Y/N) woke up as the stylists and film crew were pouring into the Victors' Village. She stayed in her bed for a moment, watching them from her bedroom window, before sighing and getting out from under her warm blankets.

Before leaving the house, she went through the kitchen to have a drink.

There she met her mother and father, still in nightwear, having breakfast on the kitchen table. Their conversation stopped as soon as she walked through the door. Without even a greeting, she went directly to the fridge from where she took out a bottle of juice which she drank in a few sips while the two adults behind her also began to drink from their respective cups without saying a word.

"Good morning." Suddenly began his mother. Yet, receiving no response from her daughter, she clicked her tongue against her palate. "A hello will tear your face off?" she asked in annoyance. "You were raised with better manners."

The (H/C)-haired girl clenched her jaws but simply threw away the empty brick before preparing to walk away.

"You could at least answer." Continued his father, monotonously.

The girl still continued on her way to the door until she found herself with her feet in the snow.

She then joined the entire Capitol team, which was finishing loading their belongings into the car leading to the train. She leaned against the structure of the vehicle and stood there while watching the latest victor make his speech on television. (Y/N) noticed Enobaria and Brutus also waiting for them to finally leave.

Once he was done, they were finally able to board.

She remained behind in all districts throughout the Tour. Just a dark, motionless presence behind the new kid who was proudly reciting his speech. It was therefore with boredom that she observed the gloom from 12, the anger from 10 then the sadness from 8 and the fatigue from 6.

By the time they arrived in District 4, the events had become more interesting for her. Indeed, as soon as they set foot in City Hall, she immediately noticed some of the former victors from the district accompanied by the Peacekeepers. Finnick stood out particularly well among them. A smile identical to the boy's slowly began to bloom on her lips. However, after a furtive glance from Enobaria who also caught sight of the green-eyed blond, the smile was quickly cut short.

She frowned immediately and joined the others from her district on the stage.

Very quickly, she realized that she was being watched. Having a little idea about the identity of the culprit, she tried to take a look and immediately came across two green orbs who were attentively watching her.

His hands were wisely kept behind his back as he maintained eye contact without blinking even once. An amused smile curled his lips as he tilted his head slightly and intensified his gaze. A teasing flame shone impatiently in his pupils. (Y/N) was immediately caught in his verdant pupils and felt her heart twist in the hollow of her chest, tingling in her abdomen.

Her breath began to accelerate as a myriad of memories of them in the Capitol flashed before her eyes.

The (H/C)-haired girl saw them sexual leering during one of the many receptions they had attended for the Hunger Games. She remembered the feeling of them lying on top of each other in a bed at the Tributes' Center. The outpouring of excitement that twisted her stomach as they kissed passionately away from prying eyes in the shadows of a nightclub. She relived the warmth of sitting on his knees with her legs on either side of his hips while they were in the hot tub at one of the Capitol's luxurious hotels.

Unconsciously, she moistened her parched lips with her tongue.

But the gesture caused Finnick's eyes to drop from hers and dive to her lips, hypnotized. From where she stood, she thought she perceived a shiver run down his spine as his hands came out from behind his back. However, before he could make any move, he clenched them into tight fists before shoving them hastily into his pockets. That didn't stop him from staring at her lips, though.

Suddenly, (Y/N) was jerked out of her reverie by Enobaria.

The older woman grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her roughly behind her in the direction of the doors. Confused, the youngest looked around her and realized that the speech had ended without her realizing it and that the inhabitants of District 4 were also deserting the public square to leave each other at their sides. She hadn't even heard a single word of what their tribute had said.

Before the doors definitely closed behind the District 2 delegation, she took one last look back. What she saw was Finnick, immobile in the middle of the crowd with his hands still in his pockets, his gaze down at her back and his shoulders hunched forward.

The only thought that crossed the girl's mind was the feeling that seemed to emanate from him: sadness.

The end of the tour, however, arrived at high speed and, in the blink of an eye, she found herself decked out in a huge teal blue dress in delicate chiffon, climbing the steps leading to the final party of the Victory Tour. Some distance behind the rest of the group of 2, she could only hear her stylist, who was glued to her side, nitpicking in the wind.

"Did you get your arms bigger again?" she whined. "They were thick enough before. You know, it would be better if you paid more attention to your image. I say this for your own good."

The (H/C)-haired girl ignored her as best she could, already quite accustomed to her plaintive remarks.

"Look at that, even your waist seems to have grown." she continued, pricking with her index finger the elastic belt that compressed her bust.

Immediately, the former victor clapped her hand away.

"Don't touch me!" she growled at the meticulously dressed woman. "Not everyone wants to be a pretty toy for the next newcomer."

Then, happy to have finally put her in her place, she quickened her pace to join the rest of the group who were beginning to outrun them. She didn't want to have to speak to the creature for the rest of her time at the Capitol. Nevertheless, as she neared the doors, her stylist walked past her before she could pass them.

"Maybe people would stay with you if you looked a little more like a pretty toy." whispered the woman, rushing in front of her while giving her a murderous look.

(Y/N) immediately followed her, but by the time she entered the room, the other woman had already joined the crowd.

Later that evening, the District 2 girl had gotten to the point where the only thing she cared about was the reflections of nearby candles on the bald head of Brutus, another champion from her district. Although she had attended the official Capitol celebrations for seven years, she was still bored.

The sets were as pompous as each other.

The music was to fall asleep standing up.

The atmosphere, of an unnamed boredom.

Drinks, as bland as possible.

People, tamed.

She only looked up from Brutus' gleaming skull when he quietly stomped on her foot as he spoke with a heavily made-up man. She then became interested in the conversation and found herself caught up in a whirlwind of politeness and reminiscing about the past Hunger Games. Having no idea what had happened there, she smiled as best she could and faked memories of the event. She improvised an expression of agreement when he shared his opinion on the physical abilities of the male tribute from District 11. She also laughed with him about a mysterious incident that would have occurred between two career tributes, and she pretended to know how the girl from 5 had been killed. The only information she gained from this conversation was the discovery of how her winning tribute had won his Games.

After a lot of sweat and pressure, she left the conversation out of fear of betraying herself after such a good job of improvisation.

So, the (H/C)-haired girl moved away from the crowd and stayed to breathe. In the distance, she saw her stylist surrounded by people chatting happily among themselves. They were eating nibbles together while they laughed happily as if the joke that the woman who had stuck this abominable dress on her had just told was hilarious. Maybe it was for people like them.

Anyway, her attention was quickly diverted when she heard Finnick's name being spoken somewhere behind her. She listened.

"If you only knew how handsome he is!" a young girl's voice exclaimed from behind her to another giggling girl. "His skin, his body, his arms and his abs! A real living god!"

(Y/N) grabbed a glass and dipped her lips into it to hide her smile. The victor from 4 had the body of a god and she was very well placed to know it. A feeling of pride bubbled up in her chest. Unfortunately, that feeling crumbled as quickly as her smile when the conversation she was spying on continued.

"And what he does with his mouth is magic! The best night of my life!" she declared dreamily.

A knot suddenly formed in the District 2 girl's throat and a fire ignited in her stomach. The memory of their eye contact a few days earlier, which she had almost cherished until then, came back to her with bitterness. Annoyed, she finished her drink in one gulp and purposely loudly put it down next to her to alert the other two girls that they weren't alone anymore. Both of their voices fell silent immediately and the (H/C)-haired girl left curtly.

A few drinks later, she noticed a man watching her from across the room.

He was quite handsome and, given the languid gaze that slid down her body, seemed genuinely attracted to her. A flicker of amusement danced in the mind of the former victor so she began to observe him with the same intensity to provoke him. It wasn't every day that someone from the Capitol looked at her that way.

After a few minutes, the man left his corner and approached her.

(Y/N) let herself be seduced during the entire discussion phase, a hint of anger still burning in her entrails, while gently stirring the alcohol in her new glass. Even though she hadn't slept with anyone other than Finnick in the past few years, they had never promised each other anything so she didn't see why she wouldn't be allowed her little pleasures as well. She finished her drink and tugged on the man's tie to bring her lips closer to his ear.

"Your place or mine?" she whispered sensually in his ear.

She felt the man ignite with desire under her fingers and the same feeling seized her at the thought of getting such a reaction from this stranger. As she hurriedly followed the man home, she hoped with all her heart that the fire of her desire would camouflage the bitterness of jealousy and sadness that corroded her heart.

#hunger games #imagine #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair imagine

26 notes · View notes

silentmagi · 10 months

Text

Rising Star

6 - Search for a potential dumbwaiter in the tower.

Okay, so having a meal while stacking books was surprisingly comforting, as she had always done that at school. She was feeling more herself with the books prepared, and a hastily made sandwich. With the refreshed feelings came a moment of clarity. It wouldn’t be too long to look for the dumb waiter, and if she found it, it would be easier to bring the books down in greater quantity.

Besides, if she starts with the first level, it would only take an hour at the most. Right?

Right.

So she wasn’t being lazy, she was being efficient.

Now, the most logical way twas to search the walls for openings, probably the north wall since that had the least amount of holes in it, and she should have seen the ropes if it was still functional, right?

Not seeing any obvious panels or tapestries to hide it behind, she figured it would have to

Picking up a stick, she walked to the wall and began to softly tap at the stones, listening to the solid sound that they made, before moving to the next and repeating the action. Sticking with the stones that were shoulder height to start, she figured it wouldn’t be too much taller or shorter, so she’d only have to do two or three passes to-

Clunk, clunk clunk.

Huh, halfway through, and there was a hollow sounding section. Searching the section she found a tiny set of hinges to one side, a catch on the opposite side, and pulled it open to reveal a closed door.

Things were looking up, the door would slide away to reveal… bottles of liquor. Why would anyone waste perfectly good book storage space on alcohol? It wasn’t even a nice wine or something like that, it was just something called whiskey. She remembered trying it once… or most of it… she never did meet that girl after the next morning.

Ugh, stupid fuzzy memories.

Pushing against the top and bottom revealed no give or slack that she’d expect in an elevator system like this, and she couldn’t find a seam that it would slide past. Setting the bottles side for… later cataloging, she continued her search of the wall, finding another stash of bottles that she likewise set aside.

She would be very popular in the dorms if she brought all of them back. If.

Moving on to the East wall, she finally found something promising, a panel of the false stone opened to reveal a small hand crank, and a lever that opened another panel. A panel that revealed her prized elevator to ferry the books down easily. The crank moved easily, and a small dial on the opening next to the door slowly moved to the next number. This was good.

Looking outside, she found that there was still time. So she began cranking up the box to get it to the number five, and began making her way back up the stairs. She’d have to shore up that one section, or figure out an alternative, but this was forward progress.

Getting back to the fourth floor where her mess remained, she inspected the stairs and sighed. She didn’t know what to do about that missing section, she could just rebuild what she had, since that worked before.

Actually, that was the least amount of work. She’d just have to make sure the nails were set more firmly. As the sun began setting outside, she scouted around and found candles to keep working on her construction project. Would she have enough time to keep working on the books today? Should she go down and get some sleep?Star Main

#Story #My Writing #Rising Star #My Polls #Star #World Building #Please Participate #Star Main

52 notes · View notes

l0t4n · 3 months

Text

YEARLY CHECKUP

a/n Dr. Mal Practice, MD will see you now. Also sorry I am NOT familiar with the interworkings of the Devildom medical system, if anyone is more enlightened on the canonical aspects than I feel free to lmk. First NSFW fic posted here too - are we excited or are we excited teehee...

Contains NSFW. Dubcon (verbal consent, but power imbalance). Medical/clinical/otherwise loveless sexual contact. A little slutshaming and exhibitionism. Belphegor receiving handjob, GN reader, genitals unspecified.

It is incredibly simple to become a doctor in the Devildom. Demons are very hardy; nowhere near as finicky as humans are when it comes to the intricacies of care. Further, even if a demon contracts a serious issue, they're usually just stuck that way with no cure ever. Because of these two factors, there's no real concern for injury or death amongst patients - it virtually never happens, so they let practically anyone become a medical practitioner, no schooling or specialization required beyond on the job training. The pay is nowhere near as high as it is for human doctors because of that, but you get very few patients and a lot of time to sit about doing nothing, which is preferable for some.

Today, your job as a physician has been unreasonably hectic. Most days, you have no patients, totalling five or less a week, usually with minor ailments, many externally caused - a cold or a bad cut, neither of which you need to be especially careful with treating, since it's almost always issues that heal on their own quickly. Recently, however, you've had an inordinate number of patients for seemingly no reason - from the start of the work day until the end, you just had appointment after appointment with little time in between. It's the last patient of the day and you are fully prepared to leave, even if it requires you to cut even more corners than usual to treat them. It's already dark out, and the cold white light of the examination room sears its way past your eyeballs and into your brain, giving you a headache. Right as you rub your hands against your face to alleviate some of the pain, your patient walks in.

The sound of the door opening catches you by surprise, yet the patient says nothing as he promptly seats himself at the end of the examination bed, wax paper crinkling underneath him. He's very languid in his movements, and slouches from where he sits. It takes you a moment to look away, your sore head processing at a slower rate than normal. You swivel your chair around to face the computer on the desk beside you, pulling up his patient file quickly, as to make up for lost time. You fill the dead air in the meantime with a drawn out sigh. “Belphegor? What seems to be the problem today?”

“I fell asleep while walking down the stairs the other day, and hit my stomach hard on the way down.” His voice is quiet and sleepy. You don't really question how someone falls asleep while walking - regardless, falls are a common issue, and cycling through the potential concerns is like muscle memory to you.

“Any bruising or sharp pain?” You type his complaint into the form on the monitor before you.

“It's a little bruised, but pain-wise, it's just a bit sore…” You nod, typing the last of the notes and rising to your feet. You pull a pair of blue latex gloves from a box beside you, putting them on with practiced efficiency.

“We're going to take a quick look. Lay back for me.” You walk up beside the exam bed and motion as if you're pushing him back by his chest, without making contact. He complies, falling back easily. Your gloved hands catch the hem of his shirt, already risen up just a little, and pull it up to his ribs. His skin is pale, the light purple bruise visible on the left side of his waist, forming a line that fades out as it approaches the middle of his stomach. You press firmly across his lower abdomen, beneath his belly button, careful not to touch the injury too roughly. “Does this hurt?” You look up as you ask, only noticing then how his eyes have shut. He nods “no”, head flopping to the side after. You see now how he fell asleep going down the stairs. Returning to the physical exam, you press on both sides of his waist, just above his pelvic bones. You do this just a bit harder than before, a bit jealous that he's falling asleep and you're still on the clock, and you watch his otherwise undefined abdominal muscles flex a little bit beneath your hands. “Still no pain?” When you look up this time, he's just barely raised by his elbows, his face flushed pink - yet, he doesn't look at you.

“No,” he says it quietly, and his demeanor has totally shifted. Just moments before, he was relaxed enough to nearly fall asleep during the exam, but now he seems almost embarrassed. You look down, only not noticing where your hands rest, framing the apex of where his thighs meet his hips. The loose pants he wears do little to hide his arousal underneath. You stare uncomfortably long at his dick, noticing the light trail of black and white hair that goes up to his belly button. Once your overworked brain catches up with the situation, your head turns back up to look at him. He's fully propped up on his elbows now, and his hands are fidgeting with the pleather coating of the bed beneath him. He makes eye contact with you for a second, before glancing back away. You remember to move your hands, but right as they slip from his thighs, his own hand grips yours. A few uncomfortable seconds pass, before he says, “You can touch me, if you want.” His voice is bashful and sweet, but you don't miss the slight tremor in his voice, almost a bit sinister.

Your exhausted mental state feels almost refreshed, and before you can consider things like appropriate practitioner-patient relationship, you're pushing him up by his hips, motioning for him to lay on his back, which he does obediently, his hands nervously playing with the paper he lies on. You can only imagine what about this situation in particular made him hard - your head hurts just dully enough to deny you a solid answer. You leave your gloves on as you slowly, clinically grope his dick over his pants, the other hand resting on his thigh. He shivers and sighs beneath you, opening his legs wider for better access. Your movements are slow and methodical, careful not to show any emotion on your face. An idea hits you then - with no explanation, you stop touching him, moving back over to your desk. You feel Belphie’s eyes follow you, confused and concerned, as you pull a small packet of lubricant out of a drawer. Normally, these are used for various, non-sexual procedures, only sometimes involving the genitalia. Not today, though!

As you approach the bed again, Belphie is staring up at you worriedly, as if he's done something wrong. “Take off your pants.” You have difficulty keeping a level, emotionless tone of voice as you order him around, and you see the relief hit him, right before he leans over to roughly shove his pants and underwear down to his mid-thigh. Soon, you're standing in between his legs again, his cock bobbing against his navel in anticipation. You rip the gel packet open, squeezing a bit out onto the head of his dick. He jumps a little from the cold temperature, but quickly suppresses his shock as your gloved hand grips his shaft, thumb rubbing the lubricant across the head. He shutters again beneath you, whining at the contact, his hips rising to meet your hand while his leg blindly kicks at your side, trying to find a place to perch against you, hold you in place. You ignore it at first, but he keeps trying to wedge his knee under your arm or over your shoulder, blocked by his half-undone pants. You stop your slow movements once again, stepping back and out of his reach.

This would be easier if he didn't insist on wearing those boots. Your hand is still slick with gel, and you don't want to dirty your gloves just yet. “Take off your shoes… So we can continue the exam, of course.” He's visibly annoyed about the interruption, and rises a bit slower than before as he moves to unlace his boots, kicking them off in a hurry, before his pants follow - by the time he's laying back again, his pants are hanging off his left ankle, only his socks remaining fully on, while his knees are pulled up to his chest. He stares up at you from under his hair, already messy from the way he's been writhing underneath your touch. When you don't immediately step back over to him, he wiggles his hips lewdly in your direction. The moment your hand is back on his dick, the gel has warmed under your palm, and he's quickly arching his back in pleasure. It seems like he's afraid you'll decide not to let him finish, or that, between all these delays, your appointment together will end before then. As a result, he continually tries to show off for you - although, he could be a bit more careful with his volume.

His moans are breathy with no space inbetween, almost like panting at times. His voice pitches into a whine every time you rub over the head of his dick, and the rather slow pace you move at doesn't seem to help. He took no time getting worked up, and he's moaning like he's close - though, you doubt how much you can trust the authenticity of his vocalizations. You rub along his shaft slowly, in a very linear up-and-down pattern, your thumb pointing away from your fist to rub against his slit every time you move upwards. Your other hand is wrapped around the base of his dick, holding him in place for “examination”. It's clear he's getting tired of the pace you've set, trying to rock himself into your fist at a faster rate. You tighten your grip against the base of his cock, causing him to jolt at the pressure. Leaning over him, you move your hand to focus on the head of his dick, agonizingly overstimulating him.

“You need to keep it down. We don't want anyone interrupting our private appointment. It's unbecoming,” you say through gritted teeth. You expect him to back down at that, but he grins widely in excitement and mischief - you quickly realize, from the prospect of being found out. He immediately throws his head back, loudly moaning like a whore. Only then do you decide to quicken your pace in frustration, going from slow and methodical to quick and messy in an instant. The gel on his dick fills the room with sticky, wet noises, combined with the way he groans in satisfaction at the pace change surely leaves no question as to what's occurring now to any passersby. Still leaning over him as you roughly get him off, you take the chance to look him over - the way his fingers helplessly grip at the bed beneath him, his stomach heaving with every exaggerated moan he utters - and, most importantly, his fucked out expression, half-hidden behind his hair. His eyes are shut, eyebrows worried and, of course, his lips are parted for his frequent moans and pants to escape. A bit of drool has collected at the corner of his mouth.

He peers up at you, opening his eyes for just a second, before they close again tight, his entire body trembling. You look down just in time to see him cumming, each buck of his hips painting his stomach further as he frantically humps your fist. You continue touching him throughout his orgasm, until he's jolting from oversensitivity. You remove your hand from him, slipping your now-dirtied gloves off and unceremoniously dumping them in the trash. Your patient lay panting on the bed, half-clothed, most of his abdomen slick with cum and lube - and you're already off the clock. You place a box of tissues next to his exhausted body. “Leave once you've cleaned up. I'm done for today.” Just as you move to walk away, a hand grips your wrist, surprisingly strong. You turn to see him sitting up now, looking right at you.

“I'm not done yet. Keep me company a bit longer?”

#obey me belphegor #obey me #i shant say

8 notes · View notes

ukrfeminism · 2 years

Text

A growing number of women are being pressured into ‘sex for rent’ housing arrangements, and the rising cost of living will only force more vulnerable people into exploitative situations.

“If you are a young girl 16-plus who is stuck at home and wants to get away or maybe you are homeless seeking a safe route out, I have a room available in my home for a young girl,” read the advert Christopher Cox, a 53-year-old landlord from Surrey, posted to Craigslist in 2018.

In return for a place to stay, the tenant was expected to “cook, clean, do laundry and possibly more.”

In May 2022, Cox became the first person in England to be convicted over ’sex-for-rent’ offences – offering vulnerable young women, including one homeless woman, shelter in exchange for sexual gratification. He was later sentenced to one year in prison for controlling and inciting prostitution for gain.

While sex-for-rent schemes were first brought to the attention of parliament in 2018, their prevalence has grown dramatically in the past few years.

In 2019, the Crown Prosecution Service issued guidance classifying sex-for-rent deals as punishable by up to seven years in jail.

However, as the country faces continued economic hardship, job losses and financial insecurity following the pandemic and amid a cost of living crisis, a growing number of landlords are arranging for tenants to provide them with sexual favours in exchange for housing.

Research by housing charity Shelter found that over 59,000 women were targeted by current or prospective landlords between March 2020 and September 2021.

“At the time I didn’t have nearly enough money for the deposit to even rent a studio flat,” one victim told the Mail On Sunday following an undercover sting by the paper. “The arrangement is that we sleep together when the landlord comes to town. I’m only expected to have sex with him once and then I go back to my own room.”

Polly Neate, the chief executive of Shelter called the rise of sex for rent “an appalling symptom of our housing emergency”.

“Unaffordable private rents, skyrocketing living costs and the dire shortage of social homes are creating the perfect conditions for criminal landlords to prey on women,” she tells Stylist. “Predatory landlords are targeting women who desperately need a roof over their head and can’t afford anywhere to live.”

HOW ARE SEX FOR RENT SCHEMES EXPLOITING WOMEN?

According to Alan Collins, partner in the abuse team at Hugh James Solicitors, the crime is not the act itself, but the lack of informed consent.

“It would be very hard to point to a crime being committed if they have given informed consent and decided they were prepared to do it,” he tells Stylist. However, many vulnerable people are at risk of coercion, threats or bribery.

“Everyone knows what consent means superficially, but as a society, I don’t think we understand it fully,” he explains further.

Let’s look at the power dynamic – “You’ve got a property owner and a tenant who could potentially be mentally or financially vulnerable. There’s a powerful party and a non-powerful party, so the latter can very easily be coerced into something they don’t want to do.”

Collins suggest that some of the warning signs for sex for rent arrangements include suspiciously cheap rates and phrases like ‘sharing’, ‘coming to an agreement’ or ‘young female desired’.

WHAT IS BEING DONE TO PROTECT WOMEN AGAINST SEX FOR RENT SCHEMES?

Alongside the landmark conviction, the government’s incoming Online Safety Bill is set to include new laws that will prosecute social media firms who allow sex for rent adverts.

“Tackling sexual exploitation and violence against women and girls is a government priority,” a spokesperson for the department of Digital Culture, Media and Sport told Stylist.

“Our pioneering bill will force online platforms to proactively identify and remove content which is illegal, including offences relating to inciting sex work and sexual exploitation. It will make sure companies have effective reporting mechanisms in place and provide users with proper support. If these firms fail, they’ll face huge fines and the potential of having their sites blocked in the UK.”

However, campaigners aren’t convinced this will tackle the problem at its root.

“The government must do more to protect women who are forced into these terrifying situations,” says Shelter.

“As the cost of living crisis worsens, it must ensure that more women can afford to access a safe and secure home by ending the freeze on housing benefit immediately. But the only way to stamp out sex for rent for good is to tackle the root cause of the housing emergency. That means building a new generation of good quality social homes with rents that people can actually afford.”

101 notes · View notes

emotionalcadaver · 9 months

Text

Part 9: The Scarecrow & The Shadow

Fandom: The Dark Knight Trilogy

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x OC

Summary: Worried about the potential consequences of either of them getting arrested, Vanessa presents Jonathan with a proposal.

Word Count: 2,360

Notes: I know that technically very few states have self solemnization in real life, but we’re just going to pretend that Gotham has its own special laws regarding that because this is what I always envisioned for them. Warnings for references to sexual content.

Masterlists: Main • Series

Previous Part • Next Part

Vanessa watched from the entrance as the police car pulled away, hands stuffed into her pockets, frowning. Beside her, Jonathan sighed, taking off his glasses and cleaning them before sliding them back up his nose.

“Come on, let’s get out of the rain,” he said, making a move to go back inside the asylum. When she didn’t follow him, he stopped. “Nes?”

“Coming,” she tore her eyes away from where the police car had just been, going to follow Jonathan back inside. Neither of them said much as they went to the elevator, Jonathan punching the number for the floor of their offices. Vanessa followed him into his office, closing the door behind her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, head tilted while he adjusted the cuffs on his shirt.

“That was close.”

“Not really,” he shrugged.

“We’ve had too many incidents here over the past few months. People are going to start to get suspicious.”

“Most people already believe that the asylum is cursed or haunted or both.”

“Jonathan,” she said sternly. He sighed.

“The cops around here are dumber than a box of rocks. They couldn’t solve a case if the answer was written out for them at the crime scene in blood.”

“That Jim Gordon is smarter than the others,” she said, lowering herself onto the couch. “I think he’s been suspicious of us since we got rid of Dr. Arkham.”

“Hm,” Jonathan hummed, looking out the window, lips pursing as he considered. Straightening, he came to sit down beside her. “So what do you want to do? Get rid of him?”

“That will only make them all more suspicious,” she shook her head, sighing. “I don’t know.”

He reached across to take her hands, rubbing over her knuckles with his thumb. “We’ll be fine.”

“We should prepare for the possibility that someday, someone might figure out what it is that we’ve been doing here.”

Jonathan’s ice blue eyes searched hers carefully, before nodding. “Okay. You have anything in mind?”

“Not right now,” she admitted. Her mind was spinning with undeveloped ideas; but nothing concrete. There were so many angles to cover, it would take some time.

“Well, we can both mull it over at least. Talk about some ideas after work,” he checked his watch. “I have to get downstairs to an appointment.”

“Okay,” she let him go. He kissed her tenderly on the cheek before rising from his seat.

“It’s going to be fine, Nes.”

She nodded.

∗ ∗ ∗

“I do have an idea,” she said, nervously swirling her wine in her glass, watching the deep red liquid swish around and around and around. Beside her on the couch, Jonathan shifted, arm wrapped around her shoulders. Vanessa was leaning up against his side, her legs stretched out on the remainder of the couch not occupied by either of them. It had been a long day at work; both of them more than content to just curl up on the couch together with a bottle of wine, Chinese food, and a horror movie for the evening.

“Oh?” Jonathan asked curiously, pressing pause on the movie. “What is it?”

Bringing her wine glass to her lips, Vanessa swallowed down the remainder of the alcohol in a nervous gulp, leaning forward to set it down on the coffee table in front of them. Taking a deep breath, she twisted her hands together, glancing at him anxiously.

“Now, listen…you can say no, if you want,” she started. One of his brows kicked upwards, but other than that, he didn’t say a thing. “I’ve been reading up about laws, about certain options for immunity if one of us gets caught. And, um…” she stuttered around the words, utterly unsure of how he would feel about what she was going to suggest. “The most sure way for a couple to prevent being compelled by a prosecution to testify against one another is through marriage.”

Jonathan stiffened against her, pulling back to set his wine glass down on the end table and look at her more fully, eyes wide. Vanessa swallowed hard as she stared up at him levelly.

“Vanessa,” he said, very slowly, and she could see his mind working a mile a minute behind his beautiful blue eyes. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“I–” she felt her cheeks flare with warmth. “Only if you want to.”

He let out a sharp laugh at that, sitting up more fully, encouraging her to do the same as he tucked some hair behind her ear and clutched her hands. “If I want to…” he cradled her face, kissing her on the mouth.

She smiled, leaning closer to him, until their noses bumped, closing her eyes and resting her head against his palm. When she opened her eyes again, he was staring at her with an analytical expression, though the softness with which he often regarded her was still there. Turning her head, she kissed the center of his palm. “I love you.”

Jonathan’s eyes softened further, throat working as he swallowed, leaning in closer to kiss her again. Then he pulled away, standing while still holding her hands.

“What are you doing?” she asked. He pulled her to her feet.

“Doing this properly.”

“What–” her eyes widened as he sank down onto one knee in front of her, heart jumping into her throat as she blinked hard at the sudden, unexpected tears springing forth into her eyes. “I thought that you didn’t care about being traditional.”

“I don’t,” he rubbed her knuckles with his thumbs, cracking a smile. “But I’m willing to make an exception for this,” he cleared his throat dramatically and she giggled, squeezing his fingers. When he spoke, his voice was deadly serious. “I love you. You’re my favorite person in the world,” his fingers flexed around hers, his cheeks turning pink. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” she jumped when he lifted a hand to caress her cheek, wiping away a few tears that she hadn’t even realized had fallen. “And I would very much like not to be forced to testify against you if we ever get arrested.”

She laughed at the unexpected joke, the hand he had on her face returning to clasp her fingers in his.

“So,” he drew in a deep, nervous breath. “Vanessa Charlotte Sullivan, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she said, almost instantaneously, and he surged up from where he was kneeling, arms going around her waist as he kissed her. She beamed against his lips, hands cupping his cheeks, laughing joyfully as he pressed her down firmly into the couch, lips salty form the combination of their ecstatic tears.

∗ ∗ ∗

Vanessa made an appointment with the county clerk’s office that weekend, and they headed down there first thing Saturday morning, hand in hand. They were dressed nicely, but not over the top: Jonathan in just a dark suit while Vanessa wore a lacy black dress she had yet to find an occasion to wear.

Neither of them had ever been particularly interested in the idea of a wedding. It all seemed rather ridiculous and over the top to them. Not to mention that neither of them had any other real friends or even acquaintances to invite to a wedding, had they decided to have one.

At the end of the day, they both agree that self-solemnization was the best course of action for both of them. No religious fuss to get Jonathan’s hair to stand on end, nor witnesses or an officiant staring at them as they spoke deeply personal words to each other to make Vanessa feel all violated and twitchy.

Gotham was one of the few places in the country that allowed self-solemnization. And made it a surprisingly popular place for eloping couples. Vanessa didn’t particularly care why Gotham allowed self-solemnization when the rest of the state didn’t; she was just thrilled that the process involved as little fuss as possible.

“You two been together long?” the clerk asked as she checked their photo IDs and began to doll out the paperwork they would need to fill out.

“Since college,” Vanessa said simply.

“That’s lovely,” the clerk smiled at her sweetly. She just nodded, fingers squeezing against Jonathan’s arm as they filled out the paperwork and handed it back.

“And just sign your names here,” the clerk presented the paper to them. Vanessa wrapped her arms around Jonathan’s waist as soon as the clerk had retreated away to give them some privacy.

“Last chance to change your mind,” she whispered in his ear, pressing a kiss into his cheek. It wasn’t like either of them were all that invested in any form of a traditional lifestyle. Had it not been for the possibility of one or both of them getting arrested at some point, they probably would have forgone marriage all together. Neither of them needed a slip of paper to know that they would be together forever.

But still, there were benefits of that little slip of paper that neither of them could dismiss. Not to mention the peace of mind it would bring her. It would do good to have all their ducks in a row; should shit one day hit the fan.

Jonathan snorted, turning his head to nose at her hair affectionately before scribbling his name down on the line and handing her the pen. She reluctantly let him go to take it between her fingers, laughing as she felt him hug her from behind, kissing her temple and hooking his chin over her shoulder. The pen scratched against the paper as she signed her name, heart jumping as she looked down at the two near illegible doctor’s signatures side by side on the paper.

Glancing over her shoulder at Jonathan, she smiled at him with lowered eyes, stroking his cheek. “Hi, husband.”

His laugh vibrated against her back, leaning closer until their foreheads touched. “Hello, wife,” he purred, pressing his mouth against hers. The kiss was deep and heated; a far cry from the usual quick pecks that they usually shared in public. Like he was trying to tell her without words just how happy he was; how much he loved her.

Once they broke apart, she cradled a hand at the back of his head, keeping him close as she hummed in happiness, nuzzling at his nose. Finally turning away, she picked up the paperwork, and together they took it over to the clerk, holding each other’s hands.

“Anything else?” she asked the clerk as she took the paper.

“No, that’s everything. I’m assuming that you would like to file right away? There’s no waiting period in the city of Gotham.”

“Yes, please.”

The clerk nodded. “Then you’re all set. Congratulations, both of you.”

“Thank you,” they both said, heading to the exit.

“That was much easier than I thought,” Jonathan commented.

“I thought that surely they would give us more shit about it,” Vanessa commented, hugging his arm. Their apartment wasn’t all that far away, and the moment that they were inside and the door was shut behind them, she pressed him up against it firmly, chuckling at the little yelp he let out as she crowded into his space and kissed him.

“Mm…what’re you doing?” he chuckled as she moved her lips down to his neck.

“There’s still one thing left that we have to do,” she purred into his skin, enjoying the way that he shivered and tilted his head back against the wood of the door.

“Is that so?” he teased, eyes shining mirthfully behind his glasses. Vanessa nodded, hands smoothing out along his chest as she tilted her head up to kiss him again, grinning as his hands landed on her hips and he started to walk her backwards.

“At least we won’t technically be living in sin anymore,” she said dryly. Jonathan snorted.

“Granny would be so thrilled,” his voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I’m sure that we can come up with many other things to do that would have horrified her to her very core.”

“God, I love you.”

Laughing, she wrapped her arms around him, letting him scoop her up into his embrace, both of them kissing enthusiastically as he carried her into the bedroom.

Later, much later, they were curled up in bed with an opened bottle of champagne that Jonathan had bought earlier in the day, licking grease from the pizza they’d ordered off of their fingers. Vanessa stretched, the soft material of Jonathan’s shirt riding up her bare thighs, smirking to herself when she caught him staring. Not that she could blame him, as she allowed herself to appreciate how he looked in his boxer shorts and nothing else.

With a hand on the small of her back, Jonathan drew her in closer until she was pressed flush to him, one of her thighs hooked over his hip and her palms on his chest.

“I like being married to you,” he admitted, dropping his head into her neck, spreading kisses down it and then moving onto her shoulder. Vanessa wrapped her arms around him, heart squeezing happily at the words. Even though they’d technically gotten married for the immunity, she couldn’t say that the idea of him as her husband didn’t make her feel a little giddy; all warm and fuzzy with affection.

And she did love him. More than anything. And she knew that he loved her; no matter what she did. What atrocities she had inflicted; or that had been inflicted upon her. Vanessa knew that her mind was sick. Twisted and torn, probably beyond repair. Just like his. They were the same in that way too, true equals in every sense of the word. It was incredibly soothing, to know that he loved her without expectations, without limits. No matter how much of a monster she became.

She supposed that in a way, at least in her mind, they had already been married.

“Mm. I like being married to you too,” she told him, grazing her lips along the shell of his ear. Jonathan just hummed in deep agreement, and pulled her closer.

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

Previous Part • Next Part

Masterlists: Main • Series

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x oc #the dark knight trilogy #vanessa sullivan #vanessa sullivan x jonathan crane #my ocs #my fanfiction #fanfiction #the scarecrow & the shadow

11 notes · View notes

all-for-geek · 8 months

Text

I Lost You Once Chapter 9: Family Ties

Chapter 8

Chapter 10

Word Count: 1,663

Fandom: Alex Bale/Don't Feed the Muse

Warnings: Implied manipulation and abuse (It's barely there but it's Mark and Antonio so you know

Summary: When Kim finally hears back from the Cynical Critic, she is not prepared for what she will face. Neither is the creature living in her attic ready for what they will discover.

Also another reminder that this story is connected to A Better Purpose, and now that Mark and Antonio are in the game, it's going to become more obvious. It will help to fill in some gaps later. Also it's just a really good story.

Enjoy!

Kim sat on her couch staring at the rising numbers. It had only been a couple weeks since she created her “fake” blog as part of the plan to reach Mark. She hadn’t expected it to be anything fancy. Whip up a couple editorials, put the journalism course Kim had taken in college to good use, and call it a day.

Then Connie offered to help. It started as just a few suggestions. Certain topics that seemed to be trending. Which format looked most appealing. She kept stepping in more and more until she was basically the co-author for most articles.

The blog had over a hundred thousand readers and counting. It was a better cover than Kim could have ever hoped for. Almost too good. People were reaching out to her for interviews now. Kim didn’t know how to explain that the blog would likely end soon.

“What are you doing?” Kim jumped. She hadn’t heard Ramona enter the room.

“The blog is going insane! Can you believe it?” Kim couldn’t help her smile as she showed Ramona her laptop screen.

Ramona was not as pleased. “You’re not thinking about continuing the blog after we find Mark, right? It’s still a cover.”

“Yeah, of course. Who has time to run a blog while bringing down an evil farm trying to take over the world?” Kim didn't mention that she had considered it. It felt wrong to leave everyone without saying a word.

“Good.” Ramona leaned closer and whispered, “Be careful, Kim. This is how the host process starts.”

Kim nodded. Even she could admit that Connie’s intervention was scary. She didn’t think that Connie meant anything malicious by it, but she understood uncomfortably well now how the other hosts must have felt. Kim was given only a small sip of the addicting spotlight. She didn’t know what would happen if she was drowned in it.

“How's the fire starting going?” Kim asked to change the subject.

“Slow,” Ramona answered, “The first video is up and circulating in some circles. Most people think that it’s some online mystery or hoax though.”

“Well, it’s easier to believe than the truth,” Kim shrugged.

“It’s still frustrating. Maybe once the other files are ready, people will open their eyes.”

Kim chuckled. “You’re starting to sound like Carl.”

“Have you heard from him?”

Kim was silent for a moment. “No.” Kim hadn’t risked messaging Carl since his last e-mail, and his website had been quiet since. She was trying not to assume the worst. “But I did email Mark. Maybe when we get a response, we’ll find out.”

“If we get a response. What about the other guy? Adam?”

“Alex,” Kim corrected. She had gone ahead and tried to contact another potential host. No sense wasting a perfectly good cover on only one target. “Nothing from him yet either.”

“So more waiting,” Ramona concluded. “Great.”

Luckily, they did not have to wait long. The very next day an email appeared from the Cynical Critic youtube channel:

Hiya Olivia!

Thank you very much for your swell invitation! We would love to accept your offer for an interview. We have a fairly open schedule, so just let us know when works best for you! We should probably do an online interview though due to distance.

Can’t wait to speak with you soon, and thank you once again for the opportunity!

The Cynical Critics

Kim furrowed her eyebrows. She didn’t recall anyone but Mark being on the Cynical Critic channel, but she quickly shrugged it off. It was always possible for him to have people helping him behind the scenes.

“He wants to do an online interview,” Kim explained to Ramona, “I’ll do it in my study, so steer clear of there once we start.”

“Yes, sir,” Ramona responded while giving a mock salute. “Are you sure doing it here is the best idea?”

“I’ve considered it,” Kim admitted, “But doing it at a public place will be both distracting and suspicious. My office will make it seem more official and all that will be seen is a blank wall anyway. I’ll just clean up some of the files from the investigation to be safe.”

“Good luck with that,” Ramona muttered. Kim replied with a playful snort.

Kim fastened the final button on her blazer. She didn’t have much in the way of nice clothes in her closet anymore. Almost everything she had was either garden stained or riddled with holes. She had a few leftover outfits from her Happy Meat Farms days, but her body had changed a lot in the past seven years. It was a miracle that she found something that still fit.

She sat down at her desk. She cleaned off anything that had the potential to be in frame, leaving her the eye of a paper hurricane. The files that had been cleaned were waiting in a stack behind her computer to be put back in their place.

It didn’t take long for Kim to receive an alert that The Cynical Critic was in her waiting room. Mark’s setup was identical to when he was filming a video. His usual drained, apathetic demeanor was more subdued than it normally was. His body tensed uncomfortably, but that wasn’t what Kim was focused on. Her eyes were on the man next to Mark. He was posed like a doll: his arms placed perfectly in his lap at just the right angle. He flashed Kim a picture ready smile that didn’t meet his cold, dead eyes.

“Shit,” Kim thought.

“Hi there Olivia!” The other man said cheerfully. “Thank you once again for the interview.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Kim responded, quickly regaining her composure, “I don’t believe I’ve seen you on the channel before.”

“Oh, I am Antonio. Mark and I go way back. When I moved back into town, we agreed to bring me on! Our first video together is going up later this week.”

“Interesting.” Kim wrote notes down on a notepad she had nearby. “MARK COMPROMISED”. “How has the transition to two hosts been going?”

“It couldn’t be going better!” Mark closed his mouth as Antonio continued. “The two of us go together like peas in a pod, don’t we Mark?”

“Y-yeah, we do.” Mark gave a shallow smile.

“If I recall, it’s also not the first time that the Cynical Critic has been a double act.” Kim saw the color drain from Mark’s face, but she pressed on. “Long-time fans of the channel recall another individual who used to host with you, Mark. Anthony, correct?”

“Yep, that’s right,” Antonio responded. His smile grew wider.

“Long-time fans have also been questioning why those videos have been taken down. Can you give any clarity to that?”

“Well, it’s quite simple,” Antonio replied, “Those original videos no longer fit with the brand of The Cynical Critic. Not to mention, they weren’t the best quality.” Antonio chuckled.

“Also,” Mark chimed in. Antonio’s head whipped over and studied his every word, “Anthony went missing a few months ago. It didn’t feel…right having those videos up after everything.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Kim said genuinely. She knew of the Anthony situation, but she needed to find an in to get Mark to talk. “It must have been hard to continue the show without him.”

“Hey, it was,” Mark responded with a voice crack. For a moment, his eyes grew blank and vacant staring off into nothing. Antonio placed a firm hand on his shoulder jolting Mark back into reality.

“Are you alright, buddy?” Antonio asked robotically. Mark gave him a small nod before responding.

“Yeah, it was hard, but the show must go on, y’know? And I guess there is a bit of a silver lining. I’ve been able to try out new ideas that I might not have been able to with Anthony.”

“And you got me! Right bud?” Antonio wrapped his arm around Mark and pulled him into a side hug. Mark tried desperately not to look disgusted.

“Yeah.”

The interview droned on. As Kim went through the motions as quickly as possible, a creature up above watched on intently. Connie’s presence wrapped around the house like a security blanket. Even if she wasn’t in the room, she could see and feel everything.

Her eyes never once left the face of Antonio. Not the flesh mask that he was hiding behind but his real face that only her eyes could see. She stared curiously at her sibling. Is that what she looked like underneath her disguise? It has been so long since her assimilation process that she struggled to remember.

Connie watched her brother intently. She watched the cracks burrowing within him. They were small. Small enough that he probably wasn’t even aware of them yet, but in time they would grow. Connie couldn’t help but smile. It was nice to know that she was not the only defective product.

Connie hoped that perhaps one day, the two could meet. She allowed herself that brief moment of humanity before shielding her presence from Antonio’s watchful eye.

Antonio flashed his perfect smile at Mark as he closed the laptop. The interview went amazing! Sure, Mark had hiccupped once near the beginning, but he corrected himself. Perhaps Mark was finally learning.

Something tugged at him as he thought back to the interview. There was something about Olivia that felt…familiar. It made something deep inside of Antonio feel…he didn’t know the word to describe it. It was the antithesis to the feeling that the Muse’s light brought. Something that made him feel distinctly alone.

Antonio quickly shrugged the feeling off. It was simply the aura that her muse was giving off. He had to admit, he had never seen such a strong and easy connection between a muse and their host. If only Mark was so easy.

Antonio began to set up the space for the video he had scheduled for them to film today. The nagging little bug was already forgotten.

#alex bale #don't feed the muse #dftm #ramona bynes #conspiracy carl #mark mayhew #antonio #i lost you once #my works

7 notes · View notes