#the aftermath looked BRUTAL

[rhaenyras]

so much hate comes off disguised as backhanded reproach, concern or just sheer righteousness. a few examples: "abortion is only ok when women need it as a last resort to save their lives. otherwise no, it would be like rewarding irresponsible women by ridding them of unwanted consequences", or "i don't hate fat people for the mere fact of having non conforming bodies, im just concerned about their health of course", or even "nobody here hates palestinians for racial or religious or geopolitical reasons, but they sort of did bring all that death and destruction upon their own women and children by going down the armed resistance path (they'll probably use the term terrorism to describe that, but you get it)". just how much of the world's suffering gets written off as "could have been avoided but the victim wasn't smart/meek/strong enough"? it just makes me feel so hopeless. the constant tireless weaving of elaborate handcrafted narratives aimed at taking the blame off the oppressors (or their supporters/enablers) and place it on the victims' shoulders instead, so that we won't even be able to recognize them as true victims of systemic violence anymore and we'll thus be allowed to look the other way when they're being discriminated or even killed right under our nose. it's just terrible what humanity does. it's how such atrocities keep spawning and surviving in this world. of course governments and their relative aligned mainstream media are responsible for creating and spreading the harmful misleading self-serving propaganda in the first place, but I can't shake off the feeling that most people are more than happy to buy into it because it's comforting and it provides a safe escape route to avoid confronting the problem in its full might and our role in its ongoing enforcement. i guess im a bit disheartened because i know that ultimately we'll need to choose between our own comfort/privilege and the bleak jarring exposure to the actual unfiltered horror, which we'll be asked to face without putting up more facades or excuses to hide our ignorance at best, connivance at worst... and I think i know what most people will choose. regretfully

#seeing and acknowledging the horror of genocide in its full entity is not an easy thing to do or process #germany was forced to do it in the aftermath of ww2 and they still haven't recovered #even now it still stings. the guilt has them all in a chokehold #and their blind devotion to israel is a testament to that #but what the international community is allowing to happen to palestine?? it's nothing short of the holocaust #this will take a lot of mental fortitude to elaborate and survive #im just despairing thinking that more palestinians will be killed or displaced #while the west gathers the strength to look truth straight in the eye and face the brutal reality of what's truly happening #rant.txt #palestine

[afewfantasies]

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - VI - CONSEQUENCES

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.5K

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Feyd-Rautha X Reader

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: Everyone myst face the consequences of their actions. THe Baron subjects Feyd and his na-Baroness inconcievable violence to make his point. The aftermath and fallout of his actions write the charges for his very own sentencing.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Violence & Sexual Content

MASTERLIST

VI - CONSEQUENCES

Feyd’s eyes are not his own. The set of his jaw is hard and he doesn’t speak. He pulls you into the room you entered weeks ago with contraptions, straps, harnesses and a large wooden x. There’s no time to freshen up, there’s no time for explanations, only hasty preparation. Tears prick your eyes and it breaks him. He stops pulling open his drawer. There are no words to warn you about what is to come, there’s nothing he can do to salvage what the two of you have right now. He can only protect you in small ways. Grabbing the chastity belt he comes close, clasping the heavy chains on your body. Looking at the contraption you realize he’s safeguarding you against brutality and cringe inward. It gives you pause signaling to him being incapacitated, incapable of being able to protect you. He moves efficiently attaching a breastplate made of the same hard material. It nearly crushes you under its weight. Feyd-Rautha moves quickly, fastening all the locks knowing his uncle's cruelty knows no bounds. Finishing he brings a helmet, putting it on your head and fastening the neck into all three of the contraptions. It’s a metal monstrosity, a cage of sorts placing on a shield he taps it to ensure you cannot be made vulnerable.

“Feyd” you whisper but your words come out like a croak cracking.

“I will be fine, you are not to say a word under any circumstances” he says and you panic.

“But-”

“No” he snaps, silencing you as your body trembles. The person he would have to become to withstand the impending cruelty was not the man you’d grown to love.

“What’s happened?” You ask and he goes to wipe your tears but his hand is singed by the active shield. You disable it and reach for him.

“Promise me” he says cupping your face, more tears stream. You shake your head in fear knowing his hesitation means whatever is to come will bring you an unheard of level of horror. “Promise me” he growls close to breaking already.

“Promise” you agree and he nods, stepping back. Your steps are slow as you maneuver the contraption only to be dressed by a concerned Leia. There’s no time for questions as she moves quickly.

“Put one on yourself” Feyd tells her, pointing to the contraption. 

“Why do you have so many?” you ask as Feyd finishes dressing you in the Bene Gesserit regalia to conceal your garment.

“For hostages, to protect them against the men '' Feyd says plainly, the brutality of this planet knows no bounds. You want to kiss him but the steel around your mouth is solid. After experiencing Feyd’s sexual physicality you now know why.

“Feyd what’s happening” you ask, taking his hands, his hard eyes soften a touch.

“My uncle will try to break me in front of you and the men.” He sighs.

“Because of me?” You ask, feeling a wash with panic.

“No, because of him. Because he wants to show his power” Feyd snaps.

Because of me.

The voice in your head says. More tears fall and Feyd leaves without a goodbye, unable to manage your emotions with the energy required to withstand the consequence for his distraction. Time passes outside of your perception until you find Leia dressed beside you, her eyes mournful. Her hands hold yours as large brutish men await your exit. You leave the room and Leia asks what’s happened many times. Fear and exhaustion overwhelms you to the point of despondence as the pod travels through the dreadful palace of Giedi Prime. Anger mixes in with the fear and you can feel Leia’s hand in yours. You take note of the scores of men all heading where you are. 

It will be a spectacle.

Leia’s eyes search yours in horror. You tell her about the heinousness of the intrusion and how they’d left the room to discuss things in private leading you to this moment here. A familiar guard pushes the Baron’s guards away from you, his eyes are human and apologetic as he places you on a throne below the Barons. The smell of him makes you want to be sick, you fight to overcome the nausea not wanting to choke under the mask and find Leia trying to do the same.

“My nephew's little pet,” the Baron mocks, desceding. You bow although you don’t have an inch of respect for him. Baron Harkonnen smiles at your submissive acceptance of his disrespect. “Do well to remember today’s events next time you think he belongs to you. Everything on this planet belongs to me and I will do with it whatever I choose” he says and his breath is flagrant, smelling like putrid fecal matter. Every part of him disgusts you and it is a great challenge to not react. You would give him no reason to further his brutality of Feyd. Drums sound and you’re startled by their vibration.the cage around you rattling against you slightly. Its weight is more than you’ve ever been made to bear. The Baron ascends to his seat and you breathe finally thankful for the reprieve. Feyd-Rautha emerges barefoot, wearing only a black loincloth that hangs to his knees. He stands tall walking in his powerful stride as people make strange noises, it’s a mixture of cheering and mocking as they hiss and shout in unison.  Two poles are mounted in the center of the room and you watch as shackles are placed on his wrists. He’s strung up between them and his arms stretched apart leaving just his toes touching the sand. A tall man emerges with a whip. Your chest rises and falls as you pray against all hope it isn’t what you think of it. He pulls his hand back and it crackles against Feyd’s skin stunning you. Feyd doesn’t make a sound taking it in stride. He’d learned to love the pain after taking so much of it. Your heart races as the whippings continue, tears stream down your face hidden behind your veil.

Leia’s hand tightens against yours and you both avert your eyes, wincing every time the whip crackles, the only reprieve is Feyd’s silent indifference to the abuse. It goes on much longer, until his silence is broken and he laughs, smiling and goading the man to whip him more. It has to be a farce, you watch knowing no one could enjoy that much pain, especially as it breaks skin. Especially as it breaks your heart. It’s madness but all around everyone seems to be impressed by the strength of na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. The Baron raises a hand and horns sound the very moment Feyd-Rautha is released from his chains. The man with the whip drops a sword absconding from the pit as doors are opened and out come angry emaciated slaves. Knowing he must pace himself, Feyd takes a moment on the ground as he’s released from the contraption before standing to his feet. You sit forward as he stands his pale skin red with blood and pink welts from the abuse. Feyd-Rautha stands tall just as the men come out swarming him. Your heart races as he finds the blade, in spite of the beating he kills them all. The trumpets sound again only for more to emerge. It’s a horrific display. It repeats and Feyd refuses to go down willingly, large fighters are forced to tackle him before stringing him back up before he is made to endure other punishments. His smile is only small reassurance as the state of his body begins showing what his spirit doesn’t. It's been hours, you take account of his breath as he’s watered and given a break, hatred like no other begins burning through you as you watch the man you love, the only person aside from Leia  and your parents that ever cared enough to fight for you hang bloody and beaten.

His pale skin is various shades of purple and red, his head swaying as he fights to remain standing, his black eyes remain open in defiance. Each of the trials have done well to avoid his face. His thoughts are on you, and on staying as lucid as possible to power through his punishment. To show you who he is, as a man and all he can endure, to occupy his uncle's attention so you're never made to. To show his people that he was unbreakable and worth every whisper of his legend. He’d never withstood any punishment for this long before. But his life had recently garnered a new purpose. The doors open after a considerable rest and watering. Abominations of eight feet, pale and all muscles, genetically mutated and created for the Harkonnen war machine. They hold clubs. Feyd was capable of taking them at his best and with the assistance of poison but he couldn’t move fast enough now, his shoulder feels dislocated and his leg severely injured. Feyd’s suspension between the two poles fastened by the wrists only furthers the pain in his shoulder. Still, Feyd puts on a smile trying to find pleasure in the pain. You watch in horror as the giant draws back his club before swinging it like a bat into Feyd’s abdomen. An audible hush rips through the crowd. Your heart stops, you feel the connection between you sever and before you know what you're doing you're walking up the steps to where the Baron sits. His eyes fix on yours.

“Mercy” you snap, casting off your veil as his guards go to grab you. The room falls to a hush. Your eyes catch the Baron’s as you fall to your knees. Smiling evilly, he places a hand on your shoulder. You hear Feyd groan viciously and before you can turn anger surges through you. You have a head rush, the Barons suspension tubes are ripped savagely out of his back leaving him paralyzed under his own weight, Beast Rabban is being punished by an unhappy emperor, the Baron is being laughed at. The wealth of Giedi Prime seized, his home world destroyed. Breathing heavily you shudder at the strange sensation. A voice that is not your own commands him to stop telekinetically, notifying him that this is what is to come should any further harm befall Feyd-Rautha. 

Unaware of what’s transpired the Baron suspends himself raising a hand and stopping any further assaults. Rattled by the sensation of the vision he puts on a brave face smiling. He has no idea what has taken over him, perhaps too much smoke, too much pain, too much poison. There was no time to pinpoint the culprit right now he needed his heir restored. His point had been made, turning he smiles knowing you have no idea the extent of the damage you’ve done to Feyd. In spite of his suspicions of the Bene Gesserit and his relentless inquiries into the extent of their powers he’d never come across vision transference or telekinesis so there was no reason to suspect you. Still on your knees you feel weak, turning your head you see an outraged Feyd-Rautha as Leia assists you to your feet. The Baron sweats shaken from the vision in spite of his powerful appearance leaving the room before he can fully appreciate the extent of his damage.

White rages oozes from Feyd, his body trembles, breaths accelerate and nostrils flare. His anger is palpable as he manages to get back on his feet. The weight of his torture no longer burying him. His fury at your actions is anchoring him to life. The people roar and blood drains onto the sand as Feyd is released from the suspension cuffs. Leia helps you down the stairs and your eyes linger on the Mentat who seems suspicious of what’s happened. You try to go to Feyd but he shuns you.

He’d warned you already.

Heading into the cryo-chambers on a gurney Feyd rages uncontrollably. Your betrayal hurts more than anything the Baron could do to him. There had never been any love between them. He’d long stopped admiring anything other than the man's ability to control and enforce his rule. The monstrous nature of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen had never been more clear to him then and now. Feyd had learned to revel in the pain because he’d been so deprived of love. He could withstand lashes and cuts and the other consequences of combat better than most. He’d been a small boy, and unlike his brother the Beast there’d been nothing inherently terrifying about his physicality. He had to earn his place among the fearsome Harkonnen overlords. As a boy his remarkable quality was that he had no quit in him, no matter how hard he was pummeled he always got back up. It was there he got his reputation for being insane. Floating in the chamber trying to manage the stinging cold he’s brought back to childhood. It was the last time he was in one of these. The last time he was punished so severely. He had to learn to be cunning, he paid extra attention during lessons about poison. He learned to stop wiping away the blood from his nose after being hit, that laughing as he fought back did something psychologically, as did meeting anger with a smile. In addrition to dodging the strikes of a man whose only objective was to kill him. He learned that the only person he would seek to please was the Baron who seemed to have no shortage of sick and twisted punishments to dole out. He’d been privy to many of them in the years following his youth. Crossing the Baron was a mistake too costly for most to bear.

He’d known from the very moment the Baron entered the bedroom the test was not for him, it was for you. He needed strength from his na-Baroness. Strength and unwavering obedience, but no. You had allowed yourself to be broken by another man, while yours fought valiantly through unimaginable pain for you. Worse yet, you had begged on your knees for everyone to see. The punishment was stopped, of course it was the Baron knew there was no further punishment required. Baron Vladimir Harokonnen had received your submission claiming you in front of everyone. He’d sullied you in the eyes of Giedi Prime. In doing as you had you had acknowledged the Baron as the superior man. Women in Giedi Prime appreciated strength and social standing above all else.

Groaning in distress, his anger makes his pain palpable as ice forms against his body. A Mentat enters to read his vitals. Thufir Hawat commandeered by the Atreides and the personal Mentat of the Baron. Thufir bows before beginning his assessment of the damages dispensing the necessary fluids to revive the heir. Stealing glances at Feyd he somehow feels terrified still as the man who’d endured so much can still manage to be angry and not in absolute physical agony.

“Where is the na-Baroness?” He asks feeling the reprieve of Mentat's work.

“Her and he Lady’s maid are in their quarters na-Baron” Thufir responds. Exhaling Feyd allows himself to settle into the thought a little. Looking at you during the trials would have killed him. He knows your actions were born out of the love you bare him but they disgust him nonetheless. Nothing could be more disrespectful. Kneeling before another man - it was undoubtedly the only reason the Baron had spared your life. Any inclination of Bene Gesserit manipulation and the Baron would’ve had your throat cut in light of the treasonous act of manipulation. But not a drop of your blood had been spilled. The Baron's deep hatred for the witches was a deep Harkonnen secret and the biggest reason Feyd hadn’t wanted you to speak. Getting on your knees to plead was inconceivable to him.

“How is that?” The Mentat questions daring to look at the enraged Feyd-Rautha.

“Better” Feyd snarls.

“She knows nothing of the Harkonnen traditions, she was experiencing seriously high levels of distress” Thufir says, speaking out of turn. He’d known your family and met you on several occasions in your childhood. Your mother had been born on Caladan and of one of the prominent houses there. Her and Duke Leto had been close friends. Feyd’s thoughts go to his efforts. He’d been trying to breed with you, trying to conceive a child up to an hour before his torture had began. He’d been trying to continue his line, multiply his love for you and now perhaps the Baron’s viciousness had even undermined that.

“She’s strong,” Feyd dismisses.

“She wishes to see you” The Mentat says, earning a terrifying glare from Feyd. “Duke Leto was disappointed she was betrothed to you and not Paul.” The Mentat continues teaching Feyd a part of history he’d never known.

“Then she would’ve been slaughtered with the rest of the Atreides scum” Feyd spits feeling possessive.

“Curious, she’s avoided two major calamities, perhaps your betrothed is good luck” Thufir says before setting the last of the chamber's functions. Feyd-Rautha will be restored in a matter of hours, only adding to his legend. Only creating more lore around the Harkonnen heir. There’d been a thousand people in attendance who all had stories of the man being broken. Soon they would hear whispers of his resilience and quick recovery from his torture. As the pain subsides the torture of watching you fall to your knees in front of the Baron begin replaying in his mind in a loop. Plucking away at his sanity, tearing through his pride.

———————

After a morning of tears and discomfort Leia appears at your bedroom doors with the key to your chastity device on a silver platter. She helps you get out of the metal exoskeleton and you see the bruises from the weight of it on your flesh. You had tried to sleep in Feyds chambers to await him but it had been an act of futility. The usual green flashing lights were red, access denied it had said each of the ten times you tried before singing your fingers slightly. You could not be sure if it was the Baron’s doing or if it were Feyd himself but after his shunning last night it was hard to be sure. He’d been all anger and rage as his eyes met yours, disgust was in abundance too, even while broken he wouldn’t be defeated. You’d broken a promise. Not out of defiance or disregard but out of love. The emptiness you felt in your core after that club smacked against his chest. No amount of his charming smiles or goading looks could convince you against the pain he undoubtedly felt. The more they cheered the more you lost hope. Their desire for brutality, their bloodlust unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. It’s a horrible culture, a terrible way to live. Subjecting people to hours of torture because they’ve found comfort in the arms of another. There’d been no wrongdoing either he was your betrothed and the na-Baron. He had your consent. There were no dubious means associated with your connection.

Yet still he’d paid such a great cost.

Doors open and servants bring you breakfast. The table is laid quickly and efficiently.

“I would like to be brought to my Lord Feyd-Rautha” you speak and the women keep their heads down. The Mentat charged with your household's care since your arrival on Giedi Prime. 

“The na-Baron is not taking visitors,” he says, bowing to you.

“He would want to see his na-baroness, you know how fond they are of one another” Leia says on your behalf.

“Is he okay?” You ask.

Nodding the Mentat sighs, “the na-Baron is well, he is making arrangements for Arrakis, he does not want any visitors” the Mentat repeats.

“Please let him know that I would like to see him” you swallow blinking through tears.

“Yes na-baroness, please enjoy your breakfast” the Mentat says leaving.

You find yourself sitting in a daze, Leia eats her plate clean before noticing your despondence. She encourages you to eat but you have no appetite. You have no desire to consume anything in your current state. Wiping your eyes you sense Feyd is upset with you. Far more upset than you ever imagined. Attendants enter in the afternoon and begin packing you up for the voyage to Arrakis. The silence is uncanny and you can’t pretend to be happy. Feyd’s wellbeing is grating on your nerves as much as your last image of him is suspended, beaten and bloody. Day turns to evening and it's more of the same, packing as your dinner is prepped and laying in front of you, you pick at your plate so Leia doesn’t worry and spend much of the night looking out on Giedi Prime. Your resentment for one place has never been so strong. Resting your head against the cool glass you consider your actions, a broken promise. Feyd could not so much as even look your way. Had he not considered your love for him and his for you. The very real possibility of an unborn child and the bonds forged since he’d declared his intention to uphold the betrothal. Those declarations hadn’t only been words. Together with his action they’d become everything to you - being with Feyd was the best part of your days and nights.

Sitting in his own room Feyd feels the pull to you. He tries to rid himself of thoughts of you. Had it been anyone else the consequences would’ve been swift and serious. A paddle, a whip, a crop against soft flesh, but he couldn’t. He was afraid in his frustration he would actually hurt you, the one thing in his life that was irreplaceable. And still, he could not bring himself to be in your presence, to look you in your beautiful eyes, to hold you to, and to forgive you for your betrayal. It was cheating and your innocence to that fact doesn’t make it any better. Whether you had pleaded for his absolution or not, he could have managed the pain. His defiance of the Baron sends a louder message than your display of vulnerability, fear and lack of faith in his resilience. It was there out in the open for everyone to see when Feyd knew you understood the dangers of that, vulnerabilities would always be exploited on this world and any other when the vulnerable have anything of perceived value or station. You’d openly defied him in front of an audience and submitted to his uncle. You could not be so easily forgiven.

A beep sounds getting his attention and he turns to see you trying to enter his chambers again. He manually denies it watching as you draw your head back looking up in the direction of the camera. He can see the sorrow in your eyes. Feyd-Rautha watches you head into your bedroom pressing the intercom. It rings incessantly, he watches you press against the button time and time again and considers punishing you may be easier. But the whispers would be a flurry. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen has killed for less disrespect than what you’ve done.

“Feyd I’m sorry, I just want to see that you’re okay. I can’t sleep without knowing and no one will let me see you” there’s desperation in your voice. He pulls the tablet closer to his face to see your emotions. The sadness is unmistakable. He’d been prepared to take his punishment; you would have to learn to take yours.

“Come to the door, do not step through it” he snaps and goosebumps pepper your skin. You stand walking quickly to the door and it opens. To your surprise Feyd-Rautha stands upright, he radiates strength and anger and is seemingly untouched. It’s as though the torture session was a figment of your imagination. Your eyes widen and mouth gapes as you look up at him overwhelmed and relieved. You want to feel his arms against yours.

“Come to bed” you whisper, needing to feel him. Feyd breathes tilting his head slightly. “I’m sorry Feyd, I couldn’t-” your apology is cut short. He moves so quickly it’s a blur. He holds your arm with one hand covering your mouth with another. His grip around is strong but unlike when he’s making love to you there’s no kindness or blind desire, there’s only rage.

“Shut your mouth” he snaps. “Your word means nothing, you dishonored me and you will sleep alone, you will remain alone thankful for my mercy, that I allow you the companionship of your lady. You will cease all attempts to contact me to end further humiliation. If you think this is a cruelty the other option is a kin to what you saw me endure - please do not push me” Feyd shouts. His eyes are fearsome and after his resilience during his torture there are several reasons to fear him. Still you don’t cower as you should. You feel protective, remorseful, overwhelmed, frustrated and confused. Your eyes search for pieces of your na-Baron, the man you’ve grown to love. His grip loosens and he withdraws his hand from your lips. He steps back and you reach for him tentatively. He raises a brow upset by your defiance. “This is not how the na-Baroness acts, she is obedient to her na-Baron” he snaps.

“So she cannot be concerned with the well being of the man she loves? If I’m to be punished should I not understand my mistake so that I may not make the same one twice?” You question inciting his temper.

“You need me to explain why you should keep your word!” Feyd shouts.

“So I must be shunned because I’ve been dishonorable by the standards of people who cheered as you were beaten and tortured?” You snap finding your voice. Feyd holds your gaze in defiance for several moments, unrelenting. His anger is still palpable after his displays of strength you know you don’t have the resilience to withstand him. Wiping the angry tears you nod accepting your station. “As you wish my Lord na-Baron” you snap bowing deeply before walking away leaving him standing there alone, as he’s requested.

————

Feyd-Rautha watches the rotating live  projection of Arrakis. He’d been watching it tirelessly for days only to come across several fool options plans with contingencies to make the spice flow. His advisors had done their due diligence as had he, there was a considerable amount of secrecy he maintained in light of the Bene Gesserit whisperings and the Emperor’s jealous nature. He would restore the Harkonnen name but he would do it on his own terms to suit his own needs. Crossing the palatial ground his mind falls to you. It’d been three days since your argument and to his surprise you’ve maintained your distance. Much to his chagrin you were no longer sending longing looks at his door, or pacing through your bed chambers. You ceased sending notes or trying to be in his vicinity. Entering he pulls up the screen and finds you with a smile on your face enjoying fruits with Leia.

His resentment of your actions had begun to fade, only for the anger from seeing you on your knees in front of the Baron ignited every time he laid eyes on his uncle. He would make the Baron grovel the same way the Baron’s cruelty had forced you onto your knees. The Baron will know the agony he’s caused through a series of punishments he will need injections to withstand while conscious. Shaking the thoughts of kinslaying from his head he watches your smile.  He wanted to see you in real time, to be around your softness to forget about the tensions between you two. To get back to the tandem showers and baths, and the good nights and early mornings. He needed you, it was driving him half mad to stay away and even more so now that you seemed to be settling into the distance. He cleans himself off heading to the roof to watch the striking sun rise one last time. After several moments alone he summons a guard to have you brought to him. He waits patiently until you materialize before him.

He’s calm at this moment, his muscles and veins aren’t prominent in the shadowy light of the roof. Still you hesitate until Feyd motions to the seat near him. You should be in his arms. Your breaths in sync, his hands tracing the softness of your skin, tangled in each other and covered in bed-linens. Your head near his heart listening to its steady beat. Your child is surrounded by the love of both of its parents. You move carefully sitting, the last time Feyd had brought you here had been your first disagreement. You follow his eyes to the sun of Giedi Prime. You’ve never wanted to leave a place more, even with the whispers of the dangers that abound on Arrakis.

“Are you ready for tomorrow’s voyage?” Feyd asks.

“Yes” you respond.

“I will be preoccupied for most of the day once we land but I will return in time for a late dinner,” Feyd says, standing with his hands behind his back.

“I will be ready” you respond and he feels the iciness to you instead of your usual honeyed tone.

“Have the staff been treating you well?” He asks.

“Yes Lord na-Baron” you answer.

“What is it?” Feyd asks, sensing the distance.

“Your grace and benevolence are appreciated lord na-Baron, may I retire” you ask. Feyd knows you well enough to sense emptier words have never been said.

“You flatter me in word only while you shame me in action” he comments.

“I don’t regret my actions Feyd, your mind has been twisted by rotten men with horrid customs. You said you wanted my willing submission, to be the first person I think of when I wake and the last at night before sleep takes me. You said you wanted my body, my laughter, smiles, all of my tomorrows, my arousal, my desire, trust and unconditional love.” You remind him of the words he’d said that had come to find a special place in your heart, the words you’d held onto. Feyd blinks stricken by your memory of what he’d said word for word. Somehow fighting his desire for you now is even harder than it had been then. He had tasted paradise between your legs and witnessed its full glory with you as his lady.

“You had it and you’ve shunned me for something out of my control Feyd what was I too do. Die right there? Do you know what that did to me? Can you imagine how it felt seeing you in the state? And to be made a villain for it!” You shout and Feyd watches as your hand goes to your stomach.

“If I show weakness the attacks will never end, it endangers you and our unborn and if you listened none of this would be this way” Feyd explains he’d never in all of his years had to repeat himself so incessantly.

“If you want a loveless marriage why not take the Emperor’s daughter, why be so cruel? Feyd I really am furious with you, I’ve never felt rage like this and so I’d better leave before this goes further” you confess not knowing where the extreme range had come from. Your hand goes to your stomach again and Feyd smiles knowing it could only be a trait acquired from him. Annoyed by the sight of his smirk, you head into the elevator. He doesn’t allow you to return on your own. Standing in the elevator it takes absolutely everything in your being not to walk into his arms, only they could relieve you of these complicated emotions and sadness. Only they could make it okay. If things weren’t so strained you would drag him back into your chambers and hold him tight. Your folded arms, your anger and defiance makes Feyd’s smirk grow. His love for you was so overwhelming it heightened his anger. It had been irrational he knew that but that didn’t make stomaching it easier. Especially knowing you were carrying his heir. But he’d been defying himself since childhood. He follows you into your chambers.

“You will need to learn how to perform for the crowds. Trust that I can handle any mans worst. I do not need your protection, just your love” Feyd comments saying his last piece. 

His request for love in light of his distance is the last straw of the night, turning you head into your bedroom without another word. You place a manual lock on the door as you have every night since your argument. From his own chambers Feyd-Ratha watches you get back into bed, the curtains are drawn so he can see into the canopy. Swallowing his pride, Feyd-Rautha decides he will not allow pride and miscommunication to keep you from him any further. Once he brought order to the spice mines and killed the Baron he would hand you over the reigns and your lives will be yours to create.

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Authors note:

Thanks for reading, this was a challenge I did my best to give the best of both worlds. With the na-baroness' reaction to what was happening around her. How do we think Feyd handled her defiance? Comment below, like and reblog if you enjoyed 🩶

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@elf-punk @dvmb4ssbiatch @thegabbyh @fanfiction-addict22 @meetmeatyourworst @jojoclown69 @lillypink @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @avidreader73 @emeraldsgirl33 @strawberryfieldsforevermore @rose-are-royal @delusionsofnostalgia @szapizzapanda @palomavz @mcswan02 @slutforsmut4ever @emeraldsgirl @jackiekae @sarahhelpimsinking @maat-the-prescriptive @moonsoulk @katherineswiftie2017-blog @melancholicmelanin @littlebugs @alexa4040 @unicoreads @mimsie95 @mamawiggers1980 @miaraised @7-reblogs @thefirebreather00

#austin butler imagine #austin butler #austin butler x reader #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune part 2 #austin butler x you #feyd rautha imagine #feyd x reader

[pursuitseternal]

“All Vim and Vigor, dearest…” a soft, nsfw Vampire Rogue Astarion update for “Bites in the Night:”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4K wound tending sex

Summary: the aftermath of a battle, and one companion is missing. Astarion. You race to find him, pulling him the the grip of death.. true death. Your tender, loving care can restore him. After all, you have to make sure all his vim and vigor is returned to him. Entirely.

CW: Blood, near death experience, healing, wound cleaning, flirtation, awkward Karlach interrupting growing intimacy, blow jobs and mutual hand jobs and fingering, just too be sure everything is… healed.

For @genesis-6666 💌

Read here if you prefer on AO3

Find him, save him…

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The dead lay around you. Goblins. An ambush. You bend over, hands on your knees, panting to catch your breath. Your wounds are minimal, and already Shadowheart has run to find the rest of your party, healing… or reviving… when needed. She looks up from over Gale’s body, his chest finally breathing again. But her eyes look worried. You scan the area, seeing everyone staggering between the trees. Almost all, you realize as your thumping heart stills. There is one of you missing. And your stomach twirls in knots as you realize just who.

You spin your head, looking. “Where is he?” you call to her. “Where’s Astarion?”

She shakes her head. “I thought he was with you, on the high ground,” she pants. “He was up there last I saw.” Her lithe hand points into the crags of rock and mountain that line the canyon.

It had been quick, sudden, and brutal. The ambush of Goblins swallowing you up. Last you remember, he had stared at you. Excitement, surprise, the thrill of bloodlust and eagerness in his eyes, as the goblin ranks kept coming and coming down from those ridges. One last fang-flashing smirk before he ran into the shadows, skirting up to their source. Your fearless, reckless, stupid rogue.

You hurry, scrambling up the trail, swerving past the thicker pools of goblin blood, leaping over their bodies. You see them scattered all over, dagger stab wounds and slashes.

Signs that he was here.

It’s carnage that you push past. Climbing higher until you reach a plateau, empty, the end of the trail, where you expect to see your vampire, your rogue, your… your love. But there is… nothing. Not a body. No enemies. No Astarion.

Panic fills you, heart rapping in your chest, breath growing short. But you force yourself forward. You make your eyes scan the ground for any clues. His blood. Or signs of his capture. You make your lungs fill, you shout his name…

Then, you hold your breath.

A faint groan comes from the distance, somewhere near the sheer rock face that pierces the sky, from the dense shrubs that line it. You race after it, feet almost skittering as you stumble in that direction. Your hands pushing into the brambles, catching sight of pale skin. Covered in blood.

You reach for his body. His skin is cold, waxy, and tight. You find one arm and pull. He groans as you tug, you grab his second arm, freeing him from the brambles, even as your lungs ease to see his face again.

But your hope fades to agony, his face is bruised and beaten, black and blue and shadowed more than his undead charisma. His breathing is quick and shallow, his eyes nearly swollen shut from whatever beating he took up here. You finally slide him free, his clothing is torn, almost every inch of the skin you see is darkened with bruises.

His voice shakes as he tries to catch a breath, eyes forcing themselves open to look at you. “You’re here,” he manages to rasp out. “I knew you would find me. You always find me.”

“Shhh,” you run your hand through his hair, his brow damp with sweat, his eyes losing focus as his head begins to loll. “It’s going to be alright.”

“At least I got to see you once more…” his voice grates against his throat, breath growing ragged.

You hand digs into your pocket, pulling out your last vial of healing potion. You pull the cork and press it instantly to his lips. The liquid flows into those pale lips, and you can only kneel and pray it’s enough. His breath begins to ease instead of rattle, his face beginning to heal, his pallor returning, the traces of blue-black death fading.

His mouth twitches trying to talk. But you shush him softly, “I’m here, Astarion, it’s alright.”

“F-far from,” he ekes out as his eyes flutter open slightly, the swelling abating just enough for you to see both crimson eyes again.

“I’ll get you back to the others,” you look around, sizing up his lean body, running a hand through his hair before you brace behind his shoulders to get him to sit upright. He groans, limp in your arm. He can be so strong and swift, but it’s only now you also notice how lithe he is. How lean. But still, he’s too great a weight for you to bear alone.

That’s when the running of heavier feet makes your lungs fill fully and your heart leap in hope. “You found him, good for you, soldier!” Karlach trods right up next to you, barely out of breath. “Shadowheart said you would hopefully have found him, I’m to help you back where we are making camp.” Her thick tiefling arms pick him up, none too gently, and you hiss in worry to see him pulled to his feet so quickly.

“I swear, if you throw me around like that, I would puke on you if I had anything left in me…” he snipes as Karlach takes him by one arm, shaking her fiery head at his sass with a smile and waiting for you to take the other.

You snigger. He must be on the mend if he is throwing those barbs out again. But he falls silent again, head hanging low. You shoulder his body as best you can, bracing one hand on his bare chest, wishing for once he had a living heart that beat so you knew he was alive. “Stay with me,” you grunt, shoving your mouth into his long, pointed ear. “I’ll kill you if you die, you know.”

“I know… my sweet,” he manages to rasp, a slight turn of his head to throw you a feeble smirk. Karlach is definitely bearing most of him, but she doesn’t complain, not as you finally make it down the ridges and back to the main road.

“Not too much further,” Karlach heaves more of him on her shoulder, “Gale should have the tents up by now so he can rest.”

You three round a bend, the flickering of a fire and the spattered sight of tents warms your heart. You made it. Even the rose and burgundy canvas of Astarion’s tent is set to perfection. You’ll have to remember to thank Gale later, once your rogue is through the worst of it.

Into the warm dark you go, setting Astarion out on his bedroll, propping him cautiously on a stack of pillows.

“Water, clothes, and another potion,” Karlach points to the supplies placed tidily within reach. “I’ll be back, just shout if you need anything.”

And then she steps away, taking her warmth and her glowing presence back through the flaps of his tent.

You look after her, another friend you’ll have to thank.

Something hard and cold grips around your hand from where it rests on the ground. He’s clutching you, making sure he’s not alone.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before you rest it on his own stomach. “Let me get you cleaned up,” you look into his face, his eyes still shut, face still and unmoving. “Is that alright?”

“More than alright,” he speaks quietly, “the sooner you get rid of this stinking goblin blood off me, the sooner I can just savor that delicious fragrance of yours…” he hisses in pain before the last word is completely off his tongue. Your hand ghosts over the still-sprawling bruisers that run along his side. He tries so hard to be the usually suave, charismatic charmer, but something still troubles him.

Your hand hovers between the cloth and the potion, unsure what to do first. Then you hear it, a wracking cough, one that shakes his frame, bringing blood to his lips.

His blood.

You quickly uncork the second bottle, fairly shoving it in his mouth. “What did they do to you?” You barely get the question out your mouth as he sighs from swallowing the healing mix down.

“Thrashed me an inch from life… or an inch from undeath I suppose…” He forces a blithe smile, his giggle is slick with his own blood, but at least you can hear his lungs filling. More fully than before. The potion working to heal whatever internal damage he must have had.

You eye the red around his lips, pausing for a second. It was a common sight, his bloodied lips, but… never his own blood.

You wonder, for a moment, how does he taste?

You know the salt of his sweat, the bitter tang of his cum, why not? Why not see what his blood tastes of, for once…

“Gods below,” he throws you a mischievous smirk. “You’re wanting to taste my blood now, aren’t you?” You feel your surprise lifting your face, and he only sucks his teeth, shaking his head in feigned disbelief. “Tch, I don’t need a spell to read your dirty thoughts, darling…”

Your eyes dart to his conceited, smirking mouth. You hold your breath… until you close your hand around the towel and soak it in the soapy water. “Don’t be ridiculous, Astarion…” you huff, starting to bring the cloth to his face.

His hand grips the back of your neck, clutching you against his mouth for a wet and bloodied kiss. It tastes… ancient, refined and heady. Rich in a way that coats your tongue, even as his own delves in to tangle with yours. You swallow, sucking on his lips for more. He laughs, lightly, hiding a groan, “If you’re planning on more rigorous pursuits, I’d say I need bathing and tending first, darling.”

You pull away, shocked at yourself, so aroused with him only moments ago near-death. Your cheeks flush, white hot as you begin to clean him. He closes his eyes, propped up as he is on pillows. Lounging, relishing your full attention.

You wash and rinse, wash and rinse. It’s hard not to stare at his beauty, at the hard edges of his cheeks and jaw, the little lines about his eyes that crinkle when he smirks or laughs. He locks those piercing eyes on you as you dip the rag back and wring it out. He stalks every movement you make, washing his body lower and lower, inspecting his bruises as they slowly fade with the healing magic.

You finish his chest, forcing your breath to steady as you wash that rising and falling belly of his.

“Are you sure I don’t need tending any lower…?” he purrs.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Perhaps you rest first before you insist on everything checked for being in good working order, hmm?”

He rolls his eyes back in his head, a sigh of total emphatic drama. “Doctor’s orders…” he grumbles, lounging back against the throws, but not before he gives a little thrust of his hips, a clench of his belly under your hand where it rests on him still.

“Sleep, you scoundrel,” you chide, reaching to dry off his now clean skin, savoring the fresh scent in the air from the soap. You feel his body, still tense under your touch, wound tight and stiff that isn’t the result of his charming flirtation or dirty, lustful thoughts. You look at him, staring at his face, worry furrowing your brows. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes flicker over you, bright with mischief, half-lidded with flirtation. “Vampires don’t require… sleep. Not much. Not as much as… well… other things…”

You look into that beautiful face. He’s gaunt. Pale, well more than usual. Rings line his eyes, cradling that crimson glare in shadow. His lips twitch, fighting the urge to bare those glistening and pointed fangs.

“Oh, gods, now?” you breathe, heart racing.

He waves a hand dismissively, a sharp edge to his voice. Hungry. Annoyed. “Well, if you don’t want your strong, well-fed vampire to heal completely, then by all means…”

“No,” you almost leap next to his face, those smirking eyes scan over you, dilating in his hunger, fixating on the rapid pulse you know must be just throbbing under your skin for him to salivate over. But his hand grips yours, raising it to his lips. Kissing your fingers so softly, your stomach drops and your throat tightens. Slowly, he turns your hand over in his, raising your tingling inner wrist to his nose. You feel his breath, cold and quick, as he inhales your scent. Probably already savoring the scent of your blood rushing just beneath your skin.

“So then, I may?” his voice almost fails to reach your ears, you hear it more from the little tickles his breath makes across your skin, the gentle flutters of his lips over the nerves of your wrist. Like lighting in the air, his breath ripples in pinpricks on your skin.

“Yes,” you sigh, lungs burning as you hold your breath until he bites thos razor-sharp fangs into your tender flesh. Gasping, you hold your wrist to his mouth, every drop of your blood that leaves you, you can almost feel, almost sense, how it makes him stronger again. Empowered again. Hungry again for more.

It just feels so good, even as he feasts on you, as you savor that strange sensation that follows every time he feeds, that union of your bodies, your blood sating his hunger, beginning to course in his veins. A small, strangled moan escapes your lips, your eyes fixated on the way his mouth sucks on your wrist. You’ve never seen it before, never been able to watch his consuming of you, as he drinks from your neck. The little ways his tongue laps at your skin, the small bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows you down. A different sort of pleasure denied you when he drinks in the middle of the night. Your stomach churns, your thighs burning hot as you can’t look away.

A slight, definitely insufferable smile tugs at the corner of his lip as he sets your wrist back in your lap. “Liked what you saw?” he preens, so proud as he dabs a single finger at the bloodied corner of his mouth. “Or just thankful I’m still here to have my fill of you?”

“Both,” you reply before even a second thought crosses you mind. Your sight lowers to his mouth, you can almost feel those lips on yours, the way the twitch ever so slightly, the little tweaks that lift them to show those pointed fangs you love to have catch your flesh and nip at you when he kisses….

So close, you feel him closing that distance, his breath rushing into you, filling your lungs, your soul, ice cold and tangible.

“Hope you like rabbit, Gale’s got stew nearly done for…” Karlach sticks her flaming, sparking scarlet head into your tent then she strides all the way in. Those glowing eyes go wide. You’re so close, even as you turn your head, you can hear Astarion’s laugh tickle the creases of your ear.

You go flush, and not just because he insists on still giving your cheek a lingering kiss.

“Feeling better, is he?” Karlach laughs, a bit forced. A bit uncomfortable.

“Clearly,” you huff, sliding slightly from his side. But he only leans all the closer.

His eyes rake over you. You can feel it. You can almost see it in the way Karlach sifts from foot to foot. He chuckles, low and slow, “Yes, all vim and vigor, dearest. We were just about to discuss how I was going to make it up to her for all that attentive care and healing I required to pull me back from the brink of death…”

Your eyes flicker to Karlach, who would be blushing beet red now if she weren’t already so scarlet. “Ahem,” she clears her voice and stands quickly, “that’ll be my cue. I’ll leave you two to it..:”

“No it’s okay… the stew...” you begin but she’s already gone and yelling on the other side of the tent.

“Oi, Gale, keep it warm…” a long pause follows, a deep voice muted in the distance. Then Karlach guffaws with gusto. “Yeah, they’ll be fucking for hours most likely… she might not even be hungry once he stuffs her again…” the tiefling’s boisterous laugh fades as she trods away.

Your face goes hotter than an inferno, but that only makes his cold fingers sear all the more as he caresses your cheek. A single finger lifts your chin, turning your face towards that rakish, sultry smirk. “I thought she’d never leave. Now,” he hovers his mouth right over yours, “where were we?”

“We…” you clear your throat, “we were just making sure you were healed…”

“Mmmm, I’m pretty sure you’ve inspected me thoroughly everywhere but one place, darling,” he rasps, catching your lips in a commanding, languorous kiss.

“You almost died, Astarion,” you hiss between his teeth, fighting the way your folds are burning up, the way his other hand begins to slink over the buckskin of your breeches. “Should you really risk so much exertion?” Your body is tensing, your mind remembering the way he rattled as he struggled for air on the mountain, the way his flesh was blackened and sickly. Dead, almost truely dead.

His chuckle, that low-throated giggle, pulls you out of those macabre imaginings. “Well, I'd be more than happy to simply lay back and let you do all the hard work, if that’s what your concern is…”

You give him a mocking smile, “Oh yes, I’m very certain you are only doing this for my sake, love. Making sure I feel good after pulling you back from near death to life… well to undeath…” You give a sheepish grin, relieved that your humor only adds to the mischievous glint in his crimson eyes.

“You know me, the image of selflessness. I’m doing you a favor. If you left now…” his smirk widened, deliciously, wickedly, “…you’d be thinking about it all night.” His hand weaves into the little hairs at the nape of your neck, twirling them in the way he knows drives you crazy.

“Well, I suppose I can be persuaded… just to make sure you’re all vim and vigor.” You laugh as his hand is already loosening the laces of his breeches. “But,” you place one of yours to stay him a moment. Gods, you can already feel his cock, hard and pushing his way out for pleasure. You swallow, making yourself look in his eyes. At how they swirl with his lust, glassy with his need. “But you tell me the moment it’s too much, you promise?”

“If you wanted me to just be more vocal during our couplings, you had only to ask, darling…” he purrs, forcing his fingers loose under your palm to continue unlacing.

You grab them in yours. “I mean it,” you insist, hard in tone, commanding in just three words.

“I promise, I’ll say when, my dear,” he laughs, finally freeing himself from the confines of his breeches. You look down at him, his devious pleasure of just watching you crawling between his thighs.

You give his cock a good, long lick from base to tip, his groan of approval sending shivers between your own thighs. But you force a dispassionate hum as you wrap your lips around his twitching head. “Seems in good working order,” you whisper.

“I think it needs a little more.. attentive care, darling…” he groans, very loudly as you wrap your mouth all the way around him, taking him in deeply over your tongue. You roll your eyes, unsurprised at how he gives a moan with each suck you make, each lap of your tongue running up his length.

More vocal indeed.

You bob up and down, your lover relaxing back against his pillows, fingers toying languorously through your hair. Your own hand pumps over the rest of him that just can’t fit inside your lips. He feels so good, so hard and strong and full of life. And he seems to be getting louder… his moans increasing. “So good for me, darling…” he starts to praise. “Always so attentive and eager… and…”

You pop off him, meeting that insufferable smirk and quirked brows. “You want them to know, don’t you?”

“Me? Wanting to draw some attention to our lustful pursuits?” He casts that look at you that makes every nerve in your body flame with unbridled desire for him. “I just want them to make sure you care of me is certainly thorough,” he grins, “I’m just so… thankful… it’s hard to keep it in. After all you do… so much for me, darling…”

“Be a dear and shut up,” you purr, giving one more swirl around that ridge of his tip.

“Make me,” he growls, flashing that roguish smirk down at you, licking his lips.

You pounce, flooded with relief that he is alive... that he’s filled with all that vim and vigor and irascible, irritating sass. You’re brimming with the need to feel him, for all his taunting and flirtation, all his lust and passion, you’re just… happy he is here. To kiss, to fuck, to banter with. And you do make him shut up, your lips on his, your teeth sinking playfully into his lower lip, sucking it with a tug. You keep one hand on his cock, riding it, pumping it, keeping time with the way his tongue darts in and out of your mouth. Something cold slips under your shirt, his fingers skating into the band of your breeches.

You keep your mouth fixed on his, making certain he’s far too busy for any noises you can’t muffle. But as his fingers slip between your thighs, an unbidden cry rips from your throat.

“Who’s the loud mouth now?” He chides, sucking his teeth at you, even with your lips coupled as they are. He laughs again, his fingers catching on your clit just right as he rides up and down your seam. “Don’t cease your own task at hand on my account,” he sniggers, his cold fingers lacing around his shaft, interweaving with yours.

His breath sucks in yours. His fingers playing in you, teasing so much wetness from your folds, you wish you had just taken your pants off when you had the chance. Now it was too late. Now, you’d be sticky from your own arousal, probably covered in his cum too as you leave his tent.

The thought makes your cheeks burn but not in shame. In a searing wave of desire. Your hand works up and down, catching that thick, blunt tip with your thumb in the way that makes him groan. His kisses deepen, hungry and feral, the same he’s stoked in you with the little ways his fangs catch on the inside of your lips. He’s losing that refined control he keeps. Pushed past the calculating movements as you stroke him in your fist and lick his tongue with your own.

“Gods,” he growls, his cock so hard, his fingers inside you working at a fevered pace. “You’ll come for me too, darling. My recompense for your care.”

“Yes,” you moan, his fingers diving deep into your cunt, crooking on that sweet spot he knows well.

You clench, shaking as he pummels inside you, your own hand struggling to work on his cock with how hard he is. How thick he is. But the instant you drench his fingers and fill his palm as you climax, he follows you into that messy, groaning bliss. Hot cum drips down your arm, spattered on your sleeve, on the belly of your shirt.

He’s gasping into your mouth, his lips pulled back wide in a genuine smile. His forehead presses against yours as he catches his breath, stealing your own from your lips. “Well,” he pants, “am I fully recovered?”

“All vim… and vigor…” you heave, moaning as he slips his fingers from your thighs.

“Hmm,” he hums against your lips, trapping them in his own with a slight nip. “Are you sure you’re satisfied with my performance?”

You laugh, giving a little shove against his chest. “For now,” you tease, “but it seems another round of cleaning is in order.” Your hand reaches for the rag, wiping his juices from your hand, your arm. Only to hear him sucking on his own fingers.

His brow arched wryly as you turn to watch. Those two long fingers that still drip with your cum are shoved far back in his mouth, his tongue swirling over every inch. “What?” he smirks, “why waste something so delicious…”

You shake your head, lovingly irritated at his cheekiness, but already your body is already aching for more. “Perhaps,” you clear your throat, heart pounding as you watch him sliding those already drenched fingers over his tongue. “Perhaps you do need a little more inspection, just to be sure…”

“Thought so,” he sniffs, that insufferable smirk widening to show his teeth. “Best be sure… just in case…”

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Read more “Bites in the Night:”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Ascended Astarion in “The Rogue You Were:”

🩸Part 1 🩸 Part 2 🩸Part 3 🩸 Part 4🩸

Read my Drabbles

“Just a Drop…” Astarion as Tav turns

“Beg me…” A highly NSFW Ascended Astarion x reader

“Your Reward:” Ascended Astarion Dark!Fic

#astarion romance #astarion my beloved #astarion smut #vampire rogue #healing trope #wound tending #astarion x female reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x mc #astarion x reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion baldurs gate #baldurs gate astarion #baldur’s gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldursgate3 #baldur’s gate iii #baldurs gate smut #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fanfic #astarion fic

[emchant3d]

the aftermath of Steve downplaying his injuries from the bats, a steddie thread 🧵 (also on twt here)

Eddie didn’t get it at first.

Sure, he’d seen Steve after the bat attack. He’d been bloody and a little loopy and bruised to hell, but they’d had priorities.

And Eddie was a little preoccupied, what with the whole being wanted for murder thing. Sue him if he was too self-involved to worry about Harrington’s injuries past shoving the gay panic down when he watched him bite a bat and then rend it in half with his bare hands.

And then he’d known nothing but pain, and then he hadn’t known anything at all, until he’d finally woken in the hospital, his name cleared, his nipple gone, and Steve Harrington sleeping at his bedside.

Several people - Robin most of all, pushy and panicked - tried to get Steve to let the doctors look him over, but he shrugged them all off each time. According to him they’d cleaned him up on the way in, disinfected the bites and slapped some stitches in place.

He insisted that since he hadn’t been admitted, he was fine - shook the orange bottle of antibiotics he’d been prescribed and everything. “Guys, come on,” he’d said, rolling his eyes. “Eddie just got out of a coma. Let’s focus on people who actually need medical attention, yeah?” 

It had worked. Everyone had swarmed around Eddie to fawn over him instead, and while Eddie had glared at Steve tiredly at the time, he’d admit that he’d enjoyed it.

 It was nice to be worried over. Stifling, sure, and he felt a bit guilty, but mostly he was just happy to be fucking alive and happy to have other people also be happy about it. 

So he’ll confess - he let himself be used as a distraction. He let Steve deflect. In his defense, it worked on him too. He had no idea how bad Steve’s injuries had really been. Had no context at the time to guess how much Steve would downplay them.

So yeah, Eddie didn’t get it at first. But now, months later, now that they’ve saved the world and they’ve gotten closer and they’re friends, they’re more, he’s starting to understand.

Steve is self-sacrificing. Thank fuck it’s small-scale stuff now, watching him bitch but still drop everything to be there for the kids in a heartbeat, hearing the phone ring and Steve answer with a low “hey, Robbie–” and knowing he’s lost him for the rest of the day.

But then they’re hanging out one day, just the two of them, and it’s late and they're going to bed and they don't discuss it first just like they never do, but they're sharing the bed. 

Somehow Steve's avoided changing in front of Eddie, not that Eddie's been waiting for it - he just realizes it when he turns and sees that Steve's dropped his pants.

It's funny. They've held one another and whispered back and forth and traded soft, careful kisses that they don't talk about much, but he's never seen Steve bare. It's an odd thing to realize. 

Then Steve pulls his shirt off, and Eddie's stomach lurches.

“Holy fuck,” he says, strangled, unable to hold it back, and Steve looks over at him, immediately on edge.

“What?” he asks, dropping his shirt, hand twitching to the side like he’s going to grab the nearest blunt object - the nail bat is below the bed, Eddie sees Steve’s eyes dart towards it - to use as a weapon. Eddie ignores him, walking instead to him and grabbing his shoulders.

“Stevie,” he says, soft, bodily turning Steve so he can see his back.

The scars are fucking brutal. The skin is rough and discolored, pockmarked with pinkish new flesh that doesn’t blend in with the tan freckled expanse. They stretch down the length of his back on both sides, gnarly and uneven. Eddie swallows hard.

“Honey,” he says, and watches the spine in front of him stiffen. “What the fuck happened here?” He knows it has to be some sort of upside down bullshit, and he tries to fit it in with the horror stories he’s heard, but he’s coming up blank.

Steve is silent. His shoulders hunch a little, making his back bend, stretching the taut skin tighter. Eddie raises a hand and lays the gentlest touch he can to the scars. Steve still flinches. Eddie stills, but he doesn’t pull away.

He lets the quiet sit for a few beats, then steps a little closer, free hand fitting around the jut of Steve’s hip bone to pull his back to his chest. He ducks his head and brushes his lips in the space between Steve’s shoulder blades. Feels the edges of the scars with his mouth.

It’s more intimate than they’ve ever been, but something in Eddie is pulling at his heart, telling him it’s okay. That he doesn’t need to be scared of it, not here. Not now. 

Steve has trouble talking sometimes. Eddie’s getting better about waiting him out. It’s always worth it and now is no exception. “Do you remember–” he starts, halting and quiet, then cuts himself off. “Of course you remember, sorry - the bats - my bats, not - not yours.”

Eddie just nods. “I remember,” he says. He rubs at Steve’s hip with his thumb, a soft, repetitive motion, the same kind of touch he likes to give the nape of Steve’s neck when the other boy curls up on his chest at night. 

It soothes them both, and some tension leaves Steve. “Before, uh. Before you guys got down there - well, you saw them grab me and, uh, pull me down. They kinda…dragged me.” Eddie frowns. 

“Dragged you,” he says, soft, and Steve nods. Eddie leans back just enough to see the scars again. They look like fucking road rash - and that’s essentially what they are, Eddie realizes, thinking of the dried-up lakebed, the stone and debris Steve would have been raked over. 

He thinks of the distance between the gate and where they found Steve, tries to imagine how far Steve was dragged, and he feels a little sick. “Sweetheart,” he says, soft, and Steve makes a small, pained noise. 

Eddie shifts closer again, wraps both arms tight around Steve’s middle, pulls him in close and tucks his nose into his throat. “Musta hurt like a bitch,” he says quietly, and Steve gives a tiny shrug. He lays his arms over Eddie’s, hands over hands, fingers lacing together. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Steve just shakes his head. 

“Too much was going on. We barely had time to wrap up the bites, I wasn’t gonna stop us just to patch up the rest.” Eddie gives a frustrated sound.

“We could have spared a few minutes–” Steve interrupts him before he can get a good rant going. 

“We couldn’t. You know we couldn’t.” Eddie grits his teeth.

“Fine. Fine, but what about after? When we saved the world and you were sooo adamant you didn’t need a doctor?”

“Other people needed it more than me. You, Max, fuck - Eddie the whole town was in pieces.” Eddie doesn’t give a fuck about the whole town. Never has. Especially doesn’t now, knowing Steve never got the care he really needed. 

He’s gearing up for a whole rant about it, but Steve keeps talking. “Besides,” he says, “I didn’t want anyone to worry.” And oh.

Suddenly, Eddie understands with perfect clarity and hates that he kind of wishes he still didn’t get it.

This was Steve at his self-sacrificing best - or worst. This was the aftermath of Steve putting himself last. Sure, these days it means he’s a little worn out from looking after the kids, or he’s drained from allowing Robin to change their plans on a dime.

But not long ago, the aftermath was this. Bruises, aches and pains and injuries that still bother him now, will bother him for the rest of his life. Repeated concussions and head trauma. Chronic migraines. Blurry vision and weak hearing on his left side.

And scars. Scars that he downplays and hides and does his best to not acknowledge. Something close to rage coils in Eddie, but he tamps it down. There’s nothing to rage against here. There’s only a beautiful boy in his arms who has seen enough anger to last a lifetime.

Eddie takes a deep breath, then turns his head to brush a kiss to the jagged silvery band wrapped around Steve’s throat and gets to feel and hear the soft, surprised sound he makes.

“I hate to break it to you, Stevie,” Eddie says, soft and gentle against his neck, “but people are gonna worry regardless.”

“But–”

“I’m gonna worry regardless,” he interrupts, kisses his neck again, and pulls a hand free to skate his fingertips along Steve’s bare stomach to feel the way he trembles beneath his touch.

“Eds,” Steve whispers, and Eddie hums quietly.

“D’you know why?” Eddie asks him. Steve gives a shaky little sigh.

“...Why?” he croaks, and Eddie can’t help it - he smiles, a little sad, a little fond, and so, so in love. 

“Because I care about you, sweetheart,” he tells him, and Steve squeezes his hand so hard it hurts.

“Eddie–”

“I care about you,” he says again. “I worry because I care. And I’m always going to care, so I’m always going to worry.

So if you ever downplay an injury like this again, if you ever hide a hurt like this just because you don’t want someone to worry - well. We’re gonna need to have words, honey.” Steve manages a weak laugh.

“That a threat, Munson?” he asks, and Eddie hums. He moves his hands quick as lightning, grabbing Steve’s hips and spinning him around until he’s facing him, letting him brace himself on his chest so he doesn’t lose his balance.

It startles a laugh from Steve, and the heavy tension surrounding them gives way to something softer, gentler. Steve meets his gaze, teeth sinking into that pretty lower lip, and Eddie just barely manages to keep from getting distracted.

“Oh yeah,” he confirms, grinning softly at the look on Steve’s face, cautious and reluctant but so, so hopeful. “Don’t you know I’m dangerous, Harrington? I’m definitely capable of threatening and following through.” 

Steve rolls his eyes and slides his hands up until he can lay his arms over Eddie’s shoulders. 

“You’re so full of shit,” he says, and it’s the fondest insult Eddie’s ever gotten. 

“Maybe,” Eddie allows, and he walks backward, pulling Steve along with him toward the bed.

“We can discuss how scary and threatening I am in the morning, huh?” They climb into the bed together and curl up tight. Eddie’s hand finds the nape of Steve’s neck, and Steve’s hands find Eddie’s chest, fingertips picking out the familiar patterns of Eddie's own scars.

They lay in silence for long enough that Eddie thinks Steve may have fallen asleep before he hears him speak again.

“I care about you too,” Steve says, and Eddie’s breath catches.

“Yeah?” Steve hums, nodding where his head’s resting on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he breathes, and Eddie looks down to find dark eyes already fixed on his face. He’s got this intense look to him, and he leans in, pressing their lips together.

It’s not their first kiss, but it feels special all the same. It feels significant, feels charged, slow and deep with Steve’s tongue swiping at Eddie’s mouth until he allows him entrance, teeth giving gentle nips and tugs.

Steve’s hand comes up to rest on Eddie’s scarred chest. Eddie’s touch slips down, traces over the scars along his back. 

They’re like wings, he thinks a little deliriously. Like someone took this sweet boy and ripped his wings from him.

“Angel,” Eddie breathes when they finally break apart, lips spit-slick and kiss-swollen. Steve flushes at the name. He tilts his head and presses his mouth soft and sweet to the marred skin that snakes along Eddie’s jaw and cheek.

“Just for you,” he whispers into the kiss, and Eddie swears he feels his heart grow larger, trying to contain all the love he feels for this impossible creature. 

In the morning, they’ll talk. They’ll define things. But for now, they have this, the soft, gentle exploration of each other, slow movements that drag even slower as sleep comes to claim them.

#steddie #steve/edde #steve x eddie #steddie drabble #steddie fic #my fic

[gojos-thot-patrol]

HII!!! and happy birthday to you ♡♡ i love ur works sm, for ur special birthday event, could i request — ryomen sukuna, mean, " i love you, and you don't deserve that " ?? AGAIN, HAPPY BIRTHDAY AND HAVE THE BEST YEAR!! (｡>﹏<｡) feel free to change it up! you're the birthday author afterall<3

AHH these are late, but in my defense I got very drunk then had to work off the hang over lol.

that being said, thank you so much Nonny!! This is so sweet and I feel kinda bad because this one got pretty dark. Trigger warnings for Domestic abuse, non con/dub con implied, emotional abuse and manipulation, and yandere themes. you have been warned, Dead Dove, Do Not Eat.

Now Presenting...

Starring: An cold complicated Ryomen Sukuna, taking it out on a Reader that doesn't deserve it.

There were few things on this earth Sukuna found more vile than humans. Maggots, maybe, but at least maggots served a purpose- they were important to the nutrient cycling of many ecosystems. But what the fuck did human do? They destroyed with reckless abandon, conquered without a second thought, and bread like roaches to continue the destruction long after they were gone. They were creatures of hate. And maybe that’s why Sukuna couldn’t stand them. They were just a little too much like him.

That was all with one exception. Y/n was a human that challenged every thought he had about humans. She was kind and generous, but still not afraid to get her hands dirty for what she believed. She proved that much when she ran out to stop him from destroying some elders home of all fucking things. He didn’t know what was funnier, that she thought she could challenge him, with her meek frame and zero battle experience, or the look on her face when he threw her over his shoulder. 

He had planned to throw her to his hoard of underling curses and let them tear her limb from limb. A fitting punishment he thought, she wasn’t really worth his effort. When he got to the throne room, he looked down at the writhing mass of curses below the tall platform his throne sat upon. He watched them all move as one, entangled together in a breathing wet sea of shit and hunger. They needed to eat.

And then he looked at her. The way she clung to his arm, the genuine terror in her eyes. She didn’t look like she had before on the battlefield, so willing to give her life to save another. Now she looked as if her entire being was made of ice and terror, as if she’d shatter if the breeze blew the wrong way. He felt a tightness in his chest, like some otherworldly being was pulling the sinew that laid there apart, cord by cord. And he threw her into his sleeping quarters instead. 

And ever since that day all those months ago, Sukuna had been complicated. A fucking human complicated him, it was almost comical. He caught himself being vulnerable around her, and he coludn’t fucking stand it. For every quiet sweet moment they had, he had to double down with two or more acts of brutality to make himself feel better. Except, it never made him feel any fucking better, in fact it made him feel actively fucking worse. The betrayal and hurt behind your eyes always made him feel minuscule, and it only made his hate of you burn even brighter. 

It was moments like these that made his skin crawl. When your head was resting on his chest, arms wrapped around your body as best as they could be, legs still trembling in the aftermath of your shared sin. When he realized his heart was calm, and his claws didn’t crave blood in your presence. His reaction to comfort was always visceral anger. 

“Get off of me wench.” He growled, jerking his shoulder up and launching you out of your near sleep state. You looked so hurt.

“Oh, this again?” You muttered.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean, Whore?” Sukuna scoffed, unable to believe you felt comfortable enough to talk to him with such a tongue.

“Nothing.” You sighed, shaking your head and trying to turn away from him. You didn’t get very far before his talons were digging into your shoulder, forcing you to face him again.

“No no, If you’re going to say something, say it. Don’t try to take the cowardly way out now.” He warned. You shook your head, knowing better than to make eye contact right now.

“I just don’t want to fight-”

“Oh, you think this is a fight?” He laughed, “that would almost be cute if it wasn’t so pathetic.We don't fight Y/n. You forget your place, and I remind you of it. Fighting implies you to be my equal, which you never will be.” he said, his voice dripping in condescension and laced with contempt. His poison shot straight into your heart, coursing through your blood and to your tongue. You were so tired of his bull shit. 

“Oh, really?! Is that what happens?!” You laughed back to keep from crying, “Because from my view, You realize you have a heart and get so scared of it, you have to hurt someone smaller than you to feel like a man aga-!” Yea, you weren’t shocked when he struck you. You held your face, knowing there would be a bruise you could take fingerprints off of forming. You’d long since become used to his treatment. He grabbed you by your hair, yanking you to look at him. You could feel individual follicles being pulled from their roots as he raised you off the bed, as he drank in your scream as if it was the finest of wine. 

“Listen here Brat,” Ryomen always had a way of making even the most mundane words cut into your soul, “You’d do well to remember who the fuck you are talking to when you speak to me. I am not your friend, I am not your lover, you are fucking nothing to me. You’re less than nothing to me. Wrong me a-fucking-gain and your villiage won’t stop finding pieces of your body.” He snarled, throwing you off the bed. 

You braced for impact, but that still didn’t stop the collision from sending sharp waves of anguish through your already bruised ribs. You took in a sharp breath and tried to keep the tears swelling in your eyes from spilling over. He wanted you to cry. You wouldn't give him that satisfaction. You got to your hands and knees as quickly as your body would let you, then sat up as best as you could.

“Do you know what your problem is Sukuna?” You mumbled from the floor. He raised an eyebrow at you, genuinely shocked you had more to say after that. Normally, physical violence shut you up pretty quick. 

“And what is that Y/n?” He asked. You took an edge breath in.

“Your problem is that you don’t want to keep being a warlord. You’re tired of it, it bores you, you want to do something else. You found something that only makes that feeling stronger. And you can’t stand it! Because you don’t know who you are. You have no idea who Ryomen Sukuna is without the power and the blood thirst, and that fucking terrifies you.” Sukuna didn’t even argue, and he wasn’t surprised you read him so clearly. You had always seen through him as if he was nothing more than a fragile bubble. 

“And do you know what my problem is?” You growled. You waited all of 3 seconds before responding to his silence, “My problem is that I love you. And you don’t deserve that.” A chuckle left Sukuna, but it was humorless. His eyes didn’t hold any anger or angst, he looked as if he was made of stone. He finally got up from the bed, and moved to you. He crouched down to be at your level. 

“Things are only going to get worse for you from here on out. I hope you're prepared.” he said, zero emotion making its way to his voice or eyes. He pushed you onto your back before standing up again and leaving the room. Once he was back in his own sleeping quarters, he punched a hole in his wall.

How fucking dare you tell him you loved him! Who the fuck did you think you were?! And why the fuck would you confess that after he threw you to the fucking ground? As if you were nothing more than a used cum rag! He roared as he ripped some random piece of art off the wall and smashed it against the floor, splintering the wooden frame. Your words kept echoing in his head, phantoms that wouldn’t let him rest. I love you, and you don’t deserve it.It made him sick. Because he didn’t deserve it. And because he loved you too, and you truly didn’t deserve that.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #yandere sukuna #true form sukuna #tw: toxic behavior #tw: toxic relationships #tw abuse #dead dove do not eat #sukuna angst #sukuna x reader angst #nobody likes you when you're 23

[secretmellowblog]

One fascinating thing about the way Hugo writes Jean Valjean's inner conflict is that we're almost never actually in his POV when he makes his final decisions. We spend chapters and chapters exploring Jean Valjean's thought processes as he agonizes over difficult moral choices, but in the final crucial moment, when he actually makes his choice, Hugo "cuts us off" from his internal monologue. We view what his final choice looks like from the outside, from the perspective of other characters. This is especially significant because Jean Valjean, from the outside, is often pretty unreadable. He is uncannily calm, tranquil, and polite. He's opaque. There's a moment where he's described as a "whirlwind within, calm without;" Jean Valjean uses excessively polite behavior as a defense mechanism, "picking up his calm the way a warrior would pick up his buckler." The most obvious example of this is the Champmathieu trial, where Jean Valjean agonizes over whether to turn himself in. We spend chapter after chapter inside of his POV, exploring his terror and inner conflict as he weighs his options and invents a thousand excuses for himself-- we explore his trauma-fueled reactions to the concept of returning to prison in painful, agonizing detail, from his horrific memories of prison to his surreal nightmares about being buried alive. The tension builds as chapters fly by and he still hasn't made his final decision, as he hopes some unforseen accident will prevent him from making it to the trial and he won't have to make the decision after all-- But in the final moment, when Jean Valjean *actually* makes the final choice...we're not in his point of view. Instead, it's told "from the point of view" of the courtroom, and Jean Valjean's strange heartbreaking serenity is described solely from the outside. At the moment where we most want to hear what Valjean is thinking, we're abruptly cut off from his inner monologue. This becomes even more tragic when the "adrenaline rush" of the courtroom fades away and we witness the aftermath of the trial. When Jean Valjean returns to Fantine, we see him from the point of view of Simplice and other characters. He's described as behaving "mechanically" as if in shock. From the outside he appears eerily uncannily "tranquil" and completely opaque. It is impossible to tell what he is feeling or thinking. Jean Valjean responds to Javert's violence toward Fantine with an icy, eerily tranquil restrained fury: threatening him with a leaden bar, saying "I advise you not to disturb me at this moment"-- but you can feel behind that restraint the weight of all the grief/anger from the previous chapters, which he's incapable of letting himself express openly. He has made this horrible nightmarish sacrifice that he's been agonizing over for thousands of words, he's facing unimaginable violence and grief--- and in the moments where we most want to hear how he's reacting to this, "the line goes dead." We're brutally cut off from his mental state and left to imagine what he might be feeling.

After a few moments of this meditation (Jean Valjean) bent towards Fantine, and spoke to her in a low voice. What did he say to her? What could this man, who was reproved, say to that woman, who was dead? What words were those? No one on earth heard them.

#les mis #les mis letters #we were talking about this in the Letters discord server #and im losin my mind over it a little #I think this also happens with stealing the candlesticks #? #and with saving Marius #also the way his relationship with Javert ends #we don't see *why* he decides to rescue him at the barricades from his own pov #and thats significant

[ghostboneswrites2]

Safer

Summary: After the fall of the prison and a brutal assault, Daryl cares for you.

NOTE (please read): A mutual requested this a while ago. Took a long while to write, and tbh I considered turning the req down given the premise and my firm stance on writing graphic SA which you can find here. However, they explained to me that they are a victim of a violent s*xual assault, and they expressed it would be healing in a way to have a story where they were cared for by their comfort character. After some consideration, I decided to go for it. I'm sure a lot of us have been victimized by people who couldn't control their urges, or those who lacked respect for our boundaries, bodies, and consent. Myself included. So, this story is for us, to those of us that can stomach it. 

DISCLAIMER: There are no scenes of graphic SA, only the aftermath. While I will not be telling any descriptive scenarios of being assaulted, I do want to clearly express that this is a generally heavy story and it may not be suitable for all audiences. Please consume responsibly.

**I will not be tagging anyone on the taglist due to the content of this story**

18+MDNI ||  WARNINGS: non-graphic allusions to SA, violence, mild nudity descriptions, generally heavy content so I can't say it enough: TW!!!

Banner from: cafekitsune

IF YOU READ BEYOND THIS POINT, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. I have made great effort not to trigger anyone, and to give all readers an opportunity to turn away if this story is not suitable for you.

        Daryl's vision was blurred as he blinked himself to consciousness. It took him some time to gather his thoughts and recognize his surroundings. His wrists and ankles were bound together, his mouth gagged with a cloth that tasted of sweat and filth. He stared up at the treetops towering over him. It was dark outside, save for the dim light of a dying campfire a few feet away. He lifted his head from the forest floor and looked down past his feet. Lumps of sleeping bodies under raggedy blankets and torn sleeping bags rested around him. His heart raced as his memories crept back in; of you, screaming his name, of him fighting off the group of men who caught him off guard, of twigs snapping and a searing pain over the side of his head. Was that why his face felt so sticky? Was it dried blood?

        His eyes strained in the fading light of ember and ash. Where were you? He noticed a crumpled form at the foot of a tree. Her breathing was shallow and her clothes were torn, pants not even pulled up over her bare behind. That much, he could see. His throat tightened. His eyes watered. What the hell had he let them do to you? How could he have let this happen? He had to get you out of there, and fast. If they hadn't killed him yet, that was surely on their agenda.

        He began to squirm and writhe against his restraints. Whoever tied him up had experience. Just as hopelessness began to set in and cloud his judgement with fear -- real, genuine fear -- he noticed a reflection in the leaves. Just a few feet past his boots, a man was curled up on his side, snoring lightly in the calm breeze. His back was turned to Daryl, and behind him set a grungy backpack with a blade sticking out of the smallest pocket in the front. He glanced back  to you, shivering on the ground, unsure if you were awake or unconscious or simply passed out from the exhaustion of prior events. 

        The sight of you in your disheveled mess was all her needed to kick him into gear. Carefully and hastily, he scooted himself down toward his only chance at redeeming his status as a loyal protector of the weak and vulnerable. Ideally, he'd be able to accomplish this in silence, but he was not in an ideal situation. His circumstances were heavy, laced in sweat and angst. The leaves beneath him rustled as his back slid across the ground, twigs snapping or moving to the side as he made his way closer to the large hunting knife. He'd pause between each scoot, studying the sleeping men around him for any sign of movement or wakefulness. When he'd decide the coast was clear enough, he'd resume. It felt like an eternity, but he made it there. 

        His core muscles strained as he sat himself up. He realized how sore he was. He must have taken a good beating. Seemed fitting, though. He was never one to go down without a fight. He left that sort of weakness in his past.

        He guided his shaky, bound hands over to the bag. He slowly slid the knife out of the front pocket. His heart raged against his ribs. He didn't dare take a single breath until it was secured. 

        Slow. Slowness. Slowly. He repeated every variation of the word in his mind as he positioned the knife between his palms and dragged it back and forth until the rope finally severed. A silent breath of relief escaped him as he ripped the gag from his lips and worked on the rope tied around his ankles. When he was free, he stood and counted the sleeping bodies beneath him. Excluding you, there were four. 

        He considered waking you up and running for the hills, but he couldn't leave any loose ends. No, he thought of it like when your t-shirt has a loose thread. You could leave it to keep unraveling, or you could burn it at  the base and extend the lifetime of your clothes. He decided he needed to burn this string before it could unravel any further.

        Starting with the man closest to him -- the one who so graciously left his knife in plain sight for the archer -- he krept over and crouched down, plunching the blade into the base of his skull. Then, he moved on to the next, and the next one, and the one after that, until they were all a problem of the past. Until that pesky little thread could do no further damage to the rest of the shirt.       

        When the dirty work was behind him, he dropped the knife and rushed over to you. Your wrists were tied like his, but you were tied to the tree so you couldn't run. He eyed you over and gulped. With your pants not fully covering you and your shirt all ripped up, he could see the finger-shaped bruises littering your skin. There was blood on your inner thighs. Your lips were swollen and cut. His blood heated until it hit a boiling point. His hands trembled as they hovered over you. Touching you  felt like a crime, but he had to wake you. He had to get you out of there.

        "(Y/N)." He whispered as he laid a hand on your shoulder. You were shivering in the cool air, but a thin layer of sweat blanketed your exposed flesh. He gave you a gentle shake. "((Y/N), c'mon. We gotta go." He pleaded softly.        

        Your body jerked and you jolted awake. You gave him no chance to explain as you scrambled to your knees and cowered away against the tree. 

        "(Y/N) it's me. It's Daryl." He attempted his most soothing tone of voice. "C'mon, let me get ya cleaned up."        

        He outstretched his arm, offering you his  hand. Without making eye contact you made a move to take it, but you were stopped by the restricting force of the rope that kept you anchored to the tree trunk. He moved quickly for the knife he tossed to the side earlier and returned with it. Without the pressure of remaining silent, he had your hands free in seconds.

        He wasted no time helping you to your feet and averting his gaze as he slid your pants up where they belonged. He found he had a hard time keeping his mind straight and focused as your weeping filled the quiet campsite. 

        "Shh.." He cooed, keeping one hand on your upper back as he ushered you along with him to gather his things and yours. A smart man would have rummaged through the belongings of the ones he killed, too, but he wasn't concerned with making a smart call at that point. He was only worried about you.

        "It's alright. C'mon. Let's get ya somewhere you can rest. It's alright. C'mon." He felt useless as ever, repeating the same generic words of comfort as you limped along beside him. He never urged you to up the pace, he didn't drag you along or have you carry your own bag. He felt like the least he could do was shoulder the weight of survival on behalf of you both. He couldn't get the image out of his mind of ou laying there,caked in blood, sweat, and bruises. A girl like you should have been caked in perfume and makeup. You hair should have been done up nice for a Sunday brunch, not matted with leaves and dirt. Your clothes should have been pristine and well fitting, unlike the filthy torn clothes that were beginning to hang off your frame like tender meat falling from the bone. You didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve any of it.

        Eventually he found an acceptable spot that looked like it could have been a den for a hibernating bear. It was a big shrub by a little stream, perfectly indented to give you both enough room to crouch under its foliage. He gently set you down, dropping his bow and your bags beside him. He crouched down in front of you and scanned you, worry written articulately over his features. 

        Your eyes remained glued to the ground. Your nose was upturned in disgust but your eyes told a different story; one of pain and despair and mourning for the person you were before that night. Your frown was deep enough to leave a scar. 

        "(Y/N)..." He breathed. Your eyes slowly found their way to his and welled with tears all over again. Of all things you had -- meaning, being alive and away from those men -- there was nothing you were more grateful for than his blue eyes staring back at you. You hated the way he looked at you with defeat and pity, though. You hated that he had one more thing to worry about. Still, he was there, and he was welcome. "Let's get ya cleaned up, okay?"

        You nodded once, if absentmindedly. Your thoughts were elsewhere. You couldn't pinpoint their location, though. They were scrambled, swarming all around you, like gnats you couldn't swat away.

        He pulled an old shirt from his bag and leaned over to the stream, getting it nice and wet before wringing it out. He turned back to you and brought it up to your cheek, gently dabbing and swiping away at the dirt, grime, sweat, and blood. He moved on to your neck and hands, then he paused. You both looked down at your jeans. You knew it needed to be taken care of, and he did too, but the question was really about which one of you would be brave enough to work on the gruesome scene between your legs.

        One look at your expression and he knew it couldn't be you. But, how could it be him? He couldn't put you in such a vulnerable position. No, not him.

        That's when the lightbulb went off over his head. The stream, of course.

        "Here." He offered you a hand. You took it slowly and he led you to your feet. "Wanna get in the water?" He asked. You stared down at the serene flowing water, trickling just before your feet. He cleared his throat. "I don't gotta look."

        You almost could have laughed. After everything that had happened, Daryl seeing you bathe wasn't really a concern. Still, you had to maintain some shred of dignity, and washing those men off of you was a much needed stride toward leaving that horrid night in your past. So, you nodded, and he turned away to start a fire where you could warm up after rinsing off.

        The button was busted off of your jeans. You guessed they couldn't waste their time with something as simple as undoing a button. You let out a shaky sigh and gritted your teeth. You moved to bend over and slide your jeans down, but a searing pain shot through your insides. You whimpered. "I can't." You barely managed.

        "Huh?" He asked over his shoulder.

        "I can't." You spoke up with a tremble. "I can't get them off. It hurts."

        His throat tightened up. Had they really been so cruel to you?

        "Ya want me to..." He trailed off.

        "Please." You whispered and shut your eyes. He stood beside you and pulled your pants down to your ankles, kneeling down as he did so.

        "Grab my shoulder." He instructed softly. You did. "Left leg." He said. You pulled it out. "Now the right." 

        With your jeans off, he stood up and looked down at your face, which you his from him, avoiding his gaze. 

        "Your -- Uh.." He glanced down at your underwear. You nodded, not needing to see what he meant. He followed the same process with those and turned away as soon as he was done. You cleared your throat. 

        "Can you help me sit?" You whispered. He sucked in a breath. It wasn't that you were annoying him. Anything but that, actually. He was glad to help you in any way you needed. It was the simple fact that you needed the help that was eating him alive. The thought that those guys could hurt you in this way, to this extent, was infuriating and heartbreaking. 

        He turned back to you and hovered behind you, placing a hand under each arm to support you while you lowered yourself down into the water. Once you were sitting on the creek bed, you adjusted yourself and sighed.

        "Just, uh, watch for snakes, okay?" Was all he could say before turning his attention back to the fire finally.

        Your frown deepened as you stared down at your bloodied thighs. A plop beside you startled you before realizing it was just the old shirt he was using to clean you up.

        "Figured ya might need it." He mumbled.

        You gripped the cloth in your hand and stared at it. Blood and filth stained it. Your lip quivered as you ran it over your inner thighs, scrubbing your own dried blood away and watching it disappear in the gentle current. You hissed and winced as you cleaned yourself where you were really injured. 

        When you were done, you peered over your shoulder, where Daryl stared at the small flame. He felt your eyes on him and he looked up at you. 

        "Need some clothes?" He asked.

        "Please." You replied. He nodded once and rummaged through your bag. He could only find a semi-clean shirt, but no more pants. He pulled his own bag forward and searched for the new two-pack of boxers he'd scavenged awhile back. 

        "I, uh, didn't see no more pants, but... You can have those." He said, holding your shirt and the fresh boxers out to you.

        "Thanks." You pressed your lips into a thin attempt at a friendly smile. 

        He turned away again so you could change your shirt, but you needed his help with the boxers, which he did without you needing to ask, and without a single peek at you.

        He helped you back over to the den where you could warm up by the fire. You kept the blanket in your bag, so he made sure to wrap it around your shoulders while you sat.

        "Ain't got no food." He broke the silence after a little while. You nodded.

        "Not hungry anyways." 

        "Mm." He hummed. "Get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

----

        By midday, you were on the move again, trailing right behind him as he stomped slowly over the underbrush so you could keep his pace. He'd stop every now and then, and though he didn't say it, you knew it was because he didn't want to overwork you. 

        By late afternoon, the sun was on the far end of the sky, casting an orange glow over the woods. 

        Daryl had barely been able to look at you, and you couldn't exactly claim any different. You two had taken a break again, sipping water and scanning around for any game or edible plants.

        "I want ya to know.." He cleared his throat, shattering the thick silence that glazed over you both all day. "I want ya to know I didn't see it. None of it."

        "I know you weren't looking." You deadpanned.

        "Nah, not at the stream. I meant -- I didn't see none of it." He clarified. He had a sneaking suspicion the reason you couldn't bare to look at him might have been the possibility of him seeing what had happened to you. He, however, just hated seeing you look so broken, knowing had he been more vigilant yesterday, none of those guys would have been able to sneak up on him. You looked at him finally.

        "I know. They hit you over the head 'cause you were fighting them."

        "Mm." He nodded. "I just... I need to tell ya I'm sorry." His voice cracked as he looked down at his hands and back up to you. His leg was bouncing anxiously and his gums must have bled from how hard he chewed at them.

        "Why?" You pushed your eyebrows together.

        "I shoulda been lookin' out. Shoulda protected ya. Shoulda--"

        "You were. You have been." You cut him off. "You've looked out for me every day since the prison. You've been protecting me since the quarry. You protect everyone. That wasn't your fault." You insisted. He just looked back down at his hands and sniffled, blinking back tears. He scolded himself for being the one to cry, when you were the one who got hurt. "Hey." You pressed on. "Listen to me. You got us out of there. You took care of them. You saved me. Then, you still took care of me. If we were still back there, they would have killed you and robbed you by now. And, if they hadn't killed me yet, I'd be wishing I was dead. I wouldn't be here without you. I would have never survived even before last night without you, and I wouldn't be sitting here telling you that today if it weren't for you."

        He looked you in the eyes as you spoke every word. It was a great relief to him that you weren't angry with him -- that you didn't blame him. Still, he felt so uneasy.

        "Can we camp here?" You asked suddenly. He shrugged.

        "Yeah. We can." He agreed. His voice was still broken.

        "Can I sit with you?" You asked. He looked confused but he still nodded, even if he was unsure what you meant.

        Ignoring the aches all over your body, you crawled over to him and sat in front of him, between his legs, leaning your back against his torso. He was stiff, unused to being so close to someone, but he didn't resist. As you settled in and got comfortable, he rested his arms by your sides.

        "You didn't fail me, Daryl. Nobody makes me feel safer."

Join the taglist || Masterlist

#tw: implied abuse #tw: implied sa #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl x female reader #daryl x you #daryl x y/n

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

My heart is yours

a/n I know this ain't TLOU gif but I had to. Look how this man could hold you. Anyways... happy reading. This just came out of nowhere.

summary: Jackson doesn't seem to kill the fears in Joel's mind, only awaking new kind of doubts. Can you actually be in love with him or is it a hopeless dream that Joel is chasing?

Requested and inspired by my little lilly 🪷

warning: past injuries, hand trauma.

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Joel didn't care for any of it. He didn't care about a safe space to live in. He didn't care about what or where he slept. What he ate and if he ate in general. Pills and alcohol were all he needed at night. Even after twenty years, life hadn't been the same. And by that point, Joel simply didn't care. He lived in black and white. There was no in-between. He no longer believed in happiness. No longer strived to make a change. He was simply surviving.

Yet Joel's imagination would paint pictures of a somewhat different world. A handful of pills later, the blanket that laid over his shoulders would turn into a lover's embrace. Where the pillow felt like the soft flesh of the significant other. Joel was thankful when he had no recollections of the night like that. Where there was blank darkness and no evidence that he had been nothing but lonely. Longing. Somewhere deep down, longing to make a change. Most importantly, longing to be loved. Longing for someone to see him. To dust off the pain and make him feel something different.

Then Ellie came along, and you were right beside her. At first, Joel didn't even understand why Marlene wanted him on this job when you were with Ellie. Wild animals were less frenzied than you. Surely getting Ellie to the fireflies was like a walk in the park for you. That was until Joel noticed your trembling hands. The way you rubbed your palms together. How you only stick to knives for self-defense.

You had opened up about your past one night as you both sat under the starry sky, with Ellie fast asleep not far away from you. The cold temperature was extremely brutal for your hands. The ache seemed never-ending. "Do you want these?", Joel broke the silence, taking off his much thicker gloves before handing them to you. You just started at him. Of course, you had talked before. You've been on the road with him for some time now. But it always seemed cold and bitter. If there was one thing Joel was extremely good at, it was making people feel like they were the problem.

You shook your hand, inching towards the fire, moving your palms closer to the flame. Joel gazed at you, letting out a sigh. It was odd considering the type of your communication but he could feel the strange feeling bubbling inside him. The feeling would perk up if he would woke up to you by his side or if your head would fall onto his shoulder as you dozed off while keeping watch. Even when you laughed alongside Ellie, Joel couldn't help that strange sensation in his stomach.

"I would prefer if you took them. I'm not cold anyway", Joel spoke up again. "And I'm not a cripple", "I never said that", you turned to him quickly. Even in the dim light, Joel could see the tears that glossed over your eyes. "Your eyes say enough", you bit back, turning your attention to the flame in front of you. Joel wasn't sure why he was even doing this, but he moved forward, resting his hands on your shoulder. It had been weird between you two. You had kissed a couple of times. And if the first kiss was the aftermath of too much adrenaline after a near-death experience. The second time had no justification. "What happened", Joel said softly, rubbing your shoulders ever so slightly. He had once selfishly examined your hands while you slept. Joel knew that was an invasion of privacy, but his eyes caught onto the scars and his fingers moved without a second thought.

You let out a bitter laugh. "I was a bad girl. I got involved with bad people, and well, bad people do bad things", Joel had seen. Had inspected the scars and permanent discoloration that covered your hands. He wondered what had happened. Wondered who were the people that had done this. Most importantly, he wondered how good it would feel to make them slowly suffer for all that was done to you.

Joel had never done this when you two were fully awake, never fully aware. He pulled you closer to him. Your hands instantly clasped over his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Silent tears fall down your cheeks. Oddly enough, Joel had been a safe space for you. Someone you knew would go that extra mile to make sure that you were safe. "You have nothing to fear now. I've got you. You can count on me, sweet", Joel said, making you let out a silent sob as you held onto him tighter. "What if I fail to protect you though…", you whispered. Joel quickly turned you around in his arms so he could face you. "Didn't seem like a problem when you stabbed that guy in the throat", Joel said, referencing the attack in the store, but you just narrowed your eyes at him. "We have each other, and now that Ellie has a gun, believe me, we are good", you let out a light chuckle while leaning your head against Joel's chest. That was the night you saw a future in him. Leaving you to hope that Joel felt the same way.

Ellie was bubbling through all the stories of today. In all honesty, she was supposed to do her homework while you fished off with dinner, but you didn't have the heart to stop her. Seeing her so full of life was refreshing. You three haven't been in Jackson very long. A month at best, and it still seemed like a dream. Tommy had very kindly landed you a small cottage at the side of the town. They even arranged a little celebration to welcome you, Ellie, and Joel in. Joel of course snarled through most of it.

Holding onto your hips as he zoned in and out. Partly listening to the conversations you were having with people that were around him and partly just trying to ground himself. He hated places like this. There was too much buzz. Joel wasn't used to it. Not to mention the attention that was put on you three. That was way too exhausting. You would occasionally turn to him. Running your fingers through Joel's hair or simply resting your hands on top of his hands that were lazily curled over your middle.

A protective gesture. You called it Joel's circle. He did this often. Even if you two were in the comfort of your new home. His arms would wrap around your middle. The only moving space you had was within Joel's embrace. You knew it was still so hard for him to feel safe. To not fear that something was going to happen. Joel loved running over the worst scenarios. Your broody, grumpy grape. You shifted in his embrace. Your eyes searched his tired ones. "Should we make a grand outing? So that everyone would think that we are going to fuck our night away?", you said casually, making Joel let out a laugh. His bold ray of sunshine. God, that smart mouth of yours drove Joel insane. "Depends on how loud you are willing to moan", you let out a gasp, shoving him slightly, as you got lost in Joel's smile. A rare sight for sore eyes.

Everyone was quick to label you as Joel's girl. It was in a way strange at first because no matter where you went, you were met with the same greeting, but then again, you couldn't blame them. Joel watched you like a hawk. Eyes rarely left you if you were in his sight. Always looking. Always watching. Even here, he was a man who was feared. Well, besides the fact that most females were ready to hook their arms around his neck. You wondered if he ever noticed how they drooled over him. You were hoping that he didn't because if Joel chose any of them over you… Not that you had a say, but your heart would be shattered.

"And then I said that I was done with the project", Ellie continued to chirp, "But I gave you guys credit, don't worry", you let out a laugh at her words. You three had lots of fun building that paper rocket ship. Ellie came home with an assignment to build her dream. Seeing the space was one of them. So you three sat on the living room floor for hours. Small talk lingers. The plate with cookies was nearly empty. "Did you give credit to Joel's back?", you turned to Ellie, and the smirk on her face was outrageous considering that she was still a child. "Got a special mention on the title page", Ellie said sheepishly, and you two fell into fits of laughter just as Joel stepped into the kitchen.

"What are we laughing about?", Joel moved straight to you, planting a gentle kiss on the side of your head. His usual way of greeting you. You closed your eyes at the sensation, savoring the feeling of his lips against your skin. "Honestly?", Ellie asked, and Joel nodded. "How I wrote a special appreciation poem for your back because you helped with the ship", Joel rolled his eyes at that. Ellie took great joy in making fun of his age. But Joel never really cared about it. As long as she was happy, so was he.

Joel noticed the jar in your hands and how your palms flexed as you tried to open it. Without a single word, Joel placed his hands over yours. Pressing ever so slightly as he turned the lid off. You bit your lip. That was another thing that Joel did. If it wasn't necessary, he never took the things you were trying to open away from your hands. He just offered additional strength with his hands. It was his way of making sure that you didn't feel worthless. Joel would notice your struggles; he always did. But he had learned to read your body language and to know when you needed his aid and when it was best to leave you to it alone.

You turned to face him, meeting his eyes with a silent thank you that he answered with yet another kiss to your temple. "Okay, you two are doing that cute shit again", Ellie's voice made you both turn her way. "Don't you look at me like that? Will I have to drag you two to the altar or are you going to do something about it yourself?", she blurted out, making your eyes grow big. "You get back to your homework, miss, 'cause if it's not done before dinner, you're not eating", Joel pointed a warning finger the girl's way, which she graciously met by sticking out her tongue.

A light blush crept up on your cheeks. Alter seemed way out of reach. Well, for now at least. You weren't even sure if you two were together. You assumed you were, but… You had never talked. It was a silent promise. As if you claimed one another without words. Leaving it to the actions. Joel held on to you like you were his lifeline most nights. Face buried in the crook of your neck. Arms pulling you as close to his chest as possible. If nightmares clouded his mind, you would pull him closer to yourself. Gently guiding him to lay down practically on top of you as you brushed your fingers through his salt-and-pepper. hair You loved them. It was almost embarrassing that sometimes you just twirled Joel's curls between your fingers with such admiration. You knew he never found himself beautiful, but in your eyes, he was the most handsome male you had ever laid your eyes on.

"Will you grab the plate, I…", you didn't even have to finish the sentence. Joel was already moving through the kitchen. "How was patrol?", "Nothing new, although the weather is getting better", you hummed at Joel's words. The sun was shining for most of the day today, and you could tell that everyone was in a much more cheerful mood. "How was the meeting with Becky?", Becky was a woman in her eighties. She had worked many years in the medical field, especially with post-trauma treatments. You visited her every other day, and she guided you through different exercises to rebuild the strength of your hands. "It was okay, but as you can see, I can barely hold the spoon," you said as you lifted your trembling head up for Joel to see, but he didn't find much amusement in that. He feared that you pushed yourself too much with this. Stepping closer, Joel took both of your hands into him before pressing them to his lips. "Please wash your hands before you pour my bowl; I don't want Joel's saliva in it", Ellie sassed from the other side of the room. "Ellie", you said with a chuckle, and Joel threw a towel her way, making you both fall into fits of laughter.

Jackson felt like a dream. Like a lucky coin. A four-petal clover. You name it. Yet Joel still couldn't settle his mind. Now more than ever, it felt so clustered. He watched you and Ellie laughing over dinner. The table he also sat at, but did he deserve to be here? Or were you two better on your own? Joel wasn't blind; he saw how people practically melted when you walked through the streets offering everyone a smile. You brought life to an already lively town. Contributing to help anywhere and everywhere. Seeing you shift from this constantly scared girl to a lovely young woman was a huge gift to Joel.

He wanted you to live. To experience happiness and joy. He wanted you to be carefree. To dance your nights away. To be twirled around the dance floor by different males and females. You deserve to live. Something Joel probably couldn't afford to be a part of. Moments when he saw younger males looking your way, talking amongst themselves as they looked you up and down made him both unimaginably angry and jealous. First of all, you weren't an object to be gawked at. You deserved a respectful partner. And second of all, Joel knew if he had met you earlier, when he was full of life, it would have been so different. He would have given you everything. He would be the one twirling you around the dance floor. He would have taken you on dates by the river. Played you different songs on his guitar. Now that side of him was dead. Buried by all the pain. Buried beside Sarah.

"Joel…", after feeling your hand on his, Joel quickly turned your way. Your brows were crushed down. "You haven't touched your food, hun", you said softly. Joel's eyes drifted to the plate in front of him. The tightness in his throat and chest increased. As the thoughts of being only a burden swirled through his brain. Why were you here? Were you simply scared? Scared to explore something more because he was here? Would Ellie be happier if you settled for someone younger? It sure would make a more normal-looking family. Joel quickly stood up, nearly knocking the chair over as he rose. "I'm not hungry; I'm going for a walk", he said coldly as he stepped out of the kitchen. You called his name a couple of times. Joel braced himself against the fence. Hand on the chest as he tried to take in at least a single gulp of air.

You waited for Joel to return almost all night, but he didn't show up. You had wondered if you should go and try to find him, but deep down you knew that your wandering down the street in the night would only add to whatever that was going on with him. You've got Ellie ready for school. Making extra scrambled eggs and scribbling a little note for Joel. You're not alone. You can count on me, it said. A tiny heart by the end of it. Now you could only hope that it wasn't something you had done.

You pupped to help out another elderly lady while you waited for Ellie to be done with her classes. She made the most delicious meat pies and pastries. The delicious smell followed you around the bakery all day. You did as much as your hand allowed you, for the rest compensating with your smile. Already thinking about how you were going to surprise Joel with a pie that you had made yourself. He was a sweet guy deep down. And it had been way too long since you all had a proper pie.

You slipped inside the school just as the last class was finishing. The sight of Ellie nearly leaning out of her chair as she followed every word that the teacher was saying was endearing. She needed this. Needed other kids. Needed to learn. Needed to feel normal. "Y/N, right?", you quickly turned to the side. "Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump", the guy, who wasn't that much older than you, said, rubbing the back of his neck. You've seen him around, but if you were being honest, you had no clue who he was. As if sensing this, the guy quickly said, "Ben, one of Ellie's teachers. We've met at the bar". You smiled at him, "Right, yes, sorry. A lot of new faces still". Your eyes drifted back to Ellie. For some reason, you felt uneasy in his presence.

"So am… You… I'm making such a fool of myself", Ben rambled on, quickly popping into what you assumed was a teacher's room. For a split second, you wondered if you should just walk away, but Ben walked out with a big bouquet of flowers you didn't even know the name of. You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "I was hoping that you would pop in today. Got you those", you knew that you needed to say something but you felt lost for words. No one had ever gotten you flowers and… Ben carefully placed the bouquet in your hands. "You just caught my eye, and I've been wanting to ask you out. I know this is super straightforward", you shook your head, "I… they are beautiful, thank you, but… I." A part of you was screaming that this was wrong. You wanted to tell him that you were with Joel. But were you with Joel? Your head felt like it was spinning, but you just didn't feel it. It didn't feel the same. Didn't feel like it did with Joel.

"Look… I'm sure you are a really sweet guy, but I'm in a… Well, I like someone else, and I just", your voice sounded so small. You hated that you weren't confident. Ben gave an awkward nod, "Right, the big guy. I should have guessed", "I'm sorry; I'm sure there's a sweet girl out there for you. Thank you for… well, for the flowers though. Unless you want to keep them". You pushed the bouquet towards him, but he only shook his head and said, "Keep them, and I hope we can still get to know each other. Like friends, of course", you smiled at him right as the door opened and kids spilled out of the classroom.

"So, wait, he just did like… Did he kiss you?", Ellie hadn't stopped talking ever since you left the building. To her, this was the most hilarious thing ever, while you still tried to process it all. "Of course not. I would have never let him do that", you said. "Do you reckon he fantasizes about you?", you glared at her quickly. Ellie only lifted her hands in defiance.

"A pie and flowers. Are we celebrating something?", you didn't even realize that you were standing in front of the cottage with Joel leaning against the open door. You opened your mouth, but Ellie beat you to it: "Ben got Y/N flowers; bet he is like in love with her", she said as she wiggled her eyebrows at Joel. You knew this was innocent. You knew she didn't understand what was going on between you two. So you couldn't blame her, but you wished she hadn't said it like that. Joel's jaw clenched. Anger washed over him. He turned away from you moving to the back patio.

Joel knew who Ben was. Most importantly, Joel saw the way Ben looked at you. That guy was a good bit younger than him. Broad shoulders, piercing eyes. Desire burned inside him. Ben wanted you and Joel could see it. Did you want him as well? "Joel, wait, Joel,", he heard your pleading voice as he rushed down the little stairs, moving to the backside garden. "Go back to your boyfriend", Joel snarled through gritted teeth. "Ben is just Ellie's teacher. I didn't even…", Joel turned to you quickly, "Who gives you flowers", "Well, maybe he's just being sweet", you knew that you both knew that that was bullshit. And honestly, now you wondered if downplaying it would only make it worse.

"Maybe he just likes you", Joel spat back, frustration dripping off him. "Do you seriously don't see it? That fuck had a big old crush on you ever since you came here". Those words, however, did take you by surprise because you didn't see it. You never acknowledged Ben's presence. You didn't care what Ben was doing. You never looked for it. "Well, I didn't see it, no", Joel gave you a look that clearly showed you that he didn't believe you. "Oh, come on. I've never had a man show me attention before you; how am I supposed to know?", you asked, raising your hand in frustration. Growling as Joel turned and started to walk again. "Joel, stop fucking walking or I'll throw the fucking flowers at you!", you shouted as your frustration laced through you. Joel stopped in his tracks.

"Do you seriously feel like he's my type?", you approached the man in front of you slowly, dropping the flowers to the side as you walked. "Joel", "I don't know", he muttered under his breath. He wasn't good at this thing. He wasn't good with his emotions. But the fear of losing you crippled him. "Well, my type is anything but that. I like my man mature like wine or cheese", you said, moving to cup Joel's cheeks. "Come on, turn the frown upside down", you encouraged him slowly, but Joel only shifted his eyes to you. Piercing through your soul.

"Listen to me, you stubborn hulk. This", you took a hold of his hand, pulling it up and pressing it over your heart, "Beats for you. I picked you a long time ago. And if you think some thirty-something dickhead can come in and swoop me away", you shook your head. "Yeah, have more faith in yourself, especially when all of Jackson's females have an orgasm when you walk by", you sassed. "No, they don't", Joel argued, but you only crooked your head to the side, raising an eyebrow.

"Did you mean it?", Joel asked, arms now sneaking to hold onto your hips, "That my heart is yours? With my whole life", you smiled up at him. Joel leaned in. A breath hitched in your throat as he erased the last bit of distance between you two and your lips met his. You felt like you had blacked out for a moment as all the fireworks started to explode from within you. You held on to Joel for dear life as he pressed you closer to his body. His other hand cupped your cheek. It was desperate. Needy. Long overdue, and you couldn't suppress the giggle that fell from your lips as you two finally parted. Hiding your face in Joel's chest.

You could feel how fast his own heart was beating. Smiling to yourself that it was you who had such an effect on him, "I love you", he whispered. Barely audible but more than enough for you to step on your tiptoes and kiss him again. "I'm in a daring mood to let the whole of Jackson know that I am yours", you mumbled after a while in Joel's embrace. "Pick your words carefully, baby girl,", Joel warned, but you only smirked back at him. Before pulling the devilish smile, "Want to fuck me against the electricity pole?", Joel let out a surprised laugh before shaking his head at you. Scooping you up in his arms quickly, making you let out a scream followed by fits of giggles as he carried you back into the cottage.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller x you #the last of us imagine #the last of us x reader #pedro pascal x reader

[orchidsangel]

PERFECT DUET (JASON TODD)

notes/cw ~ GN!reader, angst !!!, childhood friends to lovers set up, (1.7k wc)

You remember the day Red Hood came rolling into town, news stations spoke of a masked man, slinging guns and antagonizing Batman while simultaneously lowering Gotham City’s crime rates. He was a force to be reckoned with, his brutality leaving criminals and civilians both cowering in fear day in and day out. Men and women alike debated whether or not petty crimes were worth committing if it meant a potential run-in with Red; but soon enough, the city of Gotham, New Jersey, would realize that he didn’t waste his time with small-time shoplifters and carjackers. No, he had an agenda. An agenda that included the crime lords of Gotham and you.

Even though you had never and would never commit a crime, you constantly felt like you were being watched as if you were on a most wanted list. Months, you spent looking over your shoulder, wondering if you might have caught the eye of a crazy person, wondering if one day you’d come home to find security cameras installed in places where privacy was sacred. To you, this never coincided with the Red Hood's arrival in Gotham; and yet you did come home one day, but not to cameras, to Jason. Red helmet in hand, with a singular flower, and an apology on the tip of his tongue.

Yeah, he looked different. He was bigger, taller, and more muscular than when you’d last seen him. His face had matured, baby fat you used to pinch, replaced with hollow cheeks and a sharp jawline. He looked different, but you could tell without a doubt that it was him. The color of his eyes, albeit a little more green than you remembered, had the familiarity of a childhood stuffed animal; of an object that had meant something to you in a past life. You knew it was him, and yet he had died, and a part of you died with him. You had seen his cold, lifeless body in that velvet-lined coffin, traces of the boy you once loved under thick layers of waxy funeral makeup. He had died, and yet here he was, in front of you and holding a flower in place of an olive branch.

The following days felt like months, a reminder of the agonizingly slow aftermath of his death. You had learned throughout life how to compose yourself when your emotions were starting to get the best of you. This time was no different. Instead of a normal reaction like an onslaught of questions spilling from your mouth, breaking down into tears on the floor of your apartment, or even an awkward hug; you had given him a little more than a once over—just enough to take in his appearance—and then locked yourself in your room for the rest of the night. You could feel Jason's eyes burning a hole through the door, could swear he was on the other side watching and waiting for you to come back, to jump into his arms like you used to under the guise of friendship. But when you woke up the next morning he was gone, no trace of him being there to begin with, and you almost thought you had dreamed it. When you finally stepped outside the next morning, for the first time in ages, you didn’t feel you were being watched, and you knew then that it wasn’t a crazy person whose interest you’d piqued, it was Jason's.

Months passed before you saw him again. The disassociation had been getting worse by the minute since that night. You’d been living life on autopilot, a ghost of the person you’d grown into. Layers of armor built up after the night Alfred rang your home phone, gone. Leaving you raw and exposed to memories you’d thought better left in the past. You never wanted to forget him, but the agony that was growing without him by your side left your brain choosing self-preservation over anything else. You had chosen it then, on the day before junior year when you locked away every physical memento you had of him in a box and put it in the attic of your childhood home, and you’d chosen it again now when you pushed the recent events of his reentry into your life, to the back of your mind.

An unpredicted rainstorm vetoed your decision, leaving you stuck in some cafe in the diamond district. The combined smell of imported beans and high-end perfumes left you sick to your stomach; but not nearly as sick as when you locked eyes with Jason, sitting in the corner of the establishment, book in hand, but clearly not reading. You had been acutely aware of his presence the entire time; you couldn’t not be. It made the room spin, knowing what you knew about him in such a public place. It made you queasy and faint, like the entire world would soon turn black and you’d end up on the cold tiled floor waiting for someone to hold coffee beans under your nose in an attempt to wake you up. You almost made a run for it out the door; but the heavy sheets of water sliding down the glass windows, blurred the outside world into more of a watercolor painting than your reality, and you deluded yourself into thinking none of it was real, and anything said inside those four walls would cease to exist when the rain stopped.

A few steps taken towards him and you were ready to turn back around, but the clarity you felt, the fog that had incapacitated your brain for so long, was gone in that moment; and you knew if you stepped out into that rain, it would come right back. You remember his face when you sat down across from him, even after your moment of rejection, he still looked at you so fondly. “I always knew I’d see you again.” He had said with so much certainty. And you would come to find that all of the tears for him that you had held in would be shed anyway in the coming years.

Picking up where you left off proved to be impossible, and resuming a years-old friendship with a years-long break wasn’t something either of you could do. Not with both of your hearts tucked away with the other for so long. Not when you had spent years stealing glances at him in class when you were supposed to be working on labs and taking pencils from him from the opposite end to avoid touching his hand in fear that he’d feel the heat radiating off of you. Not when you were green with envy when he got his first girlfriend and rearranged his schedule to spend more time with her, leaving you feeling hopeless for a couple of months. Not when you practically jumped for joy when he came to you mopey and sad because she’d broken up with him to get with a star athlete, not knowing he was jumping from buildings and doing backflips in his spare time. Not when you’d taken him down to the pier, treating him to funnel cake and cotton candy with babysitting money you’d been saving up for a rainy day. And not when the two of you sat at the top of the Ferris wheel, feet dangling over Gotham and wind blowing in your face. His lovelorn eyes, bluer back then, peered over the bar that kept you from falling. He sat back with a sigh, his boyish features had sorrow written all over them. “I’d never hurt you like that.” is what you wanted to say that night, but instead all you could manage was an, “I’m sorry.” followed by, “Do you want to come over for dinner?” 

Not when a month later, your mom shook you awake in the middle of the night, calling your name with the same tone of voice she saved for when a close relative passed. Vision blurred and heartbeat quickening, “Is grandma okay?” you asked, rubbing sleep out of your bleary eyes. Pale, that's what her face was when she said, “No- yes. Grandma's fine.” she pursed her lips, trying to keep her composure but the lack of color in her complexion told you something bad had happened. “It’s…” You were alert by then, waiting patiently to hear whose funeral you’d be attending soon. “It’s Jason.” 

Lovesick. Sick with love. Sick with something. Whatever it was, it kept you from moving past the depression stage of grief for ages. Denial, anger, bargaining, they all came and went rather quickly; but the depression never left, not even when you had seemingly slipped into the acceptance stage. Your family watched you go back to your normal routines, continuing life the way it had been before. You got up in the morning, went to school, and came home exactly as you’d done when he was still alive. Of course, they didn’t see how you struggled to breathe when you saw his seat empty in homeroom, they didn’t see the way people stared at you walking the hallways alone for the first time in years, the boy typically beside you, now six feet under. They didn’t see how you cried yourself to sleep on his birthday that year, and how you subsequently cried yourself to sleep every year after that. No, they didn’t see any of it, and truthfully, they didn’t want to; you couldn’t blame them, not even you did. 

Lovesick. Sick with love. Sick with something. Sick with, “how long were you dead?” 

“Six months.”

Six years of grief for only six months of death. If you were still fifteen you would’ve jumped for joy, thrown a party, and invited your friends and families. You would’ve laughed yourself silly at how absurd it was that he was back with you so soon, how everything was normal again, and how this would just be a funny story you’d tell as an adult. In your early 20’s it was no longer so soon, it was no longer something to throw a party over, you wouldn’t invite friends or family, you wouldn’t even know how to explain any of it to them, and you certainly wouldn’t be laughing about it. All you could do was nod silently, taking the occasional sip from the cup of chamomile tea in your hands, trying your best to let him explain before anger got the best of you.

ro's first time writing angst, how do we feel ?? wrote this in the midst of a BAD case of writers block but fuck it we ball yk, inspired by perfect duet by ed sheeran and beyoncé but if you listen to it and wonder where the happy lovey dovey stuff is plz know i intend to write a pt 2 (key word, intend. i'm not great on follow ups), also if someone wants to give me a lesson a grammar and punctuation plz do bc it's kicking my ass !!

#divider by benkeibear #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd angst #jason todd fic #jason todd imagine #jason todd #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood angst #red hood fic #red hood imagine #jason todd i’ll love you forever

[burst-of-iridescent]

Hey does everyone remember when Aang physically hurt Katara via burning her due to his own negligence with fire because he didn't listen at all to her concerns? But all of Katara's concerns were her being worried for him getting hurt and not herself, and then he hurts her badly, this never gets addressed again in the show, but I remember this vividly.

i actually like this scene on its own.

aang burning katara is a good character building moment because it's a brutal reminder of his own capacity for destruction. he needs to understand that his reckless actions can have horrific repercussions in order to fully realize the weight of his responsibility as both a firebender and the avatar, and it makes the moment where he uses zhao's recklessness against him more impactful. it also sets up the "water = life, fire = death" dichotomy that's part of katara's arc on viewing the world in binaries, which will later be broken down in book 3.

but ultimately the incident is still of greater significance to aang, and he's the one to bring it up in the guru and western air temple episodes, telling both guru pathik and zuko about his guilt over burning katara and his refusal to firebend ever again. this experience is also what leads him to accept zuko as his firebending teacher, and then finally forgive himself when he learns the true meaning of firebending. for the most part, it's a well-sustained arc and one of the few narratives aang has that is actually brought to completion.

do i wish that katara and aang had actually talked about his actions beyond this episode? yes. do i wish the aftermath had been focused a little more on katara instead of showcasing the impact of her physical injuries mostly through aang's continued self-flagellation? yes. but as a one-off incident contained to a single episode, i don't mind it.

what i do mind, however, is that this is not the last time the show is going to use katara as a lynchpin for aang's character development.

in the book 2 premiere, katara is turned into a pawn to propel aang into the avatar state. in the guru, her imprisonment is the reason that aang chooses to go back to ba sing se instead of unlocking his chakras. that is three separate times now that katara has been damselled in order to facilitate key turning points in aang's narrative, but not once does the same apply in reverse. there is never a moment where aang is the only one put in danger solely to drive katara's arc, the way she is in his. the closest we get is katara bringing aang back to life, but even then his death is still the result of his own choices and more integral to his storyline than hers.

now, compare this to the final agni kai.

at first glance, katara being put in danger just to complete zuko's redemption looks like the same tired trope, and had the scene ended at his sacrifice, it would be. but crucially, it's katara who continues the fight. katara who defeats the scion of fire nation destruction at the height of her power. katara who saves zuko just as he saved her.

in proving herself a master waterbender powerful enough to defeat azula and save someone she loves - someone who sacrificed themselves for her - from fire nation aggression, katara brings her own arc full circle. it is in triumphing over azula by saving each other that zuko and katara become the people they were always meant to be, and so their individual arcs are brought to their narrative culmination through bookending the other. the final agni kai works where the kat.aang moments fall short because it is of equal significance to both zuko and katara's narratives.

obviously, this is not to say that it's bad for certain characters to exist just to drive another character's arc. it's inevitable that some will be written solely to fulfill that purpose because a story only has so much narrative space, and it usually can't - and shouldn't - be divided equally amongst every single character.

but if we're talking about two main characters who end up in a lifelong romantic relationship, and it's the female character being repeatedly damselled to drive the male character's storyline within an already imbalanced dynamic... perhaps it's time to rethink a few things.

#anti kataang #zutara

[futureman]

You take my self control

summary: your first act of brutality leaves you reeling, but you’d do it all over again if it meant saving joel’s life. in the aftermath, you realize you’ve started to crave that violence and it terrifies you. joel steps in to satisfy your craving.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, extremely graphic depictions of violence, dark themes, blood and injuries, dead clicker, angst, comfort, ptsd, reader struggles, undefined age gap, established relationship, language, smut, piv, rough sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, minor dom!joel, guided handjob, pet names

word count: 3.4k

a/n: whew, this one is a doozy. the original plan was to write something fluffy, but then i wrote this instead 🥲 based on moments from kill bill vol. 1 and sin city, and the title is from the song self control by laura branigan! please lmk if i missed anything in the warnings and i’ll add it asap. it’s a lot darker than my last fic, but i’ve always wanted to write this story, so i hope you enjoy! as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated 💕

You can’t see. You can’t hear anything at all. Numbness permeates your limbs, and your thoughts are a mishmash of gnashing teeth and nails, sharp and jagged like claws, and so, so much red.

There’s something warm and sticky on your face and hands. It’s up your nose, trickling into your open mouth, and it tastes like salt and iron. Blood…it must be blood. You hope it’s your own but, in the dark recesses of your mind, you know it’s someone else’s. It tastes all wrong, like the fact that you’re tasting it all means you’re alive and you really shouldn’t be.

He’s yelling, or at least you think it’s him. Sound returns to your ears all at once and it’s fucking loud.

Joel, stop, it hurts. 

Everything hurts so much now, and you feel it everywhere—scratches down your arms and legs, your heart slamming an angry beat against your temples.

Fuck, you’re probably bit. Joel sounds frantic and terrified, but you don’t know why. There are massive gaps in your memory and you can’t remember how you got here, knees heavy on the ground, your thighs bracketing the sides of a dead clicker. 

A woman—you think it used to be a woman. It’s hard to tell after the carnage. The fragments of bone and wet chunks of flesh and fungus where her head should be tell a different story now. You desperately wish your sight hadn’t returned at all, but it’s too late and you can’t unsee it. You can’t unsee her.

The muscles in your arms and hands burn something vicious, and when they give out, something hard clangs to the ground. A metal pipe. 

Joel calls out to you again, and he sounds closer this time.

“...go…have to go now…can’t…here…” 

Strong hands tug on your arm and pull you to your feet, and suddenly you’re running. Joel is all but dragging you out of what looks like the living room of a modern, suburban home, and you do your best not to trip on tipped-over furniture. 

You look back over your shoulder and the body is still lying there, lifeless. You’re not sure why you thought it would be chasing you, hungry mouth snapping at your throat; it’s dead. Because you killed it.

You’re exhausted and your legs are sore, but when you start to slow down, Joel’s hand tightens around yours and tugs harder.

“We have to go, baby, we can’t stay here.” Ah, that’s what he was saying before. “I know it hurts, but you gotta keep goin’. Just a little longer, you gotta keep it up for a little bit longer.” He should be out of breath by now, but he’s running on fear and adrenaline, and you let it fuel you, too.

When you make it outside, the sky is a clear, cloudless blue above you and the sun is brighter than you’ve ever seen it. It makes your skin itch, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the dirt and dried blood matting your hair and caked under your fingernails.

Instinctively, your hand rises to shield your eyes. It’s effective enough that you’re able to take in your surroundings as they fly by and, while they’re familiar, you still can’t remember what you were doing here in the first place.

“Joel, I’m…I-I’m—I can’t. I can’t run anymore, p-please—,” you whimper, chest heaving with exertion. House, driveway, lawn—they repeat over and over and over again. They’re starting to blur together, and your tunneling vision worsens until darkness consumes you. “...Joel…”

And then everything goes black.

You’re…surrounded. By something that feels soft and warm and solid against your aching skin, and it moves steadily against you, rising and falling. Your head tilts to the side and it’s Joel breathing into you, his head at home in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped loosely around you. 

You nuzzle your nose into his graying hair, pressing a kiss there, and a sharp intake of breath follows as he blinks awake blearily.

“Hey, baby,” you murmur. He hums something deep and unintelligible in response, tilting his head back to mouth wetly at the base of your throat. 

You let out a sigh of relief. If Joel’s in bed with you like this, it means you’re not infected. Hurt and in pain, yes, but you’re both alive and that’s all that matters. You saved his life out there and you’d do it all over again, even at the cost of your own.

Your memories are returning quickly now, like waves violently crashing to shore after a storm, and the images are gruesome. What you did to protect Joel was barbaric, but you acted on impulse, out of rage and desperation.

The clicker came out of nowhere. You were searching an abandoned house for supplies when it lunged out of a closet, tackling Joel to the ground. The metal pipe in his hand clattered to the ground at your feet and you picked it up as quickly as it fell.

Then, something inside you snapped and you reacted. It was dead after the second or third blow to the head, but you kept going anyway, angry at it for almost stealing Joel away and destabilized by the fear of losing him. 

Blood sprayed from every artery you severed and after each new crack in its skull, and it showered down like rain, thick and warm against your skin. It made you feel powerful, like you were in control for the first time in your life. You enjoyed it.

Only when you realized the pipe was connecting with wet, dented pieces of floorboard instead of flesh did you finally stop.

You remember everything now.

“I’m not sorry,” you tell him, staring vacantly at the popcorn ceiling of your bedroom. He sighs, and you think he’s about to start lecturing you. You don’t want to hear it. You barely want to talk about it at all. “You could’ve died, Joel. If you think for one second I’d ever let that happen, you’re out of your mind.”

He squeezes you a little tighter, mindful of your injuries, but doesn’t respond. Silence blankets you for a moment, and then it breaks once he realizes you’re trembling and your eyes and cheeks are wet with tears.

You’re not sure when you started crying, but you can’t seem to stop, and the frustration in his eyes lessens with each soft hiccup that escapes your lips.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, thumbing away the tears as they fall. He leaves his hand there, gently cupping your cheek, and you lean into his touch. You can feel the fight leaving his body; it’s just not worth it anymore, not after everything you’ve been through. Sighing, he drops his head to rest on your collarbone. “There’s nothin’ to be sorry for. I shoulda been payin’ more attention, been more cautious. Then, you wouldn’t have had to…you wouldn’t be—” He’s fumbling his words. Joel’s never been good at conversations like these, but he’s trying. “...I’m tryna say it’s not your fault. You did what you had to.”

It’s not his fault, either. In the aftermath of everything, no one’s to blame, but it doesn’t help how much it still hurts. How broken you feel.

“Joel, I—,” the tears flow freely and you struggle to suppress a sob. “I’m a monster. You saw what I did…I just—I couldn’t stop. I know she wasn’t a person anymore, I know that, but…b-but I think I liked it. What does that say about me; what does that make me?” You’re spiraling now. He shifts up the bed to hold you properly and rocks you against his chest for a while, like he’s soothing a child. 

“It makes you human,” he murmurs into your hair, running his hands up and down your sides. Your eyes flutter closed as you focus on the feeling of his warm, calloused fingers on your skin.

“I’m scared, Joel,” you whisper. “Whatever that was, it feels like it’s a part of me now—like…I’ll be fighting it forever.” His eyes darken, even as he kisses the side of your head gently once, then twice. “I close my eyes and she’s there. I can hear her, feel her. I…I feel like I’m losing my mind.” 

That fucking neighborhood. Why the fuck were you even in that neighborhood? There wasn’t even anything useful in any of those houses. You try to tell yourself that all of it could’ve been avoided, if you had just decided to head straight back to Jackson, but it’s a fantasy. In this world, it was inevitable. 

Joel still hasn’t answered you. Instead, he presses his lips to your throat again, this time with teeth, and sucks hard where your neck meets your shoulder. You should be wondering why he’s not responding when you’re so clearly distraught, but the only thing you can think about is the delicious pain blooming under your skin. When he finally speaks, it’s a low hum against the fresh bruise.

“I never wanted this for ya,” he nips at you sharply, his beard dragging roughly against your sensitive skin, and you gasp, burying your fingers in his hair and tugging. He groans, hips stuttering into your thigh, and the need to feel him bare and heavy on top of you is overwhelming. “I tried to protect ya—wanted to save you from this. All of it. But I failed ya.” There’s anger in his voice now, and it feels violent. He’s aggressive in the way he touches you, and though you know he’d never purposely hurt you, you think you want him to. “This world takes and takes and takes, and we’re forced to adapt,” he all but growls. “You’re no more a monster than anyone else.”

Rationally, you know it’s true. The bloodlust you feel—you’ve seen it before, in the eyes of raiders you’ve come across on the outside and in the hungry gaze of infected, all of them desperate to tear into you, to take what they want. Looking into Joel’s eyes now, you see it there, too.

The room feels hotter, somehow, like his body heat suddenly spiked, and it draws you in like a moth to a flame. You press your hand into the soft skin of his stomach and it burns like molten lava, begging you to play with fire. 

He snatches your hand from where it’s splayed beneath his shirt and drags it under the waistband of his sweatpants to cup his hardening cock, and you suck in a harsh breath through your teeth. Fuuuuuck. You’re not in charge here, you realize, not now.

“Tonight, I want you to give in to me, alright? You let me take control. ‘m gonna fix it,” he grits out. “Gonna fix everythin’, just need you to trust me,” and you do. You’ll let yourself go, because even though that dark, horrible part of you doesn’t want to submit to him, your body clearly does. It’s a power struggle you hope you lose.

His hand doesn’t leave yours once it’s wrapped around him and, instead, leads your fingers to grip him tightly as he sets a strong, steady pace. You give him a rough squeeze, and he throbs, leaking a bead of precum onto your fingers that you thumb over his head, digging your nail into the slit.

Joel chokes out a moan, hand releasing yours to bury itself in your hair, and begins to fuck your fist in earnest, each thrust punctuated with a sharp exhale. It’s like gripping steel, hard and smooth and searing.

Or a metal pipe. Fucking hell, he feels so much like that fucking metal pipe and you clench down around nothing, your cunt soaked and devastatingly empty. More precum leaks from the tip, and he’s so wet now, your palm sliding easily up his cock and back down to squeeze the base. 

It makes you see red—viscous, red blood coating your fingers, and you release him, pulling your hand away to suck it off each one. It’s not real. Of course, it’s not real. The creamy liquid on your fingers tastes like Joel, bitter and heady, but still, you can’t get the thought of his blood in your mouth out of your head now.

God, that’s so fucked up. You must look half crazed right now, pupils blown wide as you look up at him through your lashes,  each glistening finger pulling from your mouth with a pop.  But he looks angry at what he sees in your eyes, and suddenly both of his hands are on your hips and he’s slamming you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress with his entire weight. You’re not following his rules.

“Baby…baby,” he moans, finally brushing his lips against yours, soft and wet, and licking a line across the roof of your mouth as he grinds into your aching pussy. “Stop fightin’ me. Just…focus on me, right here. Lemme make you feel good.” You whine pathetically into his mouth as he runs his hands up your sides, fingers catching on your shirt and dragging up until his thumbs brush the underside of your tits. 

Lifting your shirt up just enough to expose your pebbling nipples, he leans back on his heels and looks down at you hungrily, like he wants to devour you whole. And fuck, you need him to. But you also want to take and take and take, itching for the fight. 

His head lolls to the side as he takes you in. “Fuck, baby…,” he mumbles, as he drops a hand to palm himself. “You’re so goddamn beautiful like this. So good for me, my—” He pauses to squeeze his cock, and groans out, “...my brave, strong girl.” 

There’s a massive wet patch on the front of his sweatpants from where you soaked him through your underwear, and his eyes roll back when he feels it, warm and sticky against his fingertips. Your mouth waters and you’re starting to feel a little desperate now that he’s stopped touching you. You don’t even notice the whine that escapes your lips as he continues to jerk himself off through the fabric.

“What, brave girl?” he coos, biting back a growl at the warring emotions on your pretty features. He reaches forward to thumb a nipple, his touch rough and calloused. “I promised I’d make ya feel good, didn’t I?” He tweaks it and you keen, hips canting upward in search of friction. “Feels that good, huh?” he rasps, smug at how your body responds to him.

A strong hand forces your hips back onto the bed, trapping you against the mattress, and you feel a sudden, intense urge to slap him. Heat blooms in your lower belly and you feel yourself gush at the thought. “Joel…fuck, just fucking touch me. Please.” 

The sides of his mouth quirk down and he nods, like he’s thinking it over. Asshole. You know you’re still breaking his rules but, by now, you’re too horny to care. You don’t think sex with Joel has ever been like this, nor do you think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life. Christ, if he doesn’t fuck you soon—

You lurch forward to tug at his pants in a moment of weakness, but he’s quicker than you and snatches your wrists, pinning them above your head. The scratches on your arms are still raw and angry, and the skin pulls painfully as he tightens his hold. It’s another reminder of earlier today, and you muster up all of the strength in your body to rip your arms out of his grip, but he shoves you down by your shoulders. 

“If you keep that up, I’m not gonna give you this,” he warns you, flipping the waistband of his pants down just enough to free his cock, thick and leaking all over itself. Your thighs squeeze together at the sight of it, and you abruptly feel remorseful, ready to beg for it if you have to.

Fuck, he’s powerful. And fuck, his tactic is working. The power struggle you hoped you’d lose—you’re pretty sure you just lost. You can tell the moment Joel recognizes acceptance on your face and, immediately, you’re being yanked onto your hands and knees, ass in the air and face smushed on one side against the mattress. He’s rewarding you.

It’s like his hands are laser-focused and, yet, still everywhere all at once. 

“Brave girl,” he murmurs, mouthing a wet trail down your spine. “That’s my girl—g-good, good girl.” He’s already starting to stutter, his voice breathless and shaky. Joel gets mouthy when he’s pussy-drunk, like he just can’t help but verbalize every filthy, incoherent thought when he’s inside you.

You clench in anticipation as he grinds his painfully hard cock into your ass, precum soaking into your underwear and mixing with your own slick. He slides the offending fabric halfway down your thighs and then stops, and you can feel his breath, hot and humid, against your cunt as he spreads your legs for better access. 

He wastes no time licking a wide stripe up your sopping core before swirling his tongue against your clit and sucking hard. It punches a moan out of your chest and your mind goes blank as you grind back into his mouth. The sound of skin slapping roughly against skin reaches your ears and you realize he’s jerking himself off as he devours you, groaning raggedly as he fucks into you with his tongue. 

What the fuck, you’re so fucking close already. Frantic, you reach out to Joel behind you, managing to tug a fistful of his hair. “J-Joel…ngh, fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you whine pathetically, drooling onto the sheets. “I can’t…I— please, ‘m so empty. Don’t make me c-cum empty, Joel.” 

It happens so fast. Your entire body is thrown forward with the weight of him, as he sheathes himself in your heat to the hilt in one violently powerful thrust, and oh, oh fuck, you’ll never get used to how big Joel is. The stretch is almost painful and you bear down on him, not expecting the sudden intrusion.

“Baby…girl. Squeezin’ me so tight, so f-fucking tight,” he moans helplessly, already starting to babble as he fucks into you. “Fuck, your pussy gets s-so tight when you’re…,” he reaches around to rub circles into your clit and you start to pulse around him, “about—ngh, to cum.” 

With his other hand, he grips the back of your neck, squeezing just enough to remind you who’s in control; of your pleasure, of your safety. The new angle drives his cock directly into that soft, spongy spot inside you that has your jaw dropping, staccatoed moans punched out of your lungs with each thrust. 

“‘m gonna cum. Fuuck, fuck, ‘m cumming…Joel, ‘m—,” your pussy convulses hard, and you soak his cock as you cum with a hoarse shout. Joel growls over your shoulder, slamming into you over and over, your pussy squelching loud and wet.

Your arms and legs give out, and Joel grips your hips with both hands, hovering above your ass as he fucks into you, thrusts harder and more frantic. He’s so close, the telltale signs obvious to you, now. 

He barely has time to choke out a panicked, “where?” and hear you moan, “on my face,” before he’s thrusting once, twice, and pulling out, rolling you over and bracketing your head with his thighs. You rub your hands up and down them as he jerks himself off above you. For a moment, he gazes down at you in wonder, like maybe you’re a beautiful figment of his imagination, and then he’s cumming hard.

Joel sounds wrecked, his groan long and drawn out, as his cock spurts thick ropes across your lips and tongue, dribbling down your chin and onto your chest. Shifting down your body, he kisses you deeply, licking into your mouth and tasting himself on your tongue. He pulls away, cradling your face in his hands.

“I told you I’d fix it.”

And he did. He put your broken pieces back together and overwrote your bad memories. 

Now, all you see, all you can hear is Joel. Your thoughts are a mishmash of searing hot skin, his lips, soft and wet against yours, and mind-numbing pleasure.

Your skin is still warm and sticky with his release, and it tastes so undeniably like him. Woody and salty, and right.

It’s quiet, now—peaceful—and everything doesn’t hurt so much anymore. 

Strong arms pull you close and you sigh, tired and relieved, into his embrace. Joel holds you tighter as you drift off to sleep, murmuring something you don’t quite catch against your cheek, and you feel safe. 

From the monsters beyond the walls and the one in the mirror.

thanks for reading! 💕

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

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 31: Warmth

You cope with the aftermath of patrol. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-30 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Fall out from canon-typical violence. Plot points from TLOU2. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 8k

A/N: Hi y'all. This does have a continuation of the spoilers from TLOU2. Again, I'm so sorry for not warning about these further in advance. If you have any questions, feel free to shoot me a DM (or you can always yell in the comments or in my asks. I don't delete things if they're not the kindest so I'll leave whatever you want to send my way up, I totally get it.) Thanks for being here ❤️

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

It shouldn’t be this hard to stay conscious when the world is ending. 

You’d had the thought before, in the early days of the outbreak. When you were trying to find someplace safe and had no idea where to start, when you were just riding and riding and hoping you’d be alive to see the next morning. 

But now was different. It wasn’t your life, it was Joel’s. His was so much more important than your own and the fear of losing him was keeping you awake. You’d nod off for a second - you thought, anyway - only to jerk back awake when your grip on his wrist slipped and his pulse wasn’t a constant - if weak - drumbeat below your fingers. 

You weren’t quite sure how long you’d been on the floor with him. Things were fuzzy. You’d lost a lot of blood, you were familiar with that sensation now, you could identify it even as your mind was foggy. You still weren’t entirely sure what had happened. You remembered Joel screaming - you didn’t think you’d ever forget that horrific sound - and running to find him. You remembered watching as that girl swung the golf club down on his body. It wasn’t until you were already in the room, fighting for control of your gun with someone who looked like he was about Ellie’s age that you realized this was probably a mistake. You’d charged in without a plan to get backup, you were hugely outnumbered, no one knew where the fuck you were. You should have at least gone back for your horse, you were pretty sure she could have fit down here and you could have used sheer size and weight to clear the room. 

But they were killing him. That’s all that could force that sound from someone, life and death, and you couldn’t risk it. If there was a chance, even a tiny one, that you could save him, you were going to take it. Even if it killed you, you were going to take it. 

The threat was gone now - or you hoped it was, at least. Gatling was still on guard. You could feel how tense she was behind you, her body engaged and ready to strike. If they came back armed to the teeth before help arrived, though, you’d be finished. 

Joel’s wrist, the one you’d been holding, relaxed some and you forced yourself to sit up. 

“Joel?” You managed, adjusting your hold on him. His whole arm was limp now. Your heart beat faster. You released his wrist and pressed your fingers into his neck, where you liked to kiss him and feel the vital thrum of his pulse through his skin. It was faint but it was there. You adjusted yourself, propping yourself up on your elbow as your cut side screamed in pain, and you ran your fingers through his hair. You took comfort in the fact that you still could do that. While the rest of his body had been brutalized, Joel’s head was intact outside of where it looked like someone had landed a punch on his cheek near his eye, a bruise blossoming on his skin but no blood shed. It was like the girl had been saving his head for last, like she was trying to draw it out, make sure he was alive and awake while she hurt him. It turned your stomach. 

“You’re OK Joel,” you held face gently in your hand. “Gonna get you out of here, get you back to Ellie. You’re OK.” 

You stayed propped up like that for a while, just talking to him and running your fingers gently through his hair and feeling his breath on your skin until you were too weak to hold yourself up anymore. You collapsed alongside him then, trying to shield his body with yours as much as you could in case the people came back. 

Just a little sleep. That’s all. That’s what you needed, just enough rest to be able to think straight. Then you could figure out how to get Tommy and Joel back to Jackson. 

“Gatling,” you managed before you passed out. “Guard.” 

You woke up to snarling. 

Your head was swimming and you could feel the strength of the dog at your side, her body pressed back against you as she growled and barked. You tried to get your bearings as quickly as you could, fumbling for the rifles you’d brought to Joel’s side. 

“Bambi!” You recognized Ellie’s voice. “Bambi, call off Gatling, she won’t listen to me, we can’t get close enough…” 

“Gatling,” you gritted your teeth, your cut side burning and pulling as you tried to sit up. “Down.” 

You felt her relax and she gave a little whine before curling up against you and giving you a lick. You managed to prop yourself up on your uninjured side, eyes fighting to focus as Ellie, Jesse, Julie and Gene came in. Ellie ran for Joel, Gatling giving a little whine as she tracked her with her eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” Gene said as he got a good look at Joel. 

“He’s alive,” Ellie said, her voice cracking. “I thought…” 

“I know,” you adjusted so you could see him, check on his bandages. Your side protested, damaged skin pulling painfully. “But we have to get him to the doctor, we have to move him now…” 

“I don’t know that we can,” Gene knelt next to Ellie, looking Joel up and down. 

You frowned. 

“The fuck do you mean you don’t know.” 

“I mean,” he said gently. “We need to move quick, already been here too long, and we only have so many hands. I don’t know that he can make it back to Jackson and we should focus on…” 

“Fuck you,” your teeth were clenched, sweat starting at your temples from the strain of sitting upright. “We are not just gonna leave him out here…” 

“If we can save you and Tommy?” Gene said. “Then that’s what we should do. That’s what he’d want.” 

“Fuck you!” Ellie looked murderous. “Bambi’s right…” 

“C’mon,” Julie’s hands gently enveloped your shoulders. “Let’s try to get you up…” 

“I’m not going!” You wrenched yourself out of her grip and cried out in pain, a gush of blood coming from the wound at your side. “I’m not going without him, I’m not leaving him here!” 

Julie’s hands were on you again but you pulled yourself free, forcing yourself to your knees. 

“You’re gonna get yourself hurt,” Gene warned, moving for you, too, but you ignored him. 

“Gatling!” You managed through clenched teeth. Her head sprang up. “Guard!” 

She jumped to her feet and jumped between you and Gene. 

“Bambi,” he said cautiously, hands up, as your dog snapped her jaws and snarled at him. 

“I’m not going anywhere without him,” you were panting for breath. “You can’t make me, not with her like this. She’ll kill you and I’ll fuckin’ let her. Take him. Now.” 

Gene looked back at Jesse, who was helping Tommy sit up. He just shrugged. Gene looked back to you. 

“Fine,” he said. “But you gotta give us some space to work, can’t move him with her like this…” 

You struggled to your feet, using Julie’s shoulder as leverage, and you limped to the wall, all but collapsing against it. Gatling stayed on you, staring Gene down, seeming to trust Julie as you leaned against her. 

“She’s guardin’ me,” you said. “Won’t bother you over there. Move him. Do it.” 

You watched as Gene, Jesse and Ellie got Joel off the floor and out of the room. There was a perverse spot on the ground where his body had been, his blood pooled there. There was so much of it, so much it didn’t seem like there would be any left inside of him. You remembered, suddenly, Justin on the night of the outbreak. How you’d tried to put his blood back inside of him in the hopes that it would save him. How could you save the man you loved if all his blood was on the floor? 

“He’s alive?” Tommy asked from his place propped against the wall. There was a streak of blood down his face. 

“He’s alive,” you said. He closed his eyes and nodded, leaning his head against the wall. 

“Thank you,” he said, quietly enough that you could barely hear him. “I can’t…” 

“It’s OK,” you said. “We’ll get him back. He’ll be OK. He will.” 

You weren’t sure you believed it.

Jesse came back down and helped Tommy up before stopping near the door, keeping a safe distance from you and Gatling. 

“We got him on a horse,” he said. “We gotta move.” 

You gave him a nod and watched him get Tommy started on the stairs before you looked down at Gatling, her body drawn tight, ready to spring into action. 

“Gatling. Heel.” 

She looked up at you, muscle relaxing, and licked her lips. 

“You’re a good girl,” you said, trying to imbue as much praise into your voice as you could manage. “You did real good.” 

She wagged a little uncertainly and watched, waiting to follow you. Julie looped your arm around her shoulders while hers slipped around your waist and she helped you toward the stairs, taking it slow. You had to stop and rest once, not able to breathe, the warm gush of your blood when you pulled the air down low in your lungs making your head spin. 

“Think you can make it?” Julie asked, concerned. 

You nodded, wincing. 

“I’ll make it,” you said. “I know, we have to move.” 

She held you a little tighter and the cold air burned your lungs when you made it outside. Joel was draped over Ares, Gene mounted up behind him. Tommy was on his own horse, blood still on his face as he stared blankly at Joel’s limp body. 

“You can ride with me,” Julie said but you shook your head. You weren’t about to not be in control of a horse, not in this situation. You needed to have the power if something went wrong. You couldn’t trust anyone else to make Joel a priority if there were infected or raiders or, worst of all, the people who had attacked him to begin with. You needed to be able to move to protect him. 

“I’m fine,” you said through gritted teeth, even though you knew getting on Renaissance was going to hurt something fierce. “Don’t need to be slowin’ us down any more by putting two of us on a horse.” 

She went to protest but you pulled away from her and swallowed the sounds of your pain as you went to Renaissance and pulled yourself onto her. You called Gatling onto your saddle, too, and she settled there, still on high alert. You guided the horse to be alongside Gene and Joel and stared Gene down, almost daring him to fight you on it. 

“I want to get everyone back,” he said gently. “But if it’s not everyone, I want as many as I can get.” 

“Then let’s go,” you bit out. 

The ride back to Jackson felt long, longer than it really was, you were sure. Every step Renaissance made was painful. It was hard to stay conscious when you’d lost so much blood and the pain was blinding. You were terrified that something was going to happen, that someone was going to pick now to attack people from Jackson and that you wouldn’t be strong enough to save Joel. The thought was constant and overbearing, hollowing out your chest and making your stomach clench. 

By the time the walls of the city were in view, you were barely able to stay on your horse. Dina had ridden ahead to tell the doctors and the council what was happening and you were thankful for it as your head spun and vision grew spotty as you neared the gates. You were too out of it to notice that someone was there to catch you as your strength started to give out.

“Woah there!” You vaguely recognized Ryan, a guard you regularly saw when he went out on patrol, stomach turning as he lowered you to the snow. “Hey Doc! Got one here!” 

“No,” you shook your head, words starting to slur. The blood on your clothes was cold against your skin. “M’fine… Joel, need to help Joel…” 

“They’re getting him,” he said, looking down at you. He had a nice face, you thought. Pleasant and calming. “You got him back here, it’s OK. We’ll get you taken care of, it’s alright…” 

“Joel,” you closed your eyes. At least things were warmer here. It hurt less. “Need… Joel…” 

“We’ve got him,” Ryan said. His voice sounded so far away. “It’s alright, we’ve got him.” 

You barely remembered nodding before you passed out. 

You were warmer when you woke up. 

Sound came first. It took a moment before you could open your eyes but you could hear the muffled sounds of bickering not far away. For half a moment, you thought you were in Joel’s bed. That he and Ellie were in a tiff just outside his bedroom door, going back and forth about some harebrained scheme that one of them had latched onto. You thought about pressing your face into the pillow and trying to go back to sleep, hoping that Joel would come in once one of them wore the other down. He did that sometimes when he woke up before you, bringing you a cup of tea and setting it on the nightstand before wrapping around you, pulling you into his broad chest and burying his face in your hair or your neck, kissing you and breathing you in until you stirred in his arms. 

And then you remembered. Waking up next to Joel. Going on Patrol. The storm. The blood. 

You tried to sit up before your eyes were open, side pulling and head spinning. 

“Hey guys, she’s waking up!” 

Your eyes had never been heavier but you forced them open anyway, already reaching and groping to figure out where you’d ended up. 

The room was bright, the bed soft. It was the third time you’d managed to dodge death and awoken, confused and lightheaded, in Jackson’s clinic. The other bed was empty.  

“Joel,” you started trying to get up but two small hands held you in bed and you frowned, ready to fight whoever was holding you back, but it was Savvy, her eyebrows drawn tightly together, curls springing in every direction. 

“Mom, you have to be calm, you’ll rip your stitches…” 

She was here. She was with you, willing to talk to you, touch you. The sound of her voice, all gentle concern, made your chest tighten. You just looked at her for a moment, seeking out the minute changes in her since you’d gotten a chance to see her - really see her - last. You thought she might be having her last growth spurt. She looked a little longer, her face a little thinner. There was a scratch on her cheek that you wanted to kiss like you did when she was little. There were tears in her eyes. 

“Savvy…” 

“I was so scared,” her voice cracked. “I thought you might be dead, I thought…” 

“Oh honey,” you pulled her against you and held her to your chest, one arm looping around her waist, the other hand cradling her head to you, the wet of her tears on your neck. You kissed her temple and tried to keep the tears that were starting to cling to your eyelashes from falling. “It’s OK, you’re alright, I’ve got you. Don’t have to be scared, you’re OK.” 

“I’ve never seen you like that,” she sniffed from her place against your skin. “You’re always so strong, you’re never hurt, not like that…” 

“I know,” you said softly, rocking her gently. “I’m sorry, Honey, I wish you hadn’t seen that. I promise, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you never see it again and we can talk all about it but baby, I need to know where Joel is. Is he here? Is he OK? Is he alive?” 

She sniffed and started to pull back from you as the door opened, Ellie, Tommy, Maria and Dr. Livingston coming in. They moved slowly, cautiously. Like they were worried you would startle if they behaved normally. Tommy looked washed out, Ellie exhausted, both with grim looks on their faces. Your arms went limp and Savvy sat back from you, looking between you and them. 

“No,” you shook your head, a lump growing in your throat. “No, no, you’re wrong, he’s not…” 

“He’s alive,” Dr. Livingston said gently. “Barely. But you got him here just in time, it was very very close while we worked on him…” 

“Where is he,” you tried to get up again but Savvy held you down. “I need to see him, just for a second, please…” 

“He’s still unconscious,” Dr. Livingston continued. 

You frowned, looking between everyone. 

“That’s bad,” you said, reading their expressions. “Why… How long has it been?”

“We’ve been back about two and a half days,” Tommy said, his arms crossed over his chest. 

You nodded slowly. That made sense to you.

“He was hurt bad,” you said, looking between them again. “He lost a lot of blood…” 

“He did,” Dr. Livingston said. “But… well, we’d normally expect to see more from him by now. He’s breathing on his own - we don’t have the facilities to keep him alive if he can’t - but that’s the best we can really say for him. He’s… he’s unresponsive.” 

You processed what she said for a moment.

“You’re sure?” 

She nodded, her mouth a thin line. 

“Are you…” You had to close your eyes and focus for a second. None of this came easy or naturally. It was utterly unnatural, thinking of Joel in that way. He was so strong, so vital. He couldn’t just stop being like that. He couldn’t just fade away into nothing like that. “Are you saying he might not wake up?” 

“The longer he’s like this, the more likely it becomes,” Dr. Livingston said. 

“But he’s still alive,” you said, looking back toward Ellie and Tommy again, looking for that reassurance that you weren’t crazy. They knew him, they knew that he wouldn’t just disappear from his body like that. “He’s still breathing.” 

“He’s alive,” she said. “But he might be brain dead, we have no way of knowing right now, no way of scanning for brain function like we did before… I’m so sorry, but you have to consider the possibility that…” 

“Take me to see him,” you cut her off. She looked at Maria, worry in her eyes, like she thought you might be unstable. “Please.” 

Dr. Livingston sighed. 

“You’ve got a fair few fresh stitches and you’re still down plenty of blood yourself. We’ll have to take it slow.” 

Ellie and Savvy helped you stand up and you could feel the wounds on your leg and stomach protesting the movement. For a moment, you thought you might be able to count the number of stitches in your skin because the way it pulled and strained. You hissed and clutched the girls’ hands, squeezing their fingers so hard that you could only hope it didn’t hurt them. 

They helped you across a short hallway to a room that was almost identical to the one you’d been in, just with one fewer bed, giving people more room to work. Joel was there, flat on his back, his arms down straight at his sides over the top of the blanket. But he looked strange, unnatural. 

It took you a moment to recognized the part of it that was wrong. His chest rose and fell, the worst of his injuries hidden by the quilt. He looked like he was sleeping. But it was off. He never slept like that, straight as a board with his arms at his sides in that way. It wasn’t like him, it wasn’t the way his body arranged itself when he was relaxed. Even when he wasn’t curled around you, he slept on his side or, if he was on his back, his hands were folded and resting where his chest met his stomach. He napped on the couch that way sometimes, when he was sleeping lightly, waiting for you. You could come in and press a kiss to his forehead and he would open one eye and cock a smile at you, just big enough that his cheek would dimple. 

But if your lips touched him now, you knew he’d be still. He wouldn’t look at you like you made him happy just by existing. His cheek wouldn’t dimple. 

You made your way to a chair near the head of the bed and lowered yourself into it slowly. His skin was pale, his face totally lax in a way that wasn’t peaceful and was, instead, like an echo. 

“Oh God,” you breathed, one hand going to your lips. 

“We’re doing everything we can,” Dr. Livingston said gently. “We have ways to get him fluids and nutrients but… it’s nothing long term. We’ll just have to hope he makes a turn for the better.”

You nodded, not able to stop looking at him. His body was so empty, so unlike him. 

“Can I stay with him?” You asked quietly. You weren’t sure when you’d started crying but you were. 

“Sure,” she said. “For now. But you need rest…” 

You just nodded. You’d fight that battle when the time came. 

The doctor left you with the girls, Tommy and Maria. Joel’s family and yours. All the people you had in the world in this one, small room. 

“I was going to go home and get changed, take a nap…” Ellie said quietly. “Can I bring you something?” 

“One of his shirts?” You asked. 

“Sure,” she said. You heard the door open and she paused. “You did everything you could, Bambi. We all did.” 

You nodded, not willing to argue with her. 

“I think Tommy and I will get out of here for a bit, too,” Maria said. “Give you some time. We’ll be back in a few hours unless I can actually get my husband to get some real sleep…” 

“He wouldn’t be sleepin’ if it were me,” Tommy said, voice sharper than you were used to hearing. 

Maria sighed. 

“Come on, honey,” she said. “You need rest, too.” 

The room was quiet for a moment, so quiet you could hear the sound of Joel’s shallow breaths. You wanted to put your head on his chest and listen to the life inside him, reassure yourself that he was still in there somewhere, but you didn’t want to hurt him. You’d already done enough. 

“Mom?” Savvy’s voice was soft. “Is it… can I stay? For a bit?” 

You managed to pull your eyes away from Joel to find her, standing to the side, her arms tight over her chest. 

“Of course baby,” you said, looking for another chair. She found one first, moving it to be beside yours. She settled in there, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a heavy sigh. She was looking at Joel, her face drawn. “How have you been?” 

She shrugged noncommittally. 

“Alright, I guess,” she said. “School is OK. Math is stupid.” 

You laughed lightly once. 

“Math’s not stupid but… I know what you mean. Wasn’t ever my strong suit. I liked history best. And music, of course.” 

“Course,” she smiled a little. “I like Ellie and… I like staying where I have been but… I missed you. Missed home.” 

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. 

“I missed you, too,” you said, voice wet. “So much. More than anything.” 

She nodded slowly, not looking at you. 

“I heard the doctors and some other people talking,” she said hesitantly. “What they were saying… It’s not the first time they’ve seen you hurt like this.” 

You waited for a moment, to make sure she was done. 

“It’s not,” you said. 

She nodded again. 

“How did you end up here?” She asked quietly. 

“I…” You sighed and tried to find the best way to phrase it. “I’d wound up with some bad people. I got hurt. Joel found me when I was in real bad shape. He brought me here. He saved me.” 

“When was that?” 

“About two years ago,” you said. 

“So you weren’t just here the whole time,” she said, more like a statement than a question. 

“No,” you said softly. “I wasn’t.” 

She nodded again. You could see her processing the information, her eyes slightly squinting as she did, so like her father used to do. It still tugged at your heart, bits and pieces of a man you’d loved still alive in his child. 

“I’m still not sure how I feel,” she said, gnawing on her lower lip. “But… I don’t want to keep being mad at you. I miss you. I’d… I’d like to find a way to see you. At least some. For now.” 

“I’d like that,” you said, sniffing a little. “I’d like that a lot. As much time as you want, honey, I’m here.” 

“OK,” she smiled a tight lipped smile at you before looking to Joel. “Do you really think he’ll wake up?” 

You sighed, looking at him, too. 

“I don’t really know anything about medicine,” you said. “But… I do know Joel. And I don’t knot that there’s anything that can keep him from taking care of the people he loves. And I know he knows Ellie needs him, you need him. And I…” your voice cracked. “I need him. He’s strong. He can pull through.” 

She nodded and slowly, gently, rested her head on your shoulder. You froze for a moment, not wanting to disturb her. But, eventually, you had to take a breath and she stayed there beside you, keeping vigil over the man who had become her guardian. 

Savvy ended up staying until after dark. Ellie came back only about an hour and a half after she left, bringing some clothes for you. You immediately put on the shirt, pressing your nose to the collar and breathing in Joel’s scent. She told you then that Savvy hadn’t left the clinic since you’d come in, always at your bedside, nearly ripping off the doctors’ heads when they dared suggest that she go home and get some rest. 

Ellie got her to go home that evening, though, after she gave you a delicate hug that, you thought, might be one of the best ones you’d ever gotten. Dr. Livingston wanted to keep you there for another few days, not something you were going to argue with since you weren’t about to leave while Joel was still there, anyway. She did make you move back to the other room and you gave up the fight quickly, waiting until you heard her leave for the night before going back across the hall, anyway. It was tricky, walking on your own when you were still healing, but you made it without any more blood leaking from you. You pulled your chair close to Joel and looked him over, tracing one finger over the soft skin of his cheek. He still looked so unnatural in this position, so unlike himself. You ran your fingers through his hair, arranging it just so, before you gently took his hands and put them at the base of his chest, one on top of the other. Not quite right, but better. It felt like his body was more his that way. 

“I’m here, Joel,” you said quietly, wanting more than anything to be able to curl up in his lap. “I’m here.” 

You sat on the floor next to the bed - not able to get comfortable enough in the chair to doze off - and rested your head on the mattress near his hip. This wasn’t exactly ideal, either, your stitches itching and pulling as you settled in, but you didn’t care. You had to be close to Joel. Some pain was worth that. 

The next day, you were shaken awake by a frustrated Dr. Palmer who was taking over so Dr. Livingston could get some rest. 

“You are bound and determined to be your own worst enemy,” she muttered, forcing you back to your own bed. She checked you over, reluctantly told you that you were healing well with no sign of infection. The second her back was turned, you were back in Joel’s room. 

Ellie, Tommy and Maria came by again, all of you sitting in near silence, watching Joel, waiting for him to do something - anything - to indicate that he was still in there. 

The next day was less quiet. You were in your usual position in the seat by the head of Joel’s bed when Tommy and Ellie started getting into it. It didn’t sound like a new argument and, you realized, the bickering you’d been only vaguely aware of as you regained consciousness was probably them. 

“I’m not going to sit around here and fucking wait forever,” Ellie snapped. “I’m going out there, I’m going to find them and I’m going to kill every last fucking one of them.” 

“We need to wait,” Tommy said, voice strained. Ellie didn’t seem to care. 

“Wait for them to get further and further away?” She snapped. “Wait for them to come back with more people? No, it’s too big of a fucking risk. I’m going out there.” 

“Need to wait until I can go with you,” Tommy snapped. “Need to wait until we know…” 

Tommy’s voice trailed off. 

“Until we know what?” Ellie demanded. “Until we know whether or not they successfully murdered him? No, fuck that, I’m going to beat the shit out of her with a goddamn golf club, make her fucking feel it…” 

“No, you won’t,” you cut her off. 

“I won’t?” She asked, brows raised, almost daring you to argue with her. “You’re not my fucking mom, Bambi, you don’t get to tell me what the fuck I do or don’t get to do.” 

“You ever killed anyone, kid?” You asked, chin resting on your fist as you watched her. She just blinked at you for a moment. “And I mean people. Real people, not infected.” 

“Yeah,” she said, though her voice was less sharp. “Yeah, I have. Two.” 

“Alright,” you replied. “You torture them? You like killing them?” 

She was silent and just looked at her feet.

“That’s what I thought,” you looked back to Joel. “You’re not going after shit, kid…”

“I’m not a fucking kid!” 

“You’re his kid,” you shot her a glare before looking back at Joel. “And he wouldn’t want you murdering and torturing people for him.”

“But…” 

“No,” you said. “If… If he… If someone needs to handle it, it will be me and Tommy. We can take them and we can make it hurt. You’ll stay here. Not gonna just let you turn into a killer for him, he’d never forgive me. He’d never forgive either of us. One of the last things he said to me was to look out for you and you better goddamn well believe that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. You’re not going any damn place.” 

She stormed out but Savvy came that evening. She brought a deck of cards and the two of you played Go Fish like you used to when she was little. She told you Ellie was cooling off but she thought she’d be OK. 

“I don’t blame her,” she said, arranging some cards in her hand. “If someone did that to you, I’d want to kill them, too.” 

You looked at her for a moment. 

“I wouldn’t want you to,” you said gently. She looked at you over the cards, skeptical. “I mean it. You hear that something bad happened to me, you take it and move on. Don’t hurt yourself thinking that will fix it. It would only make it worse.” 

The day after that, Ellie brought you your guitar. It made Dr. Palmer look nervous but you promised to take it easy and that music was how you relaxed. 

“Just don’t get all worked up and play Freebird,” she muttered, leaving you alone with Joel and your instrument. 

“Why is everyone so obsessed with Freebird?” You asked a silent Joel as you delicately arranged the guitar on your lap, dodging the stitches in your stomach and leg as you did. “There’s better shit out there…” 

You played for him whatever came to mind. The song you’d written for him kept cropping up. So did the songs you’d played with him, slower and gentler things that you tried to pull from memory, even Take on Me because it got stuck in your head. 

“Do you think he can hear me?” You asked Dr. Palmer that afternoon. 

She stepped back from him and sighed for a moment, looking at you as though she were going to gauge her answer around your demeanor. 

“No one knows for sure,” she said eventually. “But… if he could hear anybody, I think it would be you.”

By the end of the second day with your guitar, your whole body was sore and tired but you didn’t move to go back to your own room. Both doctors had given up on forcing you. You nearly ripped their heads off when they suggested you go to your house for a day or two, try to get some real rest. It was bad enough that they’d surrendered to your stubborn need to be where you could see Joel at all times, no longer willing to fight over what they thought was better for you. 

It was quiet, dark. You weren’t entirely sure what time it was but you thought everyone in town besides those on watch were at home. You were as close to home as you got now, home could only be where Joel was. You weren’t sure how to find home without him now. 

You played the song you’d written for him one more time, soft and slow, before propping the guitar against the wall and sitting delicately on the edge of the bed, careful to not disturb him. You adjusted his arms a bit, putting them where you knew he would rest them if he could move them on his own. You gently brushed his hair back. His patchy beard was getting long in spots and you wondered if Ellie could bring scissors and a razor the next time she came so you could trim it for him, keep it how he liked. You drew the shirt of his you wore tighter to yourself and just looked at him for a moment. He was so beautiful, even like this. You needed him so badly, needed him to be OK. You needed to be able to wake up next to him again, kiss him on your way out the door again, make love to him again. He couldn’t be gone, not now. Not like this.

“Joel,” you said softly, barely even a whisper. “I know… I know I should probably tell you that if you need to go, it’s OK, that we’ll be OK but… I don’t think I can. I don’t know how to do this without you, I don’t want to do this without you. I need you, I’m not sure I can be a real person without you. If you’re already gone then… then knowing you was one of the best things that ever happened to me and I’m thankful for every goddamn second of it. But if you’re still there, if you can hear me… I need you to come back to me, Joel. Just… please. Don’t leave me, don’t leave the girls, I just… I will do whatever you want, just stay. Just come back to me. Please.” 

He was still below your touch but you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, anyway, his skin soft and warm. A tear slipped from your eyelash and fell to his cheek but you didn’t move to wipe it away. You had the odd thought that maybe he would absorb it, that his skin would soak up your salt and your sadness and then, even if he didn’t come back, at least he’d have part of you in him when you put him in the ground. You wondered if you’d be able to join him. You slid off the bed and tucked your legs up against yourself, crossing your arms atop the mattress and resting your head there, drifting off to the sound of his breathing. 

***

All Joel really knew was that he was somewhere warm and soft. Warm and soft and kinder than where he’d been before, though the memory of just before was fuzzy. He remembered you, waking up with you, being inside of you, kissing you goodbye. He remembered watching Ellie ride off with her friend for their patrol. He remembered laughing with his brother about something but didn’t remember what. Everything after that was a haze of blood and pain. 

But he was warm now, somewhere that was familiar but he was having a hard time placing it. Grass and trees and a park bench that was more comfortable than it had any right to be, the sound of birds and cicadas on the air. But there were no other people. None that he could see, anyway. 

He heard voices now and then. There were some he knew were familiar but he couldn’t quite place. Others he’d have known anywhere. You, Ellie, Savvy, Tommy, Maria. It was a haze, he could make out the tones and the melodies of your speech but not the words. But that was OK. He knew all of you were close and that was enough. 

There was music, too. He would have recognized your playing from anywhere but it still seemed so obvious from wherever he was. But your music sounded sad, some kind of longing in it that wasn’t there when you usually played for him. He wanted to fix it, wanted to come from wherever he was and make it better. He just wasn’t sure that he could. But he kept hearing the song you made for him. That song was clearer than any other, so present he almost thought it was the version of it you’d recorded for him. But it wasn’t followed by the words he’d come to know so well in the months without you, the ones you’d added to the end of the tape that he listened to every night since you left. Every night until the one you came back to him. 

Come back to me, Joel. 

“Dad?” 

Joel looked around for a moment, heart pounding. He knew that voice, had heard it inside his head so many times through the years. But never like this, never this close. And then Sarah was in front of him, her curls a halo around her head, skin almost glowing in the golden sun. 

“Baby girl.” 

He realized where he knew this place from. It was a park in Austin that he took her to all the time when she was a little girl. The skyline was at his back if he could turn to face it, a playground down the hill to the right. She’d loved the open field, though. She loved being able to just run and run and run with nothing to hold her back. He tried to make himself get to his feet but he couldn’t. She just smiled. It was warm, gentle but more knowing than he’d remembered it being. But then, maybe he’d forgotten. Because otherwise, she looked exactly the same as the last time Joel had seen her, down to the clothes. Except her purple shirt wasn’t bloodstained now, her ankle wasn’t hurt. She was whole, healthy, the way she always should have been.

“Long time no see,” she sat beside him on the bench and he was able to reach her then. He reached for her slowly, cautiously, but he didn’t need to worry. She reached back, putting her arms around his neck. He held her, close and tight. She was warm and soft but the heat wasn’t coming from her. Instead it was like she was part of the place where he was, warm like the sun. She pulled back from him before too long but left a delicate hand on his knee. He tried to memorize her, make sure he knew the precise constellations of her freckles and the way her lashes framed her eyes. She looked him over and smiled that beautiful smile of hers. “You’re getting old, old man.” 

“Yeah,” he laughed a little, still not sure what to say to her. “Yeah, I know, baby girl. I know.” 

“I’ve missed you,” she was still smiling but it was sadder now. “A lot.” 

“I’ve missed you too,” he said, his voice wet. “So, so much. You have no idea how much…” 

“I know,” she said. “I’ve seen. You’ve been through a lot, Dad. So much. I wish I could have been there, I wish I could have helped you.” 

“That’s not your job…” 

“I know,” she said again. “But I still wanted to.” 

“How are you?” He asked. “I want to know everything, everything…” 

“I’ve been good,” she smiled. “I met your friend Tess. I like her. I liked her before, too, but even more now. She’s a lot like you, I’m glad you had her.” 

“How…” 

“Dad, I would love to tell you everything,” she cut him off. “But we don’t have time.” 

He frowned. 

“No,” he shook his head. “No, we didn’t get enough time before, but we should now, we…” 

“We will,” she reached out and took his hands. “Eventually. But not yet. You’ve gotten old, old man, but not old enough. You’re not supposed to be here yet. You still have a lot to do. You have people who need you, people who love you. They really, really love you, Dad. You need to go back for them. You’ve been here long enough.” 

Don’t leave me.

He looked up, looking for where your voice was coming from. Sarah just smiled. 

“She needs you,” she said. “And you need her.” 

She was right. He could feel that in every inch of him. He wanted to be next to you, wanted the life that he could have with you that had been so close when he’d left Jackson that morning. Just you and him and your girls. He wanted it so much it hurt. But how could he leave his daughter? His baby girl, the first baby girl he’d held, the first one he’d failed. How could he leave her again?

“Baby girl, I love them, too but I can’t just leave you here alone…” 

She smiled gently. 

“I’m not alone, Dad. And it’s OK if I’m not your whole world anymore,” she gave his leg a squeeze. “It’s OK if you have another purpose. I want you to be happy. Her, Ellie, Savvy… they make you happy. They’re your purpose now. You deserve that. Go be happy. I’ll be here when you’re done. We’ll have time then, too. I promise.” 

Just stay. 

“Go be with them, Dad,” she said. “Go be happy. We’ll be together when it’s time.” 

Just come back to me.

“I love you so much, Sarah,” he said, reaching out and holding her face in his hand. “So, so much.” 

Please. 

“I know,” she smiled. “And I love you too.” 

There was a wet spot on his cheek but he wasn’t crying. He frowned, touching his skin there, a tear clinging to his finger when he pulled it away. The place he was glowed brighter. Sarah’s face was somehow further away though neither of them had moved. He could feel himself fading from here, going back to where he was before. Part of him hurt with that, clinging to Sarah so hard that it seemed as though he was going to leave that part of him behind. But the rest of him was bringing him back, desperate to get to you, be beside you. That’s where he was supposed to be. He knew that now. He was always supposed to live. He was always supposed to flinch. He was always supposed to find you. 

“I’ll see you around,” she said. “Take care of yourself. Take care of them. I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

He didn’t have a chance to say goodbye.

Everything hurt. 

It was sudden and sharp, the place where he was abruptly dark and cold. He wasn’t sure he could move much, every part of him impossibly heavy. But he forced his eyes open, at least. He was flat on his back and in a bed. It took him a moment to realize where, but the fact that there was medical equipment near his head narrowed it down. He heard a soft, sleepy sound and forced himself to lift his head enough to look for it. It didn’t take him long to find you there, head resting near his waist. He smiled to himself. Part of him was just relieved that he hadn’t dreamed you coming back to him, relieved that you’d want anything to do with him at all now. 

He forced his arm to move, the limb unnaturally clunky, every motion pulling and tugging on damaged skin but he didn’t really care. He rested a hand on your head, smoothing your hair down, thumb brushing against your forehead. You startled and jerked awake, sitting up quickly and blinking sleep from your eyes. His hand fell to your arm when you did and looked around for a moment before your eyes fell on him, the glow of the moon on the snow illuminating your face in the dark. You frowned for a moment, your brows knitting together. 

“Hey sweetheart,” Joel managed, his voice dry and cracking. 

“Joel!” You scrambled to your feet, taking his hand and clinging to it as you did. “You’re here, you’re alive, you’re…” 

“I’m alright, baby,” he said gently. You sank slowly onto the bed at his waist, clutching onto his hand. “You OK?” 

“I’m OK,” you nodded quickly, your voice wet. “Tommy’s OK, Ellie’s OK, we’re all OK. I was so afraid, Joel. I was so afraid. I thought you were gone, I thought I lost you…” 

“I know,” he winced as he reached the hand you weren’t latched onto over to cup your face. “I’m so sorry, baby. Wasn’t tryin’ to go anywhere…” 

You lifted his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles before holding his arm to your chest, clinging to it like a child does to a security blanket. 

“How are you feeling?” You asked, looking him up an down. “I can go wake up a doctor and…” 

“M’fine sweetheart,” he said, brushing a thumb over the arch of your cheekbone. “Don’t… don’t go anywhere, need you close. Just…” He did his best to shift himself so he wasn’t in the middle of the bed, wincing as he did. “Just be here. Let me hold you, OK?” 

“I don’t want to hurt you…” 

“You won’t,” he said gently. “Need to feel you. Just stay with me, baby. Please.” 

You sniffed but nodded before you moved gingerly to slip into bed beside him. You lay your head gently on his chest and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, giving you a squeeze. It took a moment but he felt you relax against him, body molding to his own. He turned his head enough to brush his lips against your forehead. 

“I can’t lose you, Joel,” you said softly. “I can’t, I need you to stay.” 

“I’m here, baby,” he whispered, holding you as close as he could, everywhere your body met his a welcome distraction from the pain. “Not going anywhere.” 

Next Chapter

A/N: Yeah, sorry, I can't bring myself to kill Joel lol I love him too much, I need to let him have all the beautiful things he deserves to have.

Thank you so so much for being so patient with this chapter. I promise, I didn't intend to leave you hanging for weeks on end and I feel so bad that I did. Thank you for still reading and for being here. I feel like I've messed up a lot on how I've handled this fic lately - between not understanding how many folks didn't know the TLOU2 stuff and not giving proper warning and then posting that last chapter and not having this one lined up and ready to go - so thank you for not ditching me and this fic. It really does mean so much that you spend your time here with these characters.

Thank you again ❤️ Love you!

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#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #yearling #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #tlou2 spoilers

[elfy-elf-imagines]

— In the Fields of Poppy | Thranduil *✧･ﾟ

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff and Angst (mentions of death and the aftermath of war)

▹ Words: ~2k

▹ Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies, you have a chance encounter with the King.

▹ Notes: This is unedited because we die as men! Also because I'm sleep deprived rn. Let me know what you thought!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The carnage had been terrible; the aftermath of the battle more brutal than any recount would ever fully capture. 

Broken stained glass mosaics formed with blood from all sides of the battle glistened in the sun. There was a heavy fog that clung to the ground, the wails of survivors finding the corpses of their loved ones. You couldn’t focus on it, blocking out as much of the noise as possible. Later you would feel the weight of the lives lost, you were certain, but for now, there was work to be done. 

You kneeled before the squirming body of a dwarven soldier, too delirious off his own pain to scorn the healing of an elvish maid. There was a cut on his leg that was bleeding profusely, his skin showing the beginning signs of infection from the poison the orcs used. He was muttering in Khuzdul, his eyes staring blankly at the sky. His eyes were locked on the sun, and if there weren’t other grievous injuries taking priority, you would’ve reminded him to not stare at the sun. But who cares for blindness if you’re already dead?

With ghost-like touches and careful concentration, you placed the healing salve on his leg, cleaning the wound as best you could beforehand. He hissed in pain from the contact, his eyes no longer looking at the sun but at you. He continued to speak in Khuzdul, this time at you, with spite and pain written on his face. You weren’t concerned, continuing to work as you numbed yourself to your surroundings. 

A group of elven soldiers marched past you, carrying the body of their fallen comrade, faces stricken with grief. Your eyes darted away from the sight and returned your attention to carefully wrapping your patient’s leg with bandages. 

“I don’t have anything for the pain, I’m afraid,” you said to him, briefly meeting his eyes that went back to looking at the sun. He muttered incoherently, and while he spoke Common this time, his words were lost on you. 

Tying the final bandage, you then began the same work on the rest of his wounds. More wails and more dead bodies carried from the battlefield, but you blocked it all out. There was no time to be swallowed in the suffering. Once all his wounds had been tended to and your dress was drenched in the blood of another patient, you stood from the ground. A dwarven soldier rushed forward to bring his comrade to the tents where the injured were resting. Words of thanks fell from his mouth, but you had already turned away, moving towards the next person. 

This time it was an elf, so young he couldn’t be more than a century old. Old enough to serve in the guard but too young to die; it made you sick to your stomach. There was a gash near his neck, the veins around it turning black. The poison had already gotten into his system; it was only a matter of time before it took him. Yet you kneeled beside him and gently placed his head in your lap as you began cleaning the wound. 

Unlike the dwarf from before, his eyes met yours, a grin on his lips. It looked out of place on his face, contorted into pain. He spoke softly in elvish, reciting an old song that mothers usually sang to their children when putting them to bed. As the cold salve touched his neck, he froze up, twitching slightly at the sensation.

Silence enveloped the two of you, he no longer sang, yet his eyes stayed on you. A stray piece of hair had fallen from your messy braid, the elf reaching up and grabbing it. He held it between his fingers, mouth parted and eyes a thousand miles away. 

“Naneth--” he trailed off, muttering more incoherent words. You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to continue working as a spark of pain reactivated your cold heart. He called you mother; the poison must’ve already reached his head, making him see things that weren’t there. 

Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes as you looked away to reach into your healer’s kit. He must’ve been so terrified as death came closer, seeking comfort in a mother that wasn’t even here. You didn’t have the heart to correct him. Let the boy have a small bit of comfort. 

With a strip of bandage in your hand, when your eyes went back to his body, his eyes were shut, and his breathing ceased. Dead. 

Your hand fell limp at your side, eyes unmoving from his face. He looked at peace, expression no longer twisted in pain. A shuttered breath escaped your mouth, the chill in the air allowing you to see it blow away. You stood with shaky legs and trembling hands, two soldiers approaching to take his body away.

You’d been a healer for as long as you could remember, training for this since you were a little elfling running wild. Time allowed you to become numb to tragedy, keeping a clear head to do what needed to be done. But the elven boy’s death managed to stab a needle right through your heart. He was so young and vibrant, his potential severed by senseless war. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, like the ashes of the bodies the humans were burning. 

The mud squashed beneath your feet, eyes unseeing. You were a ghost on the battlefield, blood-stained dress blowing in the wind. How did the other healers seem so emotionless? Was the bite of death something that lessened the more you were near it? In a few years, would you have a disposition that was nearly mechanical? A part of you hoped for that release, while the other part of you was terrified by it. 

You turned, eyes meeting the misty blues ones of King Thranduil. He stood a few feet away from you, a vision amongst the dead. Tall and noble, he looked every bit the king he was. Golden like the dawn, his hair was loose and messy, and his previously pristine armor was dirty with mud and blood, cuts and minor wounds marring his body. Yet he looked eerily perfect. 

His stare was heavy, yet you refused to be the one to look away. A hint of a smirk appeared on the edges of his lips as his head tilted to the side. Long and sure strides brought him closer to you while you stayed locked in place. The king stood before you, towering over your smaller form. You may have been on the taller side; he made you feel as though you were a hobbit.

“What is your name?” 

You lowered your head in a half-bow, a pathetic attempt to show respect, not entirely accustomed to the presence of royalty. 

“Y/N, my king.”  

He nodded, mouthing your name as if to commit it to memory.

“Do you live in Eryn Galen? I have never seen you.”

“I grew up in Lothlorien, where I spent most of my life before training to be a healer in Imladris. I have only recently moved to Eryn Galen.”

Thranduil raised his eyebrows and clasped his hands behind his back. 

“How lucky we are to have a student of Lord Elrond among us.” You could discern if his words were patronizing or genuine, his tone not betraying his intentions. 

“I did not train under Lord Elrond personally.” You felt the need to correct him, not wanting him to think you of a higher station than you were.

“But your teachers were overseen by him, were they not?”

You nodded.

“Then you were trained by Lord Elrond, even if he himself didn’t oversee your education.” 

A small smile appeared on your lips, and you nodded. “I have no choice but to agree; who would I be to disagree with a king.”

A coy smile pulled on the edges of his lips as his eyes shone. 

“A foolish woman is who you would be. Walk with me?” It was phrased as a question, but he didn’t wait for your answer. His long strides carried him towards camp, and you had no choice but to follow.   

“Tell me, do you plan on staying in Eryn Galen long?” His voice was crisp but quiet enough that only you could hear them.

“I do. I have grown fond of the people and its forest.” You spoke genuinely and truthfully. The wood elves were reclusive and suspicious, but once you broke through those barriers, they were full of merriment and loyalty. You cherished the relationships you had already formed and were eager for more. 

“Even in its sickly state,” his tone was sardonic but not enough to hide the pain in his voice. How terrible it must’ve been to see his home twisted into something so evil while powerless to stop it. 

“I believe there is still hope for it to be returned to health.”

Thranduil stopped in his tracks, eyes meeting yours. You stopped as well, patiently waiting for what he may say next. His expression was unreadable, eyes searching yours for the answers to questions you didn’t know. 

Wherever he was searching for, it sent shivers down your spine and made goosebumps form on your arms. The moonlight was kind to him, bathing him in a silvery light that made him look like the elves of Lothlorien who always seemed to shine. You felt your heart stutter as butterflies formed in your stomach. 

It could’ve been a trick of the light, but you could’ve sworn there was a hint of affection in his bright eyes. After the death of his wife, rumors spread of his cold demeanor and harshen disposition. But now, before you, none of those adjectives seemed suited for him. As soft as the stars and as beautiful as the moon, how could he be anything but good and kind?

“I hope that you are right.” He finally broke the silence, eyes raising to the sky before he continued walking, and just as before, you matched his strides. Neither of you spoke, relishing in the silence after a terrible day full of death and terror. 

Finally, the both of you stopped in front of the tent that was yours.

“It was good to meet you today, Y/N. I hope to see you again; I find your company pleasant and your conversation enjoyable.”

A red flush made your face warm, and a child-like grin appeared on your lips. As light as a feather, you would’ve floated away had the king not grabbed your hand, delicately placing a kiss on your knuckles. 

When he released your hand, you lowered into a half curtsey, the movement not as fluid due to your dress that was stiff from the dried blood covering it. 

“It was an honor to speak with you, my king. I wish you a good rest tonight.” 

He smirked in a way that made your flush deepen.

“And if I find it difficult to find rest, will you brew me a tea to lull me to sleep.” 

“Herbology happens to be my specialty.” 

Thranduil gave a single, firm nod, yet his eyes never moved from yours. The affection you’d seen before was brighter, easier seen in the dim lighting. And you were certain your eyes portrayed the same attraction. Could this be the beginning of something wonderful?

“Then I shall know who to call upon in my hour of need.” He lowered into a full bow, his cloak billowing around him. You took a step back, a bout of giggle escaping your mouth. Who would’ve thought the stern king had a sense of humor?

“Farewell, my lady.” 

He then swept off further into the camp, and you stayed in your spot, watching his form disappear, only moving once you could no longer see him. You turned and entered your tent, hand placed upon your flushed cheek. As you readied yourself for bed, the encounter with Thranduil replayed in your mind. And suddenly, you found yourself dancing alone, unable to push back your excitement. 

And as you lay in bed and shut your eyes, you desperately hoped this would only be the beginning and not where the story would end. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

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#thranduil imagine #thranduil x reader #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit one shot #the hobbit #lotr imagine #lotr fanfic #middle earth imagines #lord of the rings #lord of the rings oneshot #mirkwood elves #tolkien #lotr #lord of the rings imagine #thranduil #thranduil x oc #elf!reader

[txttletale]

hi I've been following you for a while and I had some questions about MLism. First, while I think I have a decent understanding of how it works economically, how would a ML government (after the revolution) ensure it doesn't become too powerful? like what systems would be put in place so that it hears public opinion and dissent (should there be any) and not try to maintain power through oppressive means?

Secondly, what would the aftermath of the revolution look like? once the government is overthrown, there will most likely be a period of instability where different factions trying to sieze control. How would the MLs make sure that they get seated in power?

I am genuinely trying to learn more about it, so I'm sorry if those questions are ignorant. Thanks!

i mean, that first part? i'll be completely honest with you and say that in my opinion that's a partially unsolved problem. i think that lenin's prescriptions in state & revolution, based on the actions of the paris commune--that all 'officials' should be subject to democratic recall at any time and paid no more than anyone else--would be a good start.

but of course the USSR did not ossify and see abuses of power because its leaders simply forgot about what lenin wrote--the centralization of power and limiting of worker democracy was a direct result of the newly formed state apparatus having to fight brutal years-long civil war followed as mere decade later by a brutal years-long international invasion. & this is of course a situation that will be faced by any serious socialist government & their newly formed apparatus!

however, on the other hand -- cuba has succesfully maintained an incredible system of participatory democracy. i think that mao's idea of the 'mass line' -- that theory must constantly be in dialogue with the situation on the ground and the situation of the workers -- is vital to maintaining this. in its own time of crisis, during the 90s, instead of 'pulling the ladder up' on workers' councils, cuba expanded and doubled down on its participatory democracy. i think if any nation has succesfully followed lenin's theory and example, it's cuba, and the mass workplace and municipal democracy that the cuban communist party has invited should be the model for any future socialist revolution.

and quite frankly the reason why MLs will 'take power' after the revolution is because marxism-leninism is the only revolutionary socialist ideology with a plan and ability to take and maintain power over the bourgeoisie. i think one thing reading lenin will very much clarify is that the socialist state is not something that is built after the revolution but a continuation of the revolution -- lenin explains aptly the marxist position that, having taken up arms in order to dethrone the bourgeoisie, to not establish a marxist dictatorship of the proletariat is to throw aside those arms that have already been wielded and used. 'not setting up a worker's state' isn't inaction, but a deliberate choice to be disarmed and helpless in the face of foreign intervention or counterrevolution.

and this is also why i think that while solving the (very real and dangerous!) spectres of bureaucracy, of revisionism, of socialist militias becoming police forces "special bodies of men apart from and above" the people instead of "self-acting armed organizations" of the people is a vital and pressing question for marxism-leninism to address in both theory and practice, it is just as vital to note that only marxism-leninism can succeed to the point where this becomes a problem--only marxism-leninism has shown the historical ability to put the workers in a position of political supremacy that they might risk losing to these flaws and missteps.

& seriously, don't be sorry for asking questions. any questions in good faith are welcomed on this blog, because i'm a communist and i do in fact think it is my job to explain communism to people. have a nice day & don't be so down on yourself!

#ask #Anonymous

[rubydubydoo122]

As much as I hate to say it, and as much as I love Jason ToddI'm gonna need DC to kill him again, and keep him dead this time.

Now before you come at me, let me explain why I think this. Jason Todd is a character that while alive will always be connected to Gotham, and because of his differing morals with Batman, he will always be in a cycle of conflict with him. We saw it in UTRH, we saw it in RHATO, we saw it in Gotham Wars. Because Jason isn't a villain (I feel like in UTRH he was an anti-hero, and any actions that didn't align with the morals he set during that time is because he was villainized by Batman) Bruce's actions feel overtly brutal (batarang to the neck, beating him so har his helmet broke, chemically altering him to feel fear) especially since it's towards his SON the one he claims to have mourned. It's a vicious cycle that isn't fair to Jason, and it's major character assassination of Bruce. It's overdone and I am sick and tired of it, but I do not see either characters backing down from their moral stances.

Now you might be thinking, just because Bruce and Jason don't get along doesn't mean they can't make up-- they've tried. Multiple time. Every time Jason and Bruce take a step in the direction of being close to each other again, Bruce becomes a control freak and abuses Jason like he's his own personal punching bag, and there's only so many times someone can forgive someone before enough is enough.

But I still haven't explained why specifically I think Jason should die again. And it's because of two reasons. Jason deserves peace, and as long as he's a ghost walking on earth, he won't be able to get that. Also because it would make Great Angst. We all know Bruce would break if he lost Jason again. He's going to push everyone away, and if you're going to have Bruce push everyone away, give him consequences for his actions.but we saw how protective Dick got during Gotham Wars. Just imagine Dick walking up towards Bruce and saying, "It might've been my fault last time for not picking up his calls, but this time, you can't deny that this, is all your fault." "How dare you! He was my son!" "You lost him once, and when he came back you treated him worse than any of the loonies in Arkham. You don't miss him at all. You only feel guilty because of your goddamned savior complex. You only treat him like your son when he's dead."

and while we're at it, maybe Tim can have a complete crisis. He had to pick up the pieces of Bruce in the aftermath of Jason's death last time, and look where that got him. All of his friends and family died. He was never truly recognized for guiding Bruce out of the dark, and we all know that Tim is one inconvenience from killing a bitch. Maybe this is it. I actually think it would be hilarious for Tim to take up the Red Hood mantle, Only to screw with Bruce. Because he knows that's what Jason would've wanted.

Have Damian afraid of what Bruce has become in guilt. Have Damians castle of worship for his father come tumbling down, because Damian always knew his father loved all of the previous Robins more than him, and if his father no longer wanted them, what was stopping Bruce from sending him back to the League.

Like DC if you're going to use Jason as a catalyst for an event, kill him off again. last time it was on a whim. This time, do it on purpose. This time, give his death a purpose. This time, make sure his death changes something, because god, Bruce has fucked up so much.

#jason todd #bruce wayne #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #dead jason todd #bad dad bruce wayne #dc comics #I triple dog dare you DC #let my boy have some peace #let Jason RIP #maybe cremate him this time #he would hate crawling out of a grave a second time #unhinged tim drake #protective dick grayson #insecure damian wayne #rhato #utrh #gotham wars

[angstysebfan]

Just Friends - Part 2

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: What happens in the aftermath of part 1, and will Bucky be able to fix this? Warnings: Angst, talks of manipulation, Bucky is a bit of an asshole, cursing

A/N: Hope you like Part 2 as much as Part 1! None of my stories or edited or beta’d so sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes. If you want to be a part of my permanent taglist, please request letting me know that you want to be on the permanent one.

Part 1 here

You stay in your room for the rest of the day, not wanting to see or talk to anyone, especially Bucky. You just can’t understand how the hell this all happened. Two days ago, you were taking a nap together in each others arms, and now he doesn’t even want to be friends with you. Your heart is beyond broken, and the love you feel towards him makes you sad. You didn’t just love him as a friend, you were in love with him, and now you feel stupid. You know who is responsible, besides Bucky being a complete moron, Dot. That bitch has it coming to her.

You hear a knock on your door, and a part of you hopes it’s Bucky saying he made a mistake, but when you open the door you see Steve. The smile he was wearing falls when he sees your tear stained face.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks.

You nod, not wanting to talk about it, especially with Bucky’s now one and only best friend. Steve just looks at you, not believing you.

“Okay… well we have a mission, you free to leave tonight?” he asks.

“Yeah, absolutely. What time?” You can’t help the relieved feeling that you will get away.

“Need you ready to go with Nat in an hour” Steve says in his ‘Cap’ voice.

You salute him and close the door, to start prepping your departure. This mission could not come at a better time. You hope that some time away will help Bucky come to his senses, or maybe help you realize that you are better off without him.

–

You've been gone for two weeks and are dead exhausted when you and Nat exit the quinjet back into the compound. It was a brutal mission, and you probably have a few bruised ribs with a of bruises and scratches around your body. But despite it being brutal, it was a success. You and Nat go your separate ways to your rooms, knowing you will be up early tomorrow for a debrief. As you enter the hallway where your room is, you hear moans and groans coming from Bucky’s room. You curse yourself knowing what he's doing and who he's doing it with. You hear Dot’s voice “Harder Bucky, oh god… harder”, which makes you cringe and your stomach churn.

You tried to not think about the blue eyed super soldier over the last two weeks, and while you were busy getting the crap kicked out of you that was easy, but the downtime he was the only thing on your mind. It really pissed you off, but you knew you were hoping you would come home and he would be waiting for you, begging for forgiveness. Guess not. Dot really has her hooks in him, and if they are still together, than you know he did not tell her that he is going to stay friends with you. So it's officially over between you, and that thought is devastating. 

You go to your room and jump in the shower to drown out the noise coming from the room next to you. When you come out, you continue to hear the moaning and know you'll never sleep with that racket. You quickly change into sweats and a t-shirt and decide to head out to the common room to sleep on the couch. It's better than the alternative. You plop on the couch and cover yourself with a blanket, turning on the TV to have some background noise. You are not there more than 2 minutes when Bucky comes out, heading toward the kitchen in nothing but a pair of sweats. You try to shrink yourself so he doesn’t see you, but with the TV on, it was only a matter of time before he turns in your direction. When he does his eyes lock with yours and he slowly walks toward you.

“Hi” he says quietly.

You sit up, “Hi” you say back.

He looks relieved almost, but you think it’s just your exhaustion, you know he doesn��t care that you’re back. The awkward silence is driving you crazy, but he finally breaks it. “Wh-when did you get back?" he asks quietly.

"About an hour ago," you respond.

"What are you doing out here?”

You can’t help but let out a breathless laugh. “Well it's kinda hard to sleep when your neighbor is fucking the lights out of their girlfriend and she's loud as hell.” You spat allowing the anger of seeing him engulf you.

Bucky's shocked by your outburst and then looks guilty, and uncomfortable. “I.. uh sorry,” he says, taking a step toward you.

“Whatever. But don't worry I'll make sure to keep my distance for you both so that I don't make her uncomfortable again,” you say with venom in your voice.

His eyebrows shoot up at that comment. He hates that he forced you to hate him, though he can't blame you. He knows he fucked up, but he doesn't know if at this point he can fix it. He just stares at you with a mix of shock and despair, which makes you annoyed so you roll your eyes.

“Look, I’m tired and achy, so I’m going to sleep out here,” you say as you gently lay down and turn away from him.

All Bucky wants to do is kneel next to you and apologize for making you feel like this. He misses you, but with Dot in his room, he knows he can't. He hates that he put himself, and you, in this position. He just knows Dot is his only shot, so he wants... no needs to make it work with her. He looks at you one more time, sadness evident in his face, and walks back to his room.

–

The next morning you're in the kitchen, sitting between Steve and Sam, when Bucky walks in with Dot. Dot sees you and her smug smirk immediately goes right on her face.

“Baby, make me pancakes?” she says to Bucky in her squeaky baby voice.

You scoff loudly, and look at Sam, whose shaking his head and giving you a look that tells you he doesn’t like her either.

Bucky heard your scoff and looks at you, but your eyes were on Sam. If you want act like this, then he's game. He looked back at Dot and smiles.

“Of course, my Bella,” he says, looking back at you.

Your eyes shot to his when you heard the pet name he called her. That was your pet name, and you know he did that on purpose. You didn't think he would stoop so low, and honestly he didn't either. You can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes, which only makes Bucky regret what he did more. He opens his mouth to immediately apologize, but you quickly get up, ignoring the pain in your ribs, and leave the room.

Steve looks at Bucky in disappointment, and Sam looks like he wants to punch him. Bucky feels like absolute shit and didn't think it was possible to hate himself even more. Dot, however, looks happy as anything and ignores the fact that you left.

"Bucky, pancakes please," he squeaks.

Tony then walks in and informs everyone in the kitchen that there will be a party tomorrow night because he was just in the mood, before leaving and telling the rest of the team. Dot is so excited that her plan is working and she will get to be on display with THE Bucky Barnes in front of all the rich and famous at one of Tony Stark’s parties. Man when she decided to go after Bucky to help her status, she was worried he would see through her, but she found he was very easy to manipulate. I mean she was able to get rid of you in less than a day. It won't be long before she will have status enough to leave Bucky behind and move on to the next big name.

–

You didn’t want to go to the party, but Nat and Wanda made you. Even Steve and Sam told you they would protect you from Bucky and Dot, which is sweet so you agreed. Nat and Wanda helped you get dressed, as your ribs were still sore from the mission, and did your hair and make up. The three of you walk into the party, and head straight to Steve and Sam at the bar.

“Y/N, you look beautiful,” Steve said, causing you to blush.

“Thanks Stevie, you look great too.”

He smiles and hands you your favorite drink. “Listen, I know you and Bucky are having a hard time right now, and I know he is normally your partner at these things, but I thought I could be a good stand in and be your date for tonight. As friends of course,” he said a blush coming over his cheeks.

You smile and kiss him on the cheek, “I would love that Cap.”

You and Steve mostly stay with the group, chatting about this, that, and nothing, but all laughing and having a great time. Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, being dragged from person to person was Bucky. Dot was making sure everyone in the room saw her with him. It really was really annoying him, because felt like a prized horse with Dot. He started to question her motives for being with him He never liked parties parties, only liked to be with… you. You made them bearable. He couldn’t help looking over and notice how beautiful you looked. He saw you and your friends laughing and having a great time, and wanted nothing more but to stand there with you. He felt like he couldn't breath anymore with you gone from his life, and he hated himself for what he did to you.

The truth is, he missed you beyond words. He knew he made a mistake, ending your friendship, and tonight is only showing him more and more what an asshole he was. Question was could he fix it, or was it too late. Dot noticed where Bucky was staring and rolled her eyes seeing you and the rest of the group. She decided to continue to torture you so she took Bucky's hand leading him over to the group. She cleared her throat as she got closer, causing the laughter going on the stop. Everyone looked at her, with her smug face. She wrapped Bucky’s arms around her and held him to her.

“What’s so funny over here? Don’t you know this is a party and you are the Avengers? You should be mingling! Bucky and I have been a hit so far, so you guys should join in the fun!” she said. 

You quickly down your drink and look at Steve. 

“Stevie, want to dance?” you say, completely ignoring Dot. He nodded at you and took your hand, leading you out to the dance floor. Bucky looked between you and Steve and couldn’t help the jealousy he felt. Are you and Steve becoming a thing now? Has he pushed you to the point that you will take Steve away from him? He needs to get a closer look. He bent down to Dot, “Let’s dance,” he whispered, dragging her with him.

Steve held you in his arms as you moved to the slow ballad playing. You look over your shoulder to see Bucky and Dot also dancing close to you, Bucky frequently looking over and you and Steve. You rolled your eyes.

“Ignore them, Y/N.” Steve said quietly.

You blush, and look at Steve. “I’m sorry, I just hate her, and he... ” your words get caught in your throat.

“Yeah, she isn’t well liked by any of us, and I don't know what the hell he''s doing. I'm sure he will come around and regret what he's done to you. I'm pretty sure he has feelings for you, but feels like you wont reciprocate,” he said.

Tears start falling down your face. “I’m sorry Steve, but I think I need some air,” you say quickly.

Steve nodded and let you go, feeling bad that he made you cry. You quickly walk past Bucky and out of the ballroom to the balcony. Bucky watches you and saw that you were emotional. He wanted to follow but knew Dot wouldn't let him. He excused himself and went to talk to Steve about what happened. Dot was not happy and stomped off the dance floor like a child.

Meanwhile, you try and contain your emotions and took deep breaths, looking out over the compound property. You really wish you stuck to your guns and didn’t come tonight. You hated seeing them together, especially her. You wish you knew why he took her side, especially after what Steve just said. Is there a chance he did have similar feelings to you? At this point is it even worth caring, because he broke your heart, and you have no idea if you can trust him again.

“Ya know, for an Avenger, you’re a pretty easy opponent to beat,” you hear Dot’s voice from behind you.

You immediately tense up, but refuse to turn and look at her. She laughs, “I mean I thought you would have put up a little bit more of a fight when I made him dump your pathetic ass, but I guess you are just... too weak,” she taunts.

Now you turned and looked at her, rage pouring through your veins.

“Excuse me?” was all you could say.

Dot continues to walk toward you with her smug smile. “I mean, I saw how much you were in love with him when we first met. I knew I had to get rid of you in order for my plan to work. He spoke of nothing but you for the weeks we were talking to each other, so I knew you were trouble. I thought you would have fought for him, but obviously you know a lost cause when you see one.”

She laughs again, while you are shaking in anger. “What plan did you have exactly?" you ask angrily.

"Oh you know, having Bucky, a infamous Avenger by my side to be seen, go to Tony Stark parties and meet the rich and famous, and when I finally find a richer more impressive man, leave Bucky for him. It's a win win... for me. Bucky was so easy to manipulate too. I made him think he had a chance at forever with me, which no man does without the wad of cash to go with it. But I knew I could get him to do anything for me. I mean when he came to my house that night I met you, all I had to do was I tell him how uncomfortable you made me. How I didn’t like how close you guys were, and he bought it. Hook. Line. Sinker,” She says with a proud smile on her face.

“Now I'm on step two... be at Tony Stark parties with THE Bucky Barnes, rubbing elbows with the rich and famous, making contacts, and setting myself up for success. Meanwhile you get to sulk about the man who didn’t choose you.”

Just as you were about to open your mouth, you hear, “What… the… fuck!”

You and Dot turn your heads to Bucky, who was standing at the door, glaring at Dot. Dot lost her smug smile, and looked panicked. 

“Bucky… h-h-how long were you standing there?” she asks, fear evident in her voice.

Bucky walks up and stands next to you, glaring down at the red head. “Long enough to know you are a manipulative bitch, who's only using me, and coerced me into losing the woman I'm crazy about,” he growls as you gasp at his words.

You see him trying to control his emotions. You wonder if you should calm him down, but decide against it. You slowly step away from them, and start heading toward the door. You turn around to see Bucky still glaring at Dot, but can't handle anymore excitement tonight. You walk back through the ballroom and head straight to the elevators. You make it back to your room, and decide you needed a nice long hot shower to wash this whole evening away and think about what you just heard Bucky say and what it all meant.

As you stand under the hot water you think about the last 2+ weeks. Hearing Bucky's declaration about you, finding out he has a girlfriend, losing him, the mission, coming back to Bucky still being with that bitch, Bucky calling her "my Bella", and then this whole fucked up evening ending with Bucky basically stating he wanted you too. how are you supposed to wrap your head around any of this. After spending probably close to 30 minutes in the shower, you change into sweats and a t-shirt and walk back into your room. You stop short when you see Bucky sitting on your bed, his head in his hands. He looks up at you, tears running down his face. You swallow the lump in your throat, but don’t move.

“I… I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. I know it’s not enough, because what I did was the worst thing I could do, but I'm really fucking sorry,” He whispers through his tears.

You want to go over and hug him, but you're too hurt, so you just nod. Bucky shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he stands up and walks toward you. You tense up, but remain where you are.

“Y/N, ending our friendship was the worst thing I've ever done in my life. You're my best girl, and I should've stuck by you, and defended you. I would give you an excuse, not that there really is one, but you probably wouldn’t believe me anyway,” he says.

When you don’t respond, he turns toward the door. As he is about to grab the handle, he hears, “Try me.”

He turns around and looks at you. He turns back toward you and sits back down on the bed. He motions for you to come and sit, which you do, but you make sure there is plenty of space between you. He swallows the lump in his throat. 

“I… uh… I never thought anyone would ever love me. Not even in a friendship way, besides Steve. When you became my friend, I felt so lucky, and I wanted to hold on to that feeling forever. You became the most important person in my life. I… I fell in love with you.”

You can’t help but gape at him. He loves you?! What the fuck! He loves you but then why all this? You go to say something, but he quickly continues.

“I know you couldn't feel the same way, which is why I tried to find someone to take that place. I met Dot, and she was nice and flirty, and made me feel normal. I thought she actually liked me, but apparently I was just a pawn in her scheme to become rich and famous,” He scoffs at himself, shaking his head.

He looks at you again. “She manipulated the shit out of me, which hurts more than I can say, but not as much as seeing the pain you had for these last few weeks. It’s really no excuse, but it's the truth. She told me that she was falling for me, and I was just so blindly happy to find someone else to fill the hole I had. The hole that was really made for you. She told me to do something and I did it because I wanted to keep her happy. I just wish I had snapped out of it when she told me to end my friendship with you."

You stay silent wanting to hear every word.

"When I did, and you ran off, I knew it wasn’t right. I actually went up to your room after my work out to apologize, but you had already left for the mission. I thought maybe it was for the best. Dot and I continued to get closer, which I thought was good, but it was all a lie,” he growled. “When you came home and I saw that you were alive, I was so relieved. I was so worried about you while you were away, but you were so cold to me. I know I deserved it, but I never thought I would see that. So, I got angry and thats why I called her ‘my bella’. I knew that would cause a reaction, but when I saw your face, I immediately regretted it. I never called Dot that name besides that time. Not that it makes it better," he says.

“Tonight, when I saw you laughing with our friends, I wanted to be by your side, with my hand around your waist like all the other parties. I wanted to dance with you, and when I saw you and Steve, I got…. jealous. I… I’m an asshole. I don’t deserve your forgiveness or your friendship. I’m sorry.”

Before you could answer, he left the room, leaving your door open. You sat there for a moment thinking about everything he said. The one thing that stands out is that he loved you, but didn’t realize you loved him too. But you didn’t know if you should just forgive him, when he hurt you so bad.

You suddenly found yourself outside his door. You knocked, listening for his footsteps. When you didn’t hear them, you tried his door, which was unlocked. You peeked your head inside and saw Bucky laying on his stomach, his face in his pillow, quietly crying. Your heart broke, as you quietly entered his room and closed his door. You went to the other side of the bed, and laid next to him, staring at the ceiling. 

“I can’t just forgive you for the pain you caused me, Bucky. You broke my heart more than once in the last few weeks, and I didn’t even understand why. I thought we were stronger than that, but I guess I was wrong.”

You sigh and look at Bucky, who has his face turned towards you, tears streaming down his face. 

“But you were wrong too. I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I thought you didn’t feel the same, but I guess we are both idiots,” you say with a laugh.

You turn your body towards him. 

“I can’t forgive you…” Bucky closes his eyes in pain. “… at least not yet.” You say quietly. Bucky’s eyes shot open and he sits up, staring at you. “Not yet?” he asks, hopefully. You give him a small smile and nod. 

“You have a lot of making up for how you made me feel, Bucky, but I love you. I’m in love with you, and I want to spend the rest of my life in your arms. But… it’s going to take time. A lot of time fore me to trust you again,” you say, as you sit up and look at him.

He moves closer to you. “I will give you as much time as you need, as long as I know there is a chance I can be with you. I love you so much Y/N.”

You put your palm to his cheek. “I love you too.” You say before bringing him in for a small peck on his lips.

Bucky started to deepen the kiss, but you pulled away. 

“I should go,” you say, as you get off the bed and walk to the door. You turn back and look at Bucky, who looks disappointed that you are leaving. “Goodnight,” you say, before leaving the room.

–

Over the next six months Bucky worked his ass off to prove to you he was true and that he loved you. You kept him at arms length for awhile, even though it hurt you both. Then you slowly started to allow him in, but not completely. You would only hang out with him in public settings with other people around, much to Bucky's dismay. After a few months, you both started to slowly go back to being friends, and then best friends again. Neither of you ever wanting to bring up Dot again, who disappeared thank god.

Today, you're sitting in the common room, flipping through possible things to watch on Netflix. “Ugh, there is nothing new that I want to watch!” you yell.

You hear a deep chuckle from the kitchen, before Bucky walks into the common room with a big bowl of popcorn. 

“Just pick something, it doesn’t have to be new, Bells,” he says, as he sits next you and wraps his metal arm around you.

You settle on “Stranger Things”, and snuggle into Bucky. After 2 episodes, you look up and notice Bucky is staring at you.

“What?” you ask.

He smiles at you, “I was just thinking… I don’t know if you would want to, or if you just want to keep things as they are… but… um… w-would you want to go out on a date with me?” he asks.

You sit up and look at him. He looks so adorably nervous, that you can’t help but smile. 

“Absolutely. I think you've been patient with my punishment, and honestly, I've been waiting for you to get the guts to ask me out. But on one condition,” you say.

Bucky nods, “Name it, my Bella.”

You smile, "We continue to go at my pace. No rushing into things just because we know our feelings. I need to know you are willing to continue being patient. And also... we never go to that pizza place again, and you better drive me home after every date," you say with a fake glare.

Bucky laughs, "Belle, you will never have to walk home alone again, and yes I accept going slow. I know I still have a lot to make up for, but I'm glad you are giving me another chance."

"Yeah, I know, but we'll get there eventually," you say with a smile before you both hug.

It took awhile before you let him kiss you again, and even longer before you slept together. Bucky took everything in stride and you both eventually enjoyed a long lasting loving relationship.

--

Some people might not like that we forgave him, but in my head he went through the punishment to deserve the forgiveness. Feedback is appreciated!

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