#(also i am typing late into the night sorry for any mistakes)

[the-kingshound]

Sorry if this is a weird question to ask, but do you have any tips for getting into creating interactive fiction games? I’ve poked around with twine and things, but I’d love to hear your insights about creating a story/characters and making a narrative that supports player choices (if that makes sense :))

Ohh, I am so honored you came to me! I can give you the key points of what I learned in my time writing IFs, but I am in no way an expert so keep it in mind.

1) I think the very first thing you want to do is decide what type of choices will define the interactive aspect of your game. Basically, if you want the plot to be interactive, or if you want a linear plot with an interactive personality of the player character.

I tend to prefer the latter, but it all depends on what kind of variations you enjoy writing and planning most. Keep this choice always in mind when planning the choices in the story.

2) I think that, especially in IFs, it's important to plan ahead. I learned the hard way that, personally, without having a solid plan I get stuck while writing and cannot continue the story.

I have a general plan for the whole game, so that I can design the character development, what kind of stats will be important, and the general focus of the story in terms of themes. Then, I individually plan each chapter, and in my opinion this step cannot be skipped. You need the whole chapter already outlined before you start writing it, or, again, you'll get stuck midway.

3) what I find particularly tricky, and time consuming, is the process of trying to decide, through trials and errors, just how you want your scenes to be structured. This means which choices will be made available, and I often scrap or add things as I write, which POV is a scene going to be from (if you have multiple POVs) and when and how to cut a scene off.

This will probably involve rewriting scenes or options over and over. It's ok. Just keep working on it until you have a version that satisfies you and flows better than the others.

4) once you have done a bit of work on your game, you start to see which stats you want to focus on. An important thing for me to enjoy this part: I like to have MCs that have defining characters, that are semi-set. It makes it easier to write certain scenes.

But you also need to cut the stats down to the bare minimum. Players generally don't enjoy choices that have no consequences, or lead nowhere. Instead, focus on a hanful of variations (of personality, in this case) that can change the gameplay. For TKH, there are four variables that make up four archetypes for MC. And that's it. The other choices only involve interactions with the characters, in a platonic or romantic way. Or are things I can track easily (ex: sleeping on the floor/bed, cold/warm showers...)

5) one thing I think some games lack, is the focus on your MC. This makes for a more enjoyable experience for most players. You need to make your MC central to the story (while of course maintaining the other characters as separate entities with their own motives), to let them have an impact on story events, or other characters arcs.

[adelliet]

Joel Miller x f!reader

MILLER'S ABYSS

Summary: Your sister is marrying one of the Millers — but you despise the other one, and the feeling is mutual. Still, family is supposed to stick together, not tear each other apart. So, over time, the two of you grow closer… far closer than anyone ever expected.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, enemies to lovers, age gap (not really mentioned), strong language, nicknames (goor girl…) praise kink, sexual tension, oral sex ( f receiving ), creampie, rough unprotected sex ( p i v ), harassment, mention of weapons and alcohol

A/n: Hello! I swear to god I wrote a long ass novel. I am really sorry for anyone, who decided to read the whole thing…anyways if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

You’ve been around since the very beginning of your sister’s relationship with Tommy.

From the moment she started gushing daily about how beautiful his eyes were, how no man had ever smiled at her the way he did, how kind and attentive he was. You witnessed it all — the blissful highs and the inevitable lows. The fights, the breaks, the tearful late-night conversations about breaking up… though they never actually did.

You were there for every moment, even the ones you wish you hadn’t been. Kate had never been shy about sharing even the most intimate details of her relationship with you. She had no filter, and unfortunately for you, that included describing her and Tommy’s sex life in disturbingly vivid detail.

Once, you even caught them in the act in your own house. But hey, that’s a memory you can kind of laugh about now… sort of.

So when she told you Tommy had proposed, you weren’t surprised — not in the slightest. You were happy for her. You loved your sister more than anything, and you knew she had chosen the right guy. Honestly, you were just relieved she hadn’t chosen his brother — Joel.

From the first moment those grumpy, judgmental eyes met yours, Joel Miller had been a pain in your ass. Arrogant. Insufferable. Always had something snarky to say about you at every family gathering. And sure, you gave it back. You were never the type to sit there and take it. Which is exactly how this rivalry had formed. Let’s just call it what it is: you and Joel were enemies.

Until now, it wasn’t really a problem. You could ignore him, roll your eyes when his name came up, and pray you wouldn’t be seated next to him at dinner. But now that your sister was officially going to be a part of the Miller family, officially taking their name, sharing their home, their holiday dinners, that made you, like it or not, a part of their family too. Great.

And if that wasn’t enough, your sister had been relentlessly pushing you to make peace with Joel. “For her.” As if you owed it to her to get along with a man who seemed to exist solely to piss you off.

She guilt-tripped you into it, like she always did, and you hated that it worked. Because as manipulative as she could be, you loved the hell out of her. And you knew this meant the world to her. But Joel? Joel was still a jackass, pre-wedding or not, he wasn’t going to change.

You were still at home when Kate barged into your room like she owned the place — which, technically, she almost did, considering how often she was there. Dressed in a soft green sweater and jeans, she looked casual, relaxed, and maddeningly excited.

Meanwhile, you were half-dressed, still holding a flat iron in one hand and a look of pure dread on your face.

“Come on,” she said with a cheerful grin. “It’s just dinner.”

You narrowed your eyes at her in the mirror. “It’s never just dinner when Joel’s involved.”

Kate sighed dramatically, flopping down on your bed like some exhausted mother of the bride. “You two need to get over this weird… war thing. He’s really not that bad.”

You raised an eyebrow. “He once referred to me as ‘extra baggage’ in front of your entire family.”

“Okay, yes, that was… not his finest moment. But he was joking,” she admit, but still tried to save it.

“Oh yeah, nothing screams hilarious comedy like being publicly insulted.”

She sat up, crossing her legs under her. “Please, babe. Just try tonight. For me. If you can survive one dinner without threatening to stab him with a fork, I swear I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”

You let out a dry laugh. “You say that every time.”

“And yet you keep saying yes,” she smirked.

You groaned. She was right. You hated how much you loved her. With a final puff of frustration, you turned off the flat iron, stood up, and grabbed your jacket. “Fine. But if he calls me ‘baggage’ again, I’m pouring wine on his lap.”

Meanwhile, Joel is going through the exact same thing. Tommy’s been in his ear all week, pressuring him to play nice. To “just give her a chance.” Tommy’s been acting like he’s the victim, like he’s stuck in the middle, practically begging Joel to make the effort. So now you and Joel are both being dragged into this under the pretense of a “family bonding” dinner.

By the time you two got to the Miller house, it was already dusk. The porch light was on, casting a warm glow over the wood panels and old swing seat hanging to the side. Tommy opened the door before you even knocked. He immediately scooped Kate into his arms, greeting her with a kiss that lasted a bit too long for your taste.

“Jesus, get a room,” you muttered under your breath.

Tommy chuckled. “Evenin’,” he said, giving you a nod.

You gave him a polite smile. “Hey.”

Then came the moment your blood turned cold. Joel stepped into the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. His hair was slightly damp like he’d just showered, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He didn’t say anything — just looked at you. You looked back. And there it was again, that mutual expression of ugh, it’s you.

Kate and Tommy exchanged matching looks and leaned into your ears simultaneously.

“Be nice,” she hissed at you.

“Don’t start anything,” Tommy whispered to Joel.

You both scoffed.

Dinner prep was a disaster waiting to happen. For some unknown reason, probably Kate and Tommy being evil geniuses, you and Joel were tasked with setting the table and bringing out the food. The tension in the kitchen was unbearable.

“Could you not stand in front of the fridge like a statue?” you snapped.

“I’m getting the damn salad, princess,” Joel grumbled, pulling out the bowl and practically shoving it into your arms.

You glared. “Try using your words instead of your muscles, Neanderthal.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t tempt me to go back to grunting. Might actually be more productive.”

The more you moved around each other, the worse it got — bumping hips at the counter, brushing arms when reaching for the same spoon, and more than once, you two knocked elbows hard enough to make you both wince.

“Watch it,” you muttered.

“You watch it,” he shot back.

“Jesus Christ,” you both said at the same time, throwing your heads back in sync. Which, of course, only made things worse because now you were in sync, and that was not acceptable.

Finally, Kate came in and clapped her hands. “Enough! Can you two just pretend not to hate each other for one night? Please?”

You and Joel both grumbled something under your breath and carried the last dishes to the table in stony silence.

Dinner was… exactly what you expected. You sat across from Joel — naturally. Your jaw was clenched the entire time, and you were very aware of every fork and knife placement, just in case they needed to become weapons. The air was so thick with tension it could’ve been sliced like the roast chicken on the table.

Kate and Tommy tried to salvage the evening with small talk.

“So…” Kate started, glancing between you and Joel, “how was everyone’s day?”

“Fine,” you said flatly.

“Work,” Joel replied, same tone.

Tommy tried to step in. “Hey, did you two know you both listen to Johnny Cash? I found out the other day when—”

“I liked him first,” you snapped.

Joel raised a brow. “Didn’t realize it was a competition.”

“Everything is a competition with you.”

Tommy looked between you both like a tennis match was playing out on the table. “O-kayyy…”

Kate, bless her heart, still tried. “Oh! What’s one thing you two have in common, hmm? Let’s start there.”

You both said nothing.

Joel took a slow sip of water and said, “We both hate this dinner.”

You nodded. “He’s not wrong.”

Kate sighed, Tommy just reached for the wine bottle, shaking his head. They both knew this is going to be a long night.

Dinner was mostly quiet — painfully so. The clink of forks against plates and the occasional hum of conversation from Tommy and Kate filled the room, but that was about it. You and Joel barely spoke.

Occasionally, your eyes would meet across the table, sometimes with passive annoyance, other times with flat-out disgust, and sometimes with something neutral. But even neutrality between you two felt tense, like a ceasefire that could end at any moment.

Tommy tried to lighten the mood a few times, making dumb jokes about the food or poking at Joel’s cooking skills.

“This chicken dry, or is it just me?” he teased with a grin.

Joel gave him a look. “If it’s dry, it’s ’cause you didn’t baste it. That was your job.”

Kate laughed, trying to follow up. “At least you two managed not to kill each other in the kitchen, right?”

No response. But they tried again.

“So,” Kate began, clearly reaching, “any plans this weekend?”

“I work,” you said.

Joel echoed, “Same.”

Another silence fell, heavier than before. The kind of silence that made your jaw ache just from clenching it so long. No matter how hard Tommy and Kate tried to spark something between you two — laughter, small talk, anything — the tension in the room snuffed it out before it could catch fire. It wasn’t just awkward. It was chemical.

You and Joel in the same space were like two opposing forces, constantly repelling, constantly charged. Too close and it sparked. Too far and it still lingered in the air like static.

After dinner, as expected, you and Joel were once again exiled to the kitchen, this time to wash the dishes.

Kate had literally clapped her hands and said, “Bonding time!” before shoving the dirty plates into your arms. You didn’t even have time to argue before she and Tommy disappeared into the living room, probably to laugh about your misery.

Now you stood next to Joel, the two of you shoulder-to-shoulder at the sink.

He washed. You dried. Silence.

The sound of running water filled the space, along with the occasional clink of a fork against a plate. You hadn’t said a single word since you entered the kitchen, and neither had he.

The mood wasn’t angry, though. Not anymore. It was something else. Something you couldn’t quite name.

You turned your head slightly, and your gaze drifted downward, toward his hands.

You didn’t mean to stare, but something about them caught you. His hands were large, strong, weathered. The veins stood out beneath the tanned skin, pulsing slightly as he gripped a soapy plate. His knuckles looked a little bruised, like he’d been working with tools recently, or maybe throwing punches. There was hair on his forearms, just enough, and the muscles flexed subtly as he moved, the way a man’s body does when he doesn’t even think about it.

You swallowed. Your eyes lingered on his fingers. Long, sure, and steady. You imagined, just for a split second, how they would feel against your skin. What they would do if they weren’t holding a dish, but holding you. You bit your lip.

The kitchen faded around you. The water noise dimmed. Everything felt slow, heavy, thick like honey. Your chest tightened, your stomach dropped, and something low and electric buzzed between your legs — a tension that coiled and pulled without warning, warm and unwanted and there. You weren’t even breathing right.

You didn’t realize he was speaking to you.

“Hey. Plate.”

Your head snapped up, too late. He was holding a clean plate, expecting you to take it. But your hands stayed frozen, and when he let go, it slipped. The crash was loud.

Porcelain shattered against the floor in a sharp burst, and you gasped, stepping back automatically.

“Shit,” Joel muttered under his breath, already reaching down.

You moved forward, instinctively trying to kneel, but his hand shot out fast, palm pressed against your hip to stop you.

“Don’t,” he said firmly, his voice low — not angry, not annoyed. Protective. You froze in place.

He crouched and swept up the shards quickly, moving with precision, barely saying a word. He worked silently, efficiently, like it was nothing, but his jaw was tight. His eyes flicked up at you once, his brows furrowed. His expression was angry and confused all at once.

He stood back up after dumping the last of the shards into the trash bin, wiping his hands on a towel with a sigh, sharp and fed up.

Then he turned toward you with that same ever-present frustration in his eyes.

“What is wrong with you?”

You blinked at him, speechless.

“What, were you daydreamin’ so hard you forgot how to use your hands?”

His tone wasn’t playful. It wasn’t even annoyed. It was accusatory, like you’d done it on purpose, just to piss him off.

You didn't answer. You couldn't. Your body was frozen in place, the towel still clenched in your fingers, your lips parted like you might say something — but no sound came out. You weren’t even mad. Not this time. Because underneath all that embarrassment, all that tension, was confusion.

What the hell was that?

Why had you been staring at his hands like they were goddamn poetry? Why had your brain short-circuited and your body reacted like that — like you wanted something from him?

From Joel fucking Miller.

You didn’t understand yourself right now. At all.

Joel scoffed under his breath when you didn’t respond and brushed past you without another word, tossing the towel over the edge of the sink and leaving you standing there — warm, unsettled, and angry at no one but yourself.

After you and Kate finally left the Miller house and inhaled the fresh night air, Kate looped her arm through yours. She looked up at you with that too-knowing expression.

“Well?” she asked, her voice casual, but the look on her face said spill it.

You gave her the look — that don’t start with me kind of face.

Kate exhaled, long and exaggerated. “Seriously? What is it gonna take for you two to stop acting like mortal enemies?”

You didn’t answer right away, just stared out at the sidewalk ahead.

“I know he’s annoying,” she went on. “I know he’s pushy, and grumpy, and rude as hell, but Jesus, he’s not the devil. He’s just Joel.”

You finally spoke, voice lower than usual. “I get it. Okay? I get it. You’re marrying into his family, I’m technically gonna be stuck with him for the rest of my life, blah blah blah.”

She smirked. “So you’ll try?”

You sighed. “I will. But only if he does, too. I can’t be the only one putting effort into something we both clearly hate.”

Kate made a noise between a laugh and a groan. “Fair enough. But God, I swear, if you two ruin the wedding photos with your death glares…”

Back inside the Miller house, Joel was slouched on the couch, legs spread out, beer in hand. Tommy returned from the kitchen with two more beers and plopped down beside him.

“So,” he said, cracking open a bottle. “What the hell happened in there?”

Joel didn’t even look at him. “She dropped a plate.”

Tommy squinted. “She dropped it?”

Joel shrugged. “I handed it to her, and she just… didn’t take it. Let it fall. Her fault.”

Tommy gave him a really, man? look. “You think maybe she was distracted or somethin’? Maybe you distracted her?”

Joel scoffed. “You think she was distracted by me? Please. If anything, she was probably daydreamin’ about strangling me.”

Tommy raised a brow, clearly not buying the sarcasm. “You ever think that maybe the reason you two can’t stop fighting is because there’s somethin’ else going on?”

Joel shot him a glare. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Tommy said, leaning forward with that big-brother patience, “that you’ve been on her case since day one. And maybe it’s not just because she annoys you.”

Joel opened his mouth, but Tommy cut him off.

“I’m serious, man. The wedding’s in a few days. Can you do me a favor and try to get along with her until then? I don’t need you two turning the rehearsal dinner into a goddamn war zone.”

Joel looked away, jaw clenched. He didn’t say anything for a while. Just took a long drink from his bottle.

Eventually, he muttered, “I’ll think about it.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Better than nothing, I guess.”

The tension between you and Joel hadn’t eased in the slightest since that night at the Miller household. If anything, the silence had grown louder, more hostile. Kate and Tommy, of course, refused to give up on their master plan to “bring the two of you together,” as if your lives were a cheesy rom-com and not a daily emotional battlefield.

With the wedding quickly approaching, they decided the best way to force bonding would be through responsibility. Specifically: seating arrangements and wedding invitations. Apparently, this critical task needed the undivided attention of you and Joel. Together. Alone. In their house. Because of course.

Kate and Tommy conveniently had an appointment in town, something about last-minute candle holders and music rehearsals, and “oh no, what a shame, you guys will just have to hold down the fort!” Kate practically squealed while Tommy tried to look like it wasn’t part of their evil plan.

So there you were, sitting stiffly at the Millers’ dining table, stacks of RSVP cards, envelopes, and color-coded guest lists spread out in front of you. Joel sat across from you, equally still, equally uninterested in being here.

The silence was thick. Occasionally, one of you would mutter something like, “He’s allergic to nuts, right?” or “That name’s spelled with an ‘e’.”

Minimal communication. Minimal eye contact. Maximal contempt.

You let out a heavy sigh as you picked up a fresh stack of blank envelopes. “Y’know, this would’ve been so much easier if the world hadn’t ended,” you muttered under your breath. “A few clicks and everyone would’ve had a damn email invite. Done in five minutes.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You miss the internet that bad?”

You shrugged. “I miss not having to do this shit by hand, yeah.”

He scoffed. “It’s a wedding. People used to do this all the time.”

You shot him a look. “People used to do a lot of dumb things.”

Joel raised both hands in mock surrender, then muttered, “Including arguing about paper.”

A few beats passed in silence again before you looked up, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “This whole thing’s weird, isn’t it?”

Joel looked at you cautiously. “Which part?”

“All of it,” you said. “Two people falling in love in this… mess. Choosing each other. Wanting to celebrate it. Feels like some part of the old world pretending it still exists.”

He didn’t respond, just kept his eyes on the page in front of him.

You watched him a second longer, then said, “I mean… what does that even mean anymore? Love. You think it still means the same thing it used to?”

Joel finally looked up.

You met his gaze, and the words slipped out before you could think twice, not really curious, more mocking than anything else. “What does love even mean to you, Joel Miller?”

He stared at you, his jaw slowly tightening.

You added with a touch of venom, “Have you even ever been in love? Or are you too emotionally constipated for that, too?”

He froze. The look in his eyes darkened, and the air between you changed.

“The hell did you just say?”

You didn’t flinch. “I called you a pussy, Joel.”

His nostrils flared. “Say it again.”

“I said, you’re a pussy.”

The silence that followed was dense, almost buzzing. Joel’s eyes drilled into you, and for a second, you weren’t sure what he was going to do. Yell? Walk out?

But instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, voice low and sharp.

“You wanna talk big, huh? Then tell me, what does love mean to you, sweetheart?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. Since you’ve clearly got all the answers.”

You hesitated, heart skipping. Your mouth opened, then closed. You looked away.

“That’s what I thought,” Joel said.

You stared at the table for a long moment, heart pounding in your ears. Then, before you could stop yourself, your voice broke the silence.

“Love is… when you can’t breathe right unless that person is in the room. When you’d rather fight with them than be at peace with anyone else. When you want to see all the ugly parts of them and still stay. And when their pain… feels like yours.”

You didn’t dare look up, not right away. When you finally did, Joel was staring. Not blinking. Not moving. Just looking. Like he’d never really seen you until now.

He cleared his throat suddenly, shifted, and said, “Huh.”

Then he nodded. Once. Turned back to the list. The moment lingered. Hung between you like a string, pulled taut.

Then he spoke again.

“Love’s when you wanna walk away but something keeps pullin’ you back. When you can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout how they laugh… or how mad they get. When you know it’s messy and it still feels like home.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Something inside you had shifted.

But before it could settle, before the warmth could sink in…

Joel muttered, “Still doesn’t explain why you act like a damn gremlin every time I speak.”

You scoffed. “Because you speak like a man who’s never been hugged.”

“Then maybe you should try it sometime,” he shot back.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. I’d rather hug a cactus.”

“Figures,” Joel said. “Prickly little thing like you would.”

Still, despite the insults, the two of you finished the task. The guest list was done. Invitations sorted. But the words exchanged, the raw ones, clung to the air. And you didn’t quite know how to feel.

You had just gotten home, the front door clicking shut behind you with a soft thud. Your shoulders slumped immediately. The moment you stepped into your own space, a small but safe corner of Jackson, you let out a sigh that had been bottled up since you left the Miller house.

The silence here was different. Not tense or charged like it had been with Joel. Just… quiet.

You slipped off your jacket, toed off your boots, and dropped your bag on the floor without ceremony. The thought of Joel’s voice, his eyes locked on yours when you told him what love meant to you…it haunted the back of your mind like a persistent shadow. You shook your head, trying to return back to reality.

A knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. You already knew it was her.

Kate stood there with a small smile, holding a container of something vaguely edible and homemade. “Peace offering,” she said. “And no, you don’t get to say no.”

You let her in, and a few minutes later you were both curled up on your couch, the dish of food forgotten on the coffee table. Kate had that look, the one she wore when she was trying to act casual, but her whole soul was bubbling with questions.

“So…” she said, dragging the word out dramatically. “How’d it go?”

You blinked, already mentally preparing your response. “Fine.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “Fine?”

You nodded. “We didn’t kill each other. That’s a win.”

She stared at you, and you could practically hear her brain doing somersaults. She knew something was wrong. You've never looked so confused.

Kate pulled her legs up onto the couch and faced you fully, expression softening.

“You look… tired,” she finally said, trying to keep her tone light.

“Long day,” you replied simply, brushing it off.

Kate gave you a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How was the… invitation thing?”

You shrugged. “It’s done.”

There was a pause. You didn’t elaborate. And she didn’t press. You could feel her gaze lingering on you, trying to read something on your face, but you didn’t let her see it. Whatever was still spinning inside you, the strange heaviness, the warmth that shouldn’t have been there, the ghost of Joel Miller’s voice, that was yours. Yours alone.

Kate leaned back with a sigh, folding her arms.

“I know you don’t want to talk about him,” she said softly, “but I just… I need to ask.”

You looked at her, guarded.

“Do you think it’s ever going to change? Between you and Joel?”

You didn’t answer right away. You looked at your hands, picked at a loose thread on your sleeve.

“Some things don’t change,” you said quietly. “Some things just… stay broken.”

Kate’s face twisted, the fight going out of her. She blinked quickly, but it didn’t stop the tears that started forming.

You looked over, guilt blooming in your chest. “Kate…”

“I just wanted it to be perfect,” she whispered. “My wedding. This whole day I’ve been dreaming of since I was a kid. I wanted everyone I love to be there and to be happy and whole.”

“You will have that,” you said firmly, even if your voice shook a little.

She shook her head, wiping her cheeks as the tears finally fell. “Not if you two are at each other’s throats the whole time.”

You stayed quiet, watching her break down in front of you — your strong, soft-hearted sister who tried so hard to keep everyone together.

“I know I sound dramatic,” she laughed bitterly through her tears. “But I don’t want to remember walking down the aisle and seeing you scowling in one corner and Joel brooding in the other.”

You reached out and took her hand. “You won’t. I promise.”

Kate sniffled. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can promise I’ll try,” you said. “I don’t know what he’ll do, but I’ll try. For you.”

That seemed to help — not fix it, not fully, but soften the edges of her sadness. Her grip on your hand tightened.

Kate wiped her cheeks and let out a breathy laugh. “You better try, because if not, I was going to threaten you with the world’s ugliest bridesmaid dress.”

You snorted. “I’d wear it. Just to ruin your photos.”

She gasped in mock offense, then started laughing, a real one this time. You joined her, and for a few minutes, the air was lighter. Less pressure. Less ache.

At least for now.

The bed creaked softly beneath him as he shifted for the third time in five minutes. Joel lay on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling of his dimly lit bedroom, the moonlight cutting across the room in a cold stripe. The air was still, thick with silence, and yet his mind was unbearably loud.

He’d tried everything. Rolling over. Flipping his pillow. Forcing his thoughts toward patrol routes, inventory lists, anything functional. But no matter what direction he turned, you were there. Like a ghost he hadn’t asked for but couldn’t exorcize.

Your face hovered behind his eyelids. Not angry or sharp the way it often was — but softer. Lit with that rare, fleeting smile you gave Kate. Or the way your head tipped back when you laughed at something that actually caught you off guard. That sound — fuck, that sound — warm and bright like the first day of spring after a brutal winter.

And then there was the way you touched your hair, that unconscious little motion, fingers gliding through it, tucking it behind your ear or sweeping it out of your eyes. You didn’t even know you did it. But Joel did. He’d seen it. Noticed it. Memorized it like a fool.

He pictured you leaning over the table earlier that day, shirt riding up just enough to reveal a strip of bare lower back. His gaze had lingered. Too long. He knew that. He hated that.

Your ass—round, perfect, smug in those tight jeans—had haunted him every time he closed his eyes since.

He shifted again, jaw clenched now, heat starting to pool somewhere low in his belly.

No. No, no, no.

But it was already too late. His body wasn’t asking for permission — it was responding. A twitch of pressure, a slow tightening beneath the waistband of his briefs. His breath caught as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish you from his brain.

Didn’t work.

You stayed, and now you were closer — the imagined warmth of your skin, the sound of your voice in his ear, teasing, smug. The tilt of your mouth. The curve of your hips as you stood with one hand on them, rolling your eyes at something he said.

His hand fisted the sheets.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, voice rough, hoarse with frustration — and something else.

He turned onto his side, dragging the blanket higher, willing his body to calm down. But it wouldn’t. Every time he shut his eyes, there you were — sometimes laughing, sometimes biting your lip, sometimes looking up at him with that fire in your gaze that made him feel like he was being dared to cross a line.

He groaned, low and miserable, rolling onto his back again.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were infuriating. You were stubborn, impulsive, mouthy. You didn’t like him. He didn’t like you.

But your voice still echoed in his head, that quiet answer you’d given when you talked about love. It had knocked something loose in him. Something buried. Something he didn’t want to name.

Joel cursed under his breath again and threw an arm over his eyes, as if blocking out the light might also block you. His body was still betraying him — hard now, pulsing and persistent, refusing to let him pretend.

He didn’t know what was happening to him. Why it was happening. Why it was happening, because of you.

He hated you. Every fiber of you. Every sound that came out of your mouth was insufferable, every sentence laced with that arrogant, sarcastic tone that made his blood boil. Your eyes, your posture, your voice, your goddamn presence—he hated it all.

So why the hell is he fucking hard right now? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about you?

Why did the image of your lips slightly parted as you chewed on your bottom one haunt him? Why did the memory of the soft curve of your waist, revealed when your shirt lifted just a little too high the other day, replay in his mind like some sick punishment? Why did he remember the sway of your hips when you walked away from him in irritation, those tight pants hugging your ass so perfectly it should’ve been illegal?

And why did his cock throb every time he let the image linger? It was torture.

He shifted in his bed again, groaning under his breath. Sheets rustled around him, clinging to his sweat-slicked skin.

He closed his eyes. He opened them. He closed them again. You were still there—in his head. Laughing, glaring, rolling your eyes, teasing him with that attitude that made him want to pin you to a wall and shut you up with his mouth.

He threw an arm over his face. Growled.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

Sleep definitely wasn’t coming tonight.

The next morning arrived like a slap in the face.

You were walking through Jackson, hands tucked into your jacket pockets, breathing in the chilled air. The sky was pale and clouded, the usual buzz of early activity around you—a couple of kids running down the path, dogs barking, someone hauling wood nearby.

You were just going to the store. That was it. Simple. In and out. Until your eyes landed on him - on Joel.

He was a little far off, working on a newly constructed cabin. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing thick, sun-kissed forearms, and you watched, breath hitching as his muscles tensed with each swing of the hammer. The way his biceps bulged, like fucking granite, as he brought the tool down with precision and force.

You knew it was wrong, but… your eyes wandered lower. Watching the way his back flexed beneath his shirt, the curve of his ass in those damn jeans, the way his hair bounced slightly with the movement, sticking to his sweaty forehead. The veins in his hands, so prominent, so… masculine, wrapped around the handle of that hammer like it owed him something.

Your stomach twisted. You swallowed hard. Your thighs pressed together. Your panties were… wet. Unmistakably. You could feel it. You were pulsing. And it was because of Joel fucking Miller.

You stared for a moment too long, heart racing, body betraying you in every way it could. Then it hit you like a truck, the embarrassment, the fury.

You tore your gaze away, eyes wide, and stormed forward like your feet could carry you out of your own body.

What the hell was wrong with you? Why were you reacting like this to him? You hated him. He was rude. Cocky. Infuriating. Not even that attractive.

So why the hell was your body acting like it wanted him inside you?

You cursed under your breath. Not at Joel. At yourself.

By the time you entered the store, you were still flustered, heart thudding in your ears. You pushed a cart forward and moved through the aisles like you were on autopilot, scanning for what you needed. Your brain was still somewhere else entirely.

That’s when someone spoke behind you.

“Hey—uh, sorry, do you know which flour’s better for, like, sourdough bread? The brown bag or the white one?”

You blinked and turned around. There was a guy. Kinda cute. Probably around your age. Tall, lean, with soft features and warm eyes. His voice was kind, curious. Not annoying. Not Joel.

You glanced at the two bags in his hands, then pointed to one. “The brown bag’s whole grain. It’s heavier. Depends what you want, but for sourdough? White’s probably safer.”

He smiled. “Thanks. I’m Hank, by the way.”

You nodded, giving a small smile back. “Nice to meet you.”

And that was it. Just… nice.

You continued your shopping, finishing quickly, keeping the interaction in the back of your mind, but it was faint. Not because Hank wasn’t lovely, but because Joel was still in your system like venom.

You paid, stepped outside with your bag in hand, and started the walk home, your mind looping the same awful thought:

Why did your body want the one person your brain wanted to strangle? You had no answer. Just the echo of his name in your head and the heavy, traitorous thrum in your chest.

The sky had long since darkened into a deep navy, the stars peeking shyly through the scattered clouds above Jackson.

Inside your home, it was warm—quiet. A soft amber glow bathed the living room from the single lamp you’d turned on, casting long shadows against the walls.

You were curled up on the couch, wearing nothing but a loose oversized T-shirt that draped just over your hips and a pair of simple cotton panties. Your legs were bare, tucked under you as you sipped from a mug of coffee that had gone lukewarm long ago, but the comfort it offered hadn’t worn off.

The silence was calming, the kind that followed an emotionally messy day. You breathed out softly, your body finally beginning to unwind—until a knock pulled you back into reality.

You didn’t flinch. You assumed, without question, that it was Kate. Probably coming to drop off something or chat about the wedding. So you padded lazily to the door, not thinking twice about how little you were wearing. Your shirt clung to your body slightly, the thin fabric doing little to hide the curve of your breasts or the faint outline of your nipples beneath it. You didn’t care. It was just Kate.

But it wasn’t Kate.

The second the door opened, and you locked eyes with the man standing there, your breath caught. Joel Miller. And he looked stunned.

His eyes scanned you—fast at first, like he knew he shouldn’t—but then slower, more deliberate. They flicked down your body, taking in the exposed skin of your legs, the hem of the shirt barely grazing your thighs. The hard peaks beneath the soft fabric. Your bare feet. Your collarbone. His mouth parted slightly, and for the briefest moment, he forgot whatever the hell he was doing there.

You noticed. You definitely noticed.

Your expression flattened into a scowl as you exhaled, annoyed. “The fuck do you want?”

That snapped him out of it. He blinked, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, clearly trying to summon the familiar arrogance that always kept him armored around you.

“Trust me,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly, “I’d rather be anywhere else but here.”

“Great,” you snapped, already pushing the door to shut in his face. But his large, calloused hand caught the wood with ease, pushing it back open like it was nothing.

You glared but didn’t resist. There was no point. You couldn’t overpower Joel Miller, and honestly, you were too tired to try.

“Tommy sent me,” he finally said, voice returning to its usual gruff cadence. “Said we need to go grab some shit from the woods. Decoration stuff. For the wedding.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why me?”

He shrugged, unapologetic. “Apparently, you’re a woman. Which means you’re supposed to be better at this crap than me.”

You scoffed dramatically, rolling your eyes, and turned to glance at the clock hanging in your living room. “It’s nine-fucking-p.m. Are you stupid?”

“I worked all day,” he bit back, voice edging toward exasperation, though his gaze never left your bare thighs.

You mumbled under your breath, “Yeah. I noticed.” Your eyes flicked down to the floor quickly.

Joel tilted his head. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you replied with a fake sweet smile, lips curling with venom.

He sighed. “Are you coming or not?”

You knew damn well that if you said no, not only would he keep annoying you, but so would Kate and Tommy, and eventually, you’d cave. So you made the only rational choice—gave a dramatic sigh and stepped back into your house, leaving the door open behind you.

“Wait here,” you muttered over your shoulder.

Joel stepped inside, his boots heavy against your wooden floor. He didn’t say anything. Just took in your space with a kind of silent judgment that felt oddly intimate. It was homey. Clean. Warm. He liked it more than he should’ve.

When you returned a few minutes later, your body was dressed in a black button-up shirt that clung to your figure, paired with tight black jeans that hugged your hips and ass like they were tailor-made. You tossed your hair back and brushed your hand along the wall, grabbing your jacket.

Joel saw you. swallowing hard when he felt the blood in his body rush somewhere it really shouldn’t.

“Let’s go,” you said curtly, pushing past him and stepping out the door. He followed. Silently.

The truck rumbled to life, headlights cutting through the inky black night as Joel pulled out of your driveway. You sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, gaze fixed out the window.

Silence. Thick silence.

Not the peaceful kind from earlier. This one was charged, buzzing under your skin like static. The air between you crackled with unspoken things, heavy tension that neither of you dared to slice through. Questions, feelings, memories—none of them had names, but they were all there, pressing into the cab of the truck like ghosts refusing to stay dead.

You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at you. But both of you felt it. Every second ticked by like a countdown to something inevitable. Something neither of you were ready to admit.

The road stretched out endlessly ahead, swallowed by the dark trees on either side. The only sound filling the truck was the steady hum of the engine and the occasional crunch of gravel beneath the tires. You sat with your arms crossed, your body angled slightly toward the window, your gaze locked on the shadows flashing by. The silence was thick. Claustrophobic. And entirely unbearable.

Finally, Joel broke it.

“What’d you do today?”

His voice was neutral. Uninterested, even. He didn’t look at you—kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting lazily on the wheel, the other draped over the armrest. Just a casual question, thrown out into the air like it didn’t mean a damn thing.

You turned your head slowly toward him, an incredulous smirk pulling at your lips. “Really?”

Joel glanced at you once, then again, brows drawing slightly together. “What?”

A laugh burst out of you, short and bitter, as you shook your head in disbelief. “You’re seriously trying to ask me about my day?”

He didn’t respond immediately. You could tell he was debating it. Trying to find a retort that wouldn’t sound weak. But before he could even open his mouth, you beat him to it.

“You don’t even care.”

Your voice was quieter now, almost defeated. You turned your head back toward the window, watching the world blur past, soft shadows and moonlight playing tricks on your vision. For a moment, there was only silence again. Heavy. Tense.

“…I don’t,” Joel finally admitted, his tone dry, “but it’s better than this annoying-ass silence.”

You let the corner of your mouth twitch. The bastard had a point. You let a few seconds pass, then finally gave in.

“I went to the store.”

Joel gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgment, a slight nod that was barely perceptible.

“I met someone. Hank.”

Another grunt. Another nod. But this time… his grip on the steering wheel tightened. Just a little. Barely enough to notice. But you saw the way his forearm flexed, how his fingers wrapped more firmly around the leather. It was subtle. But there. A small flash of something ugly and hot in his chest. Jealousy? No. That couldn’t be. Why the hell would he be jealous?

“Is he cute?” he asked.

You didn’t even hesitate. “Not bad. Might give him my address if I see him again.”

That did it. Joel’s knuckles went white on the wheel, his jaw tightening so hard it ticked. His whole body tensed like a wire pulled too tight.

You knew exactly what you were doing. And you liked the reaction a little more than you should have.

“What about you?” you asked, voice suddenly lighter, almost teasing. “Meet any girls today?”

“Huh?” Joel glanced over at you quickly before looking back at the road.

“Come on, you know… did you meet someone new? Maybe someone young and smiley and way too optimistic for her own good?”

Joel let out a huff of air—half a laugh, half a scoff. “Not into that crap.”

“Not into what? Dating?”

He gave a slow nod. “Yeah. Who the hell would date a grumpy old bastard like me?”

Your eyes met for a second too long. And something in your chest… shifted. He didn’t say it like a joke. He wasn’t fishing for pity. He was just being honest. And you saw it, really saw it, in his expression. That quiet loneliness that clung to him like a shadow he didn’t know how to shake.

“Don’t be stupid,” you muttered. “I’m sure someone would.”

You weren’t sure why you said it. It came out before you could stop it. Before you could build your usual wall of sarcasm and spite.

Joel’s mouth twitched bitterly. “Wish I was as naïve as you.”

And god, you hated how that made you feel. That burning in your throat. The aching behind your ribs. He was so frustrating, so guarded, so closed off—but in moments like this, you could almost feel how much it cost him to let anything through.

You wanted to hug him. You wouldn’t, of course. But you wanted to.

Joel pulled the truck to a slow stop, the gravel crunching under the tires as the headlights hit a clearing at the edge of the woods. “We’re here,” he muttered, already pushing open his door without a second glance.

You followed a few seconds later, slamming the passenger door a bit too hard and catching up with him.

“So,” you asked as you reached his side, “what exactly are we looking for?”

“Shit for the wedding. Kate wants it to be all… nature-themed or whatever. So twigs, berries, moss, mushrooms. Forest crap.”

You arched a brow. “Romantic.”

Joel didn’t reply. He just handed you a small burlap sack and started heading deeper into the woods, boots crunching over fallen leaves. You walked with him in silence, collecting whatever looked remotely wedding-appropriate. The air was damp and smelled like earth. Leaves brushed against your ankles. Moonlight filtered through the branches in silvery streaks.

Then, suddenly—snap. The sharp crack of a stick breaking echoed nearby. Joel froze. His body went rigid, hand instinctively reaching for his pistol. In a second, the weapon was drawn, held steady, and aimed at the darkness beyond the trees.

You jumped, stumbling back a step and grabbing onto Joel’s arm without thinking. “Shit—what was that?”

“Do you have a gun?” he asked, eyes scanning the shadows.

“Do I look like I have a gun?!”

You moved closer to him, practically hiding behind his solid frame. Your heart was thudding like crazy, adrenaline crawling under your skin.

Joel didn’t move for a long beat, waiting. Watching. But nothing came. Just the wind brushing through the leaves and the chirp of a distant bird. Slowly, he lowered the gun.

“Probably just an animal,” he muttered, but you saw the way his shoulders remained tense. Still alert. Still ready. After a few more seconds, he glanced back at you. “You ever even held a gun?”

You raised a brow. “Do I look like I have?”

Joel sighed heavily and handed you his pistol. “Here.”

You stared at it like he’d just handed you a live snake. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

“Aim,” he said flatly, giving you the simplest instruction imaginable.

You blinked at him. “Come again?”

He didn’t repeat it. Just raised an eyebrow. His expression said don’t argue. So you tried. Kind of. You awkwardly lifted the gun with both hands, your arms stiff, elbows out, your grip all wrong.

Joel let out the most exhausted sigh you’d ever heard, rubbing a hand down his face. “Jesus.”

He took the pistol back, turned it in his hands, and then showed you how to hold it properly.

Feet apart. Elbows relaxed. Grip tight but not too tight. Then he placed the gun back into your hands and watched you. But even so, you were still holding the gun wrong.

Your hands were trembling. Not much, but enough that he noticed. Enough that you noticed. The gun felt heavy, unnatural. Like it didn’t belong in your hands. Joel sighed.

He stepped behind you. Closer than he ever had before. You could feel the heat of his body pressing along your back, his chest brushing against your shoulder blades, his breath — warm and unfiltered — ghosting across the curve of your neck.

Then came his hands.

Big. Rough. Calloused. They slid over yours like they’d been made to fit there — palms swallowing yours completely, fingers curling around the outside of your own to adjust your grip. His thumbs pressed down gently, firmly guiding you, correcting you. You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t breathe.

His beard scraped softly against the edge of your cheek as he leaned in closer. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “Like this. Keep your elbows down. You’re stiff as a damn board.”

You didn’t hear the words.

You just heard him. The low rumble in his chest. The scent of him — cedar, sweat, something smoky and old and undeniably male. The warmth of his body pressed against yours in the cold woods.

And something inside you snapped. Or maybe it awakened.

A pulse flickered deep in your lower belly. Then it dropped lower. Heat bloomed between your thighs, a slow, aching throb that made your breath hitch and your knees feel just a little weaker. You clenched without meaning to — your muscles tightening instinctively, reflexively — and you felt it in your underwear. The wetness. Already.

Fuck.

Your face was on fire. You were sure of it. Your cheeks burned, your ears burned, even the back of your neck was hot — but you didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Because if you did, you’d have to step away from him. And you didn’t want to.

Your heart was hammering inside your chest, pounding against your ribs like it wanted to get out. Your thoughts were chaotic, messy, breathless, spinning.

And when he adjusted your fingers again, his thumb grazing along the sensitive skin between your thumb and forefinger, you couldn’t help the tiny sound that escaped your throat — a breathy, almost inaudible gasp.

Your skin was soft. Warm. He could smell your shampoo, something faint and floral that made him want to bury his face in your neck. He tried to focus on your stance, on the gun, on anything except the way your ass pressed back slightly against his hips, or the tiny hitch in your breath, or the fact that he could feel your pulse through your wrist.

His cock twitched.

The heat spread through him fast — like gasoline catching flame. His hands were supposed to be steady, but they started to shake. Just a little. His jaw clenched. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your cheek, the curve of your jaw, the way your lips were slightly parted. You looked flustered. Flushed. He saw your chest rising and falling faster than before.

And he felt it.

Your body stiffening. That subtle shift of your hips. That soft, barely audible sound that slipped from your throat.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You were turned on. And now he couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was stare at the back of your neck and fight the overwhelming urge to bend his head down and press his mouth there. To see if you’d make that sound again, louder this time.

His cock was already hard. Thick and aching behind his jeans, pressing against the inside of his thigh. And all because of you. Because of the way your body felt under his hands. Because of the way you smelled. Because of that little gasp.

He had to pull away. Now. Before he did something really fucking stupid. But his hands didn’t move. They wouldn’t move.

Instead, he lowered his voice again, leaning closer, his lips grazing your ear.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Just like that. You’re doin’ good.”

Your body shivered. And Joel knew, with complete, devastating certainty, that he was royally, irreversibly fucked.

You turned around slowly, pulse loud in your ears, breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat.

His face was so close you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. Your noses almost brushed. The small space between you felt volatile, like a match hovering over gasoline.

His eyes met yours and you swore time folded in on itself. Everything narrowed down to that one unbearable moment of stillness, your shared breath, the roughness of his exhale fanning across your cheek, his scent laced with sweat and cedar and tension.

You weren’t breathing. You didn’t want to. You wanted to stay right there, suspended in the heaviness of that electric, untouchable almost.

And just when you swore he might tilt his head that tiny bit to close the distance, crack. A branch snapped not far from where you stood.

Joel moved instantly, instinctively. He stepped in front of you, arm extended protectively as his eyes scanned the trees.

Your chest rose and fell, rapidly now, the illusion shattered but the heat still simmering under your skin.

He didn’t look at you when he spoke. “We’re done here,” he said, his voice gravelly, low, but tight. “Let’s go. Ain’t smart to be out here after dark.”

You nodded, mute. There was nothing to say. You followed him through the trees, the pressure in your chest still coiled tight like a loaded spring.

The silence in the truck was worse than the previous drive into the woods. Neither of you said a word. You didn’t even try. The memory of his hands on yours haunted your skin. The way his body pressed behind you. The way he felt. The way your body had responded.

You shifted in your seat, thighs pressing together, breath shaky. From the corner of your eye, you saw his grip tighten on the wheel.

He was thinking about it too. You knew it. You felt it. Like the air between you still crackled with something unnamed and unbearable.

When he pulled up in front of your house, the engine idling, you turned your head to him.

“Thanks,” you said, voice barely audible. He didn’t look at you. Just nodded once.

You got out quickly, afraid your legs might give out if you didn’t move fast. Your fists were clenched as you stormed into your house and slammed the door behind you.

Joel watched until the porch light flicked on. Then he drove off. He had to.

Because if he didn’t leave right now, if he stayed even a second longer in that truck with the memory of your body pressed into his and your eyes looking at him like that, he wouldn’t be able to think. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

And he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to hide the growing ache in his jeans.

The next morning came like a slap. You didn’t sleep much. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind dragged you back to the woods. His breath. His voice. That moment.

You sat now on a little wooden stool, knees tucked under you, watching Kate twirl in front of the mirror in a champagne-colored dress.

“What do you think?” she asked, holding the fabric out by her sides like she was floating.

You smiled. Or at least you tried to.

“It’s perfect,” you said.

And it was—for her. It hugged her curves beautifully, made her look like a springtime goddess. She looked happy. Radiant.

You wanted to be happy with her. But you couldn’t stop thinking about Joel. You couldn’t stop thinking about his voice low in your ear. His hands gripping yours like they belonged there.

The way he pressed into your back, firm and controlled, but just barely. You swallowed hard, shifting on the stool. Your thighs pressed together and stayed there. Your fingers dug into your own knees.

God, what would it be like if he said things like that in a bed? His voice rough, that little growl he did in his throat when he was trying not to let something slip.

“That's it,” he’d say again, but slower this time, with your legs around his waist. His hand around your neck. His body heavy over yours. His—

“Hey?” Kate’s voice broke straight through your filthy mind like a cold slap of water. Your head snapped up. She was watching you in the mirror, a little frown on her face.

“You okay? You zoned out like… hard.”

You blinked. Forced a laugh. “I’m fine. Just tired, I think.”

Kate turned toward you, dress swishing with her. “You sure? You look kinda pale.”

You smiled again. “I’m good. Promise.”

She squinted for a second longer, then let it go. “Okay. Well, you better wake up before tonight. Everyone’s gonna be at the bar. You are coming, right?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know, Katie…”

“Don’t you dare bail on me,” she said, walking over and poking you square in the forehead. “It’s my last free Saturday before wedding chaos hits full force. You’re coming. No excuses.”

You sighed, lips pressed together. “Fine. I’ll go. For you.”

“Damn right it’s for me,” she grinned, turning back to the mirror, completely unaware of the storm behind your eyes.

Because she had no idea that the only thing keeping you from vibrating out of your skin was the image of her future brother-in-law. His voice, his hands, the pressure of him against your back, his body between your thighs, his cock filling you as he growled against your neck—

You clenched your fists again. You were not okay. And tonight, you were about to walk into a room full of people, awesome.

The bar buzzed with life. Music pulsed in waves from the overhead speakers, something upbeat and forgettable, and people swayed and shouted and laughed, glasses clinking against each other, beer sloshing onto tables and sticky wooden floors.

You were perched on a high stool at the edge of the chaos, your drink half full and your nerves stretched thin.

You’d let Kate drag you here. You hadn’t wanted to come. But the smile on her face as she danced in a small circle with her friends made it all worth it. You were here for her.

But even now, even under the dim golden lights and the noise, your mind flickered like static back to the woods. Joel’s hands. Joel’s breath. Joel’s words. Your thighs pressed together. You took a bigger sip of your drink.

“Thought that was you,” a familiar voice said behind you. You turned and saw him, Hank. That cute guy from the store. You almost forget about him, because your mind is currently full of Miller.

“Hank,” you said, forcing a tight smile, trying to hide your overthinking and zoning out every five second.

He held a drink in each hand, his leather jacket unzipped just enough to show the collar of some aggressively loud shirt underneath.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, sliding onto the stool next to you without asking.

“Yeah… my sister dragged me out.”

“Ah,” Hank chuckled. “Lucky for me.” He slid one of the glasses toward you. Whiskey. Neat. You nodded politely. “Thanks.”

You didn’t ask for it, but you took a sip. Because refusing would be more exhausting than drinking.

Hank talked, mostly about himself. Occasionally he asked you a question, but he never waited for the answer before launching into another story. Still, it was noise. Noise was good. Noise kept you out of your head.

“You’re quiet,” Hank said, tilting his head. “You mad at me?”

You blinked back to the present.

“No,” you said quickly. “Just… tired.”

He smiled. “You need to loosen up.”

You tried to smile back. But then his hand landed on your thigh. It wasn’t casual. It was deliberate. Heavy. You froze. Your pulse quickened.

You shifted, a small movement—polite, non-threatening, clear. But he didn’t move his hand.

Instead, he leaned in closer, the alcohol on his breath making your stomach twist.

“You look so fuckin’ good tonight,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Bet you feel good too.”

You jerked back. “Hank, don’t—”

He grabbed your wrist, quick and tight, and leaned in.

“Relax, sweetheart. We’re just talkin’.”

“No,” you said, firmer now. “Let go.”

His expression changed. Gone was the charm. What replaced it was flat. Cold.

“You wanna cause a scene?” he whispered.

And then you felt it. Something cold and sharp pressing against your ribs. Your eyes snapped down.

A knife. Small, dirty, folded out from a pocket tool. But real. Panic bloomed in your chest like poison.

“Let’s go,” Hank whispered, teeth clenched in a smile. “Now.”

You nodded. What else could you do?

He guided you off the stool, the knife barely brushing your side as a constant reminder. No one noticed. No one cared. The music was too loud. The lights too low.

He steered you toward the back of the bar, toward the restrooms.

Your heart thundered. Your stomach churned. You were already running through what you’d say, what you’d do, how you’d get out—

“Let her go.”

The voice split through the air like a shotgun. You turned, Hank right after you.

And there he was, your savior. Joel.

Shoulders squared, jaw clenched, eyes black with rage. His hand hovering near the holster on his hip. Not on his gun, at least, not yet.

Hank laughed. “C’mon, dude. We’re just talking.”

“I said let. her. go.”

He stepped closer. Each footfall was silent but devastating, like the pressure drop before a tornado hits. His voice had lowered now, dangerously calm.

Your breath caught. You didn’t even realize tears had formed in your eyes until you blinked and they fell.

Hank looked between you and Joel. He weighed his chances. And then, he shoved you.

You stumbled back—but before Hank could bolt, Joel moved. One hand slammed the knife out of Hank’s grip, sent it skittering across the floor.

The other grabbed the front of his jacket and shoved him into the wall so hard the drywall cracked behind him.

“You ever touch her again,” Joel growled, face inches from his, “I’ll break both your fuckin’ arms. And that’ll be merciful.”

Hank didn’t speak, didn't fight, didn't move. He was shaking, his eyes wide open like he just saw a ghost. He was so fucking scared.

Joel dropped him with a final shove and turned toward you, chest rising and falling fast. You stood there frozen, still shaking, tears streaking your cheeks now.

“Hey,” he said softly, all that rage melting into something gentler. “You alright?”

You nodded quickly. He stepped closer, slowly, as if approaching a scared animal. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

You followed him without thinking. Out into the night. Into the truck. The door shut behind you, and silence filled the cab.

But this silence wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Comforting. You let out a shaky breath and leaned back against the seat.

Joel didn’t speak. He just drove, his hand occasionally flexing on the wheel like he still hadn’t shaken off what he’d just done.

When the truck rolled to a stop in front of your house, you reached for the handle, but something in your chest seized. You looked over at him.

“Do you wanna come in?” you asked softly. “I… I could make some coffee. As a thank you.”

Joel hesitated. You saw it all over his face. His jaw flexed, his throat bobbed. He shouldn’t go. He knew he shouldn’t. But his eyes dropped to your lips. Just for a second, and that was enough for him to decide.

“…Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “Alright.”

You unlock the door with slightly trembling fingers, the echo of the evening still buzzing in your bones. Joel follows close behind, silent but solid, like some kind of ghost who bled warmth instead of cold.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you say softly, stepping inside and beginning to shrug off your jacket.

Joel doesn’t speak. He just nods and quietly peels off his own coat, hanging it neatly by the door. You move through the familiar space of your kitchen, the air oddly still. Behind you, you hear the chair scrape softly against the floor as he sits down at the small table.

Joel's eyes were glued on you, burning through your clothes, lingering on the curve of your spine, the swing of your hips. It’s not like before. It’s different. Hungrier.

You reach for the coffee tin without looking at him. You know exactly what kind of coffee he likes.

Which is stupid. Because this is Joel. The man you were supposed to despise. And yet here you are, pouring the water, adding just the right amount of grounds, without needing to ask a damn thing.

The silence wraps around the room, thick and buzzing with the unsaid. You can feel him watching your every move. When the coffee’s ready, you grab two mugs, pour them evenly, and walk over to him.

You set his mug down, sitting across from him, your fingers wrapping around the warmth of the ceramic. You both take the first sip in tandem. Then, quiet. The kind that presses in, like fog.

Finally, you speak. You felt like you have to, after being saved. After practically everything.

“Thanks for earlier,” you murmur, your voice a little raw. “That was… Hank.”

Joel’s jaw shifts slightly. His eyes darken. “Figured.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Didn’t think he’d be that type.”

He leans back a little, cradling the mug in one hand. “A lot of men like him are out there. Even now. You give ‘em power, they use it to corner someone weaker.”

The words sit between you, bitter like the coffee on your tongue. You nod, slowly. “How’d you even see me? No one else noticed.”

You watch the flicker of hesitation pass behind his eyes, the clench in his jaw. “I just… saw you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “In that whole crowd?”

He meets your gaze, lips twitching slightly. “What can I say? You kinda stand out.”

You smirk, mock-offended. “Was it my clothes or the way I awkwardly clung to the wall?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Bit of both.”

You both chuckle, and something shifts. The ice melts. The air gets warmer. It’s not like before. It’s lighter, easier, safer.

Joel finishes his coffee, setting the mug down gently. “I should get outta here. You’ve had one hell of a night.”

You nod, standing with him. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

But as you turn to lead him out, your sock catches on the edge of the rug and your balance tips.

“Shit—!”

You stumble forward, instinctively reaching out, but Joel is already there—his arms snapping around you, pulling you tightly against him.

Your chest slams into his, and his hands steady you, one firm on your waist, the other wrapped just under your ribs.

You’re both laughing at first. A light, breathy kind of laugh, like the end of a good joke. But then you look up at him. And suddenly, it’s not funny anymore.

His face is so close. Again. Like in the woods.

Your noses almost touch. His breath brushes your cheek. One of his hands tightens slightly on your hip, grounding you. His other hand firm against your back, your palms flat against his chest.

You looked up into his eyes, and for a moment, nothing else in the world existed. Just the two of you, breathing the same charged air, close enough to feel the heat rolling off each other. You didn’t know if it was a good idea. Hell, it probably wasn’t. This would ruin everything. Complicate the wedding. Complicate Jackson. Complicate… him. You.

But you didn’t move. Neither did he.

His eyes kept dropping, from your eyes to your lips, back up again, then down. Every time he looked at your mouth, it felt like fire ran through your veins. His thumb brushed along your spine like he was grounding himself, and you swore your knees nearly gave out from just that.

Then, like something broke inside him, he kissed you.

It was sudden, deep, and full of something too big for either of you to name. It wasn’t soft, not really. It was controlled. His mouth moved against yours like he was trying to remember how to be careful. But the second he felt you lean into it, tilt your head and let out that quiet, needful sound from the back of your throat, he was done.

He pulled back just a fraction, like he was afraid to have gone too far. Like he was waiting for you to push him away.

But instead, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him back in like a wild thing that had been starving for this. Your lips crashed into his and there was no more hesitation, no more thinking.

Only need.

The kiss turned feverish — teeth, tongues, breathless groans swallowed between your mouths. His hands were everywhere — gripping your waist, sliding under the hem of your shirt, fingers pressing into your skin like he needed to memorize every inch.

You couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. Your body was reacting like it had waited a lifetime for this. You were pressed up against him, feeling the hardness straining against his jeans, the way his hips rolled into yours with unconscious desperation.

Somehow, you stumbled backwards through the hallway, bumping into walls, laughing through your gasps and moans as he kissed your neck, your jaw, your mouth again. His hands slid down your thighs and lifted you up like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist.

His mouth never left yours, the kissing is harder now—urgent, uneven. The hallway dimly lit by the golden hue of a single lamp in your kitchen blurred behind you as he carried you toward your bedroom.

Your fingers twisted into the collar of his shirt, knuckles white, and his breath hitched when your teeth grazed his bottom lip. His hips pressed into you as you gasped softly into his mouth, your thighs squeezing around him. The friction made your body jolt with a pulse of heat that spread through your stomach like wildfire.

He kicked the door to your room open, then brought you down to the bed. Not gently. Not softly. There was no time for that.

Your bodies hit the mattress with a thud, your hair splaying out beneath you like a dark halo. He hovered above you for just a second, both of you panting, eyes locked, your chests rising and falling in unison. Then his hands were on you again—rough, wide palms pushing under your shirt, dragging it up. His touch was everywhere. Greedy. Desperate.

You sat up to help him, tearing the shirt over your head and tossing it somewhere behind you. Joel’s gaze dropped to your chest, dark and feral, his breath catching hard as if he’d just been punched in the stomach. His hands, already trembling slightly, moved with surprising reverence as he reached behind you to unclasp your bra.

It slid down your arms slowly, and the moment your chest was bare, Joel exhaled shakily like he was in physical pain. Like he’d been imagining this for far too long. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. His expression was torn between reverence and hunger. You watched his throat bob as he swallowed thickly.

Then, his hands came up to cup you.

They were big, calloused, and the contrast of his roughness against the softness of your skin made you shudder. He traced the curves with his thumbs, gentle at first, then firmer when he saw how your body arched into his touch. Your breath caught again, a small, sharp sound that broke the silence like a dropped glass.

Joel leaned in, lips parting as he pressed his mouth to the swell of one breast, then to your nipple, hot, wet, insistent. Your head fell back with a whimper as his mouth worked in slow, teasing circles. His hand kneaded the other breast, his thumb flicking expertly, rhythmically, and your legs began to shift restlessly beneath him.

Your fingers found his hair, tugging.

Not to stop him, to beg for more. The sensation was overwhelming, grounding and floating you at the same time. He groaned low into your skin, and you felt the sound vibrate through your ribs, down your spine. Your hips lifted off the bed involuntarily, searching for contact, for pressure, for anything.

Joel paused only to look up at you—his lips shiny, his expression undone. You couldn’t breathe. He looked like sin, and you wanted to drown in it. His hand slid down your side slowly, possessively, as if mapping you. Memorizing you.

With a firm but gentle hand, he urges you backward until your spine meets the mattress. You obey without protest, eyes locked on his, heart thundering in your chest. He follows you down, hovering above you, and then he’s on you again, his mouth returning to your chest, latching onto a sensitive nipple like he’s starving for it.

His tongue swirls, wet and deliberate, flicking over the peak until you whimper. Then he sucks, slow and deep, and your back arches as pleasure shoots through you like a live wire.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your skin, voice gravelly and full of reverence. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

Your thighs press together as heat pools between them. You can barely focus, your hands fisting into the sheets as he alternates between each breast—suckling, kissing, grazing them with the barest edge of his teeth. Every touch makes you writhe, your body hypersensitive, your breath short.

You moan his name, barely a whisper, and he growls softly in response. His lips are warm, skilled, knowing. There’s nothing rushed in his worship; he’s savoring every second, and it drives you wild.

Eventually, his mouth releases you, leaving your skin damp and flushed. But he doesn’t move far—only lower, lower still, lips grazing a path down your torso. He leaves a kiss beneath your ribs, then another just below your navel. Each one sets off sparks in your belly. Your breath hitches as he pauses, right above the hem of your panties.

He glances up, eyes catching yours. “You want this?”

Your nod is immediate, shaky. “Yes.”

He hooks his fingers beneath the fabric of your panties, dragging them down your thighs with excruciating slowness. As he slips them off, he holds your gaze, and then he brings the panties to his lips, kisses the damp center, and tucks them into his back pocket with a smug glint in his eye.

And then he lowers his head again.

You barely have time to process before his mouth is on you—warm, wet, divine. His tongue dips between your folds, exploring you with devastating thoroughness. He licks a slow stripe up your slit, groaning against you like he’s the one being pleasured.

His tongue is rough, textured, dragging deliciously across your most sensitive parts. Every flick, every swirl, every subtle change in rhythm makes your hips lift off the bed, your thighs trembling around his head.

He moans into you like you taste like salvation. One of his hands pins your hip down gently, the other resting on your thigh, keeping you open for him.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes between licks, “you’re drippin’. So damn perfect.”

Your hands fly to his hair, fingers threading through the strands, anchoring yourself as your body threatens to unravel. Every sound you make, every twitch and gasp, seems to fuel him. He buries his face deeper, devouring you like he’s memorizing the way you taste, the way you tremble.

And god, you can’t stop moaning—his name, half-formed pleas, incoherent gasps. You can’t think. All you can do is feel.

You’re flushed, your legs shaking, your chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. He slides his tongue over your clit, slow and firm, circling it in ways that make your toes curl.

His mind is a mess of craving and possessiveness. He wants to make you come on his tongue, over and over, until you forget anyone but him has ever touched you. You can feel it in every movement, every low sound he makes against you—he’s not just giving you pleasure. He’s claiming you.

The pressure builds fast and fierce, and your thighs clamp tighter around his head. He doesn’t stop. He just groans into your heat, sending vibrations through you that make you cry out, teetering right on the edge.

And just before you fall, he pulls back slightly, eyes glazed with lust, lips glistening.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he whispers.

“Yes—Joel, please—”

He just smiled devilishly, before his mouth is on you again, relentless. And you break. Your orgasm slams into you like a wave crashing over your body. It’s not soft or sweet—it’s violent, intense, a full-body convulsion that steals your breath and bends your spine off the mattress.

Your mouth opens in a scream, but all that comes out is a strangled moan, broken and raw. Your thighs tighten around Joel’s head, trembling uncontrollably, and your fingers yank at his hair as if anchoring yourself to reality.

The pleasure rips through your core in sharp, overwhelming pulses. Each one sends another shock down your spine, through your arms, your legs, your fingertips. Your vision whitens at the edges. You can’t hear anything but the pounding of your own heart, your ragged gasps, and the obscene wet sounds of his mouth still working you through every last wave.

Joel groans like a man starved, like you are the only thing that’s ever mattered. He doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering from overstimulation, your whole body twitching beneath him. When he finally pulls back, his beard is damp, his lips swollen and slick, his chest heaving.

“Jesus,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes glued to you. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful when you come.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your pulse thudding in your ears. The room tilts a little as you try to breathe through the aftershocks. Everything feels too much, your skin is flushed and hypersensitive, your muscles limp and tingling. You can barely keep your eyes open.

“Joel…” you whisper, dazed. You blink up at him just in time to see his hands at his belt. He unbuckles it slowly, eyes locked on yours the entire time, like he’s daring you to look away.

You don’t.

The sound of the leather sliding free is sinful—low, threatening, full of promise. He lets it fall to the floor with a soft thud, then pops the button of his jeans and drags the zipper down.

You watch, helpless to do anything else. He’s broad, powerful, and glowing with heat—shoulders wide, stomach lined with a thick trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband he’s tugging down. His cock springs free, thick, flushed, already leaking, and your mouth waters just looking at him.

But he’s not done.

He shrugs off his shirt slowly, working each button free with frustrating patience. And when he peels the fabric off his shoulders and tosses it aside, you nearly forget how to breathe.

All muscle and scars and raw masculinity. His chest is dusted with dark hair, his abdomen hard and sculpted, veins visible on his forearms as he braces himself above you. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his skin, making every dip and ridge of his body gleam under the soft light.

You stare, dazed and aching, lips parted as your eyes trace every inch of him.

“Like what you see?” he asks, voice rough, almost teasing, but there’s a strain there. He’s barely holding it together. You nod, unable to speak.

And he smirks, just a little, before leaning down to kiss you again, the heat of his bare skin pressing against yours. Then, he crawled up your body, eyes dark, jaw clenched. His control is fraying, shredded to the edge. You can see it in the way his arms tremble slightly, in how fast he’s breathing.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he growls, forehead pressed to yours. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

You nod frantically, legs already parting for him.

He doesn’t even bother with teasing. He just grabs himself. Thick, hard, flushed at the tip, and guides his cock between your thighs, rubbing the head slowly through your slick folds. He groans at the contact, voice shaking.

“Fuck… You’re so wet for me.”

And then, he pushes in. The stretch is unreal. You gasp, eyes flying open as he sinks into you inch by inch. He’s thick, hot, and pulsing with need. Your walls clench around him automatically, your nails digging into his back as he slowly pushes deeper.

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, every muscle in his body rigid. “You feel like heaven.”

The sensation is overwhelming. Your body tries to adjust, but he’s so big, so deep already. You bite your lip, crying out when he bottoms out, pelvis pressing flush against yours.

You’re full. Stuffed. You feel every vein, every twitch of him inside you.

Joel doesn’t move at first, just leans over you, forearms braced on either side of your head, chest heaving as he fights to keep control. His forehead rests against yours, sweat starting to gather at his temples.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, breathless. “Yeah. Please—Joel, move.”

That’s all he needs. He starts slow—long, deep thrusts that make your breath stutter, your nails dig into his skin. The sounds of your bodies fill the room: skin against skin, your wetness coating him with every stroke, the soft gasp and grunt of every movement.

But it doesn’t stay slow for long.

Joel groans low in his throat and suddenly snaps his hips forward—hard. You yelp, eyes rolling back. He does it again. And again. Then he loses the last of his restraint.

He fucks you hard, fast, mercilessly. The rhythm ruthless, pounding into you so deep your legs shake around his waist. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard knocking softly against the wall, but you barely register it.

You can only feel him—his cock driving into you with unrelenting force, your pussy clenching with every thrust.

His grip on your hips tightens, bruising. He watches your face twist with pleasure, your mouth open in gasps and cries, your fingers clawing at his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he pants, voice hoarse. “Take it. Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You can barely form words. Your mind is gone, wrecked, your entire world narrowed to the feeling of him inside you—stretching, filling, owning every part of you.

He leans down, capturing your mouth again, and fucks you so hard you feel like you’re going to shatter around him.

Then, he pulls out slowly, just for a second, only to flip you onto your stomach.

You barely register the motion before his hands are on your hips, strong and commanding, dragging your ass up until you’re on your knees, chest still against the mattress.

You whimper at the loss of him, but then he’s there again—his cock thick and hot as he drags it through your slick folds from behind.

“Joel—” you breathe, barely able to form the word.

“I can't hold back,” he mutters, voice like gravel. “Need you. Need this.”

He thrusts back into you with no warning, making you scream into the sheets.

He’s so deep, so thick, the angle making it feel impossibly intense, like he’s splitting you open all over again.

Your arms give out, your face pressing into the mattress as he starts to move. And it’s brutal. No finesse, no patience. Just raw, driving thrusts that shake your whole body.

He’s fucking you like a man possessed. Like he’s trying to bury himself so deep you’ll never forget the shape of him. You won’t.

His grip on your hips is bruising, fingertips digging into your flesh as he slams into you again and again. Your skin stings, your scalp prickles—until suddenly, he grabs a handful of your hair, yanks your head back, and you sob at the mix of pain and pleasure.

“You take it so fuckin’ well,” he growls behind you, breath hot against your ear. “You were made for me.”

Tears spill from your eyes, uncontrollably, shamelessly. From the intensity, from the feeling of being completely and utterly taken. Your body can’t keep up. You’re trembling, overwhelmed, moaning brokenly as every thrust punches another cry from your throat.

He leans over you, rutting into you deeper now, rougher. His chest presses against your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to keep you pinned in place while the other stays tangled in your hair.

You feel yourself spiraling again, your second orgasm rising so fast it almost hurts. Your vision blurs, the mattress soaked with your tears as you sob, “Joel, please, I’m—God—I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby,” he pants into your neck. “Come for me. Wanna feel you fall apart.”

It tears through you like lightning, your body locking up before shattering into trembling convulsions. You scream—loud, raw, broken—back arching hard against him. You’re gushing, pulsing around him, your slick flooding down your thighs as your body clenches around his cock.

You’re sobbing, half-coherent, and Joel curses—low and wrecked.

“Fuck—fuck—you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight—”

He’s close. You can feel it in the way he moves, the frantic pace, the desperation in every thrust.

Then his hips stutter. He growls your name like a curse and slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he comes.

It’s not soft—it’s violent. His entire body shudders behind you, his hands gripping you like you’re the only solid thing keeping him grounded. You can feel the heat of him spilling inside you, filling you up as he lets out a low, strangled moan against your skin.

You both collapse.

Joel slumps over your back, breathing hard, his body heavy and trembling with aftershocks. Your legs are jelly, your vision blurry with tears and sweat, your heart pounding against the mattress like it’s trying to break free.

Everything’s quiet, except for your breathing, your sobs slowly calming, and the soft curses Joel whispers as he presses his lips to your shoulder, over and over again. His body still draped over yours, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. You can feel his heartbeat pounding against your back, can feel the way his arms tighten around your waist as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Eventually, he shifts—pulls out of you gently, muttering something soft against your shoulder that you can’t quite make out. You’re too dazed, too shattered, your limbs heavy and slow like you’ve been drugged. He disappears for a moment.

You barely lift your head when he returns with a towel. Joel doesn’t say a word. He just nudges your legs apart, cleans you carefully, almost reverently.

His touch is gentle, surprisingly so. No roughness, no urgency. Just patient, quiet care. He wipes between your thighs, along your trembling skin, and when you flinch from sensitivity, he whispers, “Shh, I got you,” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t look at him. You can’t.

Once he’s done, he tosses the towel aside and pulls the blanket up over both of you. You barely notice him crawling in beside you until you feel the weight of his arm wrap around your waist, tugging you back into his chest.

Your eyelids are heavy.

Your body is sore, humming with satisfaction and confusion and something dangerously close to contentment. His warmth seeps into your spine, his breath soft at the nape of your neck. You think he might kiss your shoulder again, but he doesn’t. He just holds you, skin to skin, until you drift off to sleep in his arms.

It’s been three days.

Three days since you let Joel Miller into your home. Three days since you let him see you—all of you. Three days since he touched you like you were something sacred and ruined you all at once.

Tomorrow, your sister’s getting married. Tomorrow, she becomes a Miller. But tonight… tonight is the last night she’ll fall asleep with your name still matching hers.

And all you can think about is him.

Not the ceremony. Not the dress. Not the decorations you spent hours picking out.

Only him. Only that night.

The taste of his mouth. The feel of his body. The way he said your name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

It should’ve been nothing. A mistake. A one-time moment of insanity. You could’ve stopped it. Should’ve. But you didn’t. You let him in. You invited the devil to your doorstep, and you didn’t slam the door in his face.

You let him fuck you like you meant something. And worse—you liked it. You hate yourself for that. Because now? Now you can’t even look at him.

He tries. You see it. A polite nod, a soft “hey,” a wave from across the street. You ignore it all. You keep your eyes down. Pretend not to hear him. Pretend he doesn’t exist—because if you don’t, if you let yourself remember even a second of what happened that night, your chest might split open.

He saw you. Really saw you. And he did things to you no one’s ever done before. Things you didn’t know you wanted, let alone needed.

And now… he’s just walking around Jackson like nothing happened. Like he’s fine.

But you’re not.

You’re a mess. A storm barely contained behind a polite smile. Because every time you shut your eyes, he’s there. That mouth. Those hands. That voice in your ear whispering “good girl” as you came around his tongue.

What the hell were you thinking?

Sleeping with your sister’s future brother-in-law? With your enemy? It sounds like a sick joke. A bad decision spun wildly out of control. And the worst part? You’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

You should’ve said no.

When Kate looked at you with those sparkling eyes, veil clipped into her hair, all glowing and giddy and “Can you do me a favor?” You should’ve said it right there. No. But you didn’t.

Because tomorrow she gets married. Tomorrow she becomes someone’s wife, and you’d cut off your own arm to make sure her day is perfect. So now you’re stuck in Joel Miller’s truck. Alone. With him.

You sit curled up on the passenger side, arms crossed, body tense like a coiled spring. You haven’t spoken since you got in. Haven’t looked at him once. He tries though.

“Hey,” he said when you climbed in. “You look… nice.” You didn’t answer.

“You sleep alright last night?”

You made a noncommittal grunt and turned your face to the window.

He’s still trying, glancing over occasionally, fingers drumming on the steering wheel like he’s searching for the right rhythm to break the silence. But you give him nothing.

Because what the hell is there to say? That you still feel his hands on your body when you close your eyes? That your throat tightens when you hear his voice, because it reminds you of how it sounded whispering filth in your ear while he ruined you? That your entire body clenches at the thought of him inside you again?

No, there’s nothing to say. But the universe doesn’t give a fuck about timing. Because just as you pass the city limits, the sky cracks open. One fat drop hits the windshield. Then another. Then it’s a full-on storm.

Rain lashes at the glass, fast and blinding, and Joel slows down immediately. Thunder growls somewhere above, deep and low like the sound of something ancient waking up.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Gotta pull over.”

He steers the truck down an overgrown path and finds an old garage, half-collapsed, but enough to get out of the worst of the storm. The rain slams into the tin roof above you, loud and wild. You’re safe, but it feels suffocating.

Joel turns off the engine. Silence falls, except for the storm. He exhales slowly, then speaks.

“You gonna keep pretendin’ I don’t exist?” he asks quietly.

That’s it. You snap. You whip your head toward him, the heat in your chest rising like boiling water. “What do you want me to say, Joel?!”

He blinks. You’re already throwing the door open, going straight to the rain. You needed a fresh air, one that doesn't smell like Joel's car. His door slams right behind you.

“What are you—,”

“Hey, remember that time you fucked me senseless and now I can’t breathe without thinking about it?” You step out into the rain. “That I feel like a complete idiot because I invited you in and now I can’t even look at myself in the mirror?!”

The cold hits you like a slap, rain soaking your clothes instantly. You welcome it. He follows, his voice sharp through the downpour. “I didn’t plan it either! You think I woke up that morning hopin’ to lose my fuckin’ mind over you?!”

You spin on him. “You didn’t stop me!”

“I couldn’t!” he shouts back, eyes wild, hair already soaked. “You looked at me like you wanted it. Like no one ever looked at me before and I couldn’t—” He stops himself, jaw tight.

You stare at him. The rain pours around you, drumming on the roof, the truck, the gravel. Your chest heaves. Your teeth clench. Everything is raw, exposed, trembling.

“This was a mistake,” you say, but your voice breaks halfway through. He steps closer.

“You don’t believe that.”

“I have to,” you whisper.

Joel’s hands reach out slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. His palms settle on your wet cheeks. “Look I get it…,” he says softly, “but I ain’t sorry for what we did, and I defenitely do not regret it.”

Your breath catches.

“Do you?” He asked, his brown chocolate eyes made your knees weak, and you knew the answer damn well, but it was just hard. Hard to admit that you have feelings for Joel fucking Miller. That you feel something more, and unfortunately, it's not hatress.

“I don't—” you start, but then he kisses you.

Hard. Desperate. Wet mouths clashing in the rain like something out of a dream you’d never admit to having. His hands hold your face like he’s terrified you’ll vanish. Your fingers dig into his shirt, nails catching fabric. There’s nothing gentle about it.

It’s all tongue and teeth and years of hate folding into hunger. You kiss him like you’re punishing him. He kisses you like he’s begging for mercy.

When you finally break apart, you’re both panting.

Foreheads pressed together. Rain dripping from your lashes. His hands stay on your face. Yours clutch his jacket.

“I’m so fucking mad at you,” you whisper.

Joel smiles. “Yeah. I know.”

The morning sun filters in through sheer curtains, soft and golden, bathing the room in light that feels almost sacred.

Kate stands by the mirror, surrounded by laughter, perfume, and a blur of ivory fabric and flowers. Her wedding dress hugs her figure perfectly—delicate lace at the shoulders, tiny buttons running down the back, and a soft, flowing skirt that pools like clouds around her feet. Her hair is curled and pinned, a few loose strands framing her glowing face, and in her hands is a bouquet of wildflowers tied with satin.

She looks like something out of a dream. You watch her, heart pounding, throat tight with nerves. It’s now or never.

“Kate,” you say gently, stepping forward.

She turns to you, bright-eyed. “Yeah?”

Your hands are shaking. You swallow hard. “I need to tell you something. And I should’ve told you sooner, I just… I didn’t know how.”

She blinks. “What is it?”

You inhale slowly. “It’s about me and Joel.”

She was quiet, her eyes full of expectations and lips sucked nervously into a thin line.

“Me and Joel are… kinda together,” you sigh, heart hammering in your chest, fully expecting a meltdown. But instead, she squeals.

“Oh my god, why didn’t you tell me sooner?! This is—this is amazing!” She throws her arms around you, nearly knocking your breath out. “I knew there was something! You’ve been acting so weird! But this, this makes me so happy!”

You’re stunned. “Wait… you’re not mad?”

She pulls back and beams. “Mad? Are you kidding? I ship this. Hard.”

You burst into laughter, nearly crying from the relief.

“You’re insane,” you whisper, wiping your eyes.

“I’m your sister, it’s my job,” she grins.

The wedding ceremony is set beneath an arch of flowers, surrounded by rows of chairs filled with friends and family. The sun is just starting to dip lower, casting long shadows, the sky streaked with pink and lavender.

You stand at the altar as a bridesmaid, bouquet clutched tightly in your hands. You’ve never worn a dress like this before—it’s soft, elegant, pale lavender—and your hair is pinned back, a few curls brushing your cheek. Your palms are sweaty. Your heart’s full.

Across from you, Joel stands in a dark suit, tie slightly loosened, that damn rugged charm still impossible to ignore. And then, the music starts. Everyone rises. You turn your head, and there she is.

Kate walks slowly down the aisle, hand wrapped around your father’s arm, veil trailing behind her like a whisper. Her eyes are wide, lips trembling with a smile, and she looks so happy, like every fairytale in the world decided to make a cameo in her life today.

You feel it before you realize it, tears welling in your eyes. You blink rapidly, but they fall anyway, slipping down your cheeks in quiet streaks.

Then you glance sideways. Joel isn’t looking at the bride. He’s looking at you.

His eyes are soft. Warm. His lips curve into the smallest smile—just for you. One corner up, the kind that says I’m here. I see you. I’m yours.

You smile back, heart blooming.

And in that moment, standing in the golden light of your sister’s wedding, mascara streaking your cheeks, hands still trembling from the weight of it all, you realize you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

With him. With all of it. And finally, finally, it feels like the chaos was worth it.

Hii! Thank you so much for reading!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

Have a lovely day!

LOVE YA! 🥮🍂

[angelfrombeneth]

MAGICAL DRYING DISASTER - T . NOTT

Mature Content Ahead

Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: After waking up late and discovering you left your washing in the machine over night. You had no other choice to use magic to dry it - except it did dry but also shrunk, massively, in the process. Once Theo finds you let's just say he manages to keep it kept in till the common room. Then it's all fair game from there.

Warnings: SMUT, No Protection - PIV, Theodore is a munch - Fem Oral, Body Worship, Smidge of SubWhiney!Theo, Cursing

A/N: This is my first one-shot fic I've posted in a long time but also my first one EVER on tumblr. I used to write on wattpad and ao3 but took a very long hiatus. So excuse if my smut writing is a bit off or any spelling mistakes I currently have acrylics on - its quite hard to type.

Click Clack.. Click Clack...

You ran towards your class quickly, pulling town the absolute belt of a skirt you wore today before entering into your potions class. Late.

"Miss Neveah.. Thank you for finally joining us" Snape panned. His face expressionless as he stared at you. A slight hint of disapproval in his face.

"I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again!" You scurried to your seat beside Pansy.

"It most definitely will not" He groaned before turning back to the chalk board to continue his explanation.

You shimmied on your seat, pulling as much skirt down as you could. Practically flashing those behind you of your bright red thong and gorgeously placed star tramp stamp.

Nice touch is what you thought when you got it a few months ago after a night out in the muggle clubs with Pansy. She persuaded you and said Theo would love it. Or which he did.

"Y/N.. your skirt is practically a belt. Trying to flash us all?" She whispered, giggling as he peered down as your legs, absent of any tights aswell.

"Girl.. It shrunk when I tried to use magic to dry it. All my other skirts are dirty" You pouted. "I also couldn't find a pair of fucking tights, I was running so late"

"Its not that bad, just don't bend over if you can" She smiled as she reached to your ponytail tieing in a little green piece of ribbon into a bow. "And don't let Mr Lover boy see you" She snickered.

You sighed, focusing in the rest of your class. Praying not many people noticed. You were pretty daft thinking that. You were already the hot goss. It was only so long till Theo found out.

Though alot of boys in Hogwarts fancied you, they all knew about Theodore Nott swooping in, in 4th year the year before you 'blossomed' as they said. They say he saw the potential and snatched it up while they could.

You walked down the hall, pulling your books to your chest as your red bottoms clipped the wooden floor that spanned the whole school. Many turned your way gawking as you, mostly more than normal due to tour skirt size today.

You weren't a bad girl. You has good grades, you were overly nice to everyone just the people you hung round with were opposite. Many saying you were too nice.

After a quick detour to pick up an extra book from the library you shuffled down the corridor, your heels clicking their signature click against the oak as you walked towards your friends who stood beside your regular post class meeting pillar.

"Sorry I'm late!" You skipped towards them hurriedly. You watched as Theo whipped his head around, his jaw practically dislodging from his face as he stared at you.

Mattheo wolf whistled as he looked you up and down. Smirking as he pushed himself off the wall - "Damn Y/N, I didn't know you had this hiding somewhere"

"Neither did I" Theo's gaze burned through you as he bent his neck to get look at you from behind. Definitely a sight for sore eyes.

"I'm sorry- I fucked up a spell and I was running late I didn't mean to- OUCH! THEO!" you got cut off as he slapped his hand harshly against your ass before gripping a handful as he smirked down at you. The boys laughing at the pair of you.

"As much as I am thoroughly enjoying the sight Bella" He looked down at you, his gaze growing darker by each word that fell from his lips. He leaned in, practically growling in your ear."I don't like to share amore mio"

You gulped at his words as he pulled his jumper off, wrapping it around your waist. Slightly tugging on the fabric jerking you forward into his chest as he smiled down at you before kissing your forehead softly.

"As cute as you two are, everyone's looking. Can we clear out" Pansy groaned.

You snapped back into reality, quietly ushering an apology to the group as Pansy pulled your hand as you both walked hand in hand ahead of the boys.

You heard a smack and an 'ow' turning around quickly as you turned the corner seeing Theo slapping Mattheo across the head. "Flirt with someone else" He groaned. You giggled slightly at his protectiveness.

Once you arrived to the common room everyone scattered to do their own thing. Theo once more approaching you.

"Now..." a cheeky smile appeared on his lips as his hands held your hips softly as he peered down at you. The height difference really getting to you. "I can't stop thinking about that little skirt on you.." His hands slowly moving down and around to the curve of your ass as he nibbled at his lip. "..and how much I want to fuck you in it" He whispered the last part lowly as his tongue poked out and slid across his bottom lip as he squeezed your ass through his jumper.

"Then do it" You caught his gaze, already out of breath from his minimal touch.

It's like that's all he needed to hear. Like without warning and no regards for the fact your friends were just a few steps away bundled in the corner on the coaches - he pulled you tightly, hand on your ass against him as his lips crushed into yours. Needy kisses as if he hasn't kissed you in months.

The sudden rip of his jumper loosening the knot as it dropped to the floor. His hands sliding under the little fabric the skirt had as his nails gripped into the flesh on your ass cheeks. You yelped slightly and he took that as permission to shove his whole tongue down your throat. The kisses grew messier and messier as you both backed up towards the stairs, bumping into everything possible as you both chuckled.

Breaking the kiss as you both removed various pieces of clothing as you scrambled up the stairs. By the time you got to yours and Pansys' room you both had disregarded of practically everything. Theo quickly finishing unzipping his trousers before pushing you into the room, kicking the leg off quickly, flinging his trousers into the centre of the hallway as he shut the door behind him.

You stood infront of him in just your skirt, bra and panties as he ruffled his hair, staring at you like a kid in a candy shop, pondering what you try next.

"DONT WORRY WE'LL CLEAN UP AFTER YOU TWO!" Draco yelled, annoyance plastered in his voice.

That broke Theo out of the trance he was in as he lunged at you, unclipping your bra swiftly as he threw it across the room before pushing you against the bed.

"Fuck, I'm so hard. I can't- I just need to fuck you now" He groaned, biting at his lip anxiously as he stared down at you. "Get on all fours". You obliged and quickly.

You felt the sudden cold breeze against your clit as he tightly yanked on your thong, splitting it apart at he threw it on the floor aswell as he kicked off his boxers.

"Fuck your so hot" He groaned, dropping to his knees as he gripped your ass, spreading your cheeks wide as he licked a nice wet strip up your pussy.

A moan lodged itself in your neck as you bundled up the sheets in your hands as he let out a shaky breath.

"Wanna eat you out so bad, but my cock is throbbing.. Need to treat you well tho" He whined as he spat into his hand as he began to fuck it. His free hand gripping your ass as he dove his tounge deep into you.

You hung your head forward as you let out an exasperated sigh as your toes curled. Theo's tongue worked wonders inside of you. He ate you out like it was dire need. The roughness of his mouth sopping against your pussy as his tongue drilled into your hole. The wetness of both his mouth and your pussy mixing as he moaned against you as he continued to fuck the shit out of his hand. Loud moans rumbled against you as he sucked and twirled like no tomorrow.

You were drawing to your high as you noticed he stopped, pulling away for a moment as he let out a deep growl before a light whimper escaped his lips as he came up the bottom of your bed frame and on the floor. He panted for a moment, light whimpers leaving gis mouth as he toyed with his sensitive dick.

"Fuck- Sorry Principessa. I came, naughty of me to do so before I helped you. I'll make sure you feel extra good" His other hand colliding with your ass again as he dove back in. His nose rubbing harshly against your slit as he flicked his tongue continously against your clit. Sucking and nibbling at it from time to time as he continued to grip and massage at your ass.

The sudden overwhelming feeling drove you over the age as you screeched, yelping as you squirted all over his face. You gasped loudly, crashing to the bed as your legs shook slightly as you panted.

"Mhmm.. Love it when you squirt" You looked at Theo as he wiped the cum from his face, sucking his fingers like a dessert he's got to finish.

"You're so gorgeous, so fucking beautiful.. Beautiful body" He groaned as he slid his hands up your curves, moaning softly as the scene infront of him. "S'lucky.. So fucking lucky.."

He tapped your thigh, as you led on your stomach on the bed, your legs hanging off the end slightly as your tippy toes held against the floor.

"Gunna make you feel so good, amore" he cooed as he lied up his tip with your slit before thrashing it in harshly. You yelped once again at you looked back at him.

"Going to teach you not. to wear. a slut. short. skirt. again. fuck!" He growled with each thrust as your body jerked against his movements. Your body slid up and down the bed as your feet struggled to stay on the floor much longer as he pushed you up the bed.

It wasn't before long till Theo climbed ontop of you, straddling you as he drilled into you. Loud whimpers left you as you clawed at the sheets as you screamed into his duvet.

"FUCK!! ARGH- TEDDY!" you pleaded as your back arched, shoving your ass harder into him as his hands gripped your hips tightly, his nails scatting cresent moons to your flesh as your bodies recoiled against one another.

"Yes! Like that.. fuckkk Teddy more..  please!" You babbled. He reached over grabbing your neck as he pulled your body up against his chest. Your legs trapped between his as he squeezed them shut. His arm tightly against your stomach as he continued to drill up into your pussy. You gasped and whined continously as he groaned and growled into your ear. His grip growing tighter around your neck as he flexed his biceps, his tongue sliding up your jawline to your ear.

"Teddy- I'm gunna cum! Please please please PLEASE! Cum with me!" you whined as your eyes rolled back. The growing feeling in your stomach as his cock continued to thrash into you. You were drunk on the feeling of him buried into you. You tightly shut your thighs together for any ounce more of pressure you could grasp.

"Good girl- M'close" He panted.

Your eyes began to roll back as you gasped for air at the tightening of his arm around your neck. The bursting feeling in your stomach as your whole body recoiled and shook as you screamed like bloody murder with all the air you has left in your lungs as you came.

At that moment Theo threw you down, as your body twitched conthously. He gripped your ass as he thrusted deep before cumming in you. Groaning deeply as he threw his head back. Sweat trickling down his forehead and chest as he panted heavily.

Neither of you moved for a moment to compose yourself. You occasionally twitched at your body recoiled against his dick.

"Fuck me.. So good" Theo pulled out, sighing as he watched cum pool at your slit and began to slide down. You felt his tip against you again as he collected the escaping cum and slightly fucked it back into you. His dick entering you once more as you gasped at the feeling.

"Good girl.. such a good girl.." His light thrusts as he peppered you with kisses all over your back and shoulders.

He gasped slightly as he froze above you. You were about to question him till you felt a slightly release.

"Did you just cum again Teddy?" You giggled as he thrusted once more before pulling out and collapsing next to you.

"Its hard to last with you. You make me so addicted" He smirked, his head turned to look at you. He rested his hand on your ass, squeezing it lightly from time to time.

"I'm glad this skirt shrunk" He chuckled, his smile wide.

You shook your head as you laughed at him. "You're a fool" You shimmied towards him, flicking your leg over his chest as you cuddled into him. His body warm.

He kissed your shoulder softly before softly kissing your cheek, nibbling at your ear before whispering;

"Ti amo amore mio".

If you enjoyed this fic and want to buy me a coffee, you can do so here!

[neeeooon]

haiaiaiia I just had this idea but I can't write so here I am <33

imagine you adopt a black cat (guess where this is going :p) and you fall asleep with it on your chest and in the middle of the night it turns human (chigiri my princess) so you wake up hugging him (ok idk anm if you can turn this into a masterpiece 🙏🙏)

also im destroyed cz of chapter 300 💔💔

Thank uuuu feel free to ignore :)

HAHA he’s soooo black cat coded this is perfect (i am not ready to talk about 300 i am unwell someone do a wellness check in 2 days j)

two for one deal

chigiri hyoma & gn!reader. crack, chigiri can shapeshift

you’d always wanted a pet growing up, even after you moved out and started dating. however, your jerk of an ex was allergic to all things cute and happy, so the minute you kicked him out of your life, you booked an appointment with your town’s rescue center. you weren’t exactly looking for a replacement, as your ex hardly ever cuddled you, but you wanted to care for something and have it keep you company.

the lady behind the register handed you the paperwork you’d filled out before your visit. “you got approved!” she beamed. “so, any particular type of cat you’re looking for?”

you smiled at her enthusiasm and let her lead you further into the shelter. “not exactly… i was hoping to see them all and connect with one!”

her eyes sparkled as she nodded, and soon you were in the cat section. she stood in the corner, organizing toys and treats, to give you some privacy in your search.

if you could, you would have taken every single one of those cats home, even the ones that didn’t want anything to do with you. “i’m seriously gonna be a crazy cat person…” you grumbled under your breath, and that was when you stumbled across the next cage.

you had to lean closer to see him, as his dark coat blended into the back of the kennel. he sat still and stared at you like you were an inconvenience. like his time here was temporary, and if you didn’t take him home, he’d find a way to break out. the thought made you smile as you flipped through his chart.

“oh, that’s peanut. he’s new!” the lady said when she saw you looking. “he was rescued after tormenting some kids during their soccer match a few days ago… but princess over here is lovely—“

“i’ll take him.” you don’t know what compelled you to say it, but the way that cat stared at you made you feel like he wanted you to rescue him, too.

the lady chuckled, almost nervously, and added, “i should warn you, he does not like being touched. he can get violent…”

you poked a finger through the cage door, and peanut walked up and ran his head against your nail. a beam of pride filled your chest, and the lady clapped her hands. “well! i’ll get his adoption paperwork ready for you.”

☆ 🐈‍⬛

you stared at peanut, who looked very unsatisfied with his setup. you bought the bed ahead of time and realized now that that was a mistake.

the bed was peachy pink and filled with half a dozen cat toys shaped like various foods and animals. "sorry," you apologized under the cat's harsh eyes. "i thought you'd be... not a boy."

already, you were unsure if getting a cat was a good idea after all. peanut refused to eat any of the food the shelter recommended for him, but he looked so thin that you gave in and tore up pieces of your dinner for him. he nuzzled against your leg after that, and you thought that meant you were friends, until he saw the bed and hated you again.

"it's too late to get a new bed," you explained. "just sleep there for tonight. a bed is a bed. plus, aren't cats colored blind?"

he blinked slowly at you. you shrank back and crawled into your own bed.

were you really going to let yourself be bullied by a cat? you tisked and turned your lamp off. "good night, peanut."

you were almost asleep when you felt a gentle thump at your feet. peeking an eye open, you saw peanut walking over to your face before stopping at your stomach. he climbed up, made bread on your ribs for a few minutes, and finally curled himself against you.

ignoring the warmth that filled you and the joy of acceptance, you closed your eyes for the night.

☆ 🐈‍⬛

peanut wasn't the biggest cat out there, but you didn't expect him to be so heavy. sometime during the night, he'd migrated from your stomach to your chest. still half asleep, you stroked his fur and hummed, "morning, peanut."

"good morning."

you froze. from the feel of it, so did he.

slowly lifting your head, you screamed when you found a man curled up against you. a man with bright red hair and sleepy eyes, but a man nonetheless. "what the—how did you get in here? where's my cat?!"

the man sat up, looking vaguely confused, as he stuck his arms out in front of him and wiggled his fingers. you scrambled away from him, clutching one of your many blankets to your chest. "g-get out, perv!"

the man rolled his eyes and poked each of his toes next. "i'm not a perv. you invited me into your house."

"i did no such thing!"

he looked over and blinked lazily at you. something about the way he was judging you felt familiar, and you were suddenly feeling defensive. "this is my house! what are you, a vampire? i didn't invite anyone in."

the man rolled another one of your blankets over his hips and sighed. "you don't happen to have any of your ex's clothes lying around, do you?"

you felt the color drain from your cheeks. "how... who are you?" you hadn't even told your friends that you dumped your sorry excuse of an ex yet. the only people who knew were you, your ex, and...

your eyes went round. "no way. absolutely not. i'm dreaming, this is a dream." but even after searching everywhere, peanut was nowhere to be found.

when you returned to your room, the man was dressed in a loose pair of your ex's sweats and a t-shirt three sizes too big. it showed too much of his bony collarbones and shoulders. he grinned, and you caught the flash of fangs you were very familiar with (peanut bit you while you were sharing your dinner with him).

shifting your weight between your feet, you nervously asked, "peanut?"

"chigiri, actually. but yeah. surprise."

your head felt light. "how?"

"i actually don't know," chigiri confessed in an amused voice. "i mean, i used to be able to change at will, but i've been stuck as a cat for a few weeks now. not as fun as it sounds, by the way."

"i never said that sounds fun..." you shook your head and pressed both hands to your face. "um... i don't really know what to do. i think i threw the cat toy receipts away, so i doubt they'll let me get my money back."

chigiri stared at you. "your cat just turned into a seriously attractive man, and you're worried about money?"

you looked appalled. "do you have bills to pay? no. you ate half my dinner, which was expensive, by the way. and 'seriously attractive'... someone's vain." but that was expected. peanut was definitely a diva, and this guy was peanut.

sensing your hesitance, chigiri stayed on the other side of the bed as he said, "i won't lie, there isn't a place for me to go. i can get a job if you let me stay; help you pay for rent or whatever."

sighing, you let your hand slide from your forehead to the side of your neck. you adopted peanut, not a human, but you promised to care for and protect him. no matter how weird it was, the idea of throwing him out made you uncomfortable.

sucking in a breath, you locked eyes with chigiri. "you're staying on the couch. and i expect you to cover half the rent starting next month. gives you enough time to get a job."

chigiri's grin was so large it flashed his sharp canines. "done."

"okay. now... should i call you chigiri, or peanut?"

[pixiesfz]

we need a dad Jessie fic please 🫶🏼

I am a D.I.L.F

Dangerously In Love with Fleming

father to be j.f

plot: You and Jessie are preparing for your baby but Jessie is somehow picking up dad traits?

warnings: fluff, prime Chelsea team, little blurb

“It’s a girl”

The words were magic to your ears as you laid down on the chair, Jessie’s hand entertained with yours as she took a great look at the monitor.

You would love your baby if it was a boy or a girl but you secretly hoped it would be a girl, especially if you planned to have another kid, an older sister would be great for them.

The doctor excused herself from the room before Jessie lowered her body to hug you from behind “we’re having a baby girl” she hummed and you nodded “we’re having a baby girl”.

It was at your private home when you started decorating your daughter’s bedrooms that you noticed the signs of Jessie’s new persona.

“If anyone touches her before she’s eighteen” she grumbled, folding clothes “you touched me before I was eighteen” you smirked and the Canadian glared at you

“That’s different”

You laughed at her expression “what?” She asks “I’m just very impressed at your protectiveness over our unborn child”

The next time was when she came home from training late with target bags.

“Could you not have called to say you went shopping” you stated from the kitchen where you were cooking “sorry baby” Jessie quickly said before kissing your cheek, walking to the table before laying the bags down.

“But there was this sale on kids stuff and-“

“You went shopping for our child without me?”

Jessie’s eyes widened under her cap as she realised her small mistake “the sale was ending tonight, Pernille came as well of that helps”

You cocked your head over “that helps”.

“Okay so I got her some clothes and then I thought cause she’ll be my little princess I got her these”

You tried to ignore the horrendous Elsa dress, not bothering to tell her that Elsa was actually a queen and instead focused on her words “your little princess?”

Jessie ignored you “and then I got books aswelll, some for education and some for entertainment and then I also got little footy boots”

You stared at your wife “This baby will be waiting a couple of years before going on the field Jess” you told her sternly and she slowly nodded.

“I just got excited” she admitted and you smiled, walking towards her “I know, and I love it” you said, wrapping your arms around her “I love you”.

Then came the building of the crib, your belly had grown a lot more and Jessie refused to let you help in the build, claiming that she didn’t want any chance of harm.

“Jessie my father taught me how to use a drill” you told her from the door but she had her fists on her hips and crossed her head “no you’re not doing it” she said before grabbing the drill again.

“You’re so stubborn” you grumbled from you space “Give me twenty minutes, then I’ll start the pram”

You watched her for the next fourty minutes as she completed the crib, many YouTube videos and calls to her family helped her along the way.

But you smiled in awe at your proud girlfriend who stared at her creation, hands on her hips with her training gear still on, she was so excited to start making it as soon as she got home.

In all honesty early she reminded you of your own father and the pictures you had of him when waiting for your little siblings.

“Onto the pram” she said walking out of the room, only to see that you had already assembled it.

You had finally realised what part of the parenting trope Jessie had picked about a month before you were due when she kept checking her phone.

Jessie was not a social person, let alone a social media type person but she never told you what she was looking at.

Until she started using them on you.

them as in dad jokes…

“Hey babe, did you hear about that Actor who broke his leg, turns out he’s still in the cast”

You rolled your head back with a groan as you had heard the eighth joke that night “How many times have you told that one?” You ask, sitting down next to her.

“Erin and Adam loved it when I told it at training”

“Of course they did.”

Though throughout the traits that Jessie had picked up you still loved her more than anything in the world, you would even go out to say you learned to love her even more but you didn’t want to enlarge her ego any more.

Instead you cuddled up into her side “You’re going to be such a good mum” you told her and you felt her relax “yeah?” She asked and you nodded.

“I can’t wait.”

[kmazine]

[ 02:41 AM ]

You open your eyes when you felt Seungcheol jolted awake beside you with a low panicked yelp. Despite the dim light in your bedroom, you can see he broke in a cold sweat.

"Bad dream?" You sit up, slowly rubbing your hand up and down, hoping that will help him calm. Another hand wiping the cold sweat on his forehead. He rubs his face with his palm roughly before taking a deep breath. You start to glide your fingers up and down the back on his neck.

"Yeah..." He give you a weak nod. He's not the type to have nightmare, but when he does, it can be pretty intense. You want to ask him but you know that can wait. He'll share with you in the morning anyway. Your priority right now is to soothe him, to calm him.

You decided to get off the bed but Seungcheol was faster, he grabs you by your waist and pulls you into the embrace.

"Don't go. Stay"

"I'll just go get you a glass of water okay?" You gently rub his arms, trying to pull his arms away but he didn't budge.

"Stay" He whispers.

So you decided to stay still and hug him back as tight as you can. You smile when you can feel his body loosened after a while as he rest his head on your shoulder.

"I don't want water. Let's just get back to sleep." He say when you try to move again, as if he can read your mind, and pulls away from the hug, gap enough for him to look at your face. You nod after he give you the reassurance smile before stamped his lips on your forehead.

"Okay. let's get back to sleep then" You ran your hand through his ruffled hair, glad to see the frown on his face gone.

Both of you snuggles, with his arm around your waist, your back against his chest.

"Sorry for waking you up, love" He whispers.

"It's fine. I prefer to be the one that can comfort you anyway." You assure him.

"You always do. I love you" Seungcheol pulls you to his frame closer and pressed his lips on your shoulder. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck seconds before both of you drifting back to sleep.

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

[ my other works / masterlist ]

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a.n : I'm having nightmares lately and I hate waking up at night but also at least waking up "free" me from the nightmare (interestingly enough I never jolted or having any physical reaction when I woke up. It's just I slowly start to wake up and it's somewhat annoying because it takes time to get to open my eyes, still got into cold sweat though.) Yes this is me writing because I couldn't get back to sleep lol

Enough with my stupid rambling, like always, please ignore the grammatical mistakes and typos, I'll fix it after I back to check from time to time.

And I hope you enjoy this one.

[rebelrebel27]

Cold Hands

I'm rewatching Stranger Things and my crush on Eddie quickly came back :) Also first fic soo sorry for any mistakes.

Hellfire ran late again as it always does, usually the schools parking lot is empty. Which actually a good thing because it guarantees that practice is over for all the jocks and there are no stragglers roaming the halls or the parking lot. The only downside is that he can't see you after your cheer practice is over but he'd rather not have all of Hellfire know about how hard he is pining for you. Eddie roams the empty halls toward the back since he usually parks behind the school as its closets to the woods, where his usual business route is. So imagine his surprise when he sees a familar white BMW still parked, not because the owner and Eddie are friends -god no- instead he recognizes the car because you are always in the passenger seat. He wished and dreamed that it was his run-down van that you were the passenger of. Eddie thinks about it so much he already has a plan of what he would do if you ended up sitting beside him while he drives. He would park closer to the school so you wouldn't have to walk far from your cheer practice. He would have a blanket on your seat so you wouldn't have to see all the stains or the loose crumbs that never leave no matter how much Eddie cleans. He would make sure that Hellfire would end on time so you wouldn't have to wait because he wouldn't be able to focus being the DM if you were in the room or worse have you wait in the cold especially since you shower after practice. He realizes that makes him sound like a perv for knowing that but he only knows because the very rare time d&d finished on time, he saw you coming out of the girl's locker room with your hair still wet. Back to his dream, he would take you back to his trailer where you two listen to music while you lay in his bed and talk about anything and everything. When it was time for bed you would change into his clothes and since its winter sometimes the trailer heater isn't strong enough so he'll pile all his blankets on you, climb under, then hold you till the next morning. Depending on the type of day he had this dream stays sweet and pure but sometimes his dream ends up being sexual where no one gets a good nights sleep. Just depends on whether or not he sees you in that tight uniform. But since you two are on opposite sides of the social ladder that thought was likely to stay in his dreams forever. Although there is nothing that says he can wish because everytime he gets in his van, its all he can imagine but there is no one besides his empty cups and his work "briefcase" as he likes to call it since that metal lunchbox stocked with drugs does help keep the lights on.

He looks up to see whether or not your are sitting next to that stupid jockstrap of a boyfriend you have. And no surprise you are but you clearly don't look happy. In fact, he has never see you look so annoyed before. You and your boyfriend are clearly arguing and you are so fed up that you get out of the car, slamming the door as you both continue to argue through the rolling down window.

"I said I don't how sorry you are! I told you no!"

"It was one time! An accident and it won't happen again! Just get back in the car, we are not done talking because you clearly don't understand what i'm saying."

"Do you think I am an idiot!? How many times do I have to tell you that i'm done!"

"Fine!" he said as he peel out of the parking lot.

You just sighed and turned back towards the school where you will probably have to find a phone to call for a ride but thats when you see Eddie just standing there by his van.

"Oh! Um hey." you awkwardly smiled and waved.

"Yeah, hey."

"So how much did you see?"

"Not that much." you had a questioning look one your face "okay, well up to the part where you slammed the door and till that jerk drove off" Eddie just scratched his cheek while you laughed.

"Well, thanks for not lying." Eddie watched you pause and hesitate on your next sentence. "You wouldn't happen to be able to give me a ride home." Eddie's heart was pounding because this was exactly what his was dreaming of when he should of been focusing on whatevers going on in english class.

"Sure, um just give me a second." He opened the van door and quicky slammed it. "Actually no! Can you turn around."

"Sure, but just so you know I don't mind." you said, smiling at him before you turned around. Eddie quickly grabbed the trash and threw it in the back seat and threw his leather jacket to cover his seat. He didn't care how cold it was, he wasn't going to let you get crumbs stuck to the back of your legs even if you are wearing jeans now.

"m'lady." he cleared his throat and did a small bow while he held the door open for you.

"Thank you" you climbed in, Eddie closed the door for you and you watched him awkwardly run to the drivers side. You find it so weird that only a few minutes with Eddie is already making you feel a lot less shitty than you did before. You look down to see his signature leather jacket under you legs and you watch Eddie rub his hands against each other in front of the vents once he gets into the van. You make a mental note that Eddie is much more of a gentleman than your ex. He's been taking bettter care of you in this short moment than your ex did during your whole relationship so you decide to grab Eddie's hands and cover his with yours. "Ah they're like ice!"

"You know you didn't have put your jacket on the seat. I told you I don't care." Eddie's stomach flutter when he noticed how big of the contrast was in your tone was in comparison to when you were talking, well yelling at your boyfriend-who he hoped was now your ex. "The winter here is too harsh for you not to wear a jacket, even it its for a few seconds."

"I could have but I didn't want you to see how the maids always miss this spot." he jokingly rolled his eyes.

"Oh." you smiled. "Is this any better?" you ask while squeezing his hands.

"It's perfect." Eddie notices how your body is turned towards him and he looks up to see how close your faces are. You look up and realize how pretty Eddies dark brown eyes are, actually you knew how pretty but you've never been this close to him before. You are starting to forget why you were feeling so angry earlier.

Eddie thought that this was a once and a lifetime opportunity so he was going to make the most of it. He noticed how your eye contact didn't wavier from his -when the usual treatment is dirty looks because the freak is staring- and how tightly you were holding his hands as a good sign. You didn't say anything and you never looked away or let his hands go. So as his heart was pounding out of his chest, as much as he would hate to let your hands go, he moved them out of yours. One hand went to the bottom of the your coat, fiddleing with the zipper while other rested on your knee.

"You know you in the van of the local freak. Shouldn't you be running away?"

"I think you're more of a nerd than a freak."

"A nerd? What makes you say that?" the distance between each other never changing.

"Playing D&D, alone makes you a nerd but also the fact that you know a lot of facts about the stuff you care about like metal music. Thats nearly textbook for a nerd well I guess a uncover nerd"

"And just how do you know that?"

"You're not very quiet at lunch and..." he feels you grabbing on to his hand that was fiddling with your zipper. "I might of had a crush on you since we had math together."

"Are you messing with me?"

"No."

If Eddie was thinking straight he wouldn't have just blindly believed you but that was all the conformation he needed. So he finally grabbed your chin and softly pushed his against yours. You smile into the kiss and grabbed his face because he was kissing you as if you'd break. Eddie moved his other arm off your knee to bring them to your face but it awkward fumbling made him hit his elbow on the horn which makes you both jump away from each other. At least you two are still in the empty parking lot so no one but you two noticed.

"Of fuckin course." you laugh and he just sighs then starts laughing too.

"So Eddie, are you coming home with me?"

[memopmiff]

do you have any maiko headcanons? i love your artstyle btw <3

Thank you so much I'm glad you like it!

Here's some maiko headcanons

- Once everything is all settled (fire nation is stable, no threat to the throne) they can finally relax and be more open freely towards each other, that includes more kisses in hallways, laying near the pond and the occasional quick makeouts etc.

- They understand each other very well like the silent communication type. They also learn from their mistakes and get better at expressing their feelings as they grow older

- Zuko has the dopiest grin looking at Mai and she melts inside every time

- He’s the only one who knows that Mai is quite an affectionate person when they’re in private

- Mai reveals her pregnancy at the fountain (since izumi means fountain) and Zuko stops breathing and falls into it

- Even though they get better at communicating and expressing their emotions as they mature, their main love language is always touch

- Mai does Zuko’s hair in the mornings but sometimes Zuko offers to do her hair too and he’s pretty good at it!

- Mai is NOT am early riser. She also steals pillows

- And blankets

- Zuko loves cuddles. He would be very happy if Mai’s the one who initiates the cuddle (she’s the more timid of the two)

- Zuko thinks he got every sigh of her figured out but then he completely misread it, obliviously making things worse. Their relationship has bumps and it’s not always perfect, but they always make up for it

- Being firelord keeps Zuko up late at night, Mai lets him work until she thinks that he needs to rest that she forcefully drags him to bed

- Sometimes Mai falls back into her old habits and completely shuts off, but Zuko always gets through to her

- They’re the happiest with each other. She is his anchor and he is her world

- Shortly after Izumi was born, Zuko entertained the idea of having another kid. Mai gave him one look and Zuko went ‘Yep. 1 is enough.”

I like them in a specific way that's hard for me to describe into words but here's the light stuff! Sorry if these are cheesy, thanks for the ask!

[lewkwoodnco]

the tortured poets department - george karim x reader

George stiffened and shut his eyes regretfully as if he couldn’t bear to see that look on her face. A faint flush started creeping up his throat, peeking out from behind his starchy collar. “Don’t,” he whispered.

“Tell me,” she pressed, taking yet another step closer until their noses were barely an inch apart, “who else is going to know me? Truly know me?”

He let go of the breath he was holding and it fluttered across her cheek like the ghost of a kiss. They were venturing into intolerably intimate territory, and she could feel her pulse racing under the distracted brush of his thumb on her wrist.

a/n - HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH thats it thats the a/n also happy birthday to ali hadji-hesmati ia m NOT late shut up

tropes/warnings - slight nsfw towards the end (idk tho??), angst (what else is new lmao), tw slight mention of suicide, ft locklyle wedding (a bit) happy ending tho, i am very sick wrote this entirely on my phone and cannot be held accountable for any of this

word count - 3.7k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Who uses typewriters anyway?

That was what she had mouthed at her friend from across the Fittes office. They were brand new hires; scribes assigned to different researchers under an apprenticeship programme. Things were off to a rougher start than she had expected. From what she could see, her friend had been assigned to a perfectly normal-looking researcher who, now that introductions were complete, was explaining his filing system to her.

On the other hand, the first thing her oddly intense researcher had asked was if she knew how to use a typewriter. She had laughed, thinking it was a joke, before very quickly realising that he was being perfectly serious. He started explaining how the contraption worked far too quickly for her to catch anything, and she had taken the chance to shoot her friend a look.

“L/N?”

She whipped her head back around, immediately apologetic. “Sorry. I think I get how it works now.” Really, it was just bad luck that she had gotten the short end of the stick.

The next thing she learnt, over many months, was how to pick up on and decrypt George’s nonverbal cues. Namely, knowing what his every sigh, muttering or frown meant. While it had felt frustrating similar to banging her head against a wall in the beginning, he started to grow on her. Learning how George Karim ticked was like figuring out an intriguing puzzle all on her own. Besides, he wasn’t unkind. He could be understanding, so long as he had the patience for it on that particular day.

But there were times when she decided that no, he wasn’t all that compassionate of a coworker. Particularly on nights when he’d have her write up chapters worth of research summarised from his scrawled notes. And woe betide her should she make one too many mistakes.

Who the hell uses typewriters anyway?

"Do you ever think about leaving Fittes?"

Her typing stopped abruptly, her flickering train of thought completely demolished by George's appalling suggestion. They were sitting at their adjacent desks at the Fittes office, her typing up the previous night's case report while George twiddled his thumbs and fiddled with a pen in increasingly creative ways.

"Leave? And go where?"

She followed the line of his hateful stare towards one of the thick metal doors along the corridor which led to a more restricted part of the offices. Like most others, she felt no pressing inclination to snoop around and stumble upon information she would rather not find. But for someone like George, she could practically see how it gnawed at him - libraries of secrets just begging to be known.

Her gaze flitted anxiously between his face and the door. It was both a frightening and thrilling thing when George decided to put his mind to something, using his brain at its full capacity in some sincerely earnest hunt for knowledge. It was also the thing that was going to get him killed sooner or later, mesmerising as he was. It. Mesmerising as it was.

"Start our own agency. Play by our rules."

She laughed nervously, too artificial even for her own ears as she wrung her stiff hands. George's voice had a distant quality to it that told her he was on the way to making some very bad decisions if she didn't step in soon. "Oh, George, you say the…the darnedest things. You're no Tom Rotwell, you know."

"You're not Marissa Fittes yourself, either."

"Rude."

His gaze flickered to her at that, the barest hint of a smile ghosting his lips as the tension in his shoulders dissolved. She visibly relaxed as well, satisfied that it would be a decent while before he once again latched onto this bizarre notion.

Which was why his abrupt switch in employment to some small, crumbling agency had left her more than shell-shocked. Coming into work on a normal, gloomy Monday and seeing George's desk cleared out and painfully sterile of the ideas and theories he buzzed with left her feeling lost at sea in the worst way. And he didn't bother to reach out to her either - not a call, not a letter, not a visit.

That is, not a visit until he turned up at her door in the middle of the night, pale as the Visitors that skulked outside her door.

"Sorry.”

For one stupidly miraculous moment, she thought he might be apologising for a month’s worth of grey days and sleepless nights.

“I know it’s late, but I think I left my typewriter here."

She felt stupidly disappointed.

"You're making a mess of my - what are you doing?"

George had located his otherwise untouched typewriter positioned at one corner of her dining table and was now furiously typing away, a sickly, pallid sheen to his forehead.

"Don't worry, I'll be qui -"

"Karim."

His typing faltered, and for once he had the decency to look marginally embarrassed.

“Sit down. Start from the beginning.”

So he did. He told her everything about some Type Two case at 62 Sheen Road, short of coming out and saying that he had put his associates' lives in danger, but she could hear it in his voice. It was an almost welcome return to the old days of picking out the relevant parts while his mind ran ahead at the speed of light; so much to think and agonise over. When his voice finally started to run thin, she fetched him a cup of tea, taking a moment to process it all.

"Okay, so, if I have this right, none of this is your fault. No - don't argue with me. Drink your tea. You told him to wait, that you needed more time.“

He mumbled something incoherent as he pulled off his glasses, dragging a hand across his eyes, looking far too young and worn. He glanced up to meet her gaze, the look on his face as much of a wreck as the rest of him. He looked down again, staring at his hands splayed on her dining table. George never was one for letting his feelings show, let alone hysterics, and it rubbed at something raw to see him spiralling this badly.

“They’d be better off with a researcher who could actually do his job.”

She suppressed the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes.

“Oh, please, this has nothing to do with being altruistic. This is just you trying to punish yourself over something that isn’t even your fault.”

He showed no sign of having heard her. She sighed and slid into the seat next to his, her fingers nearly brushing his.

“Look - what's done is done. Possibly the worst thing you could do now is leave them in the lurch like this. Of course, it's not going to be smooth sailing throughout, but you made a commitment, so for the love of God keep your head up and stick it through.” She reached out to loosely cover his wrist. “Okay?”

George stayed silent but glanced up at her. Okay. She pulled her hand away. He finished the last of his tea and stood.

“I should get going, I suppose.”

She looked out the window, eyeing the eerie green glow of the ghost lamps critically. “It’s a bit late, don’t you think? Not very safe.”

“I have my rapier on me.”

The corners of her mouth tightened.

“I’d feel better if you left in the morning.”

And so they ended up in her living room, him sitting on the floor and her sitting on the couch, dragging her fingers through his soft curls. They talked about everything and nothing, like the recent layoffs at Rotwell’s and what George’s new associates were like. He made them sound marvellous. It was obvious why he’d leave Fittes. Why he’d leave her.

“The three of us…we live at 35 Portland Row.”

“Mhm.”

“And there’s this doughnut shop down the street from there.”

She lightly scraped his scalp teasingly.

“So that’s why you left.”

She could feel him smile despite himself.

“We should go, someday. You’d love it.”

A vision trickled into her imagination - she and George standing at the end of some empty cobblestoned road with soft, pillowy doughnuts dripping sugar down their knuckles, sprinkles melting into their fingerprints. It’s evening, and the sun is almost painfully intense, beating down a lovely glow over the scene. She’s distantly aware of the impending danger of the rapidly approaching nighttime, but for now, George is standing in front of her in a soft shirt, the edges of his face kind and blunt, the almost permanent furrow of his brow melted away in the liquid sun, reaching out to swipe a thumb at the corner of her mouth -

“Get some rest.” Her voice was thick with a longing for such golden yet treacherously illusory days. George leaned back, resting his head on the couch with half-lidded eyes, his breathing evening out as he drifted off. She gently slipped her fingers out of his hair. She gently pulled his glasses off but before she could put them someplace safe, she was out like a light herself.

She had a fitful sleep and blearily woke up a few hours later, George’s head an oddly comforting weight against her knee. She groggily pulled herself up and tossed a blanket at the figure slumped against her couch before fetching a glass of water and some paracetamol.

Shortly after, George lurched awake like he was sweating out a fever, heart thudding and eyes restless. He groaned, no doubt wincing at the pounding behind his eyes. He caught sight of the water and medicine placed next to him but looked away after a moment of consideration. She raised her eyebrows pointedly, knowing only too well the kind of hell his overactive mind was capable of putting him through.

“How’s your head?”

She hadn’t meant to sound that sarcastic, but it was enough for him to get the hint. He relented, taking a sip of water and then one of the pills just for good measure.

"Good. Now go home and get some proper rest, you moron."

She watched him stumble down the road till he turned the corner, trying to hide how shaken she was by his panic. She sighed wearily. Only a month at Lockwood & Co. and already he would be a desperate wreck without them. She turned back inside, trying to ignore how empty her dining table looked without his typewriter and how vacant she felt without that flimsy excuse for him to see her again.

Years passed. She and George somewhat kept in touch, but it had still been extremely startling when Lockwood & Co. reached out to her with plans to expose her employer, Marissa Fittes. Amongst the tragedy of Portland Row being reduced to rubble, Kipps nearly dying and the Skull almost moving on, unemployment was the least of her concerns.

Still, it wasn’t all sad once Lucy had proposed to Lockwood after one too many failed attempts by the latter party. They had planned a relatively intimate affair, only inviting some old friends of the ex-Fittes employees of the group.  

They held it at an inexpensive banquet hall just a few minutes away from Portland Row. Lucy looked gorgeous and glowing with happiness under the gentle warm lighting, and Lockwood looked dashing in a suit not much more formal than his regular one. He spent the majority of the reception denying that he had teared up at the first glimpse of Lucy at the end of the aisle, insisting that his best man was a pathological liar.

After the main event, the guests milled around, having drinks, and occasionally congratulating the happy couple. As expected, Lockwood became very drunk very quickly, enough to pull out some terribly nonsensical yet oddly stirring comment.

“Here’s to the first day of the rest of our lives.”

She glanced across at George. He met her eye. They immediately looked away. She could have sworn she felt a hitch of some breath between them. She felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes. Lucy was desperately trying to shut up an overly emotional and hence overly talkative Lockwood who looked ready to launch into a speech no one asked for.

“That’s enough now, or we’ll have Kipps bawling all through dinner.”

It wasn’t exactly a sit-down dinner, though there was appropriate seating. Half of the guests were eating and the other half were having fun with some party games. She was watching Holly struggle at Twister when she felt someone slide into the seat next to hers - namely, the best man, George.

“Hey.”

She grinned, flushed from the champagne she had been sipping all evening. “Hey.”

“Having fun?”

“Lots.”

He couldn’t help but return her smile, looking a little tipsy himself. “I can tell.”

They ate in silence for a while, only the tinny sound of the radio’s strain and cheers from the party games filling the space between them.

“I think I missed you at the bouquet toss earlier.”

She nearly swallowed her spoon. He had noticed? He noticed her? She didn't know how to tell him that she couldn't see herself marrying anyone that wasn't him. How could she wake up every day knowing her better half was somewhere out there miles away, wondering if he wished for someone as moron-shaped as her?

“Oh, well, that’s not really my thing. More of a bridesmaid than a bride.”

She resumed eating, presuming that line of conversation to be over until she noticed he was still looking at her strangely, his cutlery stationary in his hands. Her chewing slowed in an attempt at dignity.

“…what?”

He lifted her right hand off her knife, making her heart thud dangerously. Wordlessly, he pulled off the sapphire ring on her middle finger and oh-so-delicately slid it onto her ring finger instead.

“I think you’d make a wonderful bride.”

She stared at the ring, speechless. It wasn’t a proposal, but it wasn’t nothing either. Maybe…maybe this was a second chance at something. Maybe he wouldn’t screw this up this time.

He almost reluctantly relinquished his grip on her hand. She didn’t dare meet his eye. Even his voice, quiet yet slightly rough, felt unbearable to hear.

“Were you mad? When I left without telling you?”

She had waited months to hear those words.

“I wished you'd talked to me about it first. Just...just to make sure your head was screwed on straight.”

He nodded, and they returned to their food, the silence a lot less giddily amicable now.

“So, would you have - “

“Absolutely not. God, no. I would have told you to stay ten feet away from Anthony Lockwood at all times.”

They looked over to where Lucy was helping Lockwood sit down, having unfortunately thrown his back out at Limbo. She winced. “He’s such a wild card.”

“I suppose I am too.”

She turned, curious, and he looked as though he regretted letting that slip out. Her voice dropped, taking on a softer edge.

“Not to me. Not when it’s you.”

He stared at her like there was something bloodied and hungry behind his eyes. She felt this twinge of something in her chest. Oh, how could she bear this? How could she bear him?

Sometimes, part of her wished she were a book - one completely enthralling and riveting, chock-full of secrets eager to slip out and lose themselves in thin air. Perhaps that was just a manifestation of her paralysing desire to be known and to be known by him.

“I should go,” George was saying as he finished up the last of his food. He stood, wiping his mouth, wandering off to find his coat. Maybe it was the liquor or the unfamiliar buzz of hope in the air tonight, but there was some odd tone of finality to his voice. She watched him leave, chewing her food thoughtfully, not feeling very hungry anymore.

As the minutes trickled by, it began to feel exhausting to be surrounded by so many happy couples, happy people, all that revolting joy and merriment. Only a short while after George had left, she located her own coat and weeded Lucy out of a throng of people doing the Macarena.

“I think I might head out now. Congratulations once again, Luce.”

“You too? Aww, thanks. Have you decided about the job offer from Madison?”

“I haven’t written back yet, but I think I’m going to turn them down. I was thinking about talking to Lockwood someday to see if he could take on one more employee. Plus, Madison’s a bit far out, and I’m pretty comfortable where I am.”

“Good. George might have just offed himself if it weren’t for his course at Edinburgh. I mean,” Lucy tripped over her words over the stunned look on her face, “I’m sure he was just kidding.”

“Hang on. Edinburgh?”

“Yeah. For his supervisor training. Did he not tell you? I thought for sure he…”

Lucy’s words muffled into oblivion and bled into some horrible ringing sound. Her mouth felt painfully dry. No. This couldn’t be happening.

“…he wanted to wait till after the wedding to tell Lockwood. Didn’t want to put a damper on things. Don’t get me wrong - I’m just as cut up about it, but…” They looked over to where Lockwood was watching the limbo game from afar with a forlorn expression. “…you know Lockwood.”

“What the hell, George.”

He jumped, freezing with his hand buried deep in his pocket, tediously hunting for his keys. She had managed to catch him at the front porch of Portland Row, looking especially guilty under the tepid glow of the ghost lamps.

“You’re training to become a supervisor?”

His face briefly twisted in annoyance. The audacity. “I told Lucy in confidence -“

“When were you going to tell me, Karim? Or were you just going to let me find out all on my own, like last time?” She wanted to laugh cruelly. There was nothing merciful about this knife in her chest. “I mean, why do this? Why lead me on and make me feel things and give me hope?”

“When have I ever led you on?”

“Then what was all that with my ring? Huh?” Tears sprang to her eyes once again, hot and shameful, stinging like a caustic disinfectant to an open wound. She felt so, so stupid.

“You said you didn’t care.”

“I did care!” she snapped. “Of course I fucking cared. I don’t think I could have stopped myself from caring, not when I know you like the back of my hand.”

“But you don’t care. No - tomorrow you’re going to board a train and move out of my reach and meet someone new to soothe the turmoil in your head and you won’t feel my heart bleeding for you. And if you’re very, very lucky, you might find some semblance of happiness -“

“I weigh you down!” The tirade died at her lips. Fury lined every shadow, every crevice of George’s face. He spat his words out with such venom, utter distaste. “I weigh you down…like a child. You pick me up when I fall down and kiss it better because that’s the kind of person you are. I can’t sentence you to a lifetime of running around trying to save me. I won’t do it. I’ll find someone else.”

A burden. He looked through her eyes and all he saw was a shrivelled excuse of a companion, dragging her into his depths of despair. She’d be lying if she said she never felt suffocated by his baggage. But there were some burdens you didn’t mind shouldering, not when you loved them so tenderly.

After all, who was going to unravel his every pause, stutter, sigh, and ache as she did?

“But who else is going to decode you like I do?”

George stiffened and shut his eyes regretfully as if he couldn’t bear to see that look on her face. A faint flush started creeping up his throat, peeking out from behind his starchy collar. “Don’t,” he whispered.

“Tell me,” she pressed, taking yet another step closer until their noses were barely an inch apart, “who else is going to know me? Truly know me?”

He let go of the breath he was holding and it fluttered across her cheek like the ghost of a kiss. They were venturing into intolerably intimate territory, and she could feel her pulse racing under the distracted brush of his thumb on her wrist.

There was a brooding, resigned look in his eye as if whatever he had been running from had finally caught up to him. He bowed his head and their foreheads touched. Her arms nervously reached around his neck, his hands on her waist steadying her as if to keep their balance on whatever strand of peace the moment had proffered them.

Her lips hovered over his shoulder, clavicle and jaw. She felt him reflexively tighten and loosen his grip, restless fingers fiddling with the folds of her dress and how they wrapped around her body. She brushed against the shell of his ear and felt a shiver run up his spine.

“Who else is going to hold you…like me?”

He turned a fraction and she briefly registered the lack of hesitation in his dark eyes before he finally closed the last of the gap between them. He pressed his lips to hers, soft yet intentional. He tasted like champagne and smoke and promises long-forgotten yet unbroken. It was a dizzying sort of relief to feel that years-old desperate want coiled inside finally melt through arms and fingertips buzzing with curiosity.

After that first touch, it felt as though they couldn’t get close enough, let alone pull themselves apart and have the brisk evening air rush in and nip at sensitive skin. She heard the doorknob rattle as George fumbled with it. After a short struggle, they stumbled into a nearly pitch-dark Portland Row, urgently shucking off each other’s coats and scarves. Her mind was running a mile a minute, her scalp tingling with electricity; white noise over the scrape of his teeth against her skittering pulse.

Her thoughts fragmented. At Fittes. In his room. In her apartment. His typewriter sitting glossy, polished, untouched, maddening -

George Karim was the most affected prick she had the misfortune of knowing. It was bad, bad luck that she was so irrevocably tied to him.

TAGLIST: @cielooci @mohinithoughts @neewtmas @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @ahead-fullofdreams @elenianag080 @avdiobliss @mischivana @mitskiswift99

[quaranmine]

leave a light on for me

If you think all your friends hate you, it's probably time to go to bed. If you're stuck in your fifth death game, unable to fall asleep, and in pain from injuries that can't heal, then it's safe to say you probably have other issues too. Martyn has moved into Jimmy's shack in Secret Life. They're sleeping in the same room together again, just like all those years ago in the Property Police station on Evo. Unfortunately, a lot has happened between them since.

Word count: 3,167

hiiii so i saw property police were teaming in secret life, blacked out for like two days, and this appeared. CW: there is quite a lot of self-hate, self image issues, and abandonment issues packed into 3k words here. as a result i feel the unnecessary need to once again clarify this is about characters, not real guys,,,

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The thought comes to him late at night, as thoughts of these types often do. 

Jimmy’s laying curled in his bed, arms wrapped protectively around himself. It’s a very careful position. He hasn’t slept yet; he hasn’t been able to. Everything just hurts so, so, so much. 

It’s not fun living on a server without regen. Sure, the hanging out with friends is fun, and the early days are always fun before everybody hates each other, and the secrets are silly and goofy but it—it always turns. It always turns. And it isn’t fun right now.

His ankle is on fire from where he twisted it earlier by falling. He’s not sure which landing did it; he’s too used to jumping off random heights without worrying about it. He should probably prop it up to help with the swelling, but the mere thought of it makes everything hurt even more. Besides, his leg’s also burned from where Scott set him on fire earlier. 

No, curled up is the best way to deal with this. If he stays as still as possible, everything hurts less. Staying still has other benefits too, like making sure the arrow wound on his shoulder blade doesn’t reopen and drip white hot blood and pain. 

His thoughts aren’t actually about the pain, though. Well, most of his thoughts. It’s pretty hard to ignore every time his breathing shifts a cracked rib. His green life is hanging by a thread, and every so often it feels like a blanket settles over the critical thinking center of his brain, making it impossible to focus on anything but the klaxon horn going you’re hurt, you’re hurt, you’re hurt. 

But the rest of his thoughts are about the usual late night things—

Life. Death. The Universe. Whether people actually hate him or not. That embarrassing thing he did yesterday, and the day before that. His entire past stretched out on a table and examined with a magnifying glass. Weighed and balanced, mistakes and karma and loves and losses. The breathing of the person across the room. 

“Martyn?” he calls softly. “Are you asleep?”

There’s a rustle of blankets, and then a groan. “I was until you said that.”

He’s lying. Jimmy knows the way he breathes when he’s asleep. They used to sleep in the same room years ago, too. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I was just—thinking.”

“You had a thought?” 

Jimmy giggles, and it stabs him. “Stop it,” he says when he catches his breath. “I mean it!”

“Should we break out the record books? Mark the day Timmy had an independent thought?”

“I’m going to—I am going to kick you out of my shack,” Jimmy says. “That’s it, your big man privileges are revoked.”

“You’d kick me out into the dark and scary night all alone?”

“I would have no second thoughts! I would have no second thoughts.”

He’s actually having a lot of second thoughts, which is the problem. He’s having second thoughts about Martyn and—since when was that the case? Needing to question his best friend? Well, he knows since when, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. In any case, he’s not going to kick Martyn out into the dark. He’s not going to kick him out at all. If Martyn wants out, all he’ll have to do is walk out. Jimmy just isn’t sure he won’t.

“Well, then you can’t leave me hanging,” Martyn says. “What was your thought?”

“It’s silly,” Jimmy says. “I was just…do you ever still think about Evo, Martyn?”

This is possibly the most loaded a question could ever be between them. Martyn sits up in bed sharply, just a shadowy blur in Jimmy’s periphery. “Why would you bring that up?” he says sharply. The venom is clear: this is not safe territory for Jimmy to traverse. 

The moonlight is cold and diffuse, leaving the room with a gloomy air. The mood in the room has shifted. After a moment he responds, carefully redirecting the conversation around the Watchers. “It just feels like it doesn’t it? Us sleeping in the same room together? The Property Police.”

Martyn is silent. Then, finally: “I guess it does.” 

He sounds calmer now. Jimmy’s mistake was asking a question too open-ended, because for once he’s not thinking about everything that went wrong in Evo. He’s thinking about everything that went right, and that’s what hurts the most right now. Not his broken ribs or wounds, but the way everything used to be okay and isn’t anymore. 

Jimmy’s blunt. “Are you going to stay this time?”

“What—what do you mean?” Martyn sputters. “Of course. We’re shacked up together. That’s sacred, you know.”

Jimmy picks at the thread of the blanket. “‘Cause, well, the last time you said it’d just be me and you, you were lying to my face.”

They were in a hilly forest. Jimmy was green for the longest he’d been the entire game, and it felt like buzzing life in his veins instead of dread. Grian was red and the Southlands felt like it was splintering. And Jimmy was running, Martyn hot on his heels. 

“Dude, you cannot still be hung up on that,” Martyn says. “That was—hold on, let me count, three whole games ago? Come on, you’re the one who invited me to the shack.”

Why don’t we leave together? We’ll figure something out and we’ll move away together. Everybody knows the Southerners are weak. We can set up the Boogey Blockers, remember? You know, the idea for Property Police two-point-oh from session one. You’ve got nowhere to go and neither do I, so we’ll figure it out together. Just give me the heart back. 

“I believed you when you told me that.”

Martyn scoffs. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re the most gullible person on the server. And don’t give me some pity party either, you were literally stealing from me. I’m not going to say sorry for getting my life back.”

Jimmy has a list of justifications for why he stole that heart. He was anxious, for one. He started the game on yellow while other people were given six whole lives. Six! Imagine. Or imagine being one of the few who’d started on yellow and been voluntarily given a life by an ally. Nobody wanted to do that for him, so what if he stole it instead? What about it? Stealing a life without murdering for it is far from the worst crime someone could commit on that server. 

He had felt like the group was splintering, for another. Grian was gone. Both he and Mumbo were yellow—one accident away from red. It wasn’t the same as 3rd Life, where he had a husband to stick next to him even when he turned red. Nobody was going to do that for Jimmy this time, which meant he had to look out for himself. He just…didn’t want to have to, that’s all. 

But those justifications feel stupid now in the future. He died first anyway, and again, and again. He doesn’t raise these points to Martyn now. 

He also doesn’t actually want Martyn to apologize for what he said in Last Life. He certainly isn’t going to apologize for stealing the life. He doesn’t care about what happened in the past—no really, he swears he doesn’t—he just wants to know if Martyn means it this time.

Part of him wonders, though, if Martyn realized just how easily he could manipulate Jimmy back then. If Martyn had known how much Jimmy cared about him and used that to his advantage. If he realizes now just how easily he could do it again, and again, and again. 

I didn’t mean a word of what I said, Martyn had spat as soon as Jimmy transferred the life again. You’re an idiot.

Jimmy’s quite aware he’s an idiot, really. He’s reminded of it every day. The thing is, he doesn’t think. He never thinks. His life would be a whole lot better if he didn’t wait to think until it was late at night and he felt alone and all his mistakes were already made. 

“I just thought you meant it back then,” he says finally. “That’s all. You lied to me again today too.”

“Sorry. That one was a task requirement,” Martyn says. “I needed someone who’d believe any story I made up. But I’m still here, aren’t I? Big men don’t lie to each other. Starting now."

Jimmy remembers another time Martyn tried to leave, back when it was just the two of them. He’d woken up in the Property Police station to the sound of Martyn rummaging through their chests for supplies to take with him. He told Jimmy he was leaving because he was sick of the Watchers. He’d planned on leaving before Jimmy even woke up, so it was only by luck Jimmy caught him in time. He called Martyn a coward and chased him all the way to the end portal. 

Martyn asked if he was coming with him. Jimmy said no. He was only following to stop him or say goodbye.

In hindsight, this was another one of Jimmy’s idiot moments. He was so naive. He didn’t realize how bad the Watchers would become yet, or what the cost of staying was. They should have gone together. He shouldn’t have called Martyn a coward for seeing a future he didn’t. But even if Martyn was ahead of the curve, he’d still been willing to leave him behind. 

In the end, nobody could leave. The Watchers had sealed the portal. 

But it’s the thought that sticks with Jimmy, even when he pretends it doesn’t. 

Martyn trying to leave Jimmy on Evo. Martyn tricking Jimmy on Last Life. Martyn lying to him just this morning. It’s the thought of it that still sticks with him. 

“Can I trust you?” he asks. 

“Yeah, of course,” Martyn says. “I’m loyal.”

“You’re loyal to Ren.”

Jimmy takes a bit of pleasure in the way Martyn sucks in a breath. It’s a low blow, but it works. He doesn’t know what the two of them have going on, but he knows Martyn would betray him twice over for Ren. He’s since learned about Martyn’s Shadow Alliance plans in Last Life—how Martyn was lying when he said the two of them could run away together, but not lying about being willing to betray the Southlands. Lizzie had told him about it months later on Empires. 

Normally, Jimmy wouldn’t have held the betrayal against him. Not this long into the future, at least. It’s a death game; these things happen. But normally Martyn isn’t sleeping in the same room as him. 

“Ren isn’t here right now,” Martyn responds, every word clipped and intentional.  

Martyn feels dangerous to team with. Martyn might leave. Martyn doesn’t have any qualms about betraying people in these games. But Jimmy would follow Martyn into any fight if they were on the same side. He stood next to Martyn and faced things that the two of them still won’t talk about. He knows the sound of his breathing when he sleeps.

He and Martyn fall into rhythm together.

“You wouldn’t be here if he was,” Jimmy mutters. 

“What—What are you on about tonight?” Martyn says. “Huh? What’s gotten into you tonight?” He doesn’t sound as angry as Jimmy expected him to. Instead, he almost sounds…worried. 

“I’m fine,” Jimmy says listlessly. “I told you, I was just thinking.”

“Nuh-uh, you never think! Look at me. What’s up?”

“No.”

“Be like that then. I’ll come to you,” he says, and Jimmy hears the sound of rustling blankets followed by footsteps across the wooden floor. Seconds later the bed dips slightly, and it jostles his foot that he has been keeping very still. This sets off fire in his nerves, and Jimmy gasps. 

“Ow,” he whines. 

“I didn’t even touch you,” Martyn says. His voice is sharp in that acerbic tone he’s so good at, where every sentence is met with either snark or wit.  

“You moved the bed.”

“Oh,” Martyn says and then, “Oh. You’re all battered right now. Broken and bruised, not thinking straight. You know, I got down to five and a half last session. That hurt like a—it hurt a lot. It gets better.”

“Yeah, it hurt less after you died from it,” Jimmy says. “No thanks. I’ll stay on green.”

Martyn’s frowning. “You’re in an awfully bad mood tonight,” he says. “You’re like actually upset right now, aren’t you?”

“I failed my task,” Jimmy says. 

“So?” Martyn asks. “You weren’t the only one who failed today. Can hardly get worse than being the only yellow, if you know what I mean.” He laughs softly. 

“I just needed to tell someone to tell me to get out, but nobody would.” Jimmy sighs. “But they—nobody wanted me there. Nobody. The only reason they didn’t say anything is that they wanted to help me with my task.”

“I don’t know if I see the problem there, Tim,” Martyn says. “Aside from the whole ‘they were too nice to you for you to succeed.’ You said that earlier, that nobody was rude enough to say the line.”

Jimmy’s been turning that around in his head for a while too. What’s wrong? Why does he feel so bad that people were nice to him? Why is he scared that Martyn agreed to be allies? Something about the situation was making him feel awful tonight but he has to work to pin it down. The feeling gets triggered first. He has to track down the logic of it afterward. 

He just feels—he feels like they all hate him. All of them. And he hates himself too, so he gets it. There’s something wrong with him and he’s never seemed to be able to figure it out and fix it. He can’t look into the mirror of his soul and see the problem. He can’t adjust his behavior to get rid of it. No matter what he does, it’s there. 

The problem is just him. He’s deficient. He can’t fix something that’s innate. 

The thing is, it’s not really about how people wanted to help him succeed today, it’s the underlying reasons for it. It’s why they helped him. 

“It was just…obligation,” he says after a minute. “It was just an obligation. They were being polite. Nobody said anything because they wanted to help with the task, not ‘cause they actually were willing to let me stay with them. Not because they wanted me there. They just wanted to get rid of me faster.”

“I mean,” Martyn says, dragging out the word. He’s puzzled. “Weren’t you trying to be intentionally annoying about it, though? To get yourself kicked out so they’d say the thing? I saw whatever you were doing in Scott’s house. You were being so weird about it.”

Jimmy presses the palms of his hands into his eyes. His eyes are watering now, little prickles of tears that threaten to spill over if he blinks too much. He doesn’t want Martyn to see. It’s also the most he’s moved in a while, and the motion makes his vision go fuzzy on the edges anyway. 

“Maybe I want someone to stay,” Jimmy says, voice cracking. “Maybe I want someone to want me to stay. Even when I’m being especially annoying. Even when I’m being me.”

For a moment, the room is so quiet he could hear a pin drop. Then Martyn just says, “What?”

“I don’t—I don’t want people to leave me, or lie to me, or pretend to want me in the room when they’re actually just happy the moment I go home.”

“Tim,” Martyn says. “Do you actually think all that? That people hate it when you’re yourself?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “I dunno. Maybe. Maybe not. It’s bad tonight.”

“Are you sure it’s like that?” Martyn says. “I mean, like—do you think that’s an accurate idea of what’s going on, or just your brain tellin’ ya that? I had fun with you today. Wouldn’t have followed you home afterwards if I didn’t.”

He knows he’s having irrational thoughts about this. He knows he’s had irrational thoughts before, so this time they might be irrational too. He can recognize this part of the cycle, at least. But the problem is, are they irrational this time? Are they? Is he confident they are? How can he be confident they are? Is Martyn just telling him what he wants to hear so he’ll stop acting stupid? 

Will Martyn be here in the morning? 

He grimaces. “I think I need to sleep,” he whispers. “This no-regen nonsense hurts and it’s making everything worse.”

Martyn doesn’t know what to say, so he dodges it.  “Do you…d’you want me to call someone for you? Who could help better? Maybe Scott, or Tango, or Grian….or maybe not Grian, but anyone else really…”

Jimmy turns his head to look at Martyn, revealing his face again. Martyn’s eyes are wide and unsettled. He is sitting on the bed, but he’s also sort of hovering, being very careful not to touch Jimmy. They’d been joking earlier, why aren’t they now? Jimmy’s not sure. They operate well when there’s a bit to play into, but there isn’t one now. He thinks maybe their years of playing bits have left them without the words to truly communicate anything else. 

While looking at Martyn, it strikes Jimmy: He doesn’t even realize. He thinks there’s someone else more important to Jimmy who could be in the room right now instead of him. It’s almost laughable. Martyn’s right, there’s many people in Jimmy’s life who are important to him. Who can, and have, helped him. But is it Jimmy’s fault that Martyn doesn’t realize he’s still one of them? 

While looking at Martyn, it strikes Jimmy: He has to give this alliance a try anyway. He can’t write it off before it begins. It might be doomed to fail. Certainly will be, with Martyn being the first yellow and Jimmy’s illustrious record of survival. It might hurt him. It might fix him. 

What’s actually real, though, is that Martyn is here right now. It feels like the old days. They only get scraps of time together these past few years. A MCC team here, a death game there. They’re rarely on the same servers as each other. They don’t see each other like they used to. They don’t live together anymore. They don’t sleep in the same room anymore. It makes Jimmy’s chest ache.

“I’d rather have you here,” he says finally.  

Martyn is surprised. “Oh!” he says. “D’ya want me to do anything?”

“No,” he whispers. “Just stay while I fall asleep. I’ll be okay again in the morning.”

Jimmy closes his eyes and they feel like they burn underneath his lids. There’s tears drying on his cheeks. His ankle still throbs. 

He feels fingers card through his hair gently, the touch hesitant and light. Uncertain.  “Shh,” Martyn says. “Big men don’t cry.”

Jimmy tries to sleep, and knows that isn’t true. 

[alessiathepirate]

Duskwood

PAST 2 A.M.: Richy Roger x fem!reader

Summary: "Can you please talk to me til I fall asleep? I don't want to be like, alone alone you know."

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I may have made while I wrote this short story.

So... Moonvale didn't really catch me - not like Duskwood did the very first time I played it. I decided to replay Duskwood once again and thought: why not give the characters some appreciation on Tumblr as well?

I hope you'll enjoy it :)

Warnings: SPOILERS! (please finish the game before reading), swearing

•••

Hey!

I can see that you're awake too.

Richy looked at the screen of his phone and frowned. Of course he was awake! All those things about the Man Without a Face were keeping him up at night, not being able to fall asleep.

His mind was going and going, the cogs in his brain turning.

But what could she want? It was late, way past 2 a.m.. At the very least she should be asleep.

Haha, you got me!

I can't really fall asleep now.

Yeah. I get it.

There's just too much on my mind right now.

Well, it wasn't surprising.

She was pulled into this mess and until a few days ago she had no idea whatsoever who they were. She was also empathetic - he liked that about her a lot. And because of that she felt useless - she was far away, unable to help.

You and me both.

But are you okay?

Dumb question, but still... he wanted to know.

He liked her. Liked her a lot.

And although it was absolutely neccessary to mess with her too, to try and keep her away, he sometimes - everytime - felt bad about doing so.

I don't know. Maybe?

Not really?

I'm worried about Jessy.

Richy swallowed, glad that they were only texting. Otherwise he would've been caught red handed.

He had to do that too. But it wasn't anything serious. He didn't want to hurt Jessy. He made sure she was okay.

I know. I am worried too. But Jessy's strong. She'll pull herself through this.

And then we can all go and kick that Man's ass.

Richy chuckled. A hint of nervousness was in his voice.

Well said.

So...

So what?

You sure you're not in love with her?

With Jessy I mean.

Richy grinned, blush painting his cheeks red.

No, of course not.

Jessy was a great friend and a nice girl, although sometimes a way too distracted employee, but still-- she was just a friend.

The question made him smile, suddenly all his worries forgotten. It was cute - the uncertainity.

Sometimes he wondered if she had someone else too.

Umm...

Yeah. I'm pretty sure.

Like very sure.

Alright then.

So...

What about you?

What about me?

Are you in love? With anyone I mean.

Richy looked at the three dots and small pencil in the left corner. He'll know. He'll know the answer soon.

No. I'm not.

Single life's great, isn't it?

Richy laughed.

Yeah it is.

Her being free of any romantic emotion for anyone gave him hope. Maybe... Maybe if he cleans this mess up, he'll have a chance.

So... I kinda wanted to ask for a favor.

Richy raised one of his eyebrows.

A favor? Past 2 a.m.? What kind?

Sure. What can I do for you?

Can I call you?

Richy felt his heartbeat quicken, his pulse jumping up and down.

Call him?

Is everything okay?

Yeah, I just...

Can you please talk to me til I fall asleep?

I don't want to be like, alone alone you know.

Richy looked at the screen in disbelief.

She trusted him that much. She liked him that much.

For a while he didn't know what to type.

Are you still here?

Shit...

Yes. Sorry I'm here. I just don't even know what to say...

Why me?

The three dots with the pencil appeared again - then disappeared. It happened once again, and then her answer finally appeared on the screen.

I like you.

I mean a lot.

It's okay if you don't want to I just don't want to be completely alone right now.

Texting is just fine too.

The messages had appeared quickly, one after the other. She must've been nervous. It wouldn't have been surprising - this call would be more... personal. More of a personal need than anything else.

Instead of answering, Richy simply just called her.

And she picked up - after swallowing down a tiny heart attack.

"Hi..." she whispered, her voice hoarse and tired.

It must've sounded hoarse. She knew she cried a lot after what had happened to Jessy, and she haven't really found her voice since then.

"Hi." Richy didn't sound nervous or stressed at all - tired, maybe. Tired a whole lot. "Is everything okay?"

"Better now." she smiled although she knew he couldn't see it. "I just needed someone to get my mind off things."

"I'm happy to help." she could hear the smile in his voice.

"Thank you, Richy. Really..." she pulled the covers up, hiding her whole body from the cold room. Even though the room was still dark and cold, it wasn't that lonely anymore.

"No problem." silence wanted to settle in, but Richy stopped it just in time. "So... this club of ours isn't too fun when we can't sleep at night, huh?"

She chuckled. She hoped he heard it.

"No, definitely not. But at the very least we are in the same boat."

"Well said."

She closed her eyes for a second, then opened them again. The world seemed to finally slow down, her mind got quieter - she felt the sleepiness in her eyes.

"Tell me something. Something fun. Like when you told me about the dare-house." she asked and then got quiet as she waited for an answer.

"Well, there was this one time when Dan got a job at the florist'..." Richy began and she let out a chuckle.

"Jessy already mentioned this one." she confessed.

"Did she tell you what we did after we found out?" he asked.

She could clearly hear that he was surpressing a laugh.

"Not really..."

"We decided to order this very big bouquet, full of roses and everything. We made him write 'To my bestest friends' with a heart on it. He didn't know we were the ones who ordered it of course, so when all of us turned up there for it he was really surprised."

She giggled.

"Poor guy. Was he mad?"

"Upset is a better word for it." he laughed too.

"Upset?"

"Well he might've thrown us out of there..."

She turned to rest on her back as she giggled, imagining the whole scene play out. All of them standing there - the whole group including Hannah too...

Hannah.

They have to find Hannah. They have to make the culprit pay. Especially after what he did to Jessy.

Richy was suddenly saying her name. He must've noticed how quiet she became.

"Sorry, I just... got distracted."

"The bad kind?"

She sighed.

How does he always know?

"The bad kind." she explained. "Just... take care of yourselves, okay? Especially you and Jessy, now that she was attacked and you were marked."

"We'll look out for ourselves, don't worry."

His voice was strange. She could hear something in it. Something what wasn't like him at all. There was no joy in it, no joke in it. It was completely serious - the very bad kind of serious.

But before she had a chance to question it, Richy spoke up again.

"But you have to look out for yourself too. Jessy would want that, wouldn't she?"

Damn, he knew how to get her to do what was good for everyone.

"She'd want me to have a good night's sleep." she agreed. "But she'd want the same for you as well."

It was quiet for a while again.

Then ignoring the serious topics they began to talk about, Richy continued to talk about different things that had happened to them, long before Hannah disappeared.

He told her how Cleo messed up her pyramid cake once so almost everyone in the group got food poisoning... How Richy accidentally scratched a client's car... How Hannah once poured a whole bottle of beer onto someone at the Aurora... How Thomas once got so drunk that he forgot Hannah was his girlfriend and started to cry when she told him she wasn't single... Or how Jessy once made them have a horror movie marathon, even though Lilly wasn't the biggest fan of it.

She sometimes laughed or smiled.

And after a while she got too tired to answer.

Some time ago her eyes closed and she fell asleep, completely oblivious to the fact that Richy finished his last story and chose to not say anything else. He continued to listen to her breathing, waiting patiently.

Then after some time, after he was sure she was asleep - that she won't wake up anytime soon, he said:

"I'm so sorry, MC. But I have to finish this now."

His voice was full of guilt.

He felt guilty.

He felt every ounce of hope disappear.

He won't have a chance to make everything better.

Then the call ended...

[glitterypopcorn]

introduction

haii!! i’m glitter!!!! you can also call me katya or roxy, especially if we're close!!! ヾ(๑╹ꇴ◠๑)ﾉ”

i go by any pronouns :3 he/she/they preferred, no pref between the three >_<

EDIT!!!!!!!! my social anxiety has been extremely bad as of late!!!!!!! if i dont know you and i reblog a post with a comment then say "sorry" or something for seemingly no reason it's because i don't want to bother you or make you uncomfortable!!!!!!!! i'm very awkward talking to other people who havent spoken to me nowadays so some things i say may be kind of weird!!! im sorry about this!!!!!

if i reblog a homestuck ship there's a high chance i just like the art, the only ships i really ship are qpr calliejaneroxy (+callieroxy, janeroxy, and calliejane), dirkjake, johndave, vrisrezi, vrisroxy, and rosemary ^_^ (oh and meowrails but they're not a flushed ship)

click this link for additional info!

i'm a katya (pafl) and roxy (homestuck) fictionkin!!!! :DDDDDDDD i am white so i dont usually tag posts portraying roxy in any other way as "me," unless i really resonate with the post in a different way. ^_^ the drawings i do of roxy lean from fanon and source compliant to stuff that's more like. me. i don't have a set source headcanon so like. lol. yea. i doubt any1 will care to read this but just putting it out there!!

rogue of void!! my moon is derse and im a fuschia blood ~v~

no dni, i just block!!!!

i edited my pfp but @;nopanamaman drew it! lmk if you want any icon edits there's a chance i'll make one (๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪

art on the katya kin blinkies also by nopanamaman!! those blinkies r made by @eye-bleeding-arts >:3

art tag [multiple types of art] - #glitters creations

if i ever make you uncomfortable in ANY WAY please dm me! i won't get mad i promise ^_^ i'm always looking to better myself but i do make mistakes and forget things sometimes and im sorry about that

if you see me using dogwhistles PLEASE LET ME KNOW i don't intentionally use those things and id like to be aware so i can change my behavior

more stuff below the cut!! interests + such

CANDYLAND LINK (oc universe)

I AM A MINOR!!!!! please don’t be weird, thank you!

i have autism and adhd, both diagnosed!

CANDYLAND ASK BLOG @ask-candyland

my "main" blog is @glittersendsasks, it was my original blog but since i created it i've moved here. it was originally a roleplay blog for basil from omori ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;)  criiinge!

KATYA PAFL RP ACC @katyas-cool-account405

ANYA PAFL RP ACC (much less active on there) @beletskanya69

GRAPHICS N STUFF BLOG!! @cakemixedd

sorry i dont do copypastas/chain mail dont take it personally

likes: parties are for losers, homestuck (new interest, i don't know much abt it aside from what's in the comic itself), omori, the post-traumatic manifesto, welcome to night vale, in stars and time, evidentlyfresh, ferry, cotton candy flavored stuff, candy + other sweet foods, drawing, singing, bugs, isopods, and cosplaying!!!!! n my favorite color is pink

here's a link to music i like because i don't want to make this post too long!! i will probably forget to update this so it will likely be outdated if you're looking at it a month or more after it's posted

please don’t call me pookie, thank you <3

rbs > likes but do whatever you want lol idc !!

hearts meaning:

🩷 : romantic!!!! if i use it with you and i don't know you irl, i accidentally clicked it. i will probably notice this though !!

💚🩷 : platonic!!

💚 : platonic. usually only used when i want to send a single heart!!

<3 : depends!! if we're not partners, it's platonic ^_^

(o*・ω<)oﾟ.+:｡ﾟ.

by the way i’m burnt out currently and may not respond to asks/do things i said i would do. don’t take it personally >_<

also. i can only speak english </3 i'll use google translate if spoken to in another language so things i say might sound weird

[shiraki-yurara]

On-Screen Lovers Part 2 Story Event - Jace - Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Morganatic Idol belongs to Cybird & ABC Frontier.

My Notes: Translation is for entertainment purpose only. Translation may or may not be correct. Please ignore any grammar mistakes.

One night during a busy yet fulfilling life-----

---

(Phew…… I was busy today so I'm a little late.)

Rina: Hm? That is……

When I walked into the dining room on my way home from work, I found Jace-san and Sakura-san there.

Sakura: So, here's the script.

Jace: Hmm, I'll check it out.

Jace-san received a thick booklet from Sakura-san.

(I just heard it was a script…… What kind of material is that?)

I was wondering how to call out to him when Jace-san noticed me.

Jace: Welcome back, Rina-chan. Did you just get home?

Sakura: Ah, good work. I didn't even notice.

Rina: Both of you, good work.

I walked over to Jace-san, he gave me a gentle embrace and kissed me on the cheek.

Rina: Ah, Jace-san. Just now is embarrassing.

Sakura: It's true. If you're going to flirt, I hope you pick the right time and place.

Jace: Eh~? If your girlfriend appeared in front of you, wouldn't you normally do something like this?

Jace-san, with a pout on his face, put his arms around my waist, so I quickly made a suggestion.

Rina: In that case, why don't we go to your room, Jace-san? I'd like to have a long talk with you.

Jace: Oh, that's a good idea. So, Eito-san, can we call it quits now?

Sakura: That's fine. I gave you what I wanted to give you, so you can relax for today.

Jace: Okay--, good night then.

Rina: Good night, excuse us.

After bowing to Sakura-san, I left the dining room with Jace-san.

---

Rina: Was what you were talking about earlier with Sakura-san about a new job or something?

Jace: Hmm? Oh, yeah. I was given a script.

Jace-san nodded as he sat down next to me on the couch.

Jace: Actually, I've been offered a lead role in a movie right now.

(A movie! Moreover, he said a lead role just now……)

Rina: That's amazing. Jace-san, this is your first time working in a movie, right?

Jace: Yeah, so I'm a little nervous.

Apparently, the movie was a romance movie about forbidden love, and Jace-san's role was that of “a spy who falls in love with a woman from a rival organization”.

Jace: I have a meeting and script reading coming up, so I need to check it before then.

I quickly flicked through the script that Jace-san gave me.

Rina: Wow…… There's a lot of action scenes, it looks exciting.

Rina: And Jace-san's character is…… how should I put it…… a wild man?

Jace: Ahaha, that's right. The so-called "Ora Ora" type.

Jace: It's quite different from my image, but I think they purposely chose me for the role.

Rina: Purposely?

As I tilted my head, Jace-san nodded slowly.

Jace: Yeah, I've been friends with the director of this movie since we started shooting music videos.

Jace: He has been telling me for a while that it would be good if I branched out more.

Jace: That was something I was thinking about too, so this talk came at a good time.

Jace-san's expression was gentle as he spoke, and his trust in the director was clear.

(It’s such a wonderful story……)

Rina: Certainly, Jace-san, you have recently been actively accepting offers that go beyond the framework of an idol.

Rina: The public's reactions also said that you have become more human and attractive……

Jace: That's right, and they said I could show more of my different sides.

Rina: After hearing about it, I am really looking forward to it.

Jace: Hehe, if Rina-chan has high expectations of me, then I'm super motivated~

Jace: It's my first role so I'm a bit nervous, but I'll see it through.

Seeing his smile made my heart warm too.

At that moment, Jace narrowed his eyes dazzlingly and-----

Rina: ? Eh…… Nnn.

Suddenly the distance between us became zero and our lips lightly touched.

As I let out a cry at the sweet sensation, Jace-san smiled slightly.

Jace: Sorry for the suddenness. But as we were talking, I felt like kissing you……

Jace: After all, it's thanks to you that the scope of my work has expanded like this, right?

Rina: Thanks to me?

Jace: Yes……, I changed after meeting you.

Jace: That's why I think I was able to be entrusted with a different job than I had been doing before.

Rina: Jace-san……

Jace: Thank you so much. I'm always grateful to you, Rina-chan.

Rina: That’s…… I'm really happy to be by your side, too.

Rina: There are days when we can't meet because of work, but I'm always happy whenever we can spend time alone together……

When I told him this in a shy tone, Jace-san groaned, as if he couldn't stand it.

Jace: ~~~, why is my girlfriend so cute?

Rina: Eh? Kyaa……

Jace-san embraced me and we collapsed onto the couch.

When I hurriedly looked up after being pushed down, a beautiful face appeared before my eyes.

Jace: ……Then let's make out as much as we want.

Rina: !

Jace: Once the filming begins, we'll have even less time to meet than we do now.

Jace: I need to feel you while I still can.

His voice was filled with sorrow as he pleaded, making my heart ache.

(I want to spend more time with Jace-san too……)

Filled with love, I stretched out my arms and wrapped them around his neck.

Jace: ! Rina-chan?

Rina: I'm happy to see you doing well, Jace-san, and I'm really looking forward to this movie.

Rina: So I will do my best to support the filming so that it goes smoothly and the movie becomes a hit.

Rina: But……, Jace-san, just like you, I'm sure I'll get lonely during the filming.

Rina: I want to touch you right now……

Jace: Rina-chan……

The conversation broke off, and our lips met again.

The kiss quickly turned into a deeper one.

Rina: Nnn, ah……

Jace: Fufu, so cute. You already looked charmed.

Rina: ……Please don’t say it.

Jace: Hmm, what should I do? I want to see you being embarrassed more.

The conversations we had in between kisses made me feel a ticklish sensation.

Just touching someone I love could make me feel so fulfilled-----

(I didn’t know this until I met Jace-san.)

Rina: I love you, Jace-san.

Jace: I love you too. I won't let you go today so prepare yourself.

Rina: Yes……

Embraced by his warm arms, I surrendered to the feeling of happiness.

[madd-nix]

Place of Warmth

Words: 2,098

Garry leaves the art gallery, and after feeling quite shaken from the experience, he needs some comfort and support from someone he loves.

Tw: smoking, mention of blood

(If you haven't played or seen a playthrough of Ib and don't want spoilers, don't read. Also this is Emmet x Garry cuz it's been on my mind)

"Because... we'll see each other again!"

That's what Garry had told Ib before leaving the gallery. He left feeling happy, glad to know that they had both made it out safely, that she would be with her parents again, and that he would make sure to return her handkerchief to her once it was clean.

But as he began to head back to his apartment, more and more memories of the haunted gallery filled his mind. The inhuman growls of the painting women as they clawed their way towards him, the stumbling yet surefooted movements of the headless statues, those creepy mannequin heads that could appear out of nowhere, and of course the terrifying blue dolls and Red Eyes, the big one that had tried to kill him. His pace quickened, and he jumped when he passed a store with display mannequins standing in the window, mistaking them for Guertena's horrid creations.

As soon as he got home, he locked the door and slid down to sit on the floor, leaning his head against the wall. He sighed heavily, and it was as he finger combed his hair that he realized his hands were shaking slightly.

"I guess that place messed with my head more than I thought," he mumbled out loud.

After a few minutes to calm his nerves, he slowly stood, tossing his favorite tattered jacket on his couch, then went to his bedroom. Yeah, he had an essay and some homework for his college classes that he had planned to get done, but with the current state of his mind, he knew he wouldn't be able to focus. Then, after hesitating a moment, he dug through the bottom drawer of his dresser, shoving various articles of clothing aside until he found what he was looking for; cigarettes. He was trying to quit, but after today, he needed something to take the edge off. And he'd rather let Ib have his lemon candy to help her after all. Besides, he reasoned that one or two cigarettes would be fine for tonight. He'd had a long day.

He walked out to his window, opened it up, and stuck his head out, resting his elbows on the ledge. He took out his lighter, and after a few flicks, managed to light it and took out a cigarette. He took a long drag of it, before shakily exhaling the smoke into the late afternoon air. That helped.

Suddenly, he heard his phone vibrate. Right. He had left it at home since he needed to charge it after forgetting to do so the night before. Walking over, he saw a few notifications. Some emails which were mostly spam, some messages in various group chats for school, and the most recent messages from his boyfriend.

2:33 pm: I am Emmet. Are you home from the art gallery? Ingo and I got out of work early.

2:52 pm: I am home. Are you busy with schoolwork? I hope you are not stressing yourself out over that essay. Rest your cab! <3

3:29 pm: I am verrrrrry bored. I hope you are enjoying the gallery. Are there any paintings of trains?

4:12 pm: Ingo is beating me in video games. I might have to commit fratricide.

Garry chuckled at the last text. He knew how competitive his boyfriend was. Holding his cigarette in his mouth as he typed, he quickly sent back a response.

4:15 pm: Hey, I'm sorry I didn't respond! I spent all day doing schoolwork yesterday, so I went to bed last night, too tired to remember to charge my phone. It's been sitting here charging all day while I went to the gallery.

4:16 pm: I'm home now though! And today has been... a lot. I could use some company. And do you think you could maybe spend the night?

Garry knew he wouldn't be able to tell just anyone about his experience at the gallery. No one would ever believe him, but Emmet was a good guy and knew Garry well enough that maybe he'd be able to talk a little about it without sounding completely insane.

4:18 pm: Yup! I will be over shortly. Ingo says hi.

Garry smiled, took one last drag of his cigarette, then sent another reply.

4:19 pm: Tell Ingo I said hi back. And I'm glad you didn't kill him. Your brother is nice!

It only took a moment for Emmet to respond.

4:19 pm: He is not nice. Verrrrry mean brother. He cheated in Splatoon.

Garry chuckled and rinsed out the cigarette butt in the sink before tossing it in the trash, then flopped on his couch to wait. Luckily, Emmet and his brother didn't live far, so pretty soon there was the sound of knocking on his door. It startled Garry only slightly, but as soon as he unlocked and opened the door, he felt instant relief upon seeing his boyfriend's usual cheery smile.

"Hey, thanks for coming over," Garry said as he quickly pulled him into a hug. Familiar arms hugged him back, helping helping to remind him that he was safe and home.

"Yup. I-... were you smoking?" Emmet pulled away slightly as he sniffed the air around Garry, who looked down in shame.

"I'm sorry, I know I've been trying to quit, but I... it's been a hell of a day," he groaned.

"I am Emmet. I am here. What happened?" Straight to the point. That was something Garry loved about Emmet. He got right to business, and was very blunt and honest as he did so. It was grounding.

"It's a long story, and... I don't really know if you'll believe all of it. I'm still processing all of it myself," Garry began as he lead them away from the door and to the couch. Emmet set his overnight bag on the floor and sat down with him.

"Try me."

And so, Garry told him all about the Fabricated World. How he ended up in the gallery with a strange blue rose, attacked by a painting woman and nearly killed until Ib had managed to snag his rose back and regrow the petals in a vase. He told him about the puzzles, the hallway of eyes, the various artwork that tried to kill them, the room that practically yelled at him in writing when he lit a fire with his lighter, and about Mary. How she seemed like a normal girl at first, then how after getting separated, he had found out she was just another one of Guertena's paintings come to life. How she had tried to kill him and Ib, especially after they had found her original painting, and how they had had to burn her painting. How he had to watch what looked like a little girl fall into a pile of ashes.

By this point, Garry was shaking slightly with Emmet holding him close. Emmet hadn't said anything yet, which wasn't unusual since he was never very chatty.

"...A-after we had burned her painting, I had realized some of the glass had hit my hand and cut it. Ib gave me her handkerchief to stop the bleeding." He held up the bloodied silk handkerchief in his previously injured hand. His hand - which had once had a bleeding slice right through his palm - now just had a light scar, having healed after putting his rose in some water before leaving the sketchbook world.

"After that, we left and used the key to unlock the only other house we hadn't been to, and found ourselves going down a darkened stairway. It led to a darker version of the normal gallery, where we found a painting called 'The Fabricated World'. It was a bit abstract, but it looked clearly like the real gallery. Then the frame disappeared and we were able to jump through the painting and we ended up back in the real world. At first, I didn't remember anything, but Ib found me and we talked about some sculpture, then I realized I knew her, and I had her handkerchief. That was enough to bring back our memories. I... I left once I knew she'd be okay, and I promised I'd return this handkerchief to her once I cleaned it. I... I want to see her again to make sure that she's alright after... all of that. But anyway, that's it. I came home, and yes, I had one cigarette, but..... can you blame me?"

Garry finally looked up at Emmet, having kept his head down or his eyes looking at something else during the whole story. Emmet clearly looked worried. He wasn't fully frowning - Garry couldn't even imagine Emmet frowning without just seeing his twin brother - but his mouth was clearly pulled in a tight line while his eyebrows crinkled upwards together. He hadn't noticed it before, but Emmet's grip on him was rather tight, feeling less like just a comforting hug and more like a protective hold. Emmet's eyes scanned Garry's face, glanced down at the blood on the handkerchief in horror, then back to his face.

".......I am Emmet. That sounds like....... a lot. I believe you. There is no doubt there. I am just verrrry sorry I was not with you to help you and that girl Ib. I can't believe you had to deal with all of that. And..... i-it sounded like there were many times where you..... you nearly died..."

Garry hugged Emmet tightly, burying his face on his shoulder. Emmet hugged him back, just as tight.

"Y-yeah...... but I didn't... somehow. I made sure Ib and I made it home safe and alive....." Garry mumbled into his boyfriend's shirt. Emmet gently ran his hands through Garry's hair, absentmindedly playing with the curls. It was calming for both of them.

"I am verrrrrrrry glad neither of you derailed. I am glad you're home. Even if you stink like smoke." Garry chuckled a bit. He knew Emmet had said that just to lighten their moods. He looked up to find Emmet smiling a little to him.

"Can I get a kiss even though I just had a cigarette a while ago? I promise it was only one."

"Since you went through hell and back, I think that was understandable to have one. So, yes, you get a kiss. And also because I am verrrry relieved you are okay."

With that, Emmet cupped the side of Garry's face gently and pulled him close. Garry closed his eyes as they kissed, wrapping his arms around Emmet's shoulders, and practically sitting on his boyfriend's lap now. Emmet wrapped his other arm around Garry's waist and rubbed his back. It felt so nice to feel loved and safe and secure again. Especially with Emmet. His train conductor boyfriend may be on the skinnier side, but he didn't stray from the harder, more physical tasks of his job, leading to him being deceptively strong. Garry would have loved to see Emmet deck one of the mannequins or kick one of those stupid dolls across a room.

Eventually, they pulled away. Emmet gently brushed Garry's bangs away from his face, revealing his left eye. Garry smiled and he could feel tears starting to form as he smiled.

"I don't know what I'd do without you..."

Emmet just wiped at his tears with his thumb.

"We have coupled our cabs together, traveling along the same tracks. I don't know what I'd do without you either."

Garry smiled and pulled him into one more quick kiss.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Suddenly, Garry could feel and hear his stomach growl. He chuckled as he wiped away the last of his tears.

"Heh, I can't remember when I last ate today."

"That won't do! You need to refuel! I am Emmet. I am ordering us a pizza." Emmet immediately got out his phone and started scrolling for their favorite local pizza place. Garry just laughed and leaned his head on Emmet's shoulder. Emmet planted a kiss on the top of his head before reciting their usual order to the employee on the other end of the call.

Maybe things would be okay. He had Emmet here to back him up and help him through this. And if anyone knew how to get stains out of white cloth, it was Emmet with his almost entirely white work uniform. Garry would get the handkerchief clean, find Ib again, and see her again. He could even introduce her to Emmet. He had a feeling they might get along. He wondered if Ib liked trains.

[noffy96]

Okay. I haven't seen a lot of people talk about it yet. Because I have a feeling a lot of people are dropping of tsams because of what happened in the last arc.

But I really wanna talk about old moon for a second. Because I've been really liking these past few episodes.

But first. I must say i am pretty bummed that I am getting this after how nexus/new moon had been handled. I think it could have been done way better. And I am not surprised it left a bad taste in a lot of people's mouth. No matter how you look at it.

But I am not gonna hold that against what old moons character (for now)

While I would have liked a bit MORE out of a reaction from sun. I am kinda glad they are taking this more calm/detached approach.

It feels like we get a bit of calm after weeks of angst and stress that was surely needed. Also it gives old moon a few times to act on trying to do better in small ways and succeed. Before getting to get put in front of a BIG desission again. And seeing if he will fuck up big time. Small time or not at all.

Personally I would like it if he fell back, but not all the way. But we'll see how it goes.

In absolutely LOVE how awkward he was with earth

Just you could feel it dripping of every second of that conversation. And just the fact that we learned through this that he can't cook was hilarious

. And how he interacted with dazzel as well.

Just being fascinated by her. And just...at the end that sentiment of "I don't know what you are. But I want to help you find out"

I dunno it felt very sweet.

Him getting drunk with Monty was fun. Glad to see them still being friends and have a person he is not so stilled with. (Also hope sun gets to find out and tease him for it. )

And then there is how he is interacting with sun. Sun still seems distant. Sun is seemingly just trying to go through the motions and getting him up to speed. But emotionally not fully checked in.

So far, sun hasn't called moon brother again....at least I don't think so? Just moon. And I think it kinda shows that despite sun being friendly and willing to at least mend things. He ain't there yet.

But old moon seems to be trying, and legit trying. He still runs his mouth and seems to notice when he might even on accident be putting sun down. So much so he might be a bit... overcorrecting with the ' I don't mean you by that' type comments.

And he is involving sun. Telling him about the new lap. Showing him. Giving him the option to get his magic back About what he plans to do for dazzel. Not hiding that he is doing something for Monty. Wanting sun along to look for the thing ruin made.

And him talking to sun about KC and earth misconception despite saying initiallu that telling him might not be the best idea.

(also just most of the lab episode was really nice. Conversations still feeling strained...yet reaching over the smaller. Easier to talk about gaps. When the big ones feel so big)

I just.

It feels to me. That he is LEGIT trying. And while I dont love how we got to this situation. I do like these moments. They feel good.

I am excited to see more of that develop. I am still hesitant on als the stuff that is gonna have to come to pass with nexus/new moon and dark sun.

But right now i am liking this. And wanted to ramble positively about the show for a bit.

This show makes me feel crazy with how contradictory it can make me feel on certain espacts of it.

While sorry for the long rambly post.

Just needed to get it out of my system sorry about any spelling mistakes. I blame my phone. My autocorrect and the late hour.

Okay...bye

Edit.

Also just the whole family doing d and d was fun. And I wanna see more (and as i saw some people say. There is still a spot on that table for solar to join. And yes. Leg him join family game night)

[averagemizukikinnie]

"I'm sorry I deceived you, I'm sorry I couldn't tell you."

TW: HUGE warning for SH (it’s what the fic evolves about pretty much) , ED implication, cursing

a/n: it’s my first time in writing for a pair, i apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes in advance since english isn’t my first language!! there are also more notes at the end. this fanfic can also be interpreted as platonic

“23, 24, 25…”

. . .

The bigger the number got, the more aggressive Mizuki became, and the deeper the slashes cut. They don’t remember how their abdomen looked when it was clear, all they can see now is red and brown lines over it, some are even white.

“Ahahaha… I’m really filthy and disgusting, aren’t I? I ate more than I’m supposed to when I was at the diner with Ena, Mafuyu, and Kanade. I made a promise to tell Ena the truth of what I’ve been keeping inside long ago, yet I still avoid the topic whenever it’s brought up being the coward I am. I’m surprised they didn’t leave just like everyone did…” . While they were indulging themself in their self-deprecating self-talk, they went in deeper than intended. It wasn’t really a problem anyways, their parents were out of the city for work, their sister lives overseas, no one could stop them from getting so engrossed in their own mind.

. . .

1 hour later

*doorbell rings*

“Mom and Dad aren’t supposed to be back until next Tuesday, who could it be?”. They panicked for a split second when they remembered they were supposed to have a sleepover with Ena tonight. “Good thing I finished cleaning up just a moment ago” they mumbled to themselves right before they put up their usual grin, when had they gotten so good at switching their expression? That is a question that they’re unsure of what a right answer for it could be. They felt the burning sensation of the clothes brushing against their stomach —but thankfully for them—, they were already used to it, so hiding it was a piece of cake, they already hide so much anyways.

“Yaho!~ Woah you arrived just 3 minutes late, that’s a new record!! Did poor lil’ bro have to shake the entire room to wake you up?”

“I knew this would happen.”

Ena muttered under her breath. “Can’t you just say a normal greeting for once whenever we both meet up alone?”

“Waaaaaahhh!! You’re so mean!~”

Mizuki fake-cried as they dramatically had the back of their hand on their forehead.

“Yeah yeah whatever. Anyways, can we just actually get inside?”

They finally settled in Mizuki’s room. Ena felt so fascinated by the aesthetic of the room, it felt so… Mizuki. She could tell they poured their heart in making it to their liking. It might not be obvious from first glance for others, but for Ena it is.

As Ena’s eyes were hovering around, she noticed the torso near the mirror with an unfinished project on it that seemed like it collected some dust, she found it a little strange since she had this idea Mizuki is the type of person to get absorbed into whatever project they’re working on if it’s related to their passions. Ena recalled some of Mizuki’s rambles about clothes making on Nightcord, she secretly adored these rambles even if she knew nothing about that side of fashion herself; because she can hear Mizuki being so passionate and full of joy. If she ever admits it out loud she will never hear the end of it thanks to Mizuki’s teasing.

“Oi~ Earth to Ena— Does the princess need to sleep already?~”

“Huh?! First of all, why the hell are you calling me that?? Second of all, is zoning out for just a single moment a sign of sleep deprivation now?? Ugh this is going to be a really long night.” Mizuki couldn’t help but burst out laughing at Ena’s reaction, her reactions are one of the reasons they tease her more than other people.

. . .

Later on, they both decided they will play on Mizuki’s gaming console. It was kept up in Mizuki’s closet, they haven’t used it for some while. They bought it back in those times as a way to distract themselves even further from reality. It was so up high, Mizuki was wondering how on Earth they got it there before.

“Ah! I’m finally getting a grasp of it!” , just when they said that, they lost balance and fell on their back.

Ena immediately rushed to Mizuki to check if they’re fine, and help them get up if needed.

“Are you alright?? Did you get hurt? Do you need help getting up?”

“It’s ok I didn’t get hurt! I’m totally fi-“

Right when they started to get up, one of the console’s controllers fell on their abdomen, right where the fresh, deep, red scars are.

“Again?? Seriously what’s up with its location? Anyways are you ok? Again did you get hu-“

As Ena was saying that, she saw a dark red spot forming on Mizuki’s white shirt. Her face turned white when she realized what it was, it was blood.

“Mizuki, can you let me open the shirt to see the wound and clean it? Please? It would be terrible if it gets infected…”

“… No.”

“Why?… It would be difficult for you to get up and clean it up all by yourself.”

“The reason is not important… I can handle th— SHIT—“

“Mizuki please let me see it. It’s clearly hurting badly-“

“As I said, I can handle this.”

“You’re obviously lying. Whether you allow it or not, I have to check the wound and how bad it is.”

Mizuki grabbed Ena’s wrists with all the force they could gather, Ena struggled for a bit as she was letting herself go from their grasp, thankfully, she eventually managed to do so thanks to Mizuki’s state.

Ena finally lifted up their shirt, and what she saw was horrifying to say the least. Her face got devoid of any traces of curiosity just now just for it all to be replaced with horror, as if she saw a ghost. She saw all the variations of red, brown, and white contrasting against Mizuki’s light skin color, how there was some skin peeling around some scars, and most importantly, how fresh some of them were.

On the other hand, Mizuki wanted to escape from Ena’s gaze on their body as fast as possible, she saw what they thought was the most disgusting, filthy, and deformed part of themselves they ever showed to her. They thought she was going to abandon them for good, just like many people did. Everything Mizuki did in order to preserve their bond with Ena, it all seemed useless and futile now, just like they feared.

What snapped Mizuki out of their thoughts was Ena’s shaky breathing, they thought that this is it, that there’s now another person on the mental list of people they lost because of something about Mizuki.

“What the FUCK is wrong with you?!”

“You’re so fucking disgusting.”

“I never imagined someone this filthy exists, but here you are.”

Mizuki can already feel the words coming, they embraced themselves for it, it’s a matter of few seconds before they actually hear them… Or so they thought.

“… For how long have you been doing this?… I might not be the best at comforting, but why didn’t you tell me sooner? I- I just- I wish I realized this sooner. I’m so sorry for not being the person you needed. You were going through such a hard time without me knowing about it… I just-“

Mizuki didn’t expect this would be her reaction, they thought it will be the last time they ever talk, they thought this was going to be the end.

“I *sob* I’m so sorry… I can’t believe *sob* I didn’t know about this sooner…”

Ena grabbed both of Mizuki’s hands and gently kissed them, she then proceeded to wrap her arms around them and pull them into a tight hug. Mizuki froze in their place because of how astonished they were, they never thought of such outcome, not just did Ena not give the type of reaction they thought they were going to get, not just did she sound genuinely concerned, but she was also apologizing for not knowing better?? They never even dared to try dreaming of this yet here it is being actual reality.

Slowly, Mizuki started to wrap their arms around Ena, and they could feel tears forming in their eyes as well, they kept it inside for so long yet they couldn’t bring themselves to say a word out of fear of their past repeating itself again, they didn’t want to lose yet another person they want to stay with.

“No… please don’t say that to yourself it isn’t your fault in the slightest… Please don’t cry…”

“How the hell am I supposed to NOT cry?? Seeing you in pain hurts me and this time and this time it affected you physically and *sob* and to make matters even worse I couldn’t help you because of how oblivious I am…”

“Ena please… It’s my fault for being such a coward and not saying anything… I don’t want to see you cry because of me…”

Ena’s expression turned to a determined one, with tears still in her eyes, her nose still red, and her cheeks still puffy. She cupped Mizuki’s cheeks with both her hands and wiped the tears with her thumbs and said

“Mizuki, don’t say this about yourself. You are not a coward for not telling me about your struggles, l know it can be hard to open up to someone, no matter who that someone is. But whenever you feel like you’re struggling again and are close to doing this to yourself, come to me instead okay? You don’t have to force yourself to tell me you’re so close to doing it, just come to me and start the conversation like you normally do. Please.”

This was Mizuki’s last straw. Before they knew it they started sobbing uncontrollably with Ena having a firm, right grip on them. They were feeling so many emotions, they were keeping it inside for so long, they were so scared of Ena leaving them because of this secret of theirs they deemed “ugly and filthy” , they were in so much pain, they had so much on their mind, and most importantly, they were happy the what-it’s in their mind didn’t come true.

They were happy Ena didn’t reject this part of them. They want to stay with her as long as they can, even if their time together isn’t meant to last much longer, they hope it is.

Note: i am not implying that sh scars are something scary in ena’s reaction, the reason i wrote her reaction that way is because i wanted to interpret that she’s horrified because it’s happening to Mizuki. I hope you understand i meant no harm in the way i wrote her reaction, i struggle with sh myself.