#NO I WILL NOT SHUT UP WHEN THE SERIES COMES

[ariestrxsh]

dealer!chris x dealer!reader

💸 content warning: smut/angst (in later chapters; this one's mostly just suggestive), mentions of hard drugs and guns, enemies to lovers, slow burn

💸 summary: you and chris set aside your differences to join forces and close on a sweet deal with a local supplier.

there will be several parts to this story, and they will contain sex, drugs, violence, use of weapons, and a lot of things that could be triggering if you've ever been apart of the drug world or loved someone with an addiction. i don't mean to glorify drug use, selling, or anything like that, but i wanted this story to be realistic, so it does appear like a somewhat "glamorous" lifestyle to chris and the reader in the first few parts. i want to make it very clear that when you get involved in the drug world in real life, you usually end up in one of two places: the ground or prison.

WHEN SPARKS FLY

chapters: | intro | 1 |

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Chris Sturniolo," you sneered, crossing your arms after stepping out onto your porch into the cool air. You'd recognize him anywhere, even if it was just a silhouette of the back of his head at sundown on your doorstep, which was one of the last places you expected to see him.

He slowly turned to face you, a nearly-spent joint between his lips that were curled into a smug smirk. He looked you up and down, admiring the fancy dress and blazer you were wearing.

"What do you want?" You asked, raising an eyebrow as the smell of marijuana filled your senses. This better be good. "You know, ma, I halfway didn't expect you to answer after looking through the peephole," Chris motioned towards the shut door behind you.

You and Chris both knew that in your intertwined lines of business that looking through the peephole in the door was always a must. You never knew who'd be on the other side.

"Hot date tonight?" He wondered, gesturing towards your outfit with the cherry-end of his joint. "Something like that. You better make this quick," you said, cutting through his tendency to beat around the bush and talk in a series of metaphors rather than getting to the point.

"Mind if I come in? I wanna talk to you about something. Business-related," Chris mumbled, blowing out a final puff of smoke and squashing the roach between the ground and his sneaker. You hesitantly let him inside your home, but mostly because you didn't want any passersby to hear your conversation.

"Before you say anything," you said, stopping him before he could speak. You shut the barrier between your living room and the outside world, and you kneeled down in front of him.

"Hey, woah. What are you doing, ma? If you wanted to give me a blow job, you could just ask," he chuckled, smiling down at you. "Ha ha. You're hilarious," you dryly answered, rolling your eyes.

You began to pat him down, starting at his ankles. You lifted his pantleg and unholstered his pistol, placing it on the coffee table next to you. "Come on, ma. You don't trust me?" He pouted at you. "Oh, not one bit," you responded, glancing up at him as you ran your palms across his lower stomach.

You pulled up his shirt a bit to reveal a glock tucked into the front of his jeans. You confiscated it and set it next to his first gun. Your hands moved to his pockets, pulling out his phone and a wad of cash and placing them all on your wooden table with his other belongings.

Chris rolled his eyes and smirked at you as you accidentally brushed against the bulge in his jeans. "Sorry," you mumbled, clearing your throat and standing back up.

You started to feel under his shirt, running your hands and across his chest. "Come on, ma. You got all my guns. What else are you looking for?" He chuckled, looking into your eyes for a few seconds too long. He couldn't deny that he was getting a little turned on by the way your fingers gently glided across his warm skin.

"A wire. I'm not an idiot, Sturniolo. Why the fuck else would you wanna talk?" You snarked back, returning his lingering gaze. There was a thick sexual tension in the air for just a moment.

"Whatever, ma. You really think I'm a rat?" Chris asked, sounding a bit offended and giving you a hurt expression. "Can't be too careful. You know that," you said, running your hands down his arms, trying to ignore how gorgeous his blue eyes were and how the veins on his forearms felt.

"Alright. Now that I know you're not here to bust me or rob me. What do you want, Chris?" You asked him, sounding annoyed. "You ever think about you and me?" Chris said in a low, raspy voice. "What? You come over to ask me on a date?" You laughed.

"That's not what I meant. You ever think about you and me working together?" Chris asked, clarifying his original question. "You know, it would have been less insane for you to ask me on a date," you chuckled in amusement, heading back over towards the door to walk him out.

"C'mon, ma. We could help each other out," Chris gently grabbed your arm to keep you from walking away. "I know I could help you out. How could you help me out?" You skeptically wondered, narrowing your gaze at Chris.

"I could offer you protection. A lady shouldn't be going on runs alone in this business without a man," Chris replied. "I don't need a man. I can hold my own," you shook your head fervently, crossing your arms and tightening your jaw. You were somewhat offended by his comment.

"I know you don't need a man, ma. Feminism and all that shit. But wouldn't it make you feel safer? Just to have someone to accompany you on your runs? Someone to help take the edge off?" Chris asked, giving you a smug look.

You knew he was right. Drug dealing was a man's world, and there had been many occasions where it would have been safer to have someone like Chris with you. You unclenched your jaw and relaxed your shoulders.

"What's in it for you?" You asked, smirking at him. You mulled over his offer, assuming you already knew the answer. "You know, ma. I'm trying to make more money. Work my way up," Chris smiled at you.

"I don't mean to be condescending, but Chris, you're just a low-level weed dealer. Do you have what it takes to sell the harder shit?" You cocked your head to the side, giving him an inquisitive look, your eyes dropping to his full lips. "You act like I don't know what I'm doing," Chris responded, giving you another hurt expression.

"Chris. Think about it like this. You're like a lawyer, and I'm like a surgeon," you replied, giving him a methaphor he'd understand. "Both valuable skill sets, but if I walk into your courtroom, my scalpel isn't gonna do shit, and if you walk into my ER, your law knowledge isn't going to help you perform an operation."

"Ma, let me prove to you that I have what it takes," Chris responded, confidence creeping into the corner of his lip in a sly smile as he took a step closer to you. You peered down at your watch.

Your connect hated it when you were running late, but even more than that, he hated when you brought unexpected company with you.

"I'm about to go meet my guy right now and make a deal," you hesitantly told him. "So, that's what you're all dressed up for? You got a crush on your connect, ma?" He asked as he motioned towards your dress, giving you a condescending grin and nudging you in the arm.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. "No, Chris. We're meeting somewhere nice. The goal is to not look out of place. Look, I think I have a blazer and some slacks that might fit you in my room. Let's get you changed, because you look like a fucking drug dealer," you chuckled.

"I'll call my guy and let him know a colleague is coming with me," you said, making your way for the staircase "Colleague? I like the sound of that," Chris nodded in approval, following behind you.

"Not yet, Chris. That's just what I'm gonna tell him to avoid having to explain the intricacies. Just keep your mouth shut and don't look them in the eyes for too long," you rolled your eyes at Chris, hastily heading towards your dimly lit bedroom. You opened your closet door and reached towards the back of the rack, pulling out a black suit.

"Here, try this on," you told Chris, handing it to him. He hung the suit over the back of your chair, pulled off his hoodie, and then took his shirt off. Your eyes danced over his shoulders and his chest in the soft lighting, and you subtly bit your lip as you studied his build.

You and Chris may not have exactly been friends. In fact, you'd had a history with him, and the two of you were more like enemies, but you couldn't deny how hot he was. "Mind giving me some privacy, ma?" He chuckled, starting to undo his belt.

"My bad," you said, shifting your gaze away from him and heading out of your room, closing the door behind you. You snuck one last glance at his body through the waning sliver in the door as you pulled it shut.

You went back downstairs to retrieve your suitcase, pulling the address up on your phone and scanning the directions.

A few minutes later, Chris came down. He stood in front of you, presenting the blazer and slacks that were just slightly too long for him, and the two of you giggled. "You know, it's not a perfect fit, but it's close enough," you replied, heading towards the door.

Chris followed, getting into the passenger seat as you pulled open your driver's side and climbed in beside him. You dialed your connect as you backed out of your driveway, turning on your headlights, and throwing your car in drive once you reversed out onto the main room.

"What's up? You on your way?" The man on the other end of the phone answered. "Yeah, just letting you know I'm bringing my business partner with me. We're about ten minutes away," you said, looking over at Chris who reached for his joint that he had tucked behind his ear, and as he went to light it, you smacked the lighter out of his hand.

"What the fuck?" Chris asked in a voice just above a whisper, furrowing his brow at you. "It's room 152 when you get here," your guy told you over the phone. "Okay, see you soon," you replied, ending the call and snatching the joint from him.

"You're not smoking that shit in my car. I swear to God, Chris, if we get pulled over and you give the pigs a reason to search us, not only will it be the last run you ever make with me, it'll be the last run either one of us makes period because we'll both be sitting in prison," you told him, tossing the joint into your cup holder.

"Relaaax," he told you, drawing out the word. "No. If you're working with me, you follow my rules. If you relax, you get complacent. This is exactly why I don't do runs with weed dealers," you stated, shaking your head and regretting your decision to let him join you on your reup.

"Okay, ma. Damn. I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was so serious," he said, raising his hands in a defensive position. "Never break more than one law at a time. If we're ever doing a reup, we use our turn signals, we go the speed limit, and we don't stink up the car with pot," you responded, paying more attention to the road than you were to Chris.

"Alright, ma. I got it," Chris said, his tone softening. "Also, I know you can get away with smoking some of your own shit, because you just sell weed, but when it comes to the hard stuff, you don't get high on your own supply," you said, letting him in on your code.

"You test the product out on your gums when we pick it up, but that's as close as you get to doing the stuff we sell. The shit we're messing with is highly addictive, and you don't want all your hard-earned money disappearing up your nose," you sternly told him. "Don't worry, ma. I only do the natural shit," Chris said, peering out the window at all the streetlights.

As the two of you pulled into a parking spot outside a fancy hotel, it started to drizzle outside. You put the car in park and reached over Chris, pulling your shotgun out of your glove box. You hiked up your dress and tucked your weapon into your lace garter.

"Damn, ma. That thigh holster is kinda sexy," Chris rasped, his eyes drawn to your legs. You scoffed and narrowed your gaze at him, trying to act disgusted by his comment.

"Turn off your cell. Let me do the talking. I've only been doing business with this guy for about a year, but if he knows this is our first deal together, he'll call the whole thing off," you said, ignoring him and looking dead into his eyes before reaching for your suitcase in the backseat. He nodded at you.

"I'm trusting you, Chris. Don't fuck this up. This is a $300,000 deal that's gonna make me $150k in profit if I play my cards right." Chris' eyes widened. He'd never bought $300,000 worth of weed. Maybe in his lifetime, but not in one run.

The two of you got out of the car, and Chris snatched the joint back from out of your cup holder after turning off his phone and tucked it back behind his ear. Your heels clicked against the pavement as you approached the entrance of the hotel.

The two of you walked through the crowded lobby undetected, making your way up a flight of stairs. You guys headed down the long corridor, both sets of your shoes hitting the hideous paisley-printed carpet beneath you.

You approached the room, knocking softly on the door, and a few seconds later, your connect answered. He looked at both of you, looked both ways down the long hallway, and motioned for you guys to enter. "Okay, I got your stuff. You got my money?" Your supplier asked, presenting a suitcase on the hotel bed that was nearly identical to yours.

There were two men in sunglasses and nice suits who were standing behind him. You acknowledged them each with a nod out of respect, and your eyes wandered back over to your dealer. "It's all right here," you said, tossing your suitcase onto the bed beside his.

The two men in the room popped open the case and started running your cash through a money counter. Chris had been in the drug world for a few years, but he'd never seen so much money all at once, and he certainly hadn't met any dealers that had money counters on hand.

"Hey, I'm Chris. 'Sup gentleman?" Chris acknowledged the other two men as well. "What's your name?" Chris asked, extending his hand and smiling at your connect. "Uh. Miles," he hesitantly replied, glancing between both you and Chris.

Shit, you thought, widening your eyes and thinking about how you were going to ream Chris after this deal for not keeping his mouth shut.

"How you doing, Miles? I know my girl here is a loyal customer of yours, but I just wanted to let you know that I gotta guy that can get us the same shit for about $100k less. I know my girl here doesn't wanna take her business elsewhere, but I've been trying to convince her, because it's kind of a steal," Chris said.

Your jaw slightly fell open, still stunned that Chris was so comfortable talking to such high profile dealers he'd just met. "Who? Is it Diablo, man? That asshole is always trying to take my customers!" Miles slammed his fist down on the table.

"You know I don't like to name names in this industry. You're nicer to deal with anyway. I just was wondering if you could maybe sweeten the deal for us?" Chris asked, pulling the joint out from behind his ear and extending it as an offering.

"If you can knock down the price for us, I'm going to be helping my girl move this shit, so we'll do it twice as fast and be back to buy more in half the time. You'd be making money, really. Then you and your boys can share this joint in celebration of how much abundance and wealth you're going to see this year," Chris smirked.

Miles was silent for a moment as if he were actually mulling over the idea. He peered back at his men, who were both too stunned to speak, but they all shrugged and then silently nodded in agreement. "What do you say? $200k?" Chris inquired, raising his eyebrows and looking between the three men.

"I can't go that low. I got people to pay," Miles sternly shook his head. "How about $250,000?" Chris asked. "How about $275k, and I throw in an extra couple of kilos?" Miles offered. "What do you think, ma? Sound like a deal to you?" Chris asked, acknowledging that this was your deal, and that the final say was ultimately up to you.

Miles shifted his gaze towards you. You were dumbfounded and at a loss for words, but you nodded in response. "Alright. Pleasure doing business, Miles," Chris passed Miles the joint and gave him another stern handshake.

The two men opened up the suitcase they were handing off to you and put back $25,000 along with another two kilos of white powder that were strategically bagged tightly and wrapped snugly in plastic.

Chris' eyes subtly widened as his gaze traveled to the drugs. He had only seen cocaine a few times in his life, and it had always been in small quantities. Never 12 kilos worth. But he managed to keep his composure, hoping they couldn't detect that this was the first deal of this magnitude that Chris had closed, and they didn't.

"You don't mind if I test it, do you?" Chris asked, motioning towards the substance. "Not at all," Miles said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small baggy. He shook a bit of it out into Chris' palm. Chris licked his finger, dipped it into the powder, and ran it along his gums.

"Alright, Miles. This is some good shit," Chris complimented him, and the two of you made your way out the door, suitcase in hand, and you guys glided down the steps and out through the lobby doors.

"Holy shit, ma. I didn't know how much I could feel my teeth until I couldn't," Chris mumbled, surprised by the effects of the cocaine as the two of you stepped out into the rain.

It wasn't until you were each sitting side-by-side in the car that you finally spoke up. "Chris, how did you learn to do that?" You asked, peering over at him, the rain pitter pattering on your windshield. "I know how to talk to people," Chris nonchalantly told you, a smirk playing in the corner of his lip as he shrugged.

"Wait. Who's your other guy who could get it for $200k?" You asked, wrinkling your brows. "There is no other guy," Chris shrugged. "Just used a fake story as leverage. But now I know he has an enemy who's always stealing his clientele, Diablo. You know, kinda like how we were when you were just selling weed," Chris playfully nudged you in the arm.

"What were you going to do if he didn't budge?" You asked, searching his face for answers. "That's the thing. They always budge. He doesn't want to lose out on a sale," Chris told you. You stared at him in silent awe for a few seconds.

"Do you have any idea how much profit you just made me?" You asked him. "I've never been good at math, but I have a vague idea. I wanna split it. 50/50," he gave you a smug look. "How about 40/60," you suggested, raising an eyebrow at him. "Deal," he said without hesitation.

"Chris. That was single-handedly the hottest thing I've ever seen a man do," you admitted, your gaze dancing from his blue eyes to his pouty smile. You wanted to tear his clothes off right then and there and fuck him senseless in the back seat.

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"I know, ma. I know. By the way, you owe me a joint."

chapter two here ! 💸

[mmaybanks]

mini skirts and mini heart attacks

pairing: bsf!jj x bsf!reader

warning(s): kissing, clothing insecurities (not necessarily body), suggestive-ish language, mentions of anxiety,

content: reader is nervous about her outfit before attending a kook event, but jj’s recklessness pushes him to do something about her complaints. wc: ≈ 1.2k

MADDY SPEAKS .ᐟ this may or may not be based on myself and the way i wont shut up about something annoying until i’m annoyed again😞 happens way too often im ngl

i wrote this in like.... 30 minutes, so, if its not great dm it i wanted to get more stuff out bc i have like 6 different fic ideas and nothing for the series i was gonna post... and my only posted fic is christmas so thats a lil awk for the rest of the year

“i’m not ready, i look silly.” you pouted to jj, who was watching you spin around in the mirror, overanalyzing every detail that he thought was completely perfect. “you look amazing, i promise. everyone there is gonna have their jaws on the floor the second you walk in.”

“you don’t think the skirt is too short?” he gave you a pointed look, but acted as if he was checking the skirt length. “y/n. you look perfect, and if anyone does have a problem with it, they can suck it.” he watched as you nibbled on your bottom lip, tearing the skin away into almost bleeding territory.

“stop that, you’re fine. and we don’t have to go, i’m sure sarah will understand you don’t feel like havin’ a panic attack right in front of the entire figure 8.” he noticed your eyes widen slightly at that, panic coming to him now. “no, y/n. the kooks won’t even pay us much mind, and if anything, no attention will be on ya, ’cause it’s all on me.”

you let out a small, breathy laugh, even a toothy smile, which made jj feel a bit less worried about you.

“y’know they’ll all be lookin’ at us both. oh my, what is that girl doing next to that pogue?! oh, her poor parents. i couldn’t imagine my kid ever—” you mocked the uptightness of the judgy kooks, ones you’ve probably met on multiple occasions and heard their conversations first-hand.

“y/n.” jj cut you off, trying to stop before you spiraled deeper into your worries. however, you were fully invested in this bit you created, not even remembering the reality of it.

“tarnishing the family name like that. i wouldn’t allow—”

you continued ranting, acutely aware of his attempts at getting your attention, even less aware of how his eyes drifted down to stare at your constantly moving lips. “n/n.” his attempt was futile, and he wasn’t sure he was trying hard enough anyway, his focus too far gone.

he stood from your bed, closing the distance between you. “it, i would have her sent off to rethink her choice in frien—”

then you stopped. not because he called your name, not because your mind went blank—though it did the moment after—but because jj’s lips were on yours, with a gentle grip on your wrist. his lips moved surprisingly gently, opposed to how the kiss began, with a bit of extra force to cut you off.

your breath hitched, all movements pausing by the unexpectedness of the situation. you think you kissed him back, but you couldn’t be sure, your brain hazy with shock.

your best friend, the guy you’ve had an unadmitted crush on for the last decade, just kissed you, and you aren’t even sure why he did, it wasn’t a tension-built moment, you were completely caught off guard.

you noticed he was starting to pull away, suddenly aware of what he did, but you were scared he regretted it rather than was worried for you. maybe your breath stank, maybe he was kissing you for some other reason you couldn’t think of, not just because he wanted to. before your anxiety-clouded mind could come up with a solution, he was gone.

you subconsciously licked your lips, missing the newfound taste of jj on them and the warmth that lingered just enough to make you want more.

when you focused back on jj’s face you couldn’t tell what he was feeling. his eyebrows were furrowed, but his eyes were soft, almost teary. was he about to cry? his whole body seemed to be jittery, his leg was bouncing on the ground.

“sorry.” you squeaked out, and jj’s expression quickly changed to one you could recognize. shock, and maybe a hint of anger. there was an awkwardly long pause before he actually replied. “i just kissed you, and you’re the one apologizing?” you nod your head the slightest bit, thinking it over. obviously you were thinking it should just happen again, and neither of you apologize, but if an apology was needed, it wouldn’t be from you. “no?”

jj let out a defeated chuckle, taking a subtle step back. was he going to say something?

“you almost ready to go?” he was avoiding looking at you, that much you could tell, even if you hadn’t known him inside and out. “you not gonna say anything?”

he let out a deep sigh, dragging a hand down his face. he shook his head a little, as if he could shake off his nerves. “nah, i was jus’ shutting you up.” maybe if he looked at you he could’ve seen the way your heart dropped in your chest, but you weren’t even sure you fully believed him.

“mhm,” you hummed, stepping closer to him, the gap closing again. “and if i wanted you to shut me up again?”

his head shot up, wide eyes finding yours. “where’s this sudden confidence coming from?” you smiled as he pulled you by your waist to stand between his widely spaced legs, faces now inches apart. this is how you imagined you would kiss him, not a surprise attack.

“oh i dunno, just, some guy was just telling me how perfect and amazing i look.” jj cocked his jaw, a playful smirk rising his lips. “and he used the word amazing? what a nerd. a real man would call you beautiful.”

“shut up.” you giggled, anticipation for the kiss making a cold shiver run down your spine. “make me.”

“ew, you’re so corny.” you shook your head, but leaned back into him anyway.

the feeling of his lips on yours, being able to feel all of the soft, semi-chapped, warm skin on yours. he let out a content hum in the kiss, his tongue poking against your lips; prompting them open for him.

his tongue explored every corner of your mouth, it was a gentle clash of teeth and tongue, lips locked. he pulled a whine out of you that instantly made him want to be able to make you make noises whenever he wanted, an unexpected possessive feeling flowing through him.

your throat was burning from the lack of oxygen, but you didn’t want to stop. you only pulled away when you felt lightheaded, and not from pleasure. his lips chased yours slightly, a mindless leaning into you.

“you ready to go?” you mocked his earlier words, watching as his eyes opened into still semi-closed slits. “shut up.” he smiled against your lips, going in for another peck.

“seriously, are you ready? we kinda lost our extra time, we needed to leave like, 5 minutes ago.” he groaned, but got up from where he ended up sitting on the edge of your bed. “y’feel better about it at least?”

“eh, i know they’ll focus on you more, at least.” he grinned, previous energy coming back tenfold. “nah, those kooks are gonna eat you n’ your little skirt up.”

“think you can go one kook interaction without a fight?” jj laughed in response, grabbing your hand and tugging. “jj i’m serious.” he fake pouted, but reluctantly nodded. “i promise, as long as nobody says anything they shouldn’t, i won’t start a fight. i’ll hold back.”

before you could even get the beginning to your protest out, he continued. “i won’t start an unnecessary fight. if it’s needed, no promises, princess.” you sighed, but couldn’t fight the smile on your face. he was being honest, and his intentions are in the right places, so you couldn’t complain too much. “’kay, lets go.”

[mlthree]

poc!tf141!reader x simon riley

author’s note: a lovely reader linked me the series that this fic was inspired by after i couldn't find it!! it's "if i can't, no one can" (specifically the "say the word" chapter) by the amazingly talented @hahaifolded; it's also a poc!reader fic and it's about about all the boys falling for the newest recruit and the chaos that ensues, i loved it and can't wait for the next installation. you guys should go check it out!! cw: descriptions of fighting, punching, blood, etc

you'd always loved training the recruits. for the most part, they were excited to be here. there were always a few you had to put in their place, but even that was enjoyable.

until one day, one of them decided to go too far.

you, kyle, and johnny had been tasked with showing the new recruits around, orientation and all that. simon had tagged along after you and soap had begged him to, and he’d finally caved when kyle had mentioned he might get the chance to scare the shit out of some recruits.

so halfway through orientation all of you ended up in the gym, and you had been having the time of your life — there had been more than average both women and recruits of color in this batch, and you had been busy talking to one of the girls when some privileged son of a bitch decided to poke his nose where it didn’t belong.

“c’mon sweetheart, save some conversation for the rest of us too, no?” you stop talking about to turn your head and take a mental inventory of the recruit who thinks he can talk like that. simon is the only one to notice and he does so immediately, but doesn't step in.

“what makes you think i’d want to talk to a recruit with an attitude like yours?” the chatter around you dies down as some people glance toward the two of you now, sensing that something’s about to go down. “do you really want to fuck with me, recruit? you’re not even a few days old. fresh meat.”

“always so fiesty.” your blood boils at the sentence. everyone’s watching now. the gym is silent. why isn’t this kid shutting up?

“always so cocky,” you counter, trying to keep a level head. you weren't one of his fellow recruits, you were a sergeant.

“me? oh come on, we all know why you’re here.” there is no way this fucker has the audacity to say what you know he’s about to say. “you check off all the boxes for being the diversity pick. everyone can see it.” there are a few mutters of agreement from around the room, as well as some scattered gasps.

“recruit, what business do you think you have talkin’ to ‘er like that?” soap butts in, standing in front of you to put some distance between you and the kid. you stand still for a second to think, knowing all eyes were on you. 

“what’s your name, recruit?” you ask, sidestepping johnny.

“cole.”

“say it correctly, recruit!” soap barks at him.

“cole reed, ma’am,” he says rather unenthusiastically. you look him up and down. anyone who knows you could tell you had a plan brewing. 

he was built. 

but you could take him. no sweat.

“reed. gloves on. me and you, in the ring, now.” the room erupts with chatter, and before you can turn to get your training gloves, soap stops you.

“whaddya you think you’re doing, bonnie?” he asks quietly, not trying to give the recruits the impression that he’s doubting you — he’s not. he’s just worried. “you really think this is a good idea? we could jus’ send him to price, get him outta here and transferred to some shitty, low level base—”

“i think this is a great idea,” is all you reply before heading over to your duffel on the side of the gym and picking out your maroon training gloves. your heart is hammering. you know you can take this kid out, easy, it’s just that—

you feel ghost creep up behind you, but you choose to ignore him. he walks over to your side, watching your slightly shaking hands put on your gloves. you silently curse yourself. simon is observant. he’ll notice.

“if you want, i can snap that guy’s neck real quick.” you don’t reply, trying to steady your breathing. he scans you for a second, then opts to help you put your gloves on, watching you closely. some whoops erupt from the other side of the gym by the ring, and you turn your head to see the recruit, cole or whatever his face was, with his stupid fucking friends, motioning you over. “wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience. probably be the highlight of my week.”

you crack a smile, but shake your head. “i got this.” you just can’t steady your fucking breathing. 

“i know ya’ do. jus’ a bit worried.” kyle’s made his way over to you and simon, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“you got this. we’ll be on standby if things go awry.” both you and simon turn to look at him, who realizes what he wanted to say came out wrong. “i’m just sayin’ if you need help—“ simon’s glare makes him switch his words once again “i mean, we have your back. that’s all,” he finishes, rubbing the nape of his neck.

“thanks, gaz.” you turn around once more to see soap now screaming at the recruits about something, probably about how you were gonna fuck their favorite boy up or something. that’s enough to put a smile on your face, enough to give you that little bit of confidence you needed to stroll over to the ring. 

johnny puts both of his hands on your shoulders. “listen, bonnie. that dude tries anything crazy, i’ll fuck him up. and have him on toilet scrubbing for half a year.” you can’t help but giggle at johnny’s loyalty — it really was his most endearing quality. you take a deep breath.

“thanks, soap. but i got this. don’t you worry your pretty little head.” you mess up his mohawk, your reassurance seeming to ease his anxiety a bit. dipping under the ropes, you try to stay unaware of all the eyes that were on you two, sizing up your opponent. he’s got this shitfaced grin on his face that you can’t wait to wipe off.

he goes for your head for his first punch. typical, you think to yourself, blocking it, but you’re so in your head that you fail to block the second one that goes straight for your stomach. shit. get it together.

“how long did you say you’ve been here? and somehow you already let a recruit fake you out,” he tries to egg you into going at him, but not yet. not yet.

“is all you do talk?” you have a lot more success into baiting him into a move, and he goes for both of your sides, repeatedly, not stopping even as you backpedal and only stepping back once you counterpunch. jesus christ. this kid was murderous.

“is all you do fuck your supervisors? can’t think of another way you got here.” you can hear johnny’s bewildered what did he say? and can almost hear what simon is thinking in his head, the ways he could kill him, probably.

“you mad you can’t?” you ask in the most genuine voice possible. he mimics you like a child, swinging a hook your head but stepping backward at the last second, effectively dodging your block and catching your face instead.

“do you even know how to fight?”

“no,” you pout, running your tongue along the inside of your mouth, tasting the blood.

“clearly.” he gets bold and manages a kidney punch which, even though you try, you can’t block because it caught you so badly off guard.

another punch to the head that you block, but then a punch to the side of your head and then the other side of your head and another—

“what in the bloody fuck is she doing?” kyle mutters to simon, watching the beatdown. simon doesn't give a response. he knew you had it under control, but each time cole successfully got a punch in, he winced. he’s not happy with you for your strategy — you could’ve easily slipped around him and knocked him out, your ability to be quick and agile being something that you topped the rest of the team in. but simon knew that simply wouldn’t do for you.

soap figures it out before gaz does. “oh my god. she’s gonna fuckin’ kill him, isn’t she?” simon didn’t say a word. he just watched, eyes fixed on you. 

it was all part of your plan. you would take a few punches in exchange for learning his fighting style, and then he’d say bye bye to his dignity and the respect of his classmates for probably the entire time he decided to stay at this base. which, if simon had taught you hand-to-hand well enough, wouldn’t be long.

cole throws a punch to your midriff that gets you doubled over, torso still weak from the blow to your back and head pounding from the countless you couldn’t block. simon has to restrain both himself and throw a hand over gaz’s chest to keep him from stepping in.

you have this under control, simon thinks. you have to.

and as if on cue, you sidestep cole’s next punch, much to the awe of the crowd. you dodge the next one. and then block and pow — a sucker punch that sends him staggering back into the ropes. that one definitely broke his nose. nice. the recruits gasp, but your team has a different reaction — simon smirks under his mask, gaz’s jaw drops, and soap looks like he could start cheering right this instant.

cole jeers, coming back at you. you easily step to the side and stick out a leg out to trip him, letting him fall nearly flat on his face. a smile crosses your face as you tut at him, the metallic taste inside your mouth becoming ever so prominent. there are a few scattered laughs throughout the crowd. 

he hastily gets up and starts bouncing in true sparring fashion — that’s not gonna save him now — cautiously coming near once again. you’re banking on him trying your head, and you’re right. you duck down, hitting him with one to the stomach, then the chest, then the neck as the crowd gasps. he doubles over, hands at his neck, coughing up a bit of blood on the floor at which he incredulously looks at. you watch him closely, ushering him to take another shot at you. 

“do you even know how to fight?” you repeat his words from earlier, and you see a flicker of fear on his face. got him.

“i’m textin’ price.” johnny waits for simon to stop him but simon doesn’t, attention unwavering from the match taking place.

you checkhook him, hard, as he goes at you again, and you can imagine just how psycho you look with your grin. “no words, recruit? you tired? you done?”

he runs at you again — did this kid never learn from his mistakes? — and tries a jab which you dodge with ease, hitting the side of his head with a crossjab. he grabs his head — he clearly underestimated how hard girls hit. 

you know you need to end this before you kill him, since the kid himself didn’t know when to stop. you give him a second last punch to the ribs, and the moment his arms fly down there, you finish the entire fiasco with a punch to the back of his head as your final move. he lands on the ground and you finally let your shoulders slump, noticing how heavy your breathing is. the crowd of recruits is silent until a few of them start whooping, then comes the cheering, then comes the clapping. your ears are ringing and the commotion catches you off guard, completely having forgotten the nearly 100 people watching. your eyes land on your team: simon’s arms crossed and eyes looking up at you, almost as if he was proud, kyle’s admiring nod, and soap’s grin that he was desperately trying to hide. you turn back to the bloodied recruit in front of you.

“who do you think's the diversity pick now?” you spit out, wiping the blood from your mouth. crouching down, you make eye contact with him. “huh, white boy? got anything to say?” he was conscious, but you get nothing. getting back up, realizing just how dizzy you are, taking a step back while the floodlights blur. the sight of him curled up on the floor gives you mental satisfaction, but your body is on fire. you hadn’t realized the force behind his punches because of all the adrenaline, and the pain was starting to hit you. 

johnny and gaz quickly scramble around the ropes lead you out of the ring, and you’re leaning more of your weight on them than you’d like to. they can tell. 

almost at the locker rooms, you take a look back and see simon crouched down by cole, seemingly saying something to him before getting up. price was standing right behind him. fuck, price was here too now.

once kyle and soap get you into the locker room you immediately rush to the sink, coughing up the blood that had pooled in your mouth while gripping onto the porcelain, knuckles white. you look up at your own reflection and borderline flinch, your physical state accurately reflecting the amount of pain you felt. a black eye, bloody nose, and already developing bruises littering your torso. to top it all off, blood, everywhere.

jesus fucking christ. that kid do crossfit or something?

the door opens and johnny immediately stands in front of you defensively, but it’s just simon and price who turn the corner. you can feel the anger radiating off of simon, eyes grazing over every inch of you as he takes inventory of your state. your captain does the same, but moreso in disbelief.

“fawn, are you okay?” kyle calls you by the callsign the team had adoringly given you, making your eyes start to well up with tears.

“i’m fine,” your voice cracks, and all kyle does is walk over to you and give you a gentle hug as tears start to roll down your face. he knows what you’re feeling right now all too well. “it's okay. i'm okay,” you choke out, feeling weaker than ever now that price, your captain, was seeing you in this state.

“no, you’re not. that was fourteen punches you took.” thanks a lot for counting, si.

“with full force,” gaz adds, and you really want to shoot him a glare.

“and training gloves. those things do a number on ya’.” you do shoot soap a glare, instantly shutting him up.

“what were you thinking?” there’s a hint of pleading in simon’s voice, and you wonder if the others caught it too. 

you don’t have the heart to meet eyes with si, knowing one look would send you straight bawling. all you wanted to do was curl up into him and have him trace meaningless symbols on your skin, dating or not be damned. you were tired of being so masculine, of pretending like you were some eternally infallible soldier that could take everything thrown at her without so much as a peep. nobody could blame you for needing his arms wrapped around you, tight, not even yourself.

and that was saying something.

“y/n, what happened?” price asks cautiously, walking over and helping johnny sit you down on the bench. you don’t even know what to say, shaking your head.

“this stupid bampot,” you giggle at soap’s scottishness coming out in full force, immediately regretting it and wincing, “started spewing all this shit about her, being racist and sexist and whatnot, and then she said they should fight. and smarty here made him think he had the upper hand so she could figure out his next moves. oh, and then she beat his ass.” i mean, he explained that pretty concisely. price rakes a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to handle this.

“are you mad at me?” you ask genuinely, unsure if you’d crossed the line. again, you were a sergeant. that kid was a recruit. his brows furrow.

“sweetheart—” he crouches down next to you, putting a consoling hand on your thigh. “not even a little bit. mad at him? not even, i’m furious. that bloke got what was coming to him and i couldn’t have thought of a better person to dish it out.” his words do wonders to ease your tension. “i’m going to go take care of this. you boys got her?” the rest of the team nods. “good men. i’ll check on you in a bit.” he stands up and leaves, but not before bending down to press a kiss to the top of your head, a tender gesture that makes you start crying again.

“thanks, cap,” is all you can manage, voice still shaky.

the boys proceed to gently dab the blood off of you with wet towels while you try to put your mind over matter, but the pain is too much. johnny and kyle just keep apologizing over and over, and simon even mirrors your winces when someplace he touches stings. eventually they get most of it and all that’s left is the dull pain of open skin and your bruises that were getting worse by the minute.

luckily,  your team’s barracks aren't a far walk from the gym. you refuse to hold onto anyone for support, fearing anyone who saw would realize how badly you got banged up and word would spread. so simon’s hands hover at the ready to catch you as you’re walking while he shoots death glares at a few base personnel who do a double take when they see your state. 

kyle punches in the code to your room—nothing abnormal, all of you knew each other’s codes (price being the exception, but simon had somehow gotten his hands on the captain’s code too, a story for another time)—and the boys help you inside, sitting you down on your bed.

“you need anything, bonnie?”

“no, thank you, soap. you guys have done more than enough.”

“don't start that. do you want us here with you?” gaz asks, and you shake your head. the boys nod, starting towards the door, but you grab simon’s hand before he can make it too far. he understands, crouching down in front of you, keeping your hand in his. kyle and johnny exit, and you two sit in a comfortable silence for a while.

“think we should take you up to the medic,” simon breaks the silence, inspecting your wounds. you didn’t mean to get this banged up, but hey, you were way better off than that cole kid was.

“i don’t need to go to the goddamn medic, simon. story’s already gonna spread like wildfire on base.” the corners of your mouth quirk up a bit thinking about it, and simon shakes his head.

“you don’t have to prove yourself to everyone, ya’ know.”

“that’s not what i did. i fucked him up.” your clarification elicits a low chuckle from simon’s chest, and you smile proudly in response.

“jus’ sayin’. don’t want it to catch up to you one day.” you tilt your head, and he makes it a point to not look up at you, instead, running his fingers over the bruises on your midriff, still crouched down in front of you.

“and that means?” simon sighs, knowing you weren’t going to let this go without an answer.

“you can’t always win.”

“you do,” you point out. you can see him open his mouth and then close it from under the balaclava, trying to figure out what to say. “this was important, simon. this was a battle i had to pick.”

“i know, i know,” he backtracks. “‘s just...” you lower your head, trying to catch his eyes.

“c’mon, si,” you speak softly. “you know you can say anything.” a beat of silence.

“i worry about you.” because you’re a woman of color in the army is what he doesn’t say — you being on the team had showed him the brutal reality of what you’ve had to go through your entire life, and all it managed to do was make him more angry on your behalf. it just didn't make sense to him. you were more capable than most of the fuckers here, so why did you have to be treated so differently?

“sounds like you’re my boyfriend,” you tease him, and he looks up at you with those stupid puppy dog eyes of his that could get you to do whatever he wanted. “...i can handle myself, si,” you reassure him quietly, trying not to make any sudden moves, almost as though you were trying not to scare a cat. 

“i know you can. just don’t want you to have to, ya’ know?” you bite the inside of your cheek, making the decision to gently cup the side of his face. he almost immediately leans into your touch, just ever so slightly. you want to kiss him. you really do. you don’t know what’s stopping you two from going at it on your bed right here right now, to be completely honest.

“what are we doing, si?” you whisper, trying not to let him hear the tremble in your voice. you blame the hits to your head for what you were asking him, but you couldn’t do it anymore. it wasn’t normal. the lingering touches, the heavy stares, the way he talked about you, talked to you, like you were his girlfriend. it was all too much. you needed an answer. you either needed him to push you away and break your heart or you needed his lips on yours, now. “what is this?”

he doesn’t reply, and all you want to do is start screaming at him.

“what are we doing, simon?” you repeat yourself, heart probably beating faster than it was in that ring. you begin to wonder if the stress would reopen your wounds. “please. i can’t keep doing this anymore.” he doesn’t say anything but he moves his hands from you, and you swear that’s the end of it—

until he flips up his balaclava, shifting to his knees and gently grabbing your chin to press a kiss against your lips. you freeze for a few seconds, unable to understand what just happened which he mistakenly takes as a sign to pull away. you quickly remedy your mistake by grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and actually kissing him this time, feeling everything — from the contour of his lips that you’ve never seen to the softness of his hair when you wrap your arm around his neck to pull him in closer to the small whimper he lets out when you rub your thumb against his chest — stop, stop, you’re getting lightheaded. you pull away, blinking from the sudden dizziness, body still considerably weak from everything that just went down a mere 20 minutes ago.

“woah, okay, slow down,” you can hear the amusement in his voice as gets up and sits down next to you, lying you both down on your bed so it’s a more even eye level.

“we’ve been going slow for months,” you reply annoyedly, and you can see him smile, for the first time ever, you see him actually smile, because his mask is flipped up. you slowly move your hand to rest on the side of his face, thumb caressing his cheek.

“like what ya’ see?” he asks with a grin that you can see. you still can't get over the fact that you can see simon riley's smile.

“no. hate it,” you murmur, eyes still transfixed on his lips.

“mhm.”

“shh,” you use as an excuse to put your finger to his lips. “i'm busy staring at the most gorgeous man i've seen. you're ruining it.” he smiles. you wanted your kids to have that smile.

“whatever you say, dovie.”

“that’s new.”

“it’s out of pity. that kid kinda really fucked you up, ya’ know.” you give his chest a light punch, and for the first time ever, you hear simon riley’s laugh without the muffle of his mask. “want me to take it off?” he asks.

“are you trying to finish me off after what's happened already?” you ask, only half serious. “i want you to take it off when you want to take it off.”

you don't know it, but he'll reference that last sentence in your vows.

“but... i have a question.” he nods for you to continue. “were you really counting how many times i got hit?”

“yeah, i was. fucker got lucky,” he sighs.

“why?”

“fifteen was when i was gonna get in there and snap his neck.”

⁀➷ more

₊˚⊹♡ taglist: @ghostlythots @redartifex @pricesprettyprincesss @negomisan @smutty-littleslut @thatgurlyoudunn0 @diseasedclitoris

[oonajaeadira]

Thank you. Thank you so so much for reading this and seeing it and giving me this beautiful feedback. I'm so sorry I'm dragging my feet on the epilogue. It's coming. I hadn't planned on initially, but after such a brutal chapter, I need to gentle them out of it and on with their lives.

Hence the watch in the shadowbox. Joel's spent so much time keeping going, he has to move fast and leave things behind and possessions come and go. But that watch is his one true thing, his one physical anchor, the only thing he can call his own and he keeps it strapped to his body because he might have to get up and run at any time and if he didn't have it, he'd feel unmoored and start wondering what kept him even a little good, a little human.

But here, he's finally finding that there's reason to trust that he won't have to run. There are other things keeping him anchored, other people. And the worst has already happened to the watch--it did go up in the fire. But there were more precious things to save--family, yes, but a whole existence he thought wasn't possible anymore, something Tess would have wanted for him, Sarah too. And he went out there without the reminder on his wrist not to lose his heart. And he made it home. And even then, the watch was found, so nothing of value was lost to him after all.

He saved what he could save. Including himself...by accepting that he sometimes has to step outside of humanity to keep it.

It makes me so happy that you appreciate Maria. She's a hard character to love in the series, but I do, especially in the TV version. I highly admire her drive. In the game, she was born into the family that started the town, but in the show she's a transplant. I decided to merge the two and have her start in the area and go and come back and let her be Meadowlark's tie to family. Because if it were me, I'd want to be close to her. She is hypocritical here because she's human and she's in charge. It's hard to justify difficult choices with all or nothing answers at the end of the world. Sometimes you have to make the choice to throw the switch when the train's barreling down the tracks. If anyone's got the teeth to grit and bear it and face the pointed fingers, it's our Lady of Jackson.

I'm sorry there's no epilogue waiting in the wings at the moment. But it's started. I've posted the snippet before, but for being so kind and thoughtful, here is the opening:

__

There’s a cardinal that’s decided that the A frame home you share with Joel is one of the corners of his territory and the light’s just starting to come into the day when he wakes you up and you find your way to the toilet and back. The mornings are still chilly and the best part of being woken up too early is getting to crawl back into the bed, full of warmth and flannel and chest and scratchy beard and a “hmmf” in your hair as an arm traps you against a man that is finally learning to rest.

You purposefully take up the left side of the bed so that he’s more likely to sleep on his good ear. And it works. The cardinal doesn’t bother him none.

And usually your hand sliding up the back of his shirt doesn’t either. Usually.

“Hand’s‘er cold.”

“Not for long. You’re a furnace.”

“Mmmf.”

He’s quiet and still a long while, but you can tell he hasn’t fallen back to sleep, even though you start to. But you’re thwarted by his moving away, by him finally deciding his bladder’s gonna bug him until he does something about it, and you hear the door slide open to the porch, picking up your head to watch him from the back as he leans forward and over the railing, see the tug of the band of his sleep pants across his waist.

“Joel, we’ve got a toilet.”

“So.”

“Just because we don’t have neighbors yet doesn’t mean you can just heave to in the yard.”

“Don’t see why not. Nature.”

You can’t help but laugh as you bury your face into the covers against the crispy morning air. “It’s called decency and civilization, you heathen.”

Seconds after the door slides shut, he’s grunting as he works his way back under the covers, curling himself around you. 

“See? Now you’re cold. If you’d just used the bathroom–”

“I’ll warm up.” Now it’s his turn to run his chilled hands up and under your shirt, pull you in tight to the parts of him that certainly were not affected by the spring morning and hums, satisfied. “Thanks.”

“You ass. You not even gonna give me the decency of washing your hands?”

“After what you got up to down there last night, you’re gonna complain about what I’m touching with my hands?”

He’s got a point. Figuratively. And, by the feel of it, literally.

It’s not like you’ve brushed your teeth since last night and he doesn’t seem to have a problem kissing you very, very deeply, using one of those said hands to haul your leg over his hip. So who are you to complain? 

Nature indeed.

Obviously, neither of you are going back to sleep. 

Well, not for another hour at least.

Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 4: Winter

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV)/ Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. Sheep farmer, easy-going but confident and self-sufficient. Likes to sing, not a great cook. Childhood friend of Maria. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: Mature.

Warnings: Mentions of sex but nothing explicit. Canon-typical violence, bodily harm, death,  (blood, broken bones, knife wounds, shooting, blunt force) and PTSD.

Summary: Revenge comes calling and you work though it as a family.

A/N: Series set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although it does use some characters/elements from the second game.

I’m so sorry it’s taken this long to get to winter. This one was difficult for me to face writing for reasons that may be made clear. But it was very rewarding. <3

The air is thin and cold this morning, takes your breath and makes a show of it as you quickstep it down to the stables. The sun is just starting to make the frost sparkle and no doubt Goldie will be using up the rest of the firewood at the Roost today.

Good thing you have a Joel who’s ready to chop more.

Although he’s also a Joel that’s forgotten his tea, the “stuff with the things in it” that Willa gave him for the stiffness in his knees. With this cold he’s going to want it today on patrol and the last thing you think you can stand is the tug in your heart when he comes home complaining of the cold and the ache and you sitting warm and cozy with his thermos on the counter when you had the legs to trot it on out to him.

It’s a relief to round the corner and find the patrol party still at the stable gate, Tommy helping one of the teens with their rifle strap, and Joel waiting on horseback, weaving his gloved fingers together, packing them down at the valleys to get his hands all the way in.

He’d laid one of those hands on your cheek this morning. Gentle. First thing you saw when you opened your eyes. Like most mornings now. His thumb rounding the rim of your cheek so he could lean in and take a good long drink of a kiss.

He likes it that way…soft, slow. Likes to pull you in as close as he can, twist his forehead into your temple when he hits his peak, jaw clenched in agonized pleasure, kisses along your jawline when you find yours, his eyes half-lidded and watching you in a hazy awe. He’s quiet but thorough, completely  present like he can’t believe he’s got this little slice of warmth, sighs a hushed curse in your ear and calls you sweetheart in the same breath, and then sleeps like a baby the whole night through.

He doesn’t like to talk about the past much, but listening’s your specialty and it comes out in bits and pieces, stuck between the little he does say. You come to understand that he very rarely got to be very close with anyone while Sarah was growing up. There were the years when everything was a nightmare. Then there was Tess and she brought him out of that, thank goodness. But it took time. And there was also denial and survival and means to their ends. There might indeed have been strong love there. But you have the feeling he’s not had this–or anything like it–for a long, long time.

So if he wants it soft and slow, then who are you to deny him?

Maybe it shouldn’t be so surprising that it was him who pulled you in a little closer.

“What if you didn’t move in with Tommy and Maria this winter?” He’d lingered the morning after Christmas, leaning one shoulder against the frame of your bedroom door, savoring the show of you getting dressed for the day.

“And waste the fuel? Why? So we can cuddle up now and then without your brother down the hall? You keep me plenty warm, Joel Miller, but I’m not going to heat this whole house just for me and your more-than-casual visits. Everyone’s got a responsibility here to conserve in the winter. This is how I do my part. And besides,” you purred as he stepped in to button up your flannel for you, freeing up your fingers so they could run through his curls, “I know where you live and your bed’s good as mine.”

“You seem to like it there well enough.”

“I do.” His beard was growing in all but a patch on his jaw that was now your right to kiss.

“Well I was thinkin’ we just make it ours for the winter.”

His hands had circled your hips and his words had stopped your heart, but there was little for to say with his lips pressed against yours.

So mornings often started as they did today, waking to find Joel beside you, roused because you can feel him watching you with that little half smile that reveals the crack in his weary heart where the light shines through. Who needs spring to come with sunshine like that to turn to? Now there are family breakfasts with Ellie and cozy days knitting in the company of Maria and Riley and then warm nights with Joel on one of those pillowtopped mattresses that were all the rage before the outbreak…the ones that are great when you have a stiff back, but even better because the springs don’t squeak…

“Aw dammit,” Joel says when he sees you nearing the stables with the thermos, “Knew I forgot something.”

“Two somethings,” you say pointing to his bare head and passing your hat up to him in the saddle. “Your ears are already bright red. Here. Take my hat.”

“This’s Ellie’s.”

“Huh. Guess I just grabbed one on my way out. Oops. Be a man. Wear a pompom.”

He pulls it down over his ears and smiles. “Matches my scarf.”

You’d had a small batch of deep red wool you’d managed to squeak a hat and scarf out of and gifting the hat to Ellie around Christmas, but the scarf went to Joel. He may not want anyone to think of him as sentimental, but it was worth your while to make it easy on him by giving him something that was also practical. Even if he had his jacket zipped up all the way, it was always there, tucked around his neck; he may leave his ears to the elements but he never went anywhere without that scarf.

The line of horses start making their way toward the Jackson gates and you squeeze Joel’s shin before stepping out of the way, letting him and his horse follow the group. He simply lets a gloved finger glance your cheek as he passes by.

All the way out here on this side of the apocalypse and humans still have a million variations on saying “I love having you around and I’d like to keep it that way.”

________

“Ellie’s more than welcome around here if you and Joel don’t want to leave her home alone.”

Maria’s lightly bouncing a wet-faced and blubbering Riley on her lap, trying to tempt him with a frozen carrot for his teething. He has tommy’s curls and they sproing with every boing.

“Nah, she wants to come out. We’ll be dividing the ewes and driving part of the flock into the old town for the rest  of the overwinter and she wants to see how it's done. Should see it, if she thinks she’ll be entering the rotation at any point. Speaking of,” you grunt, leaning down to gather your knitting basket and gather your things, “I promised I’d meet her after school. She’s gotten into collecting cassette tapes and the commissary says she’s hit her quota on goods this week. Gonna give up a couple credits so she can discover the wonders of Joan Jett and the Beastie Boys.”

“That’s throwing gas on the fire. She pick those out herself?”

“Nope. My points, my choice. And I say that girl needs to fight for her right to party and put another dime in the jukebox, baby.”

Maria rolls her eyes, chuckles, goes light on the sarcasm. “You’re the coolest auntie.”

“Don’t I know it,” you laugh, tying up your boots.

“Joel’s gonna just love that.”

Leaning in to bop a quick kiss to Riley’s head, you give Maria a crazed grin. “So much.”

Ten minutes later, Ellie has her doubts, holding up a cassette at the commissary. “But there’s a dinosaur on this one! How can it not be great?”

“Listen, missy. I’m not saying Dinosaur Jr. doesn’t have a place in music history, but I’m telling you that you’re likely to be disappointed. Trust me. Just this once.”

Ellie makes a face but you glance past it, distracted by what you see through the window behind her. Following your focus, she turns to look too. “Who’re they?”

All of the patrol horses coming back in have two people on them–a member of the party, and a stranger. And all the strangers can’t be more than teenagers.

“Dunno, but it looks like you’re about to get some new classmates. I’ll sign these out. You go ahead and make a good first impression.”

“You’re just sending me out there because you know if they’re infected, I can’t catch it.”

“If they were infected, they wouldn’t be on those horses or inside those gates. I’m sending you out there because you have a way of reading people. Go.”

Something in that puts a gasp in her throat and a sparkle in her eye and her ponytail whips behind her as she goes, striving to live up to the compliment.

But really, you just want half a minute to take a good look at the kids without Ellie asking questions. They’re all scrawny and filthy. Backpacks. Been traveling and living rough for a while now. Where’d they come from? What’s their story? Not an adult among them. How have they survived? You’d swear something feels off, but that’s the world now. Can’t be too careful. Everything seems off all the time. 

Question is, off by how much?

You find Joel in the group; he’s the only one riding with a kid in front of him rather than hanging on behind. And once he gets down off the horse and reaches up to help his passenger down, you can see why.

She’s pregnant.

Shit. She’s what, fifteen? Sixteen?

Shit.

“There’s a house up near mine has good plumbing turned on.” Tommy’s speaking over his shoulder to the small group and leading his horse to the stable door as you come out of the commissary. “We’ll get you all washed up and fed. There’s at least two beds there and some other furniture fit to sleep on if it makes you comfortable to stay together. Give me a minute to put Lady away here and we’ll walk on up together. Joel? A word?”

Handing off the pregnant girl’s backpack to her, Joel takes the reins of his horse and follows his brother inside, leaving the newcomers to look around them and take in the town.

All but one. A girl with hair that’s neither light brown or dark blonde, somewhere in between. Your mother would have called it dirty dishwater blonde and you always thought that was rude. But your mother also would have said the girl had a hatchet of a face with a strong jaw like that. And it’s that girl whose head whips around the second she heard Joel’s name, quickly scanning the patrol to ascertain who belonged to it, and stands watching the stable door in thought long after the Miller brothers were gone.

Was Joel her father’s name? Her brother’s? Is it hers or close to hers? Is she a Jo or Joelle?

“Abby. Hey,” a boy calls and she turns. “Mel should get a bed and we can share. Manny and Nora can share too…if you’re okay with taking a couch.”

“Fine,” Abby says. Her eyes and mouth all unmoving lines.

“Hey. Welcome to Jackson. I’m Ellie.” Your starling jams her hands in her pockets as all the new eyes turn her way. “It looks like you’ve been wandering. Where you coming from?”

The boy who spoke before blinks and opens his mouth to say something, hesitates. You’d take him for the leader up until the moment Abby speaks for him.

“West of here. QZ. Seattle.”

“Oh. Cool,” says Ellie with a bounce to her nod. Easy. Instantly welcoming. “I came out of Boston.”

Seattle QZ. The same one your dead husband and his sister came from. Not a good place. Warring factions and nothing but oppression and disease, last you heard. Good that they got out. They’re gonna need to be de-loused. 

But Seattle’s also much harder than most zones to break free of. You’ve been told the Western Liberation Front makes FEDRA look like a bucket of clowns.

“Seattle?” Now it’s your turn to pull focus from the group. “We’ve had refugees from there before. You really get out of there in one group like this? With no grown ups?”

Abby rips her eyes away from Ellie. “It’s a long story,” she says, shutting the questioning down.

There’s a moment that hangs between you and that stinks faintly of threat, but is mostly just the smell of feral kids. Tension breaks as the men emerge from the stable.

“We all ready?” Tommy says, making his way down the road and waving a hand for them to follow. “New home’s this way.”

Ellie starts to fall in with the group and you pull her back in close, speak low. “Go with them if you want, but keep your distance.”

“What? Why?”

“These are your first refugees. You’ll learn that they sometimes bring things with ‘em.”

Her face screws into a question mark. “What things?”

“Fleas. Lice. Viruses. Just give ‘em some space for a while.”

After the quickest flash of disgust, Ellie’s tried and true compassion kicks in and she gives an understanding nod as she turns to go, tape cassettes clattering in her jacket pocket.

You keep watching her even as you speak to the owner of the hand snaking around your waist. “Where’d you find them?”

“Up at the old crossing. They were under attack.”

“Jesus.”

“Nope. Infected.”

“Been a while since we’ve seen any of those stumble through here.”

“Infected? Or the kids.”

Turning to him in exasperation you look him over. “Both. And the same goes for you as for Ellie, Foxy. Let’s take you home and wash that scarf and hat. Run a fine-toothed comb through that hair just to make sure.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he says, stopping when he catches your zero-temperature glare. If it’s something else you love about Joel, he recognizes when something’s important to you and answers a lady with composure and respect. “Yes, ma’am.”

____

“You couldn’t have found her some Cash or Fleetwood Mac or something?”Joel grumbles into the fireplace as he places another log on the coal bed and moves the poker around like he’s doing something.

Ellie sits on a blanket near the fire, reading a comic book, headphones on, Joan Jett’s grinding guitar bleeding out into the otherwise quiet living room. With his face turned to the fire and Ellie facing away from you, she most likely can’t hear the conversation that’s happening around her if you keep your voices low.

“You’re just jealous that she asked me to pick something out instead of you,” you smile on the couch, picking up your feet and swinging them into his lap as he sits down beside you. “80’s rock is good for her spiky little soul.”

“80’s means trouble,” he counters, considering her as his hands absently squeeze and rub at your feet.

You go back to your book. Seemingly anyway. It’s easy to steal observing glances from where you are. The thoughtful concern he has for Ellie. You can see him looking over the wood in the hopper and calculating how many days of fuel he has before you all head out to the Roost. A twist of a lip tells you he’s realized he might be a day short and needs to chop more. His gaze drops to his lap as he lightly massages your feet–just running his hands along their contours, pressing a thumb in here and there to tenderize a muscle. The firelight loves him, plays at the edges of his curls, slides down his nose, kisses the purse of his lips.

You jump as he slides a tickling fingertip up the sole of one foot. “Hey!”

“What you get for staring.”

“I wasn’t staring at you, I was reading.”

“Must be pretty small print you don’t turn a page for five minutes.”

Taking off your readers and closing the book, you sit up and deposit them on the coffee table. From here it’s easy to scoot up to him and lean an elbow on the couch back. “What’s got you so thinky tonight, hmm? You look like you’ve got your worry pants on.” There’s a curl right behind his ear that’s so easy to twirl in your fingers and you indulge. You’ve found a little touch helps him open up.

“I can’t help thinking about those kids, thinkin’ they could just wander out in the world like that. If it weren’t for us hearing the runners….” He goes quiet a minute and you let him, his gaze haunting Ellie’s direction but living somewhere in the past. “They gotta be somebody’s kids. I can’t believe Seattle’s so bad they just let ‘em run wild…let ‘em run away from the best you got for ‘em.”

A faint guitar blares from Ellie’s headphones as she flips a page, purses her lips, absently nods along.

“Yeah, well teenagers rebel, Foxy. That’s what they do.”

“No,” he says, softly, resolutely, a tick of his jaw. “Not all of ‘em. Not if they’re loved. And fiercely. And I don’t know a love that isn’t fierce.”

It’s the look on his face that makes you believe him.

Love isn’t a word that Joel bandies about. It’s easy to see it work in him. The way he tells Ellie no when she wants to do something reckless but promises her something just as exciting, going to any length to make her smile. The way he holds Riley’s head in the crook of his arm, his other hand reflexively coming out in defense if anyone gets too near the baby’s soft spot. The way he shoves his brother with a laugh when Tommy picks on him or how he helps Maria to her feet when she’s been on the floor too long, even if she says she doesn’t need it.

The way he… with you he…

His hands work at your feet again. He understands the minute levels of his strength, knows how firm to go without bringing pain.

With you, it’s the way he rolls over and shows you his soft places, invites you in to be a part of it.

Not really what you’d call fierce. Does that mean he doesn’t–

“Is a cherry bomb like a little bomb or a big bomb?” Ellie asks, an earpad pulled away from her ear and spilling Cherie Currie’s stuttered chorus.

“It’s a little one. A firework. But it packs a big punch. It’ll take your fingers off. Hello, world, I’m your wild girl, I’m your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch cherry bomb,” you sing, pushing your foot against Joel’s thigh with every beat. 

“Alright, that’s it,” he says, wrapping a big hand around your ankle to secure it. “Ellie, run on up and get my guitar. Lemme teach you a better song.”

In the minute it takes for her to come back, Joel foregoes softness for force, tickling relentlessly, almost ending up with a foot in his face with how much you squirm.

___

Church isn’t really your thing, never was. You have your own way of listening to the beauty of the earth that doesn’t mean sacrificing a morning sleeping in to listen to lessons you’ve already learned and hold true.

But today you’ve come to the after-brunch curious to welcome the new residents and managed to show up a little early. So you’re standing in the back of the mess hall with Maria and Riley, waiting for the final hymn to end, for the preacher to call an end to the service and a beginning to the meal.

Maria leans in and murmurs in your ear as the final chorus comes. “Tommy and the crew are working on one of those bigger houses with the vaulted ceilings in the new district so the church can have its own building.”

“They’re not gonna like having to walk over there.”

She shrugs, adjusts Riley’s teething toy and bounces him up a notch. “Might cause some of them to move over there. Thin out the density. Easier on the power grid. We do have five new residents.” 

You watch as one of the new boys–Owen–helps the pregnant Mel to her feet. “Soon to be six.”

Once the kitchen starts serving, Owen and Mel find their way over to your table, eager to meet Riley and ask Maria all kinds of questions about childbirth and your friend finds herself in a mentoring role she didn’t ask for. She’s not opposed to being helpful, just lets her judgment slide through on the whole babies having babies thing which completely flies over the kids’ heads.

They’re good enough kids, but something tastes a little sour when Owen tries to include you in the conversation.

“What about you? You and…is his name Joel? You gonna have any kids?”

It’s a rude question. He’s earned your side eye and he knows it, but smiles through it, playing innocent.

“Already got one. One’s enough,” you laugh, sly, chewing through some boiled oats and letting him know you’re gonna let that one slide.

“Oh, yeah, right. Ellie, right?” he asks, with a flick of his eyes to a table behind you. Turning, you find Abby at a table with some other residents and when you turn back it’s with a dry expression that tells him he’s worn out his turns at beating the bush and should be out with it.

“We just were wondering if she’d show us around,” Mel explains. “She’s the only one of the children here who will talk to us.”

You snort. “Don’t let Ellie hear you call her a child. She’s short for her age, but she’s not much younger than you. She likes people, but that won’t win you any points.”

“And don’t worry about the other kids,” Maria takes over, shooting you a look. “They’ll come around. A lot of them were born here and they don’t see a ton of new people.”

“Are they not coming to the brunch today?” Owen asks.

“Who?”

“Ellie and Joel.”

Shaking your head, you swallow your latest bite. “Joel and Tommy are off getting some work done in the new sector and Ellie would bite my face off if I woke her up before high noon on a weekend. But she knows where you’re staying. I’ll send her around to you once she’s up and acting like a whole human.”

You’re about to change the subject and ask them a few questions of your own but Riley starts fussing and Mel asks to hold him and the whole baby talk starts up again.

When you look over your shoulder, Abby is gone from the table. Left her dish for someone else to clean up.

There’s a thought creeps in that maybe Ellie can teach them all some manners. And then you remember the mouth on your starling and smile.

____

“And Owen showed me some of his drawings and they’re so amazing. He’s like a fucking Picasso or something. He says he’ll give me lessons if I can get Mr. Scowlface here to take him out hunting. Says he misses hunting deer with his dad. And Abby wants to go too. I told her how you taught me to use a shotgun and she seemed really interested to learn. She might want to join the patrols some day. But I told them not this week since we’re going out to the Meadow and they all had questions about that. Abby especially–” 

Ellie has a remarkable talent for chewing and talking at the same time. She catches a piece of apple that escapes her mouth, slurping it off the back of her hand where it landed, then downs the rest of the milk and wipes her mouth with the cuff of her sweater, leaving you to negate your silent praise of her manners from earlier in the week and giving you a break in the chatter to speak.

“Well, you’re a little young to be recruiting your own Roostlings, but if Abby or any of the others want to come out sometime and see what the fuss is about, they’re welcome. I’d rather them wait until spring though, or at least until we get the whole of the flock back from the deep winter holding grounds. Chickadee’s taking up the caboose on that.”

As you push the carafe of chicory coffee toward Joel and clear the breakfast plates, Ellie snatches the last hunk of bread you left on yours, shaking her head. “Abby’s afraid of heights. Didn’t even have time to tell her about the Roost being up on stilts. What’s a caboose?”

Joel scoffs. “Last car on a train.” He takes a long, loud drag of his coffee, pouring on the annoyance to get a glare out of the girl and succeeds. “Well, if she don’t like heights, she’s not going to enjoy learning patrol duty either, not with the watchtowers and the mountain trails. And don’t go promising services you can’t guarantee. I’m not a scout leader.”

“What’s a scout leader?”

“Someone with a lot more patience than me. Get.”

Taking up her backpack, Ellie makes her way to the front vestibule to pull on her gear.

“Don’t forget your hat and scarf!” You call to her, but smile at Joel as you perch your butt against the table and tuck a little curl behind his ear. He’ll ask you to cut it soon. And you’ll put it off for as long as possible.Tickles, he'll say. I know, you'll say.

“Thanks, Gramma Betty!” she calls back and pulls the door shut behind her as Joel lays a warm hand on your outer thigh.

“What’er you getting up to today?” he asks.

You shrug. “I’m in carding mode. Got a whole bag of washed fleece needs combing. I’d ask you what you’re up to, but I assume you and Tommy are gonna be tearing down some poor old house.”

There’s a moment where he squints, thiinking. His thumb tracing the outer seam of your jeans. 

“I want you to come with me. Got something to show you.”

“Really. Well I like the sound of that. I could use a little walk in the bitter cold with a mystery at the end of it. Gonna have to go pull on a heavier sweater though. Might need to take this one off first. You wanna come watch?”

There’s a knock at the front. Tommy. The door opening.

Joel only grins fondly and pats your thigh, sending you off, before pushing the chair back from the table and separating himself from his coffee mug. “I’ll catch the later show. ‘Specially if it calls for audience participation.”

Five minutes later, bundled and booted, the three of you head out toward the new section, Joel with his scarf tucked in tight and hat pulled down low, and Tommy with a set forced upon him because you’re quickly becoming the winter clothing police around here.

It’s not a long walk. Jackson was never more than a few miles wide and this is just the first expansion of the wall. You’ve wandered over during the construction crew’s activities enough to know the way without being led, but what you’re expecting is for Joel to lead you away from the furthest street, away from the beautiful A-frame house so neatly repaired along with its pretty neighbors and up the street with Tommy to the next clutch of houses they’ve been working on. 

But instead, Joel tells his brother he’ll be along in a minute, and Tommy smiles knowingly as he continues on, leaving the two of you in the walkway up to the pretty A-frame that’s so much like the Roost’s bigger sister.

“You know what today is?” Joel asks, hands in pockets, squinting up at the peaked roof.

“Friday?”

“Probably,” he says, shifting focus to his boots. “I was thinking more holiday-wise.”

The air’s particularly crisp today, hitches in your lungs as you take each mental step and catch up with him.

February 14. Valentine’s.

As your mouth drops open, he jerks his chin at the house. “You like this one, right?”

“What…what are you….Joel?”

There’s a cringe that belies his confidence, maybe a tinge of regret. “I just figured we were gettin’ along so well, that maybe you’d… It was just an idea–”

He can’t even look you in the eye until you yank his hand awkwardly out of his pocket and wrap your gloved hand around his. He seems almost shocked to see your tears welling up–true, half from the cold–but he’s also relieved. Big breath in, big breath out. That must have been the hard part.

Words aren’t Joel’s way. This is how he tells you just how deep his feelings go. You know he’s had time to imagine with every window replaced, every floorboard leveled out, every load bearing wall reinforced,  just which family was going to get to live in this house and what kind of life they might make in it.

What kind of life you might make together here.

So you take his lead and say only what’s necessary, as steadily as you’re able. 

“Take me inside.”

His sheepish grin confirms that it was exactly what he’d hoped to hear.

The interior’s simple, but gorgeous. The dark wood gleams, and the whole back wall of the A frame is windowed. The triangle at the top replaced with a leaded stained glass in a sunrise of orange and rose that reflects the undertones in the timber inside and the pines out the window, the mosaic just high enough to catch the last rays that will come in over the mountains at the end of the day and turn the whole place into a dream. The open floorplan has the kitchen near the door, but over by the windows….

Joel gives the tour. The hand-laid stones in the fireplace. The built-in shelves for your books. This is the corner where your favorite chair can go, nearest the fire and where there’s good light for spinning. This rug was here, still good. He points out to the little shed in the back–a place for wool dying, he can hang pegs in there however you need them.

If he weren’t so occupied in explaining the wood he chose to finish the countertop, the way he followed the original dovetailing in the doorframe, the pattern he made with the reclaimed wood in the floorboards, he may have seen you admiring the most important part of the house…or, rather, the most important person in it.

There’s more. Two bedrooms, one off each side of the main part of the house, each with its own bathroom, the larger one with its own porch overlooking a little creek.

“The basement’s not quite done, but I figure I’ll just use that for my own. Felt you might not like the…vibe…”

Ah yes. The former owners. He took care of that too. 

He took care of everything.

“I love it, Joel.”

“Yeah?”

“If there was a stronger word, it would be yours, believe me.”

He only wraps his arms around you as you dive in to squeeze him.

“Good,” is all he says. Breathes in the scent of your hair. “That’s good.”

________

The ewes hate the leader ropes, but they follow, bleating now and then as you slowly guide them through the woods toward the Meadow’s north entrance. Joel’s got two behind his and Ellie’s horse, and you’ve got four behind yours, a small party, but the only ones that were ready to come on back out after the coldest weeks.

Goldie’s happy to lead them out to the rest of the flock while you and Joel go up and get situated, get warm, get ready for the week ahead. Ellie follows Goldie and Joel hangs his watch by the door. All’s quiet in the Roost.

Until Joel’s tongue clicks. “That beam is bowing,” he points up to one of the main rafter struts on the far side of the room. “Wood stove keeps this side warm and the snow melts off, but there’s no balcony on the other side. No way to rake the snow off the roof. Tommy should have known better.”

“Well it’s not like he’s had a lot of practice with big boy tree forts, I’m guessing,” you say, dumping a sack of potatoes near the cook pile and throwing the stack of fresh sheets onto the bed. “Does it need to come down?”

“Don’t think so. But come spring we’ll add on another balcony and do some reinforcement.”

As he runs his hand up the wall seam, you come up behind him, hugging him from the back with the sole purpose of distracting him, your way of letting him know he’s obsessing like an old man. It gives you the right angle to grab onto his open jacket and start pulling it off him. “Take this off and stay awhile.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Goldie takes her leave on your horse, guiding Joel and Ellie’s behind, glad to be going back to more warm water than she can heat on a stovetop, and Ellie helps to cart a few buckets of the colder variety up from the stream so you can all just stay in for the night.

Then it’s stew and cards, and Ellie kicking Joel’s ass at Scrabble, all of you bundled in wool sweaters and slippers handmade by you and Chickadee, the firelight glinting off the game tiles, highlighting the glee in the girl’s eyes, the resigned agony in Joel’s smile.

Almost a whole year now she’s been coming out here with you, and it’s wondrous how much she’s grown inside and out. You never felt lonely at the Roost, in fact, you had always very much enjoyed the solitude. Now you don’t think you could abide it. It’s only a home for a week at a time, but only when they come out here with you now.

It’s a nice night. Stars are out. Ellie’s still staring out at them as you and Joel fall asleep in the big bed.

_____

It’s the scent of woodsmoke that wakes you in the middle of the night, sitting you up straight in bed. Or so you think, except that the embers in the stove are low, so it can’t be that. 

No. It’s a voice outside.

“Burn in hell, Joel Miller!”

Is that…Ellie? What’s she doing outside? No. Not Ellie. No it’s–

“Abby?” Ellie says blearily from the bunk above you.

There’s someone in the room moving swiftly toward you from the windows, hulking, with a rifle–

Joel.

“Get up. Both of you. Get out. The place is on fire.” 

It doesn’t register.

“What? What fire? Joel? What’s happening–”

He shakes your shoulder, pulling you from the bed. “Get Ellie out. Now!”

There’s no other thought, just fumbling in the dark as Ellie jumps down beside you and dives for her jacket, shoving her feet into her boots without doing up the laces while you reach out one hand to catch hers for when it comes to you. The other gropes the near table for the walkie and thumbs the button.

“Meadowlark to patrol. Meadowlark to Goldfinch. We’re in trouble, there’s a fire and–”

The whole cabin sways. A gunshot from the balcony. Joel growling over his shoulder. “Get out! Now!”

“Joel–!”

“NOW!”

The ladder is still sliding down into place when you jump on it and ride it part of the way down, still waking up as Ellie’s boots come fast, almost kicking you in the face as she follows you down the rungs two at a time, moving through a plume of choking blackness only to come out below it to a roaring bonfire that’s eating through the Roost’s supports.

Oh god. The Roost…

is burning….

“JOELLLLLL!” you scream up as your stocking feet hit the ground hard, as you catch Ellie and pull her off the ladder and stumble backward, as something hits your head hard and causes you to let go, as separate sets of arms grab each of yours and drag you roughly backward, fast enough to keep your feet from catching up until you’re on your knees.

There’s a crackle in the air– “Patrol to Meadowlark. What’s the trouble?” 

The walkie lies somewhere in the pine needles just out of reach and you’re screaming at it for help but all that comes out of your mouth is a string of names and no’s and helps. You’re able to yank your non-dominant arm free, pitching forward, clawing for the radio, until a flash of hard silver–a meteorite, exquisitely dense and smooth, malignant, swift, direct–cracks down on your forearm with a sickening thud, shattering the bone.

The world slides out of focus through a screen of sudden pain.

At first, you assume you’ve been shot in the arm. But then a figure steps around to your line of sight. Abby. With a golf club? What? Why? Where did she get that? The commissary? Why the fuck would they stock golf clubs? What the fuck is going on? 

And you watch as Abby picks up the walkie. Tosses it into the fire.

The hands are back upon you now, forcing you back to your knees, and a third set joins them, wrapping around your forehead and chin, pulling you back against a belly and you struggle.

Where’s Ellie.

You’re able to twist your head to one side despite being held. She’s there on the ground, face down, groaning, with Owen’s knee in her back.

“Ellie? Honey?”

One pair of hands holding you twists you hard, meaning to pull you further away from her without compliance from the other hands or consent from your muscle structure and there’s a sickening pop as your shoulder leaves its socket and then your scream drowns out everything even the roar of the fire.

“She keeps it in her pocket,” Abby says. Rooting into Ellie’s pocket, Owen finds the knife and pulls it out–the one she cherishes, imbued with the legend of her mother, given to her on the same day as her name, her life, and her orphanhood.

The day Ellie told you the story, you’d taken steel wool to the knife and cleaned it. Oiled the hinge. Shined it up good and pretty.

It flips open easily in Owen’s paw. It twirls swiftly around, and points downward, his fingers closing over the hilt, thumb curling over the butt of the handle to give it more leverage when he’s ready to bring it down.

The night is horribly black and lit along the edges in orange fire.

There’s a loud crack. Owen’s thigh explodes in a splatter of blood and he falls backward off Ellie, screaming. The hands around your head let go and Mel runs to him.

Joel stalks out of the plume of black smoke, cocking the rifle, pointing only long enough at Owen to confirm he’s down and then swinging the barrel around to Abby.

A stand off. No sound or movement but the whoosh of flames and a few ground-muffled cries from Owen, a few sniffles and shushes from Mel.

“Who the fuck are you,” Joel growls out over the steel barrel, his cheek quivering in barely hinged anger.

Abby stands, solid, unyielding, straight as the blonde braid hanging down her back, club wound up tight, ready for the pitch, a face full of lines and soot and destruction.

“The last survivors of the Firefly massacre. You didn’t think to check the rest of the compound? Like the whole team was just one-offs? Like none of them had family, you sick fuck? You fucking orphaned us. Left us to fend for ourselves. Go ahead and shoot, old man. Marlene always said you weren’t so good at keeping kids alive, actually surprised you got as far as you did. So go ahead. Not like we’ve got nothing to lose. We just came to return some favors and finish the job.”

It’s only in the moments later, before the dawn, when you’re laying on your back looking up at the stars, one arm laying broken and useless in the snow beside you, the other cradling a weeping Ellie Williams as tight as you can, that you’ll be able to slow the film of your memory and play out the next thirty seconds frame by frame.

The series of snaps and cracks as the support under the Roost gave way and the whole structure tumbled out and away from the scene, pulling several pines down with it, the crashing and burning the only sound you remember now.

Ellie trying to shuffle along the ground toward you and away from the fire.

Owen pulling himself up enough to raise the knife and bring it down into the meat of Ellie’s calf.

Owen’s body flying backward as a bullet ripped through his skull.

A wrench of your neck and the warm splash of blood from above you as another shot rang out, one person holding you falling away and back, gone, but still pulling you down with their dead body.

The roar of an angry Abby and the clank of a club shaft on a rifle barrel.

Another gunshot.

The sound of metal hitting flesh.

Thirty seconds. And now you can see the stars. Orion. The Milky Way.

Somehow you’re lying yards from the little patch of burning trees with Ellie cradled in your good arm. Someone dragged you here.

There are voices and flashlights. The patrol. Bear and Tommy. Goldie and Willa and Chickadee.

And Maria. Laying on the ground beside you, exhausted from the effort of dragging two humans out of the burning thatch of trees.

“Joel. Where’s Joel.” It hurts to speak. Breath comes fast and shallow.

Then he’s there with the others, a bruise blooming purple beneath his eye, saying only what scant words he needs to move past them and get to you. To Ellie. 

His hands are gentle, but his eyes are cold.

Two still, black pools reflecting fire.

_______

Perhaps unsurprisingly, you dream of Troy, his mangled face open and bleeding, laying in the hole next to Ash, mutilated, stopped at the moment of transformation into something more sinister, your ex-husband and his sister lost to you because they were headstrong, foolish, too devoted to each other….

Ash’s eyes open, what’s left of them anyway. “Abby’s afraid of heights. Didn’t even have time to tell her about the Roost being up on stilts. What’s a caboose?”

They didn’t know the Roost was elevated. They followed us out here and didn’t have a good plan. Is that it?

They don’t answer. They get up and climb out of the hole, turn their backs on your and walk into the forest. You call after them, desperate to have them back after all this time, begging them not to leave you.

But you’re calling after them wrong. You can’t seem to say Troy. You can’t say Ash.

You’re only calling out for Joel and Ellie.

_____

The next thing you know, you’re sitting up in the snow, leaning against Goldie, the girl patting at your cheek as you’re coming around. “Come on, come on back, baby.”

The sun’s up, but not high enough to breach the mountains circling the meadow. Everything’s still lit by the slowly dying flames.

The one two punch of Willa setting the bone and popping your shoulder back in must have sent you off. Looking down, you see you must have thrown up as well. 

“Holy shit,” you groan, “I’m sorry. Oh my god, holy shit that hurts.”

“I know, I know,” says Goldie, smoothing your hair and kissing your forehead. 

“Here,” says Willa, handing you some dark root. You forget what it’s called, you just know you gotta chew. “Don’t swallow,” she reminds you. “You ride with Goldie. She’ll keep you upright once that sets in.”

“I gotta get up,” you mumble, struggling to stand and inhaling sharply at the twinge of pain the movement brings to your bandaged and immobilized arm. Goldie’s able to help get you up, but seems hesitant to let you go. “Ain’t nothing wrong with my feet, lemme go. Where’s Ellie?”

But you don’t need to ask, she’s just behind you, laying on her back in the snow, one arm flung over her eyes, breathing heavy to manage the pain, leg bandaged and tourniqueted.

Good. Next priority. “Where’s Joel?”

Goldie points to the fire. It’s starting to die down, enough to make out the bodies of three teenagers consigned to the flames. Past them, the group of the regular patrol. Joel shaking his head at them, speaking. Jacket zipped up to the top, no scarf, no hat; probably got left behind in the Roost. Rifle over one shoulder. A backpack over the other.

But not his backpack. Why would he have someone else’s backpack? Why would he have one at all…

He’s…. No.

Pushing off Goldie, you immediately find out that walking is hard. Even if the pain’s just in one arm, everything’s connected, everything hurts; it’s disorienting. Your knees are bruised and even your soft sleep pants feel like sandpaper on them. Feet cold and wet, no boots…

Joel sees you struggling to get to him and walks away from the group and the fire, meeting you partway, catching your good arm as your fist falls hard on his shoulder and yanks, fingers digging in hard to his coat, doing your best to hold on tight, to keep him here, to convince him not to go.

“Don’t you dare, Joel Miller. What do you think you’re fucking doing???”

He says nothing, only lets you collapse onto his chest, to sob. There’s not even an arm to comfort you, he gives you nothing but the bare necessity, a wall to keep you standing, and you know nothing you say will make a difference. In essence, he’s already gone.

“Please. Joel. Don’t. Please don’t go.”

“Trail’s fresh. Best to get on before it snows and covers the tracks. One of them’s the pregnant girl. One of them’s bleedin’. They can’t get that far.”

“You don’t have to. Just come home.”

“They’ll just come back. Maybe not soon, but someday.”

He’s right. You know he’s right. Stepping back, it hurts to look at him. The Joel you love has been asked to step aside, the care and fondness he’s come to show you locked up somewhere secure, somewhere where it won’t get in the way. 

I warned you, this Joel seems to say, void of emotion, jaw set, brow even and low, hand on the strap of his rifle. You took me in knowing exactly what I am.

He’s right.

“I need you here, Joel. Ellie needs you here. Don’t you dare go…unless you can come back.”

“I need you here too. ‘S why I’m going.”

Nothing. No kiss goodbye, no waiting for approval, he just turns and walks. 

Maybe this is the last of it, just one last loose thread, then he can finally leave off wandering, finally shake off the killer and just come home, just be your Joel.

Convincing yourself of this is the only choice you’ve got.

________

You find yourself out on Maria’s back porch that night. Unable to sleep from the ache of the mending bone and the swell of your assaulted shoulder, it seemed like the best remedy was to find the toughest jerky in the kitchen, to sit on the porch in the cold and chew through the pain, and to lean back in one of the porch chairs with a soothing snowpack between it and your back.

The moonlight plays illusions like the canteen filmstrips–a summer image of Tommy and Joel teaching Ellie the mechanics of tackle football. The twinkle of the fireflies lending veritas to the picture…which in reality is only the twinkle of a dusting of new snow.

Not enough snow to make tracking impossible, but enough to make it difficult.

The back door opens and a blanket lands over your lap.

“Was gonna ask you if you wanted company, but then I decided, it’s my house and you don’t get a choice.”

Maria plops her own blanket in a nearby chair before disappearing and returning with two steaming mugs of tea as offering for the table between you. She takes her time covering you just so before wrapping herself up and joining you on the porch. “Suppose I should have asked if you want that cold pack changed before I get too comfortable,” she says, not really offering, but leaving the suggestion there between you if you need it.

It’s not necessary to talk for a while. She knows exactly what you’re thinking. Sees what you see.

“Did I wake you?”

“No. Riley did,” she lies. You’d heard her shift when you got up from the bed–her bed, well, hers and Tommy’s. But hers and yours for now.

“Thanks for taking care of us.”

“You say that like you’re not my family.”

“Well then, thanks for staying behind as if you are.” 

It’s hard to see her out of the corner of your eye, backed by dark shadows. But the moon plays little crescents on her face, the curve of her nose, her cheek, her chin. Her voice comes out velvet from the dark.

“I know you’re pissed at Joel for going, but he’s doing the right thing.”

Now you make the effort to turn, rotating more from the waist than the neck to save the injury from twinging, but it does anyway, mirroring your spike in irritation. “Really? You think so? Is that why you sent Tommy with him? After all that time you spent bemoaning the things Joel made Tommy do all those years ago–”

“This is different. This is about the greater good.”

“You know that’s what the villain always says, right?”

She presses her lips together, hating that you’re right. “Okay, so maybe not the greatest good for the morality of the remainder of the human race, but. For the good of Jackson.”

“Two grown men hunting down two teenage girls is the greater good.”

“They won’t be teens forever. They’ve both got reasons to come back for their revenge. And now they know where Jackson is. They get taken in by the wrong people, and then the wrong people will know where Jackson is too and when they come back they won’t be alone. They’ll know exactly how many and what kind of folk to bring.” She holds your gaze for a few seconds, steady and wise but also warning, her warmth only thinly veiling the matronly protectress behind it, like a Durga on her throne. “You know why we have patrols. You know what happens to people that get too close. Two more drops in the bucket is all.”

“Three. One of those little girls is pregnant.”

She has no answer to this. Rather, your dig brings no new argument to the table. It’s just words, just a fact on the wind. It doesn’t sway the needle one way or the other.

It’s exactly what you’d been thinking about, staring up at her bedroom ceiling. Then out here on the porch. It’s like she knew you needed to hear the justification out loud.

“They would have killed him, lady. And Ellie. And you. I’m surprised you don’t want them hunted down like dogs.”

You turn your attention to the back yard, the smallest hump of leaves under the big tree there not quite scattered to the wind, sparkling with snow cover. You can almost still hear Ellie’s high laughter as it sounded the day she experienced her first leaf pile.

“Oh, I want them run down,” you say. “I’m all for that, let ‘em eat lead. I just didn’t want…” It’s not really necessary to continue. Maria knows exactly what you want. She always does. That’s why she sent Tommy with him. To keep him tethered to humanity.

To the way Joel watched Ellie jump and disappear into a poof of leaves. The sun in his smile. At peace. At home. Free from the old violence. Reborn.

I just didn’t want Joel to be the one to do it.

______

Maria’s dinner table feels empty. Funny, you think, it was always the two of you. For a while there was four, what with Troy and Ash, but most of the time just the two. Then Tommy. Then Joel and Ellie. Now Riley…well, that is, if he’s still up during family dinner.

You’ve slept through most of the light of day and was hoping to talk to Ellie at dinner, but Maria’s been taking all her meals to the guest room for her. Mostly so she doesn’t have to walk down the stairs on her healing leg, but also because Ellie’s not been talking since that night.

And you can guess why. It has less to do with the injury and assault or the fire, and more about the truths she learned during them. 

Not much to do. The arm has to stay stable, strapped to your body. At least they fucked up the non-dominant one so you can still hold a fork, still brush your teeth. But knitting? Spinning? Helping Maria clear the dishes? Fat chance.

Not much to do but chew root, smoke wild weed, and sleep it off.

Maria reappears with a plate needs washing. “There’s a break in the clouds. I got three whole words out of her. This might be your chance.”

“Oh. Joy.” It’s getting to be less of an effort to stand now that you’ve got rest and food in you. The stairs are daunting only because of the conversation that waits at the top.

A knock on her door only grants you silence.

“I’m coming in, Starling girl. Best not be naked.”

No answer. You take that as the opposite of opposition. Tolerance.

She’s sitting on the bed, propped up by pillows behind her back and under her knee, her bandages freshly changed, no more blood pooling or free bleeding. She plays with the cuffs of her sweater, tugging at a loop in the knit, a book abandoned by her side as if she’d put it down when you knocked. A good sign. She doesn’t want to hide.

You crawl in beside her, awkwardly, one-handedly, a big showy sigh of relief when you finally land. “You know, if I was your mom, I’d probably start off with ‘what’cha reading there, kiddo?’ just to get you to say something, but I’m not your mom and I’m not here to make you talk if you don’t wanna–”

“Well I don’t.”

“Good. I didn’t come up here to hear you yap anyway.” You detect the tiniest twitch of her cheek, not quite a smile, perhaps a sneer…to scare away a smile. “Don’t talk, just listen.”

“I don’t wanna do that either.”

“Tough titties. I’m cashing in exchange for all the time I had to listen to you go on about Sally Fucking Ride.”

Now she does smile. Barely. Gives you the teenager face you wanna slap sometimes. “Tough titties? Really?”

“They didn’t have tough titties in the orphanage? Seems off-brand.” The smile fades. “Tell me how you’re healing. I’m not asking, I’m demanding.”

A big breath in. But the air doesn’t come rushing back with a dramatic sigh, just melts out of her with a single tear she doesn’t move to brush away.

So you do. “That bad, huh.”

“It fucking sucks. It fucking sucks so bad.”

“Heh, tell me about it. I miss the good old days of ibuprofen. Shit. I miss morphine. You’re young though, you’ll be up and running in a week or two. Me? I’m gonna be aching for–”

“He fucking lied through his teeth.”

Ah. There it is.

Now the colony of tears follows the first scout, pouring out over the plains of her cheeks until she covers her face with those cuffs she’s been picking at, relieved at being able to let it all out in front of someone who might understand, but probably scared as hell to let herself be this messed up in front of someone who might not. A gamble.

And a win. You’ve still got one good arm and you put it to good use, pulling her into your side. “Yeah, you’re right. He totally did. He’s a fucking asshole. Why the hell would he do that.”

“It wasn't time that did it,” she hiccups from under her woolen cuffs.

“I don’t know what that means, Starling” you say, unable to stop yourself from kissing the crown of her head.

She wipes her nose and comes up for air. “I mean I know why. But he fucking lied about everything. Straight to my face.”

“Well, you’ve got every right to demand an explanation and an apology when he comes back. Straight to his face.”

“If he comes back.”

You let that sit a moment between you. It’s her way of saying that she knows you’re mad at him too, that she heard the conversation you had with him when he left. It’s her way of poking at your own fears and getting you on her side.

“Those girls aren’t armed and the Miller boys have a lot more experience with being hunters than those kids do being prey. He’ll be back.”

“I hate him.”

“I know. But also. You don’t.”

“I had a… a purpose. A fucking purpose.”

“Well….I know you did, but…probably not so much as you think.” She looks up at you but you can’t meet her eye, she’s right to mourn, and you can’t deny her that. “Remember what I told you about my sister and her treatments?”

“The research hospital.”

“Yeah. Cancer’s been killing people on this earth far longer than cordyceps and they’d had millions of patients to test on. Still couldn’t crack it. How many people are immune like you? Because if it ain’t millions, you just become one part sample in a petri dish and another part dead body that maybe give some vague clues and then you’re all parts in the bin, end of story. I mean, I’ll be honest. I don’t blame him. You’re quite a keeper.”

Now her sigh is dramatic. “And then he fucking lied about it.”

“So you would feel good about it. Accomplished in your goal. Also so you wouldn’t hate him for caring about you more than you do.”

“Why didn’t he just say–?”

“Do you know that man to be good with words?”

This quiets her. Both of you. For a few minutes. She goes back to picking at her sleeves.

The sun’s set completely now and her little bedside lamp can’t even drown out the stars so bright on the other side of the window. Clear night. Cold out there.

After a moment you take your arm back, jostle her with your shoulder. “Hey. I’m going out to the Meadow tomorrow, check in with Willa, look over the damage. If I bring you back a piece of the Roost, you wanna do some carving or whittling or something? We’ll build a platform like the old one and it’s probably just gonna be a tent up there for a while like it used to be, but hopefully this spring or summer we’ll get a structure up there and we’ll need a cornerstone or a plaque or something signifying its importance. Since you’re on your ass all day with nothing better to do, and you’re the star recruit, I’d love for you to do it.”

Her lips twist, half smiling at the request, but then in regret. “I lost my knife.”

“The one from your mom?” She nods. “Well if you’ll do some carding for me while I’m out there, I promise to look for it, ask around, maybe one of the patrol picked it up, okay?”

“Okay. Oh. By the way…How are you healing?”

“I’ve been worse. But mostly I’ve been better. Thanks for asking. ‘S kind of you. But don’t you worry about me.”

“Okay. Um…I’m…sorry about telling them about the meadow and all.”

“Why? You’re a Roostling. It’s your story to tell.” Sliding off the bed you head for the door. “Oh hey. I meant to ask–” you nod at the book by her side. “What’cha reading?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh…just porn.”

“Cool. G’night.”

“‘Night. Hey Meadowlark?”

You poke your head back in before the door closes completely. “Hm?”

“Thanks. For all that. But mostly for not calling me kiddo.”

You smile. Nod. Give her a warm wink. “Sure. I gotchu, kiddo.”

It’s worth the eyeroll you catch as you close the door.

________

The most sickening part of coming in through the north passage isn’t seeing the burn scar on the pine grove in the middle of the Meadow, isn’t missing the outline of the Roost through the trees, but rather the feeling that your home has been breached, that for a moment it wasn’t safe and now you’ll always wonder if it will be.

Riding across the north plain, you close your eyes and breathe, let the horse plod on without your guidance, he knows the way. Once spring comes and the valley fills with flowers and the music of the lambs calling for their ewes takes over from this cold silence that comfort will be renewed. 

But for now, there is no comfort on the Meadow in winter, not without a pretty little fireplace and a warm spot to watch the snow build up on the mountains.

You know what’s coming, but it turns your heart inside out all the same when you open your eyes.

Where once there was a cabin in the treetops is now a void leading downward to a pile of blackened rubble and debris. Off to the side under some lower trees is the old canvas tent with the vent hole and a friendly little trail of smoke rising from it. Willa always knew her way around a fire and didn’t mind keeping a low one going on the inside. You never were that confident, even with a fire-treated tarp.

She’s been at work out here, pulling useful things out of the rubble. The woodstove. The pulley jacks. A few timbers that are mostly unburned. 

But there’s a pile of other things too, useless items that shouldn’t be mixed back in with the earth: a burned walkie. Twisted silverware and blackened plates. The iron tools from the rafters. Shattered tile. Your charred and mangled boots.

All that’s left in the major wreckage is wood. And glass. And bones.

Three blackened skulls, three sets of eye sockets and three jaws gaping up at the sky as if they were caught in the moment of realizing their plans were going terribly awry. 

Stupid fucking kids. ….Just kids.

If someone asked you how you knew which one was Owen’s, you wouldn’t be able to say. You just know. The memory of him sinking that knife into Ellie’s leg…of hurting her…intent to kill… His skull breaks like a cracker when you put your weight on it.

Willa doesn’t say anything when she comes up along side to stare down at the bones with you. It's not the first time you've stood with her at the edge of a burned down home.

"I hate that it’s gonna take me a while to sift though all this,” you say.

“We’ve decided to skip your turn for a while. At least until there’s a new platform.”

You nod, resigned. You don’t love it, but it’s best. Trauma lingers longest of all hurt. 

“How’s the flock?”

“They’re over it.”

“Figures. Fluffy shits. Any chance you found a pocket knife out here?” You ask her.

She nods, reaches into a jacket pocket and there it is, like it’s been waiting to come back to its keeper, made itself shiny and easily found. It’s passed between you like a sacred object, holy, a relic saved and cared for, a thing infused with deep love and meaning. There’s an instant relief as your fingers curl around it, your shoulders relaxing and releasing a little of the pain.

“Thank you.”

“There was this too.” From the same pocket Willa pulls a disk of silver and glass, turning it over and placing it in your hand with the knife.

The watchband is burned away. But it’s otherwise unharmed.

Willa may be a stoic, but she knows enough to recognize a release through tears and to hold you while you cry.

Later that afternoon when you knock on Ellie’s door, you’ll hand her the knife and a piece of the old Roost to carve to consecrate the new one. And then you’ll give her the watch and ask her to be your hands, to help you with one more thing.

________

Two days later, you’re standing in Joel’s living room, never having been here when it’s so quiet, dark, and cold. With you and Ellie staying with Maria, there’s been nobody here to light a fire, to make the place live. You wouldn’t be here if Maria hadn’t made a side comment about maybe you and Ellie’d been in the same clothes for a day too many. Not that you thought you’d be with her that long.

She was right. It was nice to change into something clean–a soft fleece and some sleep pants. While the sword of Damocles kept things in check at Maria’s house, it did feel just this side of an extended girl’s night sleepover, might as well dress for it. Ellie had asked for something soft and comfy so you decided to go for it, an assortment of sweats and sweaters in the duffel at your feet.

What you’re eyeing at the moment is an empty hook on the wall by the fireplace.

You put your hand in your jacket pocket and pull out the watch.

Ellie did a beautiful job with it, took directions like a champ. Sitting together on her bed, listening to Joan Jett and Pat Benetar, you’d instructed her how to design the plaid stripes into the strap, how to knot and plait in patterns.

“Macrame. MACrame. Mac. Ra. Mayyyyyy,” Ellie’d chanted. “It’s a fun word to say. What’s it mean?”

“Fringe. Knotting. It’s just the name of the technique. I dunno. Probably something prettier in French.”

The strap clasps had been lost in the fire, so you’d had Ellie work him a new strap out of dyed and tightly-spun wool, something a little longer so he could tie it on. Most likely he’d come back here first, so you want to put it somewhere he’d see it, that way he could have it again without a lot of fuss but knowing at the same time you were thinking of him. So you slip the end loop over the hook, gently let it slip through your fingers and rest against the wall.

If he comes back…

The front door opens. Boots on the wood. The thump of a backpack.

By the time you’ve turned, he’s coming in through the front hall.

When he sees you standing here, he stops.

You never imagined this moment. You should have. It might have prepared you for the yellowing bruise on his face, the majority of his left pant leg browned with dried blood, his knuckles raw and just beginning to heal over.

You struggle with finding the right question. Find ‘em? They dead? Finish the job? No survivors?

I’d ask you what the hell you did, but I know and I don’t wanna hear you say it.

Instead all you can muster is a nod at the blood on his jeans.

His eyes slide to the staircase, already looking to move on, and he only answers with a short and shallow nod of his own before doing just that.

You find yourself sitting on the couch, staring at your hands, the duffel, the watch, back at your hands. Listening as he moves around upstairs, dropping boots, his belt buckle clapping to the floor. The shower running for a long, long time.

Sun’s going down. Getting colder.

The squeaks from the staircase are slow, softer than usual. He’s taking his time coming down. Doesn’t want to force himself back into a space so safe and quiet after pushing through one so big and mean.

He barely shifts the couch as he sits on the far side. Clean shirt. Clean jeans. A pair of socks you knit him.

“Where’s Ellie?” He sounds like he hasn’t spoken to anyone in days. You’d wager he hasn’t.

“With Maria. We’ve been staying there. I was just getting us some clothes. Didn’t think you’d be gone this long.”

“Neither did I. They had a head start. Younger. Faster. But you’re safe now. You’re both safe now.” He’s quiet long enough for the house to give a settling creak as the wind picks up outside. “How’s that arm?”

“Joel, you can’t keep us safe from the world. The world is what it is.”

“The fuck I can’t,” he whispers back, defiant, stubborn, with enough venom that he seems to scare himself and he breathes in deep, keeps it, holding back.

All you want is your Joel back. Even in all this mess. All you want is for him to lay down his fear and love you the right way. 

So instead of arguing, you get up and stand before him, give him the time it takes to understand you’re going to straddle his lap whether he helps you or not. He reaches for you on your way down, guides and supports you, allows you to rake through his wet curls before leaning in to take possession of his lips, to will him–by kissing through to his very soul–to come back to you.

He can’t help but respond, his whole body coming to life, and in the cold, twilit living room, you become a tangle of silhouettes as his hand pushes up under your sweater–somehow still keeping an aura of care around your ruined and wrapped arm–to squeeze almost painfully at your curves, rough and wanting, panting between devouring kisses as he paws beyond the waistband of your sleep pants, sucking at your neck when you throw your head back as he reaches what he was searching for….what you hoped he’d find…

There’s a tousle of repositioning and a clatter of belt and zipper. You’re both raw and rough and needy, and you both take advantage of the emptiness of the house to fill it with the sounds of desperation, of effort, the song of casting off of all inhibition, a duet of total and grateful release. 

But through it all, it’s the way he holds onto you that tells you how much he wanted to get back to you, how close he intends to hold you and never let you go, a desperation that tells you exactly where his faults lay…

…that it was necessary–and always will be–to eliminate any chance of someone taking you from his world by force.

It’s not so much possession as a fierce and burning need to be possessed. A need to belong, concentrated down to its basest form.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he softly kisses your temple, spooning you in the afterglow that burns bright in the darkening room.

“For what? You didn’t hurt me.”

“Rushed it a little. Tend to act before thinkin’ sometimes.”

You’re not completely sure what he means by that. At first you think he’s talking about the rough sex, but you get his meaning. Stalking off after Abby and Mel so impulsively. For being impulsive in general.

For acting out of trauma.

Or love.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to for that, Joel.”

You can tell the moment he understands when his forehead gently meets your shoulder. “Shit.”

It’s probably the best time to break it to him, while he’s still a little softheaded and euphoric. “She’s ready to listen. But I won’t promise it’ll be easy. It might just be you and me here for a while.”

Once his breathing evens out, he shifts, still holding onto you, but just coming back down, settling back in.

“What’s that?” He mutters, just on this side of falling asleep, lazily pointing at the watch on the hook by the fireplace.

“Your Valentine’s Day present. From both of us. Sorry it’s late.”

________

Taking some shifts off from the Meadow rotation affords you time to start slowly moving things over to the new A-frame, Maria helping you to load up a skid now and then and unload it, walking beside you as you lead the horse that tows it.

After a week or two, Ellie’s up and walking–well, limping, but healing–and starting to talk to Joel at dinner again. She’s on the verge of actually gracing his bad jokes with a smile or even a laugh, but she’s making him work hard for it. Good for her.

You haven’t asked either of them how the talk went. Don’t know if you ever will. That’s between them, the less you interfere, the better.

But you know that things are on the mend when you find Ellie playing Joel’s guitar–learning some Johnny Cash song you know he loves.

And you have a feeling that spring is on the way when you drop off another load at the new house and find a new frame on the wall–a handmade, custom carpentry display shadowbox.

With a watch hanging inside.

_______

PREVIOUS: AUTUMN

NEXT: SPRING AGAIN (coming soon)

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

[andromeda-pleiades]

Just Trust Me

WORD COUNT: 1,828

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Back by popular demand ٩(◕‿◕)۶, I've decided to make this a 6 part series.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

The morning light seeps through the blinds, casting soft golden streaks across the bedroom. Simon’s arm is draped over your waist, his slow, steady breathing pressing against your back. You keep your eyes shut, feigning sleep, listening for any sign that he’s awake.

Minutes pass before he stirs. He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder before rolling out of bed. You wait, forcing yourself to breathe evenly, until you hear the shower turn on. Only then do you dare to move.

Downstairs, the scent of coffee fills the air, but something feels off. Simon moves too quietly, his footsteps deliberate. When you enter the kitchen, he’s already at the stove, humming softly—yet the sound feels more like an act than a habit. He glances at you, eyes scanning your face, before flipping an omelet onto your plate.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he muses, taking a sip of his coffee. “Not feeling sick, are you?”

You shake your head. “Just tired.”

He nods but doesn’t look convinced. His fingers trail across your wrist as he sets down his mug, a slow, almost idle touch—but it lingers. Every word, every gesture, feels like a test.

After breakfast, Simon settles in the living room with his laptop. His presence in the house makes your skin itch, but you keep up appearances, waiting for an opportunity to be alone.

Hours later, Simon finally steps outside to take a call. You move quickly, slipping into the office and grabbing your phone. Your fingers move with purpose, typing in the search bar:

How to leave an abusive relationship safely.

You hit enter. Nothing happens.

The page doesn’t load. You frown, refreshing it, but the screen remains blank. You try again:

Shelters for domestic abuse survivors near me.

Still nothing.

Confused, you navigate to your browser settings, clicking through menus until your stomach drops.

Search history linked to external device.

Your hands go cold.

You scroll further, heart pounding as you see the timestamps. Every site you’ve visited, every search, every desperate late-night inquiry—Simon has seen it all.

The room tilts.

Your mind races back through the past few weeks. The way Simon had made little comments—“What made you think of that?” “That’s an odd thing to look up.”—hadn’t been coincidences.

He had known.

He had always known.

Your breath comes faster, chest tightening. You can’t even look up how to leave. There is no safe way to plan this.

A shadow moves in the doorway.

You whip around, shoving your phone under the desk as Simon leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. His expression is unreadable.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Just—just checking something for work.”

Simon’s lips twitch, almost amused. He steps closer, reaching out, and for a horrible second, you think he’s going to take your phone. But instead, he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You know you can always come to me, right?” he murmurs. “If something’s on your mind?”

The weight of his words presses against your ribs. You nod. “Of course.”

He smiles. “Good girl.”

He leaves the room, his footsteps slow, deliberate. You don’t move until you hear the front door open and shut behind him.

Then, and only then, do you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding.

That night, after Simon falls asleep, you try again.

This time, no Google searches. You open a notes app and type instead:

He’s tracking everything. I need a way out.

You go to delete it—but before you can, the text disappears.

Gone. Erased.

A cold chill races down your spine.

Frantic, you type again.

Can anyone see this?

It vanishes the moment you press enter. Like you never even wrote it.

Simon doesn’t just see your searches. He controls what you can say. What you can keep.

You stare at your phone, fingers trembling. There is no way to look up an escape plan. No way to even write things down.

You are trapped.

You stare at the dark ceiling, heart pounding, as Simon breathes evenly beside you. The weight of the realization crushes down on you, pressing like an iron vice against your ribs.

If you’re going to get out, you can’t rely on your phone. You can’t rely on the internet. You can’t even rely on your own thoughts staying private.

You’re completely, utterly alone in this.

But then… an idea.

Kyle.

Kyle. The only person who might help. Unless... No. He wouldn't be working with Simon. Would he?

You close your eyes, willing your breathing to slow. If Simon is watching for any change in behavior, you can’t let him see the shift in your mind.

So you do what you’ve done so many times before. You bury the fear deep.

You pretend.

You smile in your sleep.

And you start planning in the only place he can’t reach.

Inside your head.

The house is quiet. Simon left fifteen minutes ago, his departure punctuated by a kiss to your forehead and a murmured, “Be good.” Now, you’re finally alone.

You move quickly, slipping into the office and shutting the door behind you. Simon’s desk is organized with clinical precision, but his laptop sits open, the screen dimmed in sleep mode, as if he expects to return soon.

The desktop screen glows to life, requiring a password. Your stomach clenches. You try the basics first—birthdays, anniversaries, military references—but nothing works. Frustration bubbles under your skin until you pause, recalling a memory.

“Captain always said to keep it simple,” Simon had once mentioned, laughing over beers. “Overthinking gets you caught.”

You type the name Tommy and hit enter.

The screen unlocks.

Your breath catches, but you force yourself to focus. If he’s monitoring your phone, there’s no telling what kind of security he has on his computer. But this might be your only chance.

Rows of folders are scattered across the desktop. One catches your eye immediately: OpSec_T141. Your pulse quickens. Task Force 141—Simon’s unit.

You open it. Rows of files populate the screen, names and numbers blurred together in a flood of information. You skim past mission reports and encrypted documents until you find something chillingly familiar.

Your name.

A lump forms in your throat as you click it open. Detailed notes spill across the screen. Timelines. Psychological assessments. Weaknesses. Preferences. Even things you’ve never voiced aloud—your tendency to hesitate in confrontations, your instinct to placate instead of fight.

It’s all there: your schedule, your habits, your fears. The photos are the worst—images of you at the park, at the grocery store, sitting alone on the couch. Your breath turns shallow. He’s been watching you far longer than you realized.

You bite back a sob, forcing yourself to keep reading. One section stands out, labeled Emotional Vulnerabilities. You skim it, horrified. Every private fear you’ve ever shared with Simon is laid out like a blueprint.

Prefers to de-escalate conflict.

Struggles with confrontation.

Easily guilted.

Tendency to freeze under stress.

Your mind flashes to past arguments, to the moments where he’d twisted your own emotions against you. The times he made you feel irrational for doubting him. The way he always knew exactly what to say to make you stay.

Every interaction, every emotional response, cataloged like a case study.

You scroll further. There are other names. Kyle Garrick—Gaz. A woman you don’t recognize. You click on her profile. At the top, the file name reads:

Price’s Woman.

Your stomach churns. The picture attached is grainy but clear enough. A woman with dark, tired eyes, standing beside a man just out of frame. Price.

You click through the notes. The similarities to your file are eerie. Psychological breakdowns. Manipulation tactics. Control strategies. The last entry is chillingly abrupt.

Status: Secured.

Your hands shake as you snap photos of the files. A sudden noise outside makes you flinch. You hurriedly close everything, heart pounding as you return the laptop to its original state.

When Simon walks through the door minutes later, you’re already seated on the couch, pretending to scroll through your phone.

He smiles at you, easy and warm. Too easy.

“Miss me?”

You force yourself to smile back.

The weight of your discovery presses heavy against your chest. Simon isn’t acting alone. Price trained him for this.

You were never supposed to find out.

Dinner is quiet, the soft clink of silverware against porcelain filling the space between you. Simon’s gaze lingers on you more than usual, studying your every movement. You keep your expression neutral, offering small smiles, playing the role he wants you to play. Inside, your mind races with everything you discovered earlier.

“So,” Simon starts, setting down his fork. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Your fingers tighten around your own utensils. “What is it?”

His smile is easy, affectionate. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, elegant box. “A gift.”

A cold weight settles in your stomach. You force yourself to keep your hands steady as you take the box and lift the lid. Inside, nestled in black velvet, is a delicate silver bracelet. The design is simple, understated—something you might have picked for yourself.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, running a finger over the smooth metal. You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker with satisfaction.

“I wanted you to have something to remind you of me while I’m gone.” He leans forward, brushing a kiss against your temple. “And something to keep you safe.”

Your throat tightens. The implication is clear. You turn the bracelet over in your hands, pretending to admire the craftsmanship while discreetly searching for anything unusual. It doesn’t take long—there, near the clasp, a barely visible indentation.

A tracker.

You swallow down the nausea rising in your chest. Of course, Simon would frame it as protection, as a sign of love. But this is just another layer of control.

You force yourself to look at him, let warmth seep into your voice. “Thank you, Simon. I love it.”

He beams, taking your wrist and fastening it for you. His fingers linger, thumb grazing over your pulse. “I love you too.”

The words feel heavier than usual. You smile back, keeping the mask firmly in place.

Tonight, you decide, you won’t just endure this. You won’t just wait. You’ll start pushing, subtly, carefully. Testing the edges of the cage he’s built around you.

You tilt your head, letting your expression shift into something thoughtful. “When do you leave?”

“Next week,” he says, studying your reaction. “It won’t be long.”

You let your smile falter, just slightly. “I’ll miss you.”

Simon’s eyes soften, and he reaches for your hand. “I’ll miss you too, sweetheart. But you’ll be safe. You’ll be here.”

You nod, feigning acceptance. But inside, something shifts. He wants you to stay in place, trapped under his watchful eye. That means your time is running out.

You need to act soon. And you need to be careful.

[thefrontmanscockwarmer]

My Best Friends Brother (part 2)

Player 001 x Reader [Smut]

Masterlist <- comment on this post to be added to the tag list

Part 1

“Okay” you breathe heavily as his big hand wraps around your neck, pulling your head back so he can attach his lips to your neck. “Wait, In Ho”

“What now?” He groans exasperatedly.

“No marks”

“You got burned with the curling iron” he said, continuing to leave a deep hickey on your neck. He pushes you off his lap. Pulling his sweats down a little bit so he could pull his cock out. “Sit down on me” he orders. He pulls your thong to the side so you can slide down on his cock. A low groan left his chest as you sank down. A whimper arising from you. You sat on his cock.

“Fuck” you drawled in a high breathy voice.

“Yeah? Does my cock feel that good?” He teases. “Play.” He tells you as you continued your game as he slowly thrusted into you. You played, trying to keep your composure. He thrusted faster, obviously racing to his own orgasm, yours wasn’t important in that moment. He pressed a hand to your back, making you bend over his desk as he fucked into you. “Such a good fucking girl” he said huskily into your ear.

“Mom, I’m home. Is (y/n) here yet?” You heard Jun-Ho’s voice.

“Yes, she’s in In Ho’s room, can you tell them to come out for dinner?”

In Ho thrusted faster, hoping to reach his orgasm before Jun Ho got there.

“Oh my god”

“Shut the fuck up and play” he said roughly. You continued to play, feeling him release his cum inside you. You sat back normally on his cock just as the door handle turned.

“What’re you doing in here?’ Jun Ho said as his eyes set upon you sitting on In Ho’s lap.

“I’m playing call of Duty” you say.

“Sitting on my brother’s lap?” He asked skeptically. He eyed you with suspicion. “Anyway, Mom said dinner’s ready so finish that match and come out” He said leaving the door open. You stood, feeling In Ho’s cum leak out of you. He stood up, his size pushing you against his desk. He grabbed your neck roughly and kissed you.

“If i see you cuddled up with Jun- Ho tonight, I’m gonna put a bullet through his head. You’re mine” he pushed you away from him roughly. You and him walked out to the living room. You sat next to their mom. Rapidly serving yourself after they all sat.

“Holy shit, (y/n), what happened to your neck” Jun Ho asked. In Ho looked up, alarms going off in his head.

“Curling Iron” you laughed. “I was getting ready for work and burnt myself on accident.”

“Mom, have you seen it?” Jun Ho asked.

“Yes, I saw it when she came in. I gave her some cream.” Relief set in, you let out a quiet breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You and In Ho shared a quick look.

“Any of you want a drink? I have Whiskey?” You guys all took one.

Once dinner was finished, you and Jun Ho went to the living room. Watching a horror movie on the couch when In Ho came out of his room.

“What’re you idiots watching?” In Ho asked, passing you a mixed drink.

“It’s the conjuring series” You say.

“Yeah, a new movie came out, so we decided to rent all of them and watch them in chronological order.” Jun Ho said.

“Scoot over (y/n)” In Ho said pushing you.

“Damn, In Ho, you don’t have to be so rude” Jun Ho commented. In Ho shrugged getting under the big blanket you and Jun Ho were sharing. Sneaking his hand down on your thigh, gripping it tightly. The three of you kept drinking and watching movies.

“Hey (y/n)” their dad walked in. “I swear, you haven’t gone home a day in your life” he joked as you stood to hug him. You skirt flying up as you stood. In Ho stared at your ass.

“I just love it here” you smile innocently.

“Can you guys move? You’re blocking the TV” Jun Ho said moving his head trying to see around you.

“Hi Jun Ho. Hi In Ho” their father said, before walking into the kitchen. “Can you kids watch TV somewhere else? I wanna watch the game tonight” their dad said. Not really asking.

“Come on Guys, lets go to my room. I have a bigger TV” In Ho stood and walking to his room. You and Jun Ho following behind, sharing confused looks. In Ho set up the movie, starting it where it stopped. You laid comfortably in his bed.

Time skip: Later at night.

“Okay, I’m gonna head to bed.” Jun Ho says.

“yeah, I’m gonna head home.” You said slurring your words as you stumbled to your feet.

“No you’re not. You can hardly stand. Sit down” In Ho said pushing you back down.

“But I”

“You’re not walking home drunk (y/n)” Jun Ho agreed, tiredly. “It’s too late to tell Mom to get her a bed ready…”

“I guess she can sleep in my bed” In Ho sighed reluctantly.

“That’s what I was thinking. I don’t have a big enough bed for the both of us and Dad’s asleep on the couch.” Jun Ho agreed again. “Well goodnight (y/n)” Jun Ho pat your head at you got into bed, mumbling a goodnight.

Tag list

@christinamadsen @sebbymybaby21 @nakiio5775 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @player279achlys @watasinekoru

[crowsofdarkness]

Dorogaya: Chapter Two

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader.

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, kidnapping, violence.

Summary: It has been a few years since Bucky and Reader went into hiding. Just when they thought they were slowly building a life together, the past comes back with a vengeance.

Authors Note: This is the sequel to Soldat! You should read that series first. This takes place during Civil War. Tags are open if anyone is interested!

Tags: @globetrotter28 @sakuracyberhex @chinggay85-blog @bookofriverr @misatxox @that-blonde-girl @cats-chaotic-mind @wintrsoldrluvr @sebastians-love @pumpkin-babydoll @ordelixx @starfly-nicole

Soldat Masterlist | Dorogaya Masterlist

Whoever created the saying ‘you can cut the tension with a knife’ had never been more wrong. Someone would need a power saw to cut the tension between Bucky and I. After the little disagreement we had, we both went to sleep with our backs turned towards each other. It was well into the morning and not one word had been spoken between us. 

Bucky was in the bathroom, getting ready for our market trip, while I was standing at the counter with my back turned towards the bathroom and making a list of everything we needed. Despite the bad end to my night, I had managed to make decent money at work so we were able to buy more than usual. 

Sensing Bucky’s warmth behind me, I continued to ignore him as I double counted the money. It became incredibly hard to ignore him when his scent filled my nose, sending chills throughout my body. We stood shoulder to shoulder as he looked over some of his knives before pocketing them. 

“You haven’t brought your knives with you in almost a year,” I spoke softly. 

He shrugged and I felt him slip one into my back pocket. His hand lingered for a quick second before pulling away. 

“I have a weird feeling.” He admitted. 

Bucky went to walk away but I placed a hand on his broad chest to stop him. His eyes looked into my own and I could sense the disappointment lingering off of him. 

“I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’ve been so upset with what Hydra did to me that I forgot for a second of what you went through. It was wrong of me to be so ‘woe is me’ when you’re going through the same thing; only worse.” 

He sighed and placed his flesh hand over mine that was still placed on his chest. He gave it a quick squeeze. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have shut you out the way I did. The past few days I haven’t been able to shake this feeling that something is going to happen.”

I looked at him confused. “Like what?” 

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “We should get going.” 

Bucky dropped my hand to place his hat over his head and he went to hand me mine but I declined. 

“I think my new hair color is going to be enough of a disguise,” I joked while throwing it up into a messy bun. 

“I still can’t believe it changed that quick,” Bucky said. 

A large groan left my lips. “I know. I thought about dying it to my original color but who knows that it won’t change back.” 

Bucky shrugged. “I kind of like it.” 

“Oh you do, huh?” 

I could stop the small giggle I let out as the air around us shifted. The anger between us dissipated and was replaced with sexual tension. Bucky closed the distance between us in one large step and his metal fingers tangled in my hair, releasing it around my face. 

“I also like it when it’s down,” Bucky mused, his voice getting deeper. “Easier to grab.” 

His fingers gently grabbed the back of my skull and pulled my lips closer to his. 

Clearing my throat, I tried to think of something to say back. But with the intense sexual feeling that was warming my insides, my brain went to mush. Lust clouded around us, creating a small bubble with only the two of us. We were blocked out from the rest of the world. I stumbled over my words and could feel Bucky’s warm breath fanning over my lips. 

“Y/N,” he breathed. 

“Yes?” 

Bucky opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words to say. But he wasn’t able to speak because my phone ringing from the counter brought us back to reality. I felt him start to pull away so I gently grabbed his hips. 

“I have voicemail,” I reminded him. 

He shook his head, embarrassment causing his cheeks to turn red. “It’s okay. We should really get going.” 

And suddenly the bubble around us popped. 

Letting out a sigh, I reached for my phone. Bucky slipped on his glove over his metal hand so he hadn’t noticed the look of shock on my face when I read the new text message. 

Make sure to bring an umbrella today. I’m seeing a chance of rain.

The number may have been unknown but I didn’t matter. I knew who it came from. 

“Who was it?” Bucky questioned from behind. 

“No one,” I shook my head while pocketing my phone. “Ready?” 

Bucky knew I was hiding something but thankfully he decided not to press the issue. We both walked out of the apartment and I suddenly had the same feeling that something was about to happen today. 

Something we weren’t prepared for. 

Giving the old lady a quick smile of thanks, I placed the bag of apples in the one I had brought from home and looked around for Bucky. He mentioned that he needed to run a personal errand once but that was a while ago. I started to worry that something might have happened to him, especially after receiving the text message earlier. 

“Looking for someone?” 

Jumping at the deep voice, I looked over my shoulder and smiled at Bucky. “Find what you need?” 

He nodded before slowly pulling out a small box from his pocket and handed it towards me. I took it without saying a word and when I opened it, a small gasp left my lips. Inside was a small necklace. A black gem shaped as a circle was in the middle and gold surrounded it. 

“What is this?” I asked. 

“Happy Birthday.” 

My eyes snapped away from the necklace and over to Bucky. His hands were deep in his pockets, something I noticed he did when he was nervous. 

“You remembered?” 

It was right when we first arrived in Bucharest, one of the earlier nights, we stayed up as he listened to me go on about my life before SHIELD; my childhood, my family, and the time I spent in the FBI and SWAT. 

Bucky nodded. “I know it’s not much but it’s all I could afford.” 

Immediately shutting him up, I placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “It’s absolutely perfect, Bucky. Thank you.” 

Tears brimmed in my eyes as I turned my back to him, allowing him to place the necklace on my neck. Bucky’s breath fanned over the back of my neck and chills took over my body. His hands rested on my hips from behind and his soft lips left a kiss on the side of my neck. 

“I’m sorry if it seems like I’m taking things slow between us. I’m trying to remember how to do all of this.” Bucky admitted with a hushed tone. 

“It’s alright. I don’t want you to do anything that you’re not comfortable with.” I leaned my head against his shoulder. 

My fingertips played with the necklace and my heart warmed with the thought that Bucky had wanted to get me a present. 

Bucky brushed his lips against the side of my head and motioned towards the plum stand that was a few feet in front of us. 

“Alright, let’s get some plums then head back home.” 

His metal arm wrapped around my shoulder as he led me towards the stand. I remained quiet as I watched Bucky converse with the lady in Romanian, asking if the plums were good today. After he bought five, he looked down at me with a small smile. 

“What?” He asked.

“I like it when you speak Romanian,” I admitted while biting my lip. 

Suddenly the air around us shifted and Bucky noticed it as well. He pulled me closer to him and looked around the market. His body went rigid with tension and I quickly took the bag of plums from the lady then we both rushed our way home. 

We came to a stop as we were getting ready to cross the road, however, Bucky’s eyes landed on a man that was working at a newsstand. The man watched our every movement with fear in his eyes. 

“We’ve been made,” Bucky muttered. 

My eyes doubled. “What? Are you sure?”

He discreetly nodded towards the man, who now left his stand, and we both crossed out way over to it. Bucky looked around while my eyes went straight to the newspaper from today and what I read on the front page dropped my heart straight to my stomach. Even though I couldn’t read Romanian, the only words I needed to know were Winter Soldier. 

“Bucky,” I stammered while showing him the front page. “What does this say?”

“I’m wanted for bombing the U.N in Vienna.” 

His heart hammered in his chest and his breath quickened. After he threw the paper back on the stand, he brought me into his chest and started walking back towards our apartment. It was only a few minutes from the market so thankfully we could get out of hiding fast. 

“What are we going to do?” I trembled. 

“It’s okay,” Bucky reassured me. “Let’s just get home. We’ll figure it out.” 

Once we were safely inside the complex, Bucky and I both rushed up the stairs but he came to a quick halt right outside the door. His shoulders went straight and he brought out a knife from his pocket. 

“What is it?” 

“Someone’s inside,” he muttered nodding towards the door. 

“Seriously? Who found out where we live?” I thought mostly towards myself. 

Bucky went to go inside but I stepped in front of him to stop him. “Let me go first. Police are looking for you, not me. If they’re inside, I can distract them long enough for you to make a run for it.”

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you, Y/N.” 

“I’ll be okay. We’ll meet at that place in the mountains.” 

We had a small house up in the mountains that we were using as a safe house in case something like this were to happen. Giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, I entered the apartment with the knife clutched hard in my hand. I sensed a body as soon as my feet crossed the threshold and once I saw who exactly was in the apartment, the knife clattered to the ground causing him to turn on his heels, shield drawn high ready to fight. 

All of the past feelings slammed into me like a brick wall and even under the mask, I could tell that his face was showing the effects of how tired he was, his eyes shined a little less than they used too. 

We stared at each other for a few long moments before he placed the shield on the counter. “Happy Birthday, Y/N.” 

Swallowing the very large lump in my throat, my voice had come out way more shaky than I had intended. 

“Steve.” 

[bellaxgiornata]

You Are My Sunshine [3]

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader Word count: 3.6k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Teller Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; sunshine!Reader/grumpy!Jax (somewhat), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, canon divergent, canon typical violence (more tags to possibly come)

a/n: I happen to be very sick today so I figured I'd share another part of the series with y'all. Prepare for some angst and a pissed off, grumpy Jax. The next part is almost a complete draft, so more is coming. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

tag list: @mariamadison6-blog @moongirlgodness @kmc1989 @thedreadandthefugitivemind

Jax’s mind had been a noisy, dark place all day. He'd been smoking more than usual since that constant irritating, familiar itch for something was back again and demanding to be felt. It didn't help that his jaw ached from the way he'd been grinding it for hours, attempting to hold down the ever-present rage in his chest that felt like a coiled viper desperate to strike at something–anything. 

He knew it was only a matter of time before something set him off.

Drawing the beer bottle up to his lips for a deep pull, Jax sat back against one of the worn couches in the clubhouse. Legs spread wide, one of his hands absently toyed with his lighter against his thigh. Not even the alcohol had been helping to take the edge off his thoughts this evening as he watched the flame of his lighter flicker before he flipped the lid closed and snuffed it out once more.  

Across the clubhouse, Jax noticed one of the croweaters eyeing him from behind the bar. She had been shooting him flirtatious smiles and views down the front of her shirt whenever she bent over for the past twenty minutes now. For a brief moment, Jax had genuinely considered taking her down the hall and back to his dorm room. He’d thought that maybe shoving her facedown on the mattress for a quick fuck would briefly get Tara and Opie’s death out of his goddamned mind for just a little while. But for some reason the thought of fucking the same girl he'd seen with Tig last night only made that coil of anger twist tighter inside of himself. He didn't want her.

Bobby settled down on the opposite side of the couch from Jax, the movement catching his attention and causing Jax to tear his gaze away from the brunette behind the bar. Jax focused on his Vice President, watching as he rested his arm along the other armrest and sat half-turned on the cushion. There was a beer in Bobby’s own hand and a grim expression on his face as he quietly studied him. Jax could practically hear the words about to come out of Bobby's mouth before they even did. He was certain it was going to be a conversation that he'd had with him a few times now–and that only managed to piss Jax off more without Bobby even opening his mouth.

“What?” he finally snapped, unable to take the silent judgment any longer. “What is it?”

Bobby raised his hands in mock surrender, beer still clutched in one of them. “Didn’t say nothing, brother,” he answered calmly. “You just look like you’re ready to burn the whole place down over here.”

Jax’s fingers flicked his lighter shut once more, his eyes dropping down to where he’d been fidgeting with it on his lap. “Maybe I’m just thinking,” Jax countered sharply.

Bobby sighed, the expression shifting on his face as he took in Jax’s harsh tone. The sympathetic look in his eyes only managed to agitate Jax further, his hand gripping his own beer bottle tighter the moment his Vice President began speaking again.

“Brother, I know you’re feeling the loss of Opie,” Bobby began carefully. “We all are. And we’ll get retaliation for what happened to him. You know we will. We all want the same thing.”

Jax’s glare burned into the cement floor of the clubhouse as Bobby spoke. He didn’t like to think about how he’d lost his best friend just months ago. He didn’t want to remember that moment that haunted him, playing on repeat most nights when he closed his eyes. Ope hadn’t deserved that. He hadn’t deserved any of the shit that had happened to him over the past couple of years. 

But that was the life they led now, wasn’t it? Savage. Violent. Brutal. Unforgiving. Lonely. The many reasons Jax was trying to get the club out of running guns and into less dangerous business, especially after Abel had come into his life. Though it should have been Opie here as his Vice President talking to him right now. It should have been Ope talking him off the violent ledge he always seemed to be walking a thin line on lately. He’d always planned for it to be him at his right hand.

“There’s more to it than that,” Jax muttered bitterly.

Bobby nodded, more than aware that it wasn’t just Opie’s death plaguing Jax. He’d already been in a tailspin before that had happened, his best friend’s passing had just been the thing that had pushed him further into a spiraling descent fueled by rage and hate.

“Jax, man, you gotta let that go,” Bobby told him. “Tara made her choice. She left and it hurts, but it is what it is, brother. You can’t make her accept this life. You and I both know that the club life isn’t really meant for happy relationships and growing families. That’s how it’s always been.”

Jax’s jaw clenched again at Bobby’s words, his chest growing tighter. Bobby didn’t get it, not the full picture anyway. Because Jax had kept the full extent of what had happened with Tara a secret, one that was only known by Tara and himself. The club all had thought she had just come and gone from his life after Abel's birth complications, they had no idea that Agent Kohn really hadn't been in Charming investigating the Sons until he’d suddenly disappeared and left them all alone. The Sons had no idea that the psycho had actually been Tara’s ex who had followed her out here from Chicago, and that she’d most likely come here because she knew Jax would do something about it. That he was the only one who would. Because it was ultimately Jax who had finished Kohn off after Tara had shot him in self-defense when he’d tried to force himself on her. All his brothers had no goddamn idea that Jax had single-handedly disposed of the fed’s body after the fact, and now the secret lay buried within him, too. One that had been weighing on him heavily for more reasons than he cared to delve into.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Bobby,” Jax grumbled, his eyes still focused on his lighter. 

Another weary sigh fell out of Bobby as he glanced down at the beer bottle in his hands. “What I know is that you’ve been a mess ever since Tara left,” he continued carefully, full well knowing this was a difficult subject to broach with Jax. “We’ve all seen it, brother. You’ve got a shorter fuse lately, which leads to you not always making the best judgement calls. And we need you focused if we’re really going to get outta guns and get these other more legitimate businesses up and running successfully.”

Jax’s head snapped up at that, his eyes narrowing at Bobby. He wasn’t making the best judgement calls? What the hell was that even supposed to mean? He’d had the weight of the club thrust onto his shoulders right before him, Juice, Ope, and Tig had gone into Stockton, right after Jax had stripped Clay of his place in the club for the betrayal of killing his and Opie’s father–and Jax was still itching for revenge on that.

“Look, all I’m saying is that we all see it, Jax,” Bobby continued, trying to keep his tone even and calm. “You’re hurting. We get it. But you’re the club President now. You need to own your shit and leave the past where it belongs. It’s been a year, brother.” He paused, taking in the growing look of annoyance on Jax's face. “Whatever you gotta do to get right with your shit, you know we’ll support you. But this anger you’re holding on to? This rage and pain? You gotta find a way to let it go before it eats you alive.”

“It's not that simple,” Jax growled.

He could feel that growing rage clawing at his chest, desperate for release. For a target. Something to just unleash his fury on, to tear into and rip apart.  

“You need to find a way to make it that simple,” Bobby countered. “You need to–”

“I don't need you to tell me what I need to do!” Jax roared, rising abruptly from the couch and onto his feet. “I’m handling my shit. And I don't ever wanna hear you bring Tara up to me again, brother.”

Without another word, Jax stalked his way out of the clubhouse, slamming his half-finished beer bottle harshly down onto a table as he passed it. Storming off towards the clubhouse exit, he shot the hangaround that had been behind the bar silently flirting with him a dark glare that had her quickly averting her attention from him. He didn't give a shit that the guys were staring at him right now or that he’d just made a scene and went off on his VP. He didn't give a shit about anything at the moment. 

Roughly pushing the clubhouse door open with a hand, Jax stepped out into the warm summer night. He slipped his hand into the pocket inside of his kutte, feeling for his pack of cigarettes by habit to light up yet another smoke for the night. But even as he slipped the cigarette between his lips and lit it, he knew he didn't really want that, either.

He pocketed his lighter with a growl, taking a deep drag as he began to pace the length of the clubhouse parking lot in the dim lights. Back and forth he stalked in long, agitated strides as he ran a hand through his hair. His other hand pulled the cigarette from between his lips as he sharply blew out a trail of smoke, his mind still racing. He hated that the guys had seen how unraveled he’d grown lately because of Opie’s violent and unexpected death along with all of the internal festering bullshit with Tara that he hadn’t come to terms with yet. It made him want to hit something. To bloody his fists, break bone. That anger in his chest like a coiled serpent was just begging for something to sink its fangs into.

As Jax once more turned and stalked down the length of the parking lot in front of the clubhouse, his eyes landed on movement from across the street. You. He took a deep drag from his cigarette, watching you through your front shop windows as that dark anger coiled a bit tighter at the sight of you. You were laughing and waving goodbye to one of your employees, clearly closing up for the night. 

Smiling. You were smiling again.

Not even processing his actions, Jax pulled the half-finished cigarette from his lips and tossed it to the pavement. Half-heartedly stomping it out with his shoe, his gaze was fixed on you through the windows as you began wiping down the countertop. And then he was moving, making his way out of the lot and across the street as if he was compelled. 

As he harshly shoved open the door to your shop and stepped inside, he immediately came to a halt in front of the door the moment you looked up at him. He had no fucking idea why he’d come in here, he just knew needed to get away from the clubhouse, and the last two times he’d been here, you’d somehow distracted him from his thoughts. But for some reason the warm, friendly smile that had quickly pulled itself across your pretty lips in greeting at the sight of him just made his eyes narrow into a sharp glare. Gemma’s words from the other day ran through his mind again–her warning to stay away from you–and his jaw clenched. You shouldn’t be smiling at him like that.

“Evening, Jax,” your bright, cheerful voice greeted him. “You’ve actually made it in tonight with ten minutes to spare before I close this time. Your timing is getting better.”

He didn’t react to your joke, not even the faintest twitch of his mouth. He just stood there, his lips pursed and his hands stuffed into his pockets. One of your brows arched at his silence, your head tilting curiously to the side as you watched him for a moment. Goddammit, he hated the way your eyes sometimes seemed to look straight through him like that.

“Can I…get you a coffee?” you asked hesitantly.

“No,” he grunted. “Don’t want a coffee.”

You set the cleaning supplies down onto the counter, that friendly smile still drawn wide over your lips. The sight of it was only further fueling that coiled rage in his chest, but he was trying to hold it back. For the moment.

“Okay, well,” you continued, unfazed by his answer, “I can offer you tea. Or I still have some peanut butter cookies left from the day.”

Jax shook his head sharply, that hardened expression still on his face as he stood just a few feet in front of the entrance to your shop. He didn’t want any of that. He wasn’t sure why the hell he was here, but he wasn’t about to admit that to you, either. Though he noticed that this time, the longer he stood here with you smiling at him, the more he found himself wanting to wipe that cheerful look right off of your goddamn face. No one should be so fucking happy.

You nodded slowly at his response, your eyes still taking in his tense form. “I’m just cleaning up before I close,” you tried again, words coming out more careful as you spoke. “If you’d like to have a seat, you’re welcome to keep me company. I wouldn’t mind some conversation while I clean up.”

Jax hesitated for a moment. The sort of company you were probably hoping for was absolutely not the kind he knew he’d give you tonight. But still, Jax eventually strode over towards the counter before he hooked a foot around one of the chair legs that was positioned in front of it, roughly pulling it towards himself. A shrill noise abruptly pierced the air as it slid across the wood laminate flooring. With his hardened eyes still fixed on you, he lowered himself into the seat and watched as you resumed wiping down the counter. And you were still fucking smiling.

“Why the fuck do you always look so goddamn cheerful?”

The question had fallen right out of Jax so quick and harsh that he hadn’t been able to hold it back. But that beautiful smile on your face that had remained there since he stepped into your shop was just pissing him off further. He didn’t like it. Not tonight. Not directed at him. He wanted to make it disappear.

“Because I actively choose to focus on the things in life that make me happy,” you answered simply. 

His eyes narrowed at that. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Glancing up at him from beneath your lashes, you appeared to catch the face he’d just made. Pausing in your cleaning of the counter, you set the towel back down and focused your full attention on Jax–something that made him shift in his seat.

“There’s always going to be things that make us happy or sad or angry,” you began. “That’s just life. We all experience it. But a long time ago, I chose to focus on the good things instead of dwelling on the painful ones.” Your smile softened as you gestured around you. “Like my coffee shop. I’ve always dreamt of having a place like this, and now I do.”

“The hell does a coffee shop have to do with anything?” he snapped. “How the hell does a job make you so happy all the damn time?”

You shrugged a shoulder and Jax watched as you rested both of your hands on the other side of the countertop. Despite his attitude and the tone he was giving you tonight, your smile had yet to waver. Something he didn’t quite understand. He wasn’t exactly pleasant company right now, but you didn’t seem bothered at all. It was irritating.

“Because it gives me purpose. I get to spend my days making other people happy,” you answered. “Which makes me happy. I brighten people’s days with a smile and a kind word along with a cup of coffee or tea. This place itself also gives people in Charming somewhere to come and connect with each other. And that makes me feel good, too.”

Jax’s eyes narrowed at you, your response settling over him. You derived your happiness from making others happy? From caring about everyone else? Is that really what you were saying to him right now?

“Bullshit,” he replied sharply. “I call bullshit. No one is that selfless and kind without there being some sort of ulterior motive, sunshine.”

There’d been a less-than-friendly bite to the nickname as Jax said it. Almost mocking you. And that finally had your smile faltering just a bit. The sight caused that coiled rage inside of Jax to squirm restlessly in triumph. Like he’d found his target for the night. Before you could even react, Jax was speaking again, the words falling out of him.

“There’s no way you’re over here content to serve coffee to everyone,” he continued, an edge to his voice and a piercing look in his blue eyes. “That happy little barista persona of yours is a load of shit. It’s fake and you know it. And if you tell me it’s not, you’re just lying to your damn self. You’re not happy, there’s no fucking way considering I see you over here all the goddamned time working.” 

He gestured a ringed hand in your direction as you continued to stand there behind the counter, a hard to read expression on your face. But you weren’t smiling. For once, he’d started to knock that goddamn cheerful look right off of your pretty, friendly face. That only made Jax want to continue to tear into you.

“You’re a fake, sweetheart,” he spat. “And let me tell you something else.”

Jax pushed his chair back from the counter, that coiled serpent of rage in his chest seething as he rested his hands on the countertop. He leaned in closer towards you, his voice low and dangerous as he brought his face near yours, the coffee shop counter the only thing separating you both.

“You should know better than to be friendly towards a man like me,” he warned you. “I’m not good, sweetheart. I don’t do good things. And your little attempt to get through to me with your fucking fortune cookie language just makes you look pathetic and naive. I see right through you and your bullshit positivity that you so desperately cling to–you’re sad and lonely like everyone else. Why the fuck else would you be here so much trying to make nice with everyone you meet? You’ve got something missing inside of you just like the rest of us, sunshine.”

A satisfied smirk tugged up the corner of Jax’s lips as he pushed himself back from the countertop. You certainly weren’t smiling now. Your lips had actually thinned out along your face into a firm, straight line and you were gripping the edge of the countertop with both of your hands as if it was helping you keep yourself together. And reflecting back at him in your eyes was something that looked an awful lot like hurt. Like he’d struck a nerve with his words. 

“Not everyone has ulterior motives to their kindness,” you replied gently, the words coming out pained as you broke the tense silence that had fallen. “But maybe that’s all you’ve known. Either way, I appreciate you sharing your honest opinion of me, but I’d like to ask that you leave now because the shop is closed. You’re welcome to return tomorrow when we reopen.”

Jax’s expression hardened at your response. That wasn’t the reaction he’d wanted. Why weren’t you yelling? Calling him names? Cursing him out of your coffee shop? He’d just insulted you, been a complete asshole, and you were still holding firm to being polite?

Letting out a frustrated scoff, Jax turned around towards the exit without another word. He shoved the door roughly open with far more force than necessary before stepping back out into the warm summer evening. Internally fuming, he stalked off down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of both the clubhouse and your coffee shop, his fists curled tight at his sides. 

That hadn’t made him feel better. Finding someone to tear down tonight, someone to unleash that pent up anger on, it hadn’t eased any of that burning ache in his chest. Knocking that smile off of your face hadn’t remotely soothed that rage inside of him. If anything, now he was feeling something else that he didn’t like. Something that he wasn’t accustomed to feeling often–guilt. That hurt, upset expression you’d had on your face after he’d went off on you like that had just looked so wrong on you after all the weeks he’d seen you through the windows smiling in your coffee shop. 

As Jax made his way around the street corner, agitatedly walking an aimless path through downtown Charming, he couldn’t help but to wonder why tearing into you like that had made him feel as fucking shitty as it had. He’d just wanted to see you not smile for once, to make you feel something other than that carefree lightheartedness that radiated from you. But ripping into you like that–you with your unflappable fucking kindness–felt like he’d just ripped the wings off of a dove.

[thewinter-eden]

All Ye Who Enter Here

images are mine (except middle LF pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. ATE pcs are my inspo for this series.

part 6 of the skz crack!horror series.

pairing: Lee Felix x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: ghost!Felix is said to haunt the abandoned mansion at the end of Blacktree Road. Legend says all who go into the mansion are never seen again. When you decide you’re sick of your friends being afraid of a literal house, you rise to the challenge and go inside. Spoiler alert, Felix is real, and he can’t believe you’re dumb enough to walk into a haunted house.

warnings: Hauntings, killings, more horror than crack, can’t be too predictable, decided to shake it up, this one's different, definitive 2-parter, this is really more the intro than the actual crack!horror sorry it turned out this way I just had a sucky week and never ended up having time to write. This one sucks I'm sorry.

Word Count: 2.3k

Comment a request to be tagged.

series info

PART 2

The heavy antique doorknocker makes you think of Beauty and the Beast.

Honestly the entire Blacktree house kind of reminds you of that old gothic castle.

“Don’t come in.”

The whisper that reaches your ears feels like a breath on the breeze, a trick of your imagination. You push the creaking door open and step into the house, ignoring the adrenalized chattering of your friends behind you.

No one just walks into Blacktree House anymore, not without a healthy amount of fear. Or at least not without some apprehension. The house is haunted. That’s what everyone says. It’s allegedly been haunted since the 90s. Strange noises, lights flickering in the windows, a dark aura surrounding the property.

You don’t believe it.

Or maybe you don’t care about it.

They say people have gone inside and come out cursed. That foolhardy students went in on a dare, or lured others in as a prank, only to disappear like a scream on the wind over the days that followed. That unsuspecting lovers have taken advantage of an empty house only to face their doom soon after. That realtors and agents refuse to work with the house, too frightened or superstitious or terrorized by the ghosts within to ever step foot inside.

So many of them found dead in their homes in the days and weeks that followed.

So many of them supposed victims of the haunted house.

It’s absurd.

You believe in rumors, tall tales, and dumb teenagers.

You believe in what you’ve seen, what you’ve touched, what you know.

You don’t believe in ghosts.

So while your astonished friends watch you walk yourself inside, gait jaunty to prove a point, you tell yourself that the words you heard were just in your head. You have a mission. The bet was that you wouldn’t go into the house by yourself, tour the entire place, take pictures from each window, and then return with or without a curse. The incentive? A hundred dollars.

As far as bets go, to you, it’s an easy hundred dollars.

Your friends are far more terrified by the prospect of you roaming the giant scary house than you are, and you’re relieved to spend a few curious minutes by yourself and come out of it with a hundred dollars.

You cross the threshold and turn to catch their eyes from where the stand out on the street, clinging to each other and gawking. It does occur to you that, as ridiculous as the entire premise of the bet is, it’s not especially endearing that your friends (who seem to fully believe in the murderous ghost curse) have convinced you to take a stroll through the murder house.

The wind catches the door as you go to close it and sucks it shut with a solid thud.

The house is old, filled with dust and a scattering of footprints, completely run down. The previous owner’s belongings still clutter the floors and the shelves in various stages of disrepair. You pull your phone from your pocket and snap a few pictures of the entryway, headed down the first hallway you see.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

This time, the disembodied whisper reaches your ears with clarity. There’s a moment of shock as you spin on your heel, scanning the room sharply.

There’s no one there.

Of course there’s no one there.

No one comes into this house anymore. It’s just you.

You shake it off, classify it as another example of a suggestible imagination run rampant, and continue your tour. A picture here, a photo there, you’re somewhere near the center of the house when you hear footsteps behind you.

“This wasn’t part of the deal.” You call over your shoulder, spotting a window looking out towards the front yard. “Pretending to be a ghost to freak me out isn’t going to get you your hundred dollars back.”

“Leave now. Last warning.”

Heart leaping into your throat, you spin so fast you nearly trip over a stack of books in the floor, but there’s no one behind you.

Your friends are doing their best to get you to run screaming from the house, abandoning the terms of the bet and forfeiting the reward, so you plant yourself and catch your breath. There’s no way you’re quitting the haunted house tour. There’s no way you’re going to allow yourself to be scared by their efforts when you already know there are no ghosts in the house or anywhere else.

You’re fine.

Taking a bracing breath, you step up to the window and poise your phone to take a photo. Both of your friends are still on the sidewalk, still clutching each other, staring at the house with visible trepidation.

Your finger snaps the photo distractedly.

Because you’re staring at both of the friends who brought you here, and you’re hearing creaking footsteps behind you.

There’s no one in the room but you, so you move on to the next one, pretending that you don’t feel the hair on the back of your neck standing on end. The next room also has a window facing the front yard, so you snap another photo. A first floor perspective of the girls checking their phones to see your texted photos marking your progress.

“You should have listened.” The echoing whisper tickles your ear as you move on.

Right in front of your face, prompted by absolutely nothing, the wide-open door to the bedroom you’re standing in slams shut, locking you inside.

Now you’re worried.

It’s not like there couldn’t have been a string tied to the door knob—fishing line or dental floss or something that you couldn’t see—that someone could have yanked to give the illusion of a door slamming itself, but you’re the only person in the house.

The door won’t open. No matter how hard you try to turn the knob or yank at the ancient wood, it remains firmly closed. Your heart is pounding in your ears, uncertainty filling your thoughts.

There are no ghosts.

There are no ghosts.

This house is not haunted.

So why can’t you open the door that just inexplicably closed itself?

“It won’t open.” This time it’s not a whisper, it’s a strong, deep, full-bodied voice.

You jump, tripping over your own feet as you turn at the words, and your eyes fall on a man standing in the corner. He’s narrow, slender, pale as death, with long blonde hair and pitiful dark eyes.

He seems familiar, his face bouncing around your head with some confused recognition, but you’re far too confused to figure it out. “How did you get in here?” He wasn’t there a minute ago, not when you were standing right where he’s standing. “Who are you?”

His chin lowers ever so slightly, and the light in the room shifts, and you see him flutter in and out of view. The way his entire body flickers transparently for a moment before settling back into normal human opacity makes your brain trip over itself and fall flat on its face.

The door rattles behind you.

Noises rise on the other side, sounding like scraping books and clunking footsteps, nails scratched along the walls. You’re watching the rotted wood of the bedroom door tremble, the door knob rattling against the bolt, and you can’t breathe.

“What is happening right now?”

“They’re coming.” The man behind you says. “You should have left when I told you to.”

You meet his eyes and wish you knew why the sharp point of his jaw looks so familiar to you. “You were the one whispering to me? Back in the hall?” It feels like a dumb question until you watch him flicker again, only to reappear a second later, this time closer to you. Now that you can see him better, you know where you’ve seen him. “Wait, you’re that guy. I remember you now.”

That guy had been in the news a few years ago, a picture of exactly the same face you’re looking at now—24-year-old found dead just days after visiting Blacktree House.

The guy who’s name you can’t remember frowns at you, his eyebrows lowering in disappointment.

Outside the door, the noises grow louder.

You think you can hear voices, but you’re not sure.

“My name is Felix.” He says, and then grimaces. “Was Felix.” His eyes skate over your shoulder towards the door. “They’re coming to kill you.” He turns away and peers out the window, but doesn’t put himself in your friends’ line of sight. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“It’s just a house.” You mutter. “All those people—it’s not like they were murdered by ghosts.” There’s clear derision and skepticism in your voice, as though you’re not staring at a young man who keeps fluttering through stages of transparency. “I don’t understand.”

“I can’t keep them out forever. They’re coming to kill you.” He says again, like it’s the only thing he can say.

“But you’re not going to kill me?” You mutter, wondering if you can take a picture of him. Or maybe a video. You’re holding your phone, but you can’t decide if you should be calling someone right now, or even documenting what’s happening.

Felix seems to curl in on himself, his expression darkening as he rubs his hands over his arms. You notice the chill in the room, the goosebumps on his skin, but you don’t care. “I don’t want to kill anyone.” He murmurs hollowly. He turns to you, and there’s so much sorrow on his face that your heart clenches. “Why me?” He whispers. “Why did I have to die?”

Tears prick at your eyes, the mourning in his expression needling into your soul. “Why did you come to this house?” You ask. “Back then, when you knew the reputation, why would you come here?”

He shrugs limply, and for a second you both just listen to the pounding and clattering on the other side of the door. You wonder if your friends can hear it from outside. You wonder if you’re going to die tonight. “It was a bet.” He says weakly.

Like you.

Just a stupid bet.

“Who are they?” You ask, gesturing to the door. You can’t believe you’re even asking.

“The others.” Felix says softly. “All the others who have died because of this house. Why us?” He weeps. “Why did we have to die?”

“It’s just a house,” You whisper back, flinching at a particularly loud bang behind the door. “Nobody’s been killed by ghosts.”

His head tilts. “That’s not true. You know this house.”

You do know this house. It was your mother’s, a long, long time ago. So long ago that you don’t actually remember living in it.

“You know there’s been a death here.”

Your eyes narrow with confusion. “My mom wasn’t killed by ghosts.” You scan the walls again. “She had a heart attack.”

Felix rolls his eyes at you, the first hint of attitude that you’ve seen from him so far. “You’ll be the second. Like mother like daughter.” His hands hang limply at his sides. “As soon as they break through that door it’s over.”

You glance back towards the hallway, now hearing dozens of hands pounding at the wood, desperate to splinter the frame to get to you. “All the others who have died because of this house.” You repeat.

“All of them,” He says. “From the very beginning. Trapped here.”

“So they’re going to kill me.”

Felix smiles a little and it’s not totally happy, not totally sad. “Like mother like daughter.”

You face him fully. “So why block me in here? Why keep me from them?” He’s got you cornered in a small bedroom, out of reach of the malevolent spirits who want revenge for their own deaths, and he’s not trying to kill you. He died because of this house too, but he’s standing perfectly still.

“I wanted to ask.” He says. “I just wanted to know.” His dark eyes flood with tears all over again. “Why me?”

You don’t have an answer. Were you propagating the rumors of the house being haunted? Were you just following in your mother’s footsteps? Was there anything more to it than the itch to express yourself in a way that only you understand?

Sighing deeply, you find yourself shaking your head. “I don’t know, Felix. All I know is that you never should have come here.”

He grimaces, tears spilling over. “It was just a bet. Just a stupid bet.”

That’s what you thought too.

“I know,” You say. “Most of them were stupid bets.”

“Why would you do this?” He cries. “What did we ever do to you? What did they ever do to her? We didn’t deserve to die.”

All you can do is shrug. “It’s like you said. Like mother like daughter.” You couldn’t go into the psychology of it, the genetics versus environment of criminal deviance, the reasons for an irrational display of hubris—you have no answers for that. You don’t have any more answers for why than you have for how your victims—yours and your mother’s—had become trapped into the ancient house forever.

“We didn’t deserve to die.”

You know.

“Why would you come here? Why would you come back to this house? Just to taunt us?”

You smile. “I didn’t believe in you. To me—it’s just a house.” It’s the house where your mother got caught in the 90s for killing dozens of people. It’s the house that was in the background of her photo in the newspaper that labeled her as a psychotic serial killer. It’s the house that the social workers collected you from before they changed your name and wiped your legal connection to your criminal mother.

It’s the house where your mother’s body was found just days after the whistleblower leaked the photos of her trophies, where medical examiners decided she had succumbed to a heart attack.

It’s just a house.

The door creaks and groans, a long crack splitting down the middle as the victims of your wretchedly externalized rage make progress in their efforts to get to you—to get revenge.

“Well,” Felix wipes his eyes and steps toward the door, and you can see how heartbroken he is. But not for you. For you, he is a young man betrayed. A human being betrayed by the wickedness of your unmitigated cruelty. “Now it is your prison.”

And then he opens the door.

This one sucks I'm sorry. Thanks for reading!

PART 2

tag list : @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa @kayleefriedchicken @rockstarkkami @sp1derst0rrr @eastjonowhere @its-stayville-forever @allenajade-ite @naraportokala @jinniejjam @blackberryrains @feetoffthemalfoy @highandalive @scarlet789 @ramadiiiisme @thecutiepieme @lemonn015 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @dreamingartist13

[lillaydee]

Head Over Heels Part 10

Jackson!Joel / Reader

Special Guest Appearance by a Certain FBI Agent who may or may not look a lot like Joel.

You left the loneliness of your home and headed to Jackson with Joel and the teenage girl he was with, hoping your new life would be less lonely. You should've stayed alone.

WARNING:

Non-canon Compliant, Pining, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Lives (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy, Loneliness, Trauma.

MEGA WARNING: Descriptions of Attempted Sexual Assault.

@copperhalfcent @joelalorian @vickie5446 @peelieblue @nandan11 @liciafonseca @senoratess @denisanoemi @lovefreylove @heartpatch

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 9

---

You stood outside that door for a while, even had time to sit down and rest between knocks. No one answered the door. You felt like you’d been knocking for hours when the door finally opened, a bewildered looking Joel frowning at the sight of you.

“Ellie asked me to meet her here. I knocked, but…”

“Door wasn’t locked. Why didn’t you just come in?”

“Erm, I don’t know about you, Joel, but I was taught that it was rude to barge into people’s homes without knocking.”

He smiled.

And for the first time since knowing him, you realized it.

He was actually smiling.

He tilted his head inwards, silently asking you to come in. You did. “You don’t ever have to knock when coming here, Elena. This will always be your home. Even if you are not living in it,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

“After what I saw at Liv and Diana’s, I won’t be barging in without knocking anywhere ever again, thank you very much. No more accidental bare asses for me. Nu’uh. That one time was enough.”

His smile got wider, his dimple showing.

You didn’t know what came over you, but you took a step towards him and placed your left pinkie in the dip of his dimple. His eyes closed involuntarily, his head tilting for more contact than you were offering. You opened your hand, palming his cheek, and his hand came up to cover yours, his head moving like a cat’s, nudging his face into your palm.

“You shaved,” you whispered, hardly able to keep your eyes opened yourself. You had no idea why it came out as a whisper. But it did. You found yourself fighting the urge to just place your other hand on his other cheek and pull his lips down to your own.

“I thought you liked clean shaven men,” he whispered back, his eyes still closed.

“I liked you with the scruff. Always wondered what they would feel like against my face,” you heard yourself say.

Shit. Where did that come from?

His eyes snapped open. But they were not the usual sharp, angry Joel Miller eyes, they were soft, albeit shocked, curiously searching your own for answers.

“You did?”

You pulled your hand off his face, but he wouldn’t let go of your hand. Fuck. Why did you say that out loud? Sure, this was a thought you couldn't stop thinking about since your crush developed, but he didn't need to know that.

Fuck. You'd spoiled this new, good thing you two had been having now.

You took a step back, your entire body feeling like they had taken a darker shade of red. But he took a step towards you instead. You couldn’t even lift your head up, your eyes focused on his knees for whatever reason.

“Elena,” his voice was so soft, almost pleading.

You looked up to him, your lips trembling from how embarrassed and nervous you were. Were you really gonna do this? Were you really gonna tell Joel Miller you’d had a helpless crush on him all this while?

He took both of your hands in his.

“Elena, did you mean what you said?”

You nodded, bracing yourself for his rejection, his mocking, anything.

“Since when?”

Your heart was thundering so hard you were surprised he couldn’t hear it.

“Maybe the third or fourth time we met.”

He stared at you, trying to find out if you were fibbing, but took a chance and told you, "I have you beat, then."

“What do you mean?”

“I fell for you the moment I saw you. I literally fell head over heels for you, Elena.”

What?

You couldn’t believe it. All this while?

“But… you never acknowledged me. You never spoke to me.”

“Neither did you.”

Okay, he’s got you there.

“I couldn’t. Tess. She’s my friend,” you said, touching the necklace she gave you. “Why had you never said anything?”

He smiled a little, “Tess… I was with her, I couldn't do that... and Bill... He didn’t want me anywhere near you. Watched me like a hawk and warned me to stay away from you.”

You could only smile sadly back at him.

Well, there was no use being mad at Bill now.

“You really prefer the scruff?”

You nodded, laughing a little.

“Then no razor shall touch my face from now on. I only shaved because…” he stopped, looking a bit flustered. He scrunched his face a little, awkwardly telling you, "I thought you preferred clean shaven men… like Marcus."

You laughed out loud, his face turning redder by the second. “Marcus is my friend, Joel. I don’t see him like that.”

He looked genuinely relieved, laughing at himself over his own insecurity. He placed his hand on your cheek, so happy you didn’t swat it away.

“Can we have a do-over?” you asked him, hope filling your heart. “Maybe, get to know each other again?”

“Maybe I can take you out, or something?” he asked, his eyes fixed on your yours. It was strange, but very much welcomed.

“Like a date?”

He blushed so hard it was hard not to tease him. Give me a break, he said. He hadn’t asked anyone out in 25 years. Your smile faltered a little bit, "Not even Vanessa or Esther?"

“I have never been interested in them. As far as I'm concerned, Vanessa’s just someone in my patrol team. Esther’s just someone I fixed something for once. She came to me at the Bison asking me if I could fix her cabinet. I asked her some questions, went over the next day and when I was leaving, she tried to kiss me. I said no. I told her I’m not interested. Many, many times.”

You took his hand off your face, sitting down on the couch. “You walked Vanessa to the greenhouse, Joel, and you took Esther to Betty’s birthday.”

He sat next to you, telling you he had never actually walked Vanessa to the greenhouse. She misunderstood. He was always on his way to pick you up, and she happened to be on her way out of her house. She thought he was walking her, but really, he was just trying to make an effort with you.

And Esther, he just wanted to shut Tommy up. And, in his defence, he made sure he was the least presentable he could be that night, not that he was a presentable man in the first place. So the fact that he went on 'the date' in sweaty, muddy clothes fresh out of patrol with his hair looking like a bird's nest and his pits stinking said a lot. She just didn’t get the hint at first.

Okay, that’s a bit better then. But...

"If you really do feel that way about me, why did you ignore me? Why didn't you tell me when we were literally living under the same roof? I thought you didn't want me here," you whispered, your eyes filling with tears, the hurt he caused coming back to your mind.

He hung his head in shame, "I was terrified you didn't feel the same way, and that morning you made us breakfast... I just kept thinking... what if i got used to this and something happened to you? For real? How would I survive? I can't..." his lips quiverred, his eyes moistened, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotions at bay.

"I'm sorry I made you feel like that, Elena. Trust me, it's not you. It's me. I have a problem, but I'm trying to be better, I'll do better... please... give me a chance, Elena, I won’t hide from you anymore. I'll answer any questions you have, I promise. Do-over?”

You nodded. “Do-over.”

His hand was back on your face, and this time, it was you who couldn’t help but close your eyes at the sensation. You leaned into his hand, putting your own hand over his. You could feel him move closer to you, his breath blowing softly on your face.

“SORRY! Sorry, I was babysitting Jake and… oh shit,” the sound of the door wrenching open and Ellie’s shout made you and Joel jump away from each other as if someone threw ice cold water on you. You looked at the teenager, the most disappointed look on her face. “Fuck... did I just interrupt a first kiss attempt? I’ll go back out, pretend I was never here,” she yelled, her voice fading as she ran out, slamming the door behind her.

You and Joel stared at each other for a while before bursting out laughing. You stood up, telling him you should go after her. She actually needed help with her homework, so you should get to it. He nodded, standing up to open the door for you. See you around, you told him. See you at dinner, he said, opening the door.

**********

You went out into the hall from the kitchen carrying a tray of mashed potatoes to pass on to Hank, the man in charge of the mess hall. People were already milling around, waiting for his say so to begin getting dinner. You saw Marcus standing with Will and Tommy somewhere near the entrance, talking animatedly to each other. You went back inside, getting the green beans and came back out and this time, Esther had joined the little group, standing next to Marcus, batting her eyelashes at him. You tilted your head towards them when Diana came out to pass the baskets of apples to you, her face morphing into one of annoyance, giving you a ‘what do you expect from her?’ kinda look. You just raised your eyebrows at her, shaking your head a little.

“Hey, Elena!” Esther’s voice rang out. You turned to see her marching towards you, her nostrils flaring. “What the fuck is your problem with me?”

What?

“I don’t know how you’ve managed to keep Joel away from me, but now you turned Marcus against me? You can’t have them both, Elena. Your witchcraft doesn’t fool me. How is it that you had both the hottest men in Jackson wrapped around your little finger? You’re not even dating either of them! What, you don’t want them but no one else can have them? What a greedy bitch!”

“Esther, stop,” Maria coming over to pull her back from being in your face.

“Oh, here comes your Mayor friend. Must be nice to have friends in high places, huh Elena? Of course she’s on your side!” she was positively screaming by now. The whole hall had gone quiet, everyone just watching this woman lose her head at you.

“Esther,” Maria sounded exasperated by now, “Stop. If men are not interested to go out with you, Elena has nothing to do with it.”

Esther huffed, “She said something to them. I’m sure of it. No men has ever resisted me before those two. It’s her, I know it.”

Some of the men in the hall snorted, some just started snickering outright.

“What are you all laughing at? You know I’m right. None of you said no to me,” she snarled.

“Yeah, that’s because you gave it out for free, Esther. Notice that none of us went back for seconds,” a man’s voice said.

The whole hall turned to see who it was.

Pete. Vanessa’s husband. According to what you’d heard, he was basically the male version of Esther, except he’s married.

Esther was seething. You could see her chest heaving. She picked up the bread knife from the serving table and started towards you. You didn’t even flinch, striking her in the face with the lower palm of your hand as hard as you could.

She fell back, the knife clattering to the ground, her hand on her nose. Blood was pouring out of her nostrils, very quickly staining her exposed cleavage and dress.

“You broke my nose! You bitch!” she got back up and picked up the knife, Will and Marcus stopped her, Will disarming her with his knee. She screamed, telling everyone he dislocated her shoulder. Maria rolled her eyes, telling them to take her to the doctor, and then to the quarantine house. They took her out, her screaming profanities at you and Maria, spitting on anyone who was in her way.

Maria turned to check if you were okay, her face switching into panic as she saw your arm. You looked down to see a gash on your left forearm. Esther must’ve managed to slash you. Blood was dripping down your fingers, and you placed your other hand on the gash to stop the bleeding.

The crowd parted, and Joel rushed towards you, his face scrunched up with worry. He tore a strip off his flannel, pulling you gently to sit on a chair nearby.

“Take your hand away, darling,” he said, quickly wrapping the strip on your gash as soon as you did, tying it as tightly as he could. Despite the sharp pain from your injury, you could still feel the blush creep on your face at his term of endearment for you. He looked at Maria, anger clearly written all over his face, “Esther did this?”

Maria didn’t answer. Joel got up and began to stride out the door, but Tommy stopped him. Joel fought his brother, telling him to step aside, unrelenting until you called his name. He stopped, quickly turning around to get to you.

“Don’t lose it, Joel. I’m fine, a few stitches at most,” you told him.

“She cut you.”

“And I broke her nose.”

“You did?” he couldn’t help but look impressed, looking at Maria, who proudly nodded. She told him to take you to the clinic and proceeded to tell the hall that the show was over.

As Joel helped you up and guided you out of the hall, his arm around you, Vanessa watched from her table with a sad, longing look on her face. Joel had stayed completely away from her, even during patrol, spending more time with other riders, deliberately so.

Pete noticed, following her line of sight, before angrily telling her that he was right there. She coldly responded that so was she, and yet, he still went galivanting around town fucking every women who would have him.

Pete watched as you stopped to get your keys from Diana, who gave you a big hug. He had always watched you, he thought you were beautiful, but you were not that… interesting… for his taste. Bit too old for his liking. But tonight, seeing how feisty you were, and how much Joel Miller, the man he knew his wife was losing her mind over cared about you, he had a new mission in mind.

**********

Esther was sitting on the chair in the middle of the makeshift courtroom, a disbelieving look on her face. Sewage management, or patrol. Those were her choices as punishment for her actions in the hall last night.

She didn’t want to be on sewage duty. It stunk. Gross.

And being on patrol was scary. She could die.

She wanted to stay at the saloon, where she was safe and could spend all her time getting pretty.

She asked the committee what your punishment was. Nothing, Maria said.

“She broke my nose!”

“Because you lunged at her with a knife.”

“She humiliated me!”

“You humiliated yourself.”

“She called me a whore!”

“All of us were there, even we can testify she did no such thing.”

“Oh, come on Maria. You’re just defending her because she’s your friend.”

“Am I? You attacked a resident of Jackson for no reason at all, Esther. You must face the consequences. If she had done the same to you, she would’ve faced consequences too.”

Esther opened her mouth to retaliate, but Hank reminded her to choose her words very, very carefully. She shut her mouth after that, thinking about the choice she had to make.

“Will I at least be on Joel’s team for patrol?”

“I wouldn’t count on it. He’s furious at you right now.”

“Marcus’s?”

“What is wrong with you Esther?” Maria snapped. “Even now, all you could think of is getting it on with these men who clearly said no to you?”

Esther slumped on her chair, defeated.

“I just don’t get why they are so crazy for her.”

Ike finally spoke up, sitting straight on his chair.

“Maybe they like her because she’s nice? Because she actually talks to them? Be friends with them?”

Esther rolled her eyes, conceding to sewage management instead.

**********

“What the heck are you doing here?” Joel’s voice boomed in the kitchen as you cracked the God knows however many eggs you were cracking into the pot.

“Working?”

He took a deep, frustrated breath, walking towards you.

“Stay right there, Mister, you haven’t got a hair net on. This is a kitchen, I don’t need people finding hair in their scrambled eggs.”

He put his hands up, staying put. “You were supposed to be home resting,” he said, his voice softening.

“I told her that, it’ll be easier to just pick her up and carry her home,” Diana said, aggressively chopping the potatoes.

Joel made a contemplative face, and you raised a hand at him, telling him you would scramble him in the pot too if he so much as tried to pick you up.

“Just let the man take you home, Elena,” Marcus’s tired voice came chiming in, Will and Benny standing with him, shaking their heads at you. They’d been out on patrol all night, stopping at the hall for some breakfast before going home to sleep their weariness away.

“Go, Elena, please,” Benny pleaded.

“It’s just a cut, guys, I’m fine…” you sighed.

“Elena…” Will warned with a tone you had heard since birth, the one he only used when he was too tired to deal with your excuses whenever he tried to get a very stubborn you to go to bed, the one that meant he was about to lose it, and like a Pavlovian dog you wiped your hands on your apron and took it off. He wouldn’t have a problem with your threats. So you hung your apron on the hook and walked out meekly, Will telling you that face wasn’t going to work on him, ever, so don’t even try it. He winked at Joel, telling him they’ll talk. He needed to learn your tricks, he said. Joel started laughing, following you out of the kitchen, before stopping abruptly when you turned to give him a stern look, giving you a cheeky smile, turning you around by the shoulder to walk you home.

It was as if he was a whole new man. Light, happy, smiley, cheery, especially around you. He was so worried that night when he brought you to the clinic, not taking his arm away from you for a second. Will and Marcus could only laugh quietly when you shot them warning glares at their sly smiles that night, knowing you would give them a hard time if they dared tease you their hunches about Joel being right all along. He stayed with you that night, sleeping on your couch, but not before sitting by your bedside until you fell asleep.

And this time, you knew you were not dreaming about the caresses you felt on your face and hair as you drifted off.

**********

“Joel?” Vanessa called out as you and Joel walked out of the hall, his arm around your shoulder. “See you at patrol in a bit?” she asked, her eyes latching on his arm on your shoulder.

“Actually, Tommy’s taking my place today. I asked for the day off,” he said.

“But…” she said, before stopping, eyeing you.

Joel whispered to you to wait for him in front of the clinic. He needed to talk to Vanessa. As soon as you were gone, he turned to face her.

“Vanessa, maybe you should be reassigned. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be in the same team anymore.”

“No, please, Joel. I want to be with you. I like you. I feel safe with you.”

“That’s the problem, Vanessa. You can’t like me like that, telling people I walk you to the greenhouse, cooking for me, it’s not right. People talk, Vanessa. I don’t see you like that, you’re married.”

“I’ll leave him for you, Joel. Please. I love you,” she pleaded.

“Sorry, Vanessa, but I don’t feel like that about you. I never have. I never will. I’ll talk to Tommy and Maria soon, this has to stop,” he said, his voice gentle, trying hard not to dismiss her. As deluded as she was, she had never crossed the line with him. She didn’t deserve any harshness from him.

As Vanessa pleaded for Joel to reconsider, tears brimming her eyes, you were joined on the bench in front of the clinic by none other than Pete.

“You know they’re fucking, right?” he asked you.

You ignored him. Even you knew that was not true.

“We should get together, get back at them,” he cooed. “Maybe you should try a younger man for a change. I’ll show you a good time, doll.”

“Leave me alone, Pete.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that. I am as good as they say, you know. Come on…” he coaxed, stroking your uninjured arm with his fingers. You pulled your hand away, standing up to get away from him.

“Hey!” Joel shouted.

“Relax Miller, we were just chatting, weren’t we?” Pete said, eyes on you. “Miller won’t always be around to keep you satisfied, sweetheart. The sooner you realize that the better off you’ll be,” he said in a low voice, his lips curving into a leering smile before turning around and joining his wife, grabbing her harshly by the arm and pulling her into the hall.

“You okay? Did he touch you?” Joel asked. You shook your head, not wanting to set him off. Not wanting to separate from him at all, for that matter.

But something was telling you that that won’t be your final encounter with Pete. And you didn’t like it.

---

Part 11

[screwitbaby]

naive

hamzahthefantastic x reader

day 6/7

summary: part 6 of the naive series!! mandy and martin get back together in the worst way possible but it’s okay because you and hamzah get to have some fun of your own…

contains: SFW and NSFW content ;-)

w/c: 2.8k-ish

~

It's awkward. You know that. Hamzah knows that. The mosquito buzzing by your ear knows that. You only hope Mandy knows that she scarred you for life.

"In my defense, I thought you would come back a lot later," she says.

You stare at her blankly. Martin hasn't made eye contact with you since last night. Hamzah's sat next to you, completely checked out of the conversation and scrolling on his phone. If you could click your heels three times and teleport home, you would.

"So you could fuck in my bed for several more hours?" you seethe.

"It's a hotel bed! It's not even yours!" Martin argues.

"It's a bed that I was supposed to sleep in!" You feel like you're about to pop a blood vessel. "Why didn't you just do it in your suite?!"

"It was a spur of the moment thing," Mandy says, walking over to sit next to you. "We were just going to talk. I didn't plan for it!"

Hamzah looks up from his phone and raises his eyebrows at the familiar words. You roll your eyes and turn to Mandy before he can see the red rush to your face.

"But hey, we aren't fighting anymore," Martin points out, scooping more sand over his pale chest.

He's been working on burying himself in the sand for the past hour since you and Hamzah joined them on the beach. You're grateful for that fact.

After being unpleasantly surprised by the sight of him in his birthday suit upon entering your hotel room, even a single glance at his body reminds you of the unholy vision. You and Hamzah had returned from your day on the town after eating out (ahem) and wanted a peaceful place to recover from your food comas. The couple seemed to have other ideas. You did a 180 and left without a single word.

"I don't even know what to say to you right now," you tell Martin without looking in his direction. "Mandy, why? Just why?"

"I'm sorry," she says, but there's a smile on her face that makes you scowl. "It's a little funny!"

"No, it's not!" you cry out. "Every time I shut my eyes I get a flashback to Martin's pasty asscheeks!"

"Hey!" Martin shouts. "Mandy loves these pasty a—"

"Shut up," you and Mandy say at the same time, albeit your tone is a little more hostile.

"At least you get to sleep in Hamzah's room from now on," Mandy whispers to you. You pinch her and she squeals. "I basically did you a favor!"

"You only have to do me a favor because you did some shit in the first place!"

"Guys, calm down," Hamzah says, waving his hand between you and Mandy, "we'll just get the sheets changed. It's not that big of a deal."

"So you're on their side?" you question him.

"Oh my god," Martin groans.

"Okay, if you're that disgusted, we'll get you a new room," Hamzah offers.

"They're all booked for the season," you grumble. "I checked last night after... the incident."

"And there's no way I'd pay for that," Martin says. You glare at the side of his head.

"When I said 'make up and make out' I didn't mean it literally," you tell Mandy. "I can't believe this."

"So dramatic," Hamzah teases. "C'mere."

He wraps his arm around your shoulders and even though you're upset, you don't move away. It helps you to cool off, but you can't stop your brain from wishing the clouds would part and smite the couple down in that moment. You lean closer into Hamzah's embrace and take a sip of your cocktail, avoiding Mandy's inquisitive stare.

You don't even know why you're so distressed by this whole thing, it should be a net positive that Mandy and Martin made amends. Plus, you had such a great time prior to the event, you shouldn't let it ruin your mood. It really isn't as big of a deal as you're making it out to be. Something about it rubs you the wrong way, though.

"Okay, I have one last question." Your words make the group groan and you shush them. "If I didn't walk in on you, were you going to tell me about my bed?"

The couple's silence speaks volumes.

"You fucking freaks!" you nearly scream. Hamzah flinches away from your voice and coughs into his fist to poorly disguise his laughter. "Ew! Ew-uh! What the fuck!?"

"We didn't even think that far," Mandy laughs out, "I'm sorry!"

"I hate you."

Since there isn't much to do on the beach but lie around and day drink with the two people you currently despise most, you and Hamzah decide on going someplace else. Nearing the end of a trip is usually draining, but with him it's like every minute counts for something more and that gives you the strength to push through your desire for self-isolation.

"We could get frozen yogurt?"

You shake your head.

"Go to an aquarium?"

You shake your head again.

"Do our laundry?"

"For real?" You scrunch your face in disapproval.

"I don't know what you want from me," Hamzah says, squeezing your hand tighter. "We're in a foreign place and we're bored as hell. You try to give me some ideas."

As you walk further up the street, swinging your hand in his, you spot an interesting store in your peripheral vision.

"Hamzah," you say, pointing. "We need to go."

He looks up and scoffs. "Are you 12? We're not going in there."

"Why would a 12-year-old be in a sex shop?" you joke and pull him along. "It'll be goofy and silly. Please."

"This is so stupid," he says, but ultimately obliges.

The two of you walk in and are instantly greeted by a wall of monstrous dildos. You bite your lip to not laugh out loud at Hamzah's disgruntled reaction and drag him over to an idle worker, all while he's quietly protesting your mischief.

"Please don't," he mumbles, much too late.

"Hi," you greet the worker cheerily. "My boyfriend and I would like to know some of your recommendations for starter toys."

Hamzah blushes beet red and you grin deviously.

"Sure, follow me," she replies, leading you to the back of the store.

You feast your eyes on the seemingly never-ending array of degeneracy. It reminds you of walking into the back of a Spencer's when you were in middle school, only so much more serious. This is top notch stuff. You find yourself actually becoming intrigued.

"Here we have our bestseller," the worker says, taking a toy from the shelf and presenting it to you. "This is a bullet vibrator. Great for travel."

You hum, nodding your head. Hamzah's hand is a dead weight in yours as he looks between the ceiling or his shoes, avoiding eye contact with the multitude of phalluses surrounding him.

"This here is another great pick," she says, showing you a glass dildo. "Simple, but satisfying. Comes with your choice in any of our flavored lubes."

"Ooh," you exaggerate. Hamzah makes a grunting noise and it takes all of you to keep from bursting out laughing. "Do you have anything that's more for... him?"

"Ah, yes, of course."

The worker turns to unlock a display case in the corner and brings a little rubber toy out. Hamzah rubs his eyes like he's trying to awaken from a nightmare.

"This is very popular with the tourists," she says, handing it over to you. "Press this button."

You do as she says and the cock ring not only lights up, but also starts wriggling in your hand. It tickles your palm and you giggle, reaching over to press it to Hamzah's arm to catch his attention. He jumps as if he's shocked by an electric current.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes to the worker, pinching the toy between his fingers and hastily dropping it back in the display. "I just realized I'm perfectly capable of pleasing my girlfriend on my own. Goodbye."

With that, he tugs on your hand and nearly sprints to the exit. You cackle while he makes you cross the street to get as far from the store as possible.

"It could've been worse," you tell Hamzah as he slides the key card to his door. "She didn't even get to the sex swings."

"Please shut up," he says, tired of your bullshit.

He still holds the door open for you, even though you've been messing with him all day. You walk into the room and place your shopping bags down. You had convinced Hamzah to window-shop after your little stunt, but you couldn't help yourself. You ended up buying some knickknacks and cute postcards for your family and friends back home.

"Do you mind if I take a shower in here?" you ask him, taking your shoes off.

"You're really not going back to your room?"

"You wanna get rid of me that fast?" You dramatically fall back on his bed. "I thought what we had was special."

Hamzah walks over to you and holds himself above you at arms length.

"I didn't exactly agree to the whole 'boyfriend' thing," he quips.

You pull him forward by his collar and smile. "Then why'd you call me your girlfriend?"

His eyes hone in on your lips. "I was just playing along."

"Really?" you question, placing your hand on his cheek. "And how far are you willing to play along for?"

You move up and capture his lips in a kiss. He responds eagerly, like you knew he would. His hand grips your waist and you quietly moan into the kiss, trying to rile him up. He takes the bait, pressing his body to yours and pulling the both of you further up the bed. When your head comes in contact with the pillows, you roll him over and sit in his lap to grind your hips. He tries to touch you and you stop him, holding him down by his arms. He could easily overpower you, but he stays pinned down, staring up at you with his big doe eyes.

"I don't think people who aren't really girlfriend-boyfriend should do this kind of thing..." you trail off.

You climb off the bed and walk straight to the bathroom, tossing your shirt off before closing the door behind you. You hear some shuffling outside as you strip and step under the shower head. You begin to lather some hotel body wash in your hands right when the door opens. Through the fogged glass, you see Hamzah taking his clothes off, but you pretend not to take notice as you rub the suds all over your body.

Hamzah steps into the shower behind you. You close your eyes to step under the shower head and wash the soap off, still paying him no attention. When you bend over to grab the shampoo, you feel his hands trail up your thighs and settle on your hips.

You turn with the bottle in your hands. "Do you mind?"

"Nope," he says.

He takes the bottle from you and pours some into his palm before placing it back. You watch his face as he reaches up to massage your scalp with the shampoo. He's concentrating hard, but the contact is gentle as he takes extra care of not tangling your hair. It's cute, but it would be cuter if you didn't feel him growing against your thigh.

"Does shampooing usually give you a boner?" you ask.

"Yeah, always," he replies sarcastically.

You giggle and close your eyes, enjoying the salon experience. When he's done, he moves you under the water and dips your head back to rinse your hair. You switch places with him after teaching him how to apply conditioner and grab the body wash again, but for him this time. He sighs as you massage his shoulders with the soap and you spread the rest down his torso. Your hands trace the curvature of his pecs and waist, taking a little too much time with each section just to feel him. When your touch begin to descend, he places his hands on your hips and pulls you forward. You sharply inhale as his dick prods your lower belly.

He leans in to kiss you, making you completely forget about your task and wrap your arms around his shoulders. His tongue finds yours and you feverishly return his advances, running your fingers through his soaked curls to smooth them out of his face. When his hand reaches down your back to cup your ass, you moan and lift your leg to wrap it around his hip. His other hand does the same and he carries you to push you against the shower wall. His erection nudges your center and you thrust forward, desperate for any friction. He teases his tip through your folds and against your clit.

"Be my girlfriend," Hamzah whispers, in between leaving open mouthed kisses on your décolletage.

You toss your head to the side, too overwhelmed to even respond. He continues his actions, feeding off your pleasure. You grip the back of his neck and bring his mouth back to yours.

"Be my boyfriend," you mumble against his lips.

You reach between your slick bodies and pump his shaft a few times, your foreheads pressed together as you watch his eyelids flutter from the sensation. Lining him up, you feel him gradually enter you. Both of you breathe heavily and as soon as you get used to his size, you buck your hips. Moans fall from your lips like water droplets, echoing against the bathroom tiles as he begins to thrust into you faster and faster. You clutch his shoulders and he buries his face in your neck, his groans vibrating against your wet skin.

Letting go of one of your legs, Hamzah kneads your tit, pinching your nipple then soothing it with the pad of his thumb. You whimper and stand on your tippy toes as he pounds into you, trying your best not to buckle from the feeling. His lips suck on the side of your throat, sure to leave marks in the places he lingers. You dig your heel into his lower back, wanting—no, needing to feel all of him.

When you start clenching around him, he glides his hand down your front and rubs circles on your clit. You gasp out breaths, digging your nails into his back.

"Feel good, baby?" he pants in your ear, his hips crashing into yours with each word. "Tell me."

"Yes, Hamzah, yes," you sob. "Harder, please!"

He complies, the wet slapping getting louder between you. Your eyes screw shut as white heat fills your veins from your head to your toes and all you can do is moan haphazardly. He's in a similar state, his voice breaking as curses fly from his lips. He fucks you through your climax, holding out as long as he can while he flicks his hand relentlessly. Once you’re completely spent, he pulls out with a groan and cums all over your stomach and thighs. You raise a trembling hand to stroke him until he finishes and his moans steadily fade out.

Your chests rise and fall as you attempt to catch your breaths. Hamzah lightly kisses up your neck, still holding you against the wall as the both of you recover. You bring your other leg back down to the ground and lean your weight on him.

Pushing him under the shower head, you watch the way his curls slowly spring back into place.

“Shampoo,” you breathe out.

Hamzah hands you the bottle and watches as you return the favor for him.

“Put your head down, please,” you request. “I’m too shaky.”

He laughs silently but does as you say. Your fingernails graze his scalp and he makes little noises of approval.

“Body wash me,” you say.

“Do I have to?”

“Yeah.” You bring his head up to make eye contact. “Boyfriend-ly duties.”

The two of you leave the shower after a couple more minutes of teasing and fondling. Hamzah wraps a towel around you and you plug the blow dryer in as he grabs one for himself. He’s about to leave the bathroom when you call him back.

“C’mon,” you say, beckoning him to the mirror. “You don’t style your hair?”

You grab a tiny dollop of conditioner and run it through his curls.

“I usually just let it air dry.”

“That’s fine, but you should always moisturize.”

“Every time?” he asks like it’s an unfathomable chore.

“From now on, yeah.” You scrunch some of the strands. “Can’t have my boyfriend looking crazy.”

“You’re really loving that title, huh?” he teases.

“Am I not supposed to?” you ask, washing your hands in the sink and looking at him through the steamy mirror. “If I knew how simple it was to get that title, I would’ve fucked you a lot sooner.”

Hamzah chokes on his spit.

~

a/n: i realize this whole chapter was basically abt sex and yk what i don’t even mind it. how we feeling abt there being one part left? what do yall think is gonna happen omggggg🙈 also should i do an epilogue or just stick with 7 being the ending? lmk!!!! love yall as per usual<333

[narrycherries]

ivy: magnificently cursed

she can’t seem to ignore him and he’s rather observant of her..

(part 5)

masterlist / ivy series

word count: 11.4k

warnings/tags: harry x fem oc, angst, alcohol use

[a/n: hi before you again I just want to say I hope this isn’t repetitive, a good portion of the content of this series will happen at the same few locations, so just be patient with me lol, slow burn is coming to an end soon I promise! enjoy xx]

..Sometimes I just want to scream and scream until my lungs explode. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him! He has been nothing but an ass to me, even when I try to thank him for helping me he acts like he hates me. What did I ever do to him? Am I losing my mind? Was there something that happened that I can't recall? And my stupid heart won’t stop gushing over him. What is wrong with me! Am I literally losing control of my mind? And to think that I went out of my way to be nice to him.. just to have it thrown back in my face? I’m willing to bet that nobody hates anyone as much as he hates me..

A frustrated huff flew past Ivy’s lips as she finished writing the final line of her diary entry for the day. She always tried her best to write her feelings and thoughts down so that her brain would be less congested. Today’s session lasted about twenty minutes as she quickly jotted down her conflicting thoughts regarding a certain person - a person she hadn’t seen in a couple of weeks who just so happened to take up every available space in her mind. She slammed the journal shut and shoved it back into the drawer, not wanting it to be left out in the open. She never thought Emma would go through her things, it was just a personal preference she had - keep it hidden.

Ivy quickly got dressed after checking the time. It was Friday evening and she had something big planned for the night. She wasn’t going out on a date or going to dinner with Emma, she was doing something for herself and by herself. She checked her reflection, smiling as she thought she looked rather happy - despite being so angry as she scribbled words into the diary just minutes ago. Before long, she was out of the house and in her car, headed for the destination she was excited to arrive at.

There was a bit of nervousness building in her stomach as she gripped the wheel and anticipated what was going to happen. She tried to remain calm and remind herself this wasn’t the first time she’s doing this. She had a little bit of experience with the process, and she already knew the end results were well worth the anxiety. The music softly buzzed in the car as she drove to the tattoo shop. She didn’t want to overwhelm her mind with loud noise, she had to save all her energy for sitting through the tattoo.

Emma was excited that she was getting a new one, but she was unable to accompany her tonight since she had made plans with Niall. Ivy wasn’t bothered by having to go alone, she actually preferred it that way. With her previous tattoos, she just sat in silence as the artist did their job with precision and focus. She thought that talking would be too distracting.

A bright smile grew on her lips as she walked up to the door of the shop, the bright green open sign nearly blinding her. The bell jingled above the door, making her glance up for just a second. Zayn had just walked into the lobby when she came in, so he greeted her with a quick hug.

“How’ve you been?” He hadn’t seen her since their trip ended.

“I’ve been pretty good. And you?” She asked as he sat down at the desk to verify her appointment details.

“Decent, decent. Been having a lot of practices this week for the show tomorrow, so m’a bit tired.”

She laughed gently. “Not too tired, I hope.”

“Oh, of course not! I could tattoo in my sleep. It’s everything else that I’m being lazy about this week.” He grinned back as he confirmed her appearance for the appointment in his computer system and stood back up, gesturing her to follow him to the back.

When they went through the main tattoo room, she noticed there was a man she didn’t see last time who was working on a client. He didn’t look up at them though, he seemed to be very preoccupied. The door to Zayn’s private room was already opened, so she trailed in behind him.

“Don’t mind the company. He owes me a favor so he’s doing the job I don’t like doing.” Zayn said with a chuckle as he shut the door behind them.

Ivy was about to open her mouth to speak when she looked to the corner of the room. In the chair she sat in when she was in Emma sat a person she knew all too well. Her chest started to feel tight all of a sudden, and it worsened when a set of eyes shot up to look at who came in.

Harry was surprised to see her standing there, but he didn’t express it on his face whatsoever. Ivy, on the other hand, made it clear that she was shocked to see him sitting there. He noticed the small part between her lips, almost as if her jaw went slack, and the look of utter fear in her eyes. A bit dramatic, if someone were to ask him.

“Have a seat, I’ve got your design printed out in a few different sizes.” Zayn said as he went to the counter, collecting the papers he wanted to give her.

She sat down, swallowing harshly as she tried to ignore the fact Harry was in the room with her. She hadn’t seen him since Niall dropped her and Emma off back home after the trip. He didn’t talk to her, or to anyone, the entire ride home. The last thing he said to her wasn’t very pleasant, which seemed to be a trend for them, so she still had a bitter taste in her mouth. She wanted to tell him how rude and hateful he was, despite all the rather nice things he had done for her during that trip, but of course she was too afraid to even look at him let alone speak.

Zayn handed her the print outs and she looked over them quickly, picking the size she thought was appropriate. “What do you think?”

He nodded, glancing at the back of her arm. “I think that’s the best size, yeah.”

“Alright. We’ll do that one then.”

He took the paper back and turned away from her. “I’ll get the stencil ready and when I get back I’ll lay the chair down for you.”

“Okay.”

To her surprise, Zayn walked to the door and left the room. He went to the shared space where the other artists work to prepare the stencil. Knowing that she was alone in a room with Harry was making Ivy’s heart start to race and her stomach churn. She felt uncomfortable being this close to him, even if he was on the other side of the room. But thankfully, he was busy doing something and his eyes weren’t on her anymore.

She took the opportunity to look his way since he was distracted. Her brows furrowed slightly as she realized what he was doing. Zayn had given him the task of rearranging new designs and templates in the book his clients often flipped through. She had looked at it when she was here with Emma, so she knew it was already packed full. There were a few loose pages sitting on the floor, maybe those were ones they were replacing?

It took all her strength to tear her eyes from him. She didn’t want to get caught up in her thoughts again, she had already done that once today. Her journal received absolute hell about Harry. She wrote until her hand was sore. There was no point in reliving those thoughts right now.

Zayn was only gone for a few minutes. He told her to stand up so he could adjust the chair before applying the stencil to her skin. Ivy took a deep breath as she watched him lay the chair down. She’d have to lay on her stomach for this one, which was the most comfortable option.

“Alright, turn around.” He said, the stencil gripped in between his fingers. “You want it closer to your elbow, right?”

“Yeah.. keep it low.” She mumbled back, holding her hair over her shoulder so it wouldn’t be in his way.

Zayn placed the stencil on her arm and slowly peeled the paper back. He stared at it for a moment, pretty certain about the placement. But it wasn’t up to him, he had to get her approval.

“Check it for me.”

Ivy turned in the mirror, looking at her arm the best she could. She nodded lightly, pleased with where the stencil had been placed. Seeing the design on her skin, even though it wasn’t permanent yet, made her heart swell. It was a special thing she was getting inked into her skin, and it made all the anxiety worth it.

“It looks perfect.”

“Alright, get comfortable then.” He smiled before starting to prepare his materials.

Ivy laid down on the chair, careful not to disturb the stencil on the back of her arm. She gulped lightly and folded her other arm beneath her head for more cushion. Of course, because why would it work out in her favor, she was facing the corner where Harry was sitting. She kept her eyes closed for now, not wanting to see him at all.

It didn’t take Zayn long to set up, and before she knew it, he was telling her to take a deep breath. “Ready?”

“Mhm.”

The buzzing of the tattoo gun rang in her ear as Zayn pulled her skin taut and started inking the stencil. She sighed softly, the feeling of being tattooed wasn’t foreign to her but it had been a while since her last one. The flower design Zayn put together for her was just lineworm and very gentle shading. She didn’t want it too realistic or too bold.

After a couple of minutes, he decided to talk with her. He didn’t mind chatting with his clients, it made the time go by quicker for both parties. He was very precise and focused, but could easily multitask.

“So.. do these flowers have any significance to you?”

Although he talked with her and designed the tattoo, Ivy hadn’t told him why she wanted them. He didn’t feel the need to ask his clients for the purpose of their tattoos, he just drew up whatever they wanted and tried his best to perfect the designs.

Ivy chewed on her cheek for a moment before answering. “Yeah.. they’re my mom and brother’s birth month flowers. They, um, both passed.”

“Which is which?”

She hesitated at first, the fear of tears creeping into her eyes was taking over. She could easily break down at the mention of either of them, but especially her brother. Ivy opted to stay strong and smile to herself as she thought about them. They would live forever in her mind, the memories she made with each of them were on the top of her list of most important things. She loved and missed them dearly.

“My mom’s is the rose.. the daffodil is my brothers.” She told him in a gentle voice, not realizing she was speaking so softly.

Zayn wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he didn’t respond. He figured she wouldn’t want to discuss them anymore. His assumption was right. The room was silent for a few minutes, aside from the music playing at a low volume. She didn’t know the song that was currently on, though, but Zayn was humming along to it. The feeling of the needle stabbing into her skin was the only thing preventing her from falling asleep. She was tired after a long day working, she just wanted to get home and go to bed. A smile crept to her lips as she heard the start of the next song, one she was very familiar with. It was Joan Jett’s version of “Crimson & Clover,” one of her favorite songs ever and one of her top karaoke picks.

“Oh, I love this song.”

“You prefer this version I assume?” Zayn said with a light laugh.

“Yes, absolutely.”

Zayn pulled the gun away to wipe at her skin, clearing off some of the excess ink. “We used to play this one live.. haven’t done it in probably a year or so.”

“I suggest adding it back to the set.” Ivy tried not to laugh too loudly, she didn’t want to move her body in any way that would ruin Zayn’s lines.

“We have one more practice before the show, maybe we could squeeze it in.” He pushed the needle back into her skin, picking up where he left off. “Are you coming to the show tomorrow?”

“Yes, I am. I’m excited.. I haven’t been out since the trip.”

Zayn made a quick glance over his shoulder towards Harry, but he wasn’t paying them any attention. “Well, I hope your experience is much better than others were.”

Ivy hummed at his words. “Yeah, hope so.”

They went quiet again, the song filling the void. She started thinking about the show and what she was going to wear. The weather might not allow her to dress the way she would prefer, there was a cold spell coming in tonight that would stick around for a few days. Emma would probably get her to help pick out an outfit in the morning, so perhaps Ivy could make her do the same.

Her mind started wondering off to little random things, nothing particularly capturing her attention as she laid there. Zayn was focused on the tattoo and he didn’t want to risk messing up, so he stayed quiet. He’d answer if she wanted to ask him something, but she appeared to be fine with the silence.

Zayn finished the rose and wiped her skin clean, avoiding the stencil lines for the other flower. He was pleased with the work he did, so he moved on to the next one. Ivy sighed out as he mumbled a quick warning to her before starting again. It was fine for a couple of minutes, until she suddenly felt a shift in the atmosphere around them. She heard footsteps, then could actually feel a presence come towards her. She opened her eyes and immediately felt her throat close up. The sight of Harry’s legs wasn’t something she thought she’d see this close. She had hoped that he would stay in the corner the entire time, but he didn’t.

“How’s it look?” Zayn asked him.

Harry was standing with his arms crossed on his chest, his eyes staring down at the spot Zayn was tattooing. The small flowers were positioned on the back of Ivy’s arm, just above her elbow. They weren’t very big at all and leaned more towards a delicate touch than a bold tattoo. If he hadn’t heard what she said about its significance, he would think that it was a weak tattoo - something girls got just to say they had a tattoo. But since he knew the reason, he was a bit more understanding. He wouldn’t say that to her, obviously, but he at least respected the decision.

“Looks nice. Pretty clean.” He mumbled back, his words low and deep.

“Did you get done with the book?”

Harry cleared his throat and took a step back, but his eyes remained on her skin. “Yeah.”

Zayn leaned back to get a better look at the lines as he took a quick break. “Are you riding with me tomorrow to the bar?”

Harry thought about it for a minute, then shrugged. “No, I’ll just go with Cory and Michelle.”

Ivy felt a bit of relief knowing that he wasn’t going to be in Niall’s car. Unlike last time, Niall told her and Emma they could ride with him to the bar. He would have to be there a little early, but they were fine with waiting longer for the show to start. Niall promised Emma he wouldn’t drink tomorrow night, which allowed her to since he’d be driving them back.

“M’gonna head out.” Harry said through a sigh, walking towards the door.

Zayn gave him a quick goodbye and said he’d see him tomorrow afternoon when they meet up for one final quick practice and recap for their show. Ivy was confused as to why she felt sort of upset that Harry had left. She should be jumping with joy and celebrating, finally free of his overbearing presence. No matter how hard she tried to focus on the tattoo needle, she couldn’t distract herself enough. Harry had filled her mind up again..

—•—

Emma grinned when Ivy emptied the shot into her mouth. They had been at the bar for about half an hour, waiting on the show to begin. Niall had to leave them behind to go get things sorted with the owner and set up the stage. They decided it would be best to spend their time preparing for the night, and that meant throwing back shots and ordering a few drinks. Niall was their chauffeur for the night, they were going to cut loose.

“Niall’s not gonna know what to do with you tonight.” Ivy teased as Emma chugged the rest of the beer she had ordered.

“Too hot to handle.” Emma laughed back, dramatically flipping her hair over her shoulder.

When Ivy picked up her cup from the bar, she grunted from the scratching of her denim jacket against her freshly inked tattoo. She thought the long sleeve shirt she had on would stop it, but she could feel the thick fabric anyway. Emma gave her a funny look and a shake of her head.

“I told you that would hurt tonight.”

She shrugged back, it wasn’t her first time dealing with a healing tattoo. “I’ll be alright. Just don’t grab on to me later.”

“I’ll try to remember.”

Ivy didn’t consider how painful it would be to have someone grab onto her arm until now, and the thought of it alone was making her cringe. Emma wouldn’t intentionally hurt her, but she might forget later when they’re dancing and both drunk out of their minds. It would be something to deal with then, and not fret over now.

“Niall told me they added a few songs to the set. Switched out some other ones.” Emma said after calling the bartender over to get another beer.

“Oh really? I’m excited for tonight. I might request something.” Ivy looked down at the ice swirling in her cup, the memory of the night she was harassed while eating the ice cubes flashed in her mind. She blinked it away, trying not to let anything ruin this night for her. “Are they going to the back room after like last time?”

“Yeah, as far as I know.” Emma said back, her hand now occupied with her knew drink. “I hope it goes well this time. I swear we say that every time we do something that involves Harry.” Her snicker didn’t make the topic easier to deal with though.

Ivy sucked on her cheek for a moment, all those harsh memories she shared with him circled her mind. It was like a revolving door they could never escape. It was constant and never ending. Torture would be the word she’d use for it, though that seemed a bit drastic. A huff pushed out of her nose, her eyes cutting back to Emma.

“He was at the shop yesterday when I got the tattoo.”

Emma lifted her brows. “Really? Did he say anything?”

She shook her head. “No, not to me. He said some stuff to Zayn.”

“I really, honestly don’t know why he.. he acts like he doesn’t like you.”

Ivy scoffed. “Acts? It’s definitely not an act. He.. he practically hates me. I don’t know why. I’ve never done anything to him.”

Emma gave her a frown, she didn’t really know what to say about it either. It made no sense that he was so hostile towards her. Was her vibe just something he couldn’t connect with? She must not be friendly in his eyes, or maybe she makes the group feel different and he didn’t like that. Nobody seemed to know the reason..

“He’s just a guy. Rude and.. selfish.” Emma took a drink of her beer. “But.. I was told something interesting.”

Ivy could tell by the way she cocked her brow and let her eyes fall from their locked stare that it was something she wanted to hear. The corner of Emma’s mouth lifted as she thought about it in her head, debating on telling Ivy the information. It wasn't anything crazy, but she thought it was interesting at least.

“What is it?” Ivy asked, nudging Emma’s knee with her own.

Emma twisted the bar stool a little, trying to be all nonchalant about it. “I’m not supposed to say.. but Niall doesn't have to know.”

The mention of Niall made Ivy even more curious. If Niall said this to her, then that means it probably relates to Harry in some way. Emma had no idea, at least to Ivy’s knowledge, that Ivy was so affected by Harry. She didn’t know that she’s spent hours and hours writing about him in her diary, thinking about him while pulling at her own hair and mumbling nonsense to herself, replaying their interactions in her mind imagining them playing out in different ways.. But clearly, Emma knew that telling her something about Harry would pique her interest.

“I’m not going to say anything.” Ivy mumbled back, but of course Emma knew that already.

“Basically.. Niall’s mentioned that Harry’s been different lately. Like at their place or during practice.. even when he’s working shifts at the store.”

Ivy leaned her arm on the bar, her eyes staring holes through Emma’s face. She didn’t say anything yet, just watched as her friend hesitated to finish the story. Emma threw her head back, staring at the ceiling so she wouldn’t have to look at Ivy.

“Niall said it’s like he’s constantly distracted.. and then he’ll get pissed off for no reason, like they could be in literal silence and Harry would get mad. He storms off to his room.. plays his guitar and slams the doors all night.”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “Hard to believe that’s not normal for him.”

“I don’t know.. I guess he’s got some stuff going on in his personal life. Maybe that’s why he’s so.. rude to you. Maybe he can’t handle a new person right now, or whatever.”

Emma didn’t appear to connect any dots between Harry and Ivy, which Ivy was thankful for. She didn’t want to admit how often she thought about Harry or how far her spirals would go. She didn’t want Emma to know any of that. It made sense that some other external factors could be contributing to Harry’s behavior. What if there really was something going on before Ivy came along, and her being around just didn’t mix well with Harry’s issues? Was it all too much for him? It made sense, yet at the same time it didn’t. How could her being around affect him that drastically?

She just shrugged her shoulders again. “Whatever it is.. he needs to get over it.”

Emma looked back to her. “Yeah. Ready for another shot?”

Just like last time, the girls made their way to the front of the crowd about ten minutes before the show was going to begin. Ivy was on her third drink, on top of a few shots they took, and it was already going straight to her head. She hoped that sipping slowly on this one would do her some good and make her feel better, not crash her out too soon.

“Shouldn’t be much longer.” Emma said as she checked her phone for the time.

Ivy felt a jolt of energy shoot through her. She was excited to dance and sing, let go of all the worries she faced throughout the week and just have fun. Although she had all intentions of enjoying herself tonight, she knew there was a big possibility that Harry could interfere with that. Even if he didn’t do anything to her directly, his presence alone could jeopardize her sanity. Obviously, she couldn’t escape him - in a few short minutes, he’ll be standing on the stage in front of her singing for the next two hours. She was confident in the idea of being able to ignore him. She’s been partially successful at it before.

There were the diary entries to take into consideration - she had spent so many hours pouring out her thoughts and feelings about him. Maybe releasing all of it from her mind would make it easier to ignore him. There was life before he came around, she sometimes forgets that she hadn’t known him forever. She was perfectly capable of controlling her thoughts before he waltzed his way into her mind. Perhaps she was just aiming for something unachievable.. she’d never be able to just forget him, even if she never saw him again.

Ivy’s distraction was pushed to the side when the band finally walked onto the stage. People were cheering loud, ready for the night’s entertainment. Emma squealed, throwing her hand up to wave at Niall. He was chuckling at her, amused to see how excited she was to see him. Ivy’s eyes roamed over the others. Zayn was taking his seat at the drum set while Cory and Michelle quickly discussed something about one of the new songs they were going to play. Of course she couldn’t look at everyone and avoid Harry. Her brows dropped low as she realized he looked different tonight.

That long, perfectly sculpted hair was still flowing onto his shoulders. His tight black tshirt exposed his muscled arms, tattoos inked deep into his tanned skin. His dark jeans were the same as she’s seen him in before. Tonight, he made a decision that was shocking to his band mates, and even more of a surprise to Ivy.

Niall and Cory began the first song, simultaneously singing the opening lyrics to “You Give Love A Bad Name.” Harry’s fingers began playing the guitar he had strapped around his body, his eyes glancing down at the strings to make sure he was on the right track. It sounded perfect, though. She remembered them talking about Harry playing live at dinner weeks ago, but she didn’t think she would witness it solely based on how they reacted to the idea. If he were so insecure about it, what changed his mind? She was genuinely impressed. He was still positioned at the front, the microphone resting in a stand angled towards him. He was singing as confidently as the first time she saw them perform.

It didn’t take very long for Emma to grab Ivy’s hand and pull her closer, the two of them dancing together like it was their last night. As much as she wanted to watch Harry play the guitar, Ivy had no choice but to focus on Emma. She wasn’t going to be rude to her friend for the sake of looking at a person she didn’t even like. She could tell when Niall would play the same chords as him, but he did cut back some and let Harry take over. She wondered if Niall did that to ensure the song wasn’t thrown off track or if that was just how they preferred to do it.

The song changed, and Emma took a quick rest to guzzle a bit of her drink. Ivy let out a laugh as she spilled some, it trickled down her chin and onto her outfit. She groaned, wiping at her face.

“Slow down!” Ivy yelled over the music, making Emma grin back.

They picked up the dancing after her short break. Like she had hoped, it wasn’t that hard for Ivy to forget Harry was so close to her. Maybe it was because this was a different situation. She wasn’t trapped in a car next to him or standing beside him in a crowd, he was doing a job and he was focused entirely on that. She didn’t care what the reason was, she was simply glad she was able to be carefree.

Twenty minutes passed by before Emma decided she’d get another drink. She asked Ivy if she wanted anything, but she declined. They also made a promise that she’d be safe and come straight back, since Ivy’s incident at that other club still lurked fresh in their minds. This place was different, though. Emma was very familiar with the layout and it was nowhere near the size of the other one. Ivy stayed put, right in front of Niall where Emma wanted to be so she could see him.

Niall actually took notice of Emma leaving, but he wasn’t too worried about her. He knew she was comfortable with some of the workers and if she needed anything she’d be able to get help quickly. The strobing lights made it hard for him to see her in the crowd, but there was not any concern.

Ivy kept dancing by herself, but not as passionately. She was swaying from side to side, her head matching her body’s movements. She sipped her drink and sang along to the music, her eyes settled on Niall and Michelle, since they were on the side of the stage they were in front of. She did start to wonder where Emma was after a couple of minutes, but she tried to stay calm. She knew it could take a bit longer to get a drink sometimes, and the walk from the bar might be a harder squeeze. People were less likely to let her just slip through if she were trying to get to the front.

Thankfully, she didn’t come into any trouble. Emma returned with a drink in her hand and a grin on her lips. They were playing one of her favorite songs they do live and she got back just in time. Ivy knew the dancing would immediately start back, Emma couldn’t resist the song. And just like that, they spent another fifteen minutes belting out song lyrics and dancing around like teenage girls.

Eventually, due to their instinct to jump around instead of dance most of the time, they managed to shift from their original spot. They ended up directly in the middle, Harry standing right in front of them. Emma was still able to see Niall, so she didn’t care that much. Ivy, on the other hand, cared more than she wanted to admit. Being that close to him, so perfectly aligned, was making her heart start to skip beats every few seconds. She stared up at him as he sang, his hand gripping the microphone stand as he took a break from playing the guitar. He hadn’t touched it during this song, so maybe he didn’t like playing this one, or perhaps he was resting his hands. His eyes were settled on something random out in the crowd, not towards her. It was a relief.

The song came to an end and she took a minute to take some deep breaths, trying to recover quickly. Her eyes curiously shifted up to Harry just as he wrapped his hand around the neck of the guitar. Ivy absentmindedly chewed on her cheek as she stared up at him like he was an angel, something so magnificent and beautiful.

“Ivy!” Emma suddenly screamed her name as loud as she could.

Her jaw went slack as she heard the beginning of a song she adored more than anything else in the world. Emma had no idea this song was going to be added, Niall didn’t tell her what they put on the set. She was just as excited. Ivy thought back to just yesterday at the tattoo shop, and how this song came up in conversation with Zayn. Was it just a coincidence that “Crimson and Clover” was being played tonight? Surely Zayn would have mentioned it if they had been practicing it, right? She didn’t care to know the answer right now, the urge to dance and sing to one of her favorite songs was stronger than her desire to know.

“Over and over!” She sang at the top of her lungs, her hand gripping Emma’s as they moved their hips to the beat, singing like nobody else was in the room.

Unknownst to Ivy, she had an admirer of her own tonight. She was too busy focused on Emma to notice that Harry had laid his eyes on her. He could hardly hold back an amused smile as he sang, watching her soak up every single word of the song. He thought it was entertaining how she so easily and so comfortably expressed herself. She didn’t care who was watching, or who was singing, she loved the song and she was going to enjoy every second of it.

Unfortunately, it was a short song. And when the final chords were being played, she let Emma go and turned back towards the stage. Harry’s eyes were still locked on her and she immediately felt her stomach seize up. Was it purposeful or did his eyes happen to land on her? She didn’t know and honestly she didn’t have time to think about it. She was slowly starting to drift deep in her thoughts. She noticed every detail about him all of a sudden, as if she had never seen him before. From the sweat beads on his forehead to the delicate way his fingers strummed the strings on his guitar, hitting every chord perfectly.

He stepped back from the microphone stand, pulling his gaze away from her. She felt her throat dry up when he turned away. Something about the way he was looking at her made her heart flutter and she hated that it had to end so quickly. She kept her eyes on him though as he moved on the stage. He placed his guitar on a stand and grabbed a stool.

Cory leaned into the microphone placed in front of him and let everyone know what was going on. “Slowing it down for you for a bit.”

Just like last time she saw them perform, they all took a quick minute long break. Harry snatched a bottle of water off the floor at the back of the stage then walked back to his microphone stand where the stool was waiting for him. She held her breath as she watched him take a seat, then remove the cap of the bottle. He pressed his lips and tilted his head back, water spilling into his mouth. She couldn't help but notice how pink his lips looked. Was it the lighting or were they swollen from all the singing and the constant hitting against the microphone? She didn’t know why, but they looked better than they ever had.

A small gasp left her mouth as Harry’s eyes dropped down to look at her. This time she knew it was on purpose. The way he looked directly at her, nothing else distracted him. They shared a stare for a long minute, neither of them wanting to break it. Even when he took another drink of his water, he kept his eyes frozen on her. Water dripped out the corner of his mouth, and he just wiped it away with the back of his hand. Her mind was screaming at her, telling her to stop being so dumb and giddy about him, but her heart was somewhere else. She didn’t want to look away, didn’t want it to ever end.

“I’m going to the bathroom!” Emma called out, interrupting the moment she wasn’t even sure was real.

She looked over at her and smiled. “Alright.”

Ivy wholeheartedly expected to not see his intense stare when she tilted her head back, and she was surprised to meet his eyes again. He had no intention of looking away from her yet, even when Niall started the next song. Harry gripped the microphone and pulled the stand closer to him. To Ivy’s dismay, it was another one of her favorite songs. She knew for a fact she never said anything about this song to Zayn at the shop the other day, or in any other setting that Harry had shared with her. “Something In The Way” was the same song that made her extremely dizzy and out of it the last time she attended their show. It was a regular song on the set, unfortunately for her, but it felt different this time.

Harry’s eyes were fixated on her, and magically this made it easier for her to listen to the song. Usually, when it played on the radio or she put it on herself, she cried and thought about how much her brother loved the song. Right now, she was just enjoying the way it sounded being sung in Harry’s voice. Every instrument on the stage was being perfectly executed - every note, every chord, every single thing was perfect. They did the song a great justice. She was mentally hitting herself for running out of the crowd to seek refuge in the restroom the last time they played this song. They really did it so perfectly..

A tingle ripped down her spine as she flicked her eyes away from his. She wasn’t confident enough to keep the contact locked anymore. It was starting to be too overwhelming for her. Harry didn’t let up, though, he kept his eyes trained on her. Ivy wasn’t sure why he was so focused on her, but it was making her stomach ache. She reached up and gently started to rub her fingers over the small pendant of her necklace, her eyes slowly lifting up to look at him.

For the rest of the song, and into the start of the next one, Harry stared down at her. He was intrigued by her change of behavior. Sure, they were now playing slower songs instead of the more upbeat ones, but he could tell she was feeling a different way than before. She was reclusive, her eyes nervously darting away from him every couple moments just to sneak their way back. He found it rather interesting how she could go from having so much energy to appearing to be so shy.

Ivy was deep in her thoughts as she stood quietly by herself, Harry’s attention causing chaos in her head. She fought between being infatuated with him and wanting to scream at him. She tried to bring those rude comments to the forefront of her mind, but the memory of his hand catching her on the sidewalk and his arm protecting her from that stranger shoved their way through. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all..

A frown shaped to her lips when he suddenly looked away from her, his eyes scoping out the crowd now. She immediately started to wonder if she had did something wrong. Was he even looking at her that long or did she imagine it? No, there was no way she could make up the intense feelings she had experienced. It was real, no doubt in her mind. She didn’t ponder it long, though, as she realized Emma was next to her again. Did he look away because he didn’t want to be caught staring at her?

“Sorry, took longer than I thought. There was a line.” She said loudly, leaning into Ivy’s shoulder.

She turned slightly to face her, presenting a fake smile. “You’re fine.”

“Did I miss anything?” She asked, her eyes peering up at the stage.

Ivy pushed out a breathy laugh. “No, nothing.”

The rest of the show was just as enjoyable as the first half, and even though Ivy didn't get much of Harry’s attention, he spared her a few quick looks every now and then. She was confused about the sudden interest he showed in her, or at least the curiosity. She didn’t want to refer to it as interest, in case it wasn’t that in any way at all. Presuming would only hurt her if she ended up being wrong.

Once the band had ended their show, they were gathering their things on the stage. Harry adjusted the microphone stand down to its default height before taking the guitar off his body. He had grabbed it and kept playing after the slower portion of the show was over. Emma was talking to Niall as he kneeled down on the stage, leaning close so he could hear her over the noise. The regular music had already started to play through the speakers in the ceiling. Ivy waited patiently for her, just standing nearby. She didn’t want to be too close in case Niall was trying to have a private conversation.

Something caught her attention all of a sudden. Harry gripped the neck of the guitar with one hand, the other pushing through his hair. When he took the first step to leave the stage, something fell onto the ground. It was his guitar pick, the light just so happened to hit it right so that Ivy was able to make out what it was. She furrowed her brows and stood on her tiptoes to look onto the stage. She saw the thick piece of green plastic sitting there. Harry had used it for some of the songs, but she did notice he didn’t have it in his fingers the entire show.

She glanced over at Niall and Emma, neither of them were paying her any attention. She used her heels as an advantage to push herself up more, reaching onto the stage to grab the pick. It was almost too far away, she barely was able to get a hold of it. When she brought it in front of her, grunting as she fell flat on her heels, she noticed that it had a darker green marbling look to it. She flipped it over, the opposite side was sporting two letters in black permanent marker ink. HS.

Not long after they started packing away the stage equipment, Ivy and Emma went back through the door with the curtain of stringed beads, going straight to the back table that was reserved for the band. Michelle, Zayn, and Cory were the firsts to join them. Ivy greeted everyone with a bright smile and a quick hug, congratulating them on a great show. She asked Zayn why Alyssa didn’t make it and he told her that their child wasn’t feeling the best, plus he added that she wasn’t a big fan of the bar scene.

“I saw you rocking out. Glad you enjoyed it.” Cory said to Ivy as he sat down next to her.

She smiled back. “You guys were great.”

She was slightly uncomfortable with how close he chose to sit next to her, so she casually slid over towards Michelle, acting as if she was going to start talking to her. She was distracted, though, so Ivy just swallowed gently and tried to ignore it. Maybe Cory meant nothing by it, most likely he didn’t, and she was just being cautious. The last time a man approached her, things did not end very well. She knew Cory wouldn’t do something like that, but there was still that underlying fear of it happening again.

They waited for a few minutes, everyone was talking amongst themselves. Ivy kept to herself, though. She looked inside her small purse, the guitar pick she rescued from the stage was sitting at the bottom. Her cheek got caught between her teeth as a thought crept into her mind. She wanted to return it to him. She wondered where he was and if he would join them. He liked to go off on his own, she had noticed that before, so she feared she might not get the chance to give it back to him tonight. If he did come to where they all were, would she get the opportunity to be alone with him? She didn’t feel as though she would muster up enough courage to give it to him in front of everyone. What if they thought it was weird?

The thoughts vanished from her mind as she suddenly heard his voice. She looked up, smiling gently as she saw that he and Niall had arrived with a round of drinks. She pushed down the lump that appeared in her throat, the thought of the first time she met everyone returned to her mind. Emma had offered her drink up that night because one wasn’t ordered for her.. She didn’t belong then, did she belong now?

“The owners got us two rounds tonight.” Niall said as he handed a cup of beer to Emma, then one to Michelle.

Harry had the other tray in his hand and he actually gave them out instead of placing it on the table. He gave one to Zayn, then to Cory. Ivy felt a ton of bricks land on her shoulders - there were two cups left on the tray. To her utter surprise, Harry grabbed one of them and extended his hand out to her. His eyes weren’t on her, though. She took the cup and mumbled a ‘thank you’ that he didn’t catch. Nobody else seemed to care about the gesture the way she did, no reactions happened. She thought she was just being silly, just a bit dramatic..

“Move over.” Harry said to Cory, expecting him to move to the right.

However, Cory didn’t do that. He slid to the left, opening up a spot right next to Ivy. It made her lips roll into her mouth, would he actually sit down next to her? She nearly froze as Harry sat down. He didn’t care where he sat, he just wanted to finally get off his feet for a while.

“Any drinking contests tonight?” Michelle teased with a laugh, scooting closer to be next to Ivy.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Harry was looking her way. She nervously laughed and shook her head. “No, not tonight.”

“Oh, come on. Just one?”

“No, no.. I drank too much the last time I was out.. I don’t want to overdo it.” She explained, trying to keep a smile on her face.

“Alright, fine. Next time.. I’m challenging you.” Michelle gave her a quick wink and a nudge of her knee.

Despite not feeling tired, Ivy was mentally drained. Her emotions had swirled so quickly earlier that her brain was exhausted. She couldn’t decide whether she was angry at Harry, embarrassed by everything that’s happened, or glad that he was giving her some sort of attention. She might ever know the meaning behind his stares tonight, but at least she knew they weren’t angry glares like she was used to.

She leaned her back against the comfortable material of the benched seating. She wished she was in her bed, but she wanted to stick it out and have fun the rest of the night. It was hard to keep track of everyone’s conversations, so she just listened to Michelle’s voice since she was closest. She didn’t participate in anything either. Nobody bothered her for a while, she figured they either didn’t want to intrude or didn’t notice her behavior. She wasn’t aware, but there was at least one person in the group that noticed.

Harry couldn’t help himself, she was too close to him. He gave her a quick glance every now and then, wondering if she was feeling sick or if she was sleepy. She had been active most of the night, jumping and dancing around having a good time - now, it was much different. He didn’t speak to her, though.

After a while, Niall and Emma left to go dance. Zayn said something about going to the bar, so Cory offered to join him. Ivy was perfectly content with where she was, sitting in between Harry and Michelle. A few minutes ticked by before Michelle stood up to stretch. She looked down at Ivy and smiled.

“Do you need to go to the restroom?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m okay.”

“Alright. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the small crowd, leaving Harry alone with Ivy.

It was obviously noticed by both of them. Harry tensed up, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the purple light in the center of the table. The glow shined beautiful on his skin, Ivy thought it was ethereal. She wondered what he was in such deep thought about, if anything at all - with the way he was staring at the light, not even blinking as the seconds went by.

She looked around the space, ensuring herself that everyone was gone. Now was her chance to speak to him. If she didn’t do it now, she wouldn’t do it at all and she would have a heap of regret. Quietly, she reached into her purse and took out the pick. She sucked in a deep breath and turned her head towards him.

“Harry.” She said his name carefully, almost too afraid to say it too loud, but she wanted him to hear her over the music.

He thought he was hearing things at first, but when he shifted his head and caught her eyes, he knew she had said his name. He lifted his brows, silently asking her what she wanted. He was surprised she had said anything to him, but he wasn’t disappointed.

“Um.. you dropped this earlier.” She moved her hand so he could see it.

“What?” His brows furrowed, his eyes cutting down to her hand. “Oh. You didn’t have to save it. They’re pretty cheap.” His tone was normal, but there was no laugh or smile laced in his words.

Ivy felt a twist in her stomach as she dropped it in his opened palm. He decided he had to get away from her, so he stood up and adjusted his shirt, about to walk away. Her soft voice caught his attention, any ounce of courage she had moments ago was gone.

“I just thought you’d.. you’d need it.”

When he looked down at her, she had already dropped her head and nervously folded her hands on her lap. He pushed out a sigh and licked his lips, knowing that he needed to be more polite to the girl. It wasn’t like she said anything outlandish. She was being kind to him.. something he wasn’t familiar with reciprocating to her.

“Ivy.”

The sound of his voice speaking her name had the same effect now as it did weeks ago. Her heart started to flutter uncontrollably and her stomach swormed with something much larger than butterflies. She lifted her head, her eyes finding his already staring down at her.

“Yeah?”

He just stared at her for a long moment, debating on how far to take his response. He wasn’t sure what she wanted or how she would take what he said to her. There had to be some resentment she had towards him, it would be impossible to not feel that way. He had done so much to her that was hateful and mean, how could she appreciate any ounce of kindness he gave to her? He stopped overthinking it and just spoke.

“Thanks anyway.”

Once Michelle came back from the restroom, she rejoined Ivy and they started talking about random things. It felt nice to have someone to talk to in the midst of all the intense feelings she was having. It was like she was able to shut it all off and focus on something else for once. Michelle never let the conversations die down, there was always something to talk about with her.

Nobody returned to the table while they were chatting, everyone was enjoying their night in their own ways. Ivy did take a second to wonder where Emma was, but she remembered Niall was with her so the concern wasn’t necessary. She wanted to think about Harry, but she kept her attention on Michelle instead. It was a relief to have a good distraction.

When Michelle started talking about her music preferences and favorite songs, Ivy couldn’t help but to think about the song they performed tonight. She wondered if it was a mutual decision or if someone, Harry or Zayn specifically, decided to play the song. Once Michelle finished her sentence, she decided to bring it up. She felt comfortable changing the topic.

“Hey, random question.” Ivy started with a laugh. “Do you guys switch the set up a lot or is it the same for a while?”

“I think we’re far past random.” Michelle grinned back. “Well, we usually keep it the same for a few months, depends on how many shows we do. We changed a few songs, but at the last minute Harry wanted to add one.”

Ivy raised her brows. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah.. like he told us this morning. Luckily we all knew the song already.” She rolled her eyes playfully before sipping her beer.

“Which song was it?” Ivy already felt as though she knew the answer, but she wanted it to be confirmed.

“Crimson and Clover.” Michelle said, adjusting her position on the bench.

Ivy’s heart picked up it’s speed for a few seconds, of course that was the answer she was waiting on. She knew there had to be a reason he added the song and she hoped that it was because of her. Before she had time to fully process the information, Michelle checked her phone and let out a sigh.

“Emma wants us to come dance with her. Niall’s tiring out.”

Ivy looked down at her phone as it vibrated, the same text Michelle got popped onto her screen. “She’s desperate.”

They both laughed and stood up at the same time. Michelle finished off her beer and discarded the cup on the table, Ivy had some left so she just brought it along with her. They slipped into the crowd, thankful that it wasn’t as big as the one in the main part of the building. Michelle spotted Emma and they quickly headed towards her.

“You’re free, Niall.” Michelle said as they approached them.

Niall let out a dramatic sigh. “Thank god.”

Emma gave him a playful shove and told him to go away. Ivy wasn’t particularly thrilled to start dancing again, so she opted for gentle swaying and soft singing, instead of the usual performances she gave. Michelle was more active and hyper, though, so she was able to keep up with Emma.

The girls enjoyed themselves for a short while, the music choices were nice for the most part. Ivy was doing fine until she felt someone’s eyes on her. She thought maybe she was imagining things and was just being paranoid, but after a few more minutes of the intense feeling, she decided to look around. At first, she didn’t see anybody giving her any sort of attention. She started to believe she was losing her mind. That is, until she landed her wandering eyes on a familiar face.

Not far from them was Harry and Cory, and those green eyes she had come to admire so much were staring right at her. Cory was talking and Harry seemed to be listening, or at least pretending to. She felt as though he was back at playing that game of his, making her feel intimidated and nervous. She got the idea to play along with him. Her thick lips shaped to a smile and he knew it was aimed for him and him only. He shook his head lightly and moved his eyes off of her. A proud feeling grew inside of her, she smirked to herself. She was just as good at playing his stupid game.

She was somewhat glad to know that Harry was close by. As much as she hated what happened to her at that club, she was thankful that he was there. If she hadn't found him, there would be no telling what could’ve happened to her. Everything was going well, even though Harry wasn’t looking her way anymore. She thought nothing else of it and just enjoyed the song that was currently on. Emma was forcing her to dance a little more than she wanted, but she couldn’t help but cave in and laugh. Michelle was glad to see she was more energetic now.

Ivy thought that maybe this night would actually be one hundred percent drama free. She didn���t consider the quick conversation she had with Harry as anything bad or hurtful, it was in fact rather calm and normal. But as always, there was something thrown in to ruin the night.

A guy was walking near them when he suddenly got caught up on his own feet and stumbled, his body shooting forward. The girls let out a combined shriek as beer splashed all over them, more so on Ivy than on Michelle. Emma wasn’t close enough for the spill to hit her. Ivy gasped as she touched her shirt the second the liquid soaked through to her skin. Michelle’s mouth was hung open, her hands in the air as she looked down at her legs - that’s where the liquid landed on her.

Harry looked over towards them as soon as they screamed, it was very audible even over the music, he didn’t catch the entire interaction. All he saw was a guy holding an empty plastic cup and the two of them standing there dripping with beer. He could see the stains on their clothes, and a few strands of Ivy’s long hair that soaked up some of the beer.

“Oh my god!” The guy immediately apologized to them, sincerity in his voice. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s alright.” Michelle said with a nervous laugh, she was shocked that this happened so quickly.

“Is there anything I can do for you? I’m so sorry.”

Ivy was about to say something when a tall, broad figure appeared next to her. Harry pushed his way between the girls and the stranger, accidentally pushing Ivy backwards. She didn’t lose her footing though. She shot her eyes to Michelle, who was instantly worried.

“The fuck is your problem?” Harry yelled out, his height towering over the man’s.

Cory quickly ran up to them, too, his brows furrowed as he looked over their beer soiled clothes. He was going to ask what happened, but Harry’s loud voice was taking over.

“I said, what’s your fucking problem?”

“I-I didn’t-“ The poor guy was nervous and stammering, Harry’s demeanor was extremely intimidating.

Michelle grabbed Harry’s shoulder and tried to pull him back, but he didn’t move. “Harry, stop!”

“Are you fucking stupid, huh? What the fuck are you doing?” He kept on, yelling in the guy’s face like he had committed a heinous crime.

“He didn’t do it on purpose, Harry!” Emma tried her best to intervene, but she was slightly afraid of what could happen.

The loud screaming had caused quite the commotion, and everyone turned towards them to watch what was unfolding. Niall quickly made his way to where the crowd seemed to gather, he just had a feeling something was going on. He made it back to them just in time to see Harry push his hand into the guy’s chest, sending him back a couple of steps.

“Harry!” Cory called out his name, but it didn’t matter, he wasn’t going to listen to anyone.

Niall ran up to them, grabbing onto Emma’s elbow to pull her away. He asked her what happened and she quickly told him. He sighed and tried to walk in front of the guy, but Harry didn’t allow it. He shoved Niall back, not wanting him to get involved.

“Let it go, Harry.” He still tried his best to end it.

“This motherfucker threw fucking beer on them.” Harry shouted, his eyes locked on the stranger’s instead of on Niall. He wasn’t upset with his friends for trying to stop him, he was furious about the spilled beer that he believed was purposeful.

Ivy took a deep breath and stepped out from behind him. Cory gave her a shake of his head and tried to stop her, but she ignored him. She gasped as Harry pushed him again, shouting the same question over and over.

“He didn’t throw it on us!” She raised her voice, her small hand reaching up to touch Harry’s bicep in an attempt to get her attention.

He felt her touch and immediately looked over, not expecting to see her standing so close. Anger was swept over his face, and it was more terrifying than she thought it would be. He looked like he was about to rip someone’s head off their shoulders. Her hand started to shake so much that it fell from his arm. She stepped back, fear consuming her.

“I fucking watched him do it!” Harry yelled back at her, his words harsh and cold.

She didn’t like the way he screamed so easily towards her, how his anger was taking over him entirely. She licked her lips and tried to keep her composure. Harry’s eyes were glued to her now, he wasn’t even concerned with the guy still gripping the empty cup.

“He tripped, Harry. He didn’t do it on purpose.” Michelle cut in quickly, trying to de-escalate the situation.

Harry shot his eyes back to the guy as he tried to apologize again. He interrupted him with a threatening yell. Everyone in the room had their eyes on them, and the embarrassment was building among the small group. Ivy felt like her heart was going to pound out of her chest.

“Stop it, Harry. You’re the one acting stupid. Calm down, please!” She pleaded with him, trying her absolute best to end this.

Harry turned towards her, making her jump back. Cory grabbed her elbow and forced her back a few more steps, afraid that something might happen. Harry wouldn’t purposely hurt her, but he didn’t want her to get too close in case someone else got hurt. She shook off Cory’s hand, not wanting to be touched.

“Don’t tell me to calm down.” He spat out, not even considering how mean his voice sounded. Right now all he wanted to do was pound his fists into that guy’s face.

His attention wasn’t on her very long. He returned to the stranger, who Niall was apologizing to. Things were getting heated again as the man tried to explain what had happened, despite everyone else already doing that. Harry wasn’t having any of it. He demanded that the man apologize to the girls before he kicked his ass. It was all very dramatic and intense.

Cory gestured for Michelle to get closer to him and she quickly did. He went to grab Ivy’s arm again, this time more forcibly. He pulled her back towards him, but she didn’t like the way he took control over her. No matter what kind of situation she was in, she didn’t want to be grabbed that way.

“Stop it, Cory!” She let her frustration over Harry’s actions come out, her voice louder than usual.

He let her go, but not before Harry could whip his body around to them, the sound of her voice distracting him from the guy. Niall took the opportunity to guide the man away from them so he could apologize again. Harry had seen Cory’s hand on Ivy’s arm and he felt an immense amount of jealousy and anger, more than he had ever before. It reminded him of the night at the restaurant when Cory so confidently spoke to Ivy and tried to get to know her. It made his skin crawl.

“Don’t fucking touch her.” He screamed out, his face flushed bright red and his eyes full of anger.

Cory was confused more than anything. “Woah, relax!”

“What did you do to her?” He asked, trying to close the space between them but Ivy got in the way.

She slid in front of him, her hand hitting against his abdomen accidentally, but she didn’t move it. Her hand flattened against his body. “Harry, stop, please.”

“Why are you freaking out?” Michelle was starting to get scared, she wasn’t sure why Harry was suddenly turning on everyone.

He looked down at Ivy, ignoring everyone else around him. “What did he do to you?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Then why did you tell him to stop?”

“He just.. tried to pull me out of the way.” Ivy explained, hoping it worked this time. While she wasn’t pleased with how Cory touched her, she didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. It wasn’t worth it.

“I don’t believe that.”

“You’re scaring me.” She blurted out, her eyes squeezing shut as she turned her head, not wanting to see his anger ridden features. He looked like he could tear a building out of the ground.

Harry backed up, his eyes trained on her. She felt his presence shifting, her eyes open to see where he was going. She felt a lump forming in her throat as he shoved his hand through his hair and tugged at his roots. She feared he’d explode if someone said one more word to him.

“I have to get out of here.”

That was the last thing he said before he stormed out of the building, leaving everyone more confused than anything. Ivy was speechless. She didn’t know what to think or how to feel. She had never seen someone so angry before. Even when that guy was following her and Harry got involved, he didn’t act that way. Tonight he was outraged. She actually feared him. Maybe he wasn’t worth all the hassle. He seemed to be more of a problem than she first imagined. Now matter how nice his eyes made her feel earlier.. she didn’t want to see them ever again.

—•—

That next morning was more awkward than anything. Niall had stayed over with Emma and together they prepared breakfast. Ivy was confused when she woke up to the smell of food cooking, and when she strolled into the kitchen in her pajamas, she saw them finishing up. They both greeted her with warm smiles.

“What are you guys doing?” She said through a gentle laugh, looking around at the mess that was made in the kitchen.

“Just making an apology meal for you.” Niall said with a smile, although it wasn’t very funny.

“An apology meal?” She furrowed her brows. “For what?”

He sighed. “For Harry’s behavior, of course.. isn’t that always the case?”

Ivy lifted her brows at his reply, not sure what to say in response. Everyone was very on edge after Harry disappeared last night, and they all left a short time afterwards. When she got home she took a shower immediately, the smell of beer had seeped into her skin and clothes.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

Emma grunted. “Yes we do.”

“It was all a misunderstanding.” She mumbled back, taking a seat at the table.

“And it shouldn’t have been.” Niall said. “He embarrasses me every time we go out with you and it drives me crazy.”

“It’s not your fault, though. I.. I understand he was.. drunk and not willing to listen. It’s fine.”

Emma shook her head. “It’s not fine. And we have to make it up to you, again.”

“Maybe one day.. I won’t have to give you so many apologies.” Niall didn’t sound hopeful about that.

“That would be nice.” She tried to have a little humor, not wanting to focus entirely on the situation.

“I just can’t believe he acted that way.” Emma frowned. “Over a spilled drink?”

Once everything was finished cooking, they each got what they wanted and sat down at the table. Ivy stayed quiet as they ate, hoping that no more talk about last night’s events would come up. Niall and Emma were embarrassed and she understood why, she just didn’t want them to focus on it forever. The situation was over, there was no need in pouring fuel into the fire. The person that owed her the biggest apology would never give her one anyway.

[a/n: ok ok ok im super excited for part 6!!! it’s definitely a big turning point for them (an unexpected event forces them to spend time together) it’s going to be worth the wait! hope u enjoy this, reblog like all that nice stuff! see u soon]

taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @victoriasigaard @ariiscringe @harlowsgirl @lomllover @haniaaa04 @sideboobrry11 @tenaciousperfectionunknown n @fangirl509east @fruity-harry @sassamanda77 @lizsogolden @prettygurl-2009 @sincerely-yours-marsbar @boopookie @mypolicemanharryyy @angelbunny222 2 @mads3502 @harrysredroom @inlikea-coolway @matildasatellite @imaginexxharry

[spider-gem]

WHAT A WAY TO SAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR BELOVED SEAWEED BRAIN

[liquidstar]

look this site really is awful for ppl with OCD so i just wanna reassure anyone that you are not Tainted Forever for consuming a piece of media with questionable content. the fact that youre able to recognize it speaks to your critical thinking skills, which is good, certain depictions should be critiqued. but you dont need to ruminate on it to the point where you begin to feel guilty for simply witnessing gross or creepy writing choices. you dont have to vindicate yourself to the fictional tumblr discourser inside your head, saying that youre now a bad person bc you watched the wrong anime. your actual response to it still matters of course, but thats that and this is this. just seeing it is neutral, you didnt commit a thought crime. its literally fine.

IF YOU ARE USING THIS POST TO ONLY FURTHER YOUR STUPID PEDANTIC BLACK-AND-WHITE DISCOURSE TO GET A "GOCHA" OVER THE OTHER SIDE YOU ARE THE PROBLEM. DON'T USE OUR DISORDER TO VINDICATE YOUR BEHAVIOR. THOUGHT CRIMES ARENT REAL BUT ACTIONS STILL MATTER. PEOPLE WITH OCD ARE CAPABLE OF THINKING CRITICALLY ABOUT OUR ACTIONS AND RESPONSES, EVEN WITH INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS AND RUMINATIONS. TREATING US AS IF WE CANNOT, ONLY TO FORCE US TO USE YOUR STRINGENT UNNUANCED DISCOURSE OPINIONS ABOUT "PURITY CULTURE" (TRIGGERING TO THOSE WITH OCD) AS THE ONLY REASONABLE GUIDE DOES MORE TO EXACERBATE OUR OBSESSIONS THAN HELP US. YOU ARE THE ISSUE AS WELL. YOU ARE ALSO THE TUMBLR DISCOURSER INSIDE OUR HEADS. DO NOT USE US FOR YOUR DISCOURSE. WE ARE PEOPLE, NOT HYPOTHETICALS TO USE TO EXPLAIN IF YOUR FROZEN INCEST FANFICTION IS OKAY OR NOT. TREATING US AS IF WE CANNOT AUTONOMOUSLY HAVE OUR OWN OPINIONS ON WHEN MEDIA IS TANGIBLY HARMFUL IS ABLEIST. FORCING US TO ABIDE BY YOUR IN-GROUP'S SET OF UNEQUIVOCAL MORALS IS ABLEIST. ACTING AS THOUGH THE ONLY SOLUTION FOR US IS MINDLESS MEDIA CONSUMPTION IN WHICH "EVERY DEPICTION OF XYZ, NO MATTER HOW POORLY DONE OR EXPLOITATIVE, IS ALWAYS OKAY AND IF YOU DISAGREE YOURE ACTUALLY AN EVIL 'ANTI'" IS ABLEIST. THOSE ARE THE SAME BLACK-AND-WHITE MORALS THAT SEND US INTO OBSESSIVE SPIKES, BUT FLIPPED. A SET OF MORALS IN WHICH QUESTIONING THE IMPACT OF A PIECE OF WORK MAKES YOU AN "EVIL CONSERVATIVE PURITAN "ANTI"" DOES NOT HELP MORAL OCD.

YOU ARE THE DAMN TUMBLR DISCOUERSERS MAKING THIS SHIT WORSE FOR US! YOURE THE EXACT SAME BUT WITH FLIPPED BUZZWORDS! YOU'RE MISSING THE WHOLE DAMN POINT!

[lotus-pear]

rewatched madoka magica again today bc i fucking hate myself and to absolutely no one’s surprise i went through all five stages of grief in a single evening

[lemongogo]

they should get to kill each other at least twice .i think