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justagalwhowrites · 1 day ago

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Joyeux Noël - A Lavender AU Christmas Story

Joel and your daughters plan something special for you for the holidays. A Christmas one shot set in the Lavender AU Universe.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut. No outbreak AU. Fluff fluff fluff. Christmas fluff. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 3.6k

A/N: JOEL AND DOC ARE BACK FOR THE HOLIDAYS BECAUSE I MISSED THEM (and hopefully some of you did, too.) This can be read as a stand alone fic with the understanding that Joel and reader are a married couple with a shared biological daughter as well as Ellie and Sarah. I hope you enjoy this tooth rotting-ly sweet fic!

AO3 | Lavender Masterlist | Lavender AU Masterlist | Full Masterlist

December 24, 2024

“You’re sure you’ve got everything?” Sarah asked, her son, Carson, squealing in the background.

“Pretty sure,” Joel said, frowning a little.

“Put me on FaceTime,” she said. “Show me.”

Joel sighed and fussed with his phone until it became a video call, Sarah on the other end with a smudge of flour on her nose.

“Busy over there, baby girl?” He teased.

“Your grandson got me in the face when we were making sugar cookies,” she said. “I haven’t had the chance to get cleaned up yet, the kitchen is a disaster but that’s beside the point, show me Mom’s suitcase.”

Joel fussed with the phone again - having to search for the little button that let him do it, not a fan of figuring out technology without the help of any of his girls - and got the camera to flip around.

“So I put in some of the sweaters she wears a lot,” he said, showing Sarah the stacks. “Some of the pants she likes, too. Got this one dress she looks real good in, real good…”

“Ew,” Sarah said.

“Shut it, kid,” he said. She laughed. “Got the shoes she says are comfortable, some that are pretty, too…”

“Do you have a bag for her?” She asked.

“What do you think you’re lookin’ at?”

“Not that kind of bag,” she rolled her eyes. “I mean a purse.”

“Wouldn’t she just bring the one she uses all the time?” He asked.

“Dad, you’re going to be walking around Paris,” Sarah said. “Spending hours in museums and in stores and lounging at chic cafes, she’s not going to want to carry that giant thing around. In her closet, in one of the dust bags at the top is a smaller bag that Ellie, Evie and I went in on for Mother's Day, grab that one. It’s cross body so she can just wear it, she likes that when she’s walking around a lot. Also, do you have her hair stuff?”

“Hair stuff?” Joel frowned. “Don’t they have that in the room?”

She sighed.

“See, this is why I make you show me,” Sarah said. “Yes, there’s shampoo and stuff but she uses serums and oils and things, she needs those. Bathroom next.”

Joel obeyed his oldest daughter’s instructions, thankful that the two of you were so close that she’d know these kinds of things. He got what she told him from the bathroom and packed it.

“Alright,” she said. “I think you’re all good! Just let her get a book or five at the airport and you’ll be golden, old man.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” he smiled a little. “You still good to take your sister for a while?”

“Of course,” she smiled back. “I love Ellie and Evie can stay as long as she wants until she wants to go back to school. Plus Brandon could use someone to give him a run for his money on this new video game, he’s getting over confident.”

“Thank you for keeping an eye on Ellie,” Joel said. “We’d like to get all you girls on a trip like this with us sometime but for the first one…”

“It should just be the two of you,” Sarah finished for him with a smile. “She’s going to love it, Dad.”

He sure hoped so.

Joel had been planning this for a while. Decades, really.

Back when the two of you were young and flat broke, a trip to Paris had been a pipe dream. You talked about it that way, the same way Ellie talked about going to the moon now, something that you dreamed about but didn’t expect to ever have.

Then Evie came along. Then you were in med school and then you were an intern and resident and attending and Sarah got married and Ellie joined the family and life had just gotten in the way, as it always seemed to.

But it had been a beautiful life and you’d never even come close to complaining about not getting to visit France the way you’d dreamed. As you’d always done, you put everyone else’s needs and wants before your own, constantly looking for a way to make Joel or your daughters’ lives better before thinking of yourself.

But the Paris trip was possible now. The two of you had made more money than Joel had ever dreamed of making, Sarah and Evie were off on their own and Ellie was in a good enough place that she could spend a few weeks with her sister. Things were even calm at work for both of you - Tommy could run the business for a few weeks and Joel had coordinated with your boss to get you time off. It was the perfect time to finally give you something you’d been dreaming of as long as Joel had known you.

Joel didn’t want to put more work on your plate, though, so he worked with Sarah, Evie and Ellie to plan everything. Sarah traveled a lot - she’d made it to Europe long before Joel ever had - and knew how to find a good hotel. Ellie told Joel about the different museums to visit, her passion for art coming in handy as he was planning. Evie - who had even taken after your knack for language - helped Joel learn a few phrases in French (though he was going to be pretty dependent on you to get around.) But that was fine. As long as you were happy, he didn’t care if everyone around him was speaking gibberish.

“Dad!” Ellie yelled from down the hall. “Mom just texted, she’s almost home!”

“Shit,” Joel said, zipping the suitcase quickly. “Stall her for me, will ya?”

“Can do!” She yelled back and he heard her pounding down the stairs to intercept you.

Joel hauled the luggage downstairs the best he could, stashing the packed bags in a room just off the garage so he could wrestle them into the trunk later. He finished just as the garage door opened and Ellie went racing past him to catch you in the car, giving him a chance to slip into the living room unnoticed. You joined him just a minute after he got there, flopping on the couch next to him.

“Tough day?” He asked, putting his arm up so you could snuggle into him.

“Just long,” you sighed. “That early start the day before a holiday made this shift feel like 20 hours, not 12. But at least I have Christmas off to spend with you and the girls before I’m back in on Thursday.”

Joel tried to keep from smiling at the fact that you didn’t know that, by this time on Thursday, you’d be across the world.

“Want to watch a movie?” He asked. “Your pick.”

“Sure,” you snuggled closer. “But let’s see what Ellie and Evie want to watch, I’ll be happy as long as I’m with you guys.”

He kissed your forehead and called the girls down, the two of them settling on Elf followed by Die Hard and you not even putting in a vote for your favorite because you never tried to put yourself first in anything. That’s why Joel was doing all this, to make sure it happened at least now and then. He made you a plate of Chinese food and you fell asleep against him when you finished it, still wearing the Christmas-themed sweater and earrings you’d worn that day to the hospital.

“Alright, girls,” Joel said quietly. “Upstairs, Santa can’t come ’til you’re in bed.”

Evie and Ellie shared a look before looking back to Joel.

“Goodnight, Dad,” Evie said, getting up and helping Ellie to her feet, too. “I hope Santa can get Mom upstairs OK…”

He snorted and watched the girls go to their rooms before laying you gently on the couch. He went and got the presents out of your closet and stashed the suitcases in the back of the car. He stuffed the stockings - you sleeping peacefully the whole time - and set up the living room the same way he’d done since Sarah was little before gently rousing you from your long winter’s nap.

“C’mon, baby,” he said softly, cupping your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “Bed time.”

“But…” you sat up, groggy. “We gotta set up Christmas and…”

“Already done,” he smiled. “Let’s go, sleepyhead.”

You sighed contentedly as he looped an arm around your waist and guided you groggily to your room.

“You’re the best husband in the world, you know that?” You said as you burrowed against his chest once you were both in bed.

He smiled.

“Doin’ my best, baby.”

***

You definitely missed having little kids on Christmas morning but having older ones had its perks.

You woke up before Joel, your unreasonably early day - and bed time - on Christmas Eve rousing you before the sun.

Your husband was still snoring gently and you just watched him for a moment, a peaceful look on his face in the red and green glow of the lights on the eaves outside. You smiled. There was something so damn beautiful about the man you’d married more than 20 years ago, just getting to look at him while he slept made you feel unreasonably lucky, like you were getting away with something you shouldn’t.

You ran your fingers through his hair, slow and gentle, and he stirred, smiling every so slightly before delicately catching your wrist and bringing it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your pulse.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered.

He smiled broader, his eyes still closed.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Want one of your presents now?” You asked and he opened one eye so fast it made you giggle. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You leaned in close and kissed him softly, almost chastely, before moving down his body and nudging him onto his back as you went. Your lips went over the firm expanse of his chest, the soft warmth of his stomach, down to the top of his pajama pants where his thick length was already hardening for you.

You tugged the pants down enough that you could get at his cock. You licked the tip of him, tongue circling his head before you wrapped your lips around just the very end, sucking softly at his precome.

“Goddamn baby,” he said, already breathless, his hand coming to the back of your head as you took the whole of him slowly, tantalizingly into your mouth.

Once you swallowed him into your throat, you moaned and held him there, sucking and savoring him before starting to move over him. You pressed your tongue against the thick vein that ran along the underside of his cock, making his head run along the roof of your mouth as he started to move in shallow, gentle thrusts, working himself deeper, groaning as he did.

“Can I have that soft little pussy, too?” He asked eventually, sounding desperate, his grip tightening on your head. “Because goddamn baby if I don’t need you right now.”

You sucked him all the way to the tip before releasing him from your mouth.

“You can have as much of me as you want,” you said, breathless yourself. “I’m all yours.”

Before you had the chance to start sucking him again, he tugged you back up his body, laying you beside him before rolling to face you. He gripped your thigh, tugging your leg over his hip and tucking your panties to the side before petting at your leaking entrance.

“Good,” he whispered. “Just the way I want you.”

The tip of his cock replaced his fingers and he thrust just the head of himself inside of you, stretching you enough that you had to press your face into his chest to muffle your moan.

“How do you always feel so goddamn good, baby?” He asked, tugging you closer as he pushed inside. He tucked your head below his chin, one arm below you and around you, his fingers spread wide between your shoulders, his other on the small of your back holding you in just the right place. You were completely enveloped by him as he filled you to the root, everything about your husband completely surrounding you. “Don’t deserve something as good as you.”

You just groaned in protest, not really able to form words, too overwhelmed by the way Joel was completing you.

Instead, you rocked your hips against him and he responded in kind, the two of you moving slowly, firmly against each other. Heat drew low inside you, concentrated on where Joel was shaping you to him and you grew tighter and tighter around him, your orgasm growing sure and steady.

“You gonna come for me?” He whispered in your ear. You moaned and nodded against him. “Good, want you to come for me, let me feel it baby, milk me dry, c’mon.”

You let out a strangled little sob as you obeyed, your channel fluttering and rippling around him.

“There she is,” he breathed, keeping his pace inside you, the tip of his cock pressing into the soft place within you that made your back arch and toes curl as he ground himself deep. “That’s it, baby, keep coming, come on my cock. Fuck, you take it so well, come so pretty for me, just keep… keep…”

He squeezed you tighter, thrust impossibly deeper and you felt him come apart inside you with a needy grunt, throbbing deep and hard as he filled you, drawing your orgasm out as he did.

You went limp in his arms as your climax eased and his hold on you loosened just enough that he could kiss you, his lips gentle on yours as both of you came back down to earth.

“Dunno that anything’ll top that present,” he teased lightly and you laughed.

“One of the upsides to not having little kids running in here at six in the morning,” you smiled before kissing his chest and snuggling closer. His cock was softening inside you, the combination of his come and yours starting to drip from you. “Can we just stay like this for a while? I miss you when you’re not inside me.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers trailing over your spine.

“Course baby,” he said softly. “Think we got a bit before the girls start moving.”

You luxuriated in the slow start to the morning, drifting in and out of consciousness with Joel’s cock nestled inside you, your husband thrusting slowly and gently now and then so he stayed deep. The sun had just started to peek through the blinds when you heard a toilet flush down the hall and you kissed Joel one last time before slipping him from you, adjusting his pants and your panties before the girls were knocking on your door.

You loved Christmas morning with your family, loved the sense of joy and closeness as you watched your daughters open presents while you sat on the couch, snuggled up to Joel with a cup of coffee in your hands. You’d never had a holiday quite like this one growing up, always just you and your grandmother making the best of it. You treasured that, too, but it was different now, when you were surrounded by the people you loved more than anything else who loved you in return.

Ellie was super excited about a set of really nice markers you’d asked Andrew for help in researching, Evie shrieked with glee over concert tickets for her and her girlfriend and Joel kissed you so deep when he opened the fancy coffee maker you got him the aching place between your thighs throbbed again.

After cinnamon rolls and bacon and coffee made with Joel’s new toy, the four of you headed to Sarah’s, laughing as Carson showed you everything Santa brought him and giving Joel a look when he gave his grandson candy behind his daughter’s back.

“Well,” Joel said, downing the last of his beer as your entire family sat around Sarah’s table after dinner and dessert, you tucked contentedly against his side. “I’m afraid we gotta hit the road.”

You frowned, twisting to look at him.

“What?” You asked, looking down at your watch. It was barely five. “No we don’t, I don’t need to be in until tomorrow afternoon, we can hang out and…”

“No, Mom, you do really need to go,” Sarah said, a serious look on her face.

“Yeah,” Ellie nodded. “Don’t wanna be late.”

“Late for what?” You said.

Evie looked up from her phone.

“I just checked and everything is on time,” she said.

You laughed, looking around at your husband and daughters.

“What are you talking about?” You asked. “What’s on time, everything is closed. Are we going to a movie?”

“I mean, we can when we get there if that’s what you wanna do,” Joel shrugged. “But you’d have to translate for me the whole time.”

You frowned, looking around again, all your children looking like they were about to burst with excitement.

“Can someone clue me in?” You laughed again. “Because I’m at a loss…”

“Oh, right,” Evie said, going into her purse, pulling out an envelope and handing it over. “Guess you’ll need that.”

Joel was trying to hide his grin but you knew him too well for that and you just raised your brows at him as you opened the envelope. He just shrugged a little, his smile getting harder and harder to conceal.

“What are you all up to?” You teased as you opened the envelope, unfolding the papers that were inside.

“Guess you’ll have to look,” Joel shrugged.

You rolled your eyes good naturedly before looking at the pages in your hands.

It took you a second to realize what you were holding: a flight itinerary.

You frowned.

“Joel?” You asked looking over at him.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Joel, this…” you looked back at the paper, your heart racing. “Joel, this is a plane ticket.”

“Is it?” He asked, smile apparent in his voice.

“Joel,” you looked at him again. “This is a plane ticket to Paris. And it leaves in four hours.”

“Technically, I think it’s two plane tickets,” Joel said, sitting up to look over your shoulder. “First class, in case you wanted some room to sleep on your first overseas flight.”

“But…” Your eyes ranged over the ticket before looking around, all your daughters grinning like the cats who ate the canaries. “I have work!”

“Well, see, that’s where you’re wrong,” Joel smirked. “Talked with your boss back in October, you’re not due back to the hospital for a few weeks.”

“I…” you looked down and back up again. “I need to pack!”

“Wrong again, Mom,” Sarah smiled. “Dad took care of that. And I checked his work, you’re good.”

“We need to plan…”

“I gave him a list of all the coolest museums,” Ellie said proudly, cutting you off.

“And I helped Dad be a little less totally useless in French,” Evie added.

You looked around at all of them, tears stinging at your eyes.

“You all planned this?” You asked, a lump in your throat. “For me?”

“Been a long time coming, baby,” Joel smiled, his large hand cradling your elbow, thumb rubbing gentle circles over you. “You deserve it. Have for a while.”

“He’s right, Mom,” Sarah smiled, too. “After taking care of all of us over the years, it’s about damn time.”

“You’re the best mom in the world,” Ellie agreed. “Figured it was time that you see some of it.”

“You always do everything for all of us,” Evie said. “We really should return the favor now and then.”

You looked back at the tickets, covering your mouth with one hand, giving up on trying to keep from crying.

“I…” you sniffed. “I don’t know what to say!”

“How about we just say bon voyage,” Evie said. “Because you need to get on the road or you’re going to be late for your flight!”

You let your children usher you and Joel to the car and you gave everyone hugs as Evie and Ellie got their bags from the trunk so they could stay with Sarah. You hugged them all goodbye, having to dry your tears every time you realized exactly what was happening: You were finally going to Paris, a place you’d always wanted to go, on a trip planned by the people you loved most.

Joel drove the two of you to the airport, you practically glowing the entire way. Joel didn’t let you carry your own bags and you were still in disbelief as you settled into your seat on the plane, a glass of champagne in your hand as you waited to take off.

“So,” Joel smiled, watching you. “You excited?”

“I can’t believe it,” you said, laughing a little. “I can’t… You really shouldn’t have done all this, not for me!”

“Oh baby,” Joel reached out and cupped your cheek. “You’ve done nothin’ but take care of everyone else as long as I’ve known you. Don’t think I can ever do enough to repay you for that but you gotta let me try, at least at Christmas.”

You smiled and leaned over to kiss him.

“I think I can handle that.”

He smiled.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he said. “Or should I say… joyeux noël? That right?”

You laughed, his accent comically bad but so charming you had to love it.

“That’s right,” you said. “Joyeux noël.”

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #lavender #joel miller x oc #joel miller smut #christmas fic

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epickiya722 · 3 days ago

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Okay, I read what I can from the epilogue and I just want to put out that I'm not saying I'm right about anything I say here because it's not an official release and I read from fan translations.

『Also refer to this post and this one!』

So, again, I was right about Ozawa meeting Yuji again and they have a little heart to heart.

Talking about snow, what they're doing in the same place, bit about Shibuya, it was cute.

But the ending of it was more open ended (which isn't something I hate to be honest).

Before anyone goes "Oh, they pulled a MHA 431, it's so homophobic", I get that it might feel that way but... in no way did Yuji express anything romantic to Ozawa, let alone any kind of feelings for her. Like, let's take a step back FOR ONCE and analyze what's up here. Here, take my hand. Come on and follow along with me.

If anything, from his side, he thinks she is a cool girl. However, he still barely knows her and I doubt him if confessed to he would be like "Oh, I like you like that, too, Ozawa! Let's date!" She's, at best, an acquaintance. Someone in passing, someone he did go to middle school with.

So, her epilogue isn't even homophobic. At best, it's once again just Ozawa being all starry eyed over Yuji who doesn't know how she feels.

It's actually sad when you think about it.

In no way is her feelings are mutual. If Yuko was looking for love, Yuji may not be that person for it. I get it, sometimes you'll have feelings for the one person who was nice to you, but that doesn't mean it will be the only person.

Yuko being too busy hung up on Yuji may have missed a person who likes in the way she likes Yuji. What if there was someone else who did pay attention to the way she writes? Who did meet her at some point and got to know her and liked her for who she was?

And if not that, Yuko should have took Yuji's words to heart and realized how great she is and learn to love herself a little more.

The thing about the middle school flashback I feel, isn't just a flashback about her, but also to show the kind of person he is.

It shows that he's attentive and thoughtful. But also that his actions tend to be swayed by other people, even forcefully. Which happens often for Yuji. He told those boys he didn't like anybody and when asked again if he had to choose, he choose someone who he thought was a neat person. Those boys forced Yuji to give another answer despite him saying he didn't like anybody the first time.

If anything, that flashback serves as a more gentle example of who Yuji contrasting to Rin, another person who knew Yuji when he was a middle schooler (Rin is actually older than Yuji). In Rin's flashback, we see Yuji defend a kid that was being picked on.

Yuji was being attentive, he didn't ignore a kid being bullied. He stepped up and told them to leave him alone and when they didn't and decided to charge at Yuji, he was then forced to act violently. In turn, Rin was left with the impression he had of Yuji, just as Yuko was.

Bringing up the snow bit, it was cute. I liked it! Yuji being compared to snow. But this is not the first time someone has came across Yuji and thought of snow.

What was the incident they bring up this chapter? The Shibuya Incident, right. And who did Yuji have to fight and had cowering by the end of it? Mahito, yes, him. And other than a wolf, what else did Mahito imagine when he became fearful of Yuji? SNOW!

So like with Rin, Mahito's perception of Yuji is opposite of Yuko's. She got to experience a gentle side which she admires. Rin and Mahito got his violent side, which they feared.

With all that being said, even with this epilogue ending the way it did, it doesn't smell "canon" to me. Especially, on Yuji's end of things.

Yuji may have a type of girl he likes, but he is also someone who doesn't express romantic interest in anybody.

While this is Yuko's epilogue, I do feel like she is also just another character to showcase the kind of person Yuji can be. She being present shows a gentle side of him while characters like Rin and Mahito shows his violent side.

And no, again, I don't think this means they're canon. So I beg, certain shippers who like the same ship I do, don't jump on Yuko, Yuji or Akutami for thinking this is some homophobic chapter when the romance between a girl and a boy here once again went nowhere.

It really didn't feel like Akutami-sensei was really trying to make them canon. And given the track record of F/M ships in this series? Yeah... no...

#i beg folks to sometimes not jump to conclusions especially when the full chapters aren't even out yet #it's why i don't think people should take my word as final #it's really just left up to interpretation but at the same time let's look at the full picture here #just like with other mha shippers i won't name here i don't think that ship is a definite romantic win i don't #just ship however you want though #like itafushi shippers as a itafushi shipper myself I'm taking you by the hand #and telling you to not do what bkdk shippers did #just continue to ship itafushi #there are times even now people will ship characters who don't even interact #don't let that stop you #just kiya's thoughts #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk epilogues #jjk epilogue #jjk manga spoilers #jjk spoilers #itadori yuji #yuji itadori #itadori yuuji #yuuji itadori #ozawa yuko #yuko ozawa #itafushi #fushiita

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p0ckykiss · 12 hours ago

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to the moon and back - jake sim

summary -> jake wouldn't call himself a christmas hater, but this year all this just doesn't feel right. until it does.

genre -> fluff, established relationship, christmas, lowk whipped jake

it’s not that jake hates christmas.

he really doesn’t, he has always been rather indifferent to it, passing the holiday by, letting it come and go, no big feelings, no attachment, no expectations.

this year, it’s different. everything that happens around screams about christmas, about happiness louder than ever and it annoys the shit out of jake. all the families in the tv ads meeting because of the exceptional occasion, all the people happily returning home and the people greeting the ones that arrive, it all makes jake sick.

because, while all the others are shoving their joy and unity onto his face, he can’t spend this special time with his favorite person.

you may call him a little dramatic, but this is the first christmas he has to spend without you in years and it makes him suddenly hyper aware of the situation.

he was always able to pass by christmas, because he had something, someone else to focus on. you would always find a way to come home despite your busy schedule, but this year you couldn’t. you are overseas and christmas falls right in the middle of your event, no way to take even a day off.

jake browses through the tv programs, finding only movies about holiday’s spirit and the magic of sharing it with relatives. he clicks the button on the remote control mindlessly, waiting for something that won’t blind him with the colors of red and green.

what actually lights up with a color of gray is his phone. he reaches for it right after turning the volume of tv down so a music program doesn’t bother him with carols.

the message on the screen is from jay, a friend of his, jake frowns as he reads the text. somewhere between the lines, what he understands is that jay wants to get him out of his house. jake snorts to himself silently as he types his refusal without hesitation.

when you informed him about your upcoming absence, jake firmly made a decision to simply stay home and ignore everything related to christmas, eventually facetime you and exchange wishes and ‘i miss you’s. it turns out not to be as easy as jake first thought.

he picks up the remote control once again to continue scrolling through the channels, but it doesn’t take long before another text makes his phone light up. jay seems to be really determined and jake would lie if he said he wasn’t getting curious. what was so important that jay even offered food in return?

after a moment getting the deal as beneficial for jake as possible, he eventually stands up from the couch, turning off tv and messaging jay that he will come. only then does he get the location and, oh god, he should have bargained more.

the place jay wants to meet him in is basically on the other side of the city and, as every year, on christmas eve there are no buses riding through the center of the town. he could take a bike, but he knows how much snow and how much people will be in his way. he sighs, putting on his heaviest boots. if he has already said he will come, then he will.

the way through the center isn’t actually so long, but at this time, it has to be busy. and if jake forgot about christmas already, everything around him would remind him and make sure the awareness doesn’t leave his mind even for a step.

the first thing he sees as he comes out of his garden onto the street is the house on the opposite side of the road. in front of it there stands a car, slightly tilted, with one wheel on a sidewalk. three people get out of it at the same time, enthusiast and eager to come closer to the door, dragging big suitcases behind themselves. they meet with the ones living in the house, standing now on a porch with big smiles and open arms, ready to greet them warmly.

jake's heart clenches at the sight. he can’t help but feel a sympathetic joy towards the reunited family, but his mind circles around the thought of you coming home and jake being the one to greet you with a tight hug. even if he has done it many times before, it still feels empty without the one that should happen today.

jake looks away not to cause himself more pain than needed and turns into another street, following the shortest way to jay's location.

both sides of the road are full of houses, all of them decorated with thousands of lights, colorful and bright. the irregular flashing of them and the range of colors feel like an eyesore to jake's irritated self. there is something hypnotizing in them in the worst meaning possible, that makes him observe the changes, until the small spots start appearing within his sight. he eventually looks away and blinking furiously, almost blinded, he bumps into someone.

that’s when he realizes he steps into the region where there are more and more people around, everyone cheerful in haste, on their way home or to some kind of group celebration.

he decides to take a different route so as to get quickly out of the reach of the sound and enjoy the silence once again. but it doesn’t last long before he finds himself in the middle of a fair. the loud voices are coming from every side, shouting about the things one could buy if they were more excited than jake. there are apparently enough takers, responding equally loud and clear to create a commotion, almost deafening experience.

what is even worse for jake is the amount of smells coming from the counters with homemade cakes and cookies. as soon as he senses an aroma of cinnamon enter his nose, he knows he won’t stop sneezing for the next couple of minutes. he has to get through the fair, weaving between the people, at the same time covering his nose, trying to refrain his reaction to next strong and prickly smells.

as he reaches the end of it and comes out onto an open square, he takes a deep breath of relief, the cold air tickling his throat. he feels how frozen his cheeks have become, a shiver runs down his back. he hopes jay is waiting for him with something really important because this whole trip has made him feel even worse than before leaving his house.

the square is the one jay has described in the message so jake doesn’t waste any more time and searches for this very specific location jay has indicated to him. the second building on the left, he murmurs to himself, recalling the instructions, not wanting to take his hand with the phone out of his pocket, exposing it to the freezing cold.

jake reaches the destination after a moment, spotting a person from afar. but the closer he gets to them, the faster he realizes what he has come to. it is not jay waiting for him.

“hi.”

your wide smile is the first thing jake recognizes and it makes him return it reflexively even before he fully understands the situation. he stops in his steps right in front of you, staring in shock and awe. in bliss.

“hi,” he answers under his breath and watches as you open your arms. jake doesn’t wait a second before taking his hands out of pockets and jumping into a hug to squeeze you tightly as ever, making you giggle.

jake moves away quickly as if to check whether it is really you, his y/n, here, right in front of him. when your eyes meet, jake's smile stretches even wider before he cups your face with his hands and pulls you into a longing kiss.

your lips are cold against each other, but this is what makes everything more real, more palpable. jake can feel your smile so close, he doesn’t need anything more.

in no time, you are on your way back to the apartment, jake basically dragging you behind, so excited and happy to be able to spend as much time together as possible.

the snow accompanying you creates a magical surrounding, making your walk more special and unique. jake admires the blush the cold causes on your cheeks as if it was the most adorable thing in the whole world. your hands don’t get to feel frozen as you hold each other tightly and warmly through the whole way.

you both take the same route jake had chosen earlier, even though now he wouldn’t complain if the road was the longest one. you walk through the christmas fair, all the smells now blending nice together in jake's nose as the strongest one, of lavender, is right by his side. also the shouting doesn’t feel so aggressive when his posture shields you from the half of the counters. he would even say he enjoys it, the sight and smell of different baked goods.

the singing kids sound nicely when jake doesn’t pay so much attention, letting them be a background music to your voice.

“arriving here at all is a challenge, not to mention doing it on time.” your free hand gestures vaguely as you complain about the schedule that barely allowed you to take a last-minute flight. you take a glance at jake before turning to the road in front of you again and smiling. “but the hardest was to keep it a secret from you.”

the kids’ voices let jake feel slightly less embarrassed when your words have such an effect on him, the possibility of blaming the creeping blush on a mood created by the song makes his life easier. and he knows you are aware of it, but at least spare him and don't mention it, not right away.

the crowd of people thin out as you move further and further from the center, your hands swinging lightly with a feeling of privacy surrounding you. jake turns his head to the side to look up at you, words on his tongue quickly forgotten.

you are watching the lights hung on the houses, your head slightly tilted back. all the colors are reflecting in your wide open eyes and jake can’t look away, can’t name anything more beautiful than the christmas lights. the christmas lights in your eyes. jake is hypnotized.

the most colorful street eventually ends and jake feels a little disappointed at it as your gaze drops from the decorated roofs and balconies to him. only then does jake realize that the way which you look in, hasn’t changed. you look at jake with the same adoration you were observing the lights, with the same stars appearing in them. jake feels his ears heat up.

you arrive in front of the apartment and before taking out the key, jake looks over your shoulder at the house on the other side of the road. there is no one there now, but jake knows the people inside are happy and together, emptying their suitcases and getting ready for a good time.

jake's gaze wanders to you to notice you don't have a big suitcase with you. you don't need much, all of your things are already at jake's. because you aren't a guest here.

you're finally home.

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noodle-is-unstable · 16 hours ago

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Hey, just a question but why were you fine with the abusive power dynamics between Sukuna and Uraume (Ume being so devoted to Sukuna and Sukuna only that they killed themself and Sukuna being fine with this blind devotion + Sukuna, a curse/cursed user, making Uraume, a human, cook human meat, including children, for him) so far but the moment he might have met them as a kid/teen you aren't fine? It was a "problematic" ship from the start, idk why everyone is acting horrified that the villains do villain things. But also meeting as a kid and dating as a kid is soooo different, they're both thousands years old in current days so like...

So first of all, you're more than welcome to ask questions and have a discussion but the tone in which this is written is coming off as agressive in my opinion. I don't appreciate that. Perhaps I'm reading into it wrong and that wasn't your intent, but it still has an unnecessary agressive tone to me. Especially in how you chose to end it with "so like..."

I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume I'm misinterpreting the tone because it's very possible I am.

Now onto the actual question.

So unless something happened in the epilogue I missed I don't agree with your assessment of their relationship at all. If this context is given in the epilogue the point is moot because it was still something I wasn't privy to.

So I'm going off the manga for my knowledge of their relationship.

I think it's possible and valid that this is the interpretation you got from this, but it's simply not the same one I have.

I don't see their relationship as an abusive dynamic. (this can change with the new knowledge or context in the epilogue but we're taking about my perspective and why I wrote about it before this)

I saw Uraume as a very loyal servant, but not an abused or manipulated one. I didn't see Sukuna forcing things onto Uraume, I saw them choosing to do these things. (Remember this is in the context where we didn't know how Uraume and Sukuna met). I saw Uraume as choosing to follow Sukuna, choosing to cook humans, choosing to be devoted to Sukuna. They chose to follow him. They chose to be reincarnated to stay by his side. Uraume isn't some innocent little lamb being tricked by a wolf. They killed many people too. Also I think you forget Sukuna was a human too. Sukuna was a human eating humans and Uraume was a human cooking humans. They both participated in fucked up activities. Uraume isn't innocent and being forced to do anything. If they were I doubt they would have worked so hard to bring him back rather than just leaving and living their reincarnated life without him.

Simply put I saw Uraume as a very willing participant in everything that happened. I don't see their dynamic as abusive. You do and you have every right to, but I don't.

I also don't agree with your logic that their villains and do villian things so I should be okay with everything. Stealing is against the law, but so is murder. They're both bad, but they aren't equal. There is so much nuance to situations like this it's not realistic to just make it all equal.

Not to mention there is zero feelings that aren't platonic shown in the manga, that's all headcannons. It's not actually apart of the series at all. This is something fans have put onto the characters. This whole argument is in a fan made concept.

I am uncomfortable with pushing a romantic relationship on them when the situation is that he took Uraume in as a kid. I don't like it, it gives me the ick. So shocking, but if I don't like or agree with something, I'm not going to write about it.

Like I said in my last post I don't give a shit about the argument they're 1000 years old now, I don't like it.

He met Uraume as a child

He helped raise them

I'm not going to push a romantic aspect to that situation

You're allowed to disagree. You're allowed to not have a problem with that dynamic. You're allowed to see their dynamic differently than I do. But at the end of the day this is my page and I'm allowed to decide what I do and don't want to write for. And I don't want to write for that dynamic

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astralnymphh · 2 days ago

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WELL. F MY LIFE THEN. JUST F IT. now i have to indulge in a commentary reblog.. we know i only do this with masterpieces such as the one i'm about to ramble under.. here we go! gracie has gone and done it again.. my descent to madness is evident in each comment made

Her bed was made. That’s the first thing you noticed when you crept into her space.

ugh this eerie symbolism.. like it's such a simple thing (AESTRA TRY NOT TO BE INFATUATED WITH SIMPLICITY CHALLENGE) but at this time and in this story, it digs a deeper meaning. just the observation of aberration and shiftings within a room someone has been rotting in. it curdles in the spine quite hauntingly. very nicely done!!!

After walking into that room in the ski lodge and seeing her and Joel bloodied and battered, you cannot get the metallic taste to go away. Everything you ate tasted like it.

this too!! like hello?? memories stippling so hard into one that it affects the other senses.. i can, like, feel the torment beaming off this little paragraph; the torture of a vision, and now an abnormal taste no one should know. jesus..

She finally changed out of the socks that were partially soaked with blood.

THIS!! JUST LIKE THE FIRST PARAGRAPH! it's so simple but put so oddly that it creates this whole other background.. it's like a storm slowly brewing. it does accentuate and ascend to ellie deciding that she wants revenge (Hah. Like the band), because she is finally lifting herself from the rot that leeched. nothing can motivate a person besides an idea. a desperate, destructive idea.

It’s like a release that you have been waiting for. She starts to cry, the air escaping her lungs as she heaves to let out another sob.

whenever i hear that someone is releasing what they've "bottled up" i tend to view it as a purely emotional thing and not a physical thing that you see besides crying. but it's everything that makes up the cry. the air, the breath, the upwards movement of extrication, the squeezing of warmth in your eyes. truly an art in itself to nail crying in a written form. makes ellie feel so much more human.

She grips onto you like you're the axis to keep her world spinning.

jesus cunt.. jiminy christmas.. what else am i supposed to say but JESUSSSS.. POETRY..

Her malicious and unhinged behavior was beginning to frighten you a bit.

THIS IS SO REAL THO?? IT JUST IS?? i'm so finitely sure this is a part of what dina felt at times. like, oh my god. to not watch your lover transform—but to watch your lover transformed, and to have missed this change in the blink of an eye. when had this monstrosity begun, and how deep does it go? thank you gracie for having such a blessedly perfect understanding of ellie from a lover's perspective!!

You watched her twist it and rip it out the side, their blood splattering all over the wall. When the man collapsed, she simply tucked her weapon into her sheath and kept moving. It was so brutal and unnecessary, but she kept telling you they deserved it.

same as this one. to see this twisting of a woman, and understand immediately that she is wrong; she is not correct nor incorrect, but she is in the tooth too deep, rotting it to a point of loss, what she needs the least. she wants to find and serve justice, but she will only drive it away. you can't push hard for anything.

“Els?” You snap her out of her trance-like daze. She has not said anything in about an hour. Your voice is soft and so is your touch on her shoulder. You want to try to pick her brain, something you have been unsuccessful at doing the last couple of weeks. She winces. “Yeah?” She utters. A bit of phlegm in the back of her throat makes her sound hoarse.

AGAIN. WITH MAKING ELLIE A HUMAN. YOU DO IT TOO WELL I CAN'T ACTUALLY FATHOM ANY OF THIS.

canon relationship with tlouuniverse!ellie good god (By Korn).. something about this insecure, or in better words, inherent depiction of ellie makes me love her more. i think ellie would love to tell her girlfriend everything that runs on in her mind. i think it always sits in the base of her throat. but, she can't. there is no reason. she just can't. I LOVE YOU GRACIE.

“I think we need to surprise them at night,” She states, her voice a bit robotic. You just bite the inside of your lip and nod. She was making all the plans, you just had to go along with it.

more canon behaviour breuh.. literally this happened right after reader tried to get in touch with that hidden inside, that true ellie. yet, it was masked over. this alludes so well to a metaphor of possession, which.. they aren't always spiritual. i would even argue that possessions were never meant to be. i think these possessions that come from within, from a bud of despondency, or rage, are true possessions that happen often. it's disgusting to see the one you love taken by it. ergo, Good Job!!!!

You never saw her eyes change when she took a life.

i don't even need to say anything at this point. it speaks for itself.

She heaves and you know tears are spilling from those beautiful green eyes.

"AND YOU KNOW TEARS ARE SPILLING FROM THOSE BEAUTIFUL GREEN EYES." I REPEAT. "AND YOU KNOW TEARS ARE SPILLING FROM THOSE BEAUTIFUL GREEN EYES." UGHHHH I'M KILLING YOU IN YOUR SLEEP. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY. I'M ANGRY WITH INFATUATION.

Before you knew Ellie, you knew Joel. You did not understand their relationship, but you knew it was fractured. Joel never talked badly about her, only reminding everyone around him how proud he was of her. Whenever he caught you around the stables, he would ask if you were still hanging out with her. You would always blush and reply quickly, “Yes, of course”. He would smile and tell you how grateful he was to see she had a friend like you.

i love this too much.. joel proud father no matter what.. this adds such a layer to this little universe in this little fic.. i could hug that old man if he wasn't a. fictional and b. 6 feet under.

“How am I supposed to live with that?” She was hurting so badly. Her violent heart has finally had enough. “You learn how to manage it.”

You stand up so you can face her. Her gaze has softened now and she almost looks like the same girl who confessed her feelings to you at the Harvest Festival two years ago. A little bit older, aged with the falling away of time, but still beautiful and vulnerable. Her green eyes sparkled differently, but your Ellie was still there somewhere.

Girl I'm killing myself in the middle of TjMaxx how do you write such beautiful things.. sabrina carpenter would arrest your Writing.. ugh

The silence tells you the answer but you just look over at Ellie. She has blood pouring out of her nose and it trickles down her neck. “She got away.”

the one that got away.. stop because that song actually puts tears in my eyes. i will never ever get over this scene of ellie in-game and now. in fics. man you were right about this fic HURTINGGGGGGG.

Every time she would touch you in that way, she was meticulous and very generous. You would try to return the favor and she would shrivel up and tell you that she was okay. It made you feel some type of way, but after the fifth time it happened, you realized it was because she did not feel in tune with herself in that way.

broken ellie who is broken during sex.. most realistic depiction of sex with farm!ellie (from a fully canonical plot) that i've seen on this app. like omg it's so disgusting and heartbreaking to read.. stop this right neow..

You told her that she was beautiful every day. No matter what she was doing, or how she looked, whenever the thought entered your mind, you would say it out loud. Her response was always, “No, you.”

Alright.. you got me kickalicking my feet with this one HUEEHAUHHUEUHEA

She looks at you, tears already welling in her eyes. “Babe…” You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. “Where are you going?”

NO.. GO BACK.. NO.. DON'T DO THIS.. BJORK HELP ME..NO..NO!!

“I thought I told you that I want to be alone.” And now she would be.

You sick and twisted bastard you're going to receive 100 kisses by post mail I hope you ENJOY YOUR HOLIDAYS and SIT WITH THIS and realize how great of a writer you are no matter how deep in the depths of listlessness or demotivation you are.. please continue writing for ellie oh y god

i bet on losing dogs

pairing: ellie williams x reader

post about palestine - please be aware and know who your content comes from. this post informs you about the tlou writers and creators, as well as how to help the Palestinian people.

description: a slow progression of how you lost ellie.

word count: 3.7k words

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader is in a relationship with ellie, only angst, small mentions of intimacy, descriptions of violence, mentions of blood, ellie is grieving big time, ellie trauma dumps, ellie gets hurt, reader is described to be scarred and disfigured after seattle, reader is scared of ellie, dark themes in general.

author’s note: just know this was sitting in my docs for a while cause I had a hard time sticking with the grief I felt writing it. I finished it a couple weeks ago and just kept rereading it. I can't keep looking at it anymore. have it. i'm sorry in advance.

Her bed was made.

That’s the first thing you noticed when you crept into her space. The snow had been piled in front of the door, indicating that no one had come or left. Your boots dusted snow across her old oriental-looking rug. Her back was turned to you.

She looks so small. Her hair is greasy, tousled up in a small bun at the base of her head. She was wearing the same clothes you left her in the day before.

“Els?”

She turns to you, not stunned, just a bit disoriented. Her eyebrows are furrowed the second her eyes meet yours.

“I thought I told you that I want to be alone.”

The statement crushes you. You inhale deeply, trying to relieve the heaviness on your chest.

You shake your head, “I’m sorry, I can’t watch you rot in this room anymore.”

She's quick with her rebuttal. “If you would have listened, you wouldn’t have to watch. Just leave me alone.”

But you physically cannot. You have spent days pacing your house, thinking about her withering away in her detached garage. You try to sleep, but you know she’s not, so how could you?

And you had this bitterness in your mouth all the time now. After walking into that room in the ski lodge and seeing her and Joel bloodied and battered, you cannot get the metallic taste to go away. Everything you ate tasted like it.

“Ellie-“

“Please, I don’t want to talk.”

Her voice is shaky. You notice she’s picking at her cuticles again, they are red and irritated. She finally changed out of the socks that were partially soaked with blood.

It had been three days since Joel was taken from her.

You try to hold your ground, blinking back some tears that slip when she approaches you and takes your arm. She’s guiding you to the door, grabbing the handle. When the door creaks open, you snatch your arm away. You are trying to be patient, but this was the second time she was trying to throw you out. She had done the same to Maria and Tommy the day after Joel died.

“I thought you were fuckin’ dead, Ellie.”

You promised yourself you would not burden her with your emotions. But you could not help it anymore.

“What?”

She shuts the door, letting more cold air seep into the frigid room. She shifts onto her other heel, crossing her arms. It’s a physical way of blocking out your emotions, a gesture that is so subtle and probably absent of intention.

“I can’t lose you, too, okay?”

Her eyes finally find yours, “You’re not gonna-”

You reach out to her, pulling her hand out of the crook of her arm. “I am here, okay? I am right here.”

She uses the leverage of you grabbing her hand to reel you into a hug. As soon as your chin rests on her shoulder, she’s dead weight in your arms. It’s like a release that you have been waiting for. She starts to cry, the air escaping her lungs as she heaves to let out another sob. You just hold her, the anxiety of leaving her alone for the last three days now escaping you. You finally felt like you were doing something for her.

She grips onto you like you're the axis to keep her world spinning. Her whole life depended on the feeling of your body around her.

You sat with her for a whole day in silence. Not saying anything; just waiting for her to say the word. You knew what was next for Ellie.

She was going to get revenge.

Your shirt was stained with blood and sweat. You told yourself the next department store you saw, you would hunt down a 20-year-old shirt to replace it.

You were exhausted. You could hardly keep up with Ellie the last mile back to the theater. It was only the second day of trying to hunt down this crew Ellie was hell-bent on destroying. Two days in Seattle and you two have discovered a lot without having any initial leads when you arrived.

And you did not fault her for being so aggressive, but after the things you saw today, you’re starting to wonder if this was really what she needs. Her malicious and unhinged behavior was beginning to frighten you a bit.

It started when you entered an abandoned hotel. A couple of infected got taken down by your bullets, but when other non-infected people came running your way, you hesitated. You saw the looks of confusion on their faces when they saw you and Ellie. While you stood and held their gazes, Ellie raised her rifle and executed each one of them without even flinching. The shots were louder than you remember, echoing off the walls peeling of wallpaper.

Then today, you both arrived at an old elementary school. You were caught up with holding off a couple of people in a long hallway. You yelled for Ellie to wait it out, wanting the people to charge you so you could take them out, but instead, she lit up the entire hallway. When the last person came running at her with a baseball bat, she dodged them and shoved her blade right into their necks. You watched her twist it and rip it out the side, their blood splattering all over the wall. When the man collapsed, she simply tucked her weapon into her sheath and kept moving. It was so brutal and unnecessary, but she kept telling you they deserved it.

She found who she had been looking for. A girl named Nora. You were in charge of keeping watch while she got intel from her. You heard most of the conversation, but when you heard the sounds of metal clinging, you stepped away from the door. You had to resist the urge not to run in there and stop the torture, but your feet were stuck to the concrete. You did not move, you did not dare.

She is now digging dirt and blood out of her fingernails with her blade, trying not to accidentally knick herself. Her auburn fringe covers her forehead, greasy from sweat. She is still covered in blood, but you two have not said much since you arrived back.

She went too far and she knows it scared you. But frankly, she did not care. This was necessary.

She winces.

“Yeah?” She utters. A bit of phlegm in the back of her throat makes her sound hoarse.

“Can you please let me check on you? Just take off your coat.”

Your hand is still on her shoulder. She does not respond or move, so you take it as she’s submitting to your request. You grab the collar of her rain jacket and slowly start to drag it down her shoulder. She’s still not saying anything.

You wished you could read her mind. It would make your relationship with her way easier. After two years, you would think she would be better about sharing her feelings, but she mostly left you to interpret her body language. You got good at reading it for a while. But then Joel died. And now she is a silent and bitter ball of rage. Anything you thought you knew about her has fallen to the wayside.

You slowly take off her layers of clothing, being sure to avoid touching the wounds that have made her skin their new home.

The one on her shoulder was pretty bad, you think to yourself, she better let me stitch her up.

“I think we need to surprise them at night,” She states, her voice a bit robotic. You just bite the inside of your lip and nod. She was making all the plans, you just had to go along with it.

“Okay,” You whisper, grabbing a medical kit nearby. You made sure to pack it back in Jackson and it came in handy more than once already.

“Do you even want to know what happened earlier?”

Your heart sinks. You do not want to know what happened. You knew she got what she needed from the girl, but you truly did not know if you wanted to hear the details. The idea that Ellie did more than just beat her makes you physically sick. If she could do that to a stranger, what was she going to do when she got her hands on her? You were not innocent in the chase. But your heart always skipped when you had to pull your trigger at another human being. It was not easy to watch life leave someone’s eyes. But for Ellie it was different. She acted like they were just things. Inanimate objects that needed to be pushed out of the way. You never saw her eyes change when she took a life.

You grab the needle from the med kit and a nearby lighter before settling on the couch beside Ellie. Her shoulder blade is covered by all the blood creating new dark maroon freckles.

You tilt her shoulder back to better look at it before finally responding.

“Didn’t think you wanted to talk about it.”

You know that’s not the answer she wanted. Her shoulders fall forward and she places her face in her hands. She lets out a long sigh, disregarding you as you try to patch her up. She quickly turns around to look at you.

Her eyes are dark, her lips pursed.

“I got her to talk. She paid with her life.”

You want to see your Ellie, but whoever sits before you is a stranger.

You did not want to think about Ellie killing a girl by violently beating her. It seemed so personal and evil. You decide there’s no answer worth saying to her confession, so you just turn her back around and begin your slow, tedious stitching.

Once you finish off the last suture, you stand and bring over a bowl filled with rainwater the night before. You were going to use it for drinking, but you decide it’s better to use it to clean around Ellie’s battered body.

You grab a rag from your pack and dip it in the chilled water. You ring it out and bring it to your stitch work. She is shaking now, but you are so scared to hold her in your arms.

“The night before Joel… we got into that big fight. I was so fuckin’ mad at him. I went to his house to confront him again.”

She heaves and you know tears are spilling from those beautiful green eyes. “Ellie-“

“I told him I was going to try to forgive him for all the shit he did. I should’ve…”

You drop the red-stained cloth into the bowl and pull her back into your chest. She’s sobbing, her entire body shaking as you finally accept her into your space.

You loved Ellie. You loved her with every fiber of your being. She helped you through a lot of your grief when you arrived in Jackson. She held you through countless nights when you cried about losing your dad. You never thought you would have to do the same for her. Everyone, including you, thought Joel Miller was indestructible.

“Ellie, how were you supposed to know?” You ask softly before gently pressing a kiss in the middle of her back. You had never kissed her there before.

“How am I supposed to live with that?”

She was hurting so badly. Her violent heart has finally had enough.

“You learn how to manage it.”

It was the only way you pulled through. Grief is love expressing itself through other means. When you lost your dad, it was not violent. He was sick and his body was so beaten down, he had no chance of surviving the disease taking over his body. Your grief was managed by reminding yourself that you had to keep living for him because if not, you would be disappointing him. You did not know if heaven was real, but you did believe in energy, and you felt him sometimes especially when you needed him the most.

Ellie’s grief was different. It was forceful and unyielding. She could not let the hatred go and you did not particularly blame her. She watched Joel get beaten so badly that his face was almost unrecognizable. She had to watch a random woman take him away from her, forever. You could not compare your grief, but you did know that with time, she would know how to better manage it. She just could not get over the contempt for others who wronged her. It was embedded within her to seek out retribution.

She cried a bit, letting out a long sigh. “The only way I see it is if I give those people an ounce of violence they showed Joel in his final moments, I will be at peace.”

You knew the truth. There was no peace in situations like this. But were you going to tell Ellie that? No, you were not. You traveled hundreds of miles for her to do what she felt was necessary. And while you did not agree with all of her actions, you had been complacent. You were no better than any other person with a violent and impulsive lover. You enabled this journey to come to fruition, so you had to take accountability.

“Okay, baby.” That is all you could say. “We will finish it.”

When you come back to consciousness, your vision is fuzzy. You are completely disoriented, but you know you are face down on the concrete. You start to feel around for something familiar, not sure if your gun or knife is nearby. You felt defenseless.

“Ellie?” You croak out. As soon as you talk, you can feel blood dribbling down your throat. You hear stirring beside you and your blood runs cold. Is that her?

You lift your hand to rub whatever is in your eyes out. Dirt? Mud? When you look at your hands, you get confirmation that it’s blood. You’re covered in it.

The movement gets closer and you look to your right and see Ellie’s battered body slowly stumbling towards you. Panic rises within you, unsure if she was mortally wounded or not. She collapses beside you, sitting up partially. She reaches for your hand and you realize that you can hardly move your foot to try to push yourself upwards. Everything hurt.

“Baby, I’m here.” She finally says. Your worry subsides for a moment as you try to sit up.

“Are you hurt?” You cry out as you press yourself upwards, the pain in your foot shooting up your leg. It’s almost the worst pain you’ve ever been in. You can hardly breathe once contort yourself to settle next to Ellie’s practically limp body.

“Yeah, but I can walk.”

You finally remember why you’re in this room. You try to scan the room, but the dimmed lighting and blood in your eyes isn’t helping. “Is Abby dead?”

The silence tells you the answer but you just look over at Ellie. She has blood pouring out of her nose and it trickles down her neck.

“She got away.”

Every day after Abby got away was completely different. When you arrive at the farmhouse on the hill, you hope to see your old Ellie again, and sometimes you do.

When the golden light trickled between the leaves in the forest and you two bask in the rays as you forage for berries, you tell a stupid joke and her laugh is guttural. She belly laughs and tells you that you’re so “dumb” before she wraps her arms around your waist and presses a kiss into your temple.

But then there was nighttime. When she finally fell asleep and you would stay up with a candle burning to read, she was ravaged by nightmares. She usually couldn’t escape them, so you would throw your book on the side table and hold her tightly so she could come back to reality.

The day would break and she would bring you up some breakfast in bed. She was terrible at cooking, but no one can really mess up scrambled eggs. She would serve them to you with a big goofy grin and long kisses.

Intimacy was few and far between, but you knew not to press it too much. Every time she would touch you in that way, she was meticulous and very generous. You would try to return the favor and she would shrivel up and tell you that she was okay. It made you feel some type of way, but after the fifth time it happened, you realized it was because she did not feel in tune with herself in that way.

After a year of domesticity, you woke up one night to the sound of rustling downstairs and an empty bed. When Ellie did have a bad nightmare, she would occasionally go downstairs and sit on the front porch. But it was a chilly night and you knew better.

The day before Tommy made an unexpected visit and made an already awkward interaction absolutely deplorable. He had to bring up her and blame Ellie for the outcome of the Seattle event. The entire situation led to you forcing him off the property and telling him to never come back with that bullshit.

It was a subject you and Ellie never discussed after leaving those city limits. She told you she was done, that it was all over. You would never fight her on it, especially because you knew it was really over. There was no way you would be going after someone who almost killed you and disfigured you. Every time you looked in a mirror, you were forced to see the scars that littered your cheeks and forehead. A sick reminder of the bitter fight between you two.

You slowly walk downstairs, seeing Ellie’s figure in the kitchen. She has her backpack on the floor, loading a gun into the side pocket.

“What are you doing?” You ask bluntly. She turns around and you take note of her outfit. A couple of layers. A large brown jacket, jeans, and her Converse. She was going somewhere.

She looks at you, tears already welling in her eyes.

“Babe…”

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. “Where are you going?”

You creep up to her slowly, your bare feet creaking across the hardwood.

She’s a foot away when she finally puts her hands out to stop you from coming closer.

“I… I think Tommy is right.”

If it was possible for someone to rip out your heart without opening up your chest, it was happening to you right now. This would be the worst pain.

“Right about what?” You manage as a whisper.

She takes in a long breath, “About Abby. About going after her.”

“No… Ellie, he’s not right.”

You try to move closer, but she takes a step back. She’s treating you like you are infected. But even that would not matter, she’s Ellie.

It makes you feel every negative emotion when she says the words, “I need to finish this. I told you… I told you I wouldn’t be at peace until I-”

“So why did we even come back, Ellie? How is this fucking fair to me?”

“You wanted to. We… we were fucked up. We didn’t have a chance.”

“And you think you do now?!”

She shakes her head, almost appalled by your statement. “I wasn’t broken like you were.”

You close your lids tightly, unsure how you could even look her in the eyes. Your fingernails are digging into your palms. You had this feeling for a while. An unsettled force that would occasionally bloom in the pit of your stomach when you watched Ellie. You would remind yourself that it’s over. The plot for revenge was buried deep in the ground.

So when she stands in front of you, ready to take off, you feel like you can’t breathe.

“Ellie, if you go, I will never forgive you. I will not wait for you.”

She’s silent, contemplating even for a moment. She has this look of determination. She has already made up her mind. “That’s your choice.”

She starts to pick up the bag, but you make one more silent plea before watching your life walk out the back door. You grab her hand quickly, stopping her from taking any steps.

“I thought you fuckin’ loved me, Ellie. I thought you said we were done.” You sob out, “You think Joel would want this for you? Do you really think he would want you to walk out that door?”

Deep down, you know that Joel would have gone to the ends of the earth for Ellie, especially if the roles were reversed. But he would also want her to have a life after him. And you were more sure of that than the latter.

She pulls her wrist away from your grasp. A look of pure betrayal playing across her features. You had not spoken his name in months. It sounds like a curse word to her coming from you. “You don’t know what he would want.”

“And you do?”

“He would have done the same for me.”

And she leaves. You think back to the first words she said to you when you entered her room over a year ago.

“I thought I told you that I want to be alone.”

And now she would be.

#♱ | “fic recs.”#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams angst #the last of us 2 #the last of us #ellie tlou #tlou x reader #tlou fic

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mldrgrl · 1 day ago

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La La Land

by: mldrgrl Rating: Teen Pairing: Hanella Summary: Hank gets an offer he can't refuse and brings Stella along.

Never in Hank’s career had one of his novels been so sought after for a film deal. Charlie had been fielding calls on a daily basis from studio execs and some fairly prestigious producers trying to smooth talk their way into buying the rights. Some of the offers were so low it was offensive, but some had been worth listening to their pitch before Hank ultimately shot them down. Charlie just assumed Hank was trying to start a bidding war, but no amount of money could tempt Hank over this book. Maybe for the first time in his life, he felt extremely protective over this piece of work and he wasn’t going to let some studio bastardize his masterpiece, not for all the money in the world.

And then Netflix came calling and their offer to fly him out to LA and hear what they had to say happened to coincide with Stella’s spring break and well, why not take a free trip to the west coast, first class, for some wining and dining on someone else’s dime? Three days and two nights at The Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, because what could be more Hollywood than Marilyn Monroe’s former residence? Sure.

Stella was whisked away almost as soon as they arrived. Per the check-in clerk, “your wife has been booked for a spa treatment, Sir, and the studio has sent a car for your meeting.” And with that, fingers were snapped, a bellhop appeared, and Hank went one way, Stella another. Charlie was waiting in the black Escalade that was apparently his ride to the studio.

“Runkle,” Hank said, putting his agent in a headlock to rub his knuckles back and forth over his smooth, bald head.

“Dammit, Hank,” Charlie complained, slapping at Hank’s arm.

“What? It’s not like I’m gonna mess up your hair.” Hank pressed his lips to the top of Charlie’s head before he released him.

“No, but you’ll wrinkle me.” Charlie pushed himself across the car seat, away from Hank, smoothing his tie down his chest.

“Same Runkle, still as tightly clenched as a nun’s twat.”

“This is a big deal, Hank. Netflix has more money than God and they want your book. Maybe they want a whole development deal. I could retire. I could spend the rest of my days sipping mai tais on a lanai in Florida.”

“Florida is where rich assholes go to die, Charlie.”

“Hank, I’m telling you, I think this is big. They fly you out here, they put you up at the Roosevelt, they’re sending private cars, they don’t just do that for a lowball offer.”

“I know how much dollar signs get you hard, Charlie, but try not to nut before we even get to the meeting. Besides, I’m probably not even going to say yes.”

“Ohhhhhh…” Charlie bent his head back and put a hand over his chest. “Hank, you say things like that and it triggers my agita.”

“They’re gonna want to change the ending, which is a nonstarter for me, and they’re gonna want to cast some…some America’s sweetheart like Reese fucking Witherspoon as Miranda, which tells me that they haven’t even read the book at all, they had some intern pass on a synopsis and they don’t give a fuck about the actual material, they just want content. They’re just a fucking content factory shitting out turdburgers that only like five percent of is even watchable.”

“What’s wrong with Reese Witherspoon?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Reese Witherspoon except you can’t cast Reese Witherspoon in a part that should go to…I don’t know who, but the opposite of Reese Witherspoon.”

“I think you’re really underestimating Reese Witherspoon here, Hank, she’s a fantastic actress, you know she’s an Academy Award winner.”

“Jesus, Runkle, you’re missing the point.”

“Okay, okay.” Charlie put his hands up in surrender. “No Reese Witherspoon.”

Hank closed his eyes. It’d been years since he smoked, but he wanted a cigarette. Every time he came back to LA it was more and more apparent what a hostile, toxic environment it was for him. He didn’t want to go to the meeting anymore, he just wanted to have the driver turn the car around and take him back to Stella. Take him back to New York. He never should have come. It would have been a lot less time consuming to just tell them to fuck off over Zoom.

After they arrived at the studio lot, Hank and Charlie were escorted to the production offices by a young PA whose voice had probably just cracked, but was eager to please. He brought them bottles of water and a tray of snacks which Hank refused and Charlie happily dug into and ripped open a bag of peanuts. The conference room they were left in had a long, sleek table made of solid oak and a view of Sunset Boulevard.

Minutes later, a young woman entered the room through a side door and an entourage of assistants, all women, filed in behind her, all sitting in chairs along one wall as she approached Hank and Charlie. She was tall and angular and looked as though she’d stepped off of the latest cover of Vogue. Her long dark hair was pulled into a slick ponytail and her heels were as sharp as her nails, painted black.

“Eloise Lambert,” she said, extending her hand to Hank. “We appreciate you coming down. Did Paul offer you tea or espresso or is there anything else we can get for you?”

“An espresso sounds nice,” Charlie said.

“You must be the agent,” Eloise said, shifting her handshake to Charlie. “We spoke on the phone.”

“Charles Runkle. Love the set up here. Great production house you’ve got.”

“Settle down, Charlie, they’re supposed to be kissing our asses here, not the other way around.”

Eloise smiled and moved away to take a seat across from the two of them at the short side of the table. One of the assistants slid an espresso in front of Charlie while another slid an ipad in front of Eloise.

“You know I was a PA on A Crazy Little Thing Called Love,” Eloise said, referring to the movie that had been made of Hank’s breakout best seller, God Hates Us All. “It was the first film set I was ever on.”

“Oh?” Hank said, keeping himself as relaxed as possible as visions of sexual harassment charges started dancing in his head.

“And it’s when I vowed that one day I would be an executive producer. It’s criminal how that was adapted. It makes sense to me why you’ve turned down all the other offers for this.”

“I may or may not have punched the director in the dick at a screening, but I got over it, eventually.”

“Todd Carr. Decent guy. Shit director.”

“I take it he’s not on the shortlist for this?”

“I think he’s working on industrials these days.”

“Too bad.”

“I’m going to have Sabrina here take over with the pitch.” Eloise pulled out the empty chair that was next to her and one of the women came over to sit beside her. She was almost a carbon copy of her boss with her dark, slick-backed hair and sharp heels, but she also resembled a child playing dress up.

“Mr. Moody,” Sabrina said, nodding at Hank. “Mr. Runkle. I’m sure the two of you know Reese Witherspoon.”

Hank pressed his lips together and shot his agent a look. Charlie’s eyes were wide, but he kept them forward. Hank felt like kicking him under the table, but refrained.

“Uh, yeah,” Hank said. “I’ve heard of her.”

“It’s not really a secret that her book club has been a major success and that most of her picks have then gone on to be developed from there.”

“Mmhm.”

“We’d like to do something similar, but we want to cultivate a selection that has a bit more…edge, let’s say.”

Hank relaxed a little. “So you’re not looking at Reese for…casting?”

“Casting?” It was Sabrina that tensed now. “That would be a very interesting choice. Is that…is that who you had in mind for Miranda?”

“God, no.”

“Okay, great.” Sabrina nodded and then gestured at someone over her shoulder. “We do have a few choices in mind, if you’d like to take a look.”

“Yeah, sure.”

One of the women gave some papers to Sabrina and then she slid them across the desk to Hank and Charlie. It was a standard breakdown of the characters and the first name on the list under Miranda was Catherine Keener. He could see that. He could even get behind that.

“Okay,” Hank said. “Back to the anti-Witherspoon book club.”

“Not anti, just…alt. Material that might have a bit more grit and that may not always have the neat little happy endings tied up in a bow.”

“So you’re okay with the ending?” Hank asked.

“We’re not trying to give this the A Crazy Little Thing Called Love treatment,” Eloise said. “There’s no reason to not be faithful to the material.”

“Which is why we’d like you to write the scripts,” Sabrina added. “Be the showrunner.”

“Wait, what? Showrunner?”

“Hank would make a great showrunner,” Charlie said. “I think this sounds like a fantastic idea.”

“Shut up, Charlie. What do you mean, showrunner?”

“We’d like to shoot this as a limited series,” Eloise answered. “Eight episodes, possibly ten.”

Hank managed not to fidget through the rest of the pitch as they explained what they wanted from him in terms of scripts, the responsibilities of casting, hiring directors, even the minutiae of costuming and set decoration would fall on his shoulders. The weight of it freaked him out, but the opportunity to maintain creative control over one of his works was enticing. He was suddenly taking this offer very seriously.

“And what about location?” he asked.

“What about it?” Eloise inquired.

“The novel’s set in New York. I’m in New York. I’m not spending eight months in Atlanta or wherever the fuck the tax break du jour is for filming these days.”

“We have relationships with the studios in Queens, not to mention a plethora of east coast based line managers and location scouts to choose from. That won’t be a problem.”

“I don’t know the first fucking thing about running a show.”

“Fortunately, we do.”

Hank felt backed into a corner. He had no good reason not to say no to such a deal. He looked to Charlie, who had the same panic written on his face as that time he’d stupidly thought he could handle a chili dog with sauerkraut from a street vendor on Melrose. His silence was loud.

“There is one other potential offer we’d like to make,” Sabrina said, cutting the tension that suddenly seemed to fill the room. “The daughter in the novel, Paige, she isn’t really part of the story, but she’s mentioned quite often.”

“Yeah.”

“We were thinking that, if this were to be successful, that maybe we could do a second series exploring her perspective.”

“I don’t know that I care to explore Paige’s POV.”

“Not you, necessarily. Isn’t your daughter also a writer?”

“I don’t know that Becca would be interested in Paige’s POV either. You’d have to ask her.”

“Just food for thought,” Eloise said. “A father-daughter created series might make for a potentially interesting gimmick from a marketing perspective.”

“And lucrative,” Charlie suddenly piped up.

“You’ll have to excuse him,” Hank said, glaring at Charlie. “He’s got his sights set on a condo in a golf cart community in Florida.”

“Wouldn’t be a very good agent if he wasn’t interested in numbers,” Eloise answered, gesturing over her shoulder at another woman who passed her what Hank recognized as a set of contracts. “I’ll presume you’ll want your lawyer to look things over.”

Charlie immediately started flipping through the pages as soon as the contract was in his hands and Hank stepped on his toes under the table. He stood up, and Eloise stood as well, coming towards him with her hand outstretched.

“I think you’ll find our offer more than satisfactory,” she said, shaking Hank’s hand. “But, if there’s anything we’ve left off the table, I’m sure Mr. Runkle will be in touch to let us know.”

“I am a little disappointed you didn’t even try to hit on me. I thought that’s what all the big Hollywood executives did.”

“My wife probably wouldn’t appreciate it if I did.”

He shrugged. “Neither would mine.”

Hank left the offices in a cloud of quiet dread. Once upon a time he would’ve just signed the contract without giving it much thought as to how he would pull it off, but the older he’d gotten, the more contemplative he’d become, less impulsive. While his agent may have been ready to open a good bottle of champagne, he wasn’t quite there yet. There was only one person’s input that mattered to him.

Wanting to avoid what was sure to be his Charlie’s incessant babbling on the ride back to the hotel, Hank opted to walk. He thought his agent would put up a protest, but Charlie waved to him from the back seat, already on the phone with their lawyer. He watched the Escalade pull away and made his way west on Sunset. The too blue skies and palm trees lining the streets fed into Hank’s already contemplative mood by adding a dose of nostalgia and melancholy.

At Vine Street, Hank turned right, wanting to catch a glimpse of Capitol Records on the way up to Hollywood Boulevard. He casually browsed the walk of fame stars that lined the side street, tallying up how many were dead and gone and were largely forgotten. He had to pull out his phone to take a photo of the star of Richard Dix and set a reminder to himself to search for a wikipedia page later and find out if the man was a porn star or his real name was Dick Dix.

He crossed Hollywood to go stand in front of the famous recording studio building and daydream about what his life might look like if he’d went into music instead. Probably dead. He snapped a photo of the building and texted it to Fish. As he put his phone back in his pocket, he paused as his attention was drawn back to the sidewalk.

“I’m a writer,” he mumbled to himself as he crouched down over the star of Billy Wilder. “But then, nobody’s perfect.”

Hank had made it no secret that a lot of his career had been driven by money and he’d always found it to be a more honest, less vulgar motivator than fame, but secretly, deep down, he’d always admired the real storytellers of the world, the ones driven by passion and need to express. Even more, he’d always admired the ones that could make their art last. He had the soul of a tortured artist, all he was ever lacking was the brain brimming with stories. He took a photo of the star and made no other stops on the rest of the walk to the hotel.

The same check-in clerk from hours before nodded to him as he headed to the elevators. He double-checked the room number written on the keycard holder and punched the number three. A fully-stocked wet bar greeted him beside the door and he called out Stella’s name as he grabbed a glass and looked for the whiskey. His wife emerged from the bedroom door in a plush robe, looking more than freshly showered. Her hair was pulled back, but fluffed. Her face was dewy and her cheeks were pink.

“Netflix spring for the deluxe spa package?” he asked, pouring himself a drink.

“A lovely facial and a wonderful Swedish massage,” she answered.

“Happy ending included?”

“I was waiting for you for that.”

Hank grinned as he took a sip of whiskey and opened up one arm as Stella slipped her arms around his waist. “Good answer,” he murmured, and lowered his glass to kiss her. She licked a drop of whiskey off his bottom lip when he pulled away.

“How did it go?” she asked.

Hank grunted and took one of Stella’s hands, crossing his arm over her chest as he shuffled them out to the main area. He caught a glance of the pool over the balcony view from the wall to wall sliding glass doors as he pulled her down onto the black leather couch. He crossed both feet on the coffee table that looked like it had been carved from driftwood and she put her hand under the side of his jacket to run her hand across his chest.

“They want to give me everything I never knew I even wanted,” he said.

“How very unsatisfying for you.”

He grunted again and took another sip of whiskey before he handed her the glass to sit up and pull his jacket off. She tucked her feet up under her and balanced the glass on her knee as he leaned back and sighed, crossing his feet on the table again and lacing his fingers behind his head.

“They don’t want to change the ending?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Did they share their thoughts on casting?”

“I saw a list.”

“And there was no Reese Witherspoon, I take it?”

He chuckled and then turned his head towards her. “No, they seemed to be spot on with the breakdown. And, they were thinking a limited series format, not a movie.”

“For television?”

“More or less. Eight to ten episodes.”

“Is that preferable?”

“They want me to develop it. Be the showrunner.”

“What does that mean?”

“Write it, cast it, set decorate the fucking thing if I want to, basically be the czar of the show.”

“I see.” She hummed and then her expression turned pensive.

Hank took the glass of whiskey out of Stella’s hand for another drink and then offered it to her. She shook her head so he quickly downed the rest, coughed once from the sting of it and pounded a fist lightly against his sternum. Sometimes he forgot that he couldn’t drink the way he used to. She took the glass from him and put it on the table and then settled next to him again, her hand on his chest.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Is this something you want to do?”

“I’ve never had full creative control over a project before. It’s tempting.”

“Hm.”

She was quiet again. He slumped towards her to nuzzle his face against her neck and closed his eyes as he breathed her in. She smelled like coconut and her skin was warm and slick as he slipped his hand through the gap in her robe to caress her breast. “God, you smell good,” he mumbled. He dragged his bottom lip back and forth across her collarbone and she finally reached up and put her fingers in his hair, scratching her nails up the back of his head how he liked it, but didn’t say anything.

“Tell me what you think I should do, Sherlock.”

“I think it sounds as though you want to say yes, don’t you?”

“I want to know what you think,” he murmured, tipping his chin down and opening his eyes to gaze at her half-exposed breast. He circled his fingertip around her areola in the way he knew she liked, very lightly, counterclockwise. “Be my voice of reason. Talk me out of it, maybe.”

“I would never talk you out of something you want to do.”

“But?”

“What will the timeline of this be like? I have exams approaching and I don’t know how flexible I can be with the time I can take, not like previously when I was in London. If it meant weeks apart…months, even…”

“Mmm say flexible again, but let me get my dick in my hand first.” He pulled back with a smile to let her know he was teasing before she could develop a frown or chastise him for not taking her seriously. She frowned anyway and he began massaging her breast as penance. “Not to worry, Sherlock, I’ve already made it conditional that I wouldn’t even consider agreeing to their offer if they weren’t willing to shoot the show in New York.”

Stella shifted and pulled on Hank’s hair so that he had to tip his head back to look up at her. “Are you telling me they’ve offered to let you write your own show, cast it, direct it, shoot the ser-”

“Don’t forget set decorate the fucking thing if I wanted to,” he interrupted.

“Set decorate the fucking thing, and shoot the series in New York. You who has no experience with any of these things?”

“I thought I was going to have to pinch myself, but no one offered to blow me, so it was pretty obvious it wasn’t a dream.”

“You actually want to do all those things? Be responsible for all of it?”

Hank sobered and sighed as he pulled his hand free from Stella’s robe. “Take the hits if it’s a failure, you mean?”

“No, that isn’t what I meant at all, though it would be something to think about. Trust me, being in charge of a number of people can seem alluring, but it’s also a heavy burden.”

“You don’t think I can carry the load?” He put his hand up and scrunched his face. “Wait, don’t answer that.”

Stella wove her fingers through Hank’s and pressed her palm against his. All he had to do was give her a gentle pull and she lifted up onto her knees. He held onto her as she straddled his thighs and he slouched into the back of the couch. He took her other hand and for a few quiet moments, she stretched her fingers between his as he rubbed circles over the insides of her wrist with his thumbs. She finally twisted her hands free and then brought them to the back of his neck and laced her fingers together.

“This is a massive offer,” she said. “It will mean a lot of time and work and energy.”

“I know that,” he answered, unknotting her robe. Her breasts were bare, but she had plain white cotton panties on. Nothing fancy or lacy, but a view he could still appreciate for the dark shadow of pubic hair through the thin material and the wet spot that hinted at her arousal.

“It’s a huge commitment.”

He let his thumbs drift down and dip into the waistband of her panties. “I think I’m pretty good at commitment,” he murmured. “Don’t you?”

“Very, very good,” she whispered, thighs clenching against his legs.

He took a deep breath and moved his hands up her body, over her breasts to her shoulders and back down again. “Do you know who Billy Wilder is, Sherlock?”

“Should I?”

“Golden age of Hollywood filmmaker. Wrote and directed Sunset Boulevard, Some Like it Hot. On his tombstone, he had them put ‘I’m a writer, but then, nobody’s perfect.’”

“Ah, I see.”

Hank cocked his head at her.

“Some Like it Hot,” she said. “Paraphrasing the last line of his own film.”

“Your well of knowledge never ceases to impress.”

“It’s a rather shallow well, I’m afraid, but I do know that one.”

He hummed and ran the flat of his hand down the front of her chest to her navel. “I don’t know what they did to you in that spa, but I don’t think you’ve ever felt so soft.”

“All but the happy ending.”

“Oh yeah, let’s not forget about that.” He made a move to slip his hand back between her legs but she grabbed it and pushed it away.

“Finish your story,” she said.

“And I saw his star on the walk of fame today, the end.” He tried to touch her again, but she pushed him away again and raised her brow. He sighed. “And I saw his star on the walk of fame today and it made me think about how lucky he was to have been able to put his words out there and that we can sit here what, sixty years later, and remember what he wrote.”

“I’ve been snobbish about it in the past,” he continued, “and thought that people who could quote novels were somehow superior to people who could quote movies, but honestly, so what? Someone had to write it first for someone to say. And then someone out there thought it worthy of their grey matter. I have always wondered what it could be like to see something through from page to screen. Not have to complain when they inevitably get it so fucking wrong. So, if Netflix has faith in me, maybe I should have faith in myself and take the chance. No, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I never know what the fuck I’m doing so it’ll just be another day ending in ‘y’.”

Stella’s eyes, dark blue and piercing, softened and lightened. She smiled and her mouth descended onto Hank’s in a firm kiss. He squeaked in surprise and then chuckled. He managed to grasp her hips again and pull her firmly down against his chest.

“My brief affair with an existential crisis turn you on, Sherlock?”

“No, but your commitment does.”

He grinned and then flipped her down to the couch. “Now, then,” he said. “I finished my story. I’d say it’s time for your happy ending.”

“About damn time.”

The End

#i wrote this #hanella #surprise bitches #someone had to miss them #merry christmas ya filthy animals

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