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hisfavegirl · 24 days ago

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Held Only in Dreams - Aegon Targaryen x Wife!Reader.

Summary : There was a time when your halls rang with laughter. When your chambers were filled with the soft shuffle of tiny feet and the scent of lemon cakes cooling on the windowsill. A time when your husband’s hand curled possessively over the swell of your stomach, whispering prayers to gods he claimed not to believe in. A time when you were not only queen—but mother, wife, sister, daughter, beloved. That time is gone. Now, the Red Keep feels like a tomb. Your son is dead—burned before your eyes in the dragonpit, his small body offered to flame while your screams echoed through stone and fire. And with him, the future you built crumbled to ash.

Warning : Reader is Rhaenyra's Daughter, Angst, Mentions Of Bloods, Fluff, Child Loss, Stillbirth, Grief, Death Of a Loved One, Trauma, War-related Violence.

Aegon II Targaryen Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

Tom Glynn-Carney Masterlist.

Dividers by @zaldritzosrose

The scent of death was a bitter perfume in the Dragonpit that day. Smoke, old stone, and blood clung to the air, heavy and unmoving, as though the world itself had paused to mourn. You stood still, the silk of your black mourning gown whispering around your legs in the thick silence. The wind toyed with the ends of your dark hair, but you barely felt it.

Your eyes—wide, bloodshot—were locked on the small, shrouded body of your son, Jaehaerys. He looked too small to be dead. Too light. Too still. The pyre of wood beneath him crackled faintly, waiting for flame. And yet all you could hear was the memory of his last breath.

“Mother—”

That broken whisper. That tremble in his lips. The way his little hand clutched yours like he still believed you could save him. It played again and again in your mind like a cruel curse. You couldn’t stop it. Wouldn’t. Didn’t want to forget.

You did not weep. Not until it started.

Aegon moved before you even registered it.

He stepped forward, his white hair untamed in the wind, shadows etched deep under his violet eyes. He didn’t look like a king—he looked like a man stripped bare. The grief in his jaw was rigid, his throat moving as he swallowed it down, over and over again. His gaze flicked up to Sunfyre, who waited just beyond the pyre, golden and restless.

Aegon voice hoarse and unsteady.

“Dracarys.”

The word echoed.

And then Sunfyre unleashed.

The fire roared, gold and white, greedy and all-consuming as it swallowed the wood, the silk, the body. Your baby. The heat slammed into your face and that was when the sob tore free, unbidden and raw, and you collapsed.

Your knees hit the stone with a crack, hands shaking, teeth clenched so hard your jaw hurt. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. The flames danced in your eyes but all you saw was his smile—his first steps—his tiny fingers playing with your hair. Gone. Burned. Turned to ash.

You didn’t notice Aegon move until he was there—kneeling beside you, wrapping his arms around your trembling form like he was holding himself together by holding you. His grip was desperate, his chest shaking against your back.

“I should’ve protected him,” he said against your hair, his voice a whisper turned to splinters. “Gods, I should’ve protected him.”

You turned, slowly, painfully, looking at him through your tears. “We’re his parents. We both should have.”

He cupped your face, and for a moment, the firelight turned his eyes to molten amethyst. “You blame me,” he said, barely audible.

“I blame the war. I blame the greed. I blame the fucking throne,” you whispered, gripping the front of his coat. “I don’t have room to hate you, Aegon. I’m too full of hurt.”

He nodded, a slow, devastated motion, pressing his forehead against yours. His breath was hot with whiskey and regret.

“I wake up hearing his voice,” he said. “Every godsdamned night. And I pray for the morning when it doesn’t break me.”

Your lips parted, your breath catching. “Then let it break you. Let it destroy everything, but not us. Not now.”

Aegon’s thumb brushed your cheek as if memorizing the shape of your sadness. “Then burn with me,” he said, voice cracking. “We burn together.”

You kissed him—not for passion, not for want, but for grief. A kiss that trembled with loss, mouths crushed together in silence, tasting salt and ashes. It was an anchor. A promise. A shared ruin.

Behind you, your son’s pyre roared louder. And as the sky darkened and the smell of smoke soaked into your skin, you held each other there on the cold stone floor—two parents grieving a child lost to the madness of dragons and crowns.

The fire ate everything but the pain.

The hearth crackled, low and unrelenting, casting flickering shadows against the stone walls of your shared chambers. It was late, though you couldn’t say what hour. Time had lost its meaning somewhere between the scream that tore from your lips the day Jaehaerys died, and the silence that followed.

You sat curled in front of the fire, your nightgown wrinkled and damp with old tears, legs drawn up tightly to your chest. Your bare feet were cold against the floor, but you didn’t move. The warmth from the hearth touched your skin, but could not reach the frost that settled inside you. That hollow ache had rooted deep, twisting through your ribs like a knife left in place.

The door creaked open.

You didn’t look. You didn’t have to.

Alicent Hightower.

Her steps were soft, deliberate—like one might approach a wounded animal. You felt her presence like a shadow behind you. A ghost that lingered long after the spirit had gone.

“Child,” she called gently, the same tone she might’ve used before you married Aegon—before the world became red and burning and ash. “Please. Look at me.”

You didn’t.

Your gaze remained fixed on the fire. The flames were mesmerizing. They didn’t care who they consumed. Perhaps that’s why you liked them now.

“I did not come to fight,” Alicent continued after a moment. “I only came to see if you—”

“If I what?” you whispered, not turning your head. “If I still bleed? If I still have a voice to scream your name into the void of loss? If your grandson still lies in ash while you walk freely in silks?”

Silence. Her breath caught, but she didn’t move.

“I came to grieve with you,” she said quietly.

You laughed, a low, humorless sound that scraped from your throat like gravel. “You came to ease your guilt. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“I loved Jaehaerys.”

At that, you turned your head—slowly. Your brown eyes, hollow and rimmed with shadow, met hers with a weight that made Alicent physically recoil.

“Not enough to stop this,” you said. “Not enough to stop your father. Not enough to stop Aegon from being forced into a crown soaked in blood. You stood there. You chose it.”

“I was protecting my family.”

“And I lost mine.”

The words hung in the air, thick and furious, trembling on the edge of sobs. You pressed your forehead against your knees, voice muffled when you spoke again.

“The gods are cruel,” you whispered. “To take my grandsire. To make Aegon a king he never wanted to be. And now… now our boy. My son.”

Alicent stepped closer, but you raised your hand without looking.

“Do not touch me.”

She froze, her hands curling into her skirts.

“My son died because your house could not bear to see mine rule,” you continued, your voice low, steady, like the calm eye of a storm. “Because your father—your ambition—demanded Hightower blood on the throne.”

Alicent flinched. “You think I wanted this?”

“I think you let it happen,” you hissed, turning back to the fire. “And now I sit in a palace of rot, raising ashes to my lips and pretending they are food. I sleep in a bed soaked with the screams of a child who will never wake.”

“You are not alone in this—”

“I am!” you snapped, finally standing. “Do you think Aegon can even look at me without falling apart? Do you know what it’s like to feel your husband’s hands shake every time he touches your stomach, as if terrified he might find it growing again, and lose another child? Your grief is guilt. Mine is emptiness.”

Alicent’s face crumpled, but no tears fell. She swallowed her sorrow like she had done her whole life—one bitter cup after another.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

You shook your head, stepping closer to her, voice trembling now. “I was his mother. I should have died before he did. And instead, I live—watching my world fall to pieces while the people who shattered it come to me offering apologies wrapped in silence.”

Alicent reached out again, but this time you didn’t move away. You let her fingers brush your arm, light and uncertain.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” she said.

“I won’t.”

Her hand dropped.

“But,” you added softly, “if you want to honor Jaehaerys… if you want to be more than a puppet in your father’s hand, then fight for peace. Fight for something besides thrones and dragons and gods.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You have to.” You looked into her eyes, firm now. “Because I have nothing left to fight with.”

The fire behind you flared, its glow bleeding through your silhouette like a halo of grief. And Alicent, for the first time in years, said nothing. She just bowed her head and left you alone—again—with the flames.

The echo of your footsteps carried down the long, cold corridor of the Red Keep like a ghost haunting its own halls. You hadn’t walked them in days—not since the fire, not since the world bled your son from your arms and left behind the hollow shell of motherhood.

But today, the silence in your chambers had felt too loud. The walls too suffocating. The hearth too cold.

And so, wrapped in black, with your hair braided back like a warrior in mourning, you walked.

You reached the heavy doors of the council chamber and paused. Fingers curled at your sides. The guards opened them without a word, heads bowed—not as subjects to a queen, but as men who had seen death too close.

Inside, the chamber was dim despite the daylight. Clouds smothered the sun beyond the high windows. Around the long table, the council murmured—quiet, uncertain—but they stopped when they saw you.

And you saw him.

Aegon sat slouched in the throne-like seat at the head of the table, his shoulders curved forward as if the crown itself weighed too much to bear. His tunic hung open at the chest, the buttons undone and forgotten. There were dark circles under his eyes and stubble lining his jaw, as though days had passed without sleep, without care.

But worst of all—he wasn’t listening. He wasn’t even there. He stared blankly at the tabletop, unmoving, like a man carved from grief. Your heart clenched so tightly in your chest it hurt.

His head turned slowly when he felt your presence. His breath hitched the moment his eyes landed on you—as if you had appeared from a dream, or worse, a memory he wasn’t ready to see in the flesh.

You stepped forward, your voice soft but commanding.

“Leave us.”

The lords hesitated. One of them opened his mouth to protest—perhaps to speak of duties or strategy—but your gaze flicked to him, and the sharp grief in your eyes struck him dumb.

They stood, slowly. Chairs scraped the floor. Cloaks brushed the stone. No one dared speak. They filed out with silent bows, the doors clicking shut behind them, sealing you inside with him.

Aegon didn’t speak. Just looked at you like you were the last star in a dying sky.

You approached him slowly, your skirts rustling, your steps measured. Each one toward him felt like a step through fire. You stopped just before him, not touching, not breathing.

“I’ve missed you,” you said softly, your voice a cracked whisper.

His eyes brimmed, but no tears fell. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“You didn’t come to me either.”

“I couldn’t,” he rasped. “Every time I looked at the bed, I saw him. Every time I touched your pillow, I felt your sobs in my hands. Gods, I didn’t know how to be with you without falling apart.”

You dropped to your knees before him, your hands resting gently on his thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of his trousers.

“You’re supposed to fall apart with me, Aegon. We’re not meant to carry this alone.”

His chest heaved, and he looked away, ashamed. “I’m the king. I don’t get to grieve. I sit in this chair, I listen to them speak of banners and blood, and all I want is to scream his name until the gods bring him back to me.”

You leaned your forehead against his knee, eyes shutting. “I died with him too.”

His hand moved—tentative, trembling—and threaded into your hair.

“I keep waking up expecting him to run into our chambers,” he whispered. “Asking me to carry him on my shoulders again. And then I remember… what they did to him. What they took.”

He choked, his voice cracking with guilt. “He was only a boy. And I was supposed to protect him.”

You lifted your head and looked up at him, eyes glistening. “He died because they wanted your throne. Because we were born of fire, and they would rather burn the world than see it ruled by dragon blood not of their making.”

Aegon looked down at you—really looked—and his face crumpled. You stood, then, sliding into his lap, your arms around his neck. His hands grabbed at your back, desperate and tight, like he was trying to fuse you to him. His lips found your neck—not in lust, but in need—and he buried himself there, breathing you in like he was drowning and you were the only air.

“I need you,” he murmured against your skin. “I can’t do this without you.”

“You don’t have to.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, your hand cupping his face.

“You’re not a king right now. You’re just my husband. Our son is gone, and all we have left is each other. If we don’t hold on to that, we’ll drown.”

He kissed you then—messy, wet, raw with grief and love and desperation. Not to forget, but to remember. To feel. His hands curled into your sides, pulling you closer, and your tears mixed between your mouths.

“I love you,” he whispered brokenly. “Even in this ruin, I love you.”

You pressed your forehead to his, breath mingling. “Then don’t leave me alone again.”

“I won’t.”

Outside, the war still burned. The court still whispered. The gods still played their cruel games.

But inside the council chamber, on a throne of sorrow, a king and queen clung to one another in the only kind of power that mattered now.

You stayed in Aegon’s arms long after the storm of sobs had passed, held together not by strength but by shared ruin. Your face was buried in the hollow of his neck, his hands splayed across your back as though if he stopped touching you, even for a moment, you’d vanish again. The air in the council chamber was heavy with salt and smoke, with grief and something older—like the lingering scent of burnt flesh and broken oaths.

It was the first time in days that you’d felt him. Truly felt him. And then the doors opened, Aegon’s arms tightened around you, instinctive and bracing.

You didn’t lift your head.

You didn’t need to.

You knew who it was the moment the sharp footfall struck the stone. Measured. Unflinching. Proud.

Aemond.

You remained perfectly still.

“My king,” his voice rang out, calm and cold, like the blade that had started this war. “The man who murdered your son—he is in the black cells. He awaits your judgment.”

Silence.

Aegon’s hand moved slowly, brushing over your hair, down your spine. You could feel his throat work against your cheek as he swallowed. You could feel the way his chest tensed beneath your palm, the way his rage and sorrow warred against each other like wildfire.

You didn’t move. You couldn’t.

Not when he was standing there. Not when his voice was in the air you had to breathe.

“You should go,” you said quietly, not lifting your head. Aegon looked down at you, confused.

“I can’t—” Your voice cracked. “I won’t see him.”

“My love…”

You pulled away from Aegon’s embrace just enough to sit back, your eyes glistening but firm. You stared at the stone floor, not at the door.

“I can’t look at the man who tore my brother from the sky. I can’t see the face of the one who turned dragons into monsters and blood into war.”

Aemond shifted near the doorway, but said nothing.

“Everything began with him,” you whispered. “With his arrogance. With his wrath. With his need to claim victory over a child.”

There was silence, heavy and thick, like smoke pressing against your lungs.

Aemond stepped forward. “You think I do not carry the weight of Lucerys’s death every day? You think I sleep easily knowing what I did? It was not meant to be—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, lifting your head for the first time, your brown eyes blazing with sorrow and fury. “Do not stand there and speak of regret while my brother is bones in the sea and my son is ash in the wind.”

Aemond faltered, just for a moment, his mouth tightening.

You turned away again, facing the fire like it could shield you. “You want forgiveness. You want understanding. But you don’t get to ask that of me. Not when your sword carved a wound into my family that will never heal.”

Aegon stood, moving beside you. His hand rested on your shoulder, grounding you. He looked at Aemond then—his brother, his kin—and for the first time in weeks, his voice held something sharp beneath the grief.

“You should have never been there, Aemond. You were supposed to be my sword, not my firestarter. Look at her,” he motioned to you gently. “Look at what’s left of us.”

Aemond’s eye burned with some emotion too complex to name—remorse, shame, defiance.

“She is my family too,” he said. “I did not come to ask her pardon. I came because I thought she deserved to know that the man who took Jaehaerys’s life will suffer. That justice, at the very least, is within our grasp.”

You stood slowly, your voice quiet, trembling with tightly caged fury. “Justice?” you echoed. “Justice would be turning back time. Justice would be undoing what you did to Luke. What your mother and grandsire did to this realm. What you—all of you—burned in your hunger for a crown.”

“I never wanted it,” Aemond snapped.

“But you never stopped it either,” you said, each word like a brand pressed to skin. “And now you speak of justice while the blood of children—mine and my mother’s—stains the stones beneath our feet.”

Aemond stepped back then, just once.

And it was enough.

You turned to Aegon, your face softening only for him.

“I want to see Jaehaerys avenged,” you said quietly. “But I will not find that peace in a cell or on a blade. I will find it when the realm stops bleeding. When the gods no longer feast on our young. When men like your brother stop pretending their violence was fate.”

You didn’t stay to hear Aemond’s reply. You walked past him without looking, the scent of ash and steel trailing you like a cloak. Your steps were sure now. You didn’t need fire in your lungs or vengeance on your tongue.

You had something sharper.

Truth.

And the weight of all that had been lost. Behind you, the council chamber remained still—just two broken brothers and the memory of everything they’d ruined.

The hearthfire crackled low in the corner of your chambers, casting long shadows across the walls—shadows that looked like dragons, or monsters, or memories. You didn’t know which anymore. You sat in the center of the bed with your legs folded beneath you, a soft woolen blanket clutched tightly in your arms. It was small—barely large enough to cover a toddler. Faded in color now, worn from use. But every thread was familiar. Every stitch had been made by your own hand.

It had taken you weeks to embroider the blanket for Jaehaerys. Tiny stars in silver thread danced along the edges, encircling a golden dragon stitched in the center—just as you had once whispered to your son, You are my little star. My little dragon.

You brought the fabric to your nose and inhaled deeply. His scent was still there. Faint, barely clinging to the threads, but there.

It was lavender soap and sunshine and the warmth of his tiny skin after a nap against your chest. You let out a trembling breath, and then a soft, broken laugh slipped from your lips.

You smiled.

For a moment, it felt like you were holding him again.

And then the moment passed.

Your chest tightened. Your heart clenched so violently it knocked the air from your lungs. The smile faded as your throat caught, and then your shoulders began to shake.

You curled tighter around the blanket.

“I held you,” you whispered, voice shaking as you rocked gently. “I held you as you were born… and I held you again as you—”

You couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t say the word. Died. It tasted like blood and iron and grief on your tongue.

Your arms loosened as the sob slipped from your lips, quiet and sharp.

You knew where Aegon was—down in the black cells. You hadn’t spoken a word when he left. His hand had lingered on your shoulder, his eyes searching yours. But there had been nothing left to give him. Not in that moment. Only silence. And your son’s blanket.

He had gone to face the man who’d taken your baby’s life.

But you… you could not face the world.

You pressed your palm to your lower stomach, gently stroking the place where you had once felt life flutter. Jaehaerys had kicked there. He had hiccupped there. He had grown in your womb like a flame.

And now…

A sharp twist clawed through your belly. So sudden, so vicious it knocked the breath from your lungs. You gasped, your body lurching forward.

Your fingers clutched at the sheets as the pain lanced through you, deep and low. You tried to move, tried to rise—but your knees buckled beneath you before your feet even touched the floor. You collapsed sideways on the bed, one arm tangled in the blanket, the other pressing desperately to your stomach.

“No—no, no, no,” you panted, the pain doubling you. “Not now…”

You could barely think. The agony twisted and pulled like a vengeful spirit inside you, wringing every nerve. Your vision blurred. You tried to breathe, but your chest was tight with something worse than pain—terror.

Had grief broken you that deeply? Had loss hollowed you so fully that your body was now unraveling from the inside out?

You moaned, biting your lip to keep from screaming. You didn’t want the guards to hear. You didn’t want the maids or the servants or the court to see you like this.

You just wanted Aegon.

Your hand scrambled across the bed, reaching for anything—blankets, pillows—something to anchor you. Your fingers found the soft cloth again, the one with stars and the golden dragon.

You clutched it to your chest like it could save you. And then, through the fog of pain, you felt something. Something warm trickling down your thigh.

Your eyes widened. You looked down—and the dread that washed over you was cold, like seawater stealing the last embers of a fire.

Blood.

Not much. But enough.

You choked out a sound that wasn’t quite a sob. Or maybe it was. Maybe it was all sobs now. Maybe that was all you would ever be—a woman made of cries and ashes.

The door was too far.

Aegon was too far.

And you… you were crumbling.

Not from a sword or a war.

But from the ache that only mothers could know.

Still, even as the pain swallowed you whole, you did not let go of the blanket. Your fingers curled tighter around the scent of your son. Your dragon. Your little star. If this was death coming for you, it would have to pry it from your hands.

The corridors were silent as Aegon walked them, save for the fading echo of his boots across stone. He was numb.

The black cells had given him no satisfaction. No vengeance. Only the stench of rot and the hollow sound of a man begging for mercy that Jaehaerys had never been granted.

The crown on his head felt heavier than ever, like it had fused to his skull. He didn’t remember when he’d last eaten. He didn’t care. His hands were still smeared with dirt from gripping the iron bars too tightly, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. There was only one place he wanted to be now.

With you.

He reached your shared chambers and paused briefly before opening the door—bracing himself for your silence, for your back turned to him again, for the distance between you both that grief had carved like a canyon.

But when the door opened—

He froze.

The blood drained from his face.

You were on the floor. On your knees.

Your nightgown was soaked in blood from the waist down, the dark stain spreading fast across the silk. Your hands were pressed between your thighs, trembling as you clutched at yourself, and your face—gods, your face—was contorted in pain so raw, so violent it turned his bones to ice.

You didn’t even look at him. You just groaned, your voice low and ragged, like something was ripping you apart from the inside.

“No,” Aegon whispered, then louder—sharper. “NO.”

He bolted across the chamber, nearly slipping on the rug as he dropped to his knees beside you.

“Guards!” he bellowed, voice breaking with panic. “Get the maester—NOW! MOVE!”

You whimpered, your head lolling toward him as tears streaked your cheeks.

“Aegon,” you croaked. “I—it hurts—I can’t—”

“I know, I know,” he rasped, cradling you into his arms with a gentleness that defied the tremble in his hands. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, love. You’re safe. Just breathe, alright? Just—just breathe.”

But how could you breathe with your body betraying you like this?

You writhed against him, crying out again, your fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. Blood soaked into his lap as he held you, thick and hot and terrifyingly real. His mind raced—was this a miscarriage? Had he not known? Were you pregnant again after Jaehaerys?

Had the gods given him another child… only to tear it away again?

His throat closed. He pressed a shaking kiss to your temple.

“Stay with me,” he begged in a whisper. “Don’t—don’t leave me too. Please.”

You whimpered again, collapsing into his chest. “I’m sorry,” you cried. “I didn’t know—I didn’t even know—”

“Shhh, no.” He cupped your cheek, forcing you to look at him through your haze. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare apologize. This is not your fault.”

The door burst open again, and he shouted over his shoulder, “Maester! She’s bleeding! Get over here, now!”

The elderly man rushed in with his apprentice and a flurry of linen and herbs. But Aegon wouldn’t let go of you.

Not until the maester forced him to.

“Your Grace, please—she needs to be laid down—”

“I said I’m not letting her go!” he snapped, eyes wild, voice cracking.

“Then help me,” the maester said firmly. “We may still save her.”

Those words snapped Aegon into motion. He helped lift you onto the bed, whispering soothing things even as you screamed again, your body arching from another wrenching spasm. The blood kept coming. The pain did not relent. And your eyes—

They found his. Desperate. Distant. Frightened.

“Don’t go,” you gasped. “Don’t leave me.”

“Never,” he swore. “Never, do you hear me?”

He sat at your side, gripping your hand so tightly his knuckles whitened, his other hand stroking your hair back from your damp forehead as the maester worked below the sheets, murmuring instructions and prayers.

The minutes passed like lifetimes.

You faded in and out, whimpering his name between cries of agony. He didn’t dare move. Didn’t breathe unless you did.

The worst kind of helplessness crawled beneath his skin. He was the king. He commanded armies. He held the lives of lords in his palm. And yet here—here, watching the only thing that mattered to him scream in pain—he was useless.

Useless and broken.

The chamber was dim, the fire in the hearth reduced to a low, wavering glow that painted the stone walls in the color of dying embers. The smell of herbs and blood still lingered in the air, clinging to everything like a shroud.

You didn’t speak.

You couldn’t.

You just lay there, in the cradle of Aegon’s arms, your face pressed into the hollow of his chest, and wept.

The sound was low at first—shaky, broken gasps that caught in your throat like glass. But then they deepened, became guttural, as though your soul had been carved open and all it could do now was ache.

And Aegon… said nothing.

He simply held you.

One hand curved protectively around the back of your head, stroking your hair in slow, aimless motions—like he might soothe the storm if only he kept his hand moving, if only he could pretend hard enough that he had the power to keep you from shattering completely.

His other arm circled you tightly, pulling your trembling body closer to his chest until you were clinging to him like a lifeline. Your fists curled in the fabric of his tunic, knuckles white, your nails digging in, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t move.

The only part of him that did was his jaw, clenched so tight it ached.

And his eyes—closed now—because he couldn’t bear to see you this way.

The maester’s words still echoed in his skull like a curse: The babe did not survive.

It should’ve been another whisper in the whirlwind of this war. Another quiet death among too many. But it wasn’t. This wasn’t a piece in the game. This wasn’t strategy. This wasn’t duty.

This was you. His wife. The only person left who touched the parts of him that were still human.

And that babe—

That had been the flicker of hope. The thing you both hadn’t dared to speak aloud after Jaehaerys. The balm that might’ve softened the open wound in your chests. Something small and warm and yours. Something that wasn’t built of blood and betrayal.

Now gone.

A future unmade in silence, in blood, on the cold stone floor of your chambers.

Your cries twisted into something smaller now—hiccuping gasps, hoarse whimpers, the sound of someone trying to breathe through grief that refused to loosen its grip.

You pulled back for just a moment, and Aegon looked down, eyes red-rimmed, haunted.

Your face was streaked with tears, lips parted as though you wanted to speak—but no words came. Only a soft, trembling shake of your head before you buried your face into his neck again, another wave of sobs wracking through you.

“I know,” he whispered finally, his voice low and ruined. “I know, love.” It was all he could say. Because there were no words that could unmake what had happened.

No king’s decree could call your baby back.

No dragonfire could burn the pain away.

Aegon held you tighter.

And for the first time in weeks, he let his own tears fall—silent and steady, slipping down his cheeks and into your hair as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“We should’ve had peace,” he murmured, not sure if you could hear him, not sure if he was speaking to the gods or cursing them. “We should’ve had a life. A family.”

His hand kept moving, slow and reverent. He didn’t move even when your sobs quieted into nothing, when sleep finally took you from exhaustion, from pain.

He just held you there, with his arms locked around the one thing he still had and prayed the gods wouldn’t take you too.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting amber shadows on the walls, but the warmth didn’t reach you. It couldn’t. Not when your insides had frozen over with grief.

You sat curled in on yourself, knees tucked tight against your chest, your arms wrapped around your shins like armor, your forehead resting lightly on your kneecaps. The clean nightgown clung to you loosely, the scent of the bathwater—lavender and lemon—already fading. You didn’t feel clean. You felt hollow.

Behind you, the chamber was quiet save for the soft rustle of silk and the hesitant approach of footsteps.

“Sweetling…” Aegon’s voice was barely above a whisper, thick with helplessness. “Please… talk to me.”

You didn’t move. Your eyes remained locked on the flames, as if there was something there you could decode—some hidden meaning in the dance of embers, some sign that might make sense of all this pain.

He stepped closer. “I can’t fix this. But I need you to let me try—”

You flinched when you felt his hand. Not because it startled you, but because it hurt—the gentleness of it. His fingers slid carefully through your hair, brushing it back from your face. He crouched behind you, resting on his knees. He was always taller, stronger, the dragon who carried fire in his blood… but right now, he seemed so small behind you. So unsure.

You said nothing. Just let him stroke your hair as your lips moved with a whisper that grew heavier with each repetition.

“The gods are cruel…” you murmured. “So cruel.”

Aegon exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead to the back of your shoulder. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Your voice cracked, your eyes never leaving the fire. “They don’t punish you. They punish me. They take my children. Our children. Over and over and over again.”

“I lost them too,” he whispered, and the pain in his voice made your spine stiffen. “I lost them with you. Every time.”

“But I carried them,” you whispered, and your voice caught. “I felt their hearts. I held them inside me. I gave them names in my sleep. I dreamed of what they’d look like—if they’d have my eyes or yours. I sang to them when you weren’t there.”

You turned your head just slightly, your profile catching the firelight. The tears had started again, sliding down your cheeks silently now, no longer wild or loud. Just endless.

“And what did I get for it?” Your voice shook. “Jaehaerys… murdered in his own bed. Our babe gone before they could take a breath.”

Aegon didn’t speak. He just rested his palm against your back, rubbing slow circles as if he could soothe the wound beneath your skin.

You inhaled shakily, your voice so soft now, it barely survived the air.

“This is my punishment.”

His hand paused.

You blinked, still not looking at him. “For choosing you. For choosing you over my mother.”

“Don’t,” he said quickly, voice rising. “Don’t you say that.”

“She warned me,” you went on, like in a trance. “She said loving you would destroy me. That war would follow you, pain would follow you. And I didn’t care. I chose you. I married you. I stood by you.” You finally turned your head toward him, your eyes bloodshot and wet. “And now… my children are dead. One by one, stripped from my arms.”

He looked like he’d been stabbed. “You think I don’t carry that guilt every time I look at you? That I don’t wonder if you would’ve been safer without me?”

You swallowed hard, your voice breaking again. “Maybe I would have.”

Aegon’s hand dropped from your back. He sat down beside you slowly, legs folding beneath him. The fire danced between your bodies, painting both of you in gold and shadow. You stared at each other in silence for a long moment—broken, tired, grieving in different ways.

“I know you hate me right now,” he said finally, his voice tight, like he was forcing it out past a wall in his throat. “And maybe you should. Maybe I deserve it. But gods be damned, I love you. I love you so much it hurts. And if I could take this pain from you—if I could give my own blood to bring him back—I would.”

You dropped your head again, your forehead brushing your knees. “I just want to be a mother again,” you whispered. “I want to hold my child. I want to feel life in my arms, not death.”

He reached out again, pulling you into his arms this time. The gesture was quiet, small… and yet full of the weight of a man who was watching the woman he loved drown.

You didn’t speak again, and neither did he. You simply melted into his arms in front of the fire, surrounded by the warmth you couldn’t feel, and the ghosts you couldn’t escape.

The scent of lemon cake still lingered in the corners of the chamber. You hadn’t touched it.

Aegon had left it for you on the small side table three days ago, a quiet offering, accompanied by a soft kiss to your temple and a promise you hadn’t answered. It had been your favorite once. Now, the sight of it only twisted your stomach into knots.

You hadn’t spoken more than a few words since the babe died. The pain clung to your skin like ash—so heavy, so absolute, it felt like you’d been buried with your child.

You hadn’t left the bed, either. The silken covers had long since twisted around your limbs, heavy and wrinkled with the days you’d spent curled in their cocoon. The hearth had gone cold, the fire long since died. You hadn’t asked anyone to tend it. What was the point?

Grief did not need warmth.

Your eyes were half-lidded, dry and red-rimmed, when the familiar creak of the chamber doors caught your attention. You didn’t look right away.

You expected the maid. Or perhaps Aegon again—come to coax, to plead, to wrap his arms around you and whisper that he was still here, even as you drifted further from everything.

But then—small footsteps.

You turned your head.

And the moment you saw them, your breath caught like a dagger in your throat.

Aegon stood in the doorway, his hand resting gently on the shoulder of your little daughter, and cradled in the other arm was your youngest—Maelor, still small enough to be carried.

But it was Jaehaera who shattered you. The soft golden hair. The pale, thoughtful face. The shape of her nose, the curve of her lips—so much like her twin brother.

So much like Jaehaerys.

Your body tensed, your arms shaking where they gripped the edge of the blankets, and your eyes stung before the tears even came. But they did come.

Not like before—not silent, not restrained. These tears broke through like a storm, sudden and unstoppable. You pressed a hand over your mouth as your shoulders crumpled forward. A sob tore from your throat.

Jaehaera stared at you, wide-eyed, not quite understanding why her presence had sparked such pain. She looked up at Aegon, confused, but said nothing—just held the small wooden doll in her hand tighter, as if for comfort.

You barely noticed Aegon’s steps as he crossed the room. Only when he knelt beside the bed and placed Maelor gently in the crook of your arm did your breath hitch again.

You turned your face away, overwhelmed, but then Jaehaera’s small hand touched your wrist.

“Mother?” Her voice was quiet. “Are you sad because my brother is with the gods?”

Your throat closed. You couldn’t speak.

You nodded, a slow, shuddering movement.

Jaehaera crawled up beside you carefully, climbing into the bed without hesitation. She tucked herself under your arm and laid her head on your chest.

“I’m sad too,” she whispered. “But Maelor still laughs when I tickle him. And I still remember when Jaehaerys told me stories about dragons flying backwards just to make me laugh. So maybe that means he’s not all gone. Maybe he’s still in the stories.”

That did it.

The sob that came out of you wasn’t just pain—it was a letting go, a surrender to everything you’d been trying to hold back. You held both your children tightly to your chest, one in each arm, and buried your face in Jaehaera’s soft hair.

Aegon sat on the edge of the bed beside you, not saying a word. But his hand covered yours, grounding you, as your grief spilled out in waves.

Your fingers clung to Jaehaera’s nightgown, the fabric soft and worn. You pressed a kiss to the top of Maelor’s head, his tiny hand patting your arm as though he, too, knew you needed to be brought back.

And for the first time since your womb had gone quiet, you felt something else break through the ache.

Not peace.

But presence.

The pieces of your heart that still remained—fragile, bruised, and alive—curled up in your arms. And for now, they were enough.

The chamber, once dim and heavy with mourning, now glowed soft with the orange flicker of candlelight. The hearth had been rekindled, its warmth reaching out in golden threads across the stone floor, weaving through your limbs, curling around your fingers.

You were still in bed, propped against the headboard with pillows stacked behind you, your hair loose, your gown wrinkled. But today—tonight—there was a softness on your face that hadn’t been there in weeks. Not a full peace. But something like… a pause in the sorrow. A breath of stillness.

Maelor was curled in your lap, warm and heavy against your stomach, his little legs splayed carelessly over the folds of your blanket. You had one hand around his back, supporting him, while your other arm held Jaehaera tucked beneath it. She was gently brushing the edge of your sleeve with her fingertips, lost in some private world of thought and comfort.

Maelor looked up at you, eyes wide and bright, those chubby cheeks pink with firelight. He babbled something incoherent—a string of sounds only a mother could recognize as a question. You blinked at him and tilted your head playfully.

“What is it, my sweet boy?”

He stared at your mouth like it held some grand secret. Then, with the solemn focus only a toddler could muster, he raised his tiny hands—soft, still sticky from honeyed bread—and cupped your face.

You barely had time to react before his thumb pressed into your cheek and his other hand reached down and grabbed your lower lip between two fingers.

It wasn’t painful—just surprising. The sudden tug made your mouth part in shock, and a small puff of laughter escaped you.

“Maelor!” you gasped through a breathless laugh.

Aegon, seated at the foot of the bed now, let out a playful huff, leaning back on his hands. “Gods,” he said with a smirk. “He’s already got your mouth. Now he’s claiming it.”

Your laughter grew, the sound light and trembling, like a song you hadn’t sung in far too long.

Jaehaera squealed with laughter beside you, her arms wrapping tighter around your waist as she buried her face against your side. “He always pulls mine too, mama!” she giggled. “He’s a silly dragon.”

“Silly indeed,” you murmured fondly, as Maelor, apparently satisfied with your lip, released it and let out a triumphant coo. Then, just as suddenly, he dropped forward and nuzzled into your neck, his little nose smushing into your skin, warm and soft and so achingly present.

Your breath hitched.

It wasn’t the sadness this time.

It was the ache of feeling, of realizing how much you’d missed this—how long you’d been drowning beneath the weight of your loss, barely able to register the blessings that still clung to you like lifelines.

Your arms wrapped more tightly around them both—your daughter and your son, your little lights in the long night—and you glanced toward Aegon.

He was watching you, his eyes softer now, the playful smile dimmed into something reverent.

Something aching.

“I missed you,” he said quietly. “We missed you.”

You swallowed, the knot in your throat tight but not suffocating. You leaned your cheek against Maelor’s curls, inhaling the faint scent of milk and lemons and the clean linen of his sleep tunic.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I was trying to hold it together… but I forgot how to reach for anything else.”

Aegon shifted closer, reaching out to touch your knee gently. “You don’t need to hold it together,” he murmured. “Not here. Not with us. You just need to be. Let them carry the rest.”

You looked at him, tears shining in your lashes, and nodded.

For a moment, the four of you were wrapped in something sacred—flawed, fraying, but still holy in its own quiet way.

Your son tugged your lip again, giggling now, proud of his new trick. Jaehaera shrieked with laughter, her head thrown back against your chest.

And you—you laughed too.

Real, full, and trembling.

Aegon closed his eyes as the sound filled the chamber, and when he opened them again, his gaze rested not on the shadows of your pain, but on the living proof of everything you still were.

Still whole.

Still mother.

Still here.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ceoofglytchell @ashblooddragons @hayleythecannibal @laedeviour @venusbyline

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vamptizm · 2 months ago

Text

hotel ii. — p. bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x notre dame!reader (+ slight olivia miles x reader)

synopsis: after a win against uconn, you find yourself caught in a tug-of-war between your on and off ex and one of your biggest rivals, who you simply can’t stay away from no matter how hard you try.

warnings: angst. hints of guilt tripping and controlling behaviour. flashback. reader is a little stupid. no smut (yet)

word count: 4.6k

note: i actually hate this chapter ngl. it feels like such a filler, even tho it’s important to the backstory?? anyway next chapter will be sm better (and nastier) i promise.

The first thing you noticed when you stirred awake was warmth—solid, steady warmth that wasn't yours. The second was the slow, even rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek, the rhythmic beat of a heart against your ear. For a moment, still tangled in the haze of sleep, it felt... nice. Safe.

Then it hit you.

Your eyes snapped open, breath catching as you took in the sight in front of you. Paige was still fast asleep, her arm slung loosely around your waist, her face relaxed in a way you rarely saw—unguarded, peaceful. Her blonde hair was a mess, strands falling across her forehead, and the faintest traces of last night's touches lingered on her lips, somehow still slightly swollen from kissing you senseless.

You swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of everything. The cool air against your bare skin where the sheets had slipped, the dull ache of muscles used in ways that had nothing to do with basketball, the way your body still felt Paige's hands on you like a ghost of last night.

You shouldn't have been here.

The thought sent a jolt through your limbs, panic curling around your ribs. This—whatever this was—wasn't supposed to feel like this. You were used to Paige in fleeting moments, stolen touches, short-lived memories, rushed hookups fueled by competition and adrenaline. Not... this. Not waking up wrapped in her arms like you belonged there.

Before you could think about it too much, you carefully slipped out from under her hold, freezing when she stirred slightly. But Paige didn't wake—just shifted onto her back with a sleepy sigh, lips parting slightly as she settled again.

Your chest tightened, but you shoved it down.

Grabbing your clothes, you dressed as quickly and quietly as possible, slipping on your sneakers and reaching for your phone. Your fingers hesitated on the door handle for half a second before you shook the thought away. No goodbyes. No second-guessing.

You slipped out, shutting the door softly behind you.

The hotel hallway was eerily quiet at this hour, but you kept your head down, walking with purpose despite the way your stomach churned. Every step felt heavier than it should, like guilt was trying to drag you back, but you didn't stop until you reached the parking lot.

Once you were inside your car, doors locked, you finally let out the groan that had been building in your throat, your head dropping against the steering wheel.

Your mind replayed it all—the way Paige had kissed you, slow and deep, like she had all the time in the world. The way she had whispered against your skin, teasing but sincere. The way she had looked at you afterward, something soft and open in her eyes that made you want to run.

And so you did.

With a deep breath, you started the engine and pulled out of the lot, the cold morning air doing little to cool the heat still simmering under your skin.

You didn't know if you regretted it. But you did know that facing Olivia was going to be a whole different problem.

You took another step into the room, your heart pounding in your chest like a ticking clock counting down to an inevitable explosion.

Olivia sat on the edge of your bed, her posture rigid, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had turned white. She was staring straight at you, her dark eyes burning with something unreadable—something controlled, but barely.

The air between you felt thick, suffocating. Then, finally, she spoke. "Where you been?" Her voice was quiet, but sharp—like a knife wrapped in silk.

Your throat tightened. She already knew. There was no way she didn't. But she wanted to hear it from you. Wanted to watch you squirm under the weight of your own admission.

You inhaled slowly, forcing your shoulders to stay loose. "Out."

A sharp scoff left her lips, her head tilting slightly as she studied you. She looked almost amused, like she couldn't believe you had the audacity to play this game. "Out," she repeated, rolling the word on her tongue like it disgusted her.

Your stomach twisted.

She let the silence hang between you before standing, slow and deliberate, closing some of the distance. The tension in her frame was palpable—like a coil wound too tight, ready to snap.

"So, who were you 'out' with?" she asked, her voice deceptively even.

You swallowed. "Liv—"

"Nah, say it." Her brows knitted challengingly, her fingers flexing at her sides. "Say her name."

You held her stare, unwilling to look away, but you didn't answer.

The muscle in Olivia's jaw ticked, and suddenly, she was chuckling—low and bitter, the kind that wasn't really laughter at all.

"You know, I sat here and waited for you," she said, shaking her head. "Gave you the benefit of the doubt. Thought maybe—just maybe—you'd come back here and at least be honest with me." Her voice wavered slightly, just for a second, before she forced herself to steel it again. "But nah. You just walk in here with that look on your face—like you don't feel even a little bad about it."

Your brows furrowed, frustration creeping into your veins. "What exactly am I supposed to feel bad about?"

Olivia's nostrils flared. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I am," you shot back, voice rising. "We're not even together, Olivia."

Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to argue, but she hesitated. Then, as if snapping back into place, her expression hardened, her eyes scanning over you—taking in the mess of your hair, the faded smudges of Paige's touch along your neck. Her fingers curled into fists.

"I bet she loved that, huh?" she said, voice thick with something dangerous. "That you 'love it over there'?" She quoted.

You sucked in a sharp breath, something twisting painfully in your chest. "Don't do that."

"We can fix this."

You blinked. "What?"

"We can still work this out," she said, gaze flickering between your eyes like she was searching for something—anything—to hold on to. "I know we can."

Your stomach churned again. This was the moment you should feel relief, right? This was what you had wanted for so long—for Olivia to finally let down her walls, to finally stop running from you.

So why did it feel like something in you was pulling away instead?

"As long as you promise to never see her again."

Your breath caught in your throat. You weren't even sure you wanted to make things work with Olivia anymore. The constant back and forth, the push and pull—it exhausted you. But the thought of never seeing Paige again, never hearing her voice, never seeing the sparkle in her eyes, never feeling her touch—

It struck you like a blow to the chest.

And Olivia saw it.

She saw the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, the way your lips parted but no words came out. For the first time all night, she looked afraid.

Olivia stood still for a moment, her face a mask of mixed emotions—anger, hurt, and disbelief. You could see her struggling to reconcile what was happening, but she didn't say anything. She just watched you, the silence between you both thick, suffocating.

Then, without warning, she took a step toward you.

You didn't back away. Your feet felt like they were rooted to the floor as she came closer, and before you could think, her hands were gently cupping your face, her fingers warm against your skin, tracing the contours of your jaw. Her touch was careful, almost hesitant—as though she was afraid you might slip away if she wasn't careful enough.

Her gaze locked onto yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you couldn't look away. There was a vulnerability in her eyes you hadn't seen before, a desperate plea hidden behind the walls she'd built up.

"Please," she whispered, the word catching in her throat. "Don't walk away from me like this. We can fix it, baby, we can make it work—I swear. Just... don't do this."

You didn't respond right away, your heart pounding in your chest. There was a burning ache in your chest, and the way her hands trembled ever so slightly as she held your face only made it harder.

Slowly, Olivia leaned in, pressing soft kisses to your face—your forehead, the tip of your nose, your cheek—her lips lingering in places that felt too intimate for everything that had happened. The closeness, the familiarity, felt like an anchor, pulling you back into the past, to all the moments when things had been simpler, when you hadn't known the weight of this choice.

She kissed you again, more desperately this time, her lips brushing over your mouth, a soft, lingering press that left you breathless.

But you couldn't do it. Not again.

You pulled back slightly, your hands coming up to gently push hers away, feeling a pang of sadness when she didn't resist. Olivia sighed, her eyes a little misty, but she didn't argue, didn't try to force you to stay. Instead, she stepped back, running a hand over her hair, frustration clear in the tightness of her jaw.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice breaking just enough for you to hear it. "I don't want it to end like this."

For a moment, you just stood there, watching her, unsure what to say. The pain of the situation—the rawness of everything—was too much, too overwhelming. The world outside your apartment seemed to fade away, and in that small, quiet space, it felt like the last thread of something between you was finally unraveling.

"I'm sorry too, Liv," you said quietly, your voice barely a whisper. "But this shit isn't healthy and we both gotta let it go."

With a heavy, final breath, Olivia nodded, stepping back one last time. The door closed behind her softly, leaving you standing in the silence of your own thoughts, your chest aching in the emptiness she left behind.

And so you stood there in the quiet of your room, chest heavy and heart torn, wondering if you'd made the right choice. The weight of it all pressed down on you, the end of something that was never really meant to be, and yet still felt like a loss.

You sank down onto your bed, your body aching with the exhaustion of the emotional turmoil. But despite the emptiness in your chest, despite the tears you could feel threatening to spill, there was a sense of clarity.

Over the next few days, you couldn't stop thinking about her. Paige was everywhere. Every corner of your mind, every inch of your body seemed to ache with the memory of her. Her hair—so perfectly tousled, blonde strands framing her face just right. The way it smelled, like a mix of fresh shampoo and something more intoxicating, like the scent of the air just before it rains. You could still feel the warmth of her touch, the way her fingertips had tingled against your skin, the nails pressing into your back, sending electricity shooting through you.

Her eyes. Those damn baby blue eyes. No matter where you searched, you had never seen anything like them before—bright, curious, yet so dark and hungry. Every glance felt like she was peering into the very depths of you, knowing things about you you hadn't even realized yet. And the way her gaze softened one moment, only to turn intense the next. You could still feel the weight of it, even now, as if it was still following you around.

The image of her—the girl you'd walked out on more than once—was imprinted in your mind, and there was no way to escape it. She had been on your mind since you'd left her hotel room, and now it was starting to feel like you had made a terrible mistake all over again. Regret was seeping into your thoughts. The way you'd left, without a single word, no text, no call—it felt like a betrayal now. You had walked out on her, and now the guilt gnawed at you every waking moment. She hadn't reached out either. You figured that she simply didn't care much—after all, it was just a casual thing, right? But the more you thought about it, the more it felt like self-sabotage. Something you were a pro at.

Even in practice, it was all you could think about. Every shot you tried to make, every pass, every dribble felt off. Your mind was miles away, far from the court, lost in thoughts of her. Your teammates were noticing too, whispering to each other in hushed voices as they glanced your way. You tried to focus, to shake the thoughts of Paige out of your head, but it felt impossible.

Then, when you finally had a moment to yourself and picked up your phone, the universe seemed to taunt you. Your social media feeds were flooded with pictures and videos of her—Paige smiling at some event, making a joke on a court, laughing with her teammates, several sports channels posting about her. Your heart twisted each time you saw her face, the way she glowed on screen. A pang of jealousy hit you too. How could she be out there, living her life, so effortlessly happy, when all you could think about was her?

You found yourself scrolling through her pages again and again, watching her smile, seeing her live her life without you in it. It was like an ache you couldn't ignore like you had been doing for so long. How did you walk away from someone like her?

It made sense in your head and despite that, you couldn't stop wondering if she even cared about you at all—if she'd cared about any of it. That was the worst part—because now, all you could think about was how to fix it and you had no idea if it was even worth it.

It had been a week. A week of silence, of uncertainty, of trying to push past the thoughts that refused to leave your head. No matter how much you tried to focus on basketball, on your life outside of Paige, you just couldn't shake her.

She was everywhere, in everything. In the music playing through your headphones, in the scent of someone's perfume as they walked past you on campus, in the depth of your camera roll, in the way your phone screen felt too empty without her name lighting it up.

And now, finally, you were willing to do something about it.

You stared at your phone, fingers hesitating over the screen before finally tapping her name. You nibbled on your bottom lip, heart pounded in your chest as the call attempted to go through. But the line didn't even ring—it went straight to voicemail.

You frowned, confusion settling in as you opened her contact and tried again. Straight to voicemail.

A sinking feeling grew in your stomach as you switched to text.

You: can we talk?

The message never sent. Instead, a small red exclamation mark appeared next to it, accompanied by the gut-wrenching realization: Message Not Delivered.

Blocked.

You blinked at the screen with parted lips as if willing it to change, as if there had been some mistake. But no—Paige had cut you off completely.

A heavy weight settled in your chest, defeat washing over you like ice-cold water. For a moment, you sat there, gripping your phone tightly, fingers twitching as if you could somehow undo the damage that had already been done.

She was actually done with you this time.

The thought burned—made you wanna throw up and for a second, you considered giving up. Maybe this was what you deserved for walking out on her, for leaving without a single word. But the thing about you—when you wanted something, when you cared about something—you didn't just let it slip through your fingers.

So, you tried a different route.

It wasn't hard to figure out her schedule—after all, UConn's games were public, and you knew Paige well enough to remember or at least guess how her daily routine went. The real challenge was finding the right opportunity, the perfect timing that didn't interfere with your own demanding schedule.

And when you finally found the opening, you made your decision. You impulsively booked a flight to Storrs, Connecticut.

The moment the confirmation email hit your inbox, nerves slammed into you full force. The idea of showing up unannounced, of seeing Paige after all this time—after she had clearly chosen to cut you out—was enough to make your stomach twist.

Would she even listen to you? You didn't know. But after everything, the least she deserved was a face-to-face apology.

Before making the trip, you reached out to someone you knew you could trust. Someone who had been there since the very beginning.

You: Aubs, I kinda need your help.

The response was almost immediate.

AubDawg: With what?

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard before typing out exactly what you needed to say.

You: I need to see Paige. Like I really need to talk to her.

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then appeared again.

AubDawg: You realize she's mad at you, right?

You swallowed hard. Of course you knew. You had felt the weight of it every single day.

You: I know. That's why I need to do it in person.

The pause this time was longer. A minute passed. Then another.

Then finally—

AubDawg: Fine. But I'm not promising anything.

The plan was simple.

You'd fly in, keep your presence quiet, and attend one of UConn's home games disguised—or at least, as discreet as possible. A hat, a hoodie, glasses, something to keep you hidden in the crowd. You just needed to see her, to get through to her somehow.

The anxiety built up as you boarded the flight, as you landed in Connecticut, as you made your way to the campus you were all too familiar with.

It felt surreal, being back here. Walking past familiar buildings, recognizing places where you had spent hours practicing, laughing, learning. Memories surfaced with every step, each one pressing into your chest like an old ache.

You tried not to focus on that.

Aubrey met you at the arena just before the game, her arms crossed as she gave you a look that was somewhere between exasperation and reluctant amusement.

"You're insane," she muttered.

You smirked, pulling the brim of your hat lower over your face. "Call it insanity, call it dedication. Same thing."

She sighed. "You sure about this?"

"Nope,” you admitted, popping your ‘p’, “But I guess there’s not much to lose if I don’t try.

Aubrey studied you for a moment before shaking her head. "C’mon. I got you a seat where you won't get caught."

Your stomach twisted as you followed her inside.

You weren't sure how this was going to go. You weren't sure if Paige would even give you the time of day.

The energy inside Gampel Pavilion was electric. The air buzzed with cheers, the pounding of basketballs against hardwood, the screech of sneakers cutting across the court. UConn was locked in a battle, but you weren't paying attention to the score.

Your eyes were locked on one person.

She was poetry in motion, every movement sharp and precise, every shot falling effortlessly. Even from your seat—hidden beneath the brim of your cap, swallowed in a hoodie pulled high around your face and through your glasses—you could see the fire in her eyes.

She played with a vengeance. And you had a sick feeling in your stomach that you were part of the reason why.

You watched as she drained a three-pointer, barely flinching as the crowd erupted. Watched the way her jaw clenched, the way her muscles tensed with an unspoken frustration.

She was mad. Not just at the opposing team. Not just at the game.

But at you.

Your fingers curled into fists inside your hoodie pocket. Had she always looked this good when she played? Or were you just now letting yourself see her again?

The final buzzer sounded. UConn had won, but Paige hardly looked satisfied as she stormed off the court, towel draped over her shoulders, sweat glistening under the bright lights. She barely celebrated with her team, barely acknowledged the noise around her.

And now came the hardest part.

Getting to her.

You waited. Let the crowd thin out, let the team disappear into the tunnel leading to the locker rooms. Aubrey had already told you to meet her at one of the back exits, where the players sometimes slipped out after games.

You pulled your hoodie tighter around you, moving swiftly through the hallways that you had once walked. Some things never changed— bound to stay the same as they’ve always been.

"What are you doing here?"

Her voice stopped you cold.

Paige stood just outside the exit, her duffle bag slung over one shoulder, her body still humming with adrenaline. She was fresh out of the locker room, her damp blonde hair pushed back, her skin flushed from the game.

She looked pissed and your heart lurched.

You took a cautious step forward. "Paige, I—"

"No." She held up a hand, her jaw tight. "You don't get to just show up here like this."

Your mouth went dry.

She scoffed, shaking her head as she took you in—your face, your posture, the nervous tension rolling off of you.

"Unbelievable," she muttered.

"I had to talk to you," you said quickly, voice almost breathless.

Paige let out a bitter laugh. "Had to talk to me?" She took a step closer, and you caught the flicker of something beneath her anger—hurt. "You disappear for almost weeks. Not a text. Not a call. Nothing. And now, suddenly, you have something to say?"

You swallowed hard. "I was scared, okay?" you replied, a subtle crack in your voice. "I—"

Paige let out a sharp breath, running a hand through her hair. "Scared of what, exactly?"

Of you. Of what this could be. Of feeling something real. Of the past.

You struggled to find the words, but Paige shook her head.

"Nah. You don't get to come here and give me half-assed answers," she snapped. "You don't get to just waltz back into my life after—" She exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. "Do you have any idea how much it fucking sucked to wake up and realize you were gone again? To realize I was stupid enough to actually think..."

She trailed off, lips pressing together like she couldn't let herself finish. Guilt churned inside you.

"I fucked up," you admitted, voice softer now. "Big time. I know I did. And I don't expect you to forgive me just because I flew here. But I just needed to see you. I needed you to know that I regret it. All of it."

Paige's eyes searched yours, stormy and unreadable.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then she let out a bitter chuckle, shaking her head. "You really think you can just show up, say sorry, and I'll just—what? Act like it never happened?"

You stiffened at her words, but before you could respond, she continued.

"I'm not doing this again," she muttered, adjusting her duffle bag over her shoulder. "I'm not letting you back in just so you can run the second shit gets too real."

You felt a pang in your chest. "Paige—"

"Nah," she cut you off, eyes flashing. "You don't get to 'Paige' me right now."

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. For the first time since you arrived, you wondered if this had been a mistake.

Paige exhaled sharply, glancing away for a moment before shaking her head, almost to herself. When she looked back at you, there was something raw in her expression, something you hadn't seen before.

"Go home," she said quietly.

And just like that, she walked past you, disappearing into the night. Leaving you standing there, feeling more lost than ever.

july 27th 2021

The room felt emptier than it should.

Your half of the dorm had been stripped down to the essentials—no posters, no clothes spilling out of drawers, no sneakers tossed lazily near the door. Just a few boxes stacked near the bed, waiting to be carried out.

You were crouched in front of your dresser, grabbing the last of your things, when you heard the door open.

You didn’t have to look to know it was Paige.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, leaning against the doorframe, watching as you packed away the final remnants of your life at UConn.

“You’re actually leaving.” Her voice was even, but you caught the slight edge underneath it.

You huffed a quiet laugh, stuffing a hoodie into the last box. “Well, yeah. We’ve been over this.”

“Yeah, I know.” Paige crossed the room, dropping onto her bed, elbows resting on her knees. “Doesn’t make it any less shitty.”

You sighed, pushing yourself up to sit on the edge of your own bed. For the first time that night, you looked at her.

She looked… frustrated. Sad, maybe. But mostly frustrated.

“So… Notre Dame, huh?” she muttered, thrumming her fingers against her knee.

You nodded. “They want me.”

Paige’s jaw tensed. “UConn wanted you.” ‘I want you’ , but she doesn’t say that

You exhaled sharply. “UConn wants you. You’re the star.” Your voice held no venom, not a trace of envy.

Paige’s gaze snapped up, something flickering in her blue eyes.

“You know that’s not why I’m leaving,” you said, voice softer now, less defensive. “It’s not about you.”

Paige scoffed, shaking her head. “Feels like it.”

That caught you off guard.

You stared at her, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

It had always been complicated with Paige—this thing between you, this unspoken something that neither of you were ever brave enough to name. Maybe it was easier that way. Or maybe it was just safer.

You swallowed. “Paige—”

“Don’t.” She leaned back on her hands, tilting her head toward the ceiling like she was trying to keep her emotions in check. “You already made up your mind.”

Silence settled between you again. The worst part? She was right.

You were leaving. And she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

You sighed and stood up, grabbing the last few things off your desk. When you turned, Paige was already up, crossing the room to the half-filled box by your bed.

She didn’t say anything—just started gathering loose items and placing them inside.

You watched her for a second. There was no irritation in her movements, no unnecessary force. Just quiet resignation.

You didn’t stop her.

For the next few minutes, neither of you spoke. The room was filled with nothing but the occasional rustle of packing and the weight of everything left unsaid.

Eventually, Paige picked up a framed photo from your nightstand—the two of you from freshman year, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, grinning after a big win.

Her thumb brushed over the glass. “You taking this?”

You hesitated, shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t know yet.”

She nodded once, then set it gently inside the box.

And that was that. No more arguing. No more trying to change your mind. Just Paige, quietly helping you pack up your life—piece by piece, moment by moment.

taglist (if you’d like to be removed from the series taglist LMK i promise i won’t be offended!) @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @starlighttsv @ekisokay @st4rrzynight @tndaqlwifwy @ohmybueckers @yailtsv @omg-imtumbling @xxloveralways14 @cowboylikeavaa @prettygirl-gabi @itsstavy13 @kaelaheartsyou @jnkbueckers @shootingstarrrrr @melpthatsme @sierrale8ne @unadulteratedcyclepaper @janessabaker @rosemariiaa

#⇢ ˗ˏˋ vamptizm writes ࿐ྂ #uconn wbb #paige bueckers #paige bueckers oneshot #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers series #paige bueckers smut

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lilianne-tarot · 3 months ago

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⋆.˚PICK A CARD: "What Are They Really Feeling About You" ⋆.˚

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

I. II. III.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

Hey there loves! Welcome to another PAC reading on my blog page, I hope you all enjoy it! Comment down what you felt about the reading and if it resonated with you and please show some love, Your support means everything to me!<3

How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images below. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you, go ahead and read both!

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˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

⋆✮ Pile I

"I have so many feelings for you, but I don’t know how to handle it."

These cards are laid out in front of me, and whew, the energy is giving emotional confusion and major mixed signals. Like, imagine someone typing out a long-ass paragraph to send to you, deleting it, and then hitting you with a dry "hey" instead. That’s the vibe we’re working with here. typical situationship these days. There’s this undeniable connection between you two, the kind which makes y'all go like, "what are we?" . But something between you is incomplete or not quite where it should be. Maybe y’all had an almost-relationship, or things just never fully clicked into place the way they were supposed to. OR, they’re still caught up in past issues, cycles, or even other people who are messing with their perception of this connection. And then, BOOM, the Queen of Swords Reversed, This person sees you as intelligent, sharp, and perceptive, but also a bit intimidating. They might feel like if they were to step to you, they’d have to bring their absolute A-game because you don’t fall for weak, half-hearted energy. (And tbh, they’re lowkey scared of getting called out if they’re moving weird). They could also think you’re a bit distant or hard to read at times, like, do you actually like them back, or are you just naturally that cool? (they’re dying to know).

Okay, but what’s holding them back? The Five of Cups is coming in here , showing that this person is stuck in regret, sadness, or some kind of emotional baggage that’s stopping them from moving forward with you. If this is an ex or a situationship, they definitely still think about you, but they’re too caught up in the "what went wrong" instead of focusing on "what could go right." I just feel like this spread is mainly for people who are stuck in a situationship or are pondering over an ex. So yeah, they feel something deep and nostalgic for you, whether you’ve known each other forever or not. They might replay certain memories, old conversations, or even compare new people they meet to you, because you set a standard, babe. There’s something pure about how they feel toward you, even if their emotions are a hot mess express. They might fantasize about simpler times between you two, or even wonder if there’s a way to rekindle or repair things if you’ve grown apart. They feel drawn to you in a way they can’t ignore. You’re on their mind more than they’ll ever admit (probably even to themselves).

At this point, it’s their move. Will they break free from their past and step toward you? Or will they keep living in the land of "what ifs" and "almost"

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────୨ৎ────

˙⋆✮ Pile II

"They are literally perfect, I’m obsessed."

Like, this person thinks about you way more than they probably should. Your person doesn’t just think of you in passing, nah, you stick in their brain like a catchy song they can’t get rid of. There’s something fated about this connection in their mind (Wheel of Fortune is SCREAMING destiny vibes, and especially when I RARELY get this card in my spreads so you just KNOW). Whether they admit it or not, they feel like you’re significant in some way. They don’t know why, they don’t know how, but the thought of you feels important, like a turning point in their life, even if nothing has happened between you two yet. But here’s where it gets messy (and a little spicy). The Judgement card is staring me in the face like 👁️👄👁️, and I’m telling you right now, your person sees you as someone who forces them to self-reflect. You’re triggering something deep in them. This person sees you as someone who’s put together, maybe even out of their league. You give off an "I know who I am, and I don’t settle for less" vibe, even if you don’t feel that way inside, that’s what they’re thinking atleast. They might assume you have high standards that makes them second-guess how they should act around you. Like, are they worthy???

And the funny part? They think you have your life figured out. But seriously, you project this energy of wisdom, tradition, and stability, and it’s making them think twice before approaching. "What if they don’t take me seriously?" is a VERY real fear they have. They don’t want to come at you wrong and fumble before they even get a chance. This person is struggling internally when it comes to you. They admire you, they think you’re lowkey untouchable, and they are absolutely not treating this as just a casual crush or just lightly. Whether they realize it or not, And let me be real with you, they’re not going to approach unless the universe forces them to. They’re waiting for some kind of cosmic push (Wheel of Fortune) to make things happen because right now, they’re paralyzed by their own overthinking. THEY ARE TIED UP IN KNOTS ABOUT THIS.

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˙⋆✮ Pile III

"Who are they?? Why do they live in my head??"

Ohhh, Pile 3’s situation is mystery a whole lot of overthinking on their person’s end. If this is someone who only sees you from a distance, like a coworker, a classmate, or someone , then whew, the way they have created an entire personality for you in their head is actually insane.

To them, you are literally the hardest puzzle they've ever encountered, and it's driving them nuts. Like, you know how in movies, there’s always that one person who walks into a room and suddenly the main character is hyper-aware of their presence? That’s you to them. Even if you don’t talk much, or at all, your energy is too loud to ignore, atleastto them, maybe because most of the time they are already hyper aware of you. They probably observe you a lot but feel like they never get the full picture. It’s giving “they seem so cool but I have no idea what’s actually going on in their head”. You might be quiet, reserved, or just really selective with who you engage with, and that makes you feel even more untouchable to them. If you are talkative or social, you still confuse them because you might act differently around different people. One second you’re laughing with someone, the next you’re in your own world? It’s throwing them off. 😂 But here’s the thing: this isn’t just curiosity. No, bestie, this is a full-on obsession.....uhm maybe even some stalker energy idk. They don’t just want to know more about you, they NEED to. Their brain is playing detective without their permission. The Magician here is interesting because it means they think you’re in control, while they feel completely out of control around you. It’s giving “they probably don’t even know I exist, but I can’t stop thinking about them” energy. One thing I can say, they’ve already mentally placed you in a soft-focus fantasy movie of their future.(just marry yall😭😭.......okay scratch that, don’t marry) They don’t just see you as someone cool, they see you as someone who could be the perfect person for them. even if they’ve never spoken to you, they already imagine what kind of relationship they’d have with you. You are the “dream person” in their head, but here’s the problem: they have no clue who you actually are. It’s like they’ve created a whole storyline about you without fact-checking it first 😭. Basically, their mental image of you is 50% real, 50% a fanfiction they wrote in their head.

Bestie, listen… If you’ve ever caught them staring at you like they’re trying to solve a crime, that’s exactly what they’re doing. They’re dying to know who you actually are because right now, you exist as a walking mystery and a romanticized daydream in their head.

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog ,it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! ♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

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kjhbsies · 1 month ago

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Cool About It

navigation | main masterlist | rules

James Potter x reader

synopsis: Y/N never meant to fall for James Potter— it just happened. But she always knew where his heart truly belonged: with Lily Evans.

wordcount: 1,328

note: angst, angst, angst. Inspired by the song "Cool About It" by boygenius. one of my favorite songs to listen to.

part II: Multo

divider from @enchanthings

Y/n didn't expect this to happen. She never planned on falling in love with James Potter, but somehow, it happened anyway.

Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe it was written in the stars— like a cruel storyline at her expense. But can you blame her? James was the kind of person who burned bright— warm, radiant, and impossible to ignore. Every time he walked into a room, the whole place seemed to be a little more alive. His laughter was infectious, his presence magnetic, and his smile? Don't even get her started on his smile.

He was kind in a way that made people feel seen and important. Special.

And maybe, for a while, Y/n thought she was special, too. But she wasn't. Not in a way that Lily Evans was.

She stood behind a thick trunk of an old oak tree, hidden in the shadows, watching the scene unfold before her like a spectator to her own heartbreak.

James and Lily sat on the bench, their bodies angled towards each other as if the rest of the world had faded away. He was grinning at her, that lopsided, charming smile of his that he saved just for her. And for once, Lily wasn't pushing him away. Her green eyes were soft, and the small twitch of her lips was a dead giveaway that she clearly was enjoying this.

Y/n watched as he scooted closer, his confidence unwavering— and possibly spiking higher each passing second that Lily wasn't blatantly rejecting him. James lifted an arm, testing the waters, but this time— this time, Lily was letting him. She didn't roll her eyes. She wasn't pushing him. She just blushed, her rosy cheeks dusting a tint of pink like a soft flower blooming under the sunlight.

Y/n felt something inside her crack.

She knew James had loved Lily since the first time he laid his eyes on her. She saw how James spent the past 6 years of his life making grand gestures, confessing his undying love for her, only to be shut down every single time. And still, he never stopped. He waited. He changed. He became a better version of himself, all for her.

How can Y/n compare to that?

The answer is that she couldn't.

She had known that James Potter was never meant to be hers. That they were just friends. That he only ever saw her as his best mate, his partner-in-crime, the one he laughed with, joked with, and shared secrets with— but never loved. Not in a way that she wanted him to.

And yet, she had fallen for him.

A bitter smile tugged at her lips, but it wasn't enough to stop the tears from falling from her eyes. It wasn't enough to dull the ache in her chest, the sharp, gnawing feeling of knowing she would never be the one he looked at like that.

She didn't even realize she was crying until a warm hand suddenly covered her eyes, blocking her view of the gut-wrenching scene in front of her.

"Don't do this to yourself," Remus murmured.

The gentle one. The observant one. The one who probably had seen it coming before she even did.

His fingers were warm against her skin, shielding her from the image of James and Lily together, but it was too late. It had already burned into her memory, imprinted to her soul like a scar that wouldn't fade.

Y/n let out a shaky breath, but the moment Remus dropped his hand, she turned, burying her face into his chest as the first sob broke free. Remus hesitated for a second before wrapping his arms around her, holding her close, his touch careful but firm.

"It's okay," He whispered. "It's gonna be okay. I'm here."

But it wasn't okay. It was never going to be okay.

Because no matter how hard she pushed it down, not matter how hard she fought against it, she was in love with James Potter.

The night was colder than usual for summer. A chilly breeze rolled through the cobblestone streets, sending goosebumps crawling through Y/n's arms. She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets, keeping her head slightly bowed, eyes trained at the ground as she walked.

She didn't want this. She had tried every excuse she could think of to get out of walking home with James. She said she was fine. She said she had something else to do. Even Remus had stepped in, offering to take her instead, but James had simply glared at him— a sharp, uncharacteristic gleam in his hazel eyes.

Remus had exchanged a knowing glance with Y/n, one that didn't go unnoticed by James. And maybe for a second, just a fleeting moment, he felt something strange stirring in his chest. A weird, uncomfortable feeling he couldn't quite place. But he immediately shook it off before it could even linger.

So now, here they are.

James walked beside her, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He was energetic, as usual, narrating a story gleefully. He didn't even seem to notice how Y/n kept a distance, how she barely responded, how she was quieter than usual.

"—And I swear, it's the best video game I've ever played in months. You'll love it. Well, actually, you'd probably think it's a waste of time, but it's not. You should come over to my place sometime, and I'll show you."

Y/n only let out a small hum but didn't respond.

James didn't notice. Or if he did, he ignored it. He continued, his voice animated, hands gesturing now as he talked.

"And Mum and Dad got another dog. That's three now, can you believe it? A bloody zoo, our house is. But you'd love this one. He's kind of short and chubby, but in a cute way. I'll ask for his picture later, and I will send it to you."

Another hum.

James finally glanced at her, his brows furrowing slightly. His smile wavered just for a second before he plastered it back on.

"Oi, are you even listening?" He lightly nudged her.

Y/n blinked, finally snapping out of her thoughts. She put on a forced smile. "Yeah, of course. A new dog. Sounds nice."

James leaned in at her and squinted, unconvinced. His gaze flickered over hers like he was trying to read her mind.

"You sure you're alright? You've barely said anything. Is it because I didn't let Moony walk you home? Because, come on, I know he's your favorite and all, but I can be just as—"

Y/n cut him off with a small laugh. "James, come on. I'm fine, really."

"...Really?"

"Yes," Y/n let out a small huff. "How's your date with Lily, by the way?" She asked, completely diverting the topic. She tried to sound casual, light, like the words didn't burn a bitterness in her tongue.

James perked up instantly, eyes lightening at the mention of Lily's name. He ran a hand through his thick, messy curls, grinning in that boyish, lovesick way.

"Oh, it was brilliant. We went to this little cafe near her house. She loves their tea there, you know? I always thought she was more of a coffee type of person, but nah, apparently, she loves a good chamomile."

Y/n nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. "That's nice."

"And get this. She actually laughed at my joke this time. Do you know how rare that is? She never thinks I'm funny. But she laughed this time, like a genuine, real laugh."

"That's great."

James sighed dreamily. "Yeah, yeah it was."

And Y/N just nodded along, pretending like her heart wasn’t aching, like every word wasn’t a knife twisting in her chest. Pretending like it didn’t hurt to hear him talk about Lily the way she wished he’d talk about her.

She looked straight ahead, her steps steady, her expression neutral, willing herself not to break.

Because she had to be okay about it.

©kjhbsies

#james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter fanfiction #james potter angst #marauders #james potter

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stylesispunk · 9 months ago

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"Did the love affair maim you too?" | Part ii

Joel Miller xf!reader

part one | next part

chapter summary: After getting back his memories, Joel and you slipped away again.

word count: 15,3k (yes, it's longer than the first chapter)

warnings: angst, perhaps fluff, mentions of death, mentions of blood, and more angst, you will find out why Joel is mean in this chapter. I know I'm a teacher, but I didn't proofread, so I apologize for any mistake. paragraphs in italics indicate flashbacks.

a/n: Hello! The awaited part 2 of this story is here! I want to say thank you for the amount of love the previous part received, it was so nice to see all your reactions to this one! It was also my first fic reaching 1k> in less than a week and was overwhelming (positively). THIS IS NOT THE LAST PART, so stay tuned for the next! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! happy reading and PLEASE tell me what you think. 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

For a mere second of time, wanting was enough for you. In a harsh reality where a tender love couldn’t be part of the writing pages of a tragedy that had changed the plans destiny had for humanity, even a simple glimpse of a spark was enough to initiate the fire.

Finding a reason to wake up was enough. Joel was enough for you, even when it was a path with not a clear ending.

A lie.

A maim affair engulfed in fire burning your lungs.

A tragedy.

You looked up from your work as you sensed people entering at the place, your eyes meeting Joel’s for the first time. His expression was hard, his eyes narrowed as he sized you up. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you with a guarded look that made you feel like you were being evaluated.

“Can I help you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady under his intense gaze.

“She needs that looked at,” he said, his tone brusque as he gestured to Ellie’s arm.

You nodded, motioning for Ellie to sit down. As you began to clean the wound, you could feel Joel’s eyes on you, watching your every move. It was as if he was waiting for you to make a mistake, to prove that you didn’t belong there.

“So, you’re infamous nurse” Joel said after a moment, his voice still cool and distant.

You looked up from your work, meeting Joel’s eyes briefly before returning your focus to Ellie’s wound. His words hung in the air, a subtle challenge beneath the surface.

“Infamous?” you repeated, trying to keep your tone neutral. “I didn’t know I had a reputation.”

Joel shrugged, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze never leaving you. “Small town. People talk.”

You nodded, understanding that this was as much about sizing you up as it was about Ellie’s injury. You’d heard about Joel—everyone in Jackson had. He was a protector, a survivor, and not someone who trusted easily.

“I’m just here to help,” you said, keeping your voice steady as you wrapped Ellie’s arm with a bandage. “That’s all.”

Ellie, sensing the tension, glanced between the two of you, her eyes wide. “She’s okay, Joel,” she said, trying to ease the atmosphere. “It’s just a scratch.”

Joel didn’t respond to Ellie; his focus remained on you. There was something in his eyes—a guardedness, a wariness that told you he was waiting for you to prove yourself, or perhaps waiting for you to slip up.

“I’ve been in Jackson for a few days” you continued, finishing up with Ellie’s bandage. “Just trying to do my part.”

“Everyone’s got a part to play,” Joel said, his tone still clipped. “Just make sure you know yours.”

You felt the sting of his words but didn’t let it show. Instead, you nodded, stepping back as Ellie hopped off the table.

“Thanks,” Ellie said, giving you a small smile.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, managing a smile in return.

Joel pushed off the wall, his eyes still on you as he motioned for Ellie to follow him. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice softening slightly when he spoke to her.

As they walked towards the door, Joel paused for a brief moment, his hand resting on the doorknob. He turned back, his eyes meeting yours once more. There was something in his gaze, something more than just suspicion. It was as if he was searching for something in you, trying to read who you really were beneath the surface.

For a second, the hardened lines of his face softened, but just as quickly, the guarded expression returned. Without another word, he turned away and led Ellie out of the infirmary, the door closing behind them with a quiet thud.

You felt like breathing again.

By the moment you had reached your house, the sun had barely risen, casting a pale light over the quiet settlement. A few people were starting their duties as you walked with dried tears on your face, just wanting not to be perceive and being able to take a shower and follow your routine as you always used to die it since your arrival, but the ache was bigger than your wiliness and you ended up lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, the horror on Joel’s face kept replaying in your mind. The heartbreak was raw and overwhelming, making it hard to breathe, let alone face the day.

You didn’t even notice you had fallen sleep until a knock came at your door, it took a moment for you to register the sound. You dragged yourself out of bed, wiping at your newly fresh tears from your eyes and trying to compose yourself as best as you could.

Opening the door, you found Maria standing there, her expression concerned. “Hey,” she said softly, her eyes scanning your face. “Ramirez told me you didn’t show up at the infirmary this morning. Thought I’d check on you.”

You forced a weak smile, stepping aside to let her in. “Thanks, Maria. I just... fell asleep”

Maria nodded, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. She glanced around, taking in the disarray before turning back to you. “You don’t look like you’ve slept much.”

“I had a pretty good sleep” you said, voice breaking at how you so could still picturing Joel’s eyes looking at you with adoration last night “But morning came” you said, voice breaking “Joel got his memory back.”

Maria's eyes widened with concern and understanding. She moved closer, gently placing a hand on your arm. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes again. "He doesn't remember loving me, Maria. He thinks I took advantage of him. He hates me."

Maria's expression softened, and she pulled you into a comforting hug. "I can't imagine how painful that must be for you. But you didn't take advantage of him. You both shared something real, even if he doesn't remember it now."

You clung to her, "I don't know what to do. I feel so lost right now."

Maria pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "Take it one step at a time. Give yourself permission to feel what you're feeling. And remember, you have people here who care about you. You don't have to go through this alone."

You nodded, trying to find some comfort in her words. "Thanks, Maria. I just... I don't know how to face him now."

Maria squeezed your hand reassuringly. "You don't have to figure it all out today. Take some time for yourself. Maybe stay away from the infirmary for a today? give yourself a break."

You sighed, feeling lost. "Yeah, maybe that's a good idea."

Maria smiled softly. "We'll figure this out together, okay? You're stronger than you think, and you have a lot of people who care about you."

You managed a small smile. "Thanks.”

She nodded, giving you another comforting squeeze before standing up. "I'll check in on you later, alright? And if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

As she left, you felt a small sense of humiliation, as if what had just happened was just a small piece of gossip to feed a community.

You stare at the wall for a minute, getting your stuff together. If you could get over what happened before arriving to Jackson, you could follow your life. That’s what you were making yourself believe.

So, you changed into new clothes, placing Joel’s shirt under your bed to not having sight of it again. And with a deep breath you left your house, walking to de infirmary to get your job done.

A broken heart wasn’t really a big issue in an already broken world.

As you walked to the infirmary, the weight of the morning's events lingered in your chest. The usual bustle of the settlement seemed distant, like a muted backdrop to your internal turmoil. Every step felt heavy, but you kept moving, determined to focus on your responsibilities and find some semblance of normalcy.

Upon arriving at the infirmary, you were greeted by the familiar soft hum of activity. People glanced at you with curiosity, but no one asked any questions. You were grateful for their unspoken understanding, and you quickly immersed yourself in your tasks, finding solace in the routine.

Hours passed in a blur of tending to some Jackson residents, organizing supplies, and ensuring everything was in order. The work kept your mind occupied, though it couldn't completely drown out the ache in your heart.

As the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you saw Maria standing there, her expression gentle yet firm.

"Hey," she said, her voice soft but steady. "How are you holding up?"

You managed a small, tired smile. "I'm getting by. Staying busy helps."

Maria nodded, understanding in her eyes. "I'm glad you're here. I just wanted to check in and see if you needed anything."

You shook your head. "I don’t want to talk. It’s over” you said, avoiding her gaze.

She placed a reassuring hand on your arm. "I know you said you don't want to talk, but I'm here if you change your mind," she said softly. "Sometimes it helps to just let it out."

You looked at her, the pain still fresh in your eyes. "Thanks, Maria. Maybe... maybe later. I just need some time now."

She nodded, respecting your need for space. "Take all the time you need. Just remember, we're here for you."

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, a bit of rage simmered.

“You all were the ones who told me to go for it. You told me Joel was in love for me and him recovering his memory wouldn’t break what was there, but this morning he treated me like a whore and broke my heart.”

Maria's eyes filled with sympathy and regret. "I know, and I'm so sorry for what you're going through. We all believed it would be different. Joel... he's complicated. The things he's been through have left deep scars. But that doesn't excuse how he treated you."

You took a shaky breath, the pain still fresh and raw. "I just don't understand how it could change so quickly. One moment, we were so happy, and the next... he hates me."

Maria reached out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. "Joel's been through a lot, and sometimes people lash out when they're scared or confused. But that doesn't make it any easier for you. You deserve better than that."

You nodded, tears welling up again. "I just wanted to be happy. I thought we could be happy together."

Maria's grip tightened slightly, a gesture of support. "You will be happy again. It might not feel like it now, but you will. You're strong, and you have people who care about you. We'll get through this together."

Maria gave your arm one last reassuring squeeze before stepping back. You watched her leave, feeling of sorrow. The pain was still there, but you knew it would take time, but you also knew you wouldn't have to face it alone.

Later that evening, the emotional turmoil still roiling within you, you decided to head to the bar. You hoped the familiar atmosphere and a drink might help numb the pain, even if just for a little while. As you pushed open the door, the hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses filled the air, a stark contrast to the quiet despair you felt inside.

You made your way to the bar, trying to avoid looking around too much, but it was impossible not to notice Joel sitting at a table in the corner. His arm was wrapped around Lori, and they were laughing together, looking every bit like a happy couple. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut, the wound from the morning’s confrontation ripping open all over again.

Taking a deep breath, you walked up to the bar and ordered a drink, trying to keep your hands from shaking as you waited, Rick, the bartender, sensing your mood offered a small smile.

“What’s wrong with your face, darling?” he asked, concerned on his eyes.

You graced him with a small, tired smile at the question. “Just a rough day,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded understandingly, setting your drink in front of you. “Well, here’s something to help take the edge off. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” you said, taking a sip of the drink. The warmth of the alcohol spread through you, momentarily dulling the pain.

As you sat there, trying to lose yourself in the comforting anonymity of the bar, you couldn’t help but glance back at Joel and Lori. Their laughter and closeness were a stark contrast to the emptiness you felt. You turned away quickly, not wanting to see any more.

“Is it Joel?” Rick asked gently, his voice cutting through your thoughts.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down.

He sighed sympathetically, shaking his head. “Love can be a real mess sometimes.”

You chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

The bartender gave you a knowing look. “It’ll get better, you know. It might not seem like it now, but time has a way of healing these things.”

You took another sip of your drink, hoping he was right. “I hope so.”

“If you need anything, just ask me, okay?” he said, smiling at you before going back to his task.

You took another sip of your drink, hoping he was right. “I hope so.”

You nodded, trying to muster a smile in return. As the Rick moved away, you felt the weight of the day pressing down on you again. Lost in thought, you barely noticed the person sitting next to you until you felt their presence.

Turning slightly, you saw Joel, his expression unreadable. Your heart skipped a beat, a mix of emotions surging through you, all the pain, anger, and a lingering trace of love.

Perhaps he was here to apologize.

Joel cleared his throat, looking almost as uncomfortable as you felt. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty.

You stared at him, trying to gauge his intentions. “Hey,” you replied, your voice strained.

Joel shifted in his seat, glancing at the drink in front of you. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to say much more. The sight of him so close, the contrast memories of his tender touch last night and the harsh words from the morning still fresh, made it hard to breathe.

He took a deep breath, his eyes finally meeting yours. “Look, about this morning…I was asking myself if I should let my door open tonight for you to come in the lure or something?”

The laugh he made after that cracked your already broken heart. The sound was harsh, cruel, and it cut through you like a knife. Your eyes widened in disbelief, and you felt your entire body tense.

“You think this is funny?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with hurt and anger. “You think what happened between us is something to joke about?”

Joel’s laughter died on his lips as he saw the hurt and anger in your eyes. “I- “

“What did you mean? you interrupted, your voice rising despite your efforts to keep it steady. “Because it sure as hell feels like you’re entertaining yourself by making jokes right now.”

Joel's face twisted into a bitter expression. “What do you expect me to say? That I suddenly remember everything and I'm head over heels for you? Life doesn't work that way, princess”

Your heart sank further, the cruelty of his words stinging more than you wanted “You don’t have to be cruel to be funny, Joel. You could at least try to understand what I’m going through.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms defensively. “Understand what? That you’re upset because you tried to rewrite a history that doesn’t exist between us? I’m sorry, but I can’t change how I feel—or don’t feel.”

You shook your head, feeling an anger bubbling within you. “You don’t get it.” You said, simply. Taking a seat on the stool, again.

Joel’s expression hardened. “You’re too busy living in a fantasy to see that whatever you think happened between us is over. I don’t remember it, and I don’t care to. Move on.”

You looked at him, fighting the tears. “I will move on from you. You’re not that important.” You looked towards the direction he had come from, not breaking the façade. You immediately spotted Lori who seemed amused at Joels treating you badly. “Go back to your woman, Miller”

Joel’s jaw tightened at your words, and he leaned in closer, his voice low and laced with anger. “You know what? I will. At least she knows where we stand. Unlike you, clinging to some fantasy that never existed.”

Your vision blurred with anger and hurt as you stared at him. “You really think you’re better than me.”

He smirked, a cruel glint in his eyes. “I’m done with your drama.”

The words hit you like a slap, and before you could stop yourself, you balled your hand into a fist and swung at him. The punch landed squarely on his jaw, causing him to stagger back, a look of shock and pain flashing across his face.

The bar fell silent as everyone turned to witness the commotion. Joel touched his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you, anger and something else—something more vulnerable—flickering in his gaze.

“Don’t you ever talk to me like that again” you spat, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. “You are the worst mistake I’ve done here.”

Joel's eyes blazed with a mix of anger and shock, but he didn’t say anything. You could see his jaw clenching, and the vulnerability in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, hardened look. The silence in the bar was deafening, every eye on you.

You didn’t wait for his response. You turned on your heel and marched towards the door, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of your emotions threatened to overwhelm you, but you refused to let Joel see you break down.

As you pushed the door open, the cool night air hit your face, offering a small respite from the intensity of the bar. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the tears you had been holding back finally spilled over. You wiped them away angrily, not wanting to show any more weakness.

As you stormed out into the night, the tears mingling with the cool air, you heard the door swing open behind you. Heavy footsteps quickly followed, and you knew who it was before you even turned around.

"Hey," Tommy called out, his voice filled with concern. "Wait up."

You spun around to face him, your anger and hurt bubbling over. "What do you want, Tommy?" you snapped, your voice trembling with emotion. "Did you come to see the fallout of your brother's words?"

Tommy stopped a few feet away, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I came to check on you," he said softly. "I saw what happened in there. Are you okay?"

You laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and broken. "Do I look okay to you, Tommy? Your brother just ripped my dignity there?”

Tommy's eyes were filled with sympathy. "I know Joel can be a real asshole sometimes. But he's just confused. This whole memory thing has messed with his head."

You shook your head, the tears streaming down your face. "No, Tommy. This isn't his memory. He doesn't care about me. He never did. He never will”

Tommy took a step closer, his expression pained. "That's not true. I know my brother, and I know he cared about you. He's just scared. He doesn't know how to handle this."

You scoffed, the anger boiling over. “Care about me?” you laughed. “He was just dumfounded. What you saw inside is the real him.”

Tommy's face twisted with concern, his eyes pleading for you to understand. “Look, I know it seems like that right now, but Joel’s been through a lot. This memory thing has him all messed up.”

You shook your head, your voice trembling. “No, Tommy. You didn’t hear the things he said. He thinks I took advantage of him. He doesn’t remember any of the good times, any of the moments we shared. He just sees me as some... some opportunist.”

Tommy sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know what to say. Joel’s always been stubborn, and this whole situation is making it worse. But you’re not alone in this. We all care about you.”

“Caring about me doesn't fix what he did," you said, your voice breaking. "He treated me like I was nothing.”

“I get it. I really do,” Tommy replied, his voice softening. “Just... give it time. Maybe things will get clearer.”

“Time won’t change what he said. It won’t change how he made me feel,” you replied, the bitterness in your voice evident.

Tommy opened his mouth to speak but then closed it, realizing there were no words that could ease your pain. He took a step back, giving you space. “I’m here if you need me. Just remember that.”

“I don’t need the baby miller protecting me.” You spoke. “From now on, I’m just the nurse and if you need me patrolling, I don’t want Joel near me.”

Tommy's face fell slightly, but he nodded, understanding the gravity of your words. "Alright. I'll make sure to arrange things so you don't have to cross paths with him."

You could see the concern in his eyes, but you didn't have the energy to address it. "Thank you," you said, your voice hollow. "I need to be alone now."

Tommy hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Take care of yourself, alright?" He turned and walked back towards the bar, leaving you standing alone in the quiet night.

As you watched him go, you felt a mixture of relief and sadness. The night air was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to find some semblance of comfort.

Turning away from the bar, you started walking, not sure where you were heading but knowing you needed to move. Each step felt heavy, but you forced yourself to keep going. You would find a way to heal, even if it felt impossible right now.

One step at a time, you told yourself again. One step at a time.

Week one.

You had promised yourself to not having. And Joel had had started to have punctuating headaches.

When he arrived, he noticed another guy standing where you used to be. The unfamiliar face caught him off guard, and a sense of unease settled in his stomach.

"Where's the nurse?" Joel asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

The new guy, a young man with sandy hair and a nervous demeanor, looked up from his preparations. "She asked to be reassigned. Said she didn't want to do patrols anymore."

Joel's heart sank. "Did she say why?"

Before the guy could answer, Tommy walked over, overhearing the conversation. "I'll take it from here," Tommy said, looking at the new guy, who nodded and walked away.

Joel turned to Tommy, his expression a mix of confusion and worry. "What's going on, Tommy? Why'd she ask to be reassigned?"

Tommy sighed, crossing his arms. "She didn't want to be around you, Joel.”

Joel felt a pang of guilt and frustration. "I didn't mean for things to get this bad. I was just... I was trying to deal with everything, I think I handled it wrong."

Tommy nodded. "Yeah, you did. And now she’s moving on as you asked her to.”

Joel's chest tightened at Tommy's words. "I didn't think she'd actually was…I- I thought she’d... I don’t know, understand.”

"Understand what, Joel?" Tommy asked, his tone sharper than usual. "That you were scared and hurt, so you took it out on her? You made your bed, now you’ve gotta lie in it."

Joel ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his mistakes. “Okay what’s so wrong? Since when she is in love with me?”

“Did you know she was the one who brought you back here when you feel and hit your head so hard you forgot about her? Or about all this past year?” Tommy said exasperated, “She was there for you every single day and man, she was scared of letting you in because she knew all this was going to happen.”

Joel's mind reeled as Tommy's words sank in. "She brought me back?" he echoed, a wave of guilt washing over him.

"Yeah," Tommy said, his voice heavy with frustration. "She did everything for you. Every single day. And you just pushed her away like she meant nothing."

Joel felt his heart constrict. He had been so consumed by his own confusion and pain that he hadn’t stopped to consider what she had gone through. "I didn't know. I didn't remember."

"That’s the point, Joel. You didn't remember, and instead of trying to understand, you lashed out at her."

Joel nodded slowly, trying to absorb the pieces of new information.

"You can't just fix this with a few words, Joel.” Tommy added, as if he had just read his brother’s mine. “She had gone through much already.”

“What do you mean by that?” Joel asked, concern came from nowhere.

Tommy sighed deeply, looking away for a moment before meeting Joel's gaze again. "She went through hell before she even got here, Joel.”

Tommy’s words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken pain. Joel's brow furrowed as he tried to grasp what his brother was saying.

"What do you mean?" Joel asked, his voice low and hesitant, the concern now unmistakable.

Tommy looked at him for a long moment, as if debating whether to reveal something he wasn’t sure Joel was ready to hear. Finally, he sighed, his expression softening with a mix of empathy and frustration.

"She was on her own for a long time before she found Jackson," Tommy began, his tone measured. "Lost her family, everyone she ever cared about. Saw things that would break most people. But she survived. She made it here, and despite everything, she decided to stay and help us. She didn’t have to, but she did. And when you came back hurt and lost, she put everything into helping you, even though she knew it was a risk."

Joel felt a lump forming in his throat as Tommy spoke. He had been so wrapped up in his own struggles that he hadn’t seen the depth of what she had endured.

"And you," Tommy continued, his voice thick with emotion, "you were her last straw, Joel. She let her guard down for you, and you crushed her.

Joel’s heart ached at Tommy’s words. He felt the sting of regret deep in his chest, knowing that he had only added to her pain.

"Tommy, I..." Joel started, but the words failed him. What could he say that would make any of this right?

"You need to understand something, Joel," Tommy said, his voice firm but not unkind. "She’s not just some woman who’s here to patch us up and send us on our way. She’s a survivor, just like us. And she deserves a hell of a lot better than what you gave her."

Joel nodded, feeling the full weight of his actions pressing down on him. He realized now just how much he had taken for granted, how much he had failed to see.

That same afternoon, the weight of his guilt and determination pressing heavily on his chest, Joel made his way to the infirmary. He had rehearsed what he would say a hundred times in his head, but the closer he got, the more uncertain he felt. He needed to talk to you, to apologize, to start making things right.

When he arrived, he hesitated at the door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open. The familiar smell of antiseptic and the soft hum of activity greeted him as he stepped inside.

You were at the far end of the room, organizing supplies and preparing to leave for the day. Your back was turned to him, and for a moment, he just stood there, unsure of how to start. But then you sensed his presence and turned around, your eyes meeting his.

For a brief second, something flickered in your gaze—recognition, maybe even surprise—but it was quickly replaced by a cold, distant expression.

"Hey," Joel said, his voice sounding more tentative than he intended.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you continued with what you were doing, organizing a stack of medical supplies. It was clear you were trying to keep busy, to avoid engaging with him.

"Can we talk?" Joel asked, taking a cautious step closer.

You paused, your hands stilling for a moment before you turned to face him fully. Your expression was unreadable, your eyes guarded. "I'm busy, Joel," you said, your tone clipped and distant.

Joel felt a pang in his chest at your coldness, but he knew he deserved it. "I know. I just... I wanted to apologize. For everything. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry."

You looked at him for a long moment, your expression hard. "I don’t need your apologies," you replied, your voice steady but laced with an edge of bitterness. "What’s done is done."

Joel swallowed, feeling the sting of your words. "I understand that, but I still want to make things right. I want to try."

You shook your head, a small, bitter smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "You can’t just fix this with a few words, Joel. You made it clear how you felt. I was so pathetic for seeking tender love in a world like this, and I was so pathetic for accepting it from you."

Joel flinched at your words, the harsh truth of them cutting deep. He opened his mouth to respond, to say something—anything—that might reach you, but you were already moving past him, grabbing your coat and heading for the door.

"Wait," he said, reaching out to stop you, but you brushed past him without a second glance.

"I’m done with this conversation, Joel," you said over your shoulder, your voice cold and final. "If you have something to say, save it for someone who cares or maybe for when you fuck Lori.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move, his heart pounding in his chest as he replayed the conversation in his head. The way you looked at him—so detached, so unlike the sweet person you were—shattered any remaining hope he had of mending things between you. Joel clenched his fists frustration welling up inside him.

And with that, you were gone, leaving Joel standing in the infirmary, the empty room echoing with the silence of everything left unsaid.

Week two.

The distance between you and Joel grew even wider. You kept yourself busy with your duties at the infirmary, throwing yourself into work to avoid thinking about him. Jackson was large enough that it wasn’t hard to avoid each other, especially since you made a point to steer clear of any places where you might run into him.

Joel, on the other hand, wasn’t faring as well. The days felt like they were dragging on, each one heavier than the last. The guilt and the lingering regret of how things had ended between you, was starting to take a toll on him. He found it harder to concentrate on anything, his mind constantly wandering back to you, replaying your last conversation over and over again.

Things hadn’t started bad between the both of you. There was a time, not too long ago, when things between you and Joel had been different—better. When you first arrived in Jackson. He was wary, of course, just as everyone. People with big walls up for protecting the same from the dangers from the outside.

Initially, he had kept his distance, observing you with a cautious eye. But as days turned into weeks, something shifted. You’d taken on the role of a nurse with a quiet determination, and your compassion and dedication gradually began to break through the walls Joel had built around himself.

There was one particular evening when you both found yourselves at a small community gathering. It was one of those special moments for people to unwind and reconnect. Joel, usually reserved and gruff, had shown up with Ellie in tow, and you were surprised to find him engaging in casual conversation, a rare sight indeed.

You and Joel had ended up chatting while sitting around a makeshift bonfire. The conversation had started with practical matters—how best to handle a certain type of injury or a recommendation for new supplies—but soon it evolved into more personal topics. Joel had shared stories from his past life, and you found yourself opening up about your own one.

The old versions of two people trapped in the endless tragedy

The atmosphere was relaxed, and for the first time, you saw a different side of Joel.

Joel was seated across from you, a relaxed look on his face that you rarely saw. His eyes, usually so guarded, were softer tonight. Ellie was nearby, occupied with a makeshift game she’d crafted from scavenged materials.

“So, you actually went through all that trouble for a single, mediocre meal?” you asked, chuckling at Joel’s tale of a particularly botched cooking attempt.

Joel grinned, a rare and genuine smile that lit up his face. “You’d be surprised what we went through to get even a half-decent meal back then. We were pretty desperate.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I can’t imagine. I’m just grateful for what we’ve got now, even if it’s not gourmet.”

Joel nodded in agreement. “Yeah, things are better here. A lot better than they were.”

There was a comfortable silence between you, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire. You glanced at Joel, noticing how his eyes softened as he spoke. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice to have someone who understands what it’s like out there.”

Joel met your gaze, his expression sincere. “And I’m glad you’re here too. You’ve done a lot for everyone. For Ellie, especially.”

For Joel, dealing with all of this started to become unbearable the moment migraines hit. They had started as a dull ache, a constant pressure in his head that he could push through if he focused hard enough. But as the days went on, the pain intensified, becoming sharp and unrelenting. The pounding in his skull would come in waves, leaving him dizzy and disoriented. He tried to hide it at first, not wanting anyone to see him weak, but it wasn’t long before people began to notice.

He’d find himself gripping the edges of tables or leaning against walls to steady himself, his vision blurring as the pain surged through him. He hadn’t had migraines like this in years, not since the early days when the world had first gone to hell. But these were different, more intense, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were somehow connected to something else.

Maybe someone, his thoughts screamed.

Tommy noticed too, of course. He had been keeping a close eye on his brother ever since the confrontation in the infirmary, and it didn’t take long for him to realize that something was wrong.

Joel had just returned from patrol; his face pale and his movements unsteady. As he walked through the door of the house, he winced, his hand pressing against his temple. The migraine had hit him hard, and he was struggling to keep it together.

Tommy was already in the kitchen, grabbing a drink when he noticed Joel’s distress. He set the cup down, crossing the room quickly. “You okay, Joel?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Joel tried to force a casual shrug, but the pain in his head made it difficult. “Yeah, just—” He hesitated, trying to find a plausible excuse. “—just got a bit of a headache. My new patrol partner’s been causing me more stress than usual. You know how it is.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Your new partner? We’ve only had him for a few days. Doesn’t seem like he’d cause this much trouble.”

Joel rubbed his temples more vigorously, trying to stave off the waves of pain. “It’s been rougher than I expected, okay? Just one of those days.”

Tommy didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push the issue further. “Alright, if you say so. But if this keeps up, you should get it checked out. Don’t let it go too long.”

Joel nodded, grateful for Tommy’s concern but unwilling to admit the full extent of his struggle. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just need to rest.”

Joel couldn’t even convince himself. He just didn’t find strength to face you.

That evening, the bar was lively, filled with the hum of conversation and laughter. Joel sat at a corner table with Lori, Tommy, and Maria. He was trying to focus on the conversation, but the throbbing pain in his head made it difficult. Lori, noticing his discomfort, kept a concerned eye on him, occasionally reaching out to touch his arm reassuringly.

As you walked in, the bar’s ambient noise seemed to momentarily quieten, and Joel’s gaze instinctively shifted toward you. You moved with purpose, but your demeanor was cold and distant. Tommy and Maria spotted you first and greeted you warmly.

“Hey, it’s good to see you,” Tommy said, waving you over.

Maria offered a friendly smile. “Yeah, come join us.”

You returned their greetings with a nod, but when your eyes met Joel’s, you turned your attention elsewhere, ignoring him completely. Joel shifted in his seat, trying to hide his discomfort, but the strain was visible in the tense lines of his face.

Lori noticed the awkwardness and frowned. “You could at least hide you jealously and stop being a mean bitch” she said to you, loud enough for everyone around to shut.

The bar’s noise seemed to drop as Lori's words cut through the air. You felt every eye on you as the tension escalated.

You turned to Lori, your face hardening. “I’m not here to entertain you or play nice.”

Lori’s face flushed with anger. “Well, if you can’t be civil, then maybe you shouldn’t be here at all.”

Joel, trying to defuse the situation, interjected, “Lori, that’s enough.” His voice was strained, both from the growing migraine and the emotional weight of the confrontation. “We don’t need to make this any worse.”

“No! I’m tired of this bitch being a pain to us just because you don’t love her back” she continued, calling you out.

Joel’s face tightened with a mix of frustration and pain. “Lori, seriously, stop. This isn’t helping anyone.”

You stood tall, your voice icy as you spoke. “I don’t need a lecture from you or anyone else. I’ve been nothing but professional, and this—” you gestured between yourself and Joel, “—is a personal matter. I’m done being the target of everyone’s frustration.”

Joel’s gaze wavered, his eyes reflecting the hurt from your words. “You don’t have to be like this.”

“No,” you snapped, “I don’t have to be here at all. If you want to know why I’m acting this way, it’s because I don’t want to be around someone who can’t see my worth.” Your voice cracked with emotion. “You can keep Joel. I don’t want a man who can’t appreciate me.”

You sighed, taking a deep breath. “I’m so done with all your pity because the man I’m in love with doesn’t remember loving me. But life moves on, and so do I. I’m done being the center of anyone’s misplaced sympathy.” You sighed a little, embarrassment creeping up your body “I’m just- I want you all to stop talking about me as if I’m a broken little girl, please.”

With a final, resolute glance at the group and the rest of people inside, you turned and walked out of the bar. The door swung shut behind you, the muffled noise of the bar fading as you stepped into the night.

Joel froze there, the harsh sting of your words lingering.

The man I’m in love with.

Why did you even love him?

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest as he processed your words. The sting of your rejection mixed with the searing pain in his head, making it hard to think clearly. He stood frozen for a moment, watching you leave, his mind racing with regret and confusion.

After a few seconds, he shook himself out of his daze. He could feel Lori’s eyes on him, her frustration still palpable. Ignoring her, Joel pushed himself up from the barstool, his movements tense and hurried.

“Sorry, I need to go,” he muttered, his voice rough and distant. He didn’t wait for a response and headed for the door. As he stepped outside, the cool night air hit him, offering a brief reprieve from the oppressive atmosphere of the bar.

Joel saw you standing just outside the bar, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. The cool night air seemed to accentuate the solitude you radiated, and the flickering streetlight cast uneven shadows over your face. Joel’s heart ached as he approached, the intensity of his migraine fading into the background compared to the weight of his regret.

He stopped a few feet away, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "Hey," he said, his voice rough but gentle. "I didn't mean to... to make things worse tonight."

You looked up, your eyes meeting his. They were red-rimmed, a sign of the emotional toll the evening had taken. "What do you want, Joel?" Your voice was quiet but edged with defiance.

Joel shifted uncomfortably, the words coming out in a rush. "I know I screwed up. I know I can’t undo what’s been done. But I want you to know that I’m sorry. I was a damn fool, and I didn’t see how much you were hurting."

You shook your head, looking away. "It’s too late for apologies. You made your choices."

“I know,” Joel admitted, his voice heavy with sorrow.

“Go back inside to your woman” you said, voice steady yet the truth of the words cut your throat.

Joel looked at you, his eyes filled with an aching with regret and yearning. He could feel the pounding in his head lessen, as if your presence, though tense and fraught with pain, was soothing the storm within him.

He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "I don't want to go back inside. I came out here to talk to you. I need to explain—"

You cut him off, your voice colder now. "I don’t want explanations, Joel. I want you to be honest with yourself and with me."

Joel's expression faltered, his usual resolve wavering under the weight of his migraine and the emotional strain. "I don't know what to say," he admitted quietly. "Every time I try to make things right, I just seem to make it worse."

"Look," Joel said, taking a step closer, though he kept a respectful distance. "I know I can’t fix everything right now, and I know I’ve hurt you more than I ever intended. But if there's any chance at all to mend things, I want to try. I need to try."

You glanced at him, feeling the strange mix of emotions. His presence, his apology, even his struggle, created a confusing pull. You nodded, not trusting your voice.

"Just... take things slow," you said finally, your voice softening slightly. "Show me, don’t just tell me."

You gave him one last, lingering look before turning away, the night air feeling strangely lighter as you walked back toward your house. Joel watched you go, a fragile sense of relief mingled with the lingering weight of his migraine.

Joel nodded, his heart aching.

Week three

The situation between you and Joel remained tense and unresolved. Despite the brief moment outside the bar, there was still an emotional chasm between you two. Meanwhile, Joel's migraines continued to worsen, each one more debilitating than the last. The pain had become a constant companion, gnawing at him, making it difficult to focus on anything else.

Tommy had been watching his brother closely, his concern growing with each passing day. He had noticed how Joel winced at the slightest noise, how he gripped the edges of tables to steady himself, and how he often retreated to dark corners to try and alleviate the pain. Tommy knew something had to give, and he wasn't sure how much longer Joel could keep this up, especially with patrols still on the agenda.

During the morning, as the patrol assignments were being handed out, Tommy pulled Joel aside. “You sure you’re up for this?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “These migraines… they’re getting worse, Joel.”

Joel nodded, though the movement sent a sharp pain through his temples. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered, not wanting to admit how bad things had really gotten. “Just need to keep moving, keep my mind off it.”

Tommy sighed, not entirely convinced. “Alright, but I’m pairing you up with someone who won’t hesitate to call for backup if things go south.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, wondering who Tommy had in mind. His answer came when you walked into the room, your expression unreadable as you glanced at Tommy, then at Joel.

“You’re on patrol with Joel today,” Tommy said, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. “Consider it part of the consequences for that little outburst at the bar the other night.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but then closed it, seemingly deciding against saying anything. Instead, you simply nodded, surprising both Tommy and Joel.

Due to your situation with Joel, you would have argued, pushed back, but you didn’t. Whether it was out of a sense of duty, or because you had your own reasons for going along with the assignment, neither man could tell.

Joel looked at you, his expression hard to read. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew that this patrol was going to be anything but ordinary. The tension between you two was palpable, and the fact that you hadn’t fought the assignment left him uneasy.

As the two of you geared up and headed out, the silence between you was thick, neither of you willing to break it first. The path ahead was familiar, but the atmosphere was charged with unresolved emotions and the weight of things left unsaid.

As you and Joel prepared to head out for patrol, Tommy pulled you aside, his expression serious. “Listen, I know things are tense between you two, but if Joel starts feeling bad, you come back immediately. No heroics, no pushing through it. Understood?”

You nodded, not meeting Tommy’s eyes. “Understood,” you replied, your tone neutral. The truth was, you didn’t know how you felt about being on patrol with Joel, but you weren’t going to argue with Tommy’s orders.

Tommy looked at you for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but he held back. Instead, he just gave you a small nod before turning back to Joel, who was adjusting his gear a few feet away.

Joel caught Tommy’s eye, and there was a silent exchange between the brothers—Tommy’s concern evident, and Joel’s stubborn determination clear.

Once outside the gates, the silence stretched between you and Joel, heavy and uncomfortable. The forest around you was quiet, the only sound was the crunch of your boots on the dirt path. You kept your eyes ahead, focused on the task at hand, but you couldn’t help but be aware of Joel’s presence beside you.

As you walked, you noticed something strange. Joel, who had been rubbing his temples and wincing in pain earlier, seemed to be a bit more at ease. The tight lines of pain on his face had softened, and he wasn’t clutching his head like he usually did.

You didn’t want to think too much about it, but you couldn’t help but wonder if your presence had something to do with it.

Joel, too, was aware of the change. He had been bracing himself for another wave of pain, expecting the migraine to hit hard as it had been for days now. But instead, he felt… better. The pain was still there, lurking in the background, but it was muted, manageable. And the only thing that had changed was that you were with him.

As you continued walking, the strange shift in the atmosphere didn’t go unnoticed. Joel glanced at you every now and then, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he was trying to figure out what had changed. You kept your focus straight ahead, but the weight of the unspoken tension between you two was hard to ignore.

After a while, you slowed down and finally came to a stop, gesturing for Joel to halt as well. Without saying anything, you walked over to your horse and untied a small bouquet of flowers that had been carefully wrapped and secured to the saddle.

Joel watched, puzzled, as you held the bouquet tightly in your hand. "Just... just wait for me here for a bit," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. There was a softness to your tone that caught Joel off guard, and he nodded, sensing that whatever you were about to do was important.

You walked a short distance off the path, through the dense trees and underbrush, until you reached a small clearing. The air was still, and the only sound was the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.

Joel stayed where he was, leaning against his horse, but his eyes followed you, curiosity and concern mingling in his expression.

In the clearing, you knelt down beside a small, unmarked grave, the earth slightly raised from where you had buried your boyfriend two years ago.

You placed the bouquet gently on the grave, your fingers lingering for a moment on the petals. Your heart ached with the familiar pang of loss, the pain of carrying love for someone who was no longer here. It was a pain you had learned to carry with you, but it never really went away.

As you knelt there, a few silent tears slipped down your cheeks, and you quickly wiped them away. This was a private moment, one you hadn’t shared with anyone, not even Joel. He had no idea about the depth of your loss, about the man you had loved and lost before arriving in Jackson.

When you finally stood up and turned back toward the path, Joel was still waiting, his expression unreadable. You walked back to him in silence, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice soft as his eyes studied your expression.

You didn’t answer right away, your fingers brushing lightly against your jacket. Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "This is where I buried him. My fiancé."

Joel’s heart sank as he remembered the voice of Tommy telling him some things he didn’t even remember about you. And now seeing you here, in this quiet, sacred place, made the weight of your grief all the more real.

"I didn’t know," Joel said, his voice laced with regret. He felt a pang of guilt for not being there for you when you had gone through this, for not understanding just how much you had carried with you all this time. "I’m sorry."

You nodded slowly, still staring at the grave. "It’s been a long time since I’ve come here. I didn’t think I’d be able to handle it, but… I guess I needed to say goodbye again. Properly."

Joel stepped closer, his presence a comforting warmth at your side. He didn’t know what to say, but he knew he needed to be there, to offer whatever solace he could.

"He was a good man," you continued, your voice stronger now. "He was kind, patient, everything I could have asked for. But this world… it takes everything good and leaves you with nothing but memories."

Joel clenched his jaw, feeling the familiar ache of loss that never truly went away. He knew all too well the pain of losing someone you loved, the emptiness that followed, the way it changed you forever.

"He deserved better," you said, your voice cracking slightly. "He deserved a future, a life. But instead… he got this."

Joel rested his hand gently on your shoulder. "I’m sorry," he repeated, the words feeling inadequate but all he could offer.

But instead of finding solace in his touch, you flinched, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. The grief, the anger, the overwhelming sense of loss—it all came flooding back, and you couldn’t handle it, not right now.

“Don’t touch me, okay?” you said, your voice trembling as you pulled away from him, putting a small but significant distance between you. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you needed space, needed to breathe without feeling like you were suffocating under the weight of your emotions.

Joel froze, his hand lingering in the air for a moment before he slowly lowered it, the rejection hitting him harder than he expected. He swallowed, trying to push down the rising tide of guilt and pain that your words had stirred up.

“Okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew better than to push, knew that you needed time to process everything on your own. But it didn’t stop the sting of your words from cutting deep, reminding him of all the ways he had failed before, all the ways he had let the people he cared about slip through his fingers.

“Peter was the only man who deserved my love,” you said, your voice laced with a mix of bitterness and sorrow. The truth of it stung, cutting through the air like a blade. You didn’t mean to be cruel, but the words slipped out before you could stop them, a reflection of the turmoil swirling inside you.

Joel swallowed hard, the hurt in his eyes evident as he processed what you had just said. He knew you were grieving, that you were speaking from a place of pain, but it didn’t make the words any easier to hear. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond, his mind reeling from the sudden shift between you.

“I get it,” he finally said, his voice tight with emotion. “You loved him. And he was… he was a good man. Better than me.”

He looked away, unable to meet your gaze, feeling the weight of his own inadequacies bearing down on him.

“Yes, he was” you said without a doubt. “And that killed him.”

Joel’s heart clenched at your words, the blunt truth of them landing like a blow. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, the weight of your statement pressing down on him. The silence between you grew thicker, charged with the grief and anger that neither of you could fully express.

“He and I had a kid” you confessed, you heart clenched at the memory of that little boy you took care of for five years of your life.

Joel’s head snapped up at your confession, his eyes widening in shock. The weight of what you had just revealed hit him hard, leaving him momentarily speechless.

“He and I… we had a kid,” you repeated, your voice trembling as you forced the words out. Your heart ached at the memory of the little boy you had taken care of, loved, for five years of your life. The pain of losing him, of losing the family you had built, was still fresh, a wound that hadn’t even begun to heal.

Joel’s expression softened, the anger and frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface giving way to something deeper—compassion, understanding, and an overwhelming sense of sorrow for everything you had lost. He could see the pain etched into your features, the way your shoulders slumped under the weight of your grief, and it broke something inside him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He didn’t know what else to say.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you quickly wiped them away, not wanting to break down in front of him. “His name was Sam,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “He was just a baby when we found him, abandoned… we took him in, raised him as our own. And then, one day” you sobbed, “They killed him…Those fucking soldiers killed him.”

“Peter and I had planned on how leaving all behind, he had hear about Jackson from a friend, and then he trusted the wrong people.”

Joel’s breath caught in his throat as he listened to you, the horror and anguish in your voice cutting through him like a knife. He could see the pain etched deeply into your features, the way your body trembled with the force of your grief. The image of what you had endured—losing not just your partner but the child you had raised together, taken away in such a cruel and senseless way—was almost too much to bear.

“They killed him,” you repeated, your voice thick with emotion as tears streamed down your face. “They took everything from me… from us. We just wanted to be safe, to give him a life that meant something. But those soldiers… they didn’t care. They saw us as a threat, as nothing more than collateral damage.”

Joel’s fists clenched at his sides, anger surging through him at the thought of what had been done to you and your family. He knew the kind of world you were living in, where trust was a dangerous thing, and hope could be ripped away in an instant. But knowing it didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“I’m so sorry,” Joel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He wanted to say more, to find the right words to ease your pain, but everything felt inadequate in the face of such a profound loss.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as you continued. “Peter and I… we had it all planned out. We were going to leave everything behind, start over in Jackson. He had heard about it from a friend, and it seemed like the only chance we had. But… he trusted the wrong people.”

Your voice broke again, the sobs coming harder now as you relived the nightmare. “They promised us safe passage, said they’d get us out. But it was a trap. They turned us over to the soldiers, and Sam… he didn’t stand a chance. He was just a little boy. He didn’t even know what was happening…”

Joel felt a lump in his throat, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him as he watched you unravel before him.

Without thinking, Joel stepped closer, pulling you into his arms and holding you tightly against him. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to offer empty words of consolation. He just held you, letting you cry against his chest, his hand gently stroking your back in an attempt to soothe you.

The world had gone eerily quiet after the gunfire ceased, the only sounds left were your ragged breaths and the distant cries of crows circling overhead. You could still feel the heat from Peter’s body fading beneath your hands, his blood soaking into the earth beneath him. The image of his lifeless eyes, staring blankly up at the sky, was seared into your mind, a horrific reminder that he was gone, that the man you loved, the father of your child, was never coming back.

You had been too stunned to cry, too numb to feel anything beyond the cold realization that you were alone.

Hours seemed to pass in a blur before you finally forced yourself to move. You couldn’t stay there, not with Peter’s body cooling beside you, not with the knowledge that those men might come back to finish what they started. So, you rose on shaky legs, your heart pounding in your chest, and stumbled away from the scene of the massacre, your mind numb as you left him behind.

The sun had begun to set by the time you found the old cabin, hidden deep within the woods. It was small, decrepit, with broken windows and a door that hung askew on its hinges, but it was shelter, and that was all that mattered. You pushed open the door and stepped inside, the musty smell of decay filling your nostrils as you surveyed the dark, empty space.

It felt wrong to be alive, to still be breathing when Peter wasn’t, when Sam wasn’t. But survival was instinctual, and something inside you kept pushing you forward, kept you searching for a way to stay alive, even when all you wanted was to curl up and disappear.

You sank to the floor, your back pressed against the rough wooden wall as the tears finally began to fall. They came slowly at first, like a trickle, but soon they turned into gut-wrenching sobs that echoed through the empty cabin. You clutched your knees to your chest, rocking back and forth as the storm outside began to roll in.

The wind picked up, howling through the trees and rattling the cabin’s fragile walls. Rain began to pour in heavy sheets, drumming against the roof and leaking through the cracks, pooling on the floor around you. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark interior in brief, blinding bursts, and the thunder that followed was so loud it shook the very foundation of the cabin.

You were alone for the first time in years, truly, devastatingly alone. The weight of that realization crushed you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think of anything other than the emptiness that stretched out before you. The storm outside mirrored the chaos inside you, the violence of it a reflection of the torment that raged in your heart.

Maria and a group of people found you two days later

And you had become terrified of storms ever since.

You stiffened in Joel’s arms, the overwhelming flood of emotions too much. You couldn’t let yourself be comforted, couldn’t let someone else get close, not after everything you’d lost. The fear of opening up, of allowing yourself to be vulnerable again, was suffocating.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you stepped back, pulling away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

Joel’s arms fell to his sides, the rejection clear in his eyes as he took a step back, giving you the space you needed. The hurt in his expression was evident, but he didn’t push, didn’t try to reach out for you again.

“You just feel pity because you see me as a broken doll” you said.

Joel’s expression tightened, his brow furrowing as your words cut through the air like a knife. He opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, clearly struggling with how to convey what he was feeling. The accusation hung between you, heavy and bitter, and the silence that followed felt suffocating.

“I don’t—” Joel started, his voice low and rough. He took a breath, trying to gather his thoughts, but the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable. “I don’t see you that way.”

“Then why are you here, Joel?” you demanded, your voice rising with the pent-up frustration and pain. “Why are you trying so hard to be… whatever this is? You didn’t care before, but now you do because I’m broken?”

“How were you so sweet to everyone after what happened?” he finally asked, his voice tinged with a mix of confusion and a hint of disbelief. It was as if he couldn’t comprehend how you managed to keep going, how you could still find kindness within you after everything you’d endured.

You looked at him, your expression softened by the lingering sadness, but there was a strength behind your eyes, a resilience that had kept you moving forward. “Because I didn’t lose them because of you all,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the pain that laced your words. “I wasn’t going to become angry at the people who gave me another chance.”

The truth of your statement hung in the air, a stark contrast to the turmoil you felt inside. You had chosen to protect the small bit of humanity you had left, to hold onto the kindness that others had shown you when you needed it most. But that didn’t mean the anger, the grief, or the pain had disappeared—it was still there, buried deep, threatening to consume you if you let it.

Joel looked down, his shoulders sagging slightly as he absorbed what you said. He understood the weight of guilt, the way it could twist inside you, making you question everything. He had carried his own burden of guilt for years, but hearing you speak those words, seeing the strength it took for you to hold onto the good in the face of so much loss, it humbled him.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, the words barely above a whisper. “I wish I could take it all back, change what happened. What I did to you and how I treated you the morning you woke up in my bed” he sighed, “Sorry for not remember what happened between us”

You looked at him, your eyes filled with a quiet, resigned sadness. “It doesn’t change anything, Joel. It’s done. I can’t change the past either.”

Joel’s shoulders slumped, the weight of your words settling heavily on him. The finality in your voice, the distance between you, made him feel even more lost, and he turned away, the ache of regret and loss deepening with each step he took.

Joel walked away, his steps heavy and deliberate. The weight of your words hung over him, a constant reminder of the things he couldn’t change, the pain he had caused. Each step felt like a step further from any hope of repairing what had been broken.

You watched him go, the solitude of the moment pressing in around you. The quiet was suffocating, filled with the echoes of the past and the weight of unspoken words. You turned back toward the grave, the memories of what you had lost mingling with the present pain.

A simple affair, torturing you.

Grieving the death and grieving the living were taking a tool on you.

Week four

A week had passed since that tense confrontation. The days had been a blur of activity and emotional exhaustion, the storm within you a constant companion. The quiet conversations with others and the daily routines in Jackson offered little distraction from the lingering sadness, but they kept you moving forward, one step at a time.

Everyone could say than a simply affair would dissipate with the time, that each week would make you unlove Joel, but you couldn’t take a complete distance from your lingering feelings.

And Joel? Joel had kept his distance, following your request for space. His presence was felt in the background, a reminder of the unresolved tension and the feelings that had been left hanging in the air. You had seen him around, in passing, but there was an unspoken agreement that he would not intrude upon your space.

He couldn’t bear to face you.

One morning, as you prepared for another day at the infirmary due to Tommy’s request, you found yourself in the familiar surroundings of the clinic. The routine was a small comfort amidst the chaos of your emotions. The soft hum of medical equipment and the scent of antiseptic filled the air, offering a sense of order and control.

As you were organizing supplies and checking on your patients, a familiar voice broke through the calm. “Hey.”

You looked up from your tasks to see Joel standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of hesitation and resolve. He seemed slightly out of place in the clinical setting, but there was a determined look in his eyes.

“Joel,” you greeted, your voice steady but tinged with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Joel took a step inside, his gaze scanning the room before settling on you.

“I’ve been trying to find the right time to give this to you,” Joel said, his voice a bit rough, as if he was struggling to find the right words.

Curiosity mingled with the apprehension you felt. “What is it?”

Joel took a deep breath, stepping closer but still maintaining a respectful distance. “It’s a little something I thought might help. I know it doesn’t fix anything, but I wanted to offer it to you anyway.”

You hesitated for a moment before reaching out to take the package from him. It was small and wrapped simply, the gesture surprisingly thoughtful given the circumstances. You carefully unwrapped it, revealing a worn leather-bound journal. The cover was embossed with a delicate pattern, and as you opened it, you found pages filled with blank lines, waiting for your thoughts and feelings.

“You can write on it,” Joel said softly. “And I thought maybe, if you wanted to, this could be a place for you to put everything that’s been on your mind. It’s not much, but I thought it might help.”

The gesture was unexpected, and as you looked up at Joel, you could see the genuine care in his eyes. It was a small attempt to bridge the gap between you, to offer something meaningful despite the unresolved pain.

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of gratitude and sadness. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice almost choked with emotion. “It’s… thoughtful.”

Joel nodded, a small, almost relieved smile touching his lips. “I hope it helps, even just a little.”

There was a moment of silence between you, the weight of the past week settling in the air. Joel’s eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of the connection that had once been there, while you felt the tug of conflicting emotions—appreciation for the gesture, but also the lingering pain of his actions.

“How are your migraines doing?” You asked.

Joel looked slightly taken aback by your question, the personal nature of it a stark contrast to the more distant conversation that had been unfolding. He studied your face for a moment, perhaps surprised by your concern.

“They’re getting worse every day,” he admitted, his voice carrying a weight of weariness. “But today, I’m feeling a bit better. It’s been rough, though. The migraines have been relentless.”

You felt a rush of blood to your cheeks, concern and embarrassment at the question. “Tommy mentioned it,” you said quickly, wanting to clarify your source of information. “I just—well, I wanted to know how you’re doing.”

Joel nodded, his eyes softening slightly. “Thanks for asking. It means a lot. It’s been tough, but I’m managing.”

The vulnerability in his admission made you feel a pang of empathy. It was hard to see him struggling, especially when you had your own unresolved feelings and painful memories.

“Well, I’m glad you’re having a better moment today,” you said, your voice steadying as you tried to offer some comfort.

Joel’s expression grew more thoughtful, and he gave a small, appreciative smile. “Yeah, I’m holding onto that. Thanks for checking in.”

The silence between you was charged with unspoken emotions. You both stood there, the weight of your recent conversations lingering in the air. Joel looked like he was about to say something else, but instead, he gave a nod and started to walk away.

“Take care,” you called after him, the words carrying a genuine warmth despite the emotional distance that remained between you.

You had settled onto a barstool, a glass of whiskey in hand. The amber liquid was smooth and comforting, its warmth spreading through you as you took a sip. The effects of the alcohol were starting to take hold, making everything feel just a little more relaxed, a little more bearable.

Joel was at the bar, nursing a drink of his own. He hadn’t been particularly social that night, just sitting in his usual spot, lost in his thoughts. As the evening wore on and you became tipsier, you found yourself drawn to him, the comfort of familiarity outweighing the shyness that normally kept you at a distance.

You slid off your stool and made your way over to Joel, the room spinning slightly as you approached him. “Hey,” you said, your voice a bit louder than intended, carrying the cheerful buzz of someone who’d had a few too many drinks. “Mind if I join you?”

Joel looked up from his glass, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Sure, have a seat,” he replied, gesturing to the empty stool next to him.

You plopped down beside him, the warmth of his presence surprisingly comforting. “You know,” you said, leaning in slightly and grinning, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here this early before. You’re usually so… serious.”

Joel chuckled softly, the sound of a low rumble that was both soothing and grounding. “Yeah, I guess I am. Just needed a drink tonight.”

In the afternoon, the usually calm atmosphere of the infirmary was disrupted by the sound of the door swinging open with a sense of urgency. Joel stumbled inside, his face pale and etched with pain. He moved slowly, his usual steady gait faltering under the weight of his unbearable migraines.

You looked up from your work, your heart sinking at the sight of him. He was clearly in distress, his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to shut out the world. You quickly set aside what you were doing and hurried over to him.

“What do you want?” you asked, intending to sound too rude.

“I—” Joel started, but the words were interrupted by a sharp grimace of pain. “I can’t take it anymore. The migraines… they’re just too much.”

“From one to ten? How much is the pain?” you asked.

“What’s that bullshit?” He cried out.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your own frustration in check. Despite the roughness of Joel’s response, you could see that he was in genuine distress, and you needed to get a handle on his pain level to help him effectively.

“It’s just a way to measure how bad the pain is,” you explained, your voice firm but compassionate. “On a scale from one to ten, where one is no pain and ten is the worst pain, you’ve ever felt, where are you right now?”

Joel clenched his teeth, his face twisted with agony as he tried to focus. “It’s… it’s an eight,” he finally managed to say through gritted teeth.

He had saved that ten.

The ten was the amount of pain he had when he lost Sarah.

A ten was the pain his heart felt when he looked at you from the distance.

You nodded, quickly assessing the situation. “Alright, I’m going to get you something stronger for the pain. Try to sit down and breathe slowly. I’ll be right back.”

As you hurried to prepare a stronger medication, you felt the weight of the past few weeks pressing heavily on you. The bitterness in your words and his pain seemed to intertwine, creating a tense atmosphere that was hard to ignore. But your focus remained on getting Joel the relief he needed.

You quickly gathered the necessary medication and made your way back to Joel, who had seated himself on one of the examination tables. As you approached, you noticed his breathing was uneven, and his eyes were squeezed shut as if he was trying to block out the pain and your presence.

"Let me check your head," you said softly, your voice gentle despite the tension that hung between you. "I need to make sure there's nothing else going on."

Joel nodded slightly, his face still contorted in discomfort. As you leaned in to examine his head, your proximity made his breath catch in his lungs. The closeness between you seemed to amplify the charged atmosphere, making the air around you feel heavy.

You carefully placed your hands on his temples, your touch light but firm as you assessed his condition. Joel's breath became shallow and uneven, a sign that he was acutely aware of your closeness. He tensed under your touch, the intensity of his pain mixed with the vulnerability of the moment.

"How's that feel?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady as you moved your fingers over his forehead and the sides of his head.

Joel swallowed hard, his eyes still closed as he tried to focus on your touch rather than the pain. "Feels… a bit better," he managed to say, though his voice was strained. "Just… don’t know if I can handle this much longer."

You gave a reassuring nod, trying to offer comfort despite the lingering tension. "You're doing great. The medication should help soon. Just hang in there a little longer."

You both could feel your breathing mingling together, the agony of the closeness taking everything from you.

Joel closed his eyes for a bit, feeling you scent and your fingertips on his temples. In the haze of his agony, there were fleeting glimpses of a night that felt both distant and achingly familiar. He remembered the warmth of your touch, the softness of your lips against his. The kiss you had shared the night before he got his memory back began to resurface, bringing with it a surge of emotions he had long tried to bury.

The kiss had been tender. Joel could almost feel the echo of that moment now, a soft, lingering taste of intimacy that was both comforting and heartbreaking.

He remembered the way you had looked at him, the way your eyes had softened with unspoken words. The image of your face, so close to his, the way you had smiled before the kiss, replayed in his mind with a clarity that cut through the pain. It was as if your closeness was pulling these memories to the surface, forcing him to confront them once more.

Joel’s breath caught as he recalled the warmth of your lips, the way it had felt to hold you close. It was a vivid contrast to the overwhelming pain he was experiencing now, and it made him realize just how much he had missed and lost. The memory of that kiss, the feeling of being connected to you, made his heart ache with a mix of longing and regret.

He let out a slow, shaky breath, trying to ground himself in the present while the memories swirled around him. As much as the past few weeks had been a struggle, this moment of closeness with you was stirring up feelings he had tried to keep buried. Joel’s eyes opened slightly, looking at you with a vulnerability that he hadn’t shown before.

“Sun…” he started, his voice barely above a whisper.

The sound of "Sun" coming from his lips felt almost foreign, yet deeply familiar. It was a term of endearment he had used before his memory loss, one that had held a special place between you two.

“Sun…” he repeated, the word carrying tenderness and longing.

Your heart skipped a beat, the nickname a bittersweet reminder of the bond you had shared. It was a small yet significant piece of the past surfacing, offering a glimmer of connection despite everything that had happened.

You felt a rush of conflicting emotions, the glimmer of hope mingling with a deep-seated fear of revisiting old wounds. The nickname, the touch, the faint echo of past affection—it all stirred up feelings you weren't sure you were ready to confront.

Taking a steadying breath, you stepped back, your hand moving quickly to hand him the medication. “Here,” you said, your voice steady as you handed him the small packet of pills. “This should help with the pain. You should head home and rest.”

Joel looked up at you, a flicker of understanding and disappointment in his eyes. He could sense the shift in your demeanor, the way you were putting distance between you both. “You sure you don’t need any help?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You shook your head, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “No, I’m fine. Just… please, go home. A storm is coming, and you should get back before it hits.”

Joel hesitated for a moment longer, but the look in your eyes told him that you needed space, that pushing further would only cause more pain. With a reluctant nod, he took the medication and turned to leave, his steps heavy with the weight of what was left unsaid.

As he walked out of the infirmary, you watched him go, the storm outside a stark parallel to the storm brewing inside you. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to steady yourself against the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. The fleeting connection, the memories stirred up—it was all too much to handle right now.

You were a bit tipsy, the effects of the whiskey making your steps a little unsteady. Joel walked beside you, his presence a steady anchor amidst the haze of your inebriation. You were both quiet, the conversation from the bar having dwindled into comfortable silence.

As you approached your house, you turned to him, a small, tipsy smile playing on your lips. The intimacy of the evening and the warmth of his proximity were too comforting to ignore. Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against his lips. The action was impulsive, driven by a mix of affection and the blurred boundaries of alcohol.

Joel's reaction was immediate. He responded to the kiss, his arms finding their way around you as he deepened the connection. There was a brief moment where the world seemed to hold its breath, the kiss a sweet and tender promise of something more.

When you finally pulled back, your faces were flushed, and you looked at him with a mixture of uncertainty and contentment. Joel’s eyes were filled with a mix of surprise and warmth, the kiss having ignited something within him that he hadn’t anticipated.

“Good night, Joel,” you murmured, your voice soft and slightly slurred as you turned to go inside.

Joel watched you enter your house, his thoughts swirling in the wake of the kiss. He felt a strange blend of hope and confusion, uncertain about what the kiss meant for both of you. But the feelings were there, undeniable and strong.

The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a soft glow in your bedroom. You woke up with a throbbing headache, the remnants of last night a blurry haze. As you shuffled through your routine, the details of the previous evening remained frustratingly out of reach. The bar, the tipsy laughter, Joel walking you home—these were fragments, but the kiss itself was a complete blank.

When you encountered Joel later that day, you greeted him cheerfully, assuming nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Hey, Joel. How’s it going?”

Joel’s response was curt, his eyes avoiding yours. “Hey. I’m alright.”

You noticed the shift in his demeanor, the coldness in his tone. It was as if he was keeping you at arm's length, his usual warmth replaced with a frigid distance. You tried to brush it off, attributing it to a possible bad mood or personal issue.

Joel had resolved never to bring up the kiss, his feelings of hurt and confusion simmering beneath the surface. He’d come to see the incident as a miscommunication, a misunderstanding that he’d decided to keep buried rather than confront. The bitterness of feeling forgotten and dismissed had solidified into a quiet, unspoken rift between you.

Joel found himself unable to shake the feeling of the day's events. The migraine had ebbed slightly during the patrol, but as soon as he was back in his house, the pain returned, gnawing at him with a persistent, dull ache.

The house was quiet, save for the steady patter of rain against the windows. The storm outside was fierce, the wind howling and the rain pouring down in relentless sheets. Joel’s mood matched the tempest outside—stormy, unsettled.

As he was trying to organize his gear and get ready for bed, his eyes fell upon something on a chair near the door. It was the blouse you had lost that morning when he pushed you away from him, a soft, familiar fabric that he recognized immediately. He picked it up, holding it gently, and his mind replayed that morning events.

Joel held the blouse up to his face, breathing in deeply. The scent was faint but unmistakable—a mix of the outdoors, a hint of your perfume, and something more personal, something that reminded him of you. As the scent reached his senses, it hit him with a wave of emotions he hadn’t fully processed until now. He felt a rush of regret and longing. The migraine that had been a constant presence in his head now seemed to fade slightly as he held the blouse. The emotional weight of his actions, the pain he had caused you, and the gulf that had grown between you all came rushing back

You sat in the dimly lit living room of your small house, wrapped in a blanket, trying to find some semblance of comfort amidst the chaos outside. The storm had intensified, the wind howling and the rain slashing against the windows with a ferocity that made the walls tremble. Every rumble of thunder and flash of lightning felt like a jolt to your already frayed nerves.

You tried to focus on something—anything—to distract yourself from the fear that had settled deep in your chest. The living room was sparsely decorated, the bare walls and simple furnishings reflecting the practical, no-frills life you had tried to build for yourself. But tonight, it all seemed cold and empty, unable to offer you the comfort you so desperately needed.

You glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight, and sleep was elusive. The noise of the storm outside seemed to drown out any thoughts of rest. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, trying to stave off the chill that had little to do with the temperature and everything to do with the lonely feeling that had enveloped you.

As you huddled on the couch, the flashes of lightning illuminated the room in brief, stark bursts. Each flash cast eerie shadows on the walls, making the storm outside feel even more menacing. You found yourself jumping at every crack of thunder, your heart racing with each one.

Part of you wanted to reach out to someone, but who? The distance between you and Joel felt insurmountable, and you had made it clear that you wanted to be left alone.

The living room was filled with the sound of the storm, punctuated only by your occasional sighs and the rustling of the blanket around you. You tried to focus on breathing deeply, calming yourself in the midst of the chaos. But as the storm raged on, so did the turmoil within you.

It was during a particularly intense flash of lightning that you heard a knock on the door. Your heart leaped into your throat, and you froze. Another knock, louder this time, followed by a faint call. “It’s Joel. Can I come in?”

The voice was muffled by the storm, but it was unmistakable. Your emotions were a whirlwind of confusion and surprise. You hesitated, wondering why he would come here, why he would seek you out now, but the desperation in his voice made you move towards the door.

You opened it cautiously, the cold wind rushing in and mingling with the warmth of the living room. Joel stood there, drenched from the rain, his face lined with worry and a mixture of other emotions that you couldn’t quite place.

“Joel,” you said, barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

He looked at you with an expression that was a mix of regret, concern, and something softer that you couldn’t quite define.

Words weren’t need for moments like these. Two hearts beating as the silence felt like freedom of the remised prisoner love victim of the passage of time, the destiny or perhaps the fate of cursing spells.

It was there for you to see it and it was there for him to see it, but blindness was his curse. Not remembering was his curse. Joel wasn’t incapable of loving someone, but he was terrified of the pieces of the old him coming to the present where losing people was a daily occurrence.

Joel was terrified of loving and losing the last flame of goodness left in this mad world that had tainted people, but you. There was a pure innocence in your eyes, in your actions and in your kindness and he had come to face his old him through you, the old him that had died with his daughter years ago.

Joel’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes reflecting the soft light from the flickering candles. His voice was a murmur, almost lost in the howling of the storm outside. “You’re afraid of storms.”, he said quietly, his voice low and gentle. It wasn’t a question. He was stating a fact, something you had confessed to him when the love affair between you was burning.

You looked at him, the realization dawning on you like the slow break of dawn. “You remember.” You whispered.

And you could only hear the steady beat of your own heart and the sound of Joel’s breathing.

I tagged everyone interested in part 2 but I couldn't tag everyone because all got mixed () if you don't want to be tagged you can tell me, if you want to be tagged, you can also tell me

💌 tags: @dreamtofus @paperstarzzz @chewie-bars @hotleaf-juice

@riedswifts @dizzyforyou @prideandaesthetic @chateaujoon

@18dmlk @orcasoul @whirlwindrider29 @frogjumps-world @camy-nyancat @sarahhxx03 @jasminedragoon @cuteanimalmama @eleganthottubfun @skysmiller @nana90azevedo @astralqueenoc

@missladym1981

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jarofstyles · 4 months ago

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Benefits II

Hi my ducklings, here is part two to Benefits.

Or, Y/N is shy about the agreement they’d made and Harry isn’t afraid to call her out on it.

first part to Benefits Here

Check out our Patreon for early access and 230+ exclusive posts!

WC- 3.4k

Warnings- asshole h, degradation, mean!Dom, slight humiliation, exhibitionism, name calling

---

As she stood at the bar sipping her drink and keeping up with the chatter of their friends, she could feel his eyes on her. It was a sensation she was becoming quite familiar with. She knew he was watching her from across the room, his dark gaze following her every move, and it made her skin heat under the surface. It was exactly why she made sure to arch her back slightly, ensuring her ass looked its absolute best in the tight jeans she was wearing.

The memory of his strong, brutal hands gripping her hips, guiding her movements as he took her from behind sent a shiver down her spine. Taking another sip of her drink, she tried to act casual despite the fire of arousal pooling in her core. Every so often, she'd glance in his direction, catching his unfaltering gaze before looking away with a barely there smile. The thrill of knowing what they'd shared, knowing what it felt like to have his mouth and hands on her while he pressed her into the sheets, all the while keeping up appearances in front of their friends, was intoxicating.

Harry did look particularly delicious tonight, his broad shoulders and muscular frame emphasized by the fitted shirt he was wearing. She remembered the feeling of those strong, inked arms wrapped around her, holding her close as he whispered filthy things in her ear that had her blushing just thinking about. No one had ever treated her the way he had. The way his broad body had covered hers, pinning her down as he claimed her so thoroughly. She squirmed slightly, pressing her thighs together as a wave of want washed over her.

Said tight black t-shirt showcased his tattoos beautifully, the sleeve of ink snaking down his left arm. She remembered tracing those tattoos with her fingers as he lay beside her, recovering after they’d both found release. He’d been surprisingly polite post sex considering his usual demeanor, making sure to clean her up and keep her steady, giving her a snack and taking her back to hers in his car to make sure she got home safely. But she didn’t need to think about that. His well-built arms were on display, the muscles flexing subtly as he cradled his beer bottle. She remembered the feel of those arms and hands, every blow, knead, squeeze, stroke and paw, the thrill of being held down still buzzing in her stomach.

It was crowded out tonight though, and she lost her window in seeing him much too soon. The bar was growing warmer by the moment, the press of bodies and the stifling atmosphere becoming a bit too much for her in particular- especially with the added heat of her body that was unable to let go of the illicit memories swirling through her cloudy brain. Excusing herself from the group, she slipped out the back door onto the quiet, dimly lit alley behind the bar. She leaned against the brick wall, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath of the cool night air, taking a second to unbutton the top two buttons of her blouse, fanning herself to try and cool down.

It was hard to concentrate on anything when was so lost in her thoughts- so much so that she didn't hear the door open. Startled, she looked up to see Harry walking towards her, the door swinging shut behind him. "Fuck! You scared me.” she hissed, clutching at her chest. Her heart pounded in her ears as she took in his towering form, the shadows cast by the dim light behind him only serving to emphasize his size.

“Didn’t mean to.” He murmured, arms crossed against his chest. The same arms she had been drooling over the whole night. “Y’alright?” Tilting his head, he looked her over before returning to her face. “Or did you jus’ want me to follow you out here.”

She bit her lower lip, considering his words. "No, I...I just needed some air. It's so hot in there," she explained, gesturing vaguely back towards the door. Her eyes flicked down to his biceps, something he had to be aware he was doing to her. It had been apparent that he was far more observant than she was, and he was using that to his advantage. She swallowed hard, meeting his gaze once more.

“Y’didn’t text me this week.” He stepped closer, pulling the pack of cigarettes from his pocket along with the lighter. “Were you busy? Or did you just want me t’fuck off?”

She shook her head, eyes widening a bit as she reached out to take the cigarette he offered. He lit it for her, his fingers brushing against hers as he did so. "I wasn't busy," she admitted, taking a long drag on the cigarette. "I just...I didn't know if you wanted to hear from me or not." She looked up at him through the haze of smoke. It was weird to be confronted like this, to know someone else had so much power over her body in ways she doubted he could control. "I didn't want to assume."

Letting out a snort, he reached for the cigarette in her fingers, ignoring the lipstick on it and brought it to his lips. Letting her words linger, he took a pull before exhaling the bitter smoke and letting it drift away. “It isn’t an assumption. Told ya I wanted t’be friends with benefits. Left it in your court.” He didn’t want to seem like a complete ass just running to her for sex, but… “Should’ve called me. Texted, whatever. Could’ve had a little fun instead of runnin’ off to the alley cause you’ve been squeezing your thighs half the night while lookin’ at me when you think m’not.”

Y/N blushed furiously, taking the cigarette back from him. "I- I wasn't," she stammered, avoiding his piercing gaze. "It's just...hot in there." He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. Like he could read right through her brain, analyze every filed thought she had put in there- even If it wasn’t very well organized. Harry knew better and there was no use in hiding it. She sighed, taking another drag. "Fine. Yes. I've been...thinking about last weekend. A lot." She met his eyes, her own filled with defeat.

“Good. So have I.” He leaned against the brick as he watched her smoke. “We should keep doing it, like I said. Y’don’t have to wear the jeans that hug your ass and give me looks across the room t’get what you want. You can jus’ tell me you want to be fucked.” Letting out a hum, he reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Would’ve been happy to do so. Been worked up. Think both of us coulda’ used the stress relief.”

Shivering at his words, her body reacted to the raw, blunt way he spoke. Something about it had her feeling it down to her toes. No one else spoke to her like that, let alone so vulgar in the way he did, but it didn’t meant she didn’t like it. Y/N took another drag of the cigarette, her fingers trembling slightly. "You're insane." She muttered, but there was no heat behind her words. "Fine, I'll let you know. Next time." She dropped her gaze to his lips, remembering how they felt against hers. Against her neck. Against her thighs… God, why did he make her feel this way? It was alarming. "And for the record, I like these jeans. Not everything I wear is for your attention." The jeans definitely were for his attention, though. She just wouldn’t admit it.

“Wasn’t complaining about the jeans, Sweetheart.” They did hug her perfectly. Then again, most things did if she bothered to ask him his opinion. “I wouldn’t complain if you let me inside of ‘em tonight. Though…” Dragging his finger down her hot cheek, he curled it around her chin to tilt it up. “I think you’d let me if I wanted to.”

She let out a soft hum as he tilted her chin up. "And what if you wanted to?" The thought of him pushing her up against the wall right here, hiking down her jeans and taking her roughly, was almost enough to make her beg. "Would you? Want to, I mean." Her voice was quiet, her breath catching in her throat as he looked down at her.

The reward for the sweet voice she gave him was one of his rare smiles, shaking his head at the girl that had made tonight far more difficult than she needed to. “Mm. I’ve wanted to since you walked in. But we don’t have enough time t’fuck considering one of the nosy brats will come looking.” He looked to the door and back to her. “So you can choose. Y’want me to slip my fingers into that pretty cunt? Or do you want to suck my cock.” It wasn’t a matter of being selfish, either. Harry had to have been oblivious to not have noticed how much she liked it last time. Called her his ‘pretty cockslut’, all the same.

Y/N glanced at the door, knowing they wouldn't have much time before someone came looking for her. It was a shame, too, because she had been wanting it all week. If her stupid insecurity hadn’t gotten in the way she was sure she’d have been able to get more than that prior to tonight bit… beggars couldn’t really be choosers. "Fingers," she breathed. "Please, just your fingers. I need it." She was desperate, her body aching for his touch. She reached out, grasping his wrist and pulling his hand to her waistband. "Now, please."

“Greedy.” He clicked his tongue. “Makin’ demands. Who says you could call the shots, hm?” His hand not captive by hers grubbed her chin firm, squeezing it enough to ensure he had her attention. “I’m the one in charge. S’all your fault, anyways. Could’ve gotten fucked half the week if you’d put your big girl panties on n’texted me.” The taunt had its desired effect as she rounded her eyes up at him. His fingers undid the button, palming over her tummy before slipping the fingers down and into her panties. “But think you caught me in a good mood tonight. Let’s see… How wet are you, mm?”

Her breath hitched as his calloused fingers pushed down into her underwear, slipping through her cunt with little hesitation. "It is your fault," she attempted to sass back, trying to regain some semblance of control. "For looking so...so menacing and hot."

He chuckled darkly at her choice of words, his finger finding her soaking entrance and slipping inside. “Shut the fuck up, sweetheart.”

She moaned softly, her head falling back against the brick as it filled her. "Oh god, Harry." His single digit was the equivalent of two of hers. She’d tried well enough to recreate any feelings he’d given her that night throughout the week.

His fingers slid into her with ease, coating them in her arousal. She was absolutely drenched, clenching around him greedily, her body betraying just how desperately she had wanted his touch all night. Her juices smeared on his fingers and palm, the evidence of her desire unmistakable. "Fuck, you really are soaked, Y/N." Teeth grazing his lip, he crowded her against the wall, towering over her. “A little pathetic, don’t y’think?”

She whimpered needily as curled them just a tad, her hips rocking against his hand. "I can't help it," she gasped out, her voice thick with lust. "You just...you do this to me." Her hands fisted in his shirt, tugging him closer. "Please, Harry. I need more." The wet squelching sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of her dripping cunt could be heard if you listened close enough, stepping out into the alley.

“I know y’do. Needy little whore.” He cooed, making the word sound sweet. “Gonna have to be quick. Think you’re going to be able handle going back in there with all of ‘em, knowing you just got fingerfucked in the back alley? Like the slut you are?” Harry could tell just how much she liked it. He’d known just by her first interaction with him that she’d like this, but knowing they were compatible only made this even more fulfilling.

Her legs trembled lightly as he quickened his pace, his thumb swirling around her swollen clit. "Y-Yes," she stammered, her mind foggy with desire, his thick finger adding another inside to make her tear up. It was pathetic, as he said, but it wasn’t something she could help. It was just how he affected her. "Please, just...more. Harder. I'm so close." She could barely think straight, let alone care about the embarrassment of returning to the group. All she could focus on was the heat pooling in her belly and the intense pleasure he was wringing from her body.

When it was over and her face was hot, her panties sticky, and her cum on his hand? She’d probably feel those nerves about facing everyone after being finger fucked half dumb in an alleyway. Especially after begging for it, loving the feel of his fingers digging into her jaw to keep her face tilted up towards him so he could watch her face- but that was part of the thrill, wasn’t it?

“Already?” He laughed in disbelief. “Fuck me. You really are filthy. Can’t believe it.” Curling his fingers up into her, he did what he could with the denim keeping his hand trapped. “Think m’gonna take you home after the night wraps up. Let you sit with your sticky cunt and think about how silly you were to not call me when you needed me so bad you’re making a mess out here. Think you still need t’suck me, don’t you?”

She let out a muffled cry as he curled his fingers upwards, her inner walls clamping down around him. "Yes, yes, I need it. I want to." she whimpered, feeling his fingers lessen on her face and making her head falling into his chest. Her release was building rapidly, the coil in her belly tightening with each thrust of his hand. "Harry, please, I'm going to-"

“You’re going to what?” He taunted, pulling her head back by the hair. “C’mon, good girl. Those lips are good for more than sucking cock, aren’t they? Y’like to talk all night to everyone else. Talk.”

She choked out a moan as he pulled her head back, her body shaking with the force of her impending orgasm. "I'm going to cum.”

“Say please.” He reprimanded. “You can do better than that. You’re so polite with everyone else too. Where are the manners for me?” The tone was condescending, cruel, and it made her want to cum. He could feel it as she pulsed around his fingers. “Where is that sweet girl, hm? Or do I only get the slut t’night?”

She whimpered, her face contorting with the effort to hold back. "P-please, Harry. Please, may I come? Please?" The words tumbled out of her mouth, desperate and needy and everything she knew he wanted despite the desperation. "I can't hold back, please. I need-" Her cry was muffled by his hand, clamping over her mouth as her orgasm hit her with full force. She bucked against his hand, her body clinging to his as waves of pleasure washed over her. Her inner muscles milked his fingers, more of her cum coating his fingers.

She let out a soft mewl against his palm as he buried his fingers deep one final time, pressing her firmly against the brick to keep her up. Holding her trembling body as she came down from her high, he gave quiet reassurance as he felt her pulse around his digits.

She sagged against him, her body boneless in the aftermath of her intense release. She nuzzled into his chest, her breath hitching as he slowly withdrew his fingers, feeling the wet smear as he pulled it out of her panties. He’d made a mess out of her. She whimpered at the loss, her eyes fluttering shut as he showed her the slick coating them. "That's...that's embarrassing." she murmured, her face hot as she leaned her head back from him to rest on the wall.

“S’not.” He muttered, sucking the wetness from his digits with a soft hum. “Told you. Think I like you a little bit pathetic. Makes my cock hard. You do a good job.”

What did it say about her that she felt slightly giddy over the thought of him being turned on by her needy behavior? That Y/N felt a thrill of excitement at the idea of being his pathetic little thing? She reached out, her hand shaking as she tried to clean his fingers with her thumb. Her brain was jumbled and the air felt much warmer now, making her take a few breaths as the pieces of the puzzle came back together as her body joined her back down on earth. "So you’re…. um, when we’re done, we’re leaving together?"

“Yeah.” He wiped the remnants of her on his jeans, using the clean hand to fix her hair. “Think you can behave long enough without my cock t’get through the rest of the night?”

She bit her lip, her eyes flicking down to the bulge in his jeans. "I'll try," she promised, her voice still holding a bit of breathlessness to it. Y/N had to wonder if she’d ever truly have the upper hand but… did she actually want to? Having him control her in ways everyone else had failed was really fucking nice. "But you can't look at me like that. And...and you have to behave too." She reached out, tracing the seam of his zipper over his cock. "Can you? Behave, I mean." She knew he was as eager as she was.

“I can.” He shot her a look, putting his hand over hers to place her palm over his cock. “M’not the greedy, crying slut here. I can wait until we leave.”

Her touch grew firmer as she wrapped her hand around his erection through his pants. "But what if I can't wait?" she taunted, her voice low. "What if I want to touch you right now? What would you do?" She leaned in close, her breath hot against his ear. "Would you push me to my knees?" She slowly unbuttoned his pants, her knuckles brushing against his hard flesh.

Her seduction was halted when she felt the large hand wrapping around her throat. It wasn’t too rough, pushing her back and crowding her against the wall with his body, but she felt the thrill as his voice emerged as a dark snarl. “I said, we’re waiting. Don’t be a fucking brat or you won’t get my cock in your throat tonight. I know you’re gagging for it.” His breath washed against her lips. “But if you ask me real sweet, I’ll let you taste my tongue before I take your horny ass inside.”

Her pulse jumped under his fingers. The threat in his words sent a shiver down her spine, even as her cunt clenched with renewed need. Y/N searched his eyes, seeing the barely restrained hunger there. "Please, Harry?" she breathed, her voice trembling. "Can I taste your tongue? I promise I'll be good for the rest of the night."

What had this man done to her?

Usually Y/N was the one who left men begging- but this borderline asshole of a man ruined her panties just by calling her pathetic. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but she knew it was something she’d worry about later. “There y’go. seems like you can listen to direction after all.” His hand around her throat tightened possessively as he crushed his mouth to hers. His tongue pushed past her parted lips, licking against hers in a filthy slick over. Y/N moaned softly, her arms winding around his neck as she pulled him closer. The kiss was wet, messy, and full of promise that made her knees feel weak. She didn’t want it to end, not even for a second- but when he finally pulled back, they were both breathless. "I'll be good. I promise."

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invincibledc · 2 months ago

Text

Lucky Artistic Charm

——————————

Yandere!Batboys Highschool AU

Prologue | I.Riding Pays | II. The Gray Side | III. Nerdy Tactics

Previous on…Yandere!Batboys

Next class is Art, ah yes the peacefulness of creating the art inside of your mind and into the world. You smiled a genuine smile as you went to the 2nd floor of the school and into the class.

Sitting down, you let out a fresh breath of air.

Nothing can go wron—

"Hello, [last name]."

And it can.

When you turned to your left, there sat the worse of them all.

Damian Wayne.

Present time. Time: 10:30 am. Date: Wednesday , 7th, 20XX.

“What are you doing in my art class?!” You exclaimed at the tanned boy who sat with a smug smirk. “I changed my classes. I would’ve thought you would be scared to come back. But my calculations seemed to prove me wrong.”

Tired of this shit, you get up only to be grabbed with a tight grip. His hand around your wrist, you winced as his green eyes glared you down.

You thought that maybe because you were taller than him, you could just pull your wrist from this little shit. But no, his grip got tighter as you felt like your wrist was about to break.

“Sit down. You don’t wanna cause a scene in class [lastname].” He said lowly with a scowl. You scoffed, stopping your restraining and sitting down. Damian lets go of your wrist, letting you look at the cruel redness around your wrist.

Glaring at him whilst rubbing the sore wrist of you now, Damian pulls out a green sage notebook. The notebook had dots of paint stains. You grumbled under your breath. “Fuckin' asshole.” You pulled out your own notebook that held your own sketches.

As time goes on, surprisingly Damian doesn’t talk to you. He only glances at you, helping you a bit with the model of what the teacher put up o the board. You had trouble keeping the dragon wings big, you looked to your right to see Damian already coloring the damned thing in his sketchbook.

You held back a scoff, you hated that Damian was better in art. He wasn’t even into art when he was little. You showed your mom a simple butterfly picture…. The memory still burns in your head.

“Mommy! Mommy!” You ran to your mother, her blurry face looks at you as she kneels to your height. “Yes sweetie?” “Look what I made!!”

You jumped excitedly as you showed her what you drew. It was a water paint of a blue butterfly you saw in the garden. You were playing with the Wayne brothers before that amazing butterfly came into your view. Making you want to keep it in your mind.

Your mother tilted her head, her cheeks lifting up symbolizing a smile written onto her face. “Oh sweetie, it’s so beautiful…” she takes the paper from you and hangs it on the fridge. “This deserves to be on the fridge!” Your little eyes light up. You felt happy, feeling proud. You didn’t notice the other boys coming in. Dick had grass all over his body due to him doing cart wheels and flips all over the grass.

Dick smiles and points to the butterfly, “Oooh pretty!”

Jason nods as he holds your hand along with Tim. “That looks cool [nickname].” Tim nods as he can’t help but squeeze your hand. “I agree! Love the details.”

“Where’s the antennas. It looks ugly.” Damian blurts out which made his brother’s look at him shock. Your eyes widen, you looked at the butterfly to see that it indeed didn’t have any antennas.

You ran off crying after that, Dick smacked Damian upside his head to which the small boy glared at his older brother.

“That wasn’t nice Damian.” Dick scolds as Tim and Jason also glared at the small boy.

“I was only being critical and telling the truth.”

You never waterpainted after that.

You stopped spacing out when you felt a sharp pinch to your side. You hissed as you jolted from the hand that pinched you to look at the culprit.

Damian pulls his hand back, crossing them onto the table. “Are you coming to the manor?” He asks, as if he didn’t just pinch your skin off.

“Why?”

“Because, father and pennyworth haven’t seen you in a while and wanted to know if you are well.” Damian answers as if that was the was whole answer itself to your confusion.

“…No.” You turned away from him and went back to finishing the class sketch. Moving your hand around as you finished the wing detail. But when you looked at the head, you noticed how there weren’t any antennas.. you added some, letting a soft smile reach your face.

“Why not. Why won’t you come, we’ve been awaiting for your arrival to show your disgraceful face and this is how you deny my offer?” Damian grits his teeth, jaw clenched as you turn back to glare at him. Guess the demon is now showing his horns.

“How about you shut the fuck up and leave me alone. You’re such a little shit and have been yapping my ear off to me for way too long. Someone outta slap the shit out of you.” You retorted, clenching your hand that held the pencil and your jaw.

Damian’s face went red, his face puffed up as he looked like he may explode. Your eyes widen before you even register this. “Uh-oh—” your hair got pulled hard, making you fall off your chair as Damian held a tight grip onto you. “Get off me you little shit!” You swept your leg and knocked him down. He lets outs a small “oof”. The clatter of chairs and kids gasping shock made the teacher turn back to see you ontop of Damian and Damian below you pulling your hair more.

“Mx. [lastname]!!? Mr. Wayne?!” The teacher pulls you both off each other. Your face having a small red mark, the same to Damian who smirked. Waving a clump of your hair to which you touched your head with wide eyes.

“Office. NOW!”

Well at least you can get suspended probably, away from these people…….

You sat by Damian who held his hands in his lap. You kick your feet back and forth, you glanced at Damian who looked calm.. too calm. You sighed and turned to him.

“Damian.. I’m sorry for cursing at you..and calling you a little shit.” You said softly, fiddling with your fingers as Damian looked at you. You couldn’t even tell if his eyes softened or hardened. His face is so neutral it’s scary.

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have tried to force you to come to the manor…it’s just..”

Your eyes widen to see a teary eyed Damian, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of the academy’s uniform.

“You’ve been gone so long.. i was scared that you wouldn’t come and..” hiccups erupt from his chest as your eyes soften. Your heart ached as you hugged Damian into your side. “Don’t cry dames.. I’m sorry okay? I’ll come to the manor, and maybe we can draw and yknow play games?”

Damian nods as he rubs his eyes even more, making them puffy. You sigh seeing he finished crying and now was snugged up against you. His small frame holding your arm as he looks at your fingers…..

Damian couldn’t help but smile, his head facing down as the principal can already seen that you two had made up.

Oh how stupid you are, you didn’t know you’ve fallen into a trap of wolves.

Taglist: @roryroro @elect1z @lil-isha @no-bishes @darkfaethedestroyer @nightblanc @cxcilla @winter-world @cim0nnin @yl90 @enjisthings @gwyneveire @ashleeytrx @nightwinglover101 @exactlynumberonekryptonite @caffeinatedvigilantewriter @red-phantom-0 @iriseros00 @zenyyyluvyuu @xen-blank @obsessedwithromance @loafersrs @devils-blackrose @not-herexo @nyxisdark @chiarasworldd @apelepikozume @bookwarm0-0 @daffy-the-duck @holyfishbailiffpeanut @kaylp-godly @cheriecelestial @helloitsmeeeeeee @khalinda-ev @vodkaredbullsblog @another-one-writer @tenswife @that-creepy-girl-000 @childofman12 @1jieka @d1nne @alishii @tsuniio @melvin333 @lillian-morningstar @gentlemonstersworld @skullyz1 @eosfung @hearts4mica @sukaretto-n @mxvoid26

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ii-meeple-confessions · 3 months ago

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Oh wait it's AU time? I can get in on this. My favourite AU that I've ever come up with is essentially an AU where Mephone breaks the time-space continuum and ends up resetting. everything. Right before he's killed by Cobs, the shimmer energy 'bursts' and breaks time itself, so he goes back to Season 1. All of his memories are intact, but everyone elses aren't. The shimmer inside of him is still alive too btw, they didn't die, they're just essentially going to be 'recharging'/weaker for eternity because breaking time is no small feat! Mephone's hardware is also a little fried but it's fineee it's okayyy (it's not).

It's. basically a 'redo'. He gets the chance to do everything all over again. In fact, he HAS to do everything all over again, because the universe IS threatening to rip at the seams. But he's able to change little things, details. He spends more time with 4S. He's nicer to the contestants. He treats toilet a fuck ton better. But it happens again anyways, Cobs never cared how 'nice' he was to the contestants, he wanted that energy back. But... this was and is his only shot. And so instead of cowering, Mephone goes up to Meeple by himself. To confront Cobs alone. This is a horrible idea, and Mephone gets absolutely beat up, but Cobs dies to Mephone's hands in the end. It's not satisfying for Mephone, he hates Cobs. It's VERY VERY EASY TO when you've seen him kill everyone you love twice. Because yeah MephoneX does end up wrecking havoc on the contestants. But Mephone knows it's fixable. He knows the contestants are in his OS. He can extract the files.

I wouldn't go as far as to say the contestants. Forgive him ENTIRELY? But they are much more understanding as a whole. Especially the ones who received memories from the alternate timeline (The gememories still come to be because some of the memories from the first timeline were so absolutely terrible Mephone felt like he HAD to erase them. So the gememory cave still happens it's just surprisingly more traumatic for the contestants because it's about Them Dying. They also have a lot more to confront Mephone about in the end lol)

It's a lot for all of them to go through. Specifically Mephone he has it really bad in this AU. But I do think the ending is a lot more warm towards him because he DID fix his mistakes. Literally. He wouldn't have done it if he had the choice not to though, it was entirely the shimmer freaking the fuck out and panic spamming the Pause Time button LOL.

So there we go, theres 2G's au that it will never make into a fic, but despite that it still REALLY wants to. I've planned it all out and all I just cant get to actually putting words on paper. Ah well. Hope you enjoyed hearing abt the concept anyways!!! Yahoo! -2G

#OIFUGHH. OUUURHGHGHH #guhhhh the whole part sbout how cobs deleting the contestants happens again anyways because he kust wants the energy back. owww OWWWWWW FUCK #ORUGHHHH #I love this au so so much but it also DESTROYS ME. OURUGHHH #ouhhh him being nicer to everyone… spending more time with 4s…. origjjjjj #oouiiieeeeee oieoiiuueee #IRUGHH. sorry #i’m!!! very normal about this!!! that is to say i’m not normal about it at all #the whole part about mephone killing cobs by himself reminds me of an idea I had pre-ii18 #that cobs would die to a meeple uprising. like YES let that man fall to the very creations he gave life to!!!#let those little robots get vengeance!!!!!#I do like what the ended up doing in the end but I still think that concept would’ve been SO COOL #oh my god. the gemories containing memories from the previous timeline. oooughh #ORUGH #FUUUCK I love tjis au…. oiuhh #god if you ever DO make this into a fic please let me know I would read the fuck out of it. ooourgh #inanimate insanity #ii mephone4 #ii mephone4s #ii steve cobs #ii mephonex #ii meeple #meeple confession #2g anon #the queue-ture is so yesterday #fav

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luv-lock · 6 months ago

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⸻ Yandere Aegon II Targaryen: Non Con, delusional Aegon

She loves him. Of course, she does. She always has.

Aegon paces the room, biting his nails, his hands trembling slightly as his thoughts race. His mind is a storm, a whirlpool of memories and whispers, all swirling around one undeniable truth: She loves him. How could she not? She’s always been there, from the time they were children, always by his side, always watching him with those soft eyes, full of love. Yes, she loved him then, and she loves him now. He knows it. He can feel it.

He mutters to himself as he moves, his fingers tugging at his hair, pulling at the strands, his mind a chaotic mess. He hears his own voice, whispering over and over, “She loves me. She loves me. She has to love me.”

It wasn’t always like this. She used to smile at him, didn’t she? He remembers her smile, bright and warm, back when they were children. Back when she would laugh at his jokes, hold his hand, tell him he was the best at everything. He remembers those days clearly, so clearly it hurts. She was his. She loved him more than anyone. More than anyone ever could.

But now... now she’s quiet. She’s so quiet, it drives him mad. She doesn’t look at him the same way anymore, doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh. She just sits there, empty. Broken. But that’s not her fault, no, no. It’s not her fault. She’s just tired. He knows she’s tired. She’s been through so much, because of him. Because he loves her so much that it scares him sometimes.

His pacing stops as he glances at her, sitting on the bed, staring at the wall with those dead, hollow eyes. She’s so beautiful, even now, even like this. He knows she loves him. She’s just forgotten, that’s all. She’s forgotten how much she used to love him, how much she still does. He’ll remind her. He’ll make her remember.

His hands tremble as he approaches her, his breath uneven. He bites his lip, chewing at the skin until it bleeds, but he doesn’t care. His eyes are wide, almost wild, as he kneels in front of her, reaching out to touch her face. She flinches slightly at his touch, and that sends a jolt of anger through him, but he swallows it down, forcing himself to smile.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m always here. I love you. Don’t you see? I’ve always loved you.”

She doesn’t respond. She just stares, her eyes dull and lifeless. He feels a flicker of rage, but he pushes it down, pushes it deep. She loves him. She’s just... tired. She needs him to remind her.

Slowly, almost tenderly, he begins to undress her, his fingers trembling as they undo the ties of her gown. His hands are rough, impatient, but he tries to be gentle. He wants to be gentle. She’s delicate, fragile, like a porcelain doll. He knows that now. He has to be careful. He has to take care of her.

“Sshh,” he murmurs as he slides the fabric off her shoulders. “It’s alright. Don’t cry anymore. You don’t need to cry. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t say anything. She just sits there, like a broken puppet, as he pulls her gown away, exposing her pale skin to the cool air. His hands shake as they glide over her body, rough and possessive, but his voice is soft, almost soothing.

“You love me,” he whispers, his lips brushing her ear. “I know you do. You always have. You’re just... you’ve forgotten, that’s all. I’ll remind you. I’ll make you feel it again.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t resist. He takes that as a sign. It’s a sign, isn’t it? Of course, it is. She wants this. She’s always wanted this. He undresses himself hurriedly, his fingers fumbling with the buckles and ties, his movements jerky and desperate.

When he finally presses himself against her, his breath comes in short, ragged gasps. His mind is a blur, his thoughts spiraling out of control as he forces himself inside her, his grip tight, bruising. She doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t push him away, and that’s all the proof he needs.

“It’s okay,” he whispers again, his voice cracking as he thrusts into her, harder and harder, his body trembling with a sick kind of need. “You love me. You do. You’ll see. I’ll make you remember.”

His movements are rough, almost violent, but she doesn’t react. She just lies there, her eyes staring blankly ahead, as if she’s not even there, as if her soul has long since left her body. He tries not to notice. He tells himself it’s fine. Everything is fine. She’s just tired. She’s just... forgotten.

“It’s okay,” he keeps repeating, over and over, as his body moves against hers, each thrust more desperate than the last. “I love you. I’ll always love you. You’ll love me too. You will. You’ll see. You’ll remember.”

He bites down on her shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, but she doesn’t even flinch. The sight of the red staining her pale skin only drives him further, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he loses himself in her, in the fantasy that she loves him, that she wants this.

And when it’s over, when he finally collapses beside her, panting and spent, he looks at her with a strange, twisted tenderness. Her eyes are still blank, still dead, but he strokes her hair, shushing her softly.

“It’s okay,” he whispers one last time, pulling her close to him, his fingers still trembling. “It’s all going to be okay. You love me. You’ll see. You have to love me.”

But deep down, in the darkest part of his mind, even he knows the truth.

She never did. And she never will.

But he’ll keep pretending. He’ll keep telling himself the lie. Because it’s the only thing holding him together.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ

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wileys-russo · 7 months ago

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frido "stop picking me up when you don't get your way" tall frido supremacy 😌

drowned rat II f.rolfö

you exhaled happily at the way your skin felt like it was near glowing, bathed in the radiantly warm glow of the mallorca sun. you could practically feel every little thought from your head draining like water from a tub the longer you lay there.

a tiny voice in the back of your head told you to flip over, or maybe apply a new layer of sunscreen, but they were drowned out by the much louder more dominant voice reminding you were just so comfortable.

"you will burn if you lay here much longer." you were pulled from your semi drowzy state by a new voice of reason, one which no matter what you simply couldn't ignore as you turned your head to the side and cracked open an eye.

"they call it sun baking, not sun burning." you mumbled with a lazy smile, the blonde laid down beside you chuckling but still her gaze bore into you knowingly.

"can you do my back for me?" you sighed giving in, laughing as within seconds the swede was up and on her feet, rifling through the tote bag you'd brought for the little blue bottle.

"oh please do get comfortable." you teased feeling her sit down on the back of your thighs, words muffled as you rested your chin on your forearms. "fridolina!" you hissed a little louder as her hand smacked then massaged your bikini covered ass.

"what? we don't want this burnt do we älskade?" your girlfriend tutted, though quickly moving her strong hands to massage the sunscreen into your upper back instead as you hummed skeptically.

"you are going to get us kicked off the beach again." you warned with a roll of your eyes, sneakily taking her sunglasses which sat abandoned on her towel next to yours and slipping them on.

"that was one time and it was a harmless accident." the older girl grumbled and you smiled imagining the embarrassed blush which would be coating her cheeks.

"mmm yes it is hilarious when your girlfriend unties your bikini top and exposes your breasts to several small children and you get a letter in the mail from council fining you for public indecency." you grumbled at the memory.

"that better be a cough and not a laugh rolfö!" you warned sharply hearing her snicker, turning your head to glare up at her, eyes shielded by the sunglasses covering your face.

"i said i was very very sorry." the blonde leaned down to tenderly kiss your shoulder blade as you scoffed, her large hands still softly massaging the cream into your sun kissed skin.

"no you did not. you paid the fine, laughed in my face and very proudly told everyone at training the next day!" you reminded hearing her snicker again, a couple of soft taps to the back of your neck indicating she was done.

"well then i am now saying i am very very sorry?" "mhm, sure darling." you hummed, reaching around to pat her side in thanks, knowing all too well she was not in fact sorry and you wouldn't put it past her to do it again.

"come for a swim? the water is gorgeous." you felt her get up off of you, her foot poking your side as you swatted it away with a shake of your head. "not yet, maybe later." you declined, far too happy in the sun, your girlfriend often teasing you were actually solar powered.

"you said that earlier! kom igen, en snabb simtur." she pleaded in swedish, normally something which was sure to break your resolve finding it incredibly attractive but today seemed to be the exception as you wordlessly shook your head and made no move to get up.

"later." you repeated, eyes closing and exhaling happily, assuming she would just take herself to cool off as she had done earlier. "now?" or, no such luck.

"i just said no!" "no, you said later. it is now later."

"why are you being so insistent? we're on holidays baby, just relax." you sighed, eyes closing again as silence fell though you could feel her shadow lingering over you.

"you are blocking my sun rolfö, that is a dangerous game." you warned, but before you could say another word you felt yourself being lifted into the air and scrambled to grab the loose ties of the back of your bikini, very much not eager for a repeat of last time but also quite keen to avoid tan lines where you could.

"fridolina put me down!" you demanded, hoisted up and over her shoulder like a sack of potatos, cheeks flushing red with colour as wary eyes watched you from strangers sat a few feet away on the sand.

"like you said hjärtat we are on holidays! it is so warm, i think you need to cool off." her tone was teasing and your pleas to be put down fell on deaf ears as she strode across the sand toward the ocean.

"okay okay you win! just put me down and let me adjust at my own speed, please?" you pleaded as she arrived at the waters edge, wading in until the water hit her upper thigh and you sighed in relief when she came to a stop.

"oh you want me to put you down?" you heard the grin in her voice even if you were facing the other way. "don't you dare!" your hand smacked against her toned bare back with a loud crack of warning knowing exactly what the taller girl was thinking.

"baby i am just doing what you tell me! so fussy." the blonde tutted in her accented english and you whined and huffed your annoyance with her as she waded in even deeper.

grabbing onto the waistband of her bikini bottoms you yanked them upwards in a final desperate attempt to stop her, however it would seem that worked even more against you as with a yelp of surprise sounding from the blonde your body was plunged into the freezing depths.

your feet pushed up against the sandy bank and you surfaced with a splutter, your hair covering your face as you gasped trying to catch your breath which had been snatched from you with the sudden temperature change, never having been one for the cold unlike your proud scandi girlfriend.

"a wedgie? you give me a wedgie?" the blonde in question laughed, pushing a small wave of water in your direction as half of it filled your mouth and you choked, spitting it out and glaring at her as best you could through the hair which covered your face.

"so immature raring, really." frido sighed sarcastically with a shake of her head as you scoffed, launching yourself at her and dunking her head back under the water managing to catch her off guard.

"immature? i am the immature one?" you grunted, trying to dunk her again but squealing as she stood up to her full height, body wet and slippery as you tried to cling on but she threw you back into the water without any sort of struggle.

"stop picking me up when you don't get your way!" you warned, flicking your head back as your hair finally flew out of your face and you exhaled, body slowly adjusting to the oceans low temperature and admittedly now it was quite pleasant once you had.

"aw but you are so small baby, like a cute little mouse." the blonde swam closer and cooed teasingly, earning herself a glare as her hands found the back of your thighs, settling herself in the water and pulling your legs to wrap around her waist.

"eller en dränkt råtta." the defender grinned, walking out a little deeper still holding onto you as you pushed your hair to the side of your head and narrowed your eyes.

"a drowned rat she says!" you scoffed smacking her shoulder playfully as she let out a loud pelt of laughter, looking at you with a cheeky grin you couldn't help but melt at.

"oh your swedish is getting very good." "we have been together for nearly three years! rövhål."

#fridolina rolfö x reader #fridolina rolfö #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso #woso community #woso blurbs #woso imagine

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seventeenpins · 2 months ago

Text

a slight miscalculation - pt. iii

pairing: Joel x F!Reader

word count: 5.4k

summary: You hooked up with Joel months earlier, before you both realized you’re his daughter’s housemate. Now, you’re in Austin for a week, and Joel might lose his mind.

content/warnings: lovers to almost enemies to worse enemies???, age gap, marijuana use, Tess is queer and married to Marlene, Tommy Miller is sleep deprived, Joel is stuck on you and is handling it BADLY, Ellie is nonbinary, tension tension tension

a/n: Hi everyone!! I'm sorry, this chapter is a year late 🫣 Hope y'all enjoy, and still want to see more of these two!

pt. i • pt. ii

MONDAY

A soft glow of light illuminates the room beneath the blinds. Joel is adrift in the most soothing comfort that can only come from a cool space and a warm nest of covers. It's a lazy, velvet repose. He's on his belly, his aching limbs sprawled across the bed, totally lost in sleep. As he slips from pleasant dream to pleasant dream, he knows that, if given the chance, he would stay in this bed forever.

But something has started pressing on his back.

This weight started tentatively, a gentle, hesitant pressure. The walls of his dreams began contracting towards him, the space shrinking, setting off a sharp twist of panic in his unconscious state. Joel rolls over.

The pressure wanes for a moment before it reshapes itself, grows, and becomes targeted, dividing itself into multiple prodding jabs. It's unbelievably heavy. Needle-like points emerge and begin to scrape and stab-- and that smell.

Something richly fishy is overwhelming his nostrils, hot and horrible.

He tries to claw at the enclosing walls, tries to force the rancid fish smell away from him, but his arms don't work. He can't move.

It's all too much.

Joel wakes with a start, and the stab he'd felt all over his abdomen hooks deeper, moving with him as he thrashes. After a moment, his vision focuses and he discovers a very satisfied, fish-breathed feline latching claws-first to his sleep tee, grooming his jaw with the utmost enthusiasm.

"Jesus Christ," Joel howls, grabbing on and trying to hold the little criminal to his body as he does his best to roll over and sit up. This was a classic Miller move that he'd executed thousands of times with Sarah's childhood cat, the imaginatively named Kitty, an elderly ginger tabby from the local rescue.

Unfortunately for Joel, Spatula was not Kitty.

His attempt at relying on muscle memory betrayed him immediately. The second that Spatula felt Joel's arms tightening around him, he did his best to wriggle out of the grasp, clawing Joel the whole way up his body before launching off his chest and yowling throughout the entire exit. Joel watches furiously as he disappears past the door frame.

He drags a palm down his face and sits up, yanking his shirt off and taking a moment to examine the scratches that streak their way up his chest.

The scratches aren't deep, but they do sting.

Please, he begs the universe, let this not be an omen of the week to come.

After disinfecting the scratches, Joel dresses quickly.

The moment he steps onto the downstairs landing, he’s gut-punched with so much joy he almost forgets his frustrations. He’s greeted by the sight of his family.

Sarah sits at the kitchen table, a steaming cup of coffee on the table before her. Maria stands behind her, neatly sectioning her hair. Tommy’s dead asleep, draped haphazardly across the sofa, baby asleep in the carrier next to him. They’re snoring together in unison.

Joel heads straight towards his girl, ready to wrap her in a hug. Unfortunately, he doesn’t clock you turning the corner, heading right towards him, your own coffee in hand. A sudden “Dad!” rings out, and he halts abruptly, but you still crash into him, your coffee spilling over you both, staining his t-shirt, making your tank cling to your chest.

He averts his eyes, gracelessly conspicuous.

“Dad,” Sarah calls, gesturing up at Maria whose fingers hadn’t stopped deftly braiding, “Could you get her a towel?”

“Oh. Oh yeah-,” Joel snaps out of his affect, turning to the kitchen drawers. A moment later, a tea towel is being thrust towards you. You pat yourself down.

“Mr. Miller,” you nod towards him in greeting. You’d hoped it would break the tension, but he stiffens, and you immediately feel worse.

Joel huffs, shaking his head. “Sorry bout that, sweetheart,” he says, and falls back into awkward silence. His lack of eye contact would be almost funny, if it didn’t sting quite so much.

But no. You will not let this ruin your holiday. There’s plenty to do, and you’re here with your best friends, and you will not let this man’s absolute petrification make you feel bad.

“Where’s Ellie?” You ask, and, to your surprise, Joel’s the one who responds.

“Oh, I think they said they were stepping onto the porch for a smoke.”

“Thanks,” you shrug, still dabbing yourself with the tea towel.

Maria and Sarah are in a world of their own, chatting and laughing, and you catch Joel looking at you. You head to the door. You can feel his eyes on you, and you turn around to look back. Possessed by some surge of small insanity, you pull away the tea towel. At first, he mostly just looks ashamed at the sheer amount of liquid he managed to spill on you, but then you see his eyes widen as it dawns on him just how wet the fabric really is, and how he can see the outline of your areolas, pebbled nipples poking against the fabric. With a wink, you open the door and step out, leaving Joel agog.

Ellie sits on the porch swing, joint in hand, humming along to the music presumably playing through their headphones. Their sketchbook is laid haphazardly next to them, papers rustling in the breeze. You walk over and wave, announcing your presence without startling them. They grinned, seeing you, and pulled off their headphones.

“Wake and bake?” you ask.

“I am on vacation!” they announce. “You want a hit?”

“Sure,” You snort, and reach out for the joint. “So, did you smuggle weed through security, or did you already find a plug?”

“Nah, I know it’d stress the hell out of Sarah if anything went wrong. I found a plug.”

You take a hit, coughing a little on the exhale. “Do I want to know?”

They smile, mischievous. “Probably not.”

Then they notice the wet front of your shirt, and frown. “Was drinking coffee a challenge for you today?”

“Didn’t even get a cup of coffee,” you grumble, “Mr Miller bumped into me, and my coffee went over both of us.”

“Oh, damn-”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

The two of you sit in companionable silence for a minute, passing the joint back and forth. The breeze is light and the weather surprisingly pleasant.

“You know, I have a lot of mixed feelings about the South,” Ellie says, “But I gotta say, they got porches right.”

“Oh yeah?” you laugh.

“Yep,” they nod, somber. “It’s a classic feature of southern architecture that should be more popular nationwide. Love a porch.”

“I… do not disagree,” you nod. Then, you glance at their sketchbook. “Oh, these are cool! Are you focusing on porches this week?”

They shrug. “I dunno. Maybe? But there’s just so much cool stuff. I’ve never travelled much, and there’s so much I want to render.”

“May I?” you ask, gesturing at the pages.

“Go for it!”

You examine the sketches. A few are simple, some basic shape studies. And then they evolve. Some are neat, others more careless, but each is a recognisable depiction of the houses across the cul-de-sac.

“I don’t know how you can see things like this,” you gesture at the page, awed, “Like, it’s so true to life, but so much more that it? I know if I took a picture of those houses, it wouldn’t look like this.”

Ellie grins. It’s one of your favorite things about them; their confidence. They know what they’re good at, and you envy their ability to take a compliment.

“Well,” they take a drag, “What do you see when you look at the houses in front of you?”

You contemplate. You should have an answer. An artistic answer. Something clever. But instead. “I just see fucking houses.”

Ellie snorts. “Okay, so. These sketches are black and white, so I’m not focused on color here. But I am focused on light. So. What are the brightest bits of that house?” They point just across the way, and you consider.

“Um… The trim, along the underside of the roof? And around the windows. Oh, and the way the light’s hitting the drainpipe!”

“Exactly! Now, what are the darkest bits.”

“Well, since the light’s hitting the front, I guess the shadows on the side? So the front’s kinda a middle-tone, right? But the shadows under the siding, too, are dark.”

“You’ve got it,” they smile, enthused. “It’s really just about seeing the world like that. In shades of light. And the more you can see, the more you break it down into smaller and smaller pieces.”

“And then adding in color?”

“That’ll be your next lesson,” they laugh, “You just work on seeing the light first.”

“Just need to see the light,” you snort, “Will it cure me of my wicked ways?”

“Absolutely not,” Ellie grins, “With any luck, you’ll get even wicked-er.”

With that, they put out the end of their joint, and start assembling their things.

“Hey, random question–” you blurt, before Ellie can get up and go inside, before you can stop yourself. “What do you think of, uh. Of Sarah’s dad, Mr Miller?”

“Oh, that old man’s cool.” Ellie answers immediately.

“Yeah?” you ask, smiling in spite of yourself. Another thing you admire in Ellie is their absolute refusal to be made uncomfortable in service of others. If someone was being a dick, Ellie would be the one to step in, and they made themself plenty of enemies like that. But it also meant they were selective in their friendships and, beyond anything else, fiercely loyal. You trust their judgement.

Thank fuck for Ellie.

“I mean, shit, did you see his movie collection?” they continue, “And, he’s not misgendered me once, so I think we’re off to a good start. His friend’s cool, too! I was talking with Tess before she left last night and she and her wife invited me to a dyke night this week. So, I mean. I could be wrong. But I’m not getting any bad vibes. He’s a middle aged dude who’s actually a good dad, has lesbian friends, and has good taste in movies. Basically a walking green flag.”

“Cool,” you say. “Yeah. That is a lot of good stuff.”

It’s overwhelming, honestly. Because even those small things, listed off as bullet points, were significant. They weren’t the reasons you were stuck on him, but part of the bigger picture. Those small pieces that form the whole.

Immediately, the urge to tell them what happened between you hits. You want to unload, want to tell them how much you think about that night with Joel. That the man that’s consuming too many of your waking thoughts happens to be just yards away, through that door, spending time with your best friend, his daughter.

But you don’t.

It’s all too much.

“You coming back inside?” Ellie asks, hand on the doorknob.

You shake your head. “Nah, need just a little more air.”

“Cool,” they nod, “Well if you need any more weed, let me know.”

“You got it. Thanks, El.”

They pull the door open, but look back at you.

“Hey,” they ask, suddenly serious, “Are… Are you okay?”

“I? Yeah, I’m fine. What do you mean?”

“I dunno. You just seem a little bit off, maybe?”

“Well. I’m good.”

They look at you, searching your face for something.

“Okay, well. If you’re sure. And if there is something, and you’re just worried about it, or processing it or whatever. You know you can tell me, right?”

You look at them, and feel a surge of love in your belly.

“I know. And I won’t forget it. Thanks Ellie.”

They nod, and slip back inside.

You spend the next fifteen minutes on the porch swing, breathing in the air around you. It’s a change, for certain, and change can be a beautiful thing.

As you survey the block, you try to consider the light.

When you head back inside, Maria’s dipping the tips of Sarah’s hair in boiling water, and Tommy’s still passed out on the couch.

“I think that’s there for you!” Sarah calls over, pointing at a steaming cup of coffee on the counter.

You frown, turning to look. Next to the cup of coffee is a small note in neat, straightforward block capitals.

It’s a surprise, and the gesture makes your stomach flip. He’s just being nice, you remind yourself, trying to keep the peace. Maybe he thinks that if he pisses you off enough, you’ll tell Sarah just to spite him.

You hope he doesn’t think you so spiteful. But even if he does, as pathetic as it is, you know that at least this little note proves one thing to you: he does think of you.

That knowledge stays with you the whole day.

Your first full day in Austin is, admittedly, a pretty good day.

The entire Miller clan had taken you and Ellie downtown. Tommy and Maria led the charge, with little Benjamin in his stroller. You did tourist-y things, Joel grumbling the entire time, but even he was in a good mood with his daughter so close.

You all go for lunch, and then split off. Tommy and Maria have errands. Joel suggests a walk. Ellie decides to break off and visit an art museum, and you’re left to decide what to do.

“You’re more than welcome to come with,” Ellie says, “But I can’t promise that I won’t geek out. Looks like there’s an exhibition by one of my favorite contemporary painters and I gotta try not to lick the paintings.”

You nearly say yes, not even considering another option, but then–

“You know, we got rain a couple weeks ago. I’m sure they’re not at their peak, but we did have some cool fungus for a bit there. Wouldn’t be surprised if you can find something interesting along the way,” Joel said, rubbing the back of his neck, looking sheepish.

“Ooh, dad, yeah! Honestly I’m surprised you remembered that she studies mycology.” Sarah’s eyes widen just the littlest bit, impressed. Then, she turns back to you. “What would you like to do. Art or mushrooms?”

You grimace and shake your head. “Damn. I gotta do mushrooms.”

And that settled it. To fungus you went.

TUESDAY

All things considered, Spatula was a very good boy.

You’d heard later last night that he’d had a bit of an incident with Joel. To Joel’s credit, he wasn’t bitter or mean, just a little hesitant about the cat.

This morning, you awoke to your small goblin blessedly minding his own business, conked out on your pillow next to you. You enjoyed your coffee without causing a single spill, and managed to avoid physically running into Joel.

Tommy and Maria dropped by again for breakfast at ten, and slowly, everyone else emerged. Sarah was first, freshly showered after her run. She’s a beacon of joy, swinging her braids around her shoulders as she gets used to the new sensation again. She’s so delighted to be home, and to be around family.

Family, you think. It’s… nice. It’s also, admittedly, not really your thing.

Ellie emerges with charcoal smudges all over their hands, a few messy fingerprints at their temples where they’ve brushed their hair back, stoned as a skunk.

Joel seemed more relaxed today, too, as though now that the first day was over, maybe it wasn’t quite so bad. Maybe this didn’t have to be a problem?

Once breakfast was over, Joel had babysitting duties until early afternoon. You all felt a bit tired, that shift from place to place wearying, so you opted to stay at home, at least for the time being.

Sarah doted on her cousin, bouncing him on her lap, tickling his tummy till he gurgled and burped, howling with giggles. As you watch her, you glance aside to take a look at Joel. You swear you can see his eyes water as he gazes at his daughter and nephew.

Ellie plugged in their PS4 and, after some coaxing, and Benjamin safe in Sarah’s arms, Joel joined them. They played round after round of the Crash Team Racing remaster. Ellie was bloodthirsty, but once Joel started getting the hang of it, he was frustratingly good.

“C’mon, old man, how’d you get that box!” Ellie yelled, as Joel cackled, hitting a “?” crate, evading Ellie’s assaults.

Joel smirked, and Ellie narrowed their eyes and batted him on the knee.

The afternoon was pleasant. A much needed respite.

Joel felt strangely comfortable, despite his company. Ellie was a funny kid, he’ll give them that. They’ve taken him off guard so many times, but he’s trying to play it cool, and not get too outsmarted by another 19 year old. Sarah keeps him on his toes enough already.

And it was nice, if he’s honest, but he can’t be honest. Maybe just to himself, for a moment? And it feels dangerous, but he wants to let himself be honest. Just in his own head. Just for right now. Because it’s just- It’s so nice to see you. To hear you laugh. See the way that you light up when you’re talking about something that excites you. He never stopped dreaming about you, and now he sees the bits he got wrong. Where a memory smoothed a wrinkle, or straightened a hair, you’re vivacious around him. So fucking vibrant. Too fucking real.

It feels so good to have life back in the house. He’s been so grateful for Tommy and Maria in his life, and his little nephew. But at the end of the day, it’s just him again. Alone in a big, empty house.

He’s determined to enjoy it, just for this week. Pretend everything is perfect.

Then he steps into the room, turning the corner, expecting to look over to Sarah. Instead, he sees you, and you’re bouncing Benjamin on your knee. In a moment, his heart stops.

Nope. This sure as fuck could not be happening. Because in an instant, he is bricked up beyond all reason and possibility, and without being able to stop it, he’s staring at you, memories flashing through his head. He stumbles into the room, and stops abruptly, dropping into the nearest armchair, half paralyzed with how overwhelmed he now is. The way you’d spoken to him that night you shared, the line that runs in circles round his head every night since, as he tries to tire himself out with his fist around his cock and guilt and pleasure in his belly, as he remembered the way you rode him, coaxing him along all the way, “It's okay, daddy, you can let go–”

He needs to be inside you. He needs to tear your clothing off, needs to hear your moans again. Bury himself deep and fuck up into you till tears run down your cheeks as you come around him, urging him along. He wants to press deep into you when he comes, knowing how sweet you’d feel, clenching around him. To fuck you full of him, of his child–

But no–

What he actually needs, is to fucking stop. It ain’t right. You’re his kid’s friend. Her roommate. He shouldn’t be thinking about you at all, let alone fantasizing about you. He’s a dirty old man. A fucking pervert. Unfit for society, probably.

All these thoughts blinked by in a moment, and it’s then that he refocuses his eyes and realizes you’re looking at him.

He frowns, face heating, immediately worried you’ve read his thoughts. He fumbles for a throw pillow, trying to inconspicuously settle it across his lap.

You’re looking at him with such confusion written across your face.

Joel feels automatically defensive. “What, what is it?” He snaps.

The confusion dissipates. It’s replaced by a resigned, exhausted expression.

“Sorry, I thought you’d heard me. I said you could sit closer if you wanted. Have a turn with Benny.”

“Oh.” He deflates, and immediately feels like an asshole. But his raging boner was still a matter of issue, so he shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good here.”

“I don’t bite.” You tell him, lamely.

To your utmost surprise, Joel snorts, a thing of actual amusement, “Oh, sweetheart. We both know that ain’t true.”

Immediately, he regrets saying it, looking terribly abashed, his face continuing its journey in shades of flushed. You nearly laugh in response, but you’re half-paralyzed with the surprise of it.

And then, before either of you can respond, Sarah steps back into the room, fresh cup of coffee in hand, ready to resume time with her cousin.

She sits down next to you, totally oblivious, and reaches for Benjamin. It’s only as you pass him back that she sees her dad in the armchair across the room.

“Oh, hey dad! You’re so far away! Wanna hang out with us?”

“Sure, baby.” Joel grimaces, possibly aiming for a smile, and nods. He stands up gingerly. Sarah’s not paying close attention, but you see the way Joel rearranges himself, moves the throw pillow off his lap, and makes his way over.

For the briefest moment as he adjusts, his t-shirt rides up the tiniest bit. In that instant, you can see the line of him, see that he’s hard, and that he’s got his entire cock tucked up into his waistband, getting choked by his belt. You catch his eye, and he turns away, pulling his tee the littlest bit lower.

You make up some excuse, some reason to leave, and you slip out of the room.

Fuck. Fuck. Joel Miller’s gonna be the death of you.

Afternoon turns to evening, and Maria and Tommy join the group, followed shortly by Tess and her wife, Marlene. You band together and place a massive takeout order,

You were thrilled, actually. After dinner was finished, you got to have an evening alone. Joel and Sarah were going to see a movie. Tommy and Maria were heading home. Tess, Marlene, and Ellie were all going to Dyke Night.

You loved your housemates, you really did. But, when you think about it, you realize it’s been months since you had a proper night home alone.

The Millers had a hot tub, and tonight, you intend to use it.

Ellie, Tess and Marlene leave first. The event starts at 8pm, but Ellie’s so excited to go out, they leave at 7. Tess and Marlene insist that they’ll take good care of Ellie. It’s not their usual scene these days, but they’re both gripped by Ellie’s enthusiasm, delighted to show them the local scene.

Joel and Sarah headed out a little bit later, planning to catch a movie. Sarah had told you before how she and her dad like to go out to the movies. It’s a holdover from childhood, she’d told you. When she was really little, he’d rent a movie every Friday. Then, with Sarah playing contractor, and Joel playing foreman, they’d construct a pillow fort, built for maximum structural integrity.

By the time they started their movie, she’d be getting sleepy, but they’d stay up together anyway. And, when she fell asleep, her dad would carry her up to bed and tuck her in gently, looking forward to doing it all again next week.

It was their time together. Their sanctuary. A tired, overworked single dad, and the most important thing in his entire world; his baby girl.

Once they had left, you took a deep breath. Finally, you were alone. You have a few hours to yourself before you’ll expect anyone back, and that goddamn hot tub is calling to you.

As Joel drives, some song plays on the radio that catapults them back to Sarah’s childhood. He’s not certain, but thinks it might be an Avril Lavigne one. She was one of her favorites. He almost thinks if he looks over, he might see that sweet, smart, skinny kid next to him. But instead, it’s even better. His beautiful, brilliant daughter is grown. Such a wonderful woman, inside and out. And not only that, she wants to spend time with her old man.

Joel nods his head, and Sarah starts singing along, belting out the lyrics the way she’s done since she was little. He grins as she shimmies her shoulders through the instrumental break, and he hums along with her as she takes on the next chorus.

The song ends, and Sarah erupts in giggles, and Joel reaches for her hand, and she gives it a firm squeeze.

Then, a loud pop sounds, and the car jolts, the front left dipping forwards.

Joel curses, body surging with tension, tugging his hand from hers to grab onto the wheel, navigating the suddenly swerving car over to the shoulder.

“You okay?” He asks, heart pounding, turning to Sarah.

She nods rapidly, turns back to him. “Are you okay, dad?”

“Uh-huh,” he nods, and puts a hand on her cheek, looking her over. He nods again, satisfied, and steps out of the car.

He moves to the front of the car, out of the way of the traffic zipping by, and curses.

“Yep,” he says to Sarah as he sits back in the driver’s side. “Big ol’ nail’s gone right through it. Blown the tire. God dammit.”

“We got a spare?” Sarah asks.

Joel sighs, putting his fist to his forehead and considering. “Yeah. That should get us off the side of the road at least.

He gets out and starts to work, pulling out the jack, and some other tools. He loosens the lug nuts and raises the car.

All in all, it doesn’t take all that long to swap the flat for the spare. But, he knows, he won’t be able to go over 50mph with the spare. It’s a busy week, too, with so many people travelling, so he’ll need to get it fixed sooner rather than later, especially getting Sarah back to the airport–

Goddammit.

He lowers the car again, and inspects his work.

“All done?” Sarah asks.

“All done.” He nods, wiping grease from his fingers.

“Think we can still make a movie?” Sarah grins, hopeful.

Joel winces and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, babygirl. I think I gotta get this tire taken care of. Can’t drive on it for long.”

“Oh,” Sarah deflates. “No, of course!”

“How about tomorrow night?” Joel asks.

She considers, then brightens. “Actually, I was gonna see a friend tomorrow. But I might be able to swap days! Let me check with her–”

Sarah taps away on his phone, and Joel peers at his own phone. He’ll find the number for the 24/7 tire folks.

A moment later, Sarah hops up with a “Yes! Alright, she’ll pick me up from the intersection down there. And then you and I can do a movie tomorrow night!”

“Alright kiddo,” he nods, “Sounds like a plan. I’ll be able to get back, and I’ll have the tire guys come tonight. You want a ride to the corner?”

“I’m good,” she smiles, “I need the walk.”

He nods again. His wonderful, independent girl. “Be safe tonight, hon,” he tells her, “Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks dad,” she smiles, and pulls him in for a hug.

He hugs her back, tight. She breaks away, waves, and heads off.

He watches his daughter as she goes.

Joel’s night is now wide open, but even despite the cancelled plans, it doesn’t feel lonely the way most of his nights do. Instead of empty and hollow, he feels full of life. Full of possibility. Before he even left, he called the tire service. To Joel’s surprise, they have an opening right now, and they're mobile. He gives them his address and lets them know he’ll be home in 20. They say they'll meet him there in 30, and he drives back, careful of the spare.

The mechanic gets to work quickly, and fifteen minutes later, he’s heading back out. A weight lifts from Joel’s chest. One less thing to worry about.

Joel steps through the garage door into the kitchen. He kicks aside his shoes and shrugs off his jacket, rolling his aching shoulders, trying to rid them of tension.

He digs around in the fridge, navigating between takeout boxes, to find a can of Bud Lite hiding at the back.

He cracks it open, immediately feeling the tension leave his body at the sound of the sizzle. Then, he takes a swig, sits down in his favorite recliner, and realizes– something is off.

The back porch light, to be exact.

It was on a motion sensor, and no one ever turned it on. There were guests, of course, so someone could have turned it on. But there’s also been a family of raccoons that has been inching closer and closer to the house, and he’d be damned if they were getting into the garbage.

He steps out, prepared to wave his hands at his feral guests in hopes of herding them away.

Instead, he sees you. Sat in the hot tub.

Joint in one hand, glass of wine in the other.

And you’re completely naked.

In a blink, any surprise or confusion Joel may have felt turns into fury.

He storms out, slamming open the sliding glass door. You jump, whipping your head towards him in an instant. The wine splashes down you, blindingly cold against the heat of your skin, trailing down your collarbone, between your tits. By sheer dumb luck, you manage to keep hold of the joint.

You can hear Joel’s words before you can even see his face.

“Are you fucking kidding me, woman?”

“Jesus christ, Joel, I thought you were gonna be out!”

“So what, you just decided to sit your naked ass down in my hot tub?”

“Dude, I’m sorry. I didn’t think to bring a swimsuit, and Sarah said it was okay! You said you were going to a movie–”

“You’re a pain in my fuckin’ ass, you know that?”

Now, he’s pissing you off. “What have I actually done to you, Joel, really? I’m not making this difficult. You are.”

“What have you done?” He growls, and a rage boils in you as he sneers. “I’ll fuckin’ tell ya. You hooked your fuckin’ claws into me. Made me absolutely stupid with ya. And now you’re here, and Sarah could find out exactly what kinda piece of shit her dad really is. You’re just parading around–”

You’re done. You’re fucking done. You take your time relighting your joint, making sure to take a deep drag as he glares daggers at you. And then you catch movement at the screen door, still open behind Joel.

Panic rises up in you. Your boy. Your beautiful cat son. A small little man who does not know how to survive in the wild.

“Spatula!” you shout, and Joel doesn’t turn, just frowns.

You jump up, entirely unconcerned about your own nakedness, and hurtle towards the door, realization suddenly dawning upon Joel.

The little criminal howls in defeat. You scoop him up before he can get more than a single paw outside.

Naked but the cat in your arms, you turn to him, words laced with venom. “Parading around, Joel?” you ask, voice quiet but dangerous. You don’t try to cover yourself. Joel’s jaw clenches, grinding his teeth.

He takes a breath. “I’m– I’m sor–”

You cut him off. You don’t want to hear it. “Fuck you, Joel. Fuck you.”

You storm inside, and head to the room deemed yours for the next few days. Rubbing angry tears from your eyes, you place Spatula on your bed and towel off properly, slipping into pajamas. You smoke the last of the joint through the bedroom window, and try to clear your mind. It’s not polite, smoking inside like that, but frankly you’d like to piss him off, if you can. At least that would be a reasonable thing for him to be angry about.

You go to sleep, a lump in your throat, and tears stinging your eyes.

#joel miller smut #tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller x f!reader #i really didnt mean for it to take so long to finish another chapter #i hope yall like it ahhhhhhhh

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