#and confused warmth chapter 9

[rise-my-angel]

.

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter two ♡

Summary: You see Joel for the first time after the night of his birthday, and things couldn't be more different from how you thought they were. Word count: 6.8k A/N: Thank you so much for all your beautiful comments!!! I'm so glad you liked the first chapter. I honestly can't wait to keep discovering the path of this story together with you <3 thank you thank you thank youuu. FIRST CHAPTER: ♡ here ♡

Saturday. You woke up with an ache stretching through your chest, as if all the warmth you’d fallen asleep in had cooled to an empty space beside you. Joel was gone. The clock flashed 9:00 a.m., and you imagined him awake hours earlier, deciding he needed to leave. You wondered what might’ve filled his head as he slipped out—regret, embarrassment, maybe something close to the uncomfortable doubt now tightening in your stomach.

It was painful, how your mind filled in the blanks: if he’d stayed, if he’d wrapped his arms around you before you woke up, maybe it would mean something. Some quiet acknowledgment of what had happened, that you were now something different, and that it could be okay. But he’d left, and his absence felt like an answer. His own kind of message. You didn’t know exactly how to feel, only that your heart was broken, frayed by thoughts that raced faster than you could catch.

After lying there, staring blankly at the wall for what might’ve been hours, you managed to sit up, body aching and sore from each place his hands had traveled. You stepped into the shower, closing your eyes as the hot water hit your shoulders, the places where his fingertips had traced your skin. You felt sadder than you wanted to admit as the water washed away his touch, erased his kisses—but somehow, you also needed this; needed to cleanse away the confusion he’d left behind. The way your heart twisted told you everything: that after years of loving him quietly, of wondering if you were foolish for feeling this way, you’d finally seen it in his eyes. It was undeniable, the way he looked at you. Dark, intent, and carrying something that had always been just out of reach. But there was something else there, something heavy that you still didn’t understand, as if he were as conflicted as you.

For the rest of the day, you collapsed onto the couch, letting the TV drone on without paying attention to any of it. You didn’t see Joel or Sarah, didn’t even think about glancing out the window, afraid he might be there.

*

Sunday. You woke up early and walked the neighborhood, hoping you wouldn’t cross paths with him. You had no idea what to say, and you weren’t ready to hear anything he might want to say to you. Joel wasn’t sentimental, and you knew this situation would be far from easy for him, as well. When you returned, you rounded the block and entered through the back door to avoid even the sight of his house. You spent the rest of the day tearing through closets, dusting shelves, filling bags with clothes and objects to donate. Anything to keep busy, to drown out the echo of his absence. When you reached the hall, you noticed a picture hanging askew—a memory of your best friend pushing you playfully against the wall. You straightened it, feeling the weight of that simpler time.

*

Monday. Work, mercifully, absorbed you the whole morning. Manuscripts stacked on your desk piled up, five drafts to review before the week’s end. At lunch, you let yourself get caught up in the interns’ gossip, grateful for the distraction of someone else’s drama: an assistant had apparently thrown a scene in the kitchen. For those few minutes, you were somewhere else entirely.

When you got home, exhaustion caught up to you in a wave, and you napped for hours, hoping to sleep off the ache. You buried yourself in work for the rest of the evening until finally crawling into bed. Even though the hours of sleep should’ve soothed you, the headache stayed, an insistent reminder that you couldn’t keep avoiding the thoughts that waited just beneath the surface.

*

Tuesday. Work was just a blur of the usual. A steady hum, a low buzz of screens and staplers and muffled voices. Then your boss leaned out of her office door, gave you a quick look, and said you could take off two hours early if you wanted. No explanation. You gave her a polite nod of thanks and were out of there before she could change her mind.

When you got home, you stood in the shower for an eternity, letting the water pour over you, but your mind kept circling back to Joel. The ache of it pressed on you, and you felt almost embarrassed by how deeply it stung. Why did it always come back to this?

Out of the shower, you wrapped your hair in a towel, looked up at your own face in the mirror. The eyes staring back seemed hollow, that same expression you’d worn on Saturday—worn thin and tired, as if all the energy you’d stored up was suddenly gone.

You knew you had to do something. Sitting around was unbearable. A surge of restlessness spurred you forward. You changed into workout clothes, slid your headphones on, set a playlist going. The music buzzed in your ears as you left, footsteps echoing on the stairs, mind already reaching for the rush that would come when you pushed yourself hard, sprinting until everything in you felt like liquid fire.

You’d barely opened the front door when you stopped short. Sarah was there, one hand raised to knock, her backpack slung over her shoulder, her hair falling in loose, carefree waves. She looked up, surprised, but her face split into a grin, and at the sight of her, something warm unfurled in your chest.

“Can I stay for a while? Dad’s working late again,” she said, and you felt the familiar twinge at the mention of him— Dad.

“Of course.” You stepped back, pulling the door open wide, stretching your arms out for a hug, which she slipped into immediately, her hands resting lightly on your back.

“Were you going somewhere?” she asked, tossing her backpack to the floor and heading straight for the couch. She plopped down, her hair bouncing as she did, and looked at you with that expectant smile, as if she’d just brought a bit of sunlight into the room with her.

“Just a run.” You wave it off, but there’s something in your voice—she tilts her head, gives you a curious look. “I was bored, that’s all,” you add, softer.

"Ah,” Sarah murmured, letting the sound stretch and float between you. "It’s a nice day, a perfect day for a run.”

“It is," you agreed, the words soft, casual, "but it’s even nicer now that you’re here.” You couldn’t help smiling as you lowered yourself onto the couch beside her, picking up the remote and flipping on the TV. You laughed under your breath when My Best Friend’s Wedding appeared on the screen, as if fate itself were nudging you, teasing you with its sense of irony.

Sarah didn’t miss a beat, slipping her arms around your waist and nestling her head against your right arm, curling into you in the way she always did. The warmth of her comfort settled over you.

“What happened between you and Dad?” Her voice was quiet, the kind of softness that demands honesty. You looked down, meeting her open gaze, and your heart clenched—how could you explain something you hadn’t yet pieced together yourself?

“Nothing,” you murmured, trying to keep your tone light. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged but kept her head resting on you, her voice low, musing. “I don’t know… I haven’t seen you since his birthday.” She toyed with the hem of her sleeve, eyes downcast, like she was searching her memory. “And last night, when we ordered pizza, I told him I wanted to see you. He said no, that you were probably tired, but I told him you always come, even when you’re tired.” She glanced up at you, lips curling with a faint, sad smile. “Then he just told me to drop it, and I could tell he was in one of his moods. You know him.”

Each word pierced you, gentle pinpricks you could feel sinking in. Joel was shutting you out too, it seemed, yet you were beginning to accept that as inevitable.

“I really was tired,” you lied, hating the sound of it even as it left your lips. “Yesterday was long. You know how much I read every day?” She nodded, that same wide-eyed curiosity looking up at you. “Well, yesterday was one of those days I could hardly see straight. When I got home, all I wanted to do was sleep.”

“Oh, right,” she replied, and you felt her cheeks lift against your arm, her smile warm and trusting. “Well, I was just gonna ask you to help with my homework. Have you ever read Poe?”

A chuckle escaped, breaking the tension. “Yes, I’ve read Poe.”

She pulled back a little, her eyes gleaming. “Are you tired now?”

“No.” You shifted up straighter, meeting her gaze with a small nod. “Come on, let’s get comfortable at the table.”

Soon, you were placing a steaming cup of cocoa and a plate of cookies in front of her, the familiar ritual setting in, grounding you both. You sat beside her, ready to dive into the morbid worlds of *The Black Cat* and *The Tell-Tale Heart,* classic Poe to whet a young mind. She didn’t need your help—you knew that. Sarah was bright, quick; it was more the routine of sitting together in the kitchen, tracing the dark, winding paths of literature, that you both cherished. Sometimes she’d even ask for math help, which was the last thing you were qualified for. Literary theory? Of course; Atiyah's geometry? Forget it. 

At seven, the kitchen was dim, the soft click of the clock marking the evening. There was still no sign of Joel. You watched from the living room window, your breath creating small fogged circles on the cold glass. Sarah had drifted to sleep, limbs splayed out on the couch, her bare feet poking over the edge. After homework, she’d switched to a documentary about whales and somewhere along the way, gentle little snores had taken over. You, meanwhile, were skimming through an article on your phone about a woman from Nigeria with the world’s largest wig, lost in a rabbit hole of Guinness World Records—another one of your distractions to keep from thinking about the ache lodged firmly where thoughts of Joel tended to linger.

Then, you heard it: the low rumble of Joel’s truck. You didn’t need to see him to know. You could recognize it anywhere, the steady approach, the engine growling over the pavement. For a moment, you stayed frozen, staring blankly at the phone in your hands, the words blurring together. You were just waiting—knowing that any moment, he’d come knocking at your door. Because that’s exactly what he would do.

Joel would enter his house with that familiar, end-of-the-day exhaustion weighing down his steps. His shoulders would drop, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Sarah!” he would call out, but the house would echo back only silence. A quiet that felt too deep, too empty. He’d stand in the middle of the hallway, pausing, absorbing the emptiness for a beat, then walk to her room and crack open the door just enough to check her bed. The unmade sheets and abandoned books would confirm what he already suspected: she was at your place, just as she always was when he was running late.

With a soft sigh, he would turn and head downstairs, the familiar creaks of the house echoing around him. And as he moves toward your door, he’d feel the tension in his back, muscles tight and weary from the day. He’d roll his head in a way that sent a dull ring through his neck, feeling the tendons pull, listening to the slight pop of his vertebrae—an old habit that usually helped him settle. But tonight, it did little to ease the tension running through him. Then, as he gets closer, he- 

Knock, knock—two sharp sounds that broke through the quiet of the evening. You looked up from your phone, startled from your reverie, the light of the screen dimming in your periphery. Sarah was curled up beside you, blissfully unaware, her breathing steady and peaceful.

“Sarah,” you whispered, reaching out gently, fingers brushing her shoulder. You called her name softly a couple of times, but she merely rolled over, a sleepy mumble escaping her lips—a mix of protest and the remnants of dreams still clinging to her.

Knock, knock. Again, insistent, echoing through the room.

This time, you stood up, feeling an unsteady flutter in your stomach as you made your way to the door. You inhaled sharply, letting a sigh escape, your body tensing involuntarily with each step. There it was again—that heaviness, low and unsettling, growing with every inch you closed toward him.

As your hand wrapped around the cool metal of the doorknob, you found yourself hesitating, fingers pressed into it but unmoving, as if the door itself had grown an invisible weight.

Be. Fucking. Strong. You took a slow breath, steadied your grip, a final reminder for yourself. Maybe, just maybe, Joel was feeling the same tightness, the same knot of uncertainty in his chest. You let yourself imagine that possibility, just long enough to give you the courage to turn the knob and let him in.

In one swift, impulsive movement, you flung the door open, and there he was. Joel. Standing there as if time itself had stilled, his gaze locked onto yours. It was the first time you'd seen him since that night. Your heart lurched at the sight of him, the familiar lines of his face, the small furrow between his brows, and maybe—just maybe—a slight tremor at one eyebrow as if he was bracing himself, too.

“Sarah’s here,” you said, quickly, your voice sharper than you’d intended, as though saying it fast enough might keep him from asking first. 

“I assumed so,” he replied, glancing briefly into your house, his tone measured, careful. “Is she asleep?”

You nodded, stepping back just enough to signal he could come in. He hesitated for a beat, then crossed the threshold. As he passed, his arm brushed yours, a fleeting contact that sent a surge through you—a reminder of all the words you hadn’t said, couldn’t say. It made your heart race, each beat loud in your ears as he moved further into the room.

You watched him approach Sarah, his frame bending down as he placed a hand on her shoulder, voice a low murmur. “Sarah, baby, let’s go home,” he whispered, as if his quiet words might coax her awake. But she only turned her shoulder, a soft groan escaping her, and nestled back into sleep. 

He sighed, a sound that spoke of familiarity and resignation. It was a scene he had lived through a hundred times before. Knowing it was useless to waste words trying to wake her, he slipped his arms beneath her and lifted her in one smooth motion. She stirred only slightly as he held her, and you saw the small grimace on his face as he straightened up, her weight adding to his already tired frame. 

You stayed in the doorway of the living room, arms crossed, a faint shield against whatever unspoken things might spill out of him. The sight of him in your space stirred a confusion of emotions—anger, frustration, an ache edged with sadness. Joel had been pulling away, barely looking you in the eye; Joel was acting as if you were strangers or as if nothing had ever happened between you. Joel was a—

“Thanks for watching her,” he said, his voice low as he walked past you, his eyes averted, as though speaking to the floor. He held Sarah protectively, her feet swinging softly past you, careful not to let her brush against you.

Something about his words made your stomach twist. He was speaking to you like you’d done something extraordinary, some rare act of kindness, as if this wasn’t something you did all the time. It was ridiculous. Sarah spent half her days here, half her nights, and he was thanking you now, like you were a kind neighbor who’d offered to babysit for the first time or some shit like that.

You didn’t respond, feeling the words trapped in your throat, unwilling to form. Instead, you walked him to the door, waiting as he stepped over the threshold. Your hand found the doorknob, ready to close it as soon as he left.

But he stopped. He turned back, and for a moment, his eyes met yours with a rare intensity. His expression shifted—there was something else there, something that looked like it was on the verge of spilling over. You waited, holding his gaze, a silent impatience building in you, daring him to say whatever was lodged inside him.

“Good night,” he said at last, flat and simple, letting the words fall like stones between you.

Before he could wait for a response, you slammed the door shut, perhaps with a bit too much force. But you didn’t care. You didn’t care at all. He could stand there in the hallway, speechless, for all you cared. The way he had looked at you, his voice so flat and distant—like you were nothing more than neighbors exchanging small talk—made your chest feel hollow. As if you hadn't spent the last four years glued to each other, inseparable, as if he hadn’t been completely entangled with you, entirely and recently. Joel could go fuck himself.

With your heart still aching, you walked to your bedroom and changed into pajamas, too upset to think about eating. You crawled under the covers, letting the silence settle around you, picking up the remote and flicking through channels until you found a rerun of one of those bizarre home and health shows. On the screen, a woman was recounting a story that seemed almost surreal: she had given birth to a baby alone in her bathroom after a shower, completely unaware she’d been pregnant. No anesthesia, no doctor, just a child falling into her hands, catching her by surprise.

Unbelievable, you thought, entranced, the human body is astounding. 

By the time the second episode started, your mind had drifted away from Joel, and all you could feel was hunger, sharp and insistent. The grumble in your stomach left you with no choice but to get out of bed. You tossed back the sheets and slipped your feet into the pom-pom slippers Joel had given you last Christmas. Fucking Joel, you thought, but they were soft, comfortable, and warm, and they carried you to the kitchen with a small feeling of comfort despite everything.

You made yourself a ham and cheese sandwich, humming a song you’d been listening to earlier that evening, right before Sarah knocked on your door. You poured yourself a glass of water, sat in the gentle glow of the under-cabinet lights, and took a bite. As you ate, your thoughts drifted back to the woman giving birth alone, imagining her shock and fear. If something like that ever happened to you, you thought, you’d probably be completely terrified, unprepared.

Then again, maybe you’d surprise yourself, discovering strength you didn’t know you had.

You shook your head slightly, reassuring yourself that it could never happen. You were meticulous with birth control; it was nearly impossible. After all, it had been a lonely year, with plenty of solitude and very little excitement. Not that you lacked options, but you’d grown comfortable in your independence.

Oh. Joel. You had slept with Joel, hadn’t you? And you hadn’t used a condom, a fact you had almost managed to ignore, until now. The thought gnawed at you.

As you finished your sandwich, you reminded yourself to check that your alarm was set for noon tomorrow—right when you took your birth control every day.

What would it be like, really, to have a baby? You’d never held one close or even spent much time with one, always keeping them at arm’s length, like something fragile you didn’t understand. Growing up an only child, you’d had no younger siblings to fuss over, no little cousins to chase around. None of your friends had children, either—not ones young enough for you to witness the first days, the delicate first few years. Sarah was already eight when you met her, and while you’d watched her grow up since, it wasn’t the same as seeing a baby. A newborn. Someone who came into the world with no words, just endless, vulnerable need.

Knock, knock. The sound jarred you, your heart jumping as you nearly choked on your last bite of sandwich. You looked up, squinting at the clock on the wall. Eleven p.m. 

Who could it be at this hour? His name appeared on your mind.

You reached for a paper napkin and wiped your mouth, slowly pushing back from the kitchen counter, your feet moving reluctantly toward the door. Your pulse quickened with each step, and a voice inside you whispered to run upstairs, to pretend you hadn’t heard. But the lights were on. He’d know you were awake; surely, he would.

Peering through the peephole, you felt that sudden jolt all over again. Joel was there. Standing in the yellowish glow of the hallway lights, looking down at the floor with one hand absently scratching his chin. For a moment, you watched him like that, as if observing from far away, taking in the unguarded heaviness of his expression. It softened something in you, even as your mind told you to hold your ground. 

Finally, you turned the lock and opened the door, just a sliver at first, easing it open slowly until you were half visible. His gaze lifted the moment he saw you, his body straightening, hands falling to his sides. There was something unmistakably nervous in his stance, a sense that he’d already doubted coming here but had decided it was too late to turn back.

He said your name in a whisper, as if startled to see you standing right there in your own doorway, his voice almost swallowed by the silence around you both. Then he took a step forward, his hand lifting slightly as if he’d reach out. 

You stayed frozen in place, your heart loud in your ears.

“Were you in bed?” he asked, almost sheepishly, the corners of his mouth pulling up slightly as if he wasn’t sure he should be there.

“No, I…” You hesitated, glancing briefly over his shoulder like you were expecting someone to jump out and catch you doing something wrong. “I was just eating something.”

Joel nodded, his eyes darting over your shoulder, taking in the familiar space inside your home, then flicking back to you, then to the doorway again. You could tell he wanted to come in, but he looked uncertain, almost nervous.

“Did something happen?” you asked, your voice coming out a little louder than intended.

“No, no,” he replied quickly. “Sarah just… she forgot her backpack, that’s all.” That’s all. The words sounded small.

You nodded, feeling a slight warmth creep into your cheeks, a forced smile stretching across your lips.

“I’ll grab it for you,” you said, hoping you sounded polite and unaffected. You closed the door nearly all the way, leaving only a thin sliver between you and the hallway, and hurried to where Sarah’s backpack and shoes sat beside the couch.

You grabbed her things hastily, inhaling sharply as you bent down, determined to hand them over and end this interaction on a courteous note, the way he’d left things with you earlier that evening.

“Jesus, Joel,” you muttered as you stood back up, a hand pressed to your chest. He’d somehow slipped inside and was standing right in front of you, eyes steady but unreadable, mouth set in a straight line. “You scared me to death.”

He glanced around your living room, slowly, buying time. He looked back at you, but this time his eyes were softer, a hint of something deeper lingering there.

“Can we talk?” he asked, and your heart leapt, relief breaking through your careful composure. 

You placed Sarah’s things back on the floor, feeling the weight of this moment settle over you, and then sank onto the couch. You didn’t say anything, but you glanced toward the seat beside you, silently inviting him to join you. Joel sat heavily, elbows on his knees, staring down as though the floor itself held the answers to questions he couldn’t voice. His silence felt endless, stretching out between you until you finally broke it.

“What do you want to talk about?” you asked, your voice almost too casual, as if you weren’t bracing yourself for the answer.

What was there even to talk about? The weather?

He exhaled, his voice almost too low to hear.

“About what happened. I… I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” He straightened his back but still didn’t meet your eyes. 

“Sorry about what?” you asked, your own voice coming out softer than you’d intended, colored by a hurt you couldn’t hide. “For sleeping with me, or for disappearing in the morning?”

The flash of hurt in your tone seemed to hit him hard, his head dropping even lower. He turned toward you, his gaze sweeping across your face, as though trying to memorize the hurt he’d caused.

“Everything,” he said at last, voice thick with regret. “For messing it all up, for not coming to talk to you sooner.” He looked away again, his hand resting on the back of his neck, and his eyes drifting down, unable to hold yours. 

Your body felt tight with nerves, and you nodded, though it was barely a nod at all.

“Why did you leave?” you asked, almost a whisper.

He looked like he was searching for the right words, for something that would undo the damage, something that wouldn’t hurt you more.

“I panicked. I woke up and saw you next to me, and it all rushed back—everything. I couldn’t handle it, and Sarah was going to wake up soon, and I just… I just left.” 

“You could have at least told me,” you murmured, your voice strained. “Do you have any idea how that felt?”

He turned fully to face you, his eyes dark and full of something you loved, but now it looked almost foreign.

“I know. I hate myself for making you feel that way. I can’t forgive myself for that.” He shook his head slowly, as though to emphasize the depth of his regret. “I messed up. I messed everything up.”

“Then be clearer, Joel.” Your voice cracked on his name, and you hated how fragile it sounded. 

He ran a hand over his chin, staring at you with an expression that was unreadable but intense, his fingers pressing into the stubble on his jaw. He exhaled, licking his lips, and it was as if the words were something he’d been rehearsing, something he’d said to himself over and over but couldn’t say until now.

“I lied to you. And then I acted like an asshole when you found out,” he said, the words halting and heavy. “I’m sorry. I felt cornered when you found out about Sienna, and i reacted defensively.” The name slipped out reluctantly, and you felt a sharp pang at the sound of it. “I felt weird, and I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I know this is my fault—all of it is. If I’d just left when you asked me to... God, you asked me so many times. If I had left, none of this would have happened.” He shook his head, almost in disbelief at himself. “But I didn’t. And I ruined it.”

Sienna. The name hung in the air, thickening the silence between you. It sat heavy in your chest, like a stone. You tried to picture her, tried to put a face to the name, but the image wouldn’t come; your mind was racing too fast.

A warmth crept down your spine as Joel’s words landed, heavy, final. You sat with the silence for a moment, like you were stealing a few extra seconds from time to filter through what he’d just said, to let the meaning sift in slowly. He regretted it—this, everything. That was why he’d left in the morning, why he’d ignored you for days, why he couldn’t hold your gaze now. His eyes stayed down, fixed on the floor, while yours were betraying you, welling up without permission.

“You ruined it,” you whispered, echoing his words more to yourself than to him, taking them in and feeling their weight. But Joel must’ve thought you meant it, that you agreed with his confession. He winced slightly, like he’d been stung. “You regret it. Now what?”

He swallowed, his eyes still cast down.

“Now, now I don’t know,” he muttered. It sounded like a confession, like the last thing he wanted to admit. “But we have to fix it somehow.”

Fix it. Joel had always fixed things; it was almost second nature to him. Floors, windows, cabinets, the bench in your backyard that he’d broken one night when he stood on it, laughing, doing something you couldn’t even remember now. Joel fixed anything broken or cracked or worn down, anything that wasn’t how it should be. And now, that’s what he thought you were—something to be mended.

Your throat tightened, and you felt your eyes sting as a tear escaped, soft and warm on your cheek.

“Do you want us to pretend nothing happened?” you asked, your voice low but clear, cutting through the heaviness in the air.

“No,” he said, looking up quickly, like he was startled by the idea. When he saw your face, his brow twitched in concern. “No. But we can work it out; I know we can. We have to.”

You laughed, short and sharp, a hollow sound that escaped before you could think. You shook your head, as the irony hit you—how he thought he could repair something like this, as if he could slot you both back together seamlessly, like nothing was shattered, like no pieces were missing.

“How, Joel?” you asked, your voice tinged with exasperation, though your lips held a half-smile—an odd defense that barely softened the ache. “How am I supposed to act as if this never happened?”

He clasped his hands, his fingers moving restlessly against each other as he took in your words, his face an irritating calm that made you feel exposed, like you were some unpredictable force he needed to steady. When he finally spoke, his voice softened, though there was a tiny thread of frustration just barely visible.

“I’m not asking you to pretend or act, not at all,” he said, and the slight waver in his voice hinted at some urgency he was struggling to mask. “I just… we’re adults, you know? And sometimes things get messy. It doesn’t make it… doesn’t mean it was meant to be. It was just a mistake. That’s not who we are, you and I.”

“A mistake?” you echoed, his words heavy on your tongue, repeating them to see if they would settle into meaning. But they felt as alien as they sounded, and Joel could see it. He shook his head gently, almost admonishing, catching the resistance etched across your face.

“Yes, a mistake,” he replied, almost chiding, and then he sank forward, his head resting in his hands. His eyes closed, and you couldn't tell , but he was replaying some private memory; you didn’t know how often he’d been revisiting it in his mind—how his thoughts had kept catching on the feel of your skin, the taste of you, the soft pull of your fingers in his hair, the unmistakable sense of being surrounded by you: tight, warm, everywhere. Too much. It was a memory he couldn’t shake, and one that, in his mind, he had to. It was a torture that needed to stop.

He drew in a deep breath and looked up. “We can’t go there, not you and me. That’s not us.”

You leaned forward, heart pounding, voice edged with something sharper than before.

“A mistake?” you repeated, but this time louder, any hint of softness dissolving as it turned to raw anger. “What the hell, Joel?”

“That’s exactly what it was,” he started, his voice tentative, as if he were trying to convince you of something you didn’t want to believe. “We were arguing, a little drunk, and in the heat of the moment, things just… got out of hand—”

“Stop it.” Your interruption came out firm, a sharp edge cutting through the air between you. Joel froze, his gaze locking onto yours, as if you had just thrown a switch. “You know perfectly well that’s not what happened. If I remember correctly, we barely finished a bottle of wine, and you need a lot more than that to get drunk, don’t you?”

“I was mad,” he insisted, his voice rising slightly, a mix of defensiveness and frustration swirling in his tone. “I was angry, and you were teasing me with all those—”

“Bullshit.” The word slipped out with a fierceness that surprised even you. You shifted closer, locking your gaze onto his, making it impossible for him to look away. “We both know what happened wasn’t just a result of some drunken argument. You were angry, yes, and so was I, but it was still you and me.”

Joel shook his head slowly, exasperation spilling from him like a tide. He scrubbed his face with both hands, a gesture of weariness that spoke volumes about the struggle playing out in his mind.

“So what do you want me to tell you then?” he blurted, his frustration breaking through the surface, his voice loud enough to echo in your ears. “That I got carried away? That I completely screwed up and regret everything?”

At that, you felt a jolt of emotion surge through you. You sprang up from the couch, taking several steps back as if creating distance could shield you from the reality of what he was saying. You turned away, unable to hide the tears that had begun their silent descent down your cheeks. The worst suspicions you had harbored were confirmed; he was sorry, miserable at the thought of having touched you, and that thought cut deeper than you expected.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you spat, the words sharp and raw as you wiped your face with the sleeve of your pajamas. It was a pitiful gesture, but it felt like the only way to wipe away the emotional mess he had stirred up inside you. “Fuck off and leave me alone.”

“No,” he blurted out, the word escaping him almost like a plea. He sprang from his seat, crossing the space between you in just a few strides, desperation etched into the lines of his face. “Please, sunshine, please, we can fix this. We just need to talk it out and give it a little time—”

“Don’t ever call me that again.” The demand tumbled from your lips, cutting through the air with an urgency that surprised even you. You saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes, how your words landed like stones against his heart. “Don’t ever call me that again, Joel. I don’t want to listen to you. I can’t pretend this has a solution because, honestly, I don’t feel like there is one. You don't realize what's going on, do you? Or you're just too stubborn to do it, as usual, Joel, you're always so fucking stubborn about everything.”

“What do you want me to do?” His voice strained, as if he were grasping at straws, desperate for a lifeline.

“Nothing!” The word burst from you, frustration boiling over until it turned into a sob you wished you could swallow back. The tears threatened to overflow, blurring your vision and your resolve.

“Tell me what I can do, and I’ll do it. I—”

“Stop it, Joel.”

He reached out, his hand hovering in the air between you like a promise hanging unfulfilled. But you took a quick step back, your back hitting the wall with a thud that echoed in the silence, an absurd reminder of how trapped you felt in this moment.

What did you want him to do? To turn back time; not to leave your bed, to reciprocate for at least a few minutes more, to pretend it was okay, to lie to you at least. But that wasn't possible, and suddenly, the quiet sturdy house you had lived in all these years, hiding your feelings for your own good, had now collapsed.

Joel stared at you for a few seconds, his silence stretching between you like a taut wire ready to snap. You could see the shift in his expression, the way it softened and crumbled, no longer the confident facade he usually wore. Instead, he looked downcast, a man weighed down by burdens that felt alien to you, yet you could sense the depth of his struggle. Or so you thought.

Then, your name slipped from his lips like a broken prayer, fragile and desperate.

“I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you,” he implored, his voice wavering with an urgency that made your heart twist. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. Please listen to me, just for one more moment.”

In that instant, his words pierced through your defenses, sinking deep into your chest and igniting a flicker of hope. For a heartbeat, you were on the verge of rushing to him, promising that everything would be okay, that you could forget the hurt and revert to the easy laughter and shared secrets of before. You could stash away all your feelings, pack them neatly into boxes, and hide them away forever just to keep him close. But reality loomed over you like a storm cloud, and you knew that was no longer an option; everything had irrevocably shifted. You couldn't bear to look at him without feeling the sharp sting of heartbreak.

Swallowing hard, you tasted the salt of your tears, and it burned your throat like an unwelcome reminder of the turmoil within.

“I’m not sure I can be your friend anymore, Joel,” you confessed, your voice shaking with the weight of your admission.

He shook his head, disbelief flashing across his features as a weak smile broke through the hurt. It was as if he couldn’t quite fathom the words that had just escaped you.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” you asserted, each syllable a battle against the rawness in your chest.

“No, you don’t,” he countered, stepping back just inches, his tone laced with incredulity. The mocking sneer that crept onto his face felt more like a mask than a reflection of his true feelings, and yet, the moisture pooling in his eyes betrayed the battle raging within him.

You regarded him in silence, the atmosphere thickening with unspoken words as you watched his smile fade into something that was almost painful. It twisted his features, morphing into a look of discomfort that hung between you like an unsaid apology. He remained still, his gaze locked onto yours, waiting for you to break the tension with a word or a gesture. The sight of him like that burned inside you, igniting a longing to rewind time, to swallow your questions, to let him live his life free from the weight of your curiosity and the tangled feelings that had blossomed between you. But that wasn’t an option; the reality of your situation loomed large and unavoidable. You had to confront the truth: he didn’t feel the same way about you, and for him, sleeping with you felt like a transgression, a sin, a burden he couldn’t carry.

“Joel, please,” you began, your voice cracking under the pressure of your emotions. A tear slipped down your cheek, salty and bitter, tasting of the anguish that your words carried. “I can’t be your friend anymore. I can’t do this. I’m sorry, I really am, but you’re breaking my—” You hesitated, swallowing hard against the swell of grief that threatened to overwhelm you. “I think this is over.”

His eyes darted between yours, searching for the meaning behind your confession, as if trying to decode the gravity of your words. A flicker of something—perhaps understanding or denial—crossed his face before a semblance of a smile returned, albeit a strained one. He nodded gently, his gaze dropping to the floor, avoiding your eyes as if he were trying to hide from the truth that hung in the air between you.

In that moment, an overwhelming impulse surged within you—a fierce desire to bridge the chasm that had opened between you, to run to him, to tangle your fingers in his hair, to pull him close and make everything right again. You wanted to erase the pain, to heal the wounds that you both had inflicted.

But you didn't. You held back in silence waiting for him to move first. And when he looked up and fixed his eyes for the last time on you, you knew you were right: nothing would ever be the same, ever again, for when he turned on his heel and finally left without another word, your whole world fell at your feet.  It was over. 

-

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @cosmic006533-blog @doblasftcisco @maiyart @concrete-jungleeee @playboygirlsnextdoor00 @maryfanson @rosebuds-and-moonlight @the-universe-is-complicated @formulafun @chewie-bars @glizzymcguirex @pedroswife69 @ivoryandflame @dixonswingz @sarahhxx03 @mellymbee @dailyobsession @msmorningstaarr @mystickittytaco @xxreginaxx @marellabyr @spacegirl-3 @alrihhty @heheheilovepedro @svrgs-blog @94namkooksworld @puddles221b

[moonstruckme]

Thawing Out

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, smut mndi, chronic pain mention, I always feel like my confessions are awk so sorry if you think this one is too

note for minors: a lot of this chapter is smut, but you can read up until the red line without worrying about it. There's no summary this time because it really is just smut for smut's sake and all the character development happens before it starts, so you won't need it for the plot. There is one vague mention of boners before the red line (sorry it's just for a laugh), but that's it

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 3.2k words

You catch on quickly to what’s happened between Sirius and Remus. What you don’t understand is why they’ve interrupted it to come talk to you. And how you could be wrong twice—do they cancel out if you were truly right the first time? 

Clearly, the chemistry you’d felt between Remus and Sirius wasn’t imagined. You’d convinced yourself you must’ve gotten your wires crossed—otherwise why would Remus have kissed you?—but evidently they’ve come to some sort of agreement. Are they here to ask for your permission? Intra-team fornicating: approved. 

You’re not sure if you wish they’d waited until they were less hard to pop by. 

“Um.” You keep your eyes very intentionally on the boys’ faces. “What’s up?” 

Sirius looks almost nervous, skittish even, but Remus’ hand wraps around his to pull him closer to your doorway. Your heart does something funny in your chest. 

“Could we talk?” Sirius asks. 

“Er…yeah. Of course.” You step aside, letting them into your small room. Remus sits politely on the edge of your bed, giving you deja vu from the night before, while Sirius makes himself comfortable further back. He leans his side into your pillow where it’s propped up on the wall. 

“We were talking,” starts Remus, “and I told Sirius about what happened between us.” 

Your next breath seems to come slower. Unwillingly, your gaze flits to Sirius, but he looks impassive, only like he might be scrutinizing you in turn. You look back at Remus. “You did?” 

“I did,” he says gently. “But it wasn’t—” 

“Babe,” Sirius interrupts, “don’t look so freaked. What’s the matter? And why are you still standing there?” 

You realize you’re hugging yourself around your middle, standing awkwardly in front of the bed. “I’m not sure it’s meant to hold three people,” you say weakly. 

Sirius snorts, whatever nervousness he’d arrived with vanishing. Sirius has always been good this way; he can only ever panic when no one else is, but the second you’re panicking too he’s all ease. 

“Don’t be silly.” He pats the space between himself and Remus. It’s as ample as the bed allows, which isn’t saying much. “It’ll be fine. Anyway, it’s your bed.” 

You can’t think of a good reason to argue. Something in you calms as you settle in between them, Sirius’ hip touching yours and the warmth of Remus’ body on your other side. It’s familiar, safe. 

“Are you upset?” you ask Sirius. 

His brows pinch. “Why would I be?” 

“Because…” You cringe. “Aren’t you two…?”

“There’s been a lot of confusion, I think,” Remus says kindly. “But when we were talking, we both sort of came to the realization that we fancy each other…and you.” 

There’s a dense pause. 

“And me?” you echo. 

Remus’ lips tilt slightly. “Yes.” 

“As in…” You rub your eyes, dumbfounded. “Sorry, I did just wake up.” 

Sirius laughs. Remus too, reaching over to rub your knee like he can’t help himself. 

“For the record, I didn’t plan any of this,” says Sirius, “but if I had, I’d have done it exactly this way. It’s very gratifying to finally disturb your sleep schedules the way you pricks have been doing to me all these weeks.” 

“Oi,” Remus chides teasingly, reaching over you to push at Sirius’ thigh. You marvel at this new easiness between them, now given even newer context. “Anyway, we thought we’d come see if you might be interested.” 

“In…you.” You rub your lips together, looking between them and noticing Sirius’ gaze has fallen to your mouth. Unless you’re terribly mistaken and you’ve got it all wrong, this means he fancies you as well. Your partner, your best friend. 

The idea isn’t as upsetting as it ought to be. 

Do you fancy him too? You’ve never thought about Sirius in that way. You love him, of course, but you’ve never taken the time to parse out if it might be a different sort of love than the kind between friends. And as for the rest—well, who wouldn’t be attracted to Sirius? You’re only human. 

“In both of us, yes,” Remus confirms patiently. 

“Is that something you’d be into?” Sirius asks. 

Your answer leaves you on a breath, thoughtless but true. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah?” Sirius grins. 

You nod. You’re suddenly fixated by the way his cupid’s bow flattens out when he smiles like that. It’s something you’ve noticed a thousand times before, but now…

“Yeah,” you say again. “Um…what do we do?” 

Remus chuckles. “I don’t really know. I’ve not been with two people before.” 

“Believe it or not, this is a first for me as well,” Sirius says lightly. 

“Right,” you laugh. It breaks up some of the apprehension in your chest. 

“If you want to,” Remus’ voice softens, “I suppose you could start by kissing him.” 

You look at him, then at Sirius. For the first time, something like insecurity flashes across his face. 

“You don’t have to,” he says quietly. No longer the brazen flirt, but the kind, considerate boy you know. “It’s okay.” 

“I know,” you reply. 

It’s like he’s afraid to touch you until you get to him. You steady yourself with a hand on his jaw, your other pressing into the mattress as you lean towards where he’s reclined against your pillow and bring your lips to his. 

You know all the ways that Sirius moves, and even this new, completely uncharted part of him is consistent. Sirius’ kisses start out slow, probing, feeling out what you like and what he can do, but then he gives himself over to it. His hands find first your hips, urging you closer to him before one slides to the small of your back. Greedy fingers curl in the fabric of your pajama top. 

You make a small, accidental sound in the back of your throat when his teeth tease your bottom lip, and Sirius pulls away. You’re both breathing hard. 

Sirius stares at you for a weighted moment before his eyes drift behind you and he huffs out a laugh. “Enjoyed that, did you?” 

You look over your shoulder, and Remus is watching you both with a low flame burning in his gaze. He flushes a tad at the question but his expression doesn’t change. He leans forward, kissing you, tasting Sirius on your lips. 

───────────────────────────────────────────

The three of you don’t need to speak much to communicate. Remus pulls you back into him, his length hardening against your ass, and Sirius follows. He kisses Remus over your shoulder with a relieved sort of sigh. All the while, his hands are roving your thighs, pushing up your pajama shorts until they crease and pinch at your crotch. 

You exhale and tilt your head to the side when Remus drops his lips to your neck. “We have a competition tomorrow,” you remind them both. “We ought to be resting up.” 

You feel Sirius’ grin as he brings his mouth to yours again. “Yup.” He nips your bottom lip. “I’m aware this is a bad idea.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t condone it,” Remus agrees, one hand covering your ribs while the other sneaks down to tease the waist of your pajama shorts.Your poor shorts are being attacked from both sides. “How far do you want to go?” 

Sirius pulls his lips from yours to watch you think. They still tingle, and you rub them together unconsciously. His eyes darken. 

“You drive me mad when you do that,” he says. 

“Do what?” 

Sirius’ mouth kicks up at the corner. He brings his thumb to your lower lip, pressing down on it gently. His own lips are swollen and gleaming prettily with spit, eyes nearly all pupil. Remus’ hand strokes lazily at your side. 

“I want to go as far as you guys want to,” you say without breaking Sirius’ gaze. 

His grin widens, and he looks at Remus, shrugging. “We could just go until somebody says stop.” 

“Alright,” says Remus. One of his hands leaves you, finger hooking in the waist of Sirius’ trousers. “Can we take these off, then?” 

Sirius isn’t shy, but you didn’t think he would be. He sits up on his knees and pulls them down, letting Remus help them over his ankles before they’re discarded in a heap on the floor. Remus gets rid of his too, and then you’re staring at the outlines of both boys through the far thinner material of their underwear. 

Remus ghosts a touch over Sirius’ cock, making the other boy’s expression pinch with want, before pulling down the waistband. Lithe, graceful muscles and hip bones curving inwards. Sirius curses as Remus’ long fingers wrap around him. 

Remus pumps slowly, his own arousal an insistent heat at your hip. You find your attention torn between the feeling of his body against your backside and the sultry droop of Sirius’ eyelids as he watches Remus work his cock. 

“Doesn’t he look pretty?” Remus murmurs. 

It takes you a second to realize he’s speaking to you. “Yeah.” Your mouth feels dry. You swallow, and watch as Sirius’ eyes flit up to the motion. “He always does.” 

Remus hums in agreement, pressing a light kiss to an exposed bit of skin beside the neckline of your top. “Do you want to try, lovely?” 

You turn your head to look at him. Remus’ eyes are glued to Sirius. “What about you?” 

A chuckle, and another soft kiss to your shoulder. “I’ll be alright.” 

Remus waits until your hand is around Sirius’ shaft, pumping a couple times against his own fist, before letting go. You choose a slightly less languid pace than Remus had. Sirius twitches in your grasp, taking your face in his hands and setting his lips to yours with a muffled groan. 

Behind you, Remus moves closer until his length is pressed against your ass. One of his hands steadies you by the hip while the other dips below the waistband of your shorts, palming you through your underwear. You shift, and he hisses when you move against him. 

You turn your head on instinct, Sirius’ lips smudging across your cheek. “Sorry.” 

“It’s alright.” Remus’ voice is breathy, amused. “You just surprised me.” 

“What’d she do?” Sirius is never one to be left out of the loop. 

“Just backed into me.” 

“Oh. Gorgeous,” he smiles, turning you by the chin to capture your lips again, “who wouldn’t want that?” 

Their praise soon has you devolving into a thoughtless, sensory creature. Sirius’ hands caress your face and neck and Remus’ fingers brush your panties aside to toy with your cunt. Every movement of your hips makes him push more insistently against you. Your shirt comes off, Remus dotting your shoulders with sweet kisses. Your grip tightens on Sirius’ cock, and a low, needy sound tears out of him. 

“Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart. Just like that.” 

Your heart flutters at the endearment, but you don’t let your movements stall. Soon he’s pushing his hips into your hand, kisses turning messy and desperate, your own sounds harder to suppress as Remus bullies your clit with two fingers. You’re glad to know at least Sirius’ room is empty on your other side, because you’re beginning to wonder how thick these walls are. Remus pushes his length into the crease between your asscheeks through your shorts, Sirius’ cock beginning to twitch in your hand, and you press your lips together to contain a sound that promises to be both loud and mortifying—and the bed collapses. 

You fall backwards onto Remus as the cardboard on his end gives out, sending all three of you to the floor. Sirius’ teeth knock into yours and Remus catches you around the waist with both hands, keeping you from fully sitting on his hard cock. 

“Fuck.” Sirius brings a hand to his mouth. “What the fuck?” 

“Oh, shit.” You scramble away from Remus, onto the floor. Both boys look at you in alarm. You’re looking to where Remus’ leg is bent underneath him, not at a terribly cruel angle, but still— “Your hip. Is your hip okay?” 

“Oh.” Remus glances down as though he’s forgotten it himself, realization dawning over his features. 

“Fuck,” Sirius breaths, remembering as well. His hand moves toward Remus but lingers in the air, afraid of hurting him. 

“It’s…yeah, it’s okay,” says Remus. His eyes meet yours. “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt.” 

Sirius’ brows pinch, but his hand makes it the rest of the way, rubbing tentatively over Remus’ hip joint. “Are you sure?” 

Remus shifts slowly, sitting up off his knees to move closer to Sirius. “I’m sure.” A little smile graces his lips. “You worried about me, Pads?” 

Sirius’ face splits in the sort of grin you can only ever surprise out of him. “Fuck off,” he laughs, pushing Remus away when he tries to kiss him. Remus catches Sirius’ hands, his own smile unfurling slowly, almost unwillingly. It makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“How sweet,” he hums, smug. 

You find yourself smiling at them both, your heart a balloon in your chest. 

“Okay.” You give the mattress a little tug. “In that case, could you guys get off?”

“What’re you doing?” Remus asks. Both he and Sirius move. 

“Having this on a slant doesn’t seem like a good idea, so I’m moving it.” 

It should be awkward, this break in the tension, but maybe it’s because you’re so used to working as a team that it isn’t. You all get the mattress situated on the floor, and then you’re dragging Remus’ underwear off, his hands moving kind and doting over the lengths of your arms. He inhales a small breath as Sirius takes his cock into his mouth. 

You watch Sirius’ lips move up and down his shaft, his eyes dark and growing shiny as he takes Remus as far as he can. You aren’t quite sure how to contribute, but when you rub the inside of Sirius’ thigh tentatively both boys moan. You take that to mean you’re on the right track. 

The muscles in Sirius’ back flex as he raises and lowers his head between Remus’ legs, mouth growing wet with spit and slick, and it’s not long before Remus’ fingers are curling in Sirius’ hair, curses spewing from between his lips in a Welsh accent you’ve not heard before. You can’t help but follow them back to the source, kissing Remus just before he cums down Sirius’ throat. He grips you by the arms with something like desperation. You’re happy to stay as the tension unwinds from his body, until his hands are moving down you, smoothing across the skin just above the waistband of your shorts. 

“Are you planning on keeping those on all night?” 

It’s Sirius who asks, his gaze sultry as he watches Remus’ finger skim just underneath the fabric covering your ass. He wipes the corner of his mouth with a thumb. 

“How’s this?” Remus suggests. He pulls you gently into his lap, situating you between his legs with your back against his chest. Again, you can feel the impression of him pressed against your backside. 

Your voice comes out weak. “This is good.” 

He chuckles, soothing a hand down your side while Sirius grins. Sirius’ fingers grasp the elastics of both your shorts and your underwear. “Okay?” he asks you. 

You nod. 

He takes his time working them down your legs and off your ankles, his eyes locking on your exposed cunt and the arousal Remus has coaxed out of you already. Remus, too, is watching over your shoulder. His fingers gravitate back to it, dragging slick up through your folds idly, almost worshipfully. He kisses behind your ear. 

“Fuck, you’re lovely,” says Sirius. 

Both boys’ gazes stay glued to your cunt as Sirius positions himself over you, pushing into your warmth. You bite down on a small sound. Remus tuts at you, his hand spreading reassuringly over your navel. 

“You can do better than that,” he chides. “Don’t think we don’t want to hear you.” 

Sirius holds your hips as he sinks into you. His fingers dent your flesh, and you marvel at the fact that you’ve wasted so much time not doing this. That you’ve ever been in a room with either Remus or Sirius and managed not to kiss them dizzy. You’re not sure you’ll be able to manage it again. 

Remus draws slow, tight circles around your clit with his finger. You arch your neck back onto his shoulder, and Sirius groans as you tighten on him. 

“God—you’re so perfect,” he says hoarsely. “You feel so good.” 

Your reply gets lost on a lewd sound as he drags his cock along your walls. Remus kisses you rewardingly in the soft skin underneath your ear. “There you are,” he says. “Good girl.” 

Warmth unfurls through your gut. 

Sirius grins whatever reaction must show up on your face, his hands migrating to your ass as he thrusts into you. As he gets rougher, so do Remus’ ministrations to your clit, his slow circles turning quick and jagged. You feel yourself tighten on Sirius in little flutters that have him gripping you tight enough to leave fingerprint bruises. 

“Fuck, like that, yeah. Just like that, baby.” 

Your lips part at the pet name and Sirius’ eyes flick up to yours like he’s surprised too, like he’s let slip something he didn’t mean to. But you say, “come here,” and he goes, leaning over you to let you take his face in your hands and kiss him until you can’t breathe. 

Remus feels your high approaching before you do. His free hand smooths over the inside of your twitching thigh. 

“Are you close?” he asks you. 

Sirius parts his lips from yours, looking down to see the confirmation on your face. You give it.

“Good,” he says, picking up his pace, “good, sweetheart, that’s it. Cum for me, yeah? I’ve got you.” 

You nearly bite your lip in half when you do, Remus tsking amusedly and kissing your neck while the tightening of your cunt threatens to send Sirius over the edge as well. He starts to pull out of you, but you grab his hand. 

“It’s okay,” you manage. “In me.” 

“Really?” he asks in a strangled voice. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I wanna feel it.” 

That’s all it takes. Sirius’ expression pinches like you’ve said something cruel as he thrusts into you one last time, a shock that reverberates through you as he warms you from the inside out. He’s rigid for a few seconds before tipping forward, his head to your shoulder and to Remus' chest, which you’ve slipped down without noticing. His breath fans softly over your skin. 

Remus rubs your thigh comfortingly and with his other hand pets down Sirius’ hair, cupping his flushed cheek. “Alright, love?” he asks. 

Sirius’ blush seems to worsen. “Yeah. You?” 

“More than.” Remus kisses his head. 

It’s only after a few seconds of silence that you realize Remus’ question was posed to the both of you. 

“That was…” you shake your head, at a loss “...fantastic.” 

“Yeah?” Sirius nudges his nose into your skin. “I thought so.” 

Remus’ chuckle rumbles through all three of you. “Cocky,” he says fondly. 

“And decent enough with it, by all reports.” 

It starts up a round of sweet, half teasing kisses Sirius pretends to want to escape despite making no real efforts to do so. You give and receive plenty of your own, until not just your lips and shoulders but many other parts of you are wet with spit and slick. You fall asleep all three on a twin mattress on the floor, your head on Remus’ chest and Sirius’ arms wound around your middle. It might be the best sleep you’ve ever had.

[chososcamgirl]

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER EIGHT: choose your fighter!

masterlist

She tossed her phone onto the bed, the sound echoing in the silence of the room, and buried her face in her hands, a deep sigh escaping her lips. Why couldn’t her friends find it in themselves to be happy for her? Sukuna had his flaws—plenty of them—but so did she. They had both stumbled through their relationship and while she didn’t want to return to that tumultuous past, the ache of loneliness was becoming harder to ignore.

She thought about the way he made her feel, the intoxicating blend of exhilaration and vulnerability that surged through her in his presence. His touch was a sanctuary, enveloping her in the warmth that felt both safe and electric as if every heartbeat synchronised with the unspoken connection they shared. It was in those moments that she felt seen, cherished, and undeniably alive; yet the aftertaste of that sweetness was often tainted by his erratic behaviour.

God, why did he have to be such a cunt? If only he had shown a hint of consideration, if only he hadn't allowed his insecurities to seep into their moments together, this decision would have been made hours ago. She could have stepped forward with clarity instead of being mired in confusion, torn between the yearning for his touch and the frustration of his thoughtlessness. Each time she recalled the warmth of his embrace, it came with the sharp sting of disappointment, a reminder that the comfort he offered was often shadowed by his lack of commitment.

It was a painful paradox-craving his closeness while grappling with the reality of his emotional distance. In that swirling tumult of feelings, she found herself caught in an endless cycle of hope and disillusionment, desperate for a resolution that would allow her to either embrace him in a way that wouldn’t leave her feeling like shit.

Her thoughts shifted to Megumi. He had offered in a way that made her heart race, the implication lingering like a whisper. She bit her lip, contemplating the choice before her. Megumi would be a far better option than Sukuna; he had a steadiness about him that she found comforting.

Flipping onto her stomach, she buried her face in the pillow, muffling a scream of frustration. Here she was, torn between dignity and desire. Should she text Sukuna and risk reopening old wounds, or reach out to Megumi and swallow her pride? The options felt like a cruel joke—two paths that led to equally undesirable destinations. Yet, amidst the chaos, she understood one thing: sometimes a girl had to make choices that didn’t feel right, simply to find a moment of solace in the storm.

Finally, she raised her head from the indent in the pillow, her thoughts swirling with a mix of reluctance and resignation. Swallowing her pride—and the certainty that she would regret this moment later—she reached for her phone, fingers trembling slightly as she opened iMessage. The soft, rhythmic clicks of the keyboard filled the quiet room as she typed one of the most clichéd and overused lines of the 21st century, a phrase as worn as her emotions felt.

Her finger hovered over the “send” button, a moment stretching into what felt like an eternity. With a heavy breath, she finally succumbed to the impulse and pressed it.

Read at: 9:47 PM

Well, that was fast. Had he been waiting for her to text him all along? The notification blinked before her, a stark reminder of her vulnerability and the tangled web of choices she had woven. A mixture of anticipation and dread coursed through her, leaving her to wonder if this moment would be the beginning of something new—or a replay of the past.

extras!

• the enemies to lovers is STRONG in this chapter

• honorary toge brainrot reference

• more cameos (also guys please do not ask for a cameo bc it’s filling up my inbox😭 in the most nicest way possible just let it be please <3 if i want you to be featured i will, keep in mind not every chapter will have a cameo)

• more stsg propaganda because THEYRE CANON IDC

• yuta being whipped part 73

• yuji def put all the new fans onto his fav horror movie recs (hereditary and i am legend)

• the girls are FIGHTINGGG (and not in a good way)

• yn being a bitch to maki on GOD she’s pissing me off like why is yn putting dick first

• maki being nothing but sweetheart part 119

• nobara cooking us #wedeserveit

• maki left the apartment and went to yuta’s after for some… therapy 😊

• WHO DID WE TEXT GUYS… MEGUMI OR SUKUNA?? FIND OUT *looks at watch* NEXT WEEK! 🫵

a/n: i’m really edging you guys with the last part THIS IS SO FUN😭😭 take your vote now! did we cave into daddykuna’s text.. or did we say fuck it and text megumi.. find out in 6 days!! <3 this was also probably my favourite chapter to write so far GUYS ITS JUST GETTING STARTED

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[logoleptic-since-06]

Every Corner of This House is Haunted

Pairing: Kento Nanami x Fem!Reader Content: Fem!Reader, Marriage in Crisis, Angst, Profanity, Reader and Nanami are in their 30s, Not Proofread

Chapter I ■ Chapter II ■ Chapter III ■ Chapter IV ■ Chapter V ■ Chapter VI ■ Chapter VII

Listen to this for the full experience.

9:03 AM

2:17 PM

1:32 AM

8:26 AM

As you open the door, you find Kento barely being able to stand, exhausted and overwhelmed. 

“Hi,” he breathes out, his eyes twinkling with hope.

Your expression holds no warmth. “You’re pathetic and an idiot.”

“I’ll be whatever you ask me to be, Y/N, please forgive me.”

You ignore his cries and head to the kitchen and he follows you like a lost puppy.

“Y/N?” he calls out confused as you begin to make scrambled eggs. 

“Why did you not go to work yesterday?” you ask as you almost finish cooking.

“I told you I wasn’t leaving until you talked to me.”

“Fine,” you serve him a plate. “Talk.”

He looks at you, his eyes flooded with guilt and regret. “I’m so so sorry, love. I was in a very important meeting that night and–”

“See, that’s the problem, isn’t it, Kento?” you cut him off, crossing your arms. “Even if I come home with you now, you will never choose me over your work.”

“That’s not true.”

“But it is. It has been for the past few years.”

“And I plan on making it better, love, trust me,” he comes closer and touches your face, and for some reason, you let him. How long has it been since your lips met? You can’t remember. But his breath against the skin of your neck feels good. When he finally kisses you, there’s no spark, but rather a calm breeze, like the solace of home. Your lips move rhythmically, a choreography you both have mastered years ago, a form that’s engraved in your minds like muscle memory.

You moan into his mouth as he slides one arm around your waist, pulling you closer. He trails his kisses down to your neck. “Missed you so much,” he says between his kisses, making you snap into your consciousness.

“Kento, stop.”

“Please, let me do this.”

“No, Kento, stop.” You refuse to lose your self worth to the comfort of familiarity. “I deserve someone who will cherish me without me begging for it, someone who won’t need me gone to realise my true worth.”

“And I’m willing to be that someone, I–”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean!” you snap. “I know you, Kento.”

“Y/N–”

“You wanted to talk, so we did,” you move past him and open the front door, signalling him out. “I will send you the divorce papers soon.”

A/N: Are the SMAUs too confusing to understand?

Tags: @itsafairytalekay  @qualitygiantshoepsychic  @uzuimirika  @coffeeandcrimeshows  @lov3vivian  @lady-of-blossoms  @lavenderdaydream97  @gigiiiiislife  @yeehawbrothers  @heartsforkento  @loveliest-ghostwriter  @darkstudentsaladbakery  @for-hearthand-home

(hope I didn't miss any)

[melancholy-of-nadia]

the a(myg)dala (explicit) | myg

title: the a(myg)dala (explicit) - series pairing: mafia leader/detective! agust d x right handman! f. reader ; gang leader! yoongi x right handman! f. reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , thriller , smut ; haegeum au , my agustdverse summary: You wake up in a lavish bedroom with no recollection of memories of who you are. The only person who holds the key to this mystery is the owner of the house, Agust D, a mafia boss masquerading as a police detective. He claims you’re his right hand (wo)man and that he needs to protect you from someone who’s after you, as well as a treasure he’s searching for. With danger lurking and your memories a blank slate, can you trust Agust D to uncover the truth, or is there more to his story than meets the eye? note: i have been planning this in my head (like the delusional girly i am) since daechwita came out in 2020, but it wasn't until 2023 with the haegeum mv that it truly solidified me wanting to put together my thoughts to create this. i started out with Distraction and Infatuation as test one shots to gauge at the interest, and now it has lead me to create the first actual chapter of this series. this series is dedicated to my bestie the biggest yoongi smut luvr i know @daegudrama and to my favorite yoongi fic writers @jcoles and @theharrowing. also this is kinda unedited i apologize for any mistakes sndksfjladsafbjka i will edit later on. warnings: the following series is intended for a mature audience and may contain graphic language, graphic violence, weapons (guns/katana swords/chopsticks), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, gambling, murder, gang activity, memory loss/amnesia, sassy and on guard reader, unreliable characters, haegeum!agust d, haegeum!yoongi, tale of two MYGs technically, LMAO, TEAM SUGA! appearances as mafia men, assassins, slow burn, fight sequences, power imbalance, future smut scenes that may contain some bdsm elements, multiverse implications, tattoos, etc. drop date: october 29th, 2024, 9:00pm pst word count: 5.5k crossposted on ao3 – –

The world slowly comes into focus, the haze of unconsciousness lifting like a dissipating fog. You blink, your eyelids heavy as if weighed down by lead. The room around you is unfamiliar, dimly lit by a lamp on a nearby table. The scent of damp wood and something herbal lingers in the air. You try to move, but a sharp, throbbing pain in your head forces you to stay still.

Panic surges through you. Where are you? Why can’t you remember anything?

You glance around, the room’s details gradually becoming clearer. It is small and sparsely furnished, with wooden walls and a single window covered by a thick, faded curtain. But the strangest part is that you can't recall how you got here or what happened before. Your mind is blank, a void where your memories should be.

Well, almost blank.

Two things are certain in your mind: your name—whatever comfort that brings—and the image of a man, his face marked by a prominent scar, entering this very room. Yet, in the memory, the man looks different—his features more vivid, his clothing distinct. He is wearing a green jacket. You cling to that detail as if it were a lifeline in the sea of confusion.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the creaking of the wooden floor. You turn your head—slowly, cautiously—and see him. The man from your memory stands at the doorway, his expression a mix of concern and relief.

“You’re up? You’ve been asleep for a couple of days now.”

His voice is deep, carrying a warmth that contrasts with the sternness of his appearance. The scar on his face is unmistakable, and yet something about him seems off, like a piece of a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit.

“Who are—” you start to ask, but the words catch in your throat as a sudden, stabbing pain shoots through your temples. You wince, pressing a hand to your forehead as you try to steady your breathing.

The man’s eyes narrow, his concern deepening. “Easy, doll, don’t strain yourself. You’ve been through a lot.”

Doll?

His tone is soothing, but it only heightens your unease. Why does he look so familiar? And why does the memory of him in that green jacket feel so significant?

“I... I can’t remember… why can’t I remember?” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of your fear and confusion. “I can’t remember anything, except your face. But you looked different... the green jacket...”

The man frowns, clearly troubled by your words. He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if trying not to startle you.

“Listen,” he says gently, grasping your cheek. “You’ve been through something traumatic. It’s normal to feel disoriented. But you’re safe now, alright? We’ll figure this out together.”

His reassurance does little to ease the growing tension in your chest. As he speaks, you can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s something he isn’t telling you—something important that lies just beyond your grasp.

But for now, with your head pounding and your body weak, all you can do is nod and hope that the answers will come soon.

His phone rings, the sound slicing through the uneasy quiet of the room. The man glances at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before pulling the phone from his pocket. He answers it without a word, his face hardening as he listens to the person on the other end. After a tense moment, he turns away, stepping out of the room.

The door creaks shut behind him.

You wait, the minutes stretching into what feels like an eternity. Ten minutes pass, then thirty, and still, there is no sign of his return. Your unease grows. Why hasn’t he come back yet? What was that phone call about?

The room feels smaller, the walls closing in as your anxiety gnaws at you. You try to stay still, but the silence is suffocating. You need to get out of bed.

With some effort, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as your body protests the movement. Every muscle feels sore, as if you’ve been through something physically draining. Your feet touch the cool floor, and you slowly stand, swaying slightly as the room spins for a moment. Steadying yourself, you look around, eyes settling on the door.

You have to investigate. You need to understand what is happening.

Just as you take a step toward the door, it swings open with a soft creak. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as a new figure enters the room.

It is a woman, dressed sharply in a tailored black suit that contrasts her bright orange bob cut. She moves with an air of quiet confidence, her eyes locking onto yours with a steady, calm gaze. She seems close to your age, though something about her presence feels more mature, more composed.

“Hello,” she says, her voice smooth and professional. “My name is Adora. Apologies, as Mr. Agust had to step out unexpectedly, but he kept me up to speed with everything going on and told me to help care for you in the meantime.”

You blink, taking in her words, still processing the situation.

Mr. Agust? That’s his name?

Adora approaches the small table by the bed and sets down a neatly folded bundle of clothes. “I’ve brought you some clothes,” she adds, gesturing toward the bundle. “I imagine you’d want to change into something more comfortable.” She glances at you, wearing a white spaghetti-strapped nightgown. Yeah, you need to change out of this.

“Who… who is Mr. Agust?” you ask, your voice hoarse from disuse. The question has been burning in your mind ever since you woke up.

“Oh! The man who was just in here before me. Agust D,” she says happily. “He’s been looking after you since… well, since the incident.”

“The incident?” you repeat, confused. “What happened to me?”

Her smile fades, and a shadow of concern crosses her features. “I’m afraid that’s something only Mr. Agust can explain to you. He’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

She steps back, giving you space, and nods toward the clothes again. “Go ahead and take a shower before changing. I’ll wait outside if you need anything.”

And once again, you are left alone.

You grab the bundle of clothes, the fabric soft under your fingers as you unfold them. A white, long-sleeved collared shirt, a plaid skirt, and knee socks—an odd combination. Your brow furrows. Is this a school uniform? The thought seems out of place, considering everything else, but you push it aside. Right now, getting cleaned up and dressed feels like the first step toward reclaiming some control.

There is a small door beside your bed that leads to a bathroom. You open it and are greeted by a modest, clean space. The tiles are cool beneath your feet as you walk toward the shower. Your mind feels murky, still clouded by the lack of memory, and every detail around you seems both unfamiliar and strangely mundane at the same time.

As the hot water sprays down from the rain showerhead on the ceiling, you stand still for a moment, letting the warmth wash over you. It feels good, the steam wrapping around your sore muscles, loosening the tension that has built up since waking. Slowly, you begin to move, running your hands through your hair, watching the water swirl around your feet. You glance down at your body, your movements still careful, as though you fear something is waiting beneath the surface of your skin.

And then, you notice them—bruises. Small, fading marks dot your legs and arms, some yellowing at the edges, others still dark purple. Scrapes, too, healed over but unmistakable, mar your skin. You gently touch one on your forearm, wincing at the slight sting.

What happened to you? Frustration bubbles up inside you, making your throat tight. Every mark tells a story, a piece of the puzzle that should be obvious. But all you have are fragments, and none of them make sense.

You close your eyes, trying to summon any trace of a memory, something that could explain the bruises, the scrapes, the pain in your muscles. But there is nothing. Just emptiness.

Your hands shake slightly as you rinse off, the water turning from soothing to overwhelming. You finish quickly, the hot steam doing little to quell the storm of confusion and frustration rising within you.

Stepping out of the shower, you catch your reflection in the small, fogged-up mirror. You wipe it with your hand, staring at yourself, but the person staring back looks just as lost. No answers. No clarity.

With a sigh, you turn away and dry off, pulling on the strange outfit—first the crisp white shirt, then the plaid skirt and knee socks. The uniform fits well enough. Did you used to wear this before as well? You're left wondering too many things...

After slipping into a comfortable pair of slippers that you find beside the bed, you step out of the room for the first time. The hallway greets you with a soft, dim glow, revealing that evening has settled in. Shadows dance across the walls as you cautiously make your way forward.

Adora is sitting in a chair by your door, casually scrolling through her phone. At the sound of your footsteps, she looks up, her orange hair catching the light.

“Miss! All done? Do you need anything?” she asks, standing up swiftly with an attentive smile.

“Yeah, all done,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I just... want you to show me around. I’m having a little trouble recalling some things.” You hesitate, wary of revealing too much. If people know about your memory loss, they could use it against you. But surely Adora had been informed by Agust D beforehand, right?

Adora’s eyes softened. “No worries, Mr. Agust did mention this detail to me.”

You’re correct.

“I’ll show you around and get you updated on the things I’m cleared to inform you on,” she adds.

Cleared? The word hangs in the air, making you wonder just how much is being kept from you. Still, you nod. “That’s fine.”

Adora leads the way down the hall, and your tour begins. The mansion is far larger than you anticipate. As you move from room to room, it becomes clear that this place is no ordinary home. The architecture is grand, with high ceilings and long corridors lined with dark wood paneling and expensive-looking art. Every room seems carefully designed, exuding luxury and power.

Your bedroom is relatively simple compared to the rest of the mansion—modest in size with muted tones, though the bed is large and soft. Across the hall, Adora points out Mr. Agust’s room. Unlike yours, it is locked, and she makes no attempt to open it. The door itself is dark wood, with intricate carvings around the frame. You can only imagine what is inside.

Next, she leads you to his office. It’s a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a grand desk made of polished mahogany, and a large window overlooking a courtyard. Papers and files are neatly stacked on the desk, though Adora makes no comment about what they contain. The room has an air of importance, almost like a command center.

The kitchen and dining area are expansive. The kitchen, spotless and gleaming, is staffed with a few workers who nod politely as you pass. The dining room is more formal, with a long table capable of seating at least a dozen people. Crystal chandeliers hang overhead, casting warm light across the room.

The living room is one of the most impressive spaces—a large, open area with plush leather sofas, a marble fireplace, and a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The windows here are larger, revealing a darkening city skyline.

“Where are we?”

“We’re in Bangkok. Thailand.”

Bangkok? You know what that place is, but it’s not a location you expected to be in.

As you explore, you begin to notice more people moving through the mansion—mostly bodyguards, dressed in black and stationed at various points. Most of them seem to be Korean, their stoic expressions and quiet movements blending into the background. It’s strange to see so many of them here. A mansion in Thailand, filled with Koreans—it doesn’t add up.

Your curiosity gnaws at you, but you know Adora isn’t the right person to ask. Whatever this is, it feels delicate. You’ll have to wait for Mr. Agust.

After what feels like hours of walking through corridors and staircases, Adora finally leads you to the dining room, gesturing for you to sit at the long table.

“I received word that Mr. Agust has just arrived,” she says, offering you a gentle smile. “You’ll meet him here. The staff has set out some tea and desserts for you while you wait.”

You look at the table. A silver tray holds a pot of tea and an assortment of small pastries. The aroma is sweet and comforting, but the anticipation makes your hands tremble slightly as you reach for a cup and serve yourself some tea.

“I’ll come back to join you two, along with some of the other guards,” Adora continues. “Mr. Agust will be here shortly.”

Interesting. You’re not sure what to make of this situation.

The dining room grows quieter as you sit alone with your thoughts, nibbling on a cookie to stave off the nerves.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoes through the hallway outside the dining room. You freeze, your pulse quickening as the door swings open. A group of men enters, all dressed in dark suits, their expressions stern and composed. They move in unison, fanning out to take seats around the table, but one man stands out from the rest.

Agust D

He strides in with a commanding presence, his sharp eyes surveying the room as he walks. There’s an air of authority around him that makes the space feel smaller. His dark hair is slicked back, his expression unreadable as he takes the seat at the head of the table.

The sleeves of his shirt are stained red… You don’t want to know if that’s blood, but it’s the only thing you can assume.

 Adora re-enters the room soon after, gliding in with her usual grace. She takes her seat across from you, her calm demeanor unwavering as she folds her hands in front of her. The tension in the room is thick, though it seems invisible to her.

Agust turns to you, his gaze piercing but calm. "I hope you’re feeling a bit more settled," he says, his voice low and even.

Yeah, sure, settled, you think, fighting the urge to laugh. Settled is the last thing you feel in this... “house.” 

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of the room pressing down on you. “Yeah, I suppose,” you mutter, unsure how to respond. You reach for a cookie from the tray in front of you, more out of nervousness than actual hunger.

“I know this place might be overwhelming,” Agust continues, leaning back in his chair. “This is no ordinary home, as you’ve probably gathered by now.”

You swallow hard, the cookie crumbling slightly in your hands. No ordinary home is an understatement. The size, the guards, the secrecy—it all screams something far beyond the normal.

“To formally introduce myself, my name is Agust D. I’m the chief detective for the Asia-Pacific Police Force here in Bangkok. Comprised of officers from all Asia investigating international crime,” he says, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth as if daring you to believe him.

You nod slowly, though something about it doesn’t sit right with you. “That’s... interesting,” you begin carefully, “but I don’t think that’s all. There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“Smart girl. You’re sharp, I’ll give you that.” Agust’s eyes gleam, and a chuckle rumbles from his chest. “No, that’s not all.”

He leans forward slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. “I am a leader of this mafia family you’ve been seeing.”

Your hand freezes mid-bite, the cookie slipping from your fingers and falling onto the table. Your heart skips a beat. Mafia? Your mind races. Organized crime? How the hell did you get involved in something like this? Fear snakes up your spine as your hands begin to tremble slightly. You can feel your throat tightening, your body responding to the panic rising inside you.

Agust’s eyes soften just a fraction, as if sensing your fear. “Relax,” he says, his voice calm, almost reassuring. “I’m not going to hurt you... you’ve been working for me for quite some time before all of this, after all.”

“Working for you?” you echo, incredulous. None of this makes sense. You shake your head, unable to comprehend. “Me? I... I don’t think so. I mean why would I–”

Agust’s smile returns, and he leans back in his chair, his hand disappearing beneath the table. “It is you,” he says firmly, interrupting you. Without warning, he tosses something across the table.

You flinch, instinctively reaching out to catch it—your hand closing around the handle of a heavy object. What the— A sword? Its weight is oddly familiar in your grip. You stare at it, eyes wide, your breath catching in your throat. The scabbard is intricately decorated with a blossom pattern that triggers something deep within you, something familiar.

You’ve seen this before... You’ve used this before.

Grainy and fragmented memories burst through your mind of a time when you’d used this. “Go ahead,” Agust says, his voice quiet but commanding. “Try it out.”

As if under a trance, your fingers move on their own, sliding the blade free from the scabbard. The polished metal gleams in the low light, its sharp edge whispering of battles fought and blood spilled. Before you realize what is happening, you have gotten onto the dining table, moving with fluid precision toward Agust that startles even you.

The bodyguards around the room react instantly, rising from their chairs and drawing guns, all pointed at you. But you don’t stop. You can’t stop. Your body moves on its own, and within a second, you are standing over Agust, the tip of your blade mere centimeters from his throat.

The room is dead silent. Agust doesn’t flinch. He merely raises a hand, a calm gesture to his men. The bodyguards look at him in hesitation, but slowly lower their weapons, keeping their eyes trained on you.

A chuckle escapes his lips. “Did that jog your memory?” he asks, his eyes gleaming with amusement, as if he has been waiting for this moment.

You stare down at him, your chest heaving, adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I... only a little…?” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the sword in your hand feels so familiar, so right, but your mind is still a blur of confusion.

“So much bloodlust you’ve got hidden in those eyes. Are you going to cut me down this time, doll?” he asks, his voice teasing, yet there’s a glint of seriousness behind his eyes.

This time? What does he mean by “this time”? 

Despite the odd question, your heart skips a beat.

“W-What?!” you stammer, not understanding what he means. You pull the blade away, stepping back and lowering it to your side. Your hands are still shaking.

Agust smirks but says nothing more about it. Instead, he leans back, seemingly unfazed by how close he has come to death. “So, do you want some of the answers I can provide?”

Enough of this cryptic stuff.

You blink, still trying to process what just happened. “Are you actually going to answer me this time?” you ask, your voice sharper than intended.

Agust chuckles, clearly enjoying this more than you are. “That depends on what you want to know.”

“Hmm…” You hesitate for a moment while Agust signals his men to sit back down. They sit down, resume their positions, and the tension in the room seems to dissolve as if nothing happened just moments ago.

“Now tell me, doll,” Agust says, leaning forward, his eyes locked onto yours with a predatory intensity.

“First of all, who am I? Why do you keep calling me ‘Doll’?” you shoot back, your tone sharper than intended.

Agust lets out a deep breath, almost as if your question bores him. “You don’t have a name, as far as I know, so I call you doll. It’s cute, isn’t it?”

You give him an exasperated roll of your eyes, and he chuckles, as if he expects nothing less. “But besides me, everyone else calls you ‘Dove’—your code name.”

“Why am I here?” you press on, hoping for a more substantial answer.

Agust’s grin grows wider. “Great to see you moving on to this point,” he says, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers. “I’m protecting you. Your life is at stake, actually.”

You scoff. “Protecting me from…?”

“Someone.” His tone is vague, and your irritation flares at his refusal to offer more.

“Could you be any more vague?” you mutter, rolling your eyes again, daring him to give you something concrete. “Who is it?”

Agust’s expression shifts, his jaw tightening slightly. He clearly isn’t used to being questioned like this. Just as he opens his mouth to respond, one of the bodyguards at his side, a man with sharp features and an intense gaze, speaks up.

“I don’t think you should ask that right now,” he says firmly. “Just for the sake of your life.”

“Yijeong,” another bodyguard—a much older man with long black locks of hair—warns in a low voice.

Yijeong shrugs, his eyes unwavering. “I’m just looking out for her safety.” It doesn’t sound sincere, to be completely honest.

Agust gives a subtle nod, silencing the exchange with a single glance. Then he turns back to you, his gaze slightly softened. “Anyway, it’s exactly as I said,” he continues, his voice smooth, almost practiced. “As part of my daytime role, I’m a detective. And I’m also an underground mafia boss.”

You stiffen, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a shroud. He isn’t done. “The person after you wants something that you hold the key to—something that we both want.” His tone is steady, a faint glint of ambition in his eyes. “I met you a few years ago and decided to let you live here, by my side, in hopes of finding it.”

You take a shaky breath, your mind reeling as you try to process this. “And I’ve been here ever since… as your right-hand man?”

Agust leans forward, his voice low yet intense. “That’s right. You were essential to our operations. I need you back in action, though. There’s a lot at stake here. We need to find this thing as soon as possible and get rid of this other person trying to kill you.”

You try to wrap your head around the idea that you’ve been living a life entrenched in the shadows of the criminal underworld, working closely with Agust and his organization—yet you can’t remember any of it. The weight of it presses heavily on you, disbelief twisting in your gut.

“So, you’re telling me,” you begin, your voice slightly unsteady but determined, “that I’ve been involved in this… mafia life all this time and now, because of some freak accident that you won’t disclose, I have not a single memory of it?”

“Precisely.” His eyes are fixed on you, unwavering. “Once you start easing into things again, I’ll tell you,” he says, his voice gaining an edge, “but now, I need you to decide.”

The frustration bubbles up within you, and without fully realizing it, you blurt out the most pressing question in your mind. “And what if I refuse?”

“Refuse?”

“Yeah, I mean, this sounds great and all… but I’m not about this mafia life and fighting whatever gang rival you have. Maybe you are mistaken about me.”

“Then…” A dangerous gleam flashes in Agust’s eyes, and before you know it, his hand moves beneath the table. In one swift motion, he pulls out a sleek, polished handgun, the metallic click echoing as he cocks a bullet into the barrel. You flinch, eyes widening as he aims it in your direction, his expression dark but laced with amusement.

“I’ll just kill you right here.” He pauses, letting the threat hang in the air before he lets out a dry laugh.

Holy shit.

What the fuck is that switch-up!?

You knew this man is insane, from the moment he handed you a katana and nearly let you cut him down.

He chuckles softly, an unsettling sound that made your heart race even faster. “Honestly, this could work in my favor anyway.”

Agust tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he keeps the gun trained on you. "Then he will never get his hands on you. Ending it here sounds like a fine choice, doesn’t it?” His tone is almost casual, as if he were discussing nothing more consequential than the weather.

Your throat feels tight, but you hold his gaze, refusing to back down. His words hang in the air, blending with the heavy silence of the room. The other men seated at the table look on, stone-faced, while Adora remains calm, her eyes studying you carefully. You can tell she’s a little worried for you.

“You really think you can just kill me off?” you manage, trying to mask the tremor in your voice. “All this talk about me being your right hand, about me holding the key to something you need. If I’m that important, you can’t just get rid of me. Then you’ll never find what you’re looking for.”

Agust’s lips curl into a smirk. “Oh, doll, I like that fire,” he says, lowering the gun ever so slightly but keeping his gaze locked on yours. Great, just what you need—a compliment from your potential murderer. “You’re right. I can’t just let you go that easily.”

He leans back, his gaze unwavering as he places the gun on the table, almost within reach yet tantalizingly out of yours. “Let’s make something clear,” he continues, his voice softening yet holding that sharp edge. “You’re right. You’re valuable to me, too valuable to throw away—at least for now.”

For now? That’s comforting. What does ‘for now’ even mean in this context? You thought you were friends for a long time by now. Doesn’t sound like it from this.

The tension in the room lessens slightly, though your pulse is still racing. Agust’s words feel like a reprieve, but only just; you know there’s always another game behind his every sentence, and the stakes are dangerously high.

“Alright,” you reply, forcing a bit of calm into your voice. “Then tell me more. You say I’m the key to something… What is it exactly?”

Agust shrugs, crossing his arms, his expression unreadable. “For now, let’s say it’s a treasure—one that’s extremely valuable to both me and… other interested parties.” He gives a small, almost lazy wave of his hand, brushing off the details as if they’re minor inconveniences.

“Other interested parties?” you press, sensing he’s holding back. “Like the person you’re supposedly protecting me from?”

Agust’s eyes narrow slightly, as though debating just how much he wants to divulge. He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair, and gives a curt nod.

 “Yes, exactly like that person. But don’t worry about…them,” he says, his voice dipping lower, almost like a threat wrapped in reassurance. “With me around, you’re safe. They won’t touch you. Besides, doll, you led them on quite a chase right before the accident that happened to you….And now, they know better than to mess with one of the biggest mafias in Bangkok, especially one that has the police wrapped around its finger.”

The words settle over you like a heavy blanket, the weight of the implications sinking in. You haven’t just ended up here by chance, nor is this some benevolent offer of protection. The people after you aren’t merely rivals—they’re people who chased you, people you evaded in the past. And now, you’re under the protection of not just any organization, but a criminal empire with authority woven tightly into Bangkok’s very fabric.

“Wrapped around your finger?” you echo, incredulous but with a hint of fascination you can’t suppress.

He smirks, leaning back in his chair as though he’s merely recounting a successful business venture. “Yes, Bangkok’s finest wouldn’t dare cross me. I’m a chief detective, after all. It’s all very convenient, don’t you think?”

Right, because every girl dreams of being involved with a chief detective who moonlights as a mafia boss. What’s next? A romantic comedy?

You feel your pulse throb in your temples in disbelief. “So that’s why they won’t come after me here?”

“Exactly,” he replies, his tone almost smug. “To come after you here would be a death sentence for them. And they know it.”

You mean, you can’t argue with that logic. Guess you’ll have to stick around this madness for a while.

You slowly slide off the table, feeling the lingering tension in your limbs as you settle back into your seat at the far end of the dining table. Agust watches you with that familiar smirk, clearly pleased with the subtle shift in your demeanor. Once seated, you exhale, steadying yourself before meeting his gaze again.

“And if you continue to stay here,” he begins, his tone softer but laced with intent, “there’s a chance your memories will eventually come back, piece by piece. Trying to leave and figure it all out on your own would be… risky, to say the least.”

He’s giving you an out, it seems, yet he isn’t. The faintest hint of a choice dangles in front of you, a chance to regain who you are—or escape before you learn too much.

Agust’s gaze never wavers. “If you want answers—if you want to understand what’s locked away in that mind of yours—staying is your best option.”

Adora’s gaze is unwavering as well, as though silently urging you to take Agust’s offer. You glance at the others around the table, all of them still and watchful, a powerful, immovable force surrounding you.

“And if I don’t stay?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighs, though his eyes hold the barest glint of amusement. “Then I suppose you’ll be putting all that fire to good use. Running from a lot of people… including me.” His smirk softens, but his words are as sharp as ever. “The most dangerous game. It’s your choice, doll. But remember, what’s waiting for you out there isn’t likely to be as welcoming as here.”

Nice way to put it. A warm welcome with care followed by a bullet?

You lean back, trying to process everything. It’s surreal—being told you’ve been living some double life as the right hand to a mafia boss, that you’ve led people on a chase through Bangkok, and now, because of all this, there are people actively out to get you. Just yesterday… well, whenever “yesterday” is, you have no memory of this life. And now, Agust is offering you a choice. Either stay here and trust him to help you find yourself again, or leave and risk everything on your own.

You look down, hands fidgeting on your lap as you think it over. Realistically? You don’t have a lot of options. Even if you leave, where would you go? How would you survive with no memory of who you are? Just the idea of stumbling around Bangkok, a city you barely even remember, trying to outwit… whoever is after you seems like a suicide mission.

Besides, there’s something oddly reassuring about Agust, even if his methods are a bit terrifying. He doesn’t look like he’s about to pull any punches, and for some reason, that makes you trust him more. He isn’t hiding who he is or what he’s capable of, and he isn’t sugar-coating the risks. The entire mafia thing is insane, sure, but something in you stirs with a strange familiarity when he speaks about it. It’s as if you’ve known all along, buried somewhere deep down.

You steal another glance at him, noting how he’s watching you, calm and expectant. He isn’t pushing you, just waiting for you to come to a conclusion.

Finally, you sigh and look up, meeting his gaze. “Fine,” you say, exhaling as if to release the last bits of resistance. “I’ll stay. You protect me, and I… I’ll do whatever I did before and help you get what you’re looking for. If this is my best chance at getting those memories back, then I’ll take it.”

A satisfied smile curves Agust’s lips. “Good girl. I knew you’d come around.”

Adora, who’s been watching from across the table, gives a small and excited nod, and the other bodyguards exchange glances. The tension in the room eases, like the whole crew has been waiting for your decision.

“All right, then,” you say, half to yourself. “Guess I’m back to… whatever this is.”

Agust chuckles. “Welcome back to the family.”

–

–

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for this series! ➸ a(mygdala) pilot one shot #1 - distraction and one shot #2 - infatuation ➸ all fics masterlist

a/n: thank you so much reading! apologies for the very dialogue heavy first chapter in this series as I needed to set up the vibe and expectation of reader and Agust D. We'll get more into the mafia bitty gritty in the next chapter as well as eventual smut in later chapaters for these two before shit goes down hehehehe im sorry it'll be a bit of a wait since it's slow burn... but there will be a ton of charged up tension leading into it heheheheh

i had planned to release this earlier this month but after a very intensive job hunt for the past year + 7 months, i finally found a new job! yay! cries... so future updates will take some time. but please please feel free to send me your thoughts or suggestions on things you'd like to see in this series in the future and i will make sure to incorporate it. :) until next time!

[giuliettagaltieri]

Garden of Uncertainties

Pairing: Husband!Gojō x Wife!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The day Gojō Satoru becomes a married man.

Warning: angst, arranged marriage, age gap, implied jujutsu society stigma

Word Count: 924

4 of 9

The day you marry Gojō Satoru was like any other day.

It was the definition of a Sunday morning, quiet, peaceful, and almost like a secret between the two of you.

One might imagine the day the strongest sorcerer would get married to be the grandest day every living man would ever see in their lifetime.

But it was quite the opposite. 

The number of guests who witnessed your marriage can be counted with just two hands.  The decorations were subdued, yet your eyes did not miss the diamonds that glittered your kanzashi.  A gift from the family you are to be wedded to.

You stand there next to Gojō, trying to be as still as you can.  You can hear every word the minister says and so is every song the birds sing outside the church, or every whistle of the breeze.

It was calm.

And the small smile on your husband to be’s lips added to the serenity the day has brought you.

You stood so close to him, but it barely felt close enough.  Almost cursing the distance between you.  You wonder if he felt the same.

Afterall, Gojō Satoru did not utter a single word to you the moment you stepped inside the doors of the church.  He stood waiting at the end of the aisle, offering a calming smile to ease your nerves, receiving your gloved hand as you reached him, but that was it.

Knowing Gojō all your life made you aware of how difficult he is to read at times.

And no matter how hard you want to believe that he is glad to stand there next to you to be wedded, no assurance from him means that you cannot let your guard down.

With that said, bile started to rise to your throat but you squeezed your eyes shut to calm your nerves.  

Nobody else can upset you better than yourself.

“Y/N.”  His soft whisper snapped you out of your thoughts.

You look up to him, your eyes wide in confusion, lips slightly parted, it makes his eyes linger on them for a moment.

“The uh…”  Gojō nearly snickers.  “The minister asked if you would take me as your lawfully wedded husband.”

Oh.

Oh!

“I do.”  You say quickly, turning to the already smiling minister.

Gojō playfully lets out a deep sigh of relief, making the witnesses behind you laugh at his antics.

The minister asks the same question to Gojō and he responds a split second later.  Your worries quell the tiniest bit.

More words were uttered by the minister and you get lost in your thoughts once more.

Gojō has a small smile playing on his lips as he listens.  His eyes stealing quick glances at the dazed look on your face.

As he expects, you don’t hear the declaration of the minister, flinching at the loud applause behind you as confusion fills your eyes once more.

And in a quick impulse, Gojō Satoru swoops in to capture your lips on his.

His hooded eyes met yours just before you melted against him, your eyes fluttering to a close.  And the cheers get louder. 

Warmth fills your chest, almost overpowering the doubts.

Almost.

Gojō ends the kiss with his eyes shrouded with a look that once again summoned the uncertainties to your chest.

But he gives you the smallest smile of assurance. 

“Calm yourself, my love.”  He whispers as he caresses your cheek.  And then he has your hand in his and a grin finds itself on his lips as he faces the small crowd.

You did as he told you and you smiled too. 

It is your wedding day. 

You have no business feeling miserable.

The banquet that followed was livelier.

Guests from the other clans and your husband’s acquaintances are all present.

Your cheeks hurt from smiling at people all afternoon.

There were speeches from elders.  Some with lessons you will cherish forever, some with warnings hidden behind fragrant words. 

Naoya Zen’in, now tipsy, kept coming back to your table, saying over and over that he could have sworn he had been married to you before.  Until Gojō led him away.  You blanch after having caught the end of their conversation, mostly gruesome threats from your husband.

The sun was almost setting in the distance and you cannot quite come to a conclusion of how exactly you are feeling.

As you sit next to your newly wedded husband in his car, you nibble on your lips as you watch the pavement blankly.

“Have you come to regret your decision to meet me at the altar?”  His voice was playful but even so probing.

You let out a small exhale and mustered a smile as you faced him.

“No, of course not.”  You laugh lightly and Gojō returns your smile but the two of you face the road a second later.  Your smiles are gone.

The bliss brought on by the wedding was slowly fading, it seems.

You wanted to talk more with him.  To know him better.  But it felt wrong to break the silence.

Apparently, Gojō felt the same way as he no longer spoke, but instead, he put his hand atop your thigh and squeezed gently.  A show of affection, destroying any physical boundaries you previously had, solidifying the fact that you are now married and everything is about to change between you.

In response, you place a hand over his, telling him that you are willing to take the first steps with him into this voyage you embarked on.

Where the Blue Roses Grow

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 37

part 1 | part 36 | ao3

cw: depression, ptsd, references to canonical death and horror

Chapter 9

December

The smudged feeling comes back.

Which sucks, if he's being honest.

Despite the new thing with Eddie and the breathing room in his budget; despite everything going fine with Robin and work and the kids, his good moods never seem to hold. They keep getting muddied up, can't shine through the grubby handprints that threaten to blot them out.

And sure, it's not like he expected one great make out session to change his life (and it was a great one, to be clear; a great make out session and an even better handy later that night in Eddie’s van), but he just…

Shit.

He doesn’t know.

He thought it might feel easier. Life, adulthood; everything. Like the lightness and warmth he felt that night might carry over, might drift through to fill the cracks in him like a blanket of fresh snow.

But they don't, because they can't.

They can't touch the fact that he has no clue what he’s doing. That Steve Harrington's got no purpose, no direction and no point.

Most mornings he's got nothing but his creeping paranoia and a bone deep sense of dread.

The new year closes in like a wet tongue up the back of his neck; hot breath of a drooling grizzly getting ready to take a bite, and the long winter shadows around his house are growing fangs, rows upon rows of razor teeth in petal mouths.

His nightmares tastes like rot and lilac. Something heavy in the air.

And in the mornings he feels stupid when he wakes up shivering in cold sweat, foolish and young and alone. He clutches at his nail bat and peers through the cracks in the blinds, and he feels like a lunatic because there’s nothing out there. Nothing abnormal. Nothing wrong-side up. Just the shadows and the strays; the scurrying of house mice and the skitter of dead leaves.

It’s over now, they told him. It’s over, kid. We won.

They said it all three times.

—

"Uh...”

Eddie's standing in Steve's doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms loosely folded over his chest, a weird smile on his face like he's deeply fucking confused by what he's seeing but is trying so hard to be cool about it.

Which, like. Fair.

It's mid-morning on a Sunday and Steve is crawling on hands and knees in his gutted disaster of a living room — ripping up the edges of his terrible burnt orange carpet without even pausing to say hello — and the kids will be here any minute to help put up the Christmas tree, and he hadn't meant to do this; knows he looks completely manic, sweat dripping into his eyes, knuckles bleeding from the tack strips, but he woke up trembling from another nightmare and decided that everything had to go.

The nightmare felt too real. Long claws and sharp teeth, squelching muck and snaking vines; a flash of Chief Hopper bloody and shorn in a frozen wasteland, but the chief is dead and everyone's dead and Steve is so tired of being haunted by their ghosts, and in his shaken, post-dream haze he convinces himself that it's this place.

This place is the fucking problem.

This godforsaken tin can with spirits crawling in the walls.

They're clinging on like static just before a thunderstorm. In the floorboards, in the rug. Steve can feel them with each step. How many footprints buried themselves in these worn fibers? How many exhausted treks to the fridge and frenzied rushes to the phone; how many angry late-night pacers and visitors overstaying a welcome?

"Stevie?" Eddie clears his throat.

Steve just wants them all gone. The whole haunted circus — wants to strip it to the bones, start fresh with something new.

So far all he’s done is make the place smell like his nightmares. Like dust and death and lilac as he pulls the carpet up. There’s an oily stain on the subfloor from where he smashed his mom’s perfume, and a green-black mystery splotch by the kitchen that could be water damage, or it could be the remnants of a liquified rat. Or a person; so many people, melted meat monster smashing through the city blood and gore in a demodog's jowls the walls pulsing with membranes like some fucked up rotten womb and—

"Hey." Eddie's boots come into view. Calm commandment in his tone, stepping right into Steve's space. "Look at me," he sighs.

Steve sits back and wipes his brow. The sweat stings his cut-up hands, and he wishes he weren't so busy being a nutcase, because Eddie looks good like this. Standing over him, petting a hand through his damp hair. Making him kneel down at his feet. It’s hot. They could do something with this. Steve could—

"You want to tell me what you're doing?"

Tears prick up in Steve's dumb eyes.

What's he supposed to say? There were ghosts in the fucking carpet?

He shakes his head and sniffs, and Eddie steps in a little closer; moves his hand to cup Steve's jaw. "No?" he lifts a brow.

Outside, tires crunch over the gravel, the kids making a racket as they pour out of the Wheelers’ car. Goddammit.

Steve huffs and gets to his feet; lets Eddie steady him. They share a look. The kids are shouting on the lawn. "Can you take us to Home Depot?"

—

part 38

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[eroselless]

────────────── sommer house // 1

series summary: After starting a new job at a prestigious museum in London, you form a close friendship with Helaena Targaryen. You're surprised when she invites you to stay at her family's estate for the summer holidays. [1.7k]

[aegon targaryen x reader, modern!HOTD AU ]

masterlist

warnings: talk and description of bugs. if there's any I missed, let me know!

note: hello friends! I’m sure some of you might be a little confused seeing this coming up again. after much contemplating and many many re-reads, I decided I would rewrite what I had of moth to a flame now that I had more inspiration and motivation. for this first chapter, it’s not much different from my first draft but I removed and added a few things that I thought made the story begin flowing a lot better. thank you for the support and happy reading <3

Dashing through the rain, your coat pulled tightly around you, you navigate the bustling streets of London. The sky opened up as you were leaving the train station, drenching you instantly. You’re breathless when you reach the entrance of the museum, soaked to the bone with hair sticking to your forehead. Pausing briefly under the awning, you try to catch your breath, shaking off as much rain as you could before hurrying inside, the patter of rainfall fading behind you. 

The familiar warmth and silence of the museum envelop you, offering a stark contrast to the chaotic weather outside. The lights are dim and if you listen closely, you could swear you can hear soft music permeating the air. 

You make your way to the back of the museum, passing through employee doors and to the entomology department, where you knew Helaena would be waiting. Rounding a corner, you see you. She stands at the entrance of your shared office, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. She leans against the doorframe, her free hand fiddling with the key card that hangs around her neck. It’s 5 past 9, you're not that late and her casual demeanour only makes for a comforting sight.

“Rough morning?” she asks, a grin on her lips as she entends the cup of coffee towards you. 

“Don’t even get me started,” you reply, taking the cup and making your way past her into the room. “The tube was a nightmare. Some sort of signal failure. I’m surprised I made it at all.”

Helaena laughs, “You wouldn’t have to deal with the tube if you drove,” she teases, raising her eyebrows. Following you to your desk, she stands in front as you set your things down. You roll your eyes at her, making a face, to which she responds with a half-smirk.

You met Helaena three months ago when you first started working at the museum. After a seemingly endless job search, you happened upon one that just happened to be in a country halfway across the world. Seeing as how you fit all of the requirements, you pushed fear aside, taking a leap. You packed up what you could and made your way to London. The idea of working in another country had always captivated you, but the reality of moving hadn’t fully sunk in until you stepped off the plane. Everything felt surreal—the accents, the bustling streets, the historical buildings whispering stories of the past.

Working in the entomology department with Helaena, you spent countless hours cataloging and preserving the museum’s vast insect collection. The late nights became routine, often the two of you working late into the night, at times at each other's homes. Her companionship made the hours more bearable. Helaena quickly became more than just a colleague; she became a friend, someone you could rely on and share with. 

Clapping her hands, a wide smile now on her face, Helaena turns to you from a large cluster of boxes: "Well, you're here now, and just in time; we've got a ton to do today."

Settling into your desks, surrounded by cabinets filled with specimens and shelves lined with books and equipment, the morning passes quickly.

You take turns pulling out cases from the large boxes, a new shipment from South America, examining and cataloging each specimen. Each one is carefully inspected, labeled and documented. The vibrant colors and intricate patterns never cease to amaze you, each telling a different tale. 

As the afternoon rolls around, you find yourself leading a group of young school children through an interactive exhibit, one you spent the last week preparing with Helaena, explaining the life cycles of different insects and answering their curious questions. Their eyes widen as you show them the cases of insects, pointing out each of their intricate and unique features. Together, you carefully examine drawers of pinned needles, getting lost in the details of their iridescent shells.

The children nod as you explain different insects, jotting down notes in their small notebooks to bring back to school. Their laughter and curiosity makes the rest of the day pass quickly, their enthusiasm making even the most mundane tasks feel rewarding. 

The day winds down from there, the absence of the children making you realize how tired you’d gotten. You put the exhibits back into their boxes, making sure everything is in its place for the groups coming in tomorrow and the day after that. From the corner of your eye you can see Helaena making her way to you, rolling a cart identical to yours. There’s a thoughtful expression on her face. 

"So, any plans for the summer holidays? They're not gonna need us at all during these renovations they're doing," she inquired, pursing her lips at you.

You shake your head as you continue placing boxes onto your cart. “I would but I can’t afford to go home right now. I’ll probably just stay in London and explore the city or something.”

Helaena’s face lights up. “Why don’t you come with me to my family’s country estate? We’re having a big party for my dad’s retirement. It’ll be a nice change of pace and you can officially meet my family. They’ll adore you.”

Your lips part as you stare at her wordlessly. “Are you sure?” you asked, searching her eyes, 

Helaena waves you off, “Of course!” she exclaims, shaking her head. “"It'll be fun. Besides, it would be nice to have another girl there so I don’t have to deal with my brothers all on my own. Say you’ll come," she pleads.

The thought of spending the holidays with Helaena, surrounded by the English countryside and her family’s hospitality, race through your mind. It sent a shiver of nerves through you. You knew very little about her family, only hearing of her brothers in passing. You’d seen them in pictures she had littered around her apartment and on her facebook. You met her mother, if you can call speaking to her briefly over the phone, one night that you spent the night at Helaena’s. Her older sister and her father were a complete mystery to you, both of them a subject she didn’t ever really talk about. 

She bats her eyes at you, gently wrapping her arms around yours. You let out a sigh, breaking out in a smile. “Alright, I’ll come.” you laugh, and she throws her arms around your shoulders. 

:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It's a few days later you find yourself tossing clothes at Helaena. The afternoon sunlight streams through the window behind her. Her hair is loose, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. It looks as if it were glowing. She sits on your bed, gingerly folding different shirts and pants into your bag. Rejected piles of clothes are strewn across your bed, shoes littering the floor and small packing cubes full of toiletries and makeup sit next to your gradually filling case. 

“What about this?” you ask. Swaying slightly, you hold a dress up to your chest. It’s red and covered in polka dots with a large white bow cinching the middle. Her face stays in a slight grimace, shaking her head and laughing.

"We need to get you some new dresses; these look like they belong in a history museum," she says with a playful smile. You laugh, shoving her shoulder as you tuck the dress back into the wardrobe. She pulls a knitted sweater from the edge of your bed and tucks it tightly into your bag.

Once your outfits are sufficiently coordinated and your essentials pulled into packing cubes, Helaena helps you pack them into your suitcase, ensuring you have enough of everything you need for your stay. She speaks up when you struggle with the zipper. 

“So, I know you’ve sort of met Mum and you’ll be meeting everyone else while we're there.  My sister is even coming with her children. A fair warning, though having everyone there can be a bit … intense but they’re good people.”

You note her hesitation. “Intense how?”

Helana shrugs, trying to downplay her words. “It can get a little overwhelming, is all. But you’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

You nod an ok at her, climbing on and bouncing on your suitcase to press it shut with your knees. She joins you, twisting with you as you begin to pull on the zipper. 

"The place’s been in my family for generations. There’s lots of history there, places you could get lost in. You’ll really love it.”

You struggle for a little bit, pulling the zip a little more to fully close the case before sitting on it, breathless. 

"What was it like, growing up in a place like that?" you ask, looking up at her as she takes her spot back on the edge of your bed. 

Helaena smiles, a distant look in her eyes. It's a smile that has a drop of sadness behind it. "It was magical. There are all these secret passages and hidden rooms. We used to play hide and seek for hours.” 

She traces a pattern on your quilt as she continues speaking. “We each got puppies at some point and when we’d pretend we were princes and princesses, my brothers would pretend they were dragons.” 

There's a bittersweet expression on her face as she recounts the memory. It's not an expression you're used to seeing on her face but it’s one she seems to fall back to every time she speaks of home. You can’t help but to be curious about it but you always stop before prying or saying anything. You smile, reaching out a hand and placing it on her knee. It pulls her out of her momentary daze and she flashes a smile at you. A mixture of nerves and anticipation fill you again. "I can’t wait," you say with a soft sigh.

Helaena looks at you, her eyes sparkling. "You're going to love it. It’s like stepping back in time. Just be prepared for a bit of drama; there’s always something happening when we're all together."

"Drama?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, you know, family stuff. Arguments, misunderstandings, that sort of thing. But it’s all part of the charm," she says with a wink.

You laugh, feeling a bit more at ease. "Well, I’m ready for anything."

With the suitcase finally zipped, you both collapse onto the bed, giggling. Helaena turns to you, her expression softening. "I’m really glad you’re coming. It’s going to be a summer to remember."

If you want to support my writing you can buy me a coffee over on Ko-Fi <3

[mythicalmaven]

Beyond Boundaries - Oscar Piastri (PART SIX)

Masterlist

Time for chapter 6! :) I hope you like it! A little more plot and fluff this time <3 Really curious what y'all will think! Let me know! :)

↳pairing: oscar piastri x female!reader (norris!reader) ↳word count: 4,3K ↳chapters in this series: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, ↳chapter warnings: fluff, kissing, brothers teammate trope, bestfriend!reader, mentions of sexual content, feelings, tension, 18+ content (mdni!)

↳series summary: Since Oscar joined McLaren as your brother’s teammate, you two have quickly become best friends. Recently promoted to be Oscar’s physiotherapist, you both relish the opportunity to spend more time together. However, as the new role brings you closer, you both realize you might be feeling more a little more for each other than just friendship

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You stirred, the remnants of last night's escapades lingering in your mind. The warmth of the bed and the steady rise and fall of Oscar's chest against your back were comforting. A sense of contentment washed over you until the piercing sound of a phone shattered the peace.

Oscar groaned beside you, fumbling for his phone on the nightstand. He squinted at the screen, confusion etched on his face, before realization dawned. His eyes widened as he looked at you, a mixture of panic and dread crossing his features.

"Shit," he muttered, sitting up abruptly. "It's Zak. I've missed a bunch of calls."

You bolted upright, grabbing your own phone. The screen lit up with missed calls from Zak and one from Lando. Your stomach churned as you saw multiple texts from Lando:

Lando: 8:50 AM: Where are you? 8:52 AM: Zak is looking for you. 9:01 AM: You better not be with Oscar. 9:01 AM: Both of you are screwed if Zak finds out.

Oscar's phone continued to ring insistently. With a deep breath, he answered, "Hey, Zak."

Zak's voice came through urgently, "Oscar, I've been calling you for ages! Open your door, now!"

Oscar glanced at you, his eyes wide with panic. "I just woke up. Must've slept through my alarm."

"Well, hurry up! We have a flight to catch, and I need to talk to you and Y/N. I've tried calling her too, but she didn't pick up either. I'm right outside your door."

Your heart pounded in your chest. The urgency in Zak's voice made it clear you were in trouble. Oscar motioned for you to get dressed quickly. You scrambled to put on the clothes from the previous night, your hands shaking.

"Hide in the bathroom," Oscar whispered, his voice tinged with fear. "I'll handle this."

You nodded, slipping into the bathroom and quietly closing the door behind you. Your heart raced as you pressed your ear to the door, trying to hear the conversation outside.

Oscar opened the door, and you heard Zak's voice immediately. "Finally! You really need a better alarm, mate. Where's Y/N? She hasn't been answering her phone either."

Oscar hesitated for a moment before replying, "Uh, she came by my room early this morning to grab some breakfast and asked me if I wanted to join, i was too tired, so I declined and fell back asleep. Maybe she forgot her phone here, I'll have a look in a bit. She’s probably downstairs in the lobby."

Zak sighed in frustration. "Alright, but we need to get going. You both need to pack up. You're both running late for the debrief as well! I'll check the lobby for her."

Oscar nodded, "Sure, I'll be down in a minute."

As you listened to their exchange, relief washed over you. You quickly composed yourself, knowing you needed to sneak out without drawing attention. Once Zak's footsteps faded, Oscar opened the bathroom door, his expression a mix of worry and urgency.

"We really do have a knack for getting caught, don't we?" you chuckled at him.

"Unfortunately, yes" Oscar shoot you a smile, scratching his neck "He's gone to look for you in the lobby. You need to get out of here and pretend you just came back."

You nodded, stepping out of the bathroom and heading towards the door. Before you left, you turned to Oscar, your voice low. "Thank you."

He gave you a quick, worried smile. "We'll figure this out. Just be careful."

With that, you slipped out of the room, your heart pounding as you made your way to the elevator. The morning had started with a rush of adrenaline, and you couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of the trouble you'd both face.

As you made your way down the hall, you crossed paths with Daniel, who had just exited a hotel room. He immediately noticed the disheveled appearance you had, the clothes you were wearing, the same as yesterday. "Looks like you had a fun night, didn't you?" he chuckled.

"Oh, shut up. Just cover for me, will you?" you almost pleaded, explaining that you might run into Zak at any moment and weren't in the mood for his lecture if he found out the "truth." The story you told Daniel was a bit of a lie: you claimed you couldn't find your keycard and stayed in Oscar's room, missing Zak's calls as a result.

"Yeah, right. You slept on his couch, that's why you have a hickey on your chest," Daniel pointed out, nodding toward the visible mark on your cleavage, easily hidden in a regular shirt but not in the top you wore yesterday.

Then you had a realization. "Wait a second, why did you come out of Lando's hotel room?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't try to change the subject, Norris," he joked.

Before you could respond, the door of the hotel room opened, revealing your brother, jacket in one hand and suitcase in the other. "Ah, crap," he muttered.

Lando scratched the back of his neck. "Euh... good morning, sis."

"Well, well, would you look at that," you laughed, shooting them a smug look. "You know, this doesn't surprise me at all, to be honest."

Lando shrugged. "Whatever, you were bound to find out soon anyway. Saves me the trouble of finding the right moment," he said, earning a chuckle from Daniel.

"Apparently, having a thing for Aussies runs in the family," Daniel smirked.

"Why are you wearing the same clothes as yesterday?" Lando asked, shaking his head with a look of disgust. "Oh wait, don't tell me. Ew. You probably slept with Oscar."

"Lando!" you whisper yelled, playfully punching his shoulder. "No, we didn't sleep together."

"I find it hard to believe nothing happened between you two, considering the state you left the club in yesterday."

"Hey, I never said nothing happened, just that we didn't have sex."

"Ewwww," he childishly uttered, throwing his hands in the air.

"Chop chop, lil Norris, you should go and hurry to your room and change clothes" Daniel suggested, gaining a nod from you in return "Oh! And don't forget to cover up those hickeys, because the one I informed you on isn't the only one that's showing" Daniel winked

Monday, March 25th - 1:00PM

Oscar and you were currently hanging out in the McLaren hospitality after you finished the race debrief. Neither of you talked about what happened last night, both of you seemingly avoiding the subject. Which to be honest was a little relief to you, considering you honestly had no idea how feel about it. It was amazing, it really was, but it just shouldn't keep happening, yet it always does.

 Once Oscar finished his coffee, he looked up at you "So, what are your plans until Japan?" he asked, referring to the race weekend that would take place in about 2 weeks. 

"Honestly didn't really make any plans, yet. Might book a hotel. Either here, or maybe in Japan. Didn't really wanna fly back to Monaco, because I don't feel like another jetlag" you replied, sipping on your coffee.

Oscar smiled a little "Good" he replied, sending you a soft look "Wanted to ask you if you wanted to stay with me until we fly to Japan. We're in my hometown after all, wanted to show you around a little. And my mom has honestly been begging me to take you home, so she could finally meet you"

Your felt your heart filling with warmth, happiness spreading through your body. It made you feel a little honored that Oscar wanted to spend his free time with you. You would have totally understood if he wanted to send that time with his family and friends, now that he's finally back in Australia. 

You shot him a smile, nodding gently "Yes, I'd love that, Osc" 

Butterflies. That's what Oscar felt when you said yes. A blush rises to his cheeks and he smiles shyly to you. He knew that he shouldn't get his hopes up too much, knowing that you probably see this as a little getaway for friends, but he wanted to use this as an opportunity to show you what he had to offer. That he could make you feel happy, make you feel loved. He knows he shouldn't, knows that you two shouldn't go down that road considering your jobs and the complications that could be associated with that, but he can't help himself. He's just so in love with you it hurts him. Every thought that crosses his mind involves you. 

He had to hold himself back to not giggle like a little schoolgirl, the delighted man that he was. He grinned at you and said "I'm looking forward to it" he smiled again, raking a hand through his hair "You okay with me calling my mom, so I can inform her?" he asked.

"Sure" you smiled back, feeling a little giddy. A feeling you knew you should push away, but did you want to push that feeling away? 

Monday, March 25th - 6:00PM

Once you had arrived at Oscar's family home, he got out of the car and immediately walked around it to open the door for you, being the gentleman that he is. It was always nostalgic to Oscar, being back at the house he grew up in. He moved to the UK when he was young, but his parent's house in Australia will always feel like home to him.

You felt a small amount of nerves slowly building up in your body, worried about what Oscar's parents would think of you. Sure, you've seen his mom on Facetime before when Oscar called with her, but real life was always so different. In your opinion, the bar is quite high. Since you're not only introducing yourself as his best friend, you're also introducing yourself as his co-worker, one with quite the influence on her sons wellbeing. It scared you a little, afraid you're not living up to the image they have of you. 

"You okay there? You seem a little zoned out" Oscar mentioned, pulling you out of your thought. 

You nodded carefully at him, stepping out of the car "Yeah, just a little nervous" 

A reassuring smile appeared on Oscar's face, placing his hand on your upper arm, causing goosebumps to appear "Don't worry, baby. You'll do just fine. I'm sure my mom will love you," he said, the nickname slipping from his lips unintentionally. A blush creeping on his face the moment he realized, hoping that you didn't notice the latter.

As if the nerves from meeting his parents weren't enough already, you felt yourself getting more jittery from Oscar calling you baby. It felt like something forbidden, not particularly because Oscar called you that, because it honestly isn't that big of a deal. But because of the fact that you actually enjoyed it him calling you that. It caused butterflies to swarm through your abdomen. 

You grabbed your suitcase from the back of the car, taking one last deep breath before the both of you made your way towards the front door. 

Oscar looked at you, non verbally asking you if you were ready. Once he earned a nod and a smile from you, he unlocked the door and guided both of you inside. He took your suitcase from you, placing it next to the coat rack "We'll bring that upstairs later, let's first introduce you to my mom. My dad is still at work, I think" 

The moment you both made your way into the living room, you immediately were greeted by a very smiley and happy Nicole Piastri, engulfing her son in a bone crushing hug. 

"Hi, darling!" she said as she pressed a kiss on the top of his head, pulling away to direct her gaze at you "Ahhh! Y/n, so lovely to finally meet you in person!" 

You felt relief wash over you at the kindness that radiated from Oscar's mom. You gave her an honest smile, almost a grin "Likewise! It's so nice to meet you Mrs. Piastri" 

Nicole chuckled a little "Oh please, honey! Call me Nicole" she said kindly, embracing you in a hug too, while meeting her sons eyes "Oscar already told me so much about you, it almost feels like I know you already! He honestly never shuts up about you!" she joked around, pulling away from the hug.

"Mom!" he scolded his mom, his cheeks immediately flushing again, feeling a little humiliated. While you couldn't do anything than chuckling at her comment.

Nicole patted her Oscar's shoulder "Oh honey, nothing to feel embarrassed about! There's nothing wrong with talking about a lovely lady like her" she said, meeting his gaze again 

"Okay, I think that's enough, mom"

Nicole laughed at her son again, sending you another kind smile "Shall I show you around the house? Show you where you can sleep?" 

You gave her a small nod, following her and Oscar around her house. You first went back to the hall to grab your and Oscar's suitcase, before she showed you the entire house, which was beautiful. It was cosy and felt like a lovely family home. 

"We have two options for sleeping arrangements, so you can decide which one you prefer" Nicole began, as you reached the last room of the tour, Oscar's room "Since Oscar's grandparents are staying over for the weekend, we don't have a spare room. So we set up an air mattress in Oscar's room, so you could stay there if you'd like. But if that's not comfortable for you, Mae offered to give up her room and sleep on the air mattress in Oscar's room instead"

Oscar felt his breath hitch in his throat. You and Oscar had decided to stay at his parents house for at least a week, so the idea of you two sharing a room together for a whole week, made him feel jittery, but also a little giddy. Unsure of what to expect, since after all sharing a room with the one you're in love with, while you shouldn't be, seemed like a hard task. The other part of him was a little anxious. Anxious that you would say that you wouldn't be comfortable with sharing, which he honestly could understand from your point of view. 

"I'm totally fine with staying over in Oscar's room" you replied, looking over at Oscar who opened the door to his room "Only if you are okay with that too, of course"

"Y-Yeah sure!" Oscar uttered, trying to keep his composure. He entered his room, sitting down on the bed.

"Good, since we have that settled, I'll go and call your dad to ask when he'll be home. Your sisters will be home later tonight" she said, walking out of the room before looking over her shoulder once more "Promise me one thing tho, Osc. No funny business in there!" 

Oscar's eyes widened and hollered "Mom! She's my best friend, not my girlfriend." although he wished you were "And besides that, we're co-workers"

"Yeah, your dad and I were too, but that didn't stop us either" she quipped, before quickly striding off.

Oscar let himself fall backwards on the bed, his hands covering his face "God, I'm so sorry. I don't know why she did that"

You closed the door of his room, walked over to him and sat down next to him, placing your hand on Oscar's thighs, feeling the muscle tense under your touch "Don't worry, Osc. It's fine. She's funny" you told the young Australian with a grin covering your face. 

Your eyes scanned the room, noticing the picture frames on the walls and the trophies on the shelf "Your room is so cute, it really embodies you" you say.

You didn't realize your choice of words until you heard Oscar laugh. "Did you just indirectly call me cute?" he joked, the smirk on his face evident as he propped himself up on his elbows.

You playfully gave him a push, causing him to fall backward again with a soft grunt. "Don't tease me, or I'll make you regret inviting me back here," you chuckled.

"I highly doubt you'll be able to do that," Oscar spoke with honesty lacing his tone as he looked up at you.

"Watch me," you joked back, turning around on his bed so you were on your knees. You placed your hands on either side of his waist and started tickling him.

Oscar's reaction was immediate. He burst into laughter, squirming under your touch. "No, no, stop!" he pleaded, his voice a mix of amusement and desperation. "I can't handle it!"

You continued your playful assault, delighted by how vulnerable he was to the tickling. "I told you not to tease me!" you said, grinning down at him.

Oscar's laughter was infectious, and soon you were both laughing uncontrollably. He tried to grab your wrists to stop you, but you were relentless. Finally, with a burst of determination, he managed to flip you over, his hands now seeking out your most ticklish spots.

"Not fair!" you protested between giggles, your own laughter now filling the room.

"All's fair in love and tickle fights," Oscar replied, his voice playful as he continued his tickle attack.

You wriggled beneath him, trying to escape his grasp, but he was persistent. The playful struggle brought you closer together, your bodies pressing against each other as you both fought for dominance. The air between you seemed to crackle with tension, each touch sending shivers down your spine.

With a sudden move, Oscar managed to pin you down on his bed. His hands still held yours, and his body hovered over yours. The laughter died down, replaced by a heavy silence as you both realized how close you were.

Your faces were inches apart, his breath mingling with yours. Time seemed to stop, the world outside fading away as you locked eyes. The playful glint in Oscar's eyes was replaced by something deeper, something that made your heart race.

He leaned in closer, his eyes flicking down to your lips. You felt your breath hitch, anticipation building as he drew nearer. Just as his lips were about to touch yours, a voice called out from downstairs.

"Oscar! Dinner's ready!" his dad's voice echoed through the house.

Oscar froze, his eyes widening in surprise. He let out a frustrated sigh, pulling back slightly. "Of all the times," he muttered, a sheepish smile forming on his lips.

You couldn't help but laugh at the interruption, the tension dissipating as reality intruded on your moment. "Saved by the bell," you teased, your voice breathless.

Oscar rolled off you, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. "Guess we should head down," he said, offering you a hand to help you up.

You took his hand, your fingers lingering in his for a moment longer than necessary. "Yeah, wouldn't want to keep your family waiting," you replied, your heart still pounding from the near-kiss.

As you both made your way downstairs, you couldn't shake the feeling that something significant had almost happened. The unspoken connection between you and Oscar hung in the air, promising that this was far from over.

"Ahh, there you both are" Nicole said as she saw Oscar and you entering the kitchen, sitting down at the dinner table. His father and sisters already seated.

"So, Chris, ladies, this is Y/n" she said, giving you a little introduction as you smiled kindly back at them "Y/n, this is Chris and these are Oscar's sisters; Amelia, Millie and Maeve" 

They all waved at you and shot you a kind smile, Millie being the first to speak up "It's so nice to meet you, Y/n" she said, shifting her gaze to her brother now "Couldn't you have brought her along earlier? You normally only bring your male friends back here and I can already tell now that she is waaaay better company"

Her comment made you giggle "Hey, you've only just met me. I wouldn't be so quick to say that, maybe I am the worst" you joked back at his sister, immediately feeling comfortable in their company. 

After a few jokes back and forth, Oscar's dad took a moment to start a conversation with you "So, tell me a bit more about yourself, what are your hobbies?" he asked kindly, honestly interested in your answer. 

You took the time to explain what you'd like to do in your free time, while Oscar looked at you as he listened intently, drifting away in your gaze. Oscar was completely unaware of how he was staring at you, until he felt a kick against his leg from his sister Maeve, who moved closer to his ear "Stop staring at her, captain obvious" she whispered to him. 

"So, y/n, do you have a boyfriend?" Amelia asked, immediately getting scolded by Oscar, who thought his sister was being to nosy. 

You laughed at their interaction, before replying "It's okay, don't worry, Osc" you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear "But, no, I don't have a boyfriend" 

Maeve shot a look at her brother, wiggling her eyebrows at him "Well, well, doesn't that come in handy" she whispered to him again. 

"Mae, shut up, will you?" he whispered back through gritted teeth, trying to prevent you from hearing. 

"Okay, enough y'all!" Nicole called out to her children, politely asking them to behave.

The dinner continued peacefully for a while, all of you enjoying the meals that Nicole had put on the table. Clearly prepared with love, which you could taste, the meal tasting wonderful.

Monday, March 25th - 11:00 PM

A few hours had past when you found yourself splayed out on your stomach on Oscar's bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. Oscar had excuses himself to his ensuite bathroom to take a shower. You decided on laying on his bed for a bit, since it was honestly the most comfortable bed you've ever been lying on. But the fact that it's Oscar's bed, might have to do with it.

Oscar emerges from the bathroom, steam following him as he runs a hand through his damp hair. He has a towel slung low on his hips, exposing his toned chest. "Hey, do you mind if I grab a shirt from the closet?" he asks casually.

You can’t help but stare, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Uh, sure," you manage to say, trying to sound nonchalant. The sight of him, still slightly damp from the shower, causes your heart to race.

As he rummages through his closet and can't seem to find anything, you get up from the bed to help him. Your hands brush against his as you hand him a shirt, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through you both. You can see the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his breath hitches slightly when your fingers touch.

Oscar notices your flustered expression and steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours. "You okay?" he asks softly, his voice filled with concern and something else—something deeper.

"Yeah" you softly say, accompanied by a nod.

Unable to resist any longer, he steps even closer, your breaths mingling. He takes the shirt from your hands, but instead of putting it on, he lets it fall to the floor. His hand reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. "I've wanted to do this all day," he murmurs.

Before you can respond, he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. The initial touch is gentle, exploring, but as you respond eagerly, the kiss deepens. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers tangle in his damp hair.

The kiss quickly becomes more intense, your tongues dancing together in a heated rhythm. His hands roam your back, feeling the curves of your body, while your fingers trace patterns on his chest, teasing and exploring. The world outside fades away, leaving only the electric connection between you.

Oscar's kisses become more urgent, each touch and caress conveying the depth of his desire and affection. His lips move to your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses that make you shiver with pleasure. You respond in kind, your hands running through his hair, pulling him closer as your bodies press together.

The intimacy between you both reaches a crescendo, your breaths mingling and your hearts racing. After what feels like an eternity of passion, you both slowly pull back, your foreheads resting together, your breaths coming in soft, shared sighs.

Oscar looks at you with a mixture of tenderness and longing. "Please," he whispers, his voice barely audible, "don’t say anything about this. I know we shouldn’t, but just lay with me for a while, okay?"

You nod, feeling the same deep, undeniable connection. As you made your way towards his bed to lay down on it, Oscar looked at you once more "I'll be there in a second, let me put on some clothes and get some water for us" he says, raking a hand through his still damp hair as he walked back to his bathroom with both of your empty cups, completely ignoring the shirt that was still laying on the floor.

Oscar came back from the bathroom, still shirtless, but now wearing a boxer. He had two glasses of water in his hands. He placed them on his nightstand, before carefully lying down on his bed next to you. Slipping under the covers. Without a word, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, and you rest your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting presence.

As you settle into the quiet embrace, the world outside seems to disappear, leaving only the warmth and intimacy of the moment you’ve just shared. You both fall into a peaceful silence, the closeness and mutual understanding making it clear that, while the night has been intense, it has also brought you both something deeply significant.

The connection between you lingers, a promise of more to come, as you both drift into a contented sleep, wrapped in each other's arms.

—————⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺—————

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Taglist @aceyalonso @saachiep81 @landosgirlxoxo @andruuu28 @il0vereadingstuff

[cluelessteam]

Whispers Through Time: {~Trials of the Heart~}

Summary: After being mysteriously transported into the world of House of the Dragon, a modern-day woman poses as a seer to gain entry into the Targaryen court. Armed with knowledge of the future, she secretly warns Rhaenyra and Daemon of looming dangers while hiding her true identity. As she grows closer to both, romantic tension builds, but so do the risks of her deception. With Daemon's suspicions rising and Rhaenyra’s trust deepening, the reader must navigate her lies while trying to alter their tragic fate—before everything unravels.

Characters: Rhaenyra & Daemon

Pairing: Rhaenyra x Fem!Reader x Daemon

Word Count: 1436

Tag List: @snowtargaryen, @hippiedippiekitty

Chapter 8 --- Chapter 9

The flickering firelight cast long shadows across the stone walls, as if the castle itself held its breath in anticipation of what was to come. The reader sat by the window, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she stared out into the distance. Despite the view of the restless sea below, her mind was elsewhere—wrapped in thoughts she had been avoiding for far too long.

She hadn’t come to Dragonstone with any intention of staying—let alone forming bonds as dangerous as these. She had come with one purpose: to navigate this strange world with as little disruption as possible, to leave no trace of her presence beyond her carefully placed warnings. The risk of changing the course of events weighed heavily on her every decision, and yet...

“Are you troubled?” Rhaenyra’s soft voice broke through the silence, pulling the reader from her spiraling thoughts.

She turned to find Rhaenyra standing behind her, a small, curious smile on her face. There was something so disarming about her—a warmth that radiated even in moments of tension. It was that warmth, that strength, that had made it so difficult for the reader to keep her distance.

But she had to.

“I’m fine,” the reader replied, though her voice lacked conviction.

Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed slightly as she moved closer, her gaze never leaving the reader’s face. “You don’t seem fine.” She paused, as if weighing her next words carefully. “You’ve been distant lately. Is something troubling you?”

The reader forced a smile, though her heart ached at the concern in Rhaenyra’s eyes. “It’s nothing, really. Just... thinking about everything that’s happening. The war, the Greens, the uncertainty.”

Rhaenyra studied her for a moment, her expression softening with understanding. “I understand. It weighs on us all.” She reached out, gently placing her hand on the reader’s. “But you’re not alone in this.”

The reader’s breath caught in her throat at the touch, her heart thudding uncomfortably in her chest. She wasn’t alone—not anymore. And that was exactly the problem.

She had tried to keep herself detached from Rhaenyra, from Daemon, from everything. But how could she? Rhaenyra’s kindness, her fierce loyalty, her vulnerability... it had drawn the reader in, just as Daemon’s intensity, his sharp wit, and his protectiveness

had. They were both so different, yet both had managed to break through the walls the reader had built around herself.

But she couldn’t afford to let herself get involved, not like this. She had seen too much, knew too much of what was to come. If she changed anything—if she became too close to them, let her emotions take over—it could alter the course of everything.

“I... I can’t,” the reader whispered, pulling her hand away from Rhaenyra’s.

Rhaenyra frowned, her confusion evident. “Can’t what?”

“I can’t—” The reader swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. “I can’t do this. I can’t be... close to you. To either of you.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, a flicker of hurt crossing her face. “What do you mean?”

The reader stood abruptly, turning her back to Rhaenyra as she tried to compose

herself. “I never intended to stay here, Rhaenyra. I never intended to get involved in any of this. I’m not supposed to.”

“You’ve already helped me so much,” Rhaenyra said, her voice soft but firm. “Your advice, your warnings—they’ve saved lives. You’ve become a part of this, whether you wanted to or not.”

The reader closed her eyes, feeling the weight of Rhaenyra’s words settle heavily on her. It was true—she had become involved. But that was exactly what she had been trying to avoid. Her presence here, her influence, was already affecting things. She couldn’t afford to let herself fall deeper into this world, not when the consequences could be disastrous.

“I don’t belong here,” the reader said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rhaenyra moved closer, her hand gently resting on the reader’s shoulder. “You do,” she insisted, her voice filled with quiet determination. “You belong here with us.”

The reader shook her head, stepping out of Rhaenyra’s reach. “No, I don’t. You don’t understand—I could ruin everything. I could change things in ways none of us can foresee.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened, her eyes searching the reader’s face for answers. “What are you afraid of?”

The reader swallowed, her throat tight with emotion. “I’m afraid of changing your future. Of changing everything.”

Rhaenyra was silent for a moment, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of the reader’s words. “Is that why you’ve been keeping your distance? Why you’re so hesitant with me? With Daemon?”

The reader hesitated, her heart pounding. “Yes. I... I’ve already changed things by being here. If I let myself get closer to you—if I let my feelings take over—I don’t know what will happen. And I can’t risk that.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened with understanding, but there was a trace of sadness in her eyes. “I see.” She took a step closer, her voice gentle. “I don’t know what brought you here, or what burdens you carry, but I do know one thing—you’ve already changed our lives. And I don’t believe that’s a bad thing.”

The reader’s heart clenched at the sincerity in Rhaenyra’s voice. She wanted to believe that, wanted to believe that she could stay, that she could have a place here with Rhaenyra and Daemon. But the weight of the unknown hung over her like a dark cloud, reminding her of the dangers of tampering with the future.

Before she could respond, the door creaked open, and Daemon strode into the room, his eyes immediately narrowing as he sensed the tension between the two women.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion as his gaze flicked between them.

Rhaenyra glanced at the reader, her expression conflicted. “We were just talking.”

Daemon’s sharp eyes lingered on the reader for a moment before he turned to Rhaenyra. “About what?”

The reader’s stomach twisted with unease as Daemon’s attention shifted back to her. His presence always seemed to fill the room, his intensity making it difficult to hide anything from him.

“About my place here,” the reader said, her voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside her.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a slight smirk. “Still convinced you don’t belong with us?”

The reader’s breath hitched at his words. Daemon had a way of cutting straight to the heart of things, and it unnerved her how easily he could see through her defenses.

“I’m not convinced of anything,” the reader replied, trying to keep her voice calm. “I’m just trying to figure out how to navigate all of this without making things worse.”

Daemon stepped closer, his gaze piercing. “You’re not going to make anything worse. If anything, you’ve made things better.”

Rhaenyra nodded in agreement, her expression soft as she looked at the reader. “Daemon’s right. You’ve become a part of this—of us. You don’t need to keep holding yourself back.”

The reader’s heart raced, her mind spinning as she looked between the two of them. Their words were kind, sincere, but the fear of the unknown gnawed at her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that if she let herself fall too deeply into this, something terrible would happen.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” the reader whispered, her voice barely audible.

Daemon’s smirk faded, replaced by a rare look of concern. “Why not?”

The reader met his gaze, her resolve wavering. “Because I’m afraid of what I might change.”

For a moment, the room was filled with silence, the weight of the reader’s confession hanging between them. But then, Daemon stepped forward, his expression softening as he reached out to gently cup the reader’s cheek.

“You’re not going to change anything that wasn’t meant to be changed,” Daemon said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically tender. “And if you do, then we’ll face it together.”

Rhaenyra stepped forward as well, her hand resting on the reader’s arm. “Whatever happens, you won’t face it alone. We’re in this together.”

The reader’s heart clenched, the warmth of their words tugging at the walls she had built around herself. Despite everything, despite her fears, she felt the pull toward them both—the undeniable connection that had grown between the three of them. And in that moment, the reader realized that maybe, just maybe, she couldn’t keep running from it forever.

But even as she allowed herself to soften toward them, the fear still lingered in the back of her mind. The trials of the heart were far from over, and the consequences of her choices had yet to unfold.

[rise-my-angel]

.

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter nine ♡

Summary: You confront Travis, and with each passing day, you begin to feel more like yourself. The company of your favorite girls fills your days with warmth and laughter. Someone knocks on your door. WC: 12.0k A/N: OKAY. I had planned to post this over the weekend, but I just couldn’t waittt lol and since I didn’t post for two weeks, here’s part 9 as a little gift for you <3 Don't forget to follow me on capuccinodollupdates for updates!

Monday. Your knuckles throbbed as you hammered on the door, the echo reverberating through the hallway. Three times, then another six—or was it seven? You weren’t sure. All you knew was the sharp sting in your hand as you finally dropped it to your side. Your breath remained steady, but you could feel emotion clawing its way through your calm exterior. Your foot betrayed you, shifting restlessly against the wooden floor.

Something had shifted, something you couldn’t quite place. You’d spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, your mind racing while the hours stretched endlessly. By the time your alarm screamed to life in the morning, you felt more wired than exhausted, like your restlessness had seeped into your bones. At work, nothing held your focus. The papers on your desk blurred together, the words losing their meaning as your thoughts wandered elsewhere. You checked the clock obsessively, willing the minutes to pass, but even when the day finally crawled to an end, the unease clung to you.  

What the hell was going on with Joel? His behavior had been erratic, disjointed—like he was holding something back. Every glance, every word from him felt layered, deliberate, but never enough to give you clarity. It was maddening, the sense that there was a piece of the puzzle you hadn’t been given, something vital he wasn’t saying. 

“Ask him,” he had said yesterday, brushing you off with a cryptic shrug. But you weren’t someone who could just let things go.

Now, the door creaked open, and there stood Travis, his expression a mix of curiosity and something softer, almost tentative. His damp hair clung to his forehead, droplets still glistening at the edges. He looked freshly showered, the scent of soap faintly wafting in the cool air between you. His gray T-shirt was inside out, the seams and tag clearly visible, as if he’d thrown it on without much thought. He wore dark blue sweatpants that hung loose around his hips and no socks or shoes, his bare feet planted firmly on the hardwood floor.

He blinked at you, his eyebrows knitting together when he caught sight of your face.

“Hey,” he said, your name falling from his lips with a question mark at the end. “Are you okay?” His voice held genuine concern as his eyes flickered over your face, trying to decode your expression.

Your mouth felt dry, your throat tight. You couldn’t bring yourself to smile or reassure him. Instead, you stood frozen, your arms wrapped around yourself as if bracing against an invisible wind.

“Did something happen?” he asked again, stepping slightly closer. He tilted his head, his gaze searching. “Come inside. It’s freezing out here.”

But you didn’t move. Your feet were rooted to the ground, defying his invitation.

“What happened between you and Joel?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt inside. 

He paused, the question clearly taking him off guard. “What?”

“You talked to Joel, didn’t you?” You tightened your arms around yourself, your tone low and deliberate, trying to keep your emotions in check. “I know you did. He told me.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Joel hadn’t told you much of anything, just enough to leave you spinning. Blurry fragments of his words had lodged themselves in your mind, their edges sharp enough to cut. Still, you had pieced together enough to confront Travis now.

Travis’s eyes narrowed slightly, his body shifting against the doorway.

“What exactly did he tell you?” he asked, his voice cautious but far from confused. He wasn’t lost—he knew exactly what you were referring to.

“Enough,” you replied, your voice hardening despite yourself. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface was beginning to bubble over. “Don’t play dumb, Travis. What did you say to him?”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. His lips pressed together, his jaw tight. Then he exhaled through his nose, glancing briefly at the floor before meeting your gaze again.

“Look, I… I talked to him, okay? He... we had a conversation.”

“What kind of conversation?” you pressed, taking a small step forward. “Why would he tell me to ask you if nothing happened? What did you say to him?”

Travis leaned against the doorframe, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to work through the tension there.

"He showed up late Saturday night,” he admitted, his voice softer now, carryin’ a hint of regret. “While you were sleepin’, I answered the door. Didn’t wanna wake you."

Your stomach twisted at his words. You could picture it too vividly—Joel standing on the other side of the door, his face shadowed by some unspoken emotion. You swallowed hard, pushing the image away.

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to talk to you,” Travis said simply, though the hesitation in his voice suggested there was more to the story.

“And?” You tilted your head, your eyes narrowing. “What did you tell him, Travis?”

"I told him you needed some space,” he said, the words spillin’ out in a hurry. “That you didn’t wanna see him.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. “That’s it? You expect me to believe that’s all you said?”

Travis’s gaze faltered for a fraction of a second. He straightened slightly, squaring his shoulders.

“I might have… implied some things,” he admitted reluctantly. 

“Implied what?” Your voice was sharper now, your frustration cracking through. “What the hell did you say to him, Travis?”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I told him you were movin’ on,” he said at last, his tone a bit defensive. “That you and me… that we spent the night... you know, uh—”

A sharp laugh escaped you, though there was nothing humorous about it.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head. “So you lied to him? Why? To hurt him? To make yourself feel better?”

“’Cause he deserves it!” Travis snapped, his voice risin’. “After the way he’s treated you, the way he’s acted… He don’t get to just waltz back into your life like nothin’ happened. Someone needed to put him in his place.”

You took a step back, your arms dropping to your sides.

“And you thought that someone should be you?” you asked, your voice cold. “Do you even realize what you’ve done? This isn’t your fight, Travis. It never was.”

“Why do you care so much about what that prick thinks?” Travis’s voice was tight, each word laced with frustration. “Why does it matter if he thinks somethin' happened between us? We’ve been dating for weeks, haven’t we?”

“Because even if something had happened, it would be nobody else’s business,” you shot back, your voice trembling, though whether from anger or disbelief, you weren’t sure. “You had no right to talk about us behind my back, Travis, to talk about me that way. That’s a line you don’t cross. If there’s anything between us—anything at all—it stays between us. That’s how respect works. But you… you just threw it out there like it was some weapon to hurt him.”

“Respect?” Travis repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. “Joel don’t respect me, so why should I give it to him?”  

"I know, you’re right," you said, your voice steady but firm. "I know Joel’s been awful to you from the start, but that's not the point!” you snapped, takin’ a step closer. “Why’d you even say it, Travis? To piss him up? To win some kind of imaginary contest? What exactly did you think you’d accomplish?”

His face darkened, the accusation hitting a nerve. “You’re really asking me that?” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Why the fuck did you agree to go out with me, anyway? I think we both know it’s not me you want to be with.”

The words hung in the air like a sudden drop in temperature. You felt your breath catch, your pulse roaring in your ears.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you demanded, but your voice lacked the sharpness you’d intended.

“It means you never stopped wantin' him,” Travis said bluntly, his jaw set. “You say you like me—liked me—but let’s be honest. That’s not enough, is it? You’re still hung up on Joel, no matter how much you try to pretend otherwise.”

“I liked you because I thought you were decent,” you countered, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “Because I thought you wouldn’t pull shit like this.”

“Decent,” he repeated bitterly, the word dripping with sarcasm. “That’s what you look for in someone? Decency?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Guess that explains why Joel’s still got a hold on you.”

“Don’t turn this around on me, Travis,” you warned, your tone icy. “This isn’t about Joel. This is about you, and the fact that you dragged me into your petty grudge match with him. You told him we slept together to hurt him, didn’t you? That’s all this was to you. Some sick way of proving a point.”

“Maybe I did,” he admitted after a long pause, his voice defiant, though his eyes gave away the guilt behind his words. “Maybe I wanted to see him squirm for once. God knows he deserved it. And truth be told, I sure did enjoy watchin’ him die a little inside.”

“Deserved it?” You laughed sharply, shaking your head in disbelief. “At my expense? You really enjoyed pissing him off, didn’t you? You thought it was worth it to drag me into the middle of your shit, just so you could watch him lose it.”

“I wasn’t trying to drag you into anything,” Travis argued, though his tone lacked conviction. “I was protecting you. Standing up for you. Again, Joel doesn’t get to just walk back into your life after everything he’s done and act like nothing happened.”

“Protecting me?” you repeated, incredulous. “You think lying to him about us is protecting me? If you wanted to protect me, you would have stayed out of it completely.”

“I didn’t lie,” he shot back, his voice rising again. “Not really.”

“Oh, give me a break,” you said, throwing your hands up. “Don’t try to split hairs with me, Travis. You knew exactly what you were doing, and it had nothing to do with me. This was all about you and your bullshit rivalry with Joel. What’s next? Are you going to pull out a ruler and measure dicks with him? Honestly, If you’d just punched him square in the face, it would’ve been far more decent.”

Travis’s face fell, the anger draining from his expression in an instant. Guilt settled in its place, heavy and unmistakable. He opened his mouth to respond but then closed it again, the silence between you thick and suffocating.

You took a step back, your arms crossing over your chest again. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now,” you said quietly. “I thought I could trust you. I thought you were better than this.”

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I screwed up. I was angry, and I let it get the best of me. I didn’t mean to—”

You let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of his words press against the knot already forming in your stomach. You shook your head, trying to hold onto the edges of your resolve.

“You had no right to meddle in my business with Joel,” you said, your gaze fixed on the floor. The words felt sharp, final, as though speaking them aloud might make them easier to believe.

When you looked up, his eyes were on you, calmer now but no less intense. The familiar shade of blue in them seemed darker, clouded with something unspoken. He stood there, silent, watching you like he was waiting for something—permission, maybe, or understanding.

“I know everything with him is… difficult,” you continued, your voice quieter now, tinged with something softer. “And I know it’s been unfair. But it’s between him and me. It always has been.”

Travis sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He pushed himself off the doorframe and took a step forward, then stopped, his hands hovering awkwardly by his sides. His lips curved into a faint, bitter smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I just don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t get why you even agreed to go out with me in the first place. Why drag me into all this? You could’ve just spared me the trouble, saved me from wastin’ my time, from wastin’ energy on somethin’ I was never gonna win.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, cutting through your carefully constructed armor. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, your voice softer now, though still firm.

“Why would you need to win anything, Travis? This isn’t a competition. It never was.”

“Really?” he asked, his voice cold, though the hurt behind it was unmistakable. He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Doesn’t feel that way.”

You took a step closer, trying to close the gap—not just the physical space between you, but something deeper.

“I liked you, Travis,” you said, your words deliberate, each one carefully chosen. “I’ve always liked you. Don’t doubt that for a second. And don’t think I used you. That’s not what this was.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his lips pressed tightly together, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he nodded, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice softer now. The words carried something heavier than before, as though he’d just realized how little they could do to fix this.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening.

“Me too,” you admitted. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air between you, thick and oppressive. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you didn’t matter. Or like you were… caught in the middle of something you never signed up for. That was never my intention.”

“But?” he prompted, his voice quiet but firm, like he already knew what was coming.

You smiled faintly, though there was no humor in it. Only sadness.

“But this is as far as it goes,” you said, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “And it needs to stop here. For both of us.”

Travis nodded slowly, his lips pulling into a thin, resigned line.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice barely audible. He looked at you, his eyes heavy with something you couldn’t quite name—regret, maybe, or acceptance.

You didn’t say anything else. There was nothing left to say. Instead, you turned and walked away, your footsteps soft but deliberate. You felt his gaze linger on you as you left, heard him murmur another apology under his breath, though it did little to dull the raw discomfort still settling over you.

The walk home felt interminable. Each step dragged, your feet moved mechanically while your mind spun, heavy with the weight of what had just happened. The crisp air bit at your cheeks, and the faint hum of distant traffic filled the silence you carried. When you finally reached your home, you shut the door behind you with a soft click, leaning against it longer than you should have. The quiet of your home surrounded you, thick and expectant, as if it had been waiting for you to process everything.

You shrugged off your coat and kicked off your shoes, leaving them in a messy pile near the door. Your fingers paused on the hem of your sweater as you headed to the bathroom. The mirror caught your reflection, and you froze. You were startled by how tired you looked—your hair tousled from the wind, shadows ringing your eyes. You didn’t feel like yourself, and seeing that weariness staring back at you was jarring.

The shower’s hot spray offered a small reprieve. You stood under it longer than you probably should have, letting the water drum against your skin and the steam fill the room until it was hard to breathe. You tried to think, to pin your feelings down, but everything slipped away, as if you were trying to hold water in your hands. Anger at Travis still simmered under your skin, but there was something else, quieter and harder to name—a gnawing mix of pain and confusion.

When you finally stepped out, your skin was pink from the heat, your hair damp and sticking to your neck. You wrapped yourself in your thickest robe and walked barefoot into the kitchen. The house felt colder now, the chill seeping through the floor and nipping at your ankles. You filled the kettle and set it to boil. The small ritual of making tea steadied you. The soft whistle of steam was oddly soothing, a thread of normalcy in the chaos of your thoughts.

Back in your bedroom, you sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping your hands around the mug as if its warmth could sink into your chest. You sipped slowly, your eyes locked on a spot on the wall you weren’t really seeing. Travis’s words played on repeat in your head, each one sharp and heavy, making your chest ache. But then your thoughts drifted to Joel—his voice, his face, the way he lingered in your mind even when he wasn’t there. You tried to untangle your feelings, to make sense of them, but everything was a mess. You felt stuck, suspended between anger, regret, and an ache you didn’t want to name.

By the time your tea had cooled, you set the mug on the nightstand and crawled under the covers. You curled into yourself, as if trying to protect your body from the storm inside your mind. Sleep came in fits and starts, your dreams restless and fragmented.

When you woke, pale winter light filtered through the curtains, and the clock on your phone read 5:00 p.m. The realization sat heavy in your stomach, though you weren’t entirely sure why.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, as a decision started to take shape. You needed to talk to Joel. You needed answers—clarity—something to cut through the fog that had settled over you. The thought filled you with both dread and determination, but you knew it was the only way forward. Avoiding this had only left you feeling more tangled.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you headed into the kitchen. The quiet of the house felt like both a comfort and a weight pressing down on you. You grabbed a glass of water, leaning against the counter as you tried to gather the resolve for the conversation you had been putting off. After a few seconds, you forced yourself to stop thinking about it.

Then, after pacing your home for what felt like hours, the walls pressing in closer with every loop around the living room, you decided you needed air. Staying inside had begun to feel suffocating.

You didn’t have a plan when you left, not really. The streetlights buzzed faintly in the cool dusk, casting a yellow haze on the cracked pavement. The air had that sharp, metallic chill of autumn, biting at your cheeks and pinching your nose. You pulled your scarf tighter as you walked, hands buried deep in your pockets, letting your feet lead without much thought.  

Eventually, you found yourself standing in front of the small, unassuming cinema tucked between a bookstore and a closed bakery. The marquee flickered with a mix of indie titles and old classics. You chose something without paying too much attention, just handed over your card and took the ticket without caring about the plot or reviews. It wasn’t about the movie, really—it was about the act of sitting in the dark, of letting someone else’s story take up the space in your head that Joel’s had been occupying for too long. 

The air inside was warm and thick with the scent of buttered popcorn, wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. With your snacks in hand—popcorn and chocolate, the perfect blend of sweet and salty—you found a seat near the back, where the dim glow of the screen felt like a shield from the outside world.

The movie began: 16 Candles. Molly Ringwald appeared, her face falling as her family forgot her birthday. You watched, though your focus wavered, the story blurring into the film’s grainy texture. For long stretches, you weren’t even sure what was happening, your mind slipping in and out of the narrative.

But none of that mattered. For those few moments, tucked away in the darkness, you weren’t thinking about him. And that was enough.

When the credits rolled, you stayed seated for a moment longer, watching the names scroll by in white letters against the black screen. There was something soothing about the rhythm of it, the anonymity of all those people who had come together to create something for strangers to sit and lose themselves in. Finally, you stood, stretching your legs as you shuffled out into the night.

Your stomach growled as you stepped onto the street, and you realized you hadn’t eaten since lunch. Without much deliberation, you turned toward your favorite restaurant, the one you always went to when you craved a little indulgence or comfort. It wasn’t far—just a few blocks away—and the walk, though cold, felt like a balm. The restaurant’s warm light spilled onto the sidewalk, a beacon against the deepening dark.  

Inside, you slid into a familiar booth by the window, the worn leather cushioning a kind of second skin to your movements. The server greeted you by name, smiling as they handed you a menu, though you barely glanced at it before ordering your usual. The predictability of it felt steadying, a ritual that didn’t demand any extra thought.  

As you waited, you let your eyes wander. The restaurant was only half-full, a quiet hum of conversation blending with the clink of silverware against plates. You imagined snippets of lives that weren’t yours—a couple arguing softly over shared appetizers, a man engrossed in his phone, a table of friends laughing too loudly. You didn’t envy or resent any of it.  

When your food arrived, the first bite was a revelation, reminding you just how hungry you were. You ate slowly, savoring every forkful, letting the warmth spread through you like a kind of healing. You didn’t check your phone once, didn’t let your thoughts circle back to Joel or any of the messy, unresolved tangles waiting for you at home. Instead, you let yourself exist in this small, fleeting moment of peace.  

By the time you left, your body felt heavy with contentment, your mind quieter than it had been in days. The streets were quieter now, too, the city winding down into its nighttime lull. You took the long way home, the cold air stinging your cheeks but waking you up in a way that felt good. And for the first time in what felt like ages, you felt good.

That night, you slept like a baby.

*

Tuesday. The afternoon found you typing away at your laptop, the steady rhythm of keys filling the otherwise quiet living room. The soft knock at the door startled you out of your focus. You paused, turning your head toward the sound, squinting as if that might help you see through walls.

Resting your palms on the table, you pushed yourself up and walked to the door, curiosity flickering. Who could it be? You weren’t expecting anyone. When you opened it, a warm smile tugged at your lips before you even realized it.

“Hi,” Sarah greeted, her usual brightness dimmed slightly by a rare shyness. She stood there, clutching a paper bag against her chest, the faint rustling hinting at its contents. “I was home alone and thought… I don’t know, maybe I could come over? Hang out for a bit? They just put 13 Going on 30 back on Netflix, and I thought we could watch it. I brought snacks.” She lifted the bag slightly, a hopeful grin spreading across her face. "Just if you can, obviously."

You tilted your head, stepping aside to let her in. “Of course. That sounds perfect.”

She walked in, brushing past you with an air of quiet confidence, though her smile betrayed how pleased she was.

As she made her way to the kitchen, you asked, “Does your dad know you’re here?”

“He’s working,” Sarah replied casually, already unloading her treasures onto the counter. “I left him a note. He won’t mind.”

You followed her, leaning against the counter as she spread out an array of treats: chocolates, chips, two popcorn bags, Doritos, and a generous stash of her favorite sour gummies. She seemed so at ease in your space, like it was as much hers as it was yours.

“Wow,” you remarked, surveying the haul with mock astonishment. “This is a feast.”

Sarah grinned, shrugging like it was no big deal. “I wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for, so I brought everything.” She paused, holding up a bag of popcorn. “You can’t watch 13 Going on 30 without chocolate, right?”

“Absolutely not,” you agreed, reaching for the bag to help her. As you moved around the kitchen together, the air between you felt light, easy. She chattered about her day, slipping seamlessly between topics, while you found yourself laughing at her sharp, funny observations.

By the time the snacks were ready, the living room was glowing softly in the dim light of the TV. Sarah settled onto the couch, pulling a blanket over her legs, and patted the spot next to her. You joined her, the warmth of her presence a quiet comfort.

As the opening credits rolled, she glanced at you, her expression serious for a moment. “Thanks for letting me come over. I just… I didn’t feel like being alone today.”

A sharp pang settled in your chest at her words. You realized just how much you’d missed her these past few weeks. The two of you hadn’t spent much time together lately, and the thought of Sarah passing her afternoons alone tugged at you in a way you couldn’t ignore. 

You remembered how it used to be. How she’d spend hours with you while Joel was at work, her chatter filling the silences in the house, her presence a comfort you’d come to treasure. You loved those afternoons—the way she’d casually sprawl on your couch, teasing you about your tea obsession or insisting on picking the music. But then, gradually, the visits stopped. She probably sensed something was wrong between you and her dad. Sarah was perceptive like that. Too perceptive.

It killed you to think she felt caught in the middle of something she didn’t fully understand. And because of that, you hadn’t pushed her to come back. You didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable or burdened.

You met her gaze, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “You’re always welcome here, honey. Always. I've missed you a lot.”

Sarah’s expression softened, but she hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the candy bar in her hand. “I missed you too,” she admitted quietly, her voice almost tentative, as if she were afraid of saying it out loud. “I wasn’t sure if… you know, if things were okay.”

“Of course they are,” you said quickly, stepping closer and resting a gentle hand on her arm. “With me and you? They’re always okay. I hope you know that.”

She looked up at you, her lips curving into a faint smile, though a flicker of uncertainty lingered in her eyes. “It’s just… I didn’t want to bother you, especially with everything going on. Dad doesn’t say much, but I can tell something’s been… weird.”

Your heart squeezed at her honesty, and you took a steadying breath.

“Things have been complicated,” you admitted, choosing your words carefully. “But none of it changes how much I care about you. You mean so much to me, and I’m glad you’re here, really.”

Her smile grew a little wider, the vulnerability giving way to a familiar brightness. “Okay,” she said softly. Then, almost teasingly, she added, “You’re stuck with me tonight, by the way. I brought enough snacks for a sleepover, just sayin'.”

You chuckled, the sound light and easy, as if a weight had lifted from the room. “Good. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

The movie played on, its quick-witted humor keeping the two of you entertained. You couldn't count the number of times you'd seen it, though you'd guess it was well into double digits. One of your favorite comedies, it had been an instant hit with Sarah when you'd introduced her to it on a lazy Saturday morning. Since then, she'd occasionally tug at your sleeve, asking for another watch, usually with the promise of snacks you both knew you'd overdo.

As the credits rolled, you noticed the remnants of your indulgence: a half-eaten chocolate bar in your hand and Sarah carefully organizing the bag of sour gummies on the coffee table. She tucked the gummies away with an air of exaggerated responsibility, declaring it a strategic move to ensure there were enough left for another movie night soon.

Feeling the sugar settle uncomfortably in your stomach, you pushed off the couch, announcing, “I need water. Want some?”

Sarah stretched, her arms flopping dramatically onto the cushions. “Yeah, please. But a small glass. I don’t want to explode.”

The kitchen light felt sharp after the dim glow of the TV. You grabbed two glasses, filling one as Sarah called your name from the other room. Her tone was curious, a little tentative. Before you could answer, you heard her feet padding toward you. She appeared in the doorway, her hands fluttering slightly as though brushing off invisible crumbs from her shirt.

“Can I really sleep over?” she asked, stepping closer.

You handed her the glass of water. She accepted it but didn’t drink, her bright, questioning gaze fixed on you.

“Of course,” you said, leaning back against the counter. “But your dad has to be okay with it. Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

She shrugged one shoulder, sipping the water. “Yeah, but I’ve done it before. He won’t care.”

“Well,” you said, tilting your head, “you should still ask him.”

She tilted her head right back at you, mirroring your expression. “Why don’t you ask him? You’re the adult.”

You almost laughed at her logic. “If he’s at work, I doubt he’ll answer a call. Just text him.”

Sarah shook her head decisively, the same way she did when you suggested vegetables for dinner. “He hates texts. Besides, I don’t have my phone with me. And anyway,” she added, spinning on her heel toward the bathroom, “you’re the one who’ll need to explain it if he says no.”

Her retreat left you holding your glass of water, staring at the space where she'd stood. You glanced at the clock on the wall: just after six. Joel would probably be home soon. You could wait and let her handle it, or maybe save yourself the hassle and send him a quick text yourself.

From the bathroom, Sarah's voice floated out. “Hey! Don’t forget to ask, okay? But, like, be convincing. Say we’ve had so much fun.”

“Oh my God,” you muttered, half-laughing, Sarah’s earlier comment still replaying in your mind.

The kitchen was dim, and your eyes rested on a blank patch of wall, thoughts moving like syrup. Dinner. You needed to decide. Pasta sounded good—something carb-heavy, comforting. Maybe that spaghetti recipe you loved but hadn’t made in ages.

The refrigerator door creaked open, releasing a blast of cool air that brushed your face as you leaned in. You scanned the cluttered shelves, the faint hum of the appliance the only sound filling the quiet kitchen. Your fingers absently scratched your cheek as your eyes drifted over jars, old takeout containers, and a tangle of half-used bags of ingredients. 

A bottle of soy sauce caught your attention, slumped in the door shelf, its label peeling at the edges. You stared at it for a moment, trying to recall when you’d last used it. Christmas before last? Maybe even earlier. It looked so out of place now, like a forgotten relic from some half-hearted attempt at cooking you'd long since moved on from. Had it really lasted this long? You wondered if it was still good.

You were still debating dinner options when Sarah returned, her footsteps soft against the tile. She was drying damp hands on her jeans, smearing faint water trails on the dark fabric. Sliding onto the stool at the kitchen island, she leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands.

“So?” she asked, her tone equal parts casual and sharp. “What did he say?”

“Huh?” You straightened, caught off guard.

“You called him, right?”

“I... no, I didn’t.”

Her brows lifted slightly, the edges of a smirk tugging at her lips. But when you didn’t follow up, her amusement faded. A shadow of something more serious crossed her face.

“I knew it,” she said flatly, her voice quieter now.

“Wh—”

“I knew something was wrong with you,” she interrupted, her words deliberate. “But no one ever tells me anything.” Her face scrunched into a frown, the kind that tugged at your chest because it was so distinctly hers—and so distinctly Miller.

“No, honey,” you said softly, stepping closer and leaning your elbows on the counter. Now at her eye level, you tried to hold her gaze. “It’s not that simple. What’s been going on between your dad and me... it’s just complicated.”

Her frown deepened, her lips pressing into a hard line. “It’s always complicated. That’s what you grown-ups say when you don’t want to explain anythin'.”

You sighed, your nerves making your voice tight. “It’s something between adults.”

She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms in a way that made her look older than twelve. “Yeah, but you got involved, didn’t you? And now it’s all weird.”

The directness of her words landed like a jab, though there wasn’t anger in her tone—just sharp observation. She had that way of cutting through pretenses, seeing things for what they were, or at least how they felt to her.

“I heard you guys the other day,” Sarah said, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.  

Her words sent a cold rush up your spine, landing squarely at the nape of your neck. You froze, unsure of how to react.  

“Sunday,” she clarified, her tone even but pointed. “When you came to my house. I heard you. I was on the stairs, and my dad didn’t notice. Neither did you.”  

Your mouth felt dry. “What... what did you hear?” The question came out faster than you intended, betraying your nerves.  

Her eyes, sharp and unblinking, stayed fixed on you.

“I heard my dad,” she began, carefully measuring each word. “He was saying a lot of... angry stuff. About Travis. About you. Accusing you of—of going off with him.” She paused, hesitating before adding, “And he said you told him you didn’t want to be friends with him anymore. He sounded hurt.”  

The mention of it made your stomach twist, and your eyebrows gave away your unease before you could school your expression.  

“Did you?” she asked, her face an uneasy mix of curiosity and sadness.  

You took a breath, looking at her and realizing there was no point in lying.

“Yeah,” you admitted quietly.  

“Why?” Her voice wasn’t accusatory, just earnest, like she truly wanted to understand. “What did he do to you?”  

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure how to condense the mess of emotions into something a twelve-year-old could grasp without oversharing. The words churned in your head, bumping into each other, refusing to settle.  

“We argued,” you said eventually, each word feeling like a step on unstable ground. “And your dad said some things. Mean things. And... I said some things too. We hurt each other.” You paused, swallowing hard. “But it hurt me a lot. Too much. And I told him that.”

Sarah studied your face for a long moment, her expression softening into something thoughtful.

In a quieter voice, she asked, “Was it because you guys like each other?”  

The question caught you off guard, and a laugh bubbled up despite yourself—a small, surprised sound that you tried to stifle.  

“Something like that,” you said, glancing at her with a faint smile.  

She mirrored it, her lips curving up in a way that felt both hopeful and uncertain.  

You exhaled, your gaze dropping to the counter.

“We’ve been friends for so long, and... it’s complicated when something else happens. Or even when you think something else might happen.” You paused, trying to find the right words. “There’s a lot to figure out. A lot to fix, I think.”  

Sarah nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful, as if she were piecing together a puzzle. Then she scratched the back of her neck in a way that was both casual and deliberate, like she was working up to something.

“He’s been downright unbearable lately,” she said, her tone more matter-of-fact than annoyed. “In a bad mood most the time. And when he’s in a good mood, it’s like... I dunno, feels kinda fake or somethin’. Not real convincing.” She shot you a glance, her face lit up with that mix of mischief and sincerity. “Usually, I like teasin’ him—it’s fun. But lately, I just... I dunno, I can’t bring myself to do it. He looks so bad. I feel sorry for him.”

Your eyebrows lifted, and you tried to hide your amusement at how bluntly she was painting Joel’s misery. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance under her scrutiny.

“Well, that’s probably for the best,” you said, smiling as you reached out to rest a hand over hers. “Don’t bother him too much. Go easy on him, okay?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she muttered, her fingers tapping lightly against the counter. Then her gaze lifted to yours, her bright eyes sharp and curious. “But it all kind of makes sense now.”

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I knew something was wrong right after his birthday,” she explained, her voice gaining momentum. “He wouldn’t tell me anything when I asked, though. So I tried Tommy. But he wouldn’t tell me anything either. He said Dad wouldn’t want him to.” She paused, looking almost shy now. “And I didn’t want to ask you. I thought you might get mad.”

“That could never happen,” you assured her gently.

She nodded, but there was still a flicker of hesitation on her face. “It’s just... it was obvious something was up. I dunno, you guys never fight. At least not like that. So I figured it had to be something big. Something... weirder.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment before she continued, her voice lighter now, like she was sharing a secret.

“Then I went to Irina’s house and told her about it. She said it was obvious—it had to be because you were in love, like in Love, Rosie.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. The thought of Sarah sitting with her friend, dissecting your tangled mess of emotions, was almost too much to process. The tenderness you felt was quickly overtaken by guilt for dragging her into something so complicated.

“I hadn’t seen the movie, though,” Sarah added quickly, shrugging like that detail was crucial to the story. “So we watched it that afternoon. Dude, I think she’s right.”

Her tone shifted, turning serious but hopeful, her eyes sparkling with a kind of naive certainty. “You have to leave Travis.”

Her sudden declaration caught you completely off guard, and a laugh burst out of you before you could stop it.

“Sarah!” you said, still laughing, covering your mouth as you tried to collect yourself.

She grinned, looking more pleased than embarrassed. “What? I’m just saying what everyone else is probably thinking.”

You shook your head, still laughing, and reached over to ruffle her hair. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?”

Sarah ducked away from your hand, smoothing her hair with exaggerated care, as if the ruffle had ruined her carefully curated look.  

“Yeah, I know,” she said with a little shrug, her tone light but pointed. Then she glanced up at you, her eyes sharp. “So, are you gonna leave him? I mean, I’m pretty sure Dad would be thrilled.”  

“Oh my God,” you gasped, caught between surprise and laughter. 

She didn’t miss a beat. “He’s the obstacle, isn’t he?” she said, gesturing broadly with one hand, as if the answer were painfully obvious. “And you love my dad. It’s simple.”  

“Uh—I... I think this is a bit too much to unpack,” you stammered, feeling the heat creep up your neck.  

“Why?” she asked, her face falling slightly into an expression of disappointment. “What’s wrong with it? I already know everythin'. I’m not stupid. I’m not a baby.”  

“It’s not that,” you said quickly, softening your tone. “It’s just... there’s a lot of stuff you don’t know, and it’s complicated.” You shifted uncomfortably, trying to find the right words. “Look, I’m not dating Travis. Not anymore. But even so, I thought your dad was dating Sienna.”  

“Sienna?” Sarah repeated, tilting her head in confusion. “You mean the one from the bank?”  

“Yeah,” you said, nodding.  

Sarah snorted, like the idea itself was absurd. “Dad’s not dating Sienna. I overheard him and Tommy talkin' about it, like, a month ago.”  

“You love spying on your dad, don’t you?” you teased, glancing at her with raised eyebrows.  

“I wouldn’t have to spy if everyone didn’t keep secrets from me,” she shot back, mimicking your tone with a smirk. Then she added, “Forget about Sienna. He stopped seein' her right after his birthday.”  

“Oh, really?” you said, arching an eyebrow.  

“Yup,” she said, leaning forward, her expression turning mischievous. “Oh, what a coincidence, right? Right after your fight.” She reached out to poke your hand, a playful glint in her eye.  

You froze for a second, smiling faintly, but your mind was racing. Joel had stopped seeing Sienna? Over a month ago? Why hadn’t he said anything? He’d had plenty of chances to mention it, plenty of openings to set things straight. But he hadn’t.  

“Well,” you said finally, straightening up and brushing the thought aside. “It’s his life. And you,” you added, pointing an accusatory finger at her, “have nothing to do with this. Got it? You and me, we're okay. Always.”  

“Okay, okay,” Sarah said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. She raised her glass to her lips, pausing before she added, “But you have to let him know I’m staying over. Now.”  

“Fine,” you said with a sigh. “But I’m texting him, not calling him.”  

Sarah rolled her eyes dramatically, like you’d just suggested the most tedious thing imaginable.

“Okay,” she said, drawing the word out. “Apparently, we’re doing this one step at a time.”  

You smiled despite yourself, turning to open one of the wooden cabinets on the wall.

“One step at a time sounds about right,” you said, more to yourself than to her.

“What do you wanna eat?” you asked, your voice carrying lightly across the kitchen as you moved to open the fridge.

Sarah leaned against the counter, considering. “Anything but those frozen pizzas. You always burn the edges.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That happened one time.”

“More than once,” she corrected, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine,” you conceded. “How about spaghetti?”

Her face brightened instantly, a flicker of excitement breaking through her otherwise composed demeanor.

“Yes! And I’ll help, right? You look like you might need it.”  

You gasped in mock offense, reaching for a pot. “Excuse me, what’s that supposed to mean?”  

She shrugged, a playful grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

It was settled. You gathered ingredients while Sarah volunteered herself as sous-chef, which meant chopping the vegetables in the most chaotic but enthusiastic way possible. You handed her a knife with explicit instructions to please be careful.

“You sound like my dad,” she teased, carefully slicing a bell pepper.

You turned to the speaker on the counter, deciding that cooking deserved a soundtrack. Soon, music filled the small space, bright and upbeat, shifting the energy in the room. Sarah hummed along while you stirred the pot.

When she seemed distracted, her focus entirely on the bell pepper, you slipped out of the kitchen and grabbed your phone from the coffee table in the living room. Unlocking it, you scrolled through your messages until you found Joel’s name.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the words forming and dissolving in your mind. You didn’t want it to sound too formal or hesitant. Just normal. Neutral.

Finally, you typed:

Hi Joel. Sarah’s here, spending the afternoon. She wants to know if it’s okay with you if she stays over. Let me know.

Short. Concise. Clear.

You hit send and placed the phone back on the counter when you returned to the kitchen.

“All done,” you said, gesturing toward your phone with a tilt of your head.

Sarah glanced up, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. She gave a small nod before turning back to her chopping.

Minutes passed, filled with the clatter of knives and the soft simmering of the sauce. You reached for your phone to change the song—Sarah had requested something from her playlist, Just like heaven by The Cure—and just as you did, it vibrated in your hand.

A message popped up at the top of the screen:

Joel. Tell her I said yes, but I want her home early. She’s got school tomorrow.

You turned the phone toward Sarah so she could read it. She gave a mock salute, grinning. “Thumbs up for Dad,” she said, returning to her vegetables.

“Baby steps,” she added after a moment, a little quieter, her back turned to you.

The words hung in the air. You watched her for a beat, the ease of her movements, the way she navigated the kitchen like she belonged there. Something about the moment felt fleeting and important, though you couldn’t quite pin down why.

*

Wednesday. You glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall as you took your first sip of coffee, the warmth of the mug seeping into your cold fingers. 6:32 a.m. The early light was still soft, casting a pale glow through the window where you’d cracked it open just a few centimeters. The cool morning air was refreshing, carrying with it the earthy scent of dew and dawn. It was one of those little rituals you cherished—the quiet, the crispness of the day unfolding just for you.

Sarah was sitting on the stool at the kitchen island, her eyes still half-closed in that sleepy haze. She rubbed them with her left hand, the fingers of her right curled around a steaming cup of tea. The warmth of the tea contrasted with the chill in the room, and she looked small and vulnerable in that quiet moment, as if she hadn’t quite yet fully woken.

You moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, still wearing your pajamas under a soft, worn robe. You set a plate in front of her, the familiar breakfast she loved—toast, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and strawberries, their juicy red flesh cut into generous chunks. She didn’t even need to ask; you knew she’d devour them, just like when she was little. Joel had always been the one to pile up bowls of fruit for her, and she’d always gobbled them down, leaving a trail of sticky fingers and bits of fruit on the house’s surfaces. He used to scold her lightly, but it was always with that soft tone of affection, as if he couldn’t help but love the chaos she brought. Her favorites had always been strawberries and grapes—nothing else really compared.

Sarah took a bite of bacon, chewing contentedly, and looked up at you, her expression curious despite her full mouth.

“When do we watch another movie?” she asked, the question spilling out before she’d even swallowed.

“What movie do you wanna see?” you asked, keeping the conversation light.

“I dunno, one I haven’t seen,” she replied with a shrug, her eyes flickering to her fork. “A love one, or a horror one.”

You chuckled and nodded. It seemed like Sarah’s movie preferences had always swung between the extremes—either something heart-wrenchingly romantic or something terrifying enough to make her jump. You could see the appeal in both, honestly.

You’d gone to bed early last night, after a quiet dinner. Sarah had somehow managed to wriggle her way into your bed before you even realized it, and when you’d turned off the light and whispered goodnight, she hadn’t been quiet for long. She’d started in, talking about everything on her mind. The dramas at school. The boy Irina liked. A teacher she hated, mostly because she was rude and had bad breath. Her upcoming science project, which she was convinced was going to be her masterpiece. And then came the questions—questions you knew had been lingering in her mind all evening.

“Since when do you like my dad?” was one of the first ones, and you froze, unsure of how to respond. If you were being honest, the answer was probably “since forever,” but that didn’t seem like something you could just say to a twelve-year-old.

“How do you know if you like a friend?” she had asked next. “Do you wanna get married, anyway?” and “Does anyone else know about this?” The questions had kept coming, innocent yet sharp, until your tired eyes could barely stay open. You had asked her, gently, to go to sleep. She’d needed to get up early too, after all.

Now, Sarah was hugging you tightly at the door as she left, her face still warm with sleepiness. School started in an hour, and you knew Joel was waiting for her next door, probably with a mug of coffee in hand, ready to help her get through the morning rush.

After she left, you went back upstairs to your room and found yourself standing in front of your closet longer than usual, picking out what to wear. You couldn't really explain it, but something about spending time with Sarah had recharged you. The normalcy of it—her chatter, the comfort of your shared space—it gave you a sense of balance.

Then, as you stood there with your clothes half-chosen, a thought popped into your head, and a smile tugged at your lips. It was perfect—next movie night, you’d introduce Sarah to Twilight. The whole saga. You were sure she’d love it. She adored stories like that, all angsty romance and supernatural drama.

With that thought, you finished getting ready and went off to work, feeling lighter, more cheerful. It was one of those mornings that made the whole day seem a little bit brighter. You were sure it would fly by.

*

Thursday. It was quiet, one of those days that seemed to pass without making much noise but still felt like it had been worthwhile. The morning was calm, and there was something almost comforting about the gentle rhythm of the hours.

At work, you moved through the usual tasks, keeping busy without feeling overwhelmed. You found yourself drifting in and out of conversations, but one particular subject caught your attention: the interns gossiping in the break room. They were whispering about one of the assistants, the one who’d caused a scene in the kitchen last time with a very public meltdown over a misdelivered order. You overheard snippets of their conversation as you nibbled on your sandwich, hearing that the assistant was apparently having an affair with her boss’s husband. You couldn’t help but listen, half-amused, half-worried for her and her boss. The way they spoke about them, with such casual cruelty, made you feel bad for the two women, but at the same time, it was hard to not be intrigued.

You chuckled to yourself as you returned to your desk, but that quiet moment of levity was soon overshadowed by something worse. Later in the afternoon, you saw the same assistant leave the office in tears, her eyes red-rimmed as she hurried past your cubicle. You heard the boss, loud enough for the entire office to hear, scream in her wake, "How ungrateful some people are!" It hung in the air long after she had gone, an uncomfortable silence settling in as everyone pretended to be busy.

When you finally got home, you decided to go for a run. The cool air outside felt refreshing as you laced up your shoes and hit the pavement. It wasn’t a long run, just enough to stretch your legs and clear your head. By the time you returned, sweat on your brow, you felt more awake than you had all day. You took a hot shower, the steam washing away the weariness from your muscles, and for a moment, you felt light.

It was around mid-afternoon when Sarah knocked on your door, her face slightly flushed from the brisk walk over. She held a notebook under her arm, her usual look of determination replacing the exhaustion from earlier in the week.

"Hey, can you help me with my lit homework?" she asked, a bit sheepish but trying to hide it with her usual confidence.

"Of course," you said, gesturing for her to come inside.

As she set up at the kitchen table, she launched into a detailed account of the latest school drama. It was the same pattern—some new gossip or rumor, something about a classmate or a teacher that she found funny or ridiculous.

"Guess what?" she asked, leaning in conspiratorially. "Irina and Julian almost kissed in the hallway today."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Irina and Justin? No way."

"Yeah, I saw them, but then they just... didn’t." Sarah smirked. "I think Julian got scared. You know, like how he does when he talks to girls."

You couldn’t help but smile at her observations. She was so sharp, so aware of everything around her. You had no idea how she’d gotten so good at reading people, but it was impressive. Once you helped her finish her homework, she packed up her things, her expression shifting from casual to slightly more serious.

“I gotta go home,” she said, glancing at the clock. “I still need to work on my project. I’m not done yet.”

“Alright, I’ll text you later,” you replied, smiling at her as she grabbed her bag. “Good luck, love you.”

“Thanks, love ya too,” she called over her shoulder as she left. "I’ll let you know if I need anything else. Bye!”

With Sarah gone, you spent the rest of the afternoon in quiet solitude. You curled up on the couch with a bowl of snacks and started watching Bridget Jones’s Diary. The jokes felt like old friends, and by the time you’d gone through half of the movie, you were feeling light and at ease, the stresses of the day melting away.

For dinner, you opted for the ease of take-out. The thought of cooking felt like too much effort after such a peaceful afternoon. You ordered your usual—Chinese food, always comforting. After the long workweek, it was exactly what you needed. You ate in silence, savoring each bite, the day’s quiet moments stretching into the evening as you let your mind wander.

*

Friday. “No way!” you shouted, your voice coming out louder than you’d meant, and your eyes went wide as saucers. You stepped through the doorway, disbelieving for a moment, before you saw her standing there, grinning like she hadn’t a care in the world.

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her into a tight hug. The warmth of her body against yours felt so familiar, and the sudden surge of emotion made your chest tighten in the best way. You squeezed her just a little harder, like you were trying to absorb her energy, like she could somehow make everything else feel lighter again.

“What are you doing here?” you finally breathed, pulling back just enough to look at her face. You searched her eyes, needing some explanation, still a little stunned.

Cassie’s smile spread wider, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling with that same irrepressible energy you remembered. She still had that look—like she was always on the verge of something exciting, something unexpected.

“I ran away from home!” she declared with an enthusiasm that made her words feel even bigger. She placed her hands on your shoulders, bouncing on her heels like she couldn’t contain the rush of whatever had made her do this. “I just left. I needed to come back. I can't even begin to explain how much I've missed you!”

Her words hit you in a way that made your heart swell, the kind of feeling that caught you off guard, leaving you without a response at first. You just stared at her, as if trying to piece together what she was saying, still not quite believing it.

Without hesitation, you stepped aside and ushered her in, the familiar comfort of her presence filling the space in a way only she could. You watched her, feeling that strange mix of happiness and disbelief, as if she were an apparition you hadn’t expected to see again. It was like time hadn’t passed at all, and you were suddenly back in a world that had felt a little emptier without her.

As she settled her things around the room, Cassie started talking, filling in the blanks of her sudden arrival. She told you everything.

Bruno, her boyfriend, had been cheating on her with a coworker. Cassie had suspected it for weeks—finding a couple of odd messages on his phone was the first hint. But two days ago, she'd gotten the proof she needed when she came across a receipt for an underwear purchase. The whole thing felt so cliché, like something out of a bad rom-com, but the more she thought about it, the more she couldn’t ignore it. That’s when she started searching through his things. She rifled through his office, checking drawers, until she found a stack of small, folded notes hidden in the back. One of them had a kiss—bright pastel pink lipstick, the kind she hated. That color felt like an insult, like it was mocking her. So, in her frustration, she waited for him to come home, gathered everything up, and laid it out on the bed—evidence, neatly arranged like a cruel puzzle. Bruno denied everything at first, of course. He always did. But after a while, he cracked. She didn’t need to say much. The lies tumbled out of his mouth, and she just listened, her blood boiling. In the end, she destroyed every suit he owned—ripping them to shreds before kicking him out of the apartment they’d shared.

That night, in a mix of fury and disbelief, she impulsively booked a plane ticket, packed her things in a hurried mess, and left. Twenty hours of travel later, and now she was lying in your bed, talking a mile a minute. She had no concept of jetlag, or maybe she just didn’t care. The adrenaline was still running through her veins, and the weight of everything that had happened was only starting to sink in.

You both lay there for a while, and then, out of nowhere, Cassie asked about Joel. The question caught you off guard, and for a long moment, you didn’t answer. You tried to collect your thoughts, but when you finally spoke, your voice came out softer than you expected, almost muffled by the weight of it all. You told her about Sarah’s news, about Joel and Sienna. 

Cassie’s expression didn’t shift much at first. She seemed unsurprised, but a little relieved.

“Told you she wasn’t a real threat,” she said, nodding as though confirming a private thought.

But then you mentioned Travis. His name hung in the air, and Cassie’s reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened, her lips parted slightly. She sat up in bed, her posture tense, like she hadn’t expected that at all.

“That son of a bitch,” Cassie muttered, her voice muffled by the pillow as she shook her head. “Who does he think he is, running around talking about you like that?”

You sighed, frustration bubbling up again. “I don’t know. I really don’t. It caught me off guard. I never thought he’d be that kind of person.”

Cassie sat up slightly, propping herself up on her elbow, eyes narrowing in a way that was both intense and oddly endearing.

“And why the hell didn’t Joel ask you about it? Why the hell did he believe some man he loathes?” She made a sharp gesture with her hands, as if dismissing the very idea. “Lately, his brain’s working like a mashed potato.”

You couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped your lips, but it was more out of frustration than amusement.

“That’s exactly what I thought! Why didn’t he just ask me? I asked him a million times, ‘What the fuck are you talking about, Joel?’ and he wouldn’t tell me a thing. Nothing!”

Cassie closed her eyes for a moment, a deep sigh leaving her, as if trying to pull herself together before speaking. When she opened her eyes again, her expression softened, but there was a sharpness in her gaze.

“Because he was hurt. And angry. And he clearly didn’t feel like working things out with you at that moment. The best he could come up with was to blow up at you and make you feel as bad as he felt.”

You stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in slowly, and the room seemed quieter, somehow, as if everything was still in that moment.

“But why? Why did he go that far?” you asked, almost to yourself. The silence lingered.

Cassie shrugged, a look of genuine sympathy in her eyes.

“People are dumb when they’re hurting. But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

You leaned back, exhaling slowly, your thoughts swirling in frustration and confusion. Then, as if a weight had settled in your chest, you found yourself asking, “Why didn’t you come sooner? It would’ve been so much easier to figure this out if I had you here with me.”

She looked at you, her smile softening before she hugged you tighter, her voice quiet.

“Stop, you’re gonna make me cry,” she teased, but there was a genuine warmth in the way she held you. “I was going to come for Christmas anyway, as a surprise. I didn’t plan on running away from Bruno first.”

You laughed, shaking your head, the tension easing just a little.

“I’m glad you came early, though. I missed you so much.”

Cassie grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Are you telling me it’s a good thing Bruno cheated on me? That’s why I came early?”

You playfully swatted her leg, laughing again.

“No, I’m not saying that. But I’m glad you dumped him. You deserve someone who actually knows how to treat you.”

Her grin widened, and for a moment, everything felt right again. But then she leaned in, her expression turning serious.

“And you need to patch things up with Joel,” she said bluntly, her voice just a little too firm. “Or I’m going to lock you two in a room and force you to talk. Honestly. And stop acting like kids.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, but not at you—more like she was holding herself back from giving you a motherly lecture.

“I know,” you confessed, sitting up straight and running a hand through your hair. You knew this conversation wasn’t over. “I’ll talk to him. I promise.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of endless conversation, the kind that felt both exhausting and comforting in equal measure. Cassie had so much to tell you, her words tumbling out one after the other like she couldn’t stop once she’d started. She spoke about her life in Italy—how she’d adapted to everything, how much she missed the simplicity of being back here, with you, in the same bed, talking about everything and nothing, like when you were younger. Her laugh was the same, a little higher pitched when she was genuinely happy, and it made you feel like time hadn’t passed at all.

As the hours drifted by, the conversation shifted seamlessly into memories. You both laughed and sighed as you reminisced about the time you first met, when you were both eleven, so awkward and unsure of yourselves, and how you’d ended up in Austin, drawn by your own separate pulls, yet still somehow close enough to see each other almost every day. Cassie had lived in a small downtown apartment back then. You had found a place nearby, just far enough to need a car to see each other, but close enough to drop by without any effort. You spent hours together in those days—sometimes talking, sometimes just existing in the same space. You never lived together, though. 

Cassie was too social, too often hosting friends and acquaintances, always surrounded by people. You, on the other hand, had always been quieter. You preferred solitude, the peaceful comfort of being by yourself in your own space. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy Cassie’s company—quite the opposite. But you liked the balance of your lives: hers filled with chatter and life, and yours with quiet and space.

Now, with her sitting across from you, it felt like nothing had changed. You were still as close as you’d always been, still managing to keep the balance between her vibrant energy and your calmer, quieter presence. You felt a warmth spreading in your chest, the kind that came from having the best of friends beside you when you needed them the most. The fact that you didn’t know how long she would be staying only made you happier. It was a gift, this unexpected visit. 

Cassie’s voice broke through your thoughts. She’d stopped talking for a moment, her gaze softening, eyes closing briefly as she leaned back on the couch, a contented smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

“I feel better here,” she said, her voice quiet, as if the weight of her words was grounding her.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you smiled, letting the moment linger. You picked up your glass of wine and took a sip, letting the music fill the space between you before returning to the thread of your conversation. You started talking about old friends—those people you used to see all the time but had drifted away from. Faces and names from a past life, now reduced to half-remembered moments.

After a while, Cassie went to the bathroom, and for the first time in hours, you were left alone with your thoughts. The soft hum of the music seemed louder now, the words settling into your mind like an unspoken invitation. 

You needed to talk to Joel. You had to. 

The thought was like a knot in your stomach, tight and anxious. How could you even approach him? How could you talk to him again without feeling humiliated? 

This was it. The last chance. If he treated you badly again, if he shut you out again, you wouldn’t try anymore. If he didn’t want to listen to you, then fine. You weren’t going to beg. You weren’t going to chase after someone who didn’t care enough to meet you halfway. You could feel your resolve hardening, the idea of giving up no longer feeling like a loss, but a relief. You had done everything you could. The rest was out of your hands.

If he didn’t want to listen to you... well, that was his problem. Fuck him, then.

*

Saturday. “I’ll get it!” Cassie shouted from downstairs, her voice carrying easily through the house. 

You were in your room, towel drying your hair after the shower. Cassie had spent half the afternoon thrusting bottles of creams, serums, shampoos, and hair treatments at you, insisting with dramatic conviction that they were, and you quoted, “the best thing in the fucking world.” Reluctantly, you’d agreed to try them, and now your entire being smelled like vainilla and coco.

Downstairs, the door creaked open.

“Joel,” Cassie said, surprised but not unpleasantly so, a smile spreading across her face as she took in the figure on your doorstep. 

Joel blinked, visibly startled. His brows furrowed before relaxing, his expression softening into something almost amused. A soft smile.

“Cassie? What are you doing here? When did you get back?” 

She stepped aside slightly to greet him with a quick, casual hug that he received.

“Yesterday,” she said with a shrug, her eyes narrowing just enough to hint she was already gathering pieces of a puzzle Joel didn’t know existed. “Last-minute decision, you know. Want to come in?”

Joel hesitated, shifting his weight awkwardly. “No, I—uh, is she—” 

“She’s here,” Cassie interrupted, her tone smooth, deliberate. She tilted her head toward the stairs and called your name in a shout. Then, turning back to Joel, she grinned. “She’ll be down in a second. How’s Sarah? She must be huge by now!” 

Joel’s face lit up at the mention of his daughter, the tension in his shoulders loosening.

“She’s great. Yeah, she’s huge—almost taller than you,” he teased, lifting a hand to indicate Cassie’s height. 

Cassie rolled her eyes but laughed. “I want to see her. We should steal her for a girls’ night soon.” 

“Anytime,” Joel replied with a small smile, genuine now. “She’d love that.” 

Cassie zipped her coat with theatrical precision.

“Perfect. Let’s plan it.” She reached for her beret and adjusted it snugly, her gaze flicking briefly toward the stairs. 

You appeared at the landing, one foot on the top step, dressed in black pajama pants and an oversized sweater that hung loose on your frame. Your hair was dry, neat, and slightly glossy—courtesy of Cassie’s insistence. 

“Who is it?” you asked, taking another step before freezing halfway down. 

Your eyes landed on Joel. He stood stiffly, his posture uncertain. The smile he’d worn moments ago dissolved into something more unreadable, almost guarded. You felt a small knot tighten in your stomach.

“I’m going for a walk,” Cassie declared suddenly, breezing past Joel with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Nice seeing ya, Joel.” 

He nodded, but his attention stayed fixed on you. 

In less than a moment, Cassie was gone. The silence she left behind felt sharp, almost heavy. You forced yourself to move, descending the final steps slowly, deliberately, until you were close enough to meet Joel’s gaze without leaning forward. 

He looked different somehow. The dark jeans and heavy green flannel shirt he wore felt familiar, but his expression didn’t. His face was etched with something hard to place—nervousness, maybe, or regret. 

His eyes - oh my God, his eyes. 

You crossed your arms, leaning slightly against the doorframe, forcing yourself to sound steadier than you felt. “Joel, what happened?” you asked, your voice almost a whisper, though the question felt louder than anything you could have said. "Need somethin'?"

He exhaled, a sharp, controlled breath, his gaze flicking briefly to the floor, as if searching for something to say, then back to you. His brows flickered with indecision before he spoke, his voice low and careful, like each word was a step he wasn’t sure he could take.

“I... I know you probably don’t wanna see me,” he said, his voice low, almost strained, his eyes dark and heavy with something blue. “But I... I... can we talk? Please?”

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard - Chapter 9: Longing

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

cw: mentions of death/gore* & the smut we’ve all been waiting for 🖤

word count: 6.7k

The clouds dance and whirl overhead, bringing with them a wind so sharp you think it might cut right through the heavy cloak, all the way down to your skin- maybe even deeper than that.

“Storm’s moving fast..” You say, more to yourself than anything, but Simon hums out an agreement anyway, casting his eyes upward with a squint,

“C’mon, there’s a village not too much further-”

Tugging at your hood, you begrudgingly squeeze your chaffed and aching thighs in order to urge the mare forward. Never in your life had you ridden for so long at one time- over the span of a week, you’ve hardly gotten off the beast unless it’s to relieve yourself or when it’s time to set up camp; and your very spoiled and sheltered life is proving to be a great disadvantage at the moment.

“Sore?”

His question confuses you, your cheeks beginning to burn, though the heat has nothing to do with your wind-chapped skin,

“From the saddle, love..” You can’t help but to roll your eyes at the amusement in his tone, turning into your cowl even further, only to gasp when you feel his hands around your waist-

In quick succession he had gotten close enough to you on his own horse to reach across the short expanse and pull you over, settling you side saddle between his legs, “Simon!”

But, it seems he quite enjoys your disgruntled fussing, “Is this all right?”, he asks, “If not, I’ll put you back-”

“No.. no.” You give in quickly, too enamored by the heat of his body against yours, his delightful warmth leaching into you, and the way your legs and pelvis scream at you to stay. Stay here in this very unbecoming position, one of his arms wrapped snugly over your hips, fingers loosely holding the reins, as the other works to tether your horse to his,

“It takes some gettin’ used to.” Simon coos, holding you closer, “But, you’ve done so well..”

His praise makes your skin feel like it could be on fire, and the steady rocking motion of the horse’s gate does nothing to help- well, except for the tiny splashes of the first rain drops beginning to fall.

And by the time you reach the small square, you’re both thoroughly soaked. Your cloak and petticoat feel ten pounds heavier, sticking to Simon’s jacket as he helps lower you down to the muck and mud before dismounting himself.

The village is quaint, deserted due to the conditions, but it still manages to feel cozy somehow- with candles and lanterns flickering in almost every window, there’s a warmth to it that strikes you differently than you’re so used to. And the closer you get to the inn, the sounds of raucous laughter and amused banter bleed through the foggy windows and from under the solid door.

With Simon’s hand hovering against your lower back, he opens the door and you both shuffle inside. The air is thick with a lazy sort of heat, your nostrils immediately filled with the hearty scents of herbs and fatty meats slowly cooking. You’re grateful for all the noise then, grateful it hides the way your stomach rumbles and growls, excited for a meal that isn’t foraged berries, stale bread, and whatever small game Simon had hunted along the way-

“This way..” Simon guides you through the open area, firmly polite in the way he excuses some of the more rowdy patrons- and it strikes you then, oddly and out of place almost, that none of these people give you a second look. Sure, some of their gazes linger, half-lidded and plied with honeyed mead, at the strangers making their way to an empty table in the corner; but as soon as the next distraction comes, you’re easily forgotten.

An older woman sweeps by with two pint glasses frothing with amber liquid, “Travelers, eh? Been pishin’ a doon out there, I tell ya.”

“Aye, it has-”, you respond with a small chuckle, ordering two of whatever that delightful smell originates from when the matron asks.

“Do you have a room open for the night?”

“Tsch- o’course. Always a room open for a native lass, like y’rself.” She graces you with a warm smile, one that reminds you so much of your own mother it hurts, patting your shoulder before giving a.. less than welcoming glare to the man sitting across from you as she flits away with a hmpf.

You unpin your cloak, tugging it from around your shoulders- a bloom of heat coloring your cheeks when you lock eyes with Simon, a sly grin just barely tugging at the corner of his lips,

“What?”

His head tilts just enough to catch a bit of light from the hearth, casting his features in a deep, handsome glow as he studies you without saying a word. Those damned eyes finally thawing at the sight of your mess of hair still damp, and cheeks stained pink, the way you try to hold his gaze but always end up looking away- pretending to be interested in the wood grain of the table under your hands,

“It’s nice.. Seein’ you like this.”

Nice? You roll the word over your tongue a few times, unsure of what exactly nice entails- but your pondering is very quickly snuffed out by the sound of your name being spoken. They aren’t speaking to you, no, thank the gods, but the more you turn your ear towards the group, the tighter your chest feels-

“May the gods rest ‘er soul..” One man says, lifting his glass in the air, the others following suit in the impromptu eulogy.

“Aye.. Gods rest.”

“A right Scottish Queen on the throne- married off tae tha’ bastard. Now look at ‘er.. Butchered and they say they ne’er found ‘er heid.. A goddamn shame-”

“I heard the King’s heid was sat on the mantle- crown on and all.” Another one offers, staring vacantly into his cup before coming back to the present, “Bodies burnt to a crisp.”

You grit your teeth, images of their gossip wracking through your mind and body; the raw, visceral reaction unstoppable as a bone deep shiver quakes through you. Simon’s hand covers yours, squeezing just enough to draw your eyes back to him-

“‘Ere we are.” Two steaming plates are sat in front of you, roasted pheasant and a healthy portion of potatoes and boiled leafy greens, “‘S a shame, ain’t it?”

She glances back at the table of men, “I dinnae normally like to give in tae the rumors, but-”, her voice takes on a morose lilt, her hands buried deep in her apron, “it’s jus’ so heartbreakin’’. And to think it were her guard! Of all people..”

You really think you could be sick before you’ve even got a bite of your food down, the smell that had enticed you so, now feels too heavy in your nostrils, too rich and fatty, too thick-

“It is.” Simon interjects, tapping the heavy ring around his thumb against the table in that comforting pattern, “Gods rest-”

The woman sniffles, nodding her head before pulling a handkerchief that’s been tucked in her bosom, “Aye, gods rest. Ye two enjoy, lemme ken if ye need anythin’ at’all.”

With a nod and tight lipped smiles, she bustles away, the weather bringing more people into the small tavern than you think is usual. And within the hour, the room quickly shrinks to barely allow for standing space. The already warm air becoming near stifling the longer you sit, pushing bits of leftovers around the wooden plate,

“C’mon, love.” Simon stands, holding his hand out to you- “Let’s get some rest.”

You know he’s right, you know you have another full day of traveling tomorrow- which causes the ache in your bottom and thighs to rear its ugly head yet again. But you feel so utterly restless. The men’s words, long forgotten by them, have not left your mind. They bounce around relentlessly, conjuring awful images and memories- things you cannot forget.

But you let him take your hand, let his warmth anchor you, his steady hold guide you through the crowd and toward the small staircase that takes you both up and up. The air seems to cool step by step, a little easier to breathe the further you get from the noise.

Yet, the closer you get to the room, the more your thoughts seem dead set on casting you into the void entirely. You feel too warm and too cold at the same time, your body and mind unable to escape the vicious fight or flight cycle-

What have you done? What do you truly know of this man? What if he- could he be? Could your Simon be anything like the King? Maybe not right now, but what if- what if- what if-

“Your thoughts are loud tonight, little queen..”

It’s only at the sound of his voice that you notice you now stand in the middle of a spacious bedroom. One with a large bed that commands the space, a wardrobe stood in one corner and a gloriously deep bathtub sat opposite- and sure, you had shared a bed with Simon before, you had clung to him in the middle of forests, with only a thin sheet of canvas between you and the unforgiving wilderness.

But this.. Very suddenly, you’re confronted with the intimacy of the space you share now. Of the single bed, a bed untainted by the memory of another man, of him- you study the crackling fire, and the torrential rains still pelting against the fogged up window panes. Your eyes on anything other than the man that watches you so ardently.

“Was this..” – you suck in a shaking breath, meeting those beautiful amber eyes, the ones that seem to burn brighter than the flames in the hearth, “Did we-”

Oh, such a way with words you have- gods, just get it together.

He tilts his head, “Did we do the right thing?”, with a single step, he’s right in front of you, “Depends on who you ask. Though, I believe your people would say yes..”

“I hate that they think that you- that you would-“

“Kill you?”

Tears sting your eyes then, flooded by everything that happened that night- the poor woman’s body that had been stolen from the infirmary, the fire and blood, the way the King’s crown sparkled on his head as it sat on the mantle. All the horrendous acts that Johnny and Simon committed, for you.

Oh, perhaps Johnny was right all along, you are just a stupid, selfish girl-

“I should be dead, shouldn’t I?” You admit, turning away from him, “At least that way, you and Johnny, you could’ve had your lives- you would not be out here, in the middle of nowhere, helping me escape mine, at the cost of your own. I should be-”

“Don’t.” Simon’s grip on your arm isn’t forceful, it’s not painful or demanding, but you can feel the urgency, see the anguish in his eyes, hear the agony in his voice, “Please.. Don’t say those things.”

He takes up your field of view, holding your face between his hands before pulling away with a huff,

“Don’t you understand? I would do it all again, I would do it a hundred times. Because before you.. I-” – he stops mid-pace, raking a hand through his hair, “I had no life, none beyond a battlefield. My life has only ever been death. My hands..”

You watch him look at his own appendages as though he wishes to remove them completely, “My hands have rarely known or given a kind touch, they are tarnished and unworthy-”

“Simon, no-”

It’s you who reaches for him this time, taking his hands in yours- your lips pressed against the rough skin without a second thought. You kiss them slowly, softly, over and over, listening to each unsteady breath that rattles through his chest,

“I do not know the hands you speak of..” You whisper, looking up at him, “I only know the hands that have saved me, that have held me- hands that have only ever been kind and gentle.”

And to see him now, see every raw edge of him- you feel silly for ever thinking he could be anything like your late husband. That he would ever bring a hand to you that was meant to incite fear and pain, or turn his voice into a weapon to degrade and belittle you.

No, Simon had shown you his heart- openly, tenderly. He had allowed you to see him, pried open his chest and let you settle yourself there, in a space he has never allowed anyone before.

“But you’ve seen what they were made to do. Seen them bloody-” He shakes his head, letting it fall, eyes clenching shut, “I told you before that I am not a good man. The things I have done cannot be atoned for.”

Your hands move cautiously, blazing a slow path from his wrists over his forearms, the cords of muscle twitching and flexing under your palms until you reach high enough to cup his jaw. He doesn’t look at you right away, choosing to lean into the cool touch of your palm before speaking again,

“I’m afraid-” – he whispers, and you can see it in his eyes when he finally opens them, see the terror, the longing, these feelings so obviously and painfully foreign to him, “- that one day.. I will kill you. That I will bring Death right to our doorstep, and he will take you, just as he’s taken all others from me.”

His words feel like fire and frost in your veins. Never would you have thought Simon, your Simon, your steadfast protector- your lover - to harbor such a thing as fear. Much less, a fear of losing you, a fear so great it seems like it could bring the Titan of a man to his knees.

And yet, it’s that fear that fortifies you. If he can be so relentlessly strong for you in times when you thought you were shattering, then you can be that for him- because what is love, if not picking up each other’s pieces when they cannot?

Love was never meant to be only beauty and light, love is disturbing and messy; it is brutal in its hold and unfair in its unpredictability. You cannot choose who you love, not really. There are strings of fate that bind you- how else can something so dark and so wonderful dare make sense?

A sad smile pulls at your lips as you look up at him, thumb brushing back and forth through the stubble on his cheek, “Simon.. If Death should come for me, I will take his hand in mine- and with my other, I’ll hold yours, so that I might find you in every lifetime after.”

The breath that leaves him sounds like it might as well have been punched from his lungs, labored and groaning. But, in the next second you’re being pulled forward- leaning up onto your toes as he captures your lips in a desperate kiss, his arm snaking around your waist as you crash into him with all the grace of a newborn fawn.

But he doesn’t let you fall, he couldn’t dream of such a thing- no, he holds you closer, the span of his fingers covering your lower back, his immense warmth radiating even through the thick fabric of your dress-

“Wait, My Queen.. Wait-”

You feel how he braces himself, forcing his hands to gently push you just far enough away that you couldn’t reach his lips, “Simon-”

Tears well up at the very corners of your eyes, out of frustration or sheer petulance, you’re not sure. It’s just.. your body feels wound too tight, and your mind is so lost in its own haze of desire and longing that you can’t control the way your bottom lip quivers-

“Oh, sweet girl-” Simon presses a kiss to your pitiful pout first before holding your face up so that he could kiss your tears next, “Do you trust me?”

You nod against him, your hands still tightly tangled in the loose material of his tunic, “Yes, but-”

Another kiss causes your complaint to be forgotten at the back of your tongue, overtaken by the taste of his mouth on yours- and the subsequent throbbing deep in your core. Your body truly and utterly aches for him.

He sweeps you out of the room despite your small protests, leaving youstill unsure of what exactly his plan is, or why he insists on denying you and himself for even a moment longer. But you stay, standing by a large bay window, watching how the rain carves chaotic little paths down the glass, and catching glimpses of your reflection when the candlelight flickers just right.

You look properly disheveled. Tendrils of hair frame your dirt stained cheeks, your eyes slightly hollow from the nightmares that have plagued your sleep, lips chapped and raw from the wind, and Simon’s kisses-

Slowly, you untangle your braids, vainly attempting to rake your fingers through some of the mess when you hear boots ascending.

A man you don’t recognize appears first, followed by a much taller, much more familiar form just behind. They both carry a large basin in each hand, the water inside fragrant and steaming as they make their way inside, dumping the pails into the deep copper tub-

There's a small grin on Simon’s lips when he passes by, the men repeating the same act twice more before you watch them shake hands- the taller man slipping a few pieces of silver to the other in thanks,

“A bath?” You look up at him with wide eyes, unable to hide your excitement after weeks of bathing in frigid rivers and streams.

“Mh..” – he hums, moving to hold you again, those long fingers trailing up the laces of your bodice, “You deserve comfort, so, while I can give that to you, I will. And one day.. I’ll draw a bath for you whenever you’d like.”

As he speaks, his voice takes on a softer edge, dipping his head down to nuzzle against the skin of your neck. He lavishes the flesh with kiss after kiss all while his hands work to loosen every lace, methodically pulling until you can feel the ties give way enough to take a deep, shuddering breath-

“Is this ok, My Queen?” Simon asks, pulling back to search your face for any sign of discomfort.

It tugs at your heart in ways you didn’t think possible. Because the King had never asked, he never cared what was ok or not- and you didn’t know any better anyway.

But Simon waits, he waits to hear the soft ‘yes’, waits for even a second longer just to memorize the way your eyes sparkle for him- beautiful and bright. And with the same tender movements, he pulls the dress from your shoulders, easing the fabric down your arms, every prolonged graze of his fingertips leaving a wake of goosebumps.

You’ve never been completely bare to a man before- even your husband had never seen all of you at once, never taking the time to bother with undressing you when he could just hike your nightgown up.

What if he doesn’t find you appealing when he sees you so exposed? What if he thinks the stretch marks on your thighs are ugly? Or maybe the size of your hips and the fatty flesh that covers them- the King always made sure to remind you of how unsightly those parts of you were.

What if he doesn’t like how your stomach squishes and jiggles-

“Look at me.”

You hadn’t even noticed that your eyes were focused on the floor, cast down in shame when your gown pooled around your ankles. And you really should’ve known that one look at the man in front of you would take all your insecurities and wash them away, because to him, he’s never seen a woman so perfect.

Simon’s never seen skin as soft and unblemished as yours- and he finds himself wanting to kiss and mark every single inch of you, make you his and only his.

Instead, he tilts your chin up, relishing the sight of your swollen lips parting just so, like you, too, couldn’t get enough of him. No one’s ever looked at him that way, like he were something to be coveted and desired.

“You’re beautiful.”

That’s all he gives you before wrapping you in his arms, sealing his lips over yours- and this time when you pull at his belt, he lets you. He lets you loosen it around his hips, lets your hands wander, fingers skimming over the feverish skin of his torso. He helps you by tugging the tunic over his head, blessing you with the glorious sight of him; his muscles, and scars, and freckles, and moles- every stunning imperfection that has shaped him.

A flash of lightning illuminates the room just before the rattling boom of thunder, as if Mother Nature herself were as enthralled with this moment as you were-

“C’mere..” Simon takes your hand, offering a steadying hold for you to step into the bathtub, “‘S too hot?”

The water stings for only a moment on your legs, but you pay the slight discomfort no mind, lowering the rest of your body into the bath with a sigh,

“No, it’s perfect.” You say, looking up at him with a gracious smile, “Thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything more, opting to push his trousers over his hips and legs- and you know you’ve felt him, felt his length pressing into you through his pants, seen the outline of him straining against the fabric.

But this- you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, aware that your staring is entirely unladylike, but unable to find it in yourself to really care. How could you? When you’ve imagined his cock many a night as you touched yourself to merely the thought of him, to the idea of how good you just knew he could make you feel.

And now, here he is, naked as the day the he was born, towering over you, built like he was carved from the gods of war themselves-

The water sloshes when he steps one foot in, then the other, sitting opposite of you- one leg stretched out against yours and the other propped up so that his knee breaches the surface,

“I’ve never done this.” You admit, cheeks flushed a bright pink from the heat of the water, but mostly from the way he stretches his arms out over the rounded edges of the tub, the way his head tilts lazily to the side,

“Can’t say I have, either.”

You stay like that, watching him until he leans over, plucking a sponge from the small table, “May I?”

Well, how does he ever expect you to refuse when he looks at you like…that.

With a small nod, he inches himself forward, maneuvering your legs to rest atop his, your bodies precariously close again- and with not a thing but the water separating you from him. You avoid looking down, keeping your eyes focused instead on the myriad of scars that litter his broad chest- you watch the bulging muscles move under the skin as he washes you.

He starts with your hands, his eyes glued to you, reverently studying each part as he goes- cleansing you of dirt and grime, “What are you thinking, little queen?”

“That your self-control is admirable.” You respond without thought- the flesh he touches warming even more so when a he bellows a genuine laugh-

“It’s no easy feat. I assure you.”

When his fingers brush against your sensitive inner thigh, a traitorous moan escapes you, one that causes him to tense. And you think even with the hot, slippery water around you- the slick between your legs becomes more apparent, your thighs clenching on their own and your head rolling back,

“Simon..”

Hearing his name uttered as little more than a whimper makes him dizzy, large hand clamping over your thigh like it might steady him- his want for you reaching a peak he had never quite felt before,

“Careful, love..” He growls.

But it’s too late, because you cling to that tiny fault in his control, the wanton, lecherous parts of you gnashing and gnawing their way to the surface. A streak of confidence, or outright arrogance, guiding you to pull the sponge from between his fingers,

“May I?” You coo, repeating his own kind gesture, but you would be lying if you said you had nearly as pure intentions-

He nods, and you begin to mimic his movements- scrubbing his hands, and arms, letting yours linger and softly grope as you go. Every minute or so, you find yourself glancing at his face, seeing his brows knitted together, eyes steeled and unblinking as he watches you clean him- a queen, washing his skin, his queen, bathing him. His cock twitches and swells painfully at the thought-

“Has anyone ever called you beautiful?” You splay your small palm over his thigh, again forcing your eyes to stay away from the water, away from.. Well, away from gawking at his how his length only seems to grow bigger with your efforts.

A sharp laugh fills your ears, his dimples sinking in as he clamps his bottom lip between his teeth, “No.”

You do meet his eyes then, scooting forward so that your thighs are now settled over his, practically straddling his lap, “Well, you are. You look like those statues of the gods.. Like art.”

The sponge slips from your hand when you’re jerked forward, big hands spread out over the fleshy globes of your ass, his fingers kneading into the fat and muscle with a satisfied groan- followed in quick succession by your breathy little whine from the feel of his hardness pressed against your cunt.

Lips and teeth and tongues collide, your body rolling and writhing above his, hips eager to find that delicious friction again-

He moans when you tug your fingers through his hair, thrusting up hard enough to cause water to go splashing and spilling onto the floor below. But neither of you stop, neither of you wanting to fight that burning, deep-seated desire for a moment longer,

“I need you.. Simon- I need you.” You pant, swiping your tongue over his, “Please.”

Without pause, the giant man stands, your legs and arms flailing to stay firmly wrapped around him; even if you know that his hold on you is ironclad, the motion is so abrupt you can’t help the fleeting fear of being dropped. Or worse, either or both of you falling-

But he moves with that effortless confidence he’s so good at, stepping out of the tub, water dripping and puddling on the floor until you’re being nestled safely into the feather down mattress- skin prickling at the cold sheets beneath.

Thankfully, his hands and mouth make quick work in warming you.

“You can stop me-” Simon says, kissing over your jaw and down your neck, “All right? You say the word, and I’ll stop. We don’t- mh- don’t have to do this.”

You tilt your hips up, straining to wrap your legs around his waist, “I want to. I want you..”

He moves to hover over you, those damned eyes picking you apart layer by layer, almost begging for a reason to remove himself- not because he doesn’t want you just as badly, but because he still can’t wrap his mind around the fact that you want him.

Simon has been with women, out of need and lust, sure. And while you are not the first person he’s been with, when you look up at him like that, with those big eyes, and that sweet smirk, he vows to himself then, that you will be his last.

“You already have me, sweet girl..”

Too quickly, he pushes away, your lips chasing after him until you see exactly where he’s headed-

“Wha- oh..”

A warm chuckle fans out over your tummy, “Just need a taste, sweetheart.” – he says, like it were the most normal thing in the world.

The thing is, you’ve never actually had someone do that. You’ve only read about it, heard stories from your handmaids-

Dreamed of it..

The memory of your heat-induced fantasy flashes before your eyes- only then, you didn’t even have a face to fantasize of, but now..

Well now, the vision of Simon’s face settled between your thighs is enough to make your head swoon. Feeling the dark hair in your hands, his breath against your center- that alone is enough to make your back arch off the bed,

“Feelin’ needy, little queen?”

You scoff, the gripe on the tip of your tongue forgotten at the feeling of his thick tongue dragging through your folds- the sensation unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, hot and wet, firm and soft. You cry out, gripping his head tighter, your legs attempting to squeeze shut until he pries you open again,

“Mm-mm..” Simon groans into you, “Don’t hide..”

With another sharp gasp, your head rolls back into the pillows as he latches onto your clit- the swollen bud already entirely too sensitive. And when he circles your entrance with a rough finger, it’s almost enough to take you over the edge right then, feeling the blissful stretch of his digit, and then two- it’s enough, more than enough, and yet, nowhere near enough.

“Mmh- Oh gods..” You moan, using both hands now to guide him, “Right there- right th-there.”

It’s as if you’ve thrown oil onto fire the way he ravishes you, lapping and suckling until you’re nothing more than a trembling, whiny mess beneath him- your body tensing and curling as the orgasm burns through you hard and fast, his name on your lips and yours on his-

“My good girl- fuckin’ hell.. That’s it.”

He praises you, pacing his ministrations to draw out your pleasure until every fiber of your being feels like you’re floating above the heavens.

You’ve reached your finish before, but never so.. intensely; and never at the hands, or mouth of another.

And to have it now, from a man you’ve wanted for so long.. You know you shouldn't uphold him as an idol, as a being deserving of prayer.

No, that is a blasphemous act.

But you do.

“I’ve dreamt of havin’ you on my tongue..”, he drawls, not bothering to wipe your slick from his lips before kissing you- shoving his tongue forward like he wants you to taste yourself, “Of tasting a queen, My Queen.”

A soft hum bubbles out of you, spreading your thighs for him again, and keening at the weight of his cock as it settles over your slit-

“I’m not your queen anymore, Simon..” Is all you can manage to say, reaching between your body and his, no longer slickened by water, but instead glimmering with a sheen of sweat. You wrap your hand around him, another soft whine parting your lips at the way his length jerks at your touch.

Simon nuzzles into your neck, “Aren’t you? Shall I give you my vows again, then?” – his words are muffled by your flesh, his lips warm and wet, “Vow to defend you..”

Kiss.

“To obey you-”

Another kiss.

“To give my life for yours-”

Before he can punctuate the next vow with a kiss, he leans up to cradle your face in his hand, “But.. I suppose I am not fit to be your guard anymore..”

Your brows pull together, “And why is that, Ser Simon?”

His hand settles at your hip, gliding up your thigh to hitch it a bit higher on his waist- the other still cupping your jaw, “Because I cannot promise you to never wed..” – he says, molten amber eyes piercing into you, “I cannot promise to never take land- cannot vow to father no children..”

You don’t need the answer, you know it, but it doesn’t stop you from whispering, “Why?”

Simon’s dimpled smile gives you comfort, the calloused pad of his thumb softly grazing over your cheek, “Well.. if you asked me for those things, I wouldn’t think twice about giving them to you.”

Once more, you’re stunned by the simplicity in which he says it- like he weren’t proposing a life with you. Like he didn’t just admit to wanting more with you, wanting everything with you.

“The thought of you havin’ my name..” – he grinds down as if to prove his point, that the idea of you taking his name is more than enough to turn him on, “Of givin’ you land, buildin’ a home with you.. Children, if you want them.”

Your legs clench around him, not entirely of your own free will. It’s just the things he’s saying, and that fucking voice- it will surely be your downfall. But, if this is falling, you don’t mind how sinfully good it feels.

“Mm..” You hum, leaning up to claim his lips, “In that case, I permanently relieve you of your duty, good Ser.”

You feel his grin, but in the next breath, you also feel that burning sense of urgency return to his movements- hands scorching flesh, lips offering only a temporary reprieve, and it’s all so perfect.

Simon leans up one more time, another question in his eyes as he covers your hand on his cock. You don’t give him the chance to ask though, quieting his thoughts by reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck, voice hardly a whisper,

“I love you, Simon.”

His eyes widen, pupils already blown into thick, inky voids- and for only a second, you worry you’ve said too much, too soon. That he will pull away from you for good, but that notion is lost when he presses forward, his plump tip pushing into you, slowly, inch by mouth-watering inch, while he watches you like it’s the last thing he might ever do.

He watches your lips part into the prettiest shape around your gasp, watches your eyebrows scrunch together, your fingers tightening in his hair-

And fuck, you knew you were shamefully wet for him, but the lewd sound your cunt makes when he sinks into you makes your cheeks bloom a deep red, eyes fighting to stay open, to stay on him. But you feel so full. The stretch of taking his girth so new that it stings, but the pain only seems to make the pleasure multiply. It makes no sense, but you suppose nothing ever really has with him.

It’s when he’s fully seated inside you, arms now propped on either side of your head, sweat beading on his skin that he gives you, and himself, just a moment to adjust. He peppers your lips and cheeks and neck with kisses, swallowing your sweet moans before moving again- languidly drawing back, and pushing in just as slow.

There’s nothing quick about the way he ruins you, he takes his time, wanting you to feel every single moment- wanting to watch the pleasure etch itself into your features, the pleasure he gives you. Deliberately and thoroughly.

Time could have ceased to exist in this moment. You wouldn’t know, you wouldn’t care. Because you can only feel the way he consumes you, your mind and body, spirit and soul, he can have it. Just as he told you that he was yours on that balcony what feels like a lifetime ago now, you knew that you were just as much his.

So, yes, he could take whatever he wanted- it had belonged to him from the start.

Simon Riley is the man fate bound to you.

Just as the familiar pressure blooms once more low in your belly, you feel his fingers lace with yours, his free hand wandering between your bodies, “You feel like a dream, sweet girl.. Better than dreams-”

He groans when your walls flutter and tense around him, his fingers working gentle circles over your clit, the flesh of his hips smacking against yours with every bone-deep thrust. And you knew it would only be a matter of seconds if he keeps up like this, so before you’re lost to the bliss yet again, you pull his head down, licking and nipping at his bottom lip,

“Simon– mmh-”

Your body trembles right before its release, your orgasm somehow deeper, more spectacularly bright than the first. It rings in your ears, only made better by Simon’s own guttural moans growing higher, more desperate- his panting breaths mix with yours, your name spilling out over and over. His rhythm is indiscernible now as he chases his end, your slick and his prespend glistening over your thighs and the thick curls at the base of his cock.

And you really didn’t think it was possible that you could be more enamored or entranced by him than you already are, but seeing him above you- seeing every trace of that unshakable stoicism melt away, leaving just Simon behind.

Leaving just a man, not a knight or a queen’s guard, not a killer, nor a ghost. Just a man who has seen too much of the world, been hurt by it, lived too many lives isolated in his self-made fortress.

You see a boy who was forced to become a man far too soon. A boy who never got the luxury of feeling the sunlight on his face, or a warm breeze on his skin that wasn’t accompanied by guilt or pain. You see his story written in scars, from burns and blades, arrows and spears-

Yet, he is beautiful.

With a final string of grunts, he bullies his cock so deep inside your channel, you can’t help the shrill little squeak you give at the feeling. Pain and pleasure collide as you hug him as tight and close as you both can manage- chests slippery and heaving, the room falling into a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of your breaths.

“Did I hurt you?” He whispers, either unable or unwilling to lift his face from where it lays on your chest, shaking fingers absently tracing over your palm.

“No, not in ways I didn’t enjoy.” You hide your face in his hair, pressing a long kiss to the sweat-dampened locks.

A chuckle floats over your skin, his lips chasing the chills before looking up at you-

“I- I don’t know.. love, My Queen. I’ve read of it, though I can’t say I’ve actually seen it. I wouldn’t know what to look for, or recognize what it feels like. But-” – you give a warm smile, silently praying that one day soon, he might tell you his story.

But, for now, you understand.

“I do not need to hear it.. And perhaps, I don’t know much about the feeling either. But, you feel like the fairytales I grew up reading.”

This time, the chuckle grows into rich laughter, his fingers gently tickling your sides to pull a sweet laugh from you, too,

“Fuck’s sake, little queen. Tellin’ a man he feels like a fairytale.”

You squirm under him with another bout of giggles, “You know what I meant!” – you swat at his arm, groaning suddenly when you feel his cock sink a bit further inside you, his seed dribbling onto the sheets,

“I know happy endings are for children’s stories, but.. the way they speak of love..” —you trail off, looking up at the ceiling for something more poetic, something you might find in one of your books. But you don’t think Simon is man of great proclamations or fancy words-

So, you settle on meeting his gaze, voice soft, “Well, I love you, Simon Riley.”

He leans up to kiss you, slow and deep, “Say it again.”

“I love you, Simon.”

taglist: @spxctorsslxt @ssc7514 @ficcharsimp009

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

10: FREIGHT CAR

Chapter 9 <MASTERLIST > Epilogue

SUMMARY: HYDRA is in pursuit of their prized asset, you just happen to be a casualty of their ruthless endeavors.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warning: SMUT: Physical violence, loss, it's intense — If there is any more you find not listed here please be sure to let me know so I can add it.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, glancing up at your charge. You couldn't see his face in the dim light, but his tense shoulders and the way he held his breath told you everything.

He simply sighed and began lengthening his stride, as if trying to outpace both you and the thoughts that were plaguing him. 

You hurried to keep up, calling out “Solda- Bucky, slow down!” you yelled, your voice barely audible over the roar of the wind whipping through the snowy Siberian plains. You gripped the straps of your backpack tighter, trying to keep pace with the lanky figure beside you.

“Can’t.” His eyes scanning the icy surroundings with an intense focus, his ears perked up for even the slightest sound.

You knew he was on high alert, worried that he was still being pursued, even though you had traveled miles from the HYDRA base and crossed the town border. "They'll be gone by now," you tried to reassure him, "No one will find us here." But Bucky remained silent, his gaze fixed resolutely on the horizon as he pressed onward, the biting wind whipping around you both.

But Bucky remained silent, his gaze fixed resolutely on the horizon as he pressed onward, the biting wind whipping around you both. You couldn't help but shiver, tugging your coat tighter, realizing that it wasn't just the threat of pursuit that was troubling him. "It's not just them, is it?" you asked in a hushed voice. "It’s the memories, right?"

Bucky finally paused, his shoulders slumping slightly. He turned, his gaze meeting yours. The haunted look in his eyes broke your heart. “I’m not sure what I am anymore,” he said, his voice rough and low. “Bucky, Soldat… I don’t know where one ends and the other begins.”

You reached out, taking his cold hand in yours. “You're both,” you said, your voice firm. “You’re Bucky, the man who fought for his country. And you’re Soldat, the soldier who survived. But you’re also something else,” you added, squeezing his hand, “You’re a man who is trying to find his way back.”

Bucky looked at you, his face etched with pain and confusion. “How can I find my way back,” he asked, “when I don’t even know where I started?”

You pulled him close, his warmth a welcome contrast to the frigid air. “We’ll find a way… together,” you whispered, leaning your head against his chest. “We’ll work through the memories, find your past, find your future. We’ll find your way back home.”

He held you tightly, his body shaking with suppressed emotion. You knew the road ahead would be long and difficult, but you were determined to walk it with him. He wasn’t alone anymore. You were here, and you wouldn't let anything tear you apart again.

“They won’t stop, you know?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” you said, your heart sinking. You knew the HYDRA agents would be relentless, their lust for control insatiable. But you refused to let fear paralyze you. You had escaped with Bucky, with the man you had learned to love while caring for him. You had told him his true identity, the truth of his past as Bucky Barnes, an American soldier who had been captured and transformed into the weapon known as the Winter Soldier. He had looked at you with an unreadable expression, the years of HYDRA conditioning still etched on his face, leaving you uncertain whether he believed you or not.

But then, a flicker of recognition sparked in his eyes, a glimpse of the man he once was, the man who had lived a different life before he was turned into a weapon. And in that moment, you knew he held onto a sliver of hope, a spark of humanity that you could nurture.

“We'll find a way,” you said, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “We'll be okay.”

Bucky hesitated, his gaze unwavering as he stared at the horizon. The wind whipped his hair, a stark contrast to the dark, tangled locks that covered his eyes when was The Winter Soldier.

“They don't know what we're capable of. And even if they find us, we'll be together. We'll face them together. Trust me, Bucky.”

Even with the added pressure of being pursued, you couldn’t quite keep up with Bucky. You were exhausted, not having slept much the night before, but the thrill of freedom coursed through your veins.

“Where’re we going?” you asked, your voice hushed by the wind and snow. 

Bucky didn't answer, instead pointing with a trembling hand towards the distance. Your eyes followed his finger, landing on the vast expanse of a rail yard, a jumble of freight cars bathed in the twilight’s fading light. The realization hit you like a physical blow. He planned to stow away on a train, to disappear into the anonymity of the metal behemoth. A shiver ran down your spine. It was dangerous, risky, but it was also undeniably brilliant.

“Bucky,” you started, your voice laced with apprehension, “Are you sure about this?”

He turned to you, his eyes searching yours, their usual icy blue now tinged with vulnerability. “We have to keep moving,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “They’ll be looking for us. This is our only chance.”

You knew he was right. HYDRA wouldn't rest until they had him back, their perfect weapon. Yet, you couldn’t shake the fear that gnawed at your heart. The train ride was risky, but staying put, letting them catch you, was unthinkable. The weight of uncertainty hung heavy in the air as you and Bucky raced towards the distant rail yard, the promise of freedom beckoning like a siren's call. Though your body ached with exhaustion, the adrenaline coursing through your veins pushed you onward, fueled by the knowledge that HYDRA's relentless pursuit would grant you no reprieve.

As you neared the rail yard, the towering freight cars loomed before you, a chaotic jumble of metal behemoths bathed in the fading twilight. The sheer size and scale of the hulking containers was almost overwhelming, each one standing several stories high and stretching out as far as the eye could see in every direction. The air was thick with the pungent scent of diesel fuel and the rhythmic clanking of steel wheels against the tracks, a cacophony of industrial sounds that filled the senses. Overhead, the last vestiges of the day's sunlight cast an amber glow across the weathered exteriors of the cars, their dented and scratched surfaces a testament to the countless journeys they had undertaken. 

“What now?”

“Look,” he said, pointing to the distance. “The train.”

Amidst the overwhelming display of mechanical might, a glimmer of hope emerged as you followed your companion's gaze, spotting the barely visible silhouette of a freight train in the distance, lumbering slowly through the snow-covered landscape.  Your heart leaped with hope. This was your chance.

"Let's go," he said, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the train.

As you rushed headlong towards this potential salvation, a moment of hesitation crept in. “Do you know where it’s going?” you asked, your voice tinged with a cautious uncertainty.

“Away.” He shrugged, his response simple yet profound. In that moment, the uncertainty of their destination mattered little; what mattered was the chance to leave this oppressive reality behind, to venture into a world of untold possibilities, with each other as the only constant.

The rumble of the train grew louder as you drew closer, the rhythmic chugging of the locomotive filling your ears with a steady, pulsing beat as the freight cars clattered and clanged along the tracks. Bucky maintained his tight grip on your hand, his fingers wrapped firmly around yours, not willing to let you go even for a moment, as if he was afraid you might slip away if he loosened his hold even slightly. There was a sense of urgency and determination in his movements, a laser-like focus that told you he had a very specific plan in mind. 

He moved with purpose, leading you towards a particular set of freight cars towards the rear of the long train, the cars becoming more weathered and battered the further back you went. Their steel surfaces were covered in layers of chipped paint and faded, colorful graffiti, remnants of countless journeys and the marks left by those who had ridden them before. But despite their aged and rugged appearance, the cars seemed relatively stable, their sturdy frames and thick metal walls providing a sense of solidity and security, a means of escape, a path to freedom. If you were bold enough to make your move, that is. Bucky's gaze was unwavering as he appraised the cars, mentally calculating the risks and weighing the options, determined to find a way to spirit you both aboard and leave this place behind, no matter the cost.

“Ready?” Bucky looked down at you momentarily before his eyes flicked back to the train, his grip on your hand tightening.

Your eyes widening with surprise and trepidation as the meaning of his words sunk in. “Are you sure?”

Bucky nodded and you knew you could trust him. “On the count of three?” he asked.

You took a deep breath and braced yourself for the leap of faith you were about to make. "One... two…”

“Three!”

As Bucky's deep, commanding voice echoed out the final count, a surge of nervous anticipation coursed through your body. You knew this was your only chance - your one shot at escaping the merciless grasp of HYDRA. Bucky's muscles visibly coiled with tense, focused energy, his eyes narrowing with fierce determination. In that moment, he was the very picture of a predator, poised to pounce on its prey. And then, on that final count of "three," he lunged forward, his powerful legs driving him into a desperate sprint. Without hesitation, you followed suit, your own legs pumping furiously as you fought to keep up with Bucky's breakneck pace. 

Though your bodies ached with the strain of their relentless flight, the adrenaline coursing through your veins kept you moving, spurred you onward. You knew HYDRA would show you no mercy, no quarter, they would hunt you down without pause until you were back within their ruthless clutches. That knowledge burned within you, a fiery motivation that pushed you to keep running, to not falter even as your lungs burned and your muscles screamed. Bucky's metal arm was a vice-like anchor, wrapping around your waist to half-drag, half-carry you along as the moving train grew ever closer. 

Then, with one final burst of speed, Bucky hurled himself and you onto the narrow connecting platform between the two train cars, your bodies colliding with the metal surface in a jarring impact. For a moment, you clung to the edge, your fingers scrabbling for purchase, before Bucky hauled you fully onto the platform. There, you lay panting, hearts pounding, knowing that you had barely escaped the jaws of the beast… but that the hunt was far from over.

The rhythmic clatter of the freight train echoed through the frigid night, lulling you into a false sense of security. You and Bucky, fugitives on the run from HYDRA, had stowed away in a warm freight car, seeking respite from the relentless snow and cold.

As you sat there in the dimly lit freight car, the only source of light coming from a small, barred window near the ceiling, Bucky couldn't help but notice your weary expression.

He moved closer to you, his muscular frame filling the meager space in the car. He looked down at you, his blue eyes filled with concern.

"You look tired," he said, his voice raspy but gentle. "How much sleep did you get last night?”

"Precious little,” you smiled sadly. You didn’t want him to think you blamed him.

Bucky nodded, his eyes tracing over your face, taking in the weary shadows under your eyes and the slight slump of your shoulders. He knew all too well the physical and emotional toll of life on the run, of being pursued and hunted at every turn.

"You should rest," he said, his voice firm yet gentle. "We don't know how long this journey will be, and we need to be sharp if we want to stay ahead of HYDRA."  

He moved a strand of hair away from your face, his touch feather-light but electrifying.

As the train surged forward, you huddled close to Bucky, his strong arms enveloping you. The warmth of his body and the gentle rhythm of the train lulled you into a relaxed state. For a brief moment, you forgot your perilous circumstances and allowed yourself to indulge in the stolen comfort of his presence.

Bucky held you close, his strong arms encircling you like a protective shield. He could feel the tension in your body gradually ease as the train's rhythm and his touch soothed you. For a brief moment, he allowed himself the indulgence of appreciating your warmth against his, a brief respite in the constant storm of uncertainty you were facing.

He ran his hands along the curve of your back, a slow and gentle rhythm against your skin, hoping to bring some semblance of tranquility to your weary soul.

Bucky's touch was tender, his gaze filled with a mixture of concern and longing. He had been through so much, his memories tainted by HYDRA's brutal conditioning. Yet, there were glimpses of the man he had once been, the man who had fought alongside Steve Rogers.

Bucky continued to hold you, his touch still gentle and reverent. His gaze studied your face, taking in every detail: the curve of your cheek, the flutter of your eyelashes, the fullness of your lips. He drank you in like a man starved, as if he had been holding his breath his entire life and was finally being able to breathe for the first time.

The cool, smooth surface of Bucky's metal hand against your skin was a stark contrast to the intensity of his gaze as he reached out and cupped your face. His thumb traced the delicate arch of your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. In that moment, the world seemed to slow, and all that existed was the two of you, locked in a silent, electric exchange. The air between you was thick with unspoken longing, a desire that had simmered and built over time, finally igniting as your bodies grew warm with the heat of your proximity. You couldn't resist the temptation to give in, to explore this connection that had been building, your kisses passionate and desperate, tinged with the bittersweet realization that this fragile, peaceful moment was fleeting.

But the tranquility was shattered in an instant, the sudden screech of brakes cutting through the stillness as the train lurched violently. Although the train slowed slightly it didn’t stop and suddenly the doors of the freight car were flung open, and a squad of HYDRA agents, armed and determined, their faces cold and unforgiving, stormed inside, even dropping in from a hatch on the roof. Bucky immediately leapt into action, shoving you behind him protectively, his metal arm raised and his eyes blazing with a deadly focus. He was a living, breathing shield, ready to defend you against the onslaught, his every muscle coiled and primed for the impending battle. In that charged, adrenaline-fueled moment, the simmering desire was eclipsed by the harsh reality of their precarious situation, but Bucky's unwavering resolve to keep you safe was a beacon in the chaos.

"Stay behind me," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Without a word, Bucky lunged at the nearest HYDRA agent, his training and strength allowing him to quickly incapacitate the first wave of attackers. His movements were efficient and calculated, each strike landing with deadly precision as he systematically took down the enemy forces surrounding him. Bucky had honed his combat skills over decades, becoming a formidable and unstoppable force on the battlefield. His metal arm gave him an added advantage, the limb a powerful weapon that he wielded with deadly grace. 

But Bucky's focus shifted in an instant as he heard a familiar gasp - your voice, filled with fear and alarm. His head snapped up, eyes narrowing as he scanned the chaos around him, searching for the source of your distress. And then he saw it. An agent had seized you from behind, ripping you away from Bucky's side and dragging you into the fray. A surge of pure, primal rage coursed through Bucky's veins at the sight, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. With a guttural roar, he lunged forward, every fiber of his being consumed by the single-minded need to reach you, to tear your captor limb from limb and ensure your safety. 

However, the agent was not unarmed, and as Bucky charged, a barrage of blasts erupted from the firearm in the agent's hand. Bucky was forced to dive to the side, his swift and agile movements allowing him to narrowly avoid the onslaught of projectiles. Even though they missed their target, the explosive blasts didn’t fail to cause damage as they ripped through the freight container with ease.

Even as he dodged the attacks, his gaze remained locked on you, his eyes burning with a mixture of unbridled fury and desperate, unwavering determination. Nothing would stop him from getting to you, from tearing you from the clutches of your captor and ensuring your safety, no matter the cost.

"Hang on, I'm coming," he called out, his voice barely audible over the chaos and the wind howling through the large holes in the walls of the traveling metal box.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Bucky threw himself back into the fray, his muscles coiled and ready for action. Dodging and weaving with the grace of a seasoned fighter, he nimbly evaded the gunfire raining down around him, his sole focus honed in on reaching you and making your HYDRA captor pay. The agent's grip on you tightened as Bucky advanced, but you refused to go down without a fight. Punching and scratching with a primal ferocity, you finally managed to sink your teeth into the man's exposed skin, eliciting a yell of surprise and pain. The agent's hold on you slackened in his shock, and you seized the opportunity to break free from his grasp.

Bucky wasted no time, kicking the agent hard in the stomach before turning his full attention to you. Rushing to your side, he pulled you against his broad chest, shielding you with his formidable frame. But Bucky's protective maneuver came at a price, he didn't have time to evade an oncoming gun blast, so he raised his gleaming titanium arm in a defensive stance. The blast struck his limb with tremendous force, and while Bucky was able to brace himself against the impact, the sheer power of it sent you tumbling backwards, flying out of the compromised freight car. Bucky's calloused hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist in a desperate attempt to catch you, and you looked up to see him practically hanging out of the train, his expression one of fierce determination.

For a split second his eyes glazed over, images invading his brain, a sickening familiarity threatening to overwhelm his senses. But he blinked and it was gone, there was only you. Your smile of relief, however, was cut short as you noticed another HYDRA agent materializing behind Bucky, the change in your expression instantly alerting him to the new threat.

“Hold on!” he yelled, spinning on his heel to kick the man behind him without even turning to look at him. 

Unfortunately the death of their fellow agent did nothing to deter the rest of the team who were quick to attack his clear weak spot. Bucky was able to hold his own for a number of punches before he was knocked off his feet. His grip on you slipped and soon you were hanging on by the tips of your fingers. You screamed in fear, barely noticing the look of terror on Bucky’s face but it was too late. The snow swirling around you loosening your grip and the hurtling train jolted your hold so you found yourself slipping from his grasp.

Your terrified scream pierced through the chaos. The last thing you remembered was Bucky screaming your name before your world turned black.

“Kotyonok!” Bucky's heart hammered in his chest, mirroring the frantic rhythm of the train's wheels. He felt his heart shatter as he realized he was powerless to save you. In that moment, all fight left him, he sank to his knees, letting the HYDRA agents wrestle him down, because without you, his life was meaningless.

*

In the cold, sterile confines of a HYDRA bunker, the echo of Karpov's hand against Soldat's cheek reverberated through the room. The winter soldier stood impassively as his handler punished him for his failed escape attempt. But within the depths of his programmed mind, a storm of emotions raged. The loss of his beloved Kotyonok weighed heavily on Soldat's heart. Your laughter, your warmth, all consumed by the relentless march of fate. The guilt and despair gnawed at him, a torment that seared his very soul.

As they forced him into the chair, Soldat’s mind raced with defiance. He had endured countless memory wipes, but this one felt different. It was not merely the erasure of events; it was the annihilation of his love, the piece of his humanity that you had awakened. As the process began, a single tear escaped Bucky's hardened exterior, tracing a path down his chiseled features. A whispered plea slipped from his lips, barely audible above the hum of machinery: “Kotyonok.”

In that moment, the memories of your shared moments flooded his mind. The stolen kisses, the whispered confessions, they unfolded before him like a montage of lost dreams. And as HYDRA's programming invaded his subconscious, erasing the memories of you, Bucky's heart echoed with a void that would never truly be filled.

When the procedure was complete, Soldat stood as an empty vessel, devoid of his past and the love that had once filled his existence. The name ‘Kotyonok’, once whispered with such tenderness, was now lost to the shadows of his shattered mind. And so, the winter soldier continued his relentless march, a broken and obedient weapon with no memory of the love he had lost, a love that would forever haunt the remnants of his soul.

Chapter 9 <MASTERLIST > Epilogue

[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller’s ff) - chapter 9

chapter 8 | series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 10

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. (it's actually 2004 now)

summary: "only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love" ― george elio.

a/n: uhmmmm... yeah... i did tell you guys i love drama, right? well, this chapter has a dangerous amount of angst. i'm sorry?? i really hope you guys like this one, i have put a lot of effort into it 😭 as always, all interactions welcome. thank you all for reading and generally being amazing! xx

warnings: 18+, mdni. angst, angst, ANGST. have i said angst already? discussions of death, suicide and assisted suicide. sarah makes an appearance. soft!joel. lovemaking. there are some "i love you"s thrown around. crying. smut. oral (m and f receiving). masturbation (m and f). creampie. goodbye sex?? if that's even a thing to tag. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 37. no use of y/n.  joel’s and reader’s pov.

w/c: ~5.3k.

tags aka the drama wagon (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!): @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981

@fancyyoouu @smolbeanzzz @guelyury @bishtrouille

“Joel, please, I beg you. Don’t do this, please”, Sasha pleaded with him.

She was on her knees, imploring him to spare her life. But he couldn’t do that. She was infected ― she was wearing the proof on her forearm, the bite bleeding shades of red and yellow.

It was just a matter of time before she lost herself, before she was truly gone. He was just being merciful with her, he thought. Ending Sasha’s suffering before it became too great to bear was the right thing to do. She was dead anyway, speeding up the process was lenient of him.

He gripped the gun tighter, his index caressing the trigger. If it was so rightful, why was he hesitating? The barrel kissed her forehead as she shut her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks, mouthing a silent prayer. Joel noticed a familiar scar on her right cheek ― it had almost faded, but he knew it all too well. He had stroked it many times in the last few months.

His brows furrowed in confusion. Why did Sasha have the same scar you did?

“Daddy? Don’t kill her, please”, Sarah’s voice rang in his ears.

Joel’s attention quickly turned to his daughter. Sarah materialised, standing right there in front of him at arm’s length. She felt so real to him, he thought himself mad. Her bright sad eyes pierced through his resolution. She was as beautiful as he remembered ― curly brown hair, big green orbs, a sweet soft smile, the most soothing voice known to man, to a father.

But her features were torn with sorrow. In fact, her eyes were dotted with thick tears, her lips pursed in a grimace. He felt the urgent need to calm her down, to tell her everything was going to be alright. This time he could protect her. He would. He had to.

Joel knew he would not survive this all over again. It would break him for good, shattering the last remnants of what made him human.

“I have to, baby girl. I need to keep you safe”, his voice faltered, filled with emotion. A knot in his throat so dense he could not even swallow. “I won’t lose you again, baby girl, I can’t.”

“Daddy, no!”, she cried, touching his forearm ― a light, comforting pat that made his skin crawl with nostalgia.

The lump in his throat spread to his chest. An overwhelming sensation threatened to rip his torso apart. Oh, how much did he just want to embrace his Sarah tight, to feel her warmth again, to know such unconditional love one more time. To cry with pure relief, letting go of that daunting feeling that had been haunting him for over a year.

Joel knew he would do anything to protect Sarah. And so he did.

A loud bang ricocheted, his eyes never leaving his daughter’s.

“No, daddy, what have you done?”, she muttered, holding onto his forearm, digging her little fingers in his flesh.

She was weeping uncontrollably now. Joel dropped the gun to the floor, cradling Sarah’s face between his murderous hands. He swept away her tears, and his heart ached with longing.

“What I had to, baby girl. I’m keeping you alive, no matter what the cost”, Joel’s voice was so low, it was almost a whisper.

For the first time in four hundred and fifty-one days, he allowed himself to cry his eyes out. He let go of all the bottled-up emotions, knocking down the walls that contained all the misery and despair that he had felt for so long.

Sarah’s hands wrapped around his wrists, her sobs and his flowing in unison.

“But you’ve killed her, daddy.”

And then she vanished, leaving a trail of warmth on Joel’s fingertips. She was gone.

His heart jolted against his ribcage. Darkness engulfing his senses once again, casting away any feelings he had, leaving him as empty as he ever was.

He composed himself ― something in her tone, in her emphasis in the word “her”, forced Joel to look away from where his daughter had stood a minute before, down to the woman on the ground.

But it wasn’t Sasha. It was you.

You were dead. Because of him.

Grief swallowed him whole. Chewed him, spat him.

Joel startled awake, his heart racing so fast he could feel it pressing against his throat. Panic strangled him, forcing him to swallow the hard lump in his throat. He blinked rapidly, realising he had been crying in his sleep. With one hand, he brushed away the tears as reality set in once again.

He was going to lose you and there was absolutely nothing he could do to prevent it from happening. Your fate had been unfairly sealed. The future he thought he had with you… gone. Joel had allowed himself to dream, dooming you in the process of doing so. He should have known by now that happiness was meant to escape him forever. Joel tainted everything and everyone he touched, leaving a trail of lingering darkness that would eventually catch up with those he marked.

He looked around, for a second forgetting where he was. You both were in a flat on the second floor of an apartment building on East Lake Shore Drive, with views to Lake Michigan. He guessed it was around midnight, a couple of hours after the whole debacle.

Joel barely remembered how you both got here, his memory was hazy, unable to recall much after seeing the bite mark on your wrist. The part of him who was built for this world ―unattached, steadfast, unwavering― took over, guiding you both to safety.

It was weird how he used to space out in those moments of high anxiety. It wasn’t the first time it had happened. He barely remembered the days after Sarah’s death either. The brain fog was so dense it felt like swimming through murky waters.

He shook his head and glanced down. Sitting on the couch, you were laying down on your side, with your head on his lap. Your hands were tucked away under his thigh, your face almost completely leaned against his jeans. One of his hands was buried in your hair ― he massaged your scalp lightly, his other hand resting on your hip.

Joel just wished he could take all of it away. Had he never known you, you would not be in this position. If your paths had never crossed, he was convinced you would have lived a full, happy life. And, as always, he fucking ruined it. Ruined you.

As if his conscience was not tortured enough, little Ava popped in his mind. Another failure, a very grave one. The little girl had unearthed a side of him he thought dead: the longing father.

The one who would worry to death every time Sarah fell to her knees while learning to walk.

The one who felt extremely proud when she took her first steps unaided.

The one whose heart would flutter with anxiety on her first day of school.

The one who spent hours deciding what to get his baby girl for Christmas.

The one who tried baking a cake for her fifth birthday.

The one who trained with her for her first soccer match.

The one who cheered at the top of his lungs every time his baby girl would score a goal.

The one who couldn’t protect her.

The one who hugged her desperately while she took her last breath.

This felt like a second punishment. Joel shouldn’t have had let go of Ava, but what was he supposed to do? Watch you fall in a river full of furious clickers? He couldn’t. He had to choose and chose you. It was fucking wrong, he knew that ― he was so selfish he condemned an innocent toddler without giving her a second thought. Losing you ― this was karma. A twisted payback endorsed by the universe.

You had cried yourself to sleep, caving in to the irrevocable fate that awaited you. Your dreams were besmirched with haziness ― a whirlwind of clickers, people running directionless, Joyce and Ava falling to their demises, death everywhere.

Your heart wept at the memory. Joyce’s blank eyes haunted your dreams, as well as Ava’s small voice, begging her nana to come back from the dead. Life was so unfair you could not wrap your head around it. They were innocent. Joyce was the type of person who would give her everything for everyone ― so thoughtful, attentive, always willing to lend a hand or an ear. She had been a light for you, healing that part of your heart that missed your parents. How much you had wished that your sacrifice would have had worked out. To trade your life for hers. Joyce should be eternal.

And then little Ava… you felt agony just thinking about her reaching out to the darkness below. Her imploring her nana to get back to her, to hold her. Her life cut so short ― it was too cruel.

You had lost too much, too soon, too fast.

When you woke up, your emotions were weirdly in check. Defeated, you understood there was nothing you could do. About Joyce, about Ava, about yourself. The dice had been cast and nothing could change the end result. So you had to accept your destiny and make the most of what little time you had left with Joel.

You momentarily shut your eyes, feeling Joel’s fingertips rubbing your scalp. Swiping your tears, you turned your head ninety degrees to your left, looking up at Joel. He was blankly staring into the distance, lost in his own train of thought. He reminded you of when you two first met and that scared you. You didn’t need to read minds to know what was crossing his.

The worst part about dying was not death itself, but the devastation it left on its wakening. Those left behind had to deal with the drowning grief of losing a loved one ― the sorrow, the regrets, the lost opportunities, the what if’s.

You grabbed his hand to kiss his knuckles. His eyes slowly drifted down to you, stained with affliction and unspent tears. His thumb ghosted your lips, a caress that tugged at your heart. He bowed down to replace his thumb with his mouth, a light peck that tasted of goodbye.

You stroked his jaw when the kiss broke off and reluctantly sat up on the sofa, nestling against his side. He wrapped you with his arm, holding you tight, his chin resting on your crown. Your hand was placed on his chest ― his heart beating steadily, calming your inner panic.

You closed your eyes. You didn’t want to do this, but you were scared out of your mind. You had trusted Joel with your life, so you would trust him with your death too. It was so fucking selfish of you, it made you sick. You had seen what a prolonged death did to people and didn’t want to suffer the same fate. Withering away like a flame on a thunderstorm was not something you wanted to experience. You wanted it to be quick, painless.

You knew it would break him and you hated yourself for it. But fear, as overwhelming as it was, had a tight grip on your ability to think clearly.

“Joel”, you whispered, rubbing his chest. You didn’t dare to glance up, your eyes fixed somewhere in that tiny living room. “Please don’t hate me, but… when my death is near, would you… could you… please… just… put an end to it? To me?”, you wept, tears flowing again. “I know it’s cruel of me to ask this of you, but please understand… I don’t wanna come back as one of those things, I don’t wanna hurt you. Or anyone. I just want to rest knowing I didn’t cause any harm…”

You felt his heart picking up a wild pace under your fingertips. A very long silence ensued, which forced you to look up at him. His jaw was so clenched you could see the muscles straining.

Joel was making a titanic effort to keep his emotions at bay. A world of past demons, of rotten feelings and of secret tears overran his mind. Facing his own death was easier than accepting yours. How could he be a victim of fate, a witness to death and the executioner of it as well? He couldn’t, he didn’t have that many faces ― he just was a simple man whose life got complicated too easy, too fast.

As intricate as his thoughts were, as many atrocities as he had committed in the last year to keep you safe, he detested being the ghoul to those he treasured. You had asked him to be the worst version of himself ― one he did not know if he would ever come back from. Once the afterlife sullied his soul, Joel would lack the strength to wash it off himself. It would forever taint him, marking him as the grim reaper’s lackey.

But what was one more death on his conscience? Your death? He had already branded you for slaughter the moment he landed his eyes on you many moons ago. It was only fair you solicited he finished what he had started, after all.

Ending your suffering before it became too great to bear was the right thing to do.

You were dead anyway, speeding up the process was lenient of him.

If it was so rightful, why was he hesitating?

The irony of his dream would have struck him to his knees had he been standing. If he loved, really loved you, he would not vacillate. He would greet your death compliantly, certain his would quickly follow.

You were a fucking monster for asking that to the man you loved, for laying such a burden on him. How could you be so damn tactless? You knew how he thought of himself, how he believed he spoiled everything he touched. And here you were, reinforcing that idea for him.

Your sobs grew louder, your hand travelling from his chest to his jawline as you straightened your back to reach his cheek so his vacant eyes would meet yours.

“I’m truly sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I don’t know what overcame me, I just… I’m scared”, you muttered through trembling lips. “I’ll do it myself. Please, forget what I said, I didn’t mean to. I’m really sorry, Joel.”

Joel finally blinked, coming out of his trance. He cupped your chin, fear and grief swirling in his irises. He tilted his head down to place a kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll do it, sweetheart. I’ll do it”, he whispered breathlessly, and you just shattered in his arms.

You embraced him and cried until your eyes stung and ran dry ― until you flushed out such dreadful feelings from your system. Joel held you throughout, stoic and unfaltering, brushing your forehead with his mouth from time to time, whispering reassuring words in your ear.

You had noticed the difference in his voice, as if your request wholly broke him. How you wished you could retract yourself, travel back in time to restore the trust you thought you fractured. “No, I will. I will”, you repeated, inflicting your words with determination, one you didn’t feel.

This wasn’t how you wanted to spend your last hours on earth, lamenting yourself, wasting the little time you had left. This wasn’t you. You needed to show him you loved him, make him forget your sickening petition. A thought formed: you never replied to his confession ― a wrong you could right before you lost your mind to cordyceps.

You stirred in place to uncoil your back, your lips lined up with his. “I love you, Joel Miller. Since the moment I met you, I knew you were the one”, you mumbled with a sad smile before closing off the distance, your mouths crashing in desperate need.

Feeling his hesitance, you insisted with your tongue, stroking his with long brushes until Joel relaxed into your mouth. His hand slipped under your t-shirt, caressing your back, drawing invisible lines on your skin with the light touch of his fingertips.

“I heard you the other night, I thought I dreamt it”, he admitted in a hush when your lips detached.

“The other night, you mean yesterday?”, you teased with a small grin, and he nodded in reply. It did seem like an eternity away. “You didn’t dream it, I said it. I’ve been wanting to say it out loud for a while.”

“Me too, been thinking it for a bit, but didn’t know when it was the right moment, if there was a right moment. And then it felt like that moment was gone, that I was too late”, his tone became sombre as he spoke, your heart shuddering and breaking and healing and crying.

“You didn’t need to say it ― I knew, believe me, I really knew. I’ve known for so long now, before you even realised. I only wanted you to say it when you were ready”, you reassured him, your noses nuzzling.

It was a very little consolation, but you both held onto it.

This time it was Joel who resumed the kiss ― his lips were softer than usual, his mouth more begging than dominating. The caress of his tongue was affectionate, not demanding. You slid your feet from underneath and climbed on top of him, straddling him. You sat on his lap and peppered his jaw with little pecks. He hugged you by your waist, bringing you closer to him. You softly moaned when he trapped your mouth with his again, your crotch flush with his groin. You involuntarily rolled your hips against his, friction awakening your desire.

“I want you to make me feel alive one last time, Joel”, you sighed against the corner of his mouth, your palms against his cheeks.

He stopped and looked at you for a long second, probably debating himself. But whatever doubts crossed his minds, he put them to rest. Sometimes you wished you were a telepath ― Joel was a man of few spoken words, but you knew his inner talk was loud and loquacious.

With his forearms, he pressed your thighs around his waist. Placing his hands on your butt cheeks, he stood up with you in his arms, holding you tight against his body. Joel walked you both to what you assumed was the bedroom. It was quite minimalistic, white walls and spiderwebs decorating the corners. The bed seemed comfy with a very thick mattress and silky bedsheets.

He set you down on the bed before kneeling to undo the laces of his boots, throwing them to a side. Your shoes quickly followed his to the same corner. Joel stood back up and undid his belt, his eyes never leaving yours as you helped him. The unspoken words were loud in your head, neither of you needed to say anything else.

In silence, he undressed, leaving a pile of clothing on the floor. You admired his body ― his broad shoulders, his strong arms, his chiselled pecs, his slimmer waist and softer tummy. You traced the scar on his right hip, the one he got for defending Tommy. Ah, Tommy, another loss. You casted that thought away quickly.

He was gorgeous and he was yours. All yours. You loved this man with such passion, it sometimes startled you. The way he cared for you in all meanings of the word warmed your heart.

You caressed his sides, your fingers wandering to his ass cheeks to push him towards you. You kissed his belly button, his happy trail inviting you down, which you gladly followed. His erection was creeping up but was still soft, so you kneaded his testicles tenderly ― your free hand pumping him unhurriedly, teasing him, while your lips brushed his V line.

You looked up at him with adoring eyes before your tongue rippled around the plump tip. Slurping the precum off his slit without breaking visual contact, Joel tucked your hair away behind your ears and let you do as you pleased at your own pace. Closing your eyes, you took his manhood in your mouth, slathering your saliva on him. His cock was hungering for your touch, weeping, throbbing ― you could feel the heat hardening him under your tender hands and darting tongue. He tasted musky, but also sweet. Your favourite flavour. You heard a deep rumble coming from Joel’s chest as his glans caressed your uvula.

You took him out of your mouth when you felt the pulsation ― he was ready for you, whenever you wanted to take him in in your slick warmth. You slid your tongue across his whole length before leaning backwards to meet his eyes.

You saw lust, but also raw love. Joel motioned his hand in an upward gesture, and you stood up in front of him. Tasting himself in your mouth, he helped you undress completely. When you were both bare naked, Joel hugged you tightly. Oh, how you wished you could stay like that forever, frozen in time.

Joel gently pushed you to bed again, his lips never abandoning yours, and dug a knee on the mattress as you laid down on your back. His body was hovering over yours, his frame covering you.

He showered your neck with pecks and licks while your dewy lashes fluttered like butterflies. A soft, liquid whimper grew in your chest, breaking free. His calloused fingers cupped your breasts, his thumbs ghosting your nipples ― a light touch, electricity thundering down your spine. Your back arched, lifting off the mattress when his thick fingers were replaced with the welcomed wetness of his mouth. He did not linger for long though, set on a downward path.

Joel came off the bed, dragging your hips with him to the edge of the mattress. Knelt before you, you unconsciously parted your legs to make room for him. He marvelled at the sight, the proof of your passion pearling your velvety fold, the core of your pleasure begging to be paid due attention.

With the back of your knees resting on his shoulders, he kissed your mound while his thumb caressed your dripping entrance, circling it tentatively before drowning in it. You gasped at the sweet intrusion. Then his tongue scurried down, licking your clit with a languid, long stroke.

He lapped your creamy slit, gulping your fluids down ― everything you had to offer, he took. His tongue worshipped every crevice in your silky pussy, not even an inch was left unattended ― Joel made sure of it. He alternated between fingering you slowly with his thumb and introducing his tongue in your tight opening, stroking your g-spot the way you liked it. It was too much. The tense knot in your belly melted with no warning, releasing a spurt of lava into Joel’s mouth. You wailed, clutching the bedsheets, gushing for him, only for him, eyes averted.

Like a thirsty man in the middle of the desert looking for an oasis he could drink of, Joel made you come with his tongue over and over again. You lost count of how many times you orgasmed ― your skin pearly with sweat, your cunt overstimulated, your dusky nipples hardened, your limbs shaking, your heart burst with love.

Joel emerged from in between your legs and crawled on top of you as he dragged you to the centre of the king size bed. Holding his weight off you on his elbows, he blanketed your body with his ― his hardness intimately resting against your swollen mound. You slipped a hand between your bodies, your fingertips teasing the head of his column. You pumped him slowly as his mouth invaded yours with lazy strokes.

You bathed his cock in your slick, swiping it on your puffy lips ― drenching him in your arousal. Then you wielded him from the base and broke off the kiss. You wanted to look into his eyes as he possessed you one last time. As he loved you and you loved him back with your whole heart. Guiding his tip to your needy hole, you encouraged him to push it in with your heels on his butt cheeks, never breaking eye contact.

Both of you moaned as his cock found its way to your cervix, kissing it gently. You draped your legs around his waist, taking him in as far as you could house him. The connection you felt to him was eerie, almost unreal. His orbs were transfixed on yours, none of you able to look away. Your mouths were parted in unspoken awe, then he lightly bit your chin to stop himself from groaning like a madman.

You laced his neck with your arms to pull him towards you, your lips crashing as he rolled his hips into you. In, out, in, out ― very slowly, so slowly it just enhanced the intensity of his swaying.

“I love you, Joel”, you husked as his cock dragged along your anterior wall, pulling out to then ripple back into you.

Joel’s thrusts were lethargic, as if he didn’t want the moment to end. “I love you too”, he replied as his hips undulated like waves between your thighs.

Joel kissed the scar on your cheek as you foraged for his mouth. The façades had fallen. There was no roleplay, no dominance nor submission, no “sirs”, no dirty talk, no begging ― none of that. There was only two people showing their love and affection to each other. It was the first time you actually made love.

Because you were head over heels for him. Had been for a long while. And you just knew he loved you to bits, there was no denying that. The overwhelming sensation flooded you, tears welling up and shedding. You cradled his face and realised the apples of his cheeks were soddened too. Both of you were crying your love and your regrets ― your tears mixing with his, wetting your lips with a salty taste that got diluted in the shared dampness of your mouths.

Your heart wept for the time you didn’t have with each other. You hugged him closer to your chest, nipples kissing, when the soft hammering of his pelvis against yours picked up a faster but controlled, smooth pace. Way more intense too, his pulsing cock driving in as far as it could reach.

One of Joel’s tears fell on your neck when he kissed your chin, then slid down and gathered at the centre of your collarbone. His mouth dropped to lick it off your skin, leaving a different type of wet trail behind. You whimpered heavily, his tongue now attending the crook of your neck while Joel’s hand darted down, quickly finding your buttery button and stroking it dextrously.

Your moans grew louder ― your legs gripping tighter around his waist, your nails digging in the skin of his back, your back arching, your mouth open so wide it was an inch away from dislocating.

Joel didn’t contain his passion either, heaving notoriously, his chest rumbling with a deep, guttural growl. His dick was diving in you so smoothly, it even felt mythical. He was throbbing for you, your creaminess cloaking his manhood. He could feel your heartbeat contracting your inner walls every single time, his own pulse drumming in his cock at the same time. Your pulsating sexes were fully synchronised, in complete harmony.

You yielded first. Your overstimulated clit sent the signal across your whole body, a potent wave uprooting a high-pitched shriek off your lungs as you reached the best climax of your life. Your quivering cunt clamped down around Joel’s hot cock, squeezing him uncontrollably ― you could not get hold of your own muscles, they just spasmed around his pounding dick. You felt his manhood twitch violently inside you, announcing his own orgasm ― your pussy heartening his cock to come.

Joel felt his balls tense up, his lower belly contracting so hard it was painful. He was so turned on, a prolonged howl escaped his mouth, cavernous and thundering. His dick writhed in your welcoming hole, his hips stuttering with measured effort. He placed the palms of his hands to each side of your head to lift his torso off you, his hips still waving against yours, and caught a glimpse of your heavenly face: half-lidded teary eyes, O-shaped mouth, your eyebrows relaxed. You looked so damn beautiful, the most beautiful he had ever seen you, so much so his heart tugged with longing, with love, with adoration.

With a painful groan and out of habit, he tried to pull his cock out of you to come outside. But you quickly shook your head no, raising your arms to lace your hands behind his neck, forcing his head down towards you. The heels of your feet pressed against his butt cheeks again, your legs locking around his waist to keep him in the place he needed to be ― inside you.

“Please, Joel, I want to feel you, I need to feel you”, you urged him, his breath mixing with yours, mouths agape.

With such plea, Joel finally let go at the same time he claimed your lips with his, moaning into your mouth. Devouring you, his cum spurted out into your inviting, slick cave, in several waves. He filled you up to the brim, his cock still throbbing, painting your inner walls white. He remained still between your legs, his dick slowly softening inside you, until he finally pulled out, both of you grunting.

You squashed your cunt to keep his warm spent in your pussy for as long as you could.

Joel kissed your cheeks, sweeping away your tears with his lips while your hands cradled his face, your thumbs brushing his away too. You had never seen him cry before. It killed you knowing that he felt so safe with you, he could let his walls down and be himself without any repercussions. His teary brown eyes pulled yours into their orbits ― you were unable to look away.

Joel closed the distance and sweetly kissed you. Again, that heavy, goodbye feeling nested in your chest, squeezing your heart and your throat.

This was goodbye. You would never see him again and that broke your heart into tiny little pieces that could not be glued back together.

Don’t think about it.

Joel laid on his back and you quickly curled up against his chest, hiding your face from him. Silence ensued, each lost in their own thoughts. You pecked his chest while your fingertips lightly traced every line on his tummy.

“Promise me you won’t do anything rash, please. Go look for Tommy after… after I’m gone. Please don’t even consider… following me.” You whispered, slowly looking up at him. “Please.”

His eyes wandered on your face, then he sighed heavily, looking away. “I can’t promise you that, sweetheart.” His orbs slowly locked on yours again, your bottom lip quivering with sadness. “I may or may not consider it, but Death is capricious and, sooner or later, it always comes knocking.”

“I hope it’s later rather than sooner. You deserve happiness, Joel.” Your words, albeit stammering, were sincere.

“This is my happiness, right here with you in my arms. If Death came looking for me tomorrow, I would die a happy man”, he admitted in a whisper.

Your heart exploded at his confession. You laughed and cried at the same time, kissing his jawline. “You do know how to make a girl feel special.”

“That’s because you are.” He shrugged, hugging you closer to his chest.

“I love you ― to the edge of the atlas and back.” Your hand caressed his left cheek, bowing his head towards you so you could capture his mouth.

You made love twice more that night, none of you wanting to fall asleep. You made sure every minute counted, showing and telling each other how much you loved one another.

You also cried together to purge your sorrows. When you thought no more tears could be shed, one of you would prove yourselves wrong, breaking another invisible dam. You both felt vulnerable, but also loved.

Soon enough, dawning colours painted the sky ― shades of red and orange filtering through the curtains, tinting the white walls of the bedroom with warmth.

You sighed, resting your cheek against his pec, feeling heavy and cold. Very cold. Suddenly, you shivered. Joel noticed your trembling, instantly worried. He pressed the palm of his hand against your forehead.

“Honey, you’re burning up.” His voice seemed to be far away.

You felt so drowsy you only managed to hum, “Mhmm?”.

Then you blindly plunged into darkness, unaware of Joel calling your name, panic in his voice.