#and everything going on this month (like outside of work) was not at all accounted for in our original estimate (it couldn't have been haha

[bluenerdtastemaker]

Maybe There Is Hope

Yuki Tsunoda x Liam Lawson | Rated T | 11.3K

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I hated him. I hated everything about it. - Anonymous

Liam Lawson wasn’t sure why he clicked on the video. Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was the algorithm pushing it onto his feed, or maybe it was the title—"Anonymous Letters: Confessions of Broken Friendships"—that tugged at something buried deep in his chest.

It was a Jubilee segment. He’d seen a few of them before, strangers sitting in dimly lit chairs, reading letters from people they would never meet. Honest, raw stories. This one was no different.

A young girl with a soft voice started reading.

"I worked in a field where you had to be a predator. If you weren’t, you’d be eaten alive. And for a long time, I thought I was okay with that. It’s just how things are."

Liam’s chest tightened, but he brushed it off. It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard metaphors like that before. Competitive sports were cutthroat. Everyone knew it.

"I had a best friend in that world. We started as teammates in a junior program, and we were inseparable. We laughed, supported each other—even when the results were bad, even when the rumors started. We promised we’d have each other’s backs."

His hand paused mid-reach for the remote.

"But then, in 2024, things changed. One of us was going to get promoted to a bigger role. It was down to me and him. I thought it was going to be me."

Liam sat up straighter.

"I had better stats, more experience. I was ready for it. But they chose him."

The girl’s voice cracked, and Liam’s stomach dropped.

"He got it with less than six trials. I smiled when it happened. I told him I was happy for him, but inside, I hated him. I hated everything about it. Was it because of the way I talked? The way I acted? Did I come off too strong? I don’t know."

His heart was pounding now.

"I told myself it was just one bad decision. That I’d find something better. But then time passed, and the opportunities stopped coming. Eventually, I was forced to leave that world. And my best friend—he didn’t call."

Liam’s vision blurred for a moment. He didn’t need the girl to keep reading. He already knew how this story ended.

Yuki.

"I left everything behind. I hated him. Hated myself for hating him. I wished I could say it to his face, but I didn’t. We never talked again."

The girl paused, her voice softer now.

"Sometimes, occupations or life destroy what you thought was your light. And sometimes, you can’t stop it."

Liam barely heard the rest of the video.

Yuki had vanished after 2025. No interviews, no social media posts—nothing. At first, Liam thought he just needed space, time to process everything. But days turned into months, and then years. And Liam hadn’t reached out. He didn’t know why. Maybe he thought Yuki would come back. Maybe he thought he’d be mad.

But he never imagined this.

Liam turned off the video and grabbed his phone.

There was no hesitation. He pulled up Yuki’s old number, fully expecting it to be disconnected. But the message box was still active.

Liam: I’m sorry.

He stared at the screen. The three dots popped up almost immediately.

Yuki: Why now?

Liam swallowed.

Liam: Because I just saw you.

There was a long pause, then;

Yuki: I didn’t think you’d care.

Liam: I do. I always did.

The dots hovered for a long time before disappearing. Liam stared at the empty screen, his heart sinking, but then—

Yuki: We need to talk.

And Liam finally exhaled.

–

Liam leaned back in the plush leather seat of his private jet, eyes fixed on the endless stretch of clouds outside the window. The hum of the engines filled the silence, but it did nothing to drown out the thoughts racing in his head.

Yeah, this job had done wonders for his bank account. Private jets, penthouse apartments, tailored suits—he had it all. But the weight on his chest didn’t care about any of that. Success had a way of amplifying the emptiness instead of filling it.

He wasn’t the one to blame. He knew that. He’d just played the game the way it was designed to be played. He’d worked hard—harder than most—and he deserved that position next to Max. He’d earned it.

Yet, no matter how many times he told himself that, Yuki’s face always surfaced.

Even now, three years later, it lingered. That half-smile Yuki always wore like armor, the sharpness in his eyes that made you forget he was barely over five foot three. Liam had thought that smile would always be there, but when it disappeared, it left behind a void that no amount of podiums or championships could fill.

The plane touched down in Okinawa under a hazy sky. Liam stepped out, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the glare, and turned the small slip of paper in his hand. An address.

He’d double-checked it more times than he cared to admit. A quiet island where the majority of the population was elderly. It didn’t match the image he’d held of Yuki for so long—the fiery, unstoppable force that tore through the junior circuits like he was born to do it.

But here he was, standing in front of a modest home that smelled faintly of saltwater and earth, clutching a wrinkled piece of paper like it was a lifeline.

Yuki lived here now. Not just lived—thrived, if the stories Liam had managed to dig up were true. He ran a restaurant and art business, which honestly didn’t surprise Liam in the slightest. Yuki had always had a talent for turning chaos into beauty.

Still, knowing Yuki was doing well didn’t stop the nerves twisting in Liam’s stomach as he stood at the front door.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and rang the bell.

The door opened, and there he was.

Yuki Tsunoda.

But not the Yuki Liam remembered.

This Yuki was broader, stronger. The kind of build that came from heavy lifting and labor instead of gym sessions and simulators. He wore a loose short-sleeve shirt that showed off his tan skin, his toned arms, and—Liam’s eyes caught—an intricate sleeve tattoo of sakura blossoms winding from his shoulder to his wrist.

His ears glinted under the sunlight, three earrings in one and two in the other. Liam almost didn’t recognize him. Almost.

But the sharpness in his gaze—that fire—was still there.

Yuki’s eyes narrowed.

“…Liam?”

Liam swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “Hey.”

Yuki didn’t move, didn’t speak for a long moment.

Then he stepped back, leaving the door open just enough to let Liam through.

“Come in,” Yuki said, his voice low, unreadable.

And just like that, Liam stepped into a world he thought he’d lost forever.

–

The house was quiet. Too quiet for Liam’s liking.

He followed Yuki inside, the faint scent of paint and cooked rice lingering in the air. The place wasn’t big, but it felt lived-in—warm, but guarded. Yuki led him to a small living room where the walls were lined with framed artwork.

They sat across from each other.

Yuki didn’t speak at first, his eyes locked on the table between them. Liam tried to take in everything—the way Yuki’s fingers curled tightly around his glass, the way his shoulders rose and fell just a little too quickly.

Then, Yuki exhaled, sharp and heavy. “So. You saw the video.”

Liam flinched. The words were heavier than he expected.

“It was you,” he said quietly, more a statement than a question.

Yuki scoffed, shaking his head. “Not exactly.” He looked up then, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. “It was my sister’s idea. She thought if I didn’t have the guts to talk to you, maybe a stranger reading my words would make you listen. I was waiting for your message, hence why I still keep that number.”

Liam swallowed. “Yuki—”

“Don’t,” Yuki cut him off, voice firm but trembling. “Let me say this first.”

Liam shut his mouth, his chest tightening.

Yuki leaned back, his arms crossed, exposing more of the sakura blossoms inked into his skin. It made Liam feel even smaller somehow.

“I hated them,” Yuki started, his voice low and controlled. “Those two old men who smiled at me, promised me the world, and then threw me away like trash the second I wasn’t convenient for them anymore. I gave them everything—five years of my life—driving cars that weren’t good enough, hearing excuses that didn’t make sense, and still, I kept showing up.”

Liam’s nails dug into his palms.

“They told me to be patient, to wait, that my time would come. But it didn’t, did it?” Yuki laughed bitterly. “When 2026 came, and the seat was full, I knew I was done. Not good enough for them. Never good enough.”

“Yuki, you were—”

“No,” Yuki snapped, his voice cutting through the room. “You don’t get to tell me that. Not now.”

Liam bit his tongue.

“Do you know what it’s like, Liam?” Yuki’s voice broke, just a little. “To give everything and still not be seen? To know that no matter what I did, no matter how fast I was, no matter how hard I fought, it was never going to be enough?”

Liam didn’t answer.

“Because I’m Japanese? Because I’m not loud enough, not tall enough, not charismatic enough? Or maybe because I refused to smile and play their games when they wanted me to?” Yuki’s jaw clenched, his shoulders shaking. “They said I needed to be more marketable, easier to sell. What the hell does that even mean?”

Liam shut his eyes, guilt clawing at his throat.

“And you,” Yuki whispered, and Liam froze. “They used you, Liam. You don’t even realize it, do you?”

Liam looked up, and Yuki’s eyes were already on him, dark and tired.

“They used you to make me feel small,” Yuki said. “Every time you got praised, every time they pointed at you and said, ‘Look how good Liam’s doing,’ it was a reminder that I wasn’t enough. And I hated it. I hated them for doing it, and I hated you for being part of it—even though I knew it wasn’t your fault.”

Liam’s breath hitched.

“But you know what the worst part is?” Yuki leaned forward. “I didn’t say anything. Not to them. Not to you. Because I cared about you too much to ruin what you had. I couldn’t take that away from you, even if it hurt me.”

Liam opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“And now?” Yuki sat back, arms dropping to his sides. “I’m here. Running a business on a tiny island, trying to pretend I don’t care anymore. But I do.”

The silence was suffocating.

Finally, Liam spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Yuki didn’t move.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see it,” Liam said, his voice trembling. “I should’ve noticed—I should’ve said something, done something—but I didn’t. I was so focused on my own career, my own goals, that I let them turn me into something I never wanted to be.”

He exhaled sharply, hands trembling as he gripped his knees.

“And the worst part? I knew it was happening.” Liam’s voice cracked. “I saw how they treated you, how they talked about you when you weren’t in the room. I heard them compare us—over and over again—and I let it happen because I was too scared to speak up. Because I was afraid it’d be me next.”

Yuki’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes softened.

“I hated myself for it,” Liam admitted. “I still do.”

The words hung in the air between them.

Yuki sighed, leaning back in his chair. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers brushing against the edge of one of his earrings.

“I wish you didn’t apologize,” he said quietly, and Liam blinked, taken aback.

“What?”

“It’s not your fault,” Yuki continued, his voice steady but low. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Liam. You just… played the game better.”

“That’s not—”

“It is,” Yuki cut him off, shaking his head. “It’s a fucked-up sport. It’s always been like that—cutthroat, political, and ugly under the surface. It’s never just about talent, is it? It’s about timing, connections, and luck. And for once, it worked in your favor.”

Liam’s breath hitched, his guilt still clawing at him, but Yuki’s expression didn’t waver.

“I don’t hate you for that,” Yuki said softly, and that hit harder than Liam expected.

“But—”

“I hated everything else,” Yuki admitted. “The way they treated me, the lies, the fake promises, the way they talked about me like I was a project that didn’t work out instead of a person.” He paused, his gaze distant. “I hated how they made me feel small. How they made me feel like nothing I did was ever enough, even when I gave them everything I had.”

Liam swallowed hard, his chest tightening.

“But you?” Yuki’s eyes met his again. “I could never really hate you, Liam. Not in the way I hated them. It wasn’t always like this.”

Liam’s shoulders sagged in relief, but the weight of Yuki’s words still lingered.

“I was angry,” Yuki continued. “At the system, at the people who pulled the strings, and yeah—sometimes, I was angry at you too. Not because of who you are, but because of what you represented. Because every time they praised you, it felt like they were telling me I wasn’t good enough.”

Liam clenched his fists, but Yuki just sighed again.

“And I’m sorry,” Yuki said, and Liam froze. “For letting it get this bad. For shutting you out when I should’ve said something sooner. But I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

“Yuki��” Liam’s voice cracked.

“I mean it,” Yuki said, his voice softer now. “I don’t want you carrying this guilt. You deserved that seat, Liam. You worked hard for it. Just like I did.”

Liam bit his lip, forcing himself to stay quiet even as his heart screamed at him to argue.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Yuki added, and for the first time, his voice faltered. “I thought we’d both make it. That we’d be there, side by side, at the top. But life doesn’t work that way, does it?”

Liam shook his head. “No. It doesn’t.”

Yuki leaned forward then, resting his elbows on his knees. “I never wanted to hate you, Liam. And I don’t—not anymore. But I needed time. To let it go. To figure out who I am without all of that.”

“And did you?” Liam asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Yuki hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. I think so.” He gestured to the room around them. “This? It’s not what I thought my life would look like. But it’s mine. And I’m happy here.”

Liam’s chest ached, but it wasn’t the sharp sting of guilt anymore. It was something gentler. Something closer to hope.

“I’m glad,” he said softly.

Yuki smiled, small but genuine. “Me too.”

Liam watched as Yuki stood up, stretching his arms before heading toward the kitchen. The subtle shift of muscles under his tanned skin and the glint of the sakura blossom tattoo peeking from under his sleeve made Liam’s breath hitch, but he quickly averted his eyes when Yuki turned to glance back at him.

“Have you eaten yet?” Yuki asked, pulling open the fridge.

Liam rubbed the back of his neck. “Plane food doesn’t count, right?”

Yuki snorted—soft but familiar—and Liam found himself momentarily frozen, the sound tugging at something in his chest. It wasn’t loud like before, not the sharp laughter Liam used to hear echoing in the paddock or during late-night calls after races, but it was still Yuki. And maybe that was enough.

“Sit down,” Yuki said, already pulling out ingredients. “I’ll make something quick.”

Liam obeyed, settling at the kitchen island as Yuki moved around with practiced ease. He was calm—focused in a way Liam didn’t expect. Yuki had always been restless, bursting with energy even when exhausted, but this Yuki? He was deliberate. Measured. Different.

And undeniably attractive.

Liam swallowed hard, eyes trailing over the curve of Yuki’s shoulders and the slope of his back as he chopped vegetables and peeled shrimp. The tattoo inked along his arm shifted as he moved, and Liam blinked, forcing himself to look away when his cheeks began to burn.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He cleared his throat, eyes flickering to the stove where Yuki was stirring rice in a wok. The faint scent of garlic and soy sauce filled the air, and Liam latched onto it like a lifeline.

But his thoughts kept circling back.

Yuki had changed—a lot. He wasn’t loud or hyper anymore, and there was a weight to him now that Liam wasn’t sure how to define. His English had a thicker Japanese accent than before, probably from spending the last three years in Okinawa, and even the way he carried himself felt more grounded, more mature.

Liam had changed too. He wasn’t the wide-eyed rookie he once was. He’d bulked up, hardened under the pressures of the sport, but sitting here now, watching Yuki cook like it was second nature, Liam couldn’t shake the feeling that Yuki had grown in ways he hadn’t.

And maybe that was what made it so hard to look away.

“It’s done,” Yuki said, breaking Liam out of his thoughts. He turned to find Yuki setting two plates of fried rice down on the counter, steam curling up from the shrimp scattered on top.

Liam grabbed a fork without hesitation, shoveling a bite into his mouth—and nearly choking.

“Since when can you make fried rice this good?” Liam blurted, eyes wide as he went in for another bite.

Yuki raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips. “You think I survived three years here without learning how to cook? I owned a restaurant man.”

“No, seriously,” Liam said between mouthfuls. “This is—damn, Yuki.”

Yuki huffed, shaking his head, but there was the faintest trace of color dusting his cheeks.

“Shut up and eat.”

And for the first time in a long time, Liam smiled.

–

Liam stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up and hands already submerged in soapy water. He scrubbed the plates with a focus that was entirely unnecessary, especially since Yuki’s kitchen was spotless to begin with.

“Liam—”

“Already started, can’t stop now!” Liam interrupted quickly, flashing Yuki a grin over his shoulder before turning back to the dishes.

Yuki huffed, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. “I wasn’t asking.”

“And I wasn’t offering,” Liam shot back, his tone light but his heart thundering in his chest.

Yuki shook his head, muttering something in Japanese that Liam didn’t catch. It sounded exasperated—probably a curse—but Liam just smiled to himself and kept scrubbing.

The sound came next. A soft, high-pitched meow.

Liam paused, sponge in hand, and turned toward the source of the noise.

“No way,” he said.

Another meow, followed by the soft padding of paws against the tile. And then there they were—three cats, all staring up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

“Yuki,” Liam said slowly, voice dangerously close to disbelief. “You have cats?”

Yuki didn’t even look up. “Don’t judge me.”

“Judge you? No, I’m impressed.” Liam crouched down, extending a hand, and immediately one of the cats—a sleek black one with a little white spot on its chest—sauntered over and rubbed against his fingers.

The second cat, a fluffy orange tabby, flopped onto its back, clearly demanding belly rubs.

“Oh my god,” Liam whispered. “They’re adorable.”

“They’re a menace,” Yuki countered, though the affection in his voice said otherwise.

Liam looked up just in time to catch it—that soft, almost shy smile on Yuki’s face as he knelt down to scoop up the third cat, a gray and white one that curled up easily in his arms.

And Liam? He was doomed.

Because Yuki had always been attractive—sharp-edged and quick-witted, equal parts fire and charm—but this? The soft edges, the calm demeanor, the subtle strength in the way he held himself now? It was something else entirely.

“You’re staring,” Yuki said, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow.

Liam blinked, scrambling to cover. “I was admiring the cats!”

“Right,” Yuki said, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he set the cat back down and leaned against the counter again, watching as Liam stood up, suddenly hyperaware of how close they were.

The tension shifted then—subtle but undeniable.

It wasn’t new. Liam knew that. It had always been there, simmering quietly between them even when they were teammates—late-night talks, lingering looks, and smiles that meant more than they should’ve. But now? It felt sharper. Hungrier.

Yuki must’ve felt it too because he cleared his throat and stepped back, suddenly very interested in rearranging the spice jars on the counter.

“So,” Yuki said, his voice steadier than Liam expected. “You’re good with cats.”

Liam latched onto the topic like a lifeline. “I mean, they seem to like me.”

“They like anyone who gives them attention,” Yuki said flatly, but Liam caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Guess I’ll have to come back, then,” Liam said without thinking.

Yuki froze, just for a second, before forcing a laugh. “For the cats?”

“Sure,” Liam replied, but they both knew better.

The weight of it hung there between them—unspoken but heavy. And as much as Liam wanted to push, to close the space between them and figure out exactly what the hell this thing between them was, he didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, he knelt back down, letting the orange tabby paw at his hand, and pretended not to notice the way Yuki kept looking at him.

–

They settled into the living room, Yuki on the couch with one of his cats curled in his lap while Liam took the armchair across from him. The plates were clean, the cats were fed, and the tension that had hung between them earlier had softened into something more manageable—familiar, even.

“So,” Yuki started, absentmindedly scratching behind the cat’s ears. “How’s life?”

Liam snorted. “You mean outside of flying in private jets and avoiding PR nightmares?”

Yuki raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. The real stuff.”

Liam hummed, leaning back. “Busy, mostly. Traveling, racing, pretending I don’t check your Instagram stories even though we both know I do.”

Yuki’s cat stretched, yawning as if it, too, was judging him.

“Funny,” Yuki said, smirking slightly. “Because I could say the same.”

Liam’s eyes widened. “Wait—you—”

“Relax,” Yuki said, waving him off. “It’s not like I’m scrolling through your tagged photos. Just...keeping up.”

Liam let out a breath, his lips twitching. “That’s a relief. Because if you’d seen half the things people edit me into—”

“Oh, I’ve seen them.”

Liam groaned, covering his face with his hands, and Yuki actually laughed—a real one, light and genuine. It made Liam’s heart lurch in his chest, but he pushed it down and refocused.

“So what about you?” Liam asked, lowering his hands. “I mean—art? I still can’t wrap my head around that.”

Yuki shrugged. “I always liked it. Had time after retiring, so I started sketching. Posted a few online, and somehow it blew up.”

“Blew up?” Liam repeated. “Try exploded.”

Yuki flushed slightly, brushing off the comment.

“No, seriously,” Liam pressed. “You’re Takako.”

Yuki winced at the name, but Liam wasn’t done.

“The Takako. The one everyone lost their minds over when that first series dropped in 2026? The one with the gallery showing in New York last year?”

“Stop.” Yuki groaned, hiding his face in the cat’s fur.

“No way,” Liam said, grinning. “I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner. I mean, the pen name threw me, sure, but the art? It’s so...you.”

Yuki peeked up at him. “Is that a compliment?”

“Obviously.”

Yuki rolled his eyes but looked pleased anyway.

“And the mascot thing?” Liam asked.

Yuki shrugged again. “Perks of being Japanese. People are used to anonymous artists with avatars. Makes it easier to keep my privacy.”

“And you’re nominated?”

“Maybe,” Yuki said, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

Liam shook his head in disbelief. “Unreal. Yuki Tsunoda—the guy who used to sneak instant ramen into hotel rooms—is an award-nominated artist.”

Yuki smirked. “And you’re still just driving in circles.”

“Hey!” Liam protested, but he was laughing too.

Yuki leaned back, stroking the cat in his lap. “Anyway, what did I miss? The grid gossip. I know you’re dying to spill it.”

Liam’s grin turned wicked. “Oh, you’re not ready.”

Yuki raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Max confessed to George,” Liam said, savoring the way Yuki’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Bullshit.”

“I swear.” Liam held up his hands. “They’ve been soft-launching for months now, and George finally posted a picture of Max holding his dog like a baby in their private. It’s disgusting.”

“No way.”

“Way.” Liam smirked.

“And Charles and Carlos?”

“Still together.” Liam smirked. “You know they went Instagram official last year. Viral, even. Lots of dramatic vacation pictures and shirtless selfies.”

“Yeah typical,” Yuki muttered, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

“Oh! And Pierre and Esteban.”

Yuki perked up at that. “What about them?”

Liam leaned in, eyes glinting. “Kissed.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes, Yuki. I swear. Kissed and now dating. Apparently, they used to be in this weird situationship for years before actually making it official. It was a whole thing.”

Yuki’s jaw dropped, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I need to message Pierre. Immediately.”

Liam laughed, watching Yuki scramble for his phone before realizing he didn’t even have Pierre’s new number. “I’ll text him for you later,” Liam offered.

“Do it,” Yuki said, still reeling. “God, I really missed everything.”

Liam’s grin softened as he took in Yuki’s expression. “Yeah, you did. But they’d all be thrilled to hear from you, you know.”

Yuki hesitated, fingers brushing the phone screen in his hand. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s been so long, god damn, I left and the entire grid turns into a soap opera.”

Liam watched him carefully then, the way his shoulders had relaxed and his expression had softened. It was like seeing glimpses of the old Yuki again, and he couldn’t stop the fond smile spreading across his face.

“Still,” Yuki said, from the phone now looking at him. “It’s nice to know they’re doing well.”

“And you’re doing well,” Liam pointed out.

Yuki blinked at him, looking almost startled by the sincerity in Liam’s voice.

“Yeah,” Yuki said quietly, slowly avoiding eye contact with the blond man. “I guess I am.”

And for a moment, they just sat there—two people who had drifted apart and somehow found their way back to each other.

Suddenly, the peace was shattered by the most chaotic noise Liam had ever heard. A high-pitched yowl echoed through the room, and before he could even register what was happening, one of the cats had launched itself off the couch, landing on the counter with a loud thud.

The other two cats, apparently on some sort of coordinated mission, joined in on the madness, darting around the room with wild abandon. One of them knocked into the bookshelf, sending books cascading to the floor with a crash, while the other went straight for the mug on the counter. Liam barely had time to react before the cat swiped the mug off the edge, sending it hurtling toward the floor.

"NO!" Yuki yelped, diving forward to catch the mug, but the cat was faster. It tumbled down, crashing against the counter with a sharp, horrifying clink, shattering into pieces.

"That is THIRD mug this week!" Yuki groaned, falling back on his heels. His eyes met Liam’s in frustration, but the sight of the cat now sitting on the counter, looking entirely pleased with itself, was too much.

Liam burst out laughing, but that didn’t stop the chaos. The cats were still everywhere—two had jumped onto the coffee table and were now batting at Yuki’s art supplies, and the third had decided that Yuki's lap was the perfect place to take a nap again.

As Yuki reached for the stray cat on the table, his foot caught on the corner of the rug, and in a flash, he tripped—straight into Liam.

"WHAT—" Yuki gasped as they collided, arms flailing. For a moment, everything seemed to slow down, like they were trapped in an action movie scene. But instead of gracefully stumbling backward, Yuki found himself toppling straight into Liam, their bodies crashing together in a hilarious, jumbled heap on the floor.

Liam’s heart skipped a beat, his body going rigid at the sudden contact. For a moment, all he could hear was the rush of his own heartbeat, louder than a Formula 1 car at full throttle. He froze, looking down at Yuki, whose wide eyes were locked onto him.

"SHIT, sorry!" Yuki yelped, scrambling to get up as quickly as possible, but his arm brushed against Liam’s chest, sending a shock of warmth through him. "I—uh—didn’t mean to—"

Liam blinked rapidly, his face turning an alarming shade of red. "No, no, it's fine," he muttered, trying to push himself off the floor and stand, but his legs felt a bit wobbly. "I’m good. Totally fine."

Yuki scrambled to his feet too, looking flustered, his cheeks turning pink. "I—I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking—"

"No worries, really," Liam managed, but his voice was higher than normal. His heart was still racing like he was about to go into a race. "It’s all good."

Just as they both tried to regain some semblance of composure, the third cat meowed loudly from the counter. With a smug look in its eyes, it gave the broken mug a gentle nudge, and it clinked off the edge, sending a small piece flying into the air.

Both Yuki and Liam froze, eyes darting between the cat and the mess.

Yuki sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "That’s it. I’m getting a dog."

Liam couldn't hold it in anymore. He laughed so hard, his stomach hurt. The absurdity of it all—the wild cats, the unexpected trip, the chaos—was enough to finally break the tension between them. He couldn't stop laughing, even as Yuki scowled at the mischievous creatures wreaking havoc in his apartment.

The sound of laughter filled the room, echoing around the small space, and for the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

–

The sun hung low in the Okinawan sky, bathing the small seaside town in a warm, golden glow. Liam followed Yuki into the modest, cozy restaurant tucked between older, weathered buildings. The wooden beams and hanging lanterns gave the space a timeless charm, and the scent of fresh ingredients and simmering broth filled the air.

“This is it,” Yuki said, gesturing around as he led Liam inside. “Welcome to my second home.”

Liam took it all in—The restaurant was small but cozy, with wooden beams and soft lighting that made the space feel warm. It had the kind of charm that invited people to linger a little longer after their meals, chatting over tea or quietly enjoying the ambiance. Liam stepped inside and immediately felt out of place in his designer shirt and watch, but Yuki didn’t seem to care. He moved with ease through the space, flipping chairs down from tables and tidying up before the evening rush.

“This is your side gig?” Liam asked, leaning against the counter as Yuki set out utensils.

“More like my sanity project,” Yuki replied, flashing a quick smile before gesturing to the kitchen in the back. “Cooking helps. Keeps my hands busy.”

Liam didn’t miss the way Yuki’s voice softened, like he’d said too much and was trying to backtrack. But then Yuki shrugged, falling into a familiar rhythm. “It’s nothing fancy—affordable, good food, nothing pretentious. This island’s mostly retirees, so that’s what works.”

Liam watched him, his hands moving quickly as he prepared ingredients, and for a moment, he was transported back to their younger years—when Yuki used to talk about opening a restaurant someday. “You really did it,” Liam murmured.

Yuki paused, glancing over his shoulder. “What?”

“The restaurant,” Liam said, smiling faintly. “You used to talk about this all the time. You said you’d have a place where everyone could eat well without worrying about money.”

Yuki turned back to the counter, but Liam caught the slight upward tilt of his lips. “Guess I wasn’t lying.”

By the time the regulars started calling, asking if Yuki was open tonight, Liam was already seated at the bar, quietly observing. Yuki didn’t hesitate to say yes, flipping the sign on the door to welcome them in. And that was when Liam saw it—Yuki in his element.

The tension Liam had seen earlier, the guarded way Yuki held himself, melted away. Here, Yuki smiled. He laughed. He teased the elderly customers who came in one by one, treating them like old friends. Liam saw how they adored him in return, bringing little trinkets or baked goods to share.

It was only when the bell above the door jingled that Liam snapped out of his thoughts. An elderly woman shuffled inside, holding a reusable shopping bag and wearing a wide-brimmed sunhat. Her wrinkled face broke into a smile the moment she saw Yuki.

“Ah, Yuki-kun!” she greeted, her voice soft but warm.

“Obaa-chan!” Yuki beamed, wiping his hands on a towel before bowing slightly. “You’re early today.”

“I wanted to see you before the sun went down,” she said, then turned her sharp eyes toward Liam. “Who’s this?”

Yuki looked slightly amused. “My best friend,” he said casually, and Liam’s heart stuttered at the words. Despite Yuki it in Japanese, Liam understood it. Best friend. God, he’d missed that. But something about the title felt uneven, like it didn’t quite fit the shape of their relationship anymore.

“You can sit with him while I finish up.”

The old woman didn’t hesitate to walk straight over, gesturing for Liam to pull out a chair for her, in which he catched on quickly. He obliged quickly, sitting across from her as Yuki went back to work behind the counter.

“You’re Yuki’s friend?” she asked in slow, deliberate English.

Liam nodded. “Yeah. From a long time ago.”

She squinted at him, as if examining his soul. “You are far away from home, yes?”

“Yeah,” Liam admitted. “But I wanted to see him.”

Her lips pressed into a thin smile. “Good. He needs friends. Too alone here. Always working, always busy. Never resting.” She glanced over her shoulder at Yuki, who was flipping something in the pan with practiced ease. “He smiles, but not like before. Guarded. Always guarded.”

Liam felt something ache in his chest as he looked toward Yuki’s back, watching the way his shoulders shifted as he cooked. It was true—Yuki had changed. He wasn’t the vibrant, reckless force Liam had once known. He was quieter and steadier, but there was an undercurrent of something heavy beneath the surface.

“He looks out at the sunset sometimes,” the woman continued, her words simple but cutting. “Like he is waiting. Or maybe longing for something.”

Liam swallowed thickly, gripping the edge of the table. “I—”

The old woman patted his hand gently, surprising him. “You talk to him. Don’t let him stay in shadows. It’s no good for the heart.”

He stared at her, unsure of what to say, but she simply smiled and stood up, muttering something about needing to get back home before dark. Liam watched her leave, her words echoing in his head long after the door jingled shut behind her.

When he turned back, Yuki was setting a plate down in front of him, giving him a curious look. “What did she say to you?”

Liam hesitated before shaking his head, forcing a smile. “Just... that I should eat before it gets cold.”

Yuki smirked, clearly not buying it but letting it slide. Liam picked up his chopsticks, but as he took his first bite, his eyes kept drifting back to Yuki—this version of him that was so familiar yet so different.

Because as much as Yuki had built a new life here, surrounded by warmth and laughter, Liam couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still missing—and that maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with him.

–

The night had slowed into something softer, quieter. The restaurant was cleaned, the dishes put away, and the elderly regulars had shuffled home, leaving behind faint traces of laughter and conversation. Liam stayed behind to help Yuki lock up, and by the time they made it back to Yuki’s home, exhaustion was starting to creep in.

It didn’t take much convincing—or rather, Liam’s stubborn insistence—for Yuki to end up sharing the bed instead of the sofa.

“No way,” Liam had said, hands on his hips, blocking the living room like a wall. “You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

“It’s fine, Liam. I—”

“No,” Liam interrupted, dragging Yuki’s blanket toward the bedroom. “Don’t even argue. Come on.”

Yuki grumbled but followed, muttering something under his breath that Liam pretended not to hear.

Now, hours later, the room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. Yuki’s breathing was steady, his back turned to Liam, the faint outline of his sakura blossom tattoo peeking out from under the loose sleeve of his shirt. Liam had tried not to look, but it was impossible to ignore.

Lying there, with the sound of the waves in the distance and Yuki so close he could feel the heat radiating off him, Liam felt restless. He couldn’t sleep—not with the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him.

He exhaled softly, his voice barely a whisper in the stillness.

“I don’t think I ever told you,” he began, unsure if he was speaking to Yuki or to himself, “how much it meant. Having you there.”

Yuki didn’t move, his breathing steady, and Liam took it as permission to keep going.

“I thought about it a lot,” he admitted, his voice breaking just a little. “You were the one who kept me grounded. When things got overwhelming, or when I felt like I didn’t belong, you were there. And then—then you were gone.”

His fingers tightened against the blanket, guilt rising in his chest.

“I hated myself for letting it happen. For not fighting harder for you. And I know I had no control over any of it, but still…” He trailed off, swallowing the knot in his throat.

The words lingered in the air, and Liam suddenly felt ridiculous. Yuki was probably fast asleep, blissfully unaware of his late-night confession.

“I just—” He sighed, quieter this time. “I miss you. More than I think I realized until now.”

The room fell silent after that, and the weight in Liam’s chest slowly eased as sleep began to pull him under.

What he didn’t see was the way Yuki’s eyes opened, dark and sharp in the dim light. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe too loudly—just listened.

And when Liam’s breathing evened out, signaling that he was finally asleep, Yuki turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

Liam’s words replayed in his head, over and over, cutting deeper than he wanted to admit.

Because the truth was—he missed Liam too.

But saying it out loud? That scared him more than anything.

–

The next day, neither of them brought up what happened the night before, leaving it unspoken. Yuki decided to make a call, informing everyone that the restaurant would be closed for two days so he could spend some time with Liam. It was the only time he ever did this. Since Okinawa is such a small island where everyone knows each other, the regulars understood and sympathized with the restaurant owner’s decision.

The roar of Yuki’s motorcycle had long since died down, leaving only the soft hum of cicadas and the distant crash of waves against the shore below. They were perched at the top of a hill, the kind of place that felt untouched by time. From here, the entire island stretched out before them, bathed in gold and amber hues as the sun dipped lower.

Liam sat on the grass, his legs stretched out, while Yuki leaned against his bike, arms crossed as the wind toyed with the strands of his hair. For a while, neither of them spoke, content to let the silence stretch between them. It wasn’t awkward—not anymore.

But Liam should have known Yuki wasn’t the type to let things fester forever.

“I heard it,” Yuki said suddenly, breaking the quiet. His voice was calm, but it carried weight—heavy and unflinching.

Liam blinked, turning to look at him. “What?”

“Last night,” Yuki clarified, not looking at him. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, sharp and unwavering. “What you said.”

Liam’s stomach dropped. The words he’d spoken in the dark, half-confession and half-regret, came rushing back all at once.

“Oh.” He scrambled for something—anything—to say, but Yuki cut him off.

“It’s okay,” Yuki said, finally turning his gaze toward Liam. “I’m not mad.”

Liam let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, but before he could relax, Yuki kept going.

“But I need you to know something.”

The tone in Yuki’s voice made Liam sit up straighter.

“I didn’t leave because of you,” Yuki said. “Not really. I left because I needed to get away from it—everything. The pressure, the expectations, the way it felt like I was constantly drowning just to keep up.”

Liam swallowed, the guilt tightening again. “Yuki—”

“I hated it,” Yuki interrupted, and for the first time, there was venom in his voice—raw and unfiltered. “I hated how the sport made me feel like I wasn’t enough, no matter how hard I tried. I hated how it chewed me up and spat me out, and I hated how I couldn’t stop loving it even when it hurt me.”

Liam flinched at that, but Yuki didn’t let him sit with it for long.

“I hated myself for not being stronger,” Yuki said, softer now. “For not being able to keep going. But I hated the system more—for making me feel like walking away was my only option.”

Liam didn’t know what to say.

“I didn’t tell you any of this back then because I didn’t want to drag you down with me,” Yuki admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “You deserved your chance. You worked for it. And if I had said something—if I had lashed out—I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.”

Liam’s throat felt tight. He wanted to argue, to tell Yuki that he should have said something, that he deserved better—but he also knew Yuki didn’t need that right now.

Instead, Liam reached out, grabbing Yuki’s arm and pulling him down to sit beside him.

“I’m sorry,” Liam said, the words barely scraping past his lips.

“I told you to stop apologizing,” Yuki replied, but this time, there was no bite to it.

They sat there as the sun dipped lower, the sky painted in streaks of orange and pink. Liam glanced at Yuki—at the tattoos and the earrings, at the leather jacket and the guarded expression that had started to soften.

“You’re still my best friend,” Liam said suddenly, surprising even himself.

Yuki turned to look at him, his eyes searching Liam’s face for something unspoken.

“…I know,” Yuki finally said. “You always were.”

And just like that, something shifted—something unspoken but understood.

Yuki leaned back, resting on his elbows as he looked out over the horizon.

“You know,” Yuki said, smirking just slightly, “I was really tempted to make you ride the moped instead.”

Liam burst out laughing, the tension breaking completely.

“I would’ve murdered you,” Liam shot back, nudging Yuki’s shoulder.

Yuki grinned, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it actually reached his eyes.

–

Yuki watched as Liam laughed, the sound ringing out like music, and for a brief moment, Yuki couldn’t help but think about how much things had changed between them. How much Liam had changed.

The Liam he used to know had always been the lanky, quick-footed kid, with a wide grin and sharp eyes. He used to be all wiry muscles and endless energy, always cracking jokes and never staying still. But now, sitting next to him, Yuki could see how much more solid Liam had become. There was a weight to him now—his shoulders broader, his chest a bit wider, the muscles on his arms defined even through the simple t-shirt he wore. Yuki found himself glancing over, just for a second, before quickly looking away.

It wasn’t just his body. It was how Liam moved now—more controlled, more sure of himself. The reckless energy that used to make him seem like he was always on the edge of falling apart had been replaced by something steadier, something deeper. There was a quiet confidence in the way Liam held himself now, as though he was no longer trying to outrun everything.

Yuki couldn't help but notice it—notice him.

The way Liam's eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled, or how his lips curved into that smirk Yuki used to know so well. And those eyes... They used to be full of mischief and youth, but now, they were different. There was something in them—something Yuki couldn’t quite place but that he knew was there.

It made Yuki’s chest tighten in a way he wasn’t used to.

He glanced at Liam again, just for a moment, catching a look in Liam’s eyes that was almost unreadable, but definitely not the same as before. It was like there was a quiet curiosity there, something that hadn’t been present when they were younger.

And suddenly, Yuki became painfully aware of how close they were, the way their shoulders brushed as they sat next to each other on the grassy hilltop.

He hadn’t meant to, but he let his gaze drift again. He caught the way the sunlight seemed to highlight the contours of Liam’s jawline, the way his chest rose and fell as he laughed, and he felt an unexpected flutter in his stomach. Yuki’s heart skipped a beat, and he quickly turned his head, looking out at the sunset.

“Stop staring,” he muttered under his breath, but even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t really the problem.

He was aware.

Too aware.

It was strange—having Liam so close, knowing that the boy he used to know so well had changed, and yet still carried some pieces of the past with him. Yuki wasn’t sure how to reconcile the way things were now with the way they used to be.

But one thing was clear: There was something different between them now. Something neither of them had quite addressed, but it was there, just beneath the surface, lurking.

Yuki knew that the look Liam had given him earlier hadn’t been just friendly—it had been something else. Something more.

And as much as Yuki tried to push it away, he couldn’t ignore it. He couldn’t pretend it didn’t affect him, because it did. It affected him more than he cared to admit.

So, he did what he always did when things got complicated—he buried it.

“Alright, alright,” Yuki said, clearing his throat and looking at Liam with a teasing grin. “Enough with the sappy looks, yeah? You’re ruining the sunset for me.”

Liam laughed again, but this time there was a hint of something else in his voice—something Yuki couldn’t place, but that sent a flicker of warmth straight to his chest.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling the shift.

–

The night was thick with unspoken words, the air heavy with something neither of them wanted to name. Okinawa’s quiet buzz seemed to fade into the background as Liam and Yuki sat in the small, dimly lit living room. Everything about the evening felt too real—too final. Tomorrow, Liam would be leaving. He would be back in Austria, back in the factory, preparing for the second half of the Formula 1 season. Yuki, once again, would be left alone, facing the emptiness of his quiet life.

But tonight was the last night. The final night they had together before things went back to how they had always been. It should have been easy—comfortable. They had known each other for years. They should have been able to slip back into their old dynamic. But the silence between them was loud, and the weight of all that had passed between them, all that had been unsaid, sat in the room like an elephant.

Liam stood by the window, his back to Yuki, staring out at the night. He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? His mind was a whirl of thoughts—of memories and the electric tension that had been building between them for years. It was maddening, this distance between them. So much time spent pushing it away, hiding from it. And now, with so little time left, he was struggling to breathe.

Yuki, on the other hand, had been quiet too long. His eyes, which had once been playful, mischievous even, now seemed faraway—guarded, like something was holding him back. But tonight, Yuki knew. He couldn’t stay quiet anymore. The ache in his chest, the longing, the hurt—it was too much. The time they had shared here, these stolen moments, had awakened something in him that he couldn’t ignore.

Yuki stood up abruptly, his movements sharp and decisive. He crossed the room in two long strides, his heart pounding in his chest. Without thinking, he reached for Liam, his hand cupping his face. And then, in a moment of utter recklessness, he kissed him.

It was sudden—unplanned, an impulsive act born of frustration, of desire, of the overwhelming pull between them. It was a clash of lips, a rush of heat, of something that had been building for so long that neither of them could hold it back any longer.

Liam froze for a fraction of a second, his mind scrambling to catch up, to make sense of it. But then it was as if something clicked inside him. He kissed Yuki back, his hands moving to Yuki’s waist, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Yuki’s body was warm, so warm, his lips soft but insistent, as if he had been waiting for this moment, too.

It wasn’t perfect, and it certainly wasn’t careful. The kiss was messy, chaotic, as if their bodies were trying to make up for lost time. Yuki's fingers threaded through Liam’s hair, tugging him closer, and for a brief moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just them, tangled together, caught in the rush of something neither of them was ready for but both had wanted for far too long.

Yuki’s hands slipped under Liam’s shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath his fingertips. He groaned softly, his fingers brushing against the hard muscles of Liam’s torso, each touch sending sparks through him. He wanted more—he needed more. Liam’s body was real, solid, and alive beneath his touch. And Yuki couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t stop the way his body reacted to Liam’s.

Liam’s hands moved quickly, almost desperately, tugging at Yuki’s shirt, pulling it off over his head. The moment the fabric came off, Yuki’s tattoos were revealed. The intricate designs stretched across his body like a map of his past—motorsport-related ink, logos of cars he had once driven, and delicate cherry blossoms that symbolized his Japanese roots. Liam’s eyes widened, taking in the sight of Yuki’s body—of the tattoos that marked him as his own, as someone who had lived a life far beyond the simple confines of this small island.

Yuki watched the way Liam’s gaze lingered on his body, the intensity in his eyes making him feel exposed. But it was a good kind of exposure. It was the kind of vulnerability that felt like freedom, the kind that told him that he didn’t have to hide anymore.

Liam’s hands roamed down Yuki’s back, and the touch sent a shiver down his spine. His body reacted to the pressure of Liam’s fingers, his breath coming faster as they stumbled toward the bedroom. It was like they couldn’t get there fast enough, as if the distance between them wasn’t enough. Liam was pulling him closer, urging him forward, until finally, they fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.

Yuki didn’t hesitate. He kissed Liam again, deeper this time, pulling him closer, feeling the heat of his body. Liam responded with equal intensity, his hands roaming across Yuki’s skin as if trying to memorize every inch of him. They were both lost in the kiss, in the sensation of their bodies colliding, of finally being able to touch, to feel, to express everything they had hidden for so long.

Liam pulled away for a breath, his chest heaving as he looked down at Yuki. His eyes were dark with desire, and Yuki could see the storm brewing inside him. But there was something else there too—a softness, a tenderness that took Yuki by surprise. Liam wasn’t just here for the heat of the moment. He was here, with Yuki, because something deeper had been awakened.

Yuki pulled him back down, not wanting to break the contact. He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to feel Liam’s hands on him, his lips on his skin, forever. But before they could continue, Yuki paused, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Liam,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t keep pretending. Not anymore.”

Liam looked at him, confusion flickering in his eyes, but Yuki could see the understanding in them too. He could feel it in the way their bodies were pressed together, in the way the air between them had shifted. They were no longer just friends, no longer just two people sharing a space. They were something more. And for the first time in a long time, Yuki didn’t want to run away from it.

He kissed Liam again, pulling him back into the abyss, into the overwhelming tide of desire and longing that had been building for years. Neither of them had the strength to fight it anymore.

They tumbled into the night, their bodies tangled together, lost in each other. Yuki’s hands roamed over Liam’s body, feeling the rough edges of muscle and skin, tracing the lines that had hardened over the years. His fingers traced the scars and the tattoos, feeling the marks that told the story of Liam’s life. And Liam, in turn, explored every inch of Yuki’s body, his touch tender but insistent.

For the first time, there were no barriers between them. No hesitation. No walls. Just two bodies, entwined, the bared skin intertwined with the tattoo-covered one, falling into the abyss of everything they had been hiding for so long.

And as they kissed, as they gave in to the heat between them, Yuki knew—this wasn’t just a goodbye. It was the beginning of something new. Something neither of them had ever expected, but both had needed all along.

Their bodies moved together, a symphony of passion and need, and neither of them was willing to stop until the world outside no longer existed. Until all that remained was this—this moment, this feeling, this connection that neither of them could deny.

–

The room was still, save for the occasional sound of the wind brushing against the windows. The night had fallen deeper, the only light now a faint glow from the streetlights outside. The chaos of earlier had subsided, leaving an overwhelming sense of peace.

Liam and Yuki lay tangled beneath the soft, worn blanket, their bodies spent and warm. They had cleaned up, both moving in quiet synchrony as if they were scared that even the slightest movement might break the delicate air between them. But now, in the aftermath, all that remained was the comfort of being close.

Liam lay behind Yuki, his chest pressed gently against Yuki's back, his arm draped across his side. Yuki’s body, small but firm, fit perfectly against him. He could feel Yuki’s breath, steady and deep, as if he were still processing everything that had just happened. Liam closed his eyes for a moment, his hand unconsciously moving up and down Yuki’s arm, soothing and rhythmic.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of everything—the miles, the months apart, the years of unspoken words—seemed to lift. In this small moment, everything felt right. The reality of the night had settled, and now there was only silence. The comfortable kind, the kind that allowed both of them to exist without the need for words.

But the silence between them grew too heavy, and Liam could no longer ignore the turmoil swirling in his chest. He needed to say it. He needed to speak his truth. He had never been good at these kinds of moments, the delicate ones where emotions ran deeper than anything he had ever known.

With a deep breath, Liam shifted just slightly, his face burying itself into the crook of Yuki's neck. He inhaled deeply, the scent of Yuki’s skin mingling with the fresh scent of the ocean breeze that lingered in the room. He let his breath steady, his hand gently brushing against Yuki’s side.

“Yuki,” Liam began, his voice softer than usual. “I don’t think you understand what this—what tonight—means to me.” He hesitated, feeling his heart beat faster, like a racing car ready to take off. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel like everything is different now. Everything we’ve been pretending—it’s like we’ve both been running from it. From what we really feel.”

Yuki remained quiet for a moment, and Liam wasn’t sure if he was listening or if the words had startled him. But then Yuki shifted, rolling just enough so that his back was to Liam, his face half hidden in the pillow. But Liam could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he stiffened as if he was bracing himself for something.

“I think I’ve known for a long time,” Yuki said quietly, his voice low but steady. “But... I’ve been scared. Scared to admit it. Because if I do, it means things can never go back to how they were. And part of me... part of me doesn’t know if I can handle that.”

Liam’s heart skipped a beat. He had been so caught up in his own thoughts, his own feelings, that he hadn’t stopped to consider Yuki’s fears. He could feel the uncertainty in Yuki’s words, and it hit him hard. The truth was, neither of them had ever been good at confronting what they really felt. They had danced around it, pretended it didn’t matter.

Liam reached out, his hand settling gently on Yuki’s waist, pulling him a little closer. His touch was soft, almost reverent. “Yuki, I...” He didn’t know how to continue. The words felt too big to fit into the space between them, but he couldn’t back down now. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to go back to the way things were before. I can’t.”

There was a long pause, one that stretched on for what felt like an eternity. The weight of their unspoken truths hung in the air, thick with the things they hadn’t said. Yuki was still, but Liam could feel the faint tremor in his body. He could sense that Yuki was processing everything, considering the weight of Liam’s confession, his own feelings.

Yuki finally turned in his arms, his face now fully visible, his expression unreadable but gentle. “I don’t know what to do with this,” he whispered. “With us. I’ve always thought of you as my best friend. But this... this is different.”

Liam's thumb brushed gently against Yuki's skin, his gaze locked on his eyes. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “We don’t have to figure everything out right now. But I can’t go back to pretending I don’t care. Not after tonight. Not after everything we’ve shared.”

Yuki’s eyes softened, and for a moment, Liam thought he might say something more. But instead, Yuki closed the gap between them, his lips pressing against Liam’s in a quiet kiss. It wasn’t desperate like the first, but it was still full of the same urgency, the same emotion. Yuki’s lips were soft against his, and as they kissed, Liam felt everything they hadn’t said—everything they had been too scared to admit—finally begin to unravel.

When they pulled away, there was an understanding between them. Unspoken, but clear. They didn’t need to have all the answers. They didn’t need to figure out the future right now. But tonight, here, in this small bed, in the comfort of the warmth they had created together, they could simply be.

Liam’s hand moved to Yuki’s cheek, his thumb brushing over his skin, his heart full of something he couldn’t name, but it felt like home. “I’m not going anywhere, Yuki,” Liam whispered, his voice full of sincerity. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

Yuki’s gaze softened, his hand resting over Liam’s chest, where his heartbeat was still racing. “I don’t know what tomorrow holds, Liam,” he said quietly. “But for tonight... I’m here. With you. And that’s enough.”

And with that, they lay there, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s arms, knowing that whatever came next, they had taken the first step. Together.

–

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting soft beams across the room. The air felt different today—more fragile, like it was holding its breath. The events of the night before seemed to have changed everything, though neither of them had spoken much about it in the hours that followed. Now, as the sun rose higher, it was time to face the reality of the inevitable. Liam had to leave. The season would continue, and he had commitments to fulfill in Europe.

Yuki was already up, packing a small bag with a few things, his movements deliberate but slower than usual. He seemed lost in his thoughts, his gaze distant as he folded clothes into his suitcase. Liam watched him from the bed, lying on his back, arms behind his head. He didn’t know what to say. The words felt inadequate, but he knew this moment had to come.

The silence was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that lingered when two people had finally come to terms with what they felt but didn’t yet know how to say it out loud.

After a while, Yuki turned toward him, his expression unreadable, but there was a softness in his eyes. “I’ll walk you to the airport,” Yuki said quietly, breaking the silence.

Liam nodded, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. “Thanks, Yuki.” His voice was thick with emotion, but he couldn’t help it. Saying goodbye always felt like an impossibility, especially now. Not when everything had changed.

The drive to the airport was quiet, the hum of the motorcycle engine beneath them the only sound as they made their way through the streets of the small island. Yuki’s leather jacket fluttered slightly in the wind, and for the briefest moment, Liam wondered if they could just drive forever—if they could escape the reality that was waiting for them on the other side.

When they arrived, Yuki parked the bike and turned off the engine, the soft clink of the key as he pulled it from the ignition ringing in the still air. Neither of them spoke immediately, both of them knowing the end was near. It was the kind of goodbye that neither of them was ready for.

They stood for a moment, the silence between them now a heavy weight that neither wanted to carry. Liam’s chest tightened, the realization that this was the last time he would see Yuki for a while settling deep within him. His hand instinctively reached out, and before he could stop himself, he pulled Yuki into a tight hug.

Yuki’s arms wrapped around him just as quickly, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The world around them felt far away, like nothing existed except the two of them in that single embrace. Liam could feel Yuki’s heart beating against his chest, steady and strong, and it gave him the strength he needed to say the words that had been swirling in his mind all morning.

“I’ll miss you,” Liam whispered, his voice thick. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but I’ll make sure to contact you. I promise.”

Yuki pulled back just slightly, his hands on Liam’s shoulders, eyes meeting his with a softness that made Liam’s heart ache. “I’ll miss you too,” Yuki said, his voice steady, but there was a trace of something deeper in his words. “We’ll figure it out. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Liam chuckled softly, though it felt like it was born out of nerves more than humor. “You better not. I don’t know if I could handle that.”

Yuki smiled, a small, knowing smile that made Liam’s chest tighten. “We’ll see each other again. When the time is right.”

Liam nodded, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He had to let go, he knew that. But it didn’t make it any easier. He took a deep breath and offered Yuki a small smile, trying to mask the feeling that threatened to overwhelm him.

“You better take care of yourself, Yuki,” Liam said quietly. “Promise me you won’t work yourself too hard. I don’t want you burning out on me.”

Yuki raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. “You’re one to talk. You drive race cars for a living. Don’t tell me you’re not pushing yourself to the limit every single day.”

Liam laughed softly, his hand resting briefly on Yuki’s arm. “Touché. I guess we both have our ways of taking things too far.”

Yuki’s expression softened again, and he placed a hand on Liam’s chest, just over his heart. “Take care, Liam. I’ll be here, waiting for when the time comes to see you again.”

Liam smiled, his throat tightening once more. He stepped back, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He had to go now. He didn’t want to drag it out any longer than necessary.

But before he could turn to walk into the airport, Yuki’s voice stopped him. “Hey, Liam.”

He turned, looking back over his shoulder at Yuki.

“You’re always welcome here,” Yuki said with a slight nod, the weight of his words settling between them. “No matter where you go. Just remember that.”

Liam’s heart swelled, and without thinking, he crossed the small distance between them and pulled Yuki into another quick hug, holding him tightly for just a moment longer. He could feel Yuki’s warmth, his steady heartbeat, and for a brief second, he wished they could freeze this moment in time.

“I’ll be back,” Liam said, his voice resolute.

Yuki didn’t respond with words, but instead, gave him a small smile, the kind that spoke volumes more than any sentence ever could. The promise was made, not with grand gestures, but with the quiet understanding between them.

As Liam turned and walked toward the airport, he didn’t look back, but the weight of Yuki’s presence lingered with him. He knew, deep down, that this wasn’t goodbye. It was simply the beginning of something they had both been too afraid to admit.

And when the time came, they would find their way back to each other. They had to. Because this—what they shared—was too real to let slip away.

[shopwitchvamp]

May Preorder Update:

I can give everyone a real update today because tracking FINALLY has a delivery date for the bulk of the May Preorder order:

And so with that, here's the preorder tracker update in the shop:

We've already shipped out orders that only contained petticoat preorders, and we'll be shipping another set of about 25 preorders on Friday for items that arrived a little earlier than the big main set that's on the way. All remaining preorders will ship once we get the big batch processed! We've gotten pretty effecient about the whole process so we should be able to get through it fairly quickly, but at the same time there's been SO MUCH going on behind the scenes & in our not-work life lately that I don't want to make a promise of being able to get everything out by the end of the month as originally estimated/planned. There is a good chance that fulfillment will need to extend into the first week of August. What I can promise tho, is that we will get all May Preorders shipped out before our break ends and we reopen the shop (on 8/8). Thanks so much for your patience and understanding!! And as always, if you need an address update please email us ASAP at support@witchvamp.com with your order number and the updated shipping address!

[pilonciillo]

lol didn’t think someone giving money would give me anxiety

[suguann]

tags. fem!reader, boss/employee relationship, stupidly domestic, little wife kink in there somewhere, nanny reader, single dad gojo, breeding kink [18+ only]

You sometimes find yourself wistfully imagining having a family of your own—a soft and sweet little bundle to cuddle and someone strong and capable (competent) at your side. But you can’t think of the last time you’ve been on a date where that person had the same interest in something more serious than casually sleeping around. 

Nannying seemed like the natural conclusion, especially when you’re still settling in a new city and barely scraping by for rent and student loans for a degree you don’t use. 

You pick up a few jobs just to get a feel for it: parents going away for a honeymoon, a last-minute call-in, a weekend business trip. Then a friend of a friend says she makes enough to afford one of those picturesque apartments that overlook tall high-rises and iridescent lights, the very ones you’ve dog-eared in real-estate magazines.

All it takes are a few phone calls and an interview until you’re packing up your apartment and taking the freeway outside of the city to somewhere remote and expensive, your car looking almost out of place parked beside the shiny new one in the long driveway.

You rap on the front door before you lose your nerve, and a few moments later, it opens, and you’re unsure who looks more out of place: this man with a smile too big, dressed for work, immaculate suit dampened by the baby rag slung over his shoulder and what looks like drool on his crisp collar, or you in your scuffed shoes and second-hand store clothes, standing in front of the nicest house you’ve ever seen.

“The nanny?”

“Yes,” you mutter, licking your lips. “That’s me.”

“Good, Ren just woke up from his nap,” he says, opening the door a little wider with a creak. The darkness behind him is almost comforting.

You take a deep breath and pass over the threshold into his home.

The entire time, his hand stays on the small of your back to steer you toward the nursery, and a shiver threatens up the length of your spine.

Three months. That’s how long it takes before your employer poses a problem.

It’s not that he’s a terrible boss; in fact, he’s quite the opposite. He lets you take over one of the many spare rooms in his massive house, pays you double the regular rate, and gives you time off when you ask for it.

It also helps that Ren is cute, only a year old, and still so sweet and tiny. 

Perfect.

The problem lies in that you know what he sounds like first thing in the morning, that he knows how you like your coffee, that he helps you fold laundry in the living room while the baby naps, how you catch him staring anytime you hold his son—his expression shuttered, a foreign thing that you can’t read. It’s all so terribly domestic. 

Terrible in that you think it’s a horrible idea to develop a crush on your boss, that you can’t help but get flustered anytime he so much as looks your way, even if it’s fleeting. How a sleepy smile before he retires to his room for the night can turn your thoughts into a scattered, ill-defined mess of what they used to be until all that’s left are words like spun sugar melting on your tongue.

But also, it’s not normal, at least not from your experience. 

You were lucky in the past if your employer even wanted to know about their kid’s day. Barely saying hello once they walk through the front door before sending money to your bank account.

Satoru—because that’s what he asked you to call him one afternoon while you were in the middle of feeding Ren mashed banana, a lazy smile curling the edges of his lips after you say it for the first time—wants to know everything: what Ren ate, if he laughed, how your day was, if you finally got your hands on that book you’ve been meaning to buy. 

“You don’t have to ask about my day,” you tell him shyly, accepting the glass of wine he proffers you after spending the past hour trying to put a teething baby to bed. “To make me feel better, that is.”

“Would it be so bad if I said I want to? You live here, too.”

You try to separate the two: that he cares as your employer and not for any other reason, and how you sometimes catch the soft look in his eye whenever he looks at you could make you believe otherwise.

Cool fingers cup your chin gently, thumb caressing the top of your cheek, now close enough that you catch a few of the warm notes of his cologne, a move that’s probably very inappropriate between a boss and an employee.

“I never say anything I don’t mean.”

You swallow, nodding, slightly shaky, breath caught in your chest. “Okay.”

“Good girl.” He retreats to his office before witnessing how those two words knock the wind out of you.

He starts saying things like our shopping list, our car—because he gave you the keys to the SUV parked beside his car and hasn’t touched it since; for you and the baby, he said, plus it’s terrible on gas when I drive it to work—our house, our baby. You don’t think he means to do it; it's more of an easy slip in conversation.

But then, one morning, he’s rushing around the kitchen, hair still damp and smelling like his shampoo, as he grabs his coffee and briefcase from the counter, kissing Ren’s forehead first…and then yours.

You’re half convinced that you imagined it—that his lips hadn’t stayed there for a second longer than necessary—until he straightens his tie and heads out for the day with a ‘be good’ tossed over his shoulder, and you’re left wondering if he meant to say that to you or Ren.

It sets off a chain reaction of thoughts whirling away in your head, leaves you wanting and wondering—only ever allowing yourself to fantasize a little when the house is quiet and dark, the baby monitor humming on your nightstand, and images of your boss flit behind closed eyelids as you fit your hand underneath your soft sleep shorts.

In the morning, you worry he can tell what you did, his smile almost too sharp, too something—more teasing than what you’re used to—his hand resting on your lower back as he leans down to kiss Ren’s chubby cheek while you make breakfast.

“I have a meeting this afternoon, so I’ll be late. Want me to pick up some food on the way home?”

No, you think, there’s no way he knows.

You spend most of the morning cleaning and folding the array of graphic onesies Satoru has a penchant for dressing Ren in, and the later half walking around the pool because it’s warm and Ren enjoys splashing around in the water. It’s enough to tucker him out for bed early, unable to keep his eyes open while eating a plate of mashed potatoes.

It’s also the first time in weeks that you have the night to yourself, no baby keeping you busy, no Satoru to—well.

After a long shower, you step out of the bathroom, moving into the hallway. And there are many reasons why you felt confident walking the few steps it took to reach your bedroom. Most revolve around what Satoru told you that morning, so you don’t expect him to be standing there, shirtsleeves rolled up, piercing gaze sliding down the length of you wrapped in a towel and little else.

“I brought home those drunken noodles you like,” he says when his eyes focus back on your face, his whole expression softening into a smile.

A beat. “Thank you,” you whisper, unable to look away.

He tucks the wet strands of hair clinging to your cheek behind your ear. “Why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll join you downstairs?”

The noise in your brain goes static.

You’re unsure what causes it, but everything changes when he comes home early one afternoon and finds you and the baby napping in the nursery. He has this soft look on his face and something else you can’t decipher with his piercing blue eyes settled firmly on you.

Ren coos softly into your shoulder. 

When Satoru picks him up and settles him in the crib, then walks you to your room—here, let me help you—and when he hovers in your doorway, you let him in without question.

He doesn’t waste any time peeling off your clothes, eager to have you naked and splayed out underneath him. You cum on his tongue more times than you can count until you’re silently begging him to fuck you.

He laughs, large hands spread over your tummy. 

“Use your words, baby. I’m not a mind reader.”

You feel like you’re someone else watching you from somewhere else, another body rocking against the length of your boss’s cock, back arching every time you manage to find the friction you need. He’s hard against your back, thick in a way that makes you wonder if he did enough to stretch you out. 

“I-I want—”

All other thoughts are obliterated by the stretch and press of him against your cunt. 

“Think I’m going to keep you,” he rasps, lips dragging over your throat. “Keep this drippy little cunt spread open on my desk whenever I want while the baby naps. Would you like that? For me to fuck you full until you give me a baby.”

You clench, nerves shot.

“Gonna get all round with my baby, stay here forever,” he mumbles when he draws away, and you can’t tell if the words are meant for you to hear or slip out without him realizing. “Fuck—breed my little wife until it takes—”

Your eyes roll up, lost in the little promises he paints across your skin, body shivering over and over until you’re sobbing from it until he has to clamp a hand down over your mouth—shh, you’re going to wake the baby—going limp when he finally cums, pressing as deep as your body will allow, as if he can somehow imprint himself there. 

Wonders if maybe he’s been building up to this moment all along. 

It’s so easy to lay there after, blissed out while he litters kisses across your face and collarbones, letting him lift your hips up to slide a pillow underneath, even though the position is awkward when he tries to cuddle you afterward.

His fingers draw shapes on your stomach, giving you a wistful look, like he can’t believe he’s laying here with his cum still dripping between your thighs—no matter how many times he scoops it up and pushes it back inside you. “Do you think it’ll take?”

And you don’t have the heart to tell him about the little foil packet of pills tucked away in your nightstand.

[hai7ani]

a final piece to tachibana / link to previous

Haitani Rindou, Me and My Husband

Haitani Rindou is 28, an ex-felon, and he has no idea what the other guys his age do, other than stare at a wall and wank all day like the idiot from his cell does. He's tried so hard fantasising, and yet he still can't imagine a life of actually having consistent daily, weekly routines. When he's out and he witnesses the rush of modern day Tokyo where everyone's constantly in a hurry to get to somewhere, he can't help but question just where in the world are they going, and what in the hell are they rushing to do. Work? Are they that devoted to their job? Meeting a friend? Are they really that important?

He's spent the last 8 years of his life stirring soup and boiling rice in a kitchen that earns him about ¥500 per month, sweep fallen leaves during autumn while witnessing fights break out between inmates at the yard, and work out in the mini gym of a prison.

Now that he's out and he's staying with you at your place out of your own wallet where you've also bought him a phone with a functioning sim card, some warmer clothes to wear and laze around in, and pay for all the things in the house despite him having a job as well that pays more than what he's used to earn, he feels awfully bad. He stares at the digits in his bank account as he rubs at his nape.

For the first time in his life, Haitani Rindou has no clue what to do with himself.

You work a nice paying job in corporate 一 a result of your endless hard work, a desperate yet successful attempt to break free from your past 一 and at night he refills the vending machines that you and your co-workers empty during the day.

He's aware that the current gap between the two of you is big 一 it's extreme. He hates that he isn't able to provide more for the two of you at home other than doing simple laundry or sweeping the floor while you're away at work. He knows how to cook a little (simple recipes that the inmates eat daily, but he knows you won't like the food, because you weren't an inmate), but not full-on meals that you usually make and leave in the warmer for him when he finally gets home to eat.

He thinks about who he was before his time in prison and he doesn't recognise that boy anymore. An extremely outgoing party boy who rebels, fights and drifts when the sun is down, and an ex-felon who works about 4 hours per night refilling vending machines that people like his past-self vandalise and abuse just for the fun of it 一 those are 2 different people living 2 different lives, from 2 different universes.

Tonight, when the moon is up and he's got you in his arms 一 all warm and tucked in while you snore in his ear 一 he thinks about just what can he do for you to make you happier. He's aware he won't be able to provide much financially 一 not right now at least, and he's not a great communicator as well. He isn't confident he can always get his point across without having it sound like he means an entirely different thing. He has spent more time away from you than with you, after all.

And he hates to say it because he thinks he's in no position to do so, but the two of you are a bit complicated. You're childhood sweethearts who come from the same hometown and grew up together, he's the one who committed a crime, got sent in, and you were left yearning for him on the outside. He's the one who's made love to you before, and it is also his fault that the two of you are like this right now. You're kissy and touchy, he sleeps shirtless and you sleep in just panties, but you don't have a label to your relationship. He doesn't see you as a friend 一 he sees you as his world, but if he were to introduce you to another person, does he call you his friend?

He doesn't know how to make it better, but you always seem to make it feel like everything's alright when you'd knock on the bathroom door and offer to help him shave or give his hair a trim. He thinks the two of you are doing fine, but then his mind shifts to the therapist note you'd obviously accidentally left sitting on the dining table one morning and his heart aches.

You haven't been doing well lately. Recently. Frequently. For many, many years, you haven't been okay. He wonders if you have always smiled this often around other people 一 when he was still in prison, or before you were able to see each other again after years of lost contact 一 because you're always grinning ear to ear when you'd cling onto him in bed or straddle him on the couch while plucking his eyebrows as he hisses in pain.

But when you shift a little in bed and snuggle your nose deeper into his neck and sigh, the tightening in his chest softens a little. Your alarm's going to ring in about 5 minutes and he switches it off before it can. He spends the rest of your time rubbing your back, waking you up gently as he gives you some time to adjust to opening your eyes. He hates that you always seem to jolt awake when the alarm rings, as if it scares you a lot. It's almost the same reaction he's seen in you when you were younger and would hide against a raised fist. He doesn't want you to feel like that anymore. He went away for this exact reason and all he wants to do is to hide you away from fear.

And as you stare up at him, eyes half-lidded and cloudy, it's as if the colour of your irises are hypnotising him with words 一 whispering it in his ear as they ask, "do you still not see it?"

He does. He sees it now.

All the doubts and worries in his head swiftly vanishes and it all makes sense now 一 why you still choose to be with him despite everything that's happened to your lives, why you still seem to care so much for him.

The love in your eyes evident, as you smile softly while the sun slowly rises above the horizon, and he settles.

You love him just as much as he loves you.

All you've ever needed was him. Just him. Your Rindou.

He's got nothing else to worry about now 一 he's got the world in his arms. Even if it'll take him years to adjust to his new life, he'll be doing it with you.

Perhaps today he'll take the time to bake you your all-time favourite chocolate chip muffins 一 he'll run to the store to get the ingredients and maybe pass by the jeweller, browsing.

He wonders if the numbers in his bank account would be enough to buy him a ring, but he'll have to get the size of your finger first, right?

tachibana's tldr (TW!): you and rin were childhood friends, you were abused growing up, rindou killed your abuser and went to jail for it but you never found out until ran told you so you think he's been mia all this while when he's actually in jail

tachibana is officially discontinued, but i didn't want to leave it hanging because i cherish the story a lot (it just wasn't well-planned), so here's a final piece to wrap up the story 🤍

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Habits To Become Your Best Self In 2023

Some habits, routine ideas, and mindset shifts to help make 2023 your best year yet. Hope this helps and inspires you to reach your goals for the next 12 months. Remember to work hard and take care of yourself. Once you put your mind to it, the sky is the limit! xx

Make Your Meals Plant-Based & Produce-Focused: Center your meals around a variety of vegetables, fruits, plant proteins, potatoes, and unprocessed plant-based fats (avocado, nuts, seeds) and minimal whole grains.

Get Creative With Stress Eating Substitutions: Discover healthy swaps for your meals and snacks to ensure what you're eating without sacrificing your goals. Some simple substitutes include mixing in cauliflower rice into your whole grain rice to add nutrients/volume while slashing the calories, using half an avocado with lemon as a salad dressing over spoonfuls of olive oil, swapping meat for lentils in a chill, soups, or stir fry, choosing frozen grapes or whipped bananas with berries over candy or ice cream for a sweet treat, etc. Remember: Spices and seasoning are your best friends.

Be Mindful of Your Beverage Consumption: Consuming enough water is essential. However, if you get bored with water, add some herbal and black tea, black coffee, or fruit-filled water into the mix. Cinnamon, vanilla, and apple or peach teas are great options to satisfy cravings and prevent mindless snacking (not a substitute for food – eat if you're genuinely hungry). For the winter season, try using some pure cocoa powder with hot water, vanilla extract, and a tablespoon or two of plant-based milk for a healthy hot cocoa drink.

Prioritize Long Walks: Carve out 1-2 hours of your day to get 10-12K steps in at least 5 days a week. Go outside if possible or jump on a treadmill/walking pad to get in some movement while watching TV, talking on the phone, or catching up on some emails.

Find A Simple Resistance Workout You Love: Yoga, pilates, or an at-home weight-training or body-weight exercise you can do at home. Browse different YouTube videos for 10-30 minute workouts to try or sign up for a class in your local area to make it a more social experience (and force yourself to take accountability to show up in the first place).

Create Short & Long "Bookend" Routines: Create a simple routine for the beginning and end of the task-filled portion of your day. For most of us, these routines would be done in the morning and evening/at night before and after work, school, or doing chores/errands. Let go of the rigid idea that these routines need to be done at certain times of the day. Set yourself up to win and tailor them to your schedule. Consider these short routines (like drinking a cup of coffee/tea, reading, meditation, journaling, a walk, or a short dancing session) your warm-up and cool-down sessions of the day. Having these rituals to look forward to will give you the energy and motivation to do what you need to get done each day.

Practice This 10-10-10 Mindfulness Practice: Make time for at least 10 pages of reading, 10 minutes of meditation, and 10 minutes of journaling daily (This can include shadow work) either in the morning or nighttime to clear and reset your mindset for the day.

Take An Hour To Plan Out Your Week: It's most convenient to do this power hour on a weekend (I typically reserve an hour before dinner on Sunday for weekly planning). Write out all of your main work tasks, schedule any due date reminders (for work, bills, chores, and other life necessities), must-do errands, emails and calls or appointments to make, etc.). I like using the Productivity Planner from Intelligent Change and my Reminders app/Google calendar via iCloud to sync deadlines and times to schedule messages/tasks/bills, so everything will be in front of me at the correct time throughout the week.

Prioritize 1-3 Tasks Daily: You might need to choose one large project to work on in small chunks or select a "Big 3" for the day, depending on how complex, lengthy, and time-consuming your projects/errands or appointments are for the day. Using this method allows you to be efficient, streamline your life, and feel productive without overwhelming yourself on the regular (the fastest route to burnout).

Make A Life Admin Schedule (and Stick To It): Choose days (and times if possible) of the week to update certain spreadsheets, batch reply to less urgent messages, clean your house, do laundry, grocery shop, etc. Scheduling these tasks ahead of time eliminates half of the battle for following through on what you need to do. Eventually, you will make these tasks into habitual routines that your brain will allow you to execute effortlessly as though you're in autopilot mode.

Mind Your "Circle of Influence": Do an intake on the 5-10 people you speak to the most or value in your life. If you're an employee, it is probably best to not include your boss or coworkers in this consideration list, as you need to work amicably with them regardless of your personal feelings. Look how you feel during your interactions with your friends, family, intimate partner, or an adjacent love interest. Consider how they speak to you, about themselves, and the topics your conversations are focused around. See if they align with the person you want to be and your goals. Evaluate how close you want to be and what parts of your life you think would be the most beneficial for you and the relationship going into 2023.

Set Boundaries: Understand your expectations, non-negotiables, and limits in every area of your life. Communicate these principles to others clearly, so they know when they are overstepping. Don't tolerate disrespect, but also don't expect others to be mind-readers. If someone knows that they're crossing your boundaries, it is easy to draw the line in the sand and walk away without the guilt or shame that can arise when conflicts originate from a lack of healthy communication.

Incorporate One Creative Practice Into Your Week: Reinvigorate your mind by engaging in at least one hour of creative activity per week. Try drawing, creative writing, poetry, singing, dancing, painting, pottery, jewelry making, graphic design, photography, etc. Even taking a foreign language course or creating a Pinterest inspiration/mood board or organizing your home/closets in an aesthetically-pleasing way counts. Figure out what creative outlet(s) you find satisfying. Prioritize scheduling this practice into your schedule weekly.

Refine Your Signature Look: Edit your wardrobe, try out a new haircut, or change up your makeup routine, nail color, or signature scent. Consider how you can close any gaps between your authentic personal style and how you present yourself on a day-to-day basis. Create an inspiration board if needed to help yourself define your unique aesthetic and gradually work towards embodying your ideal look.

Keep A "Praise" Archive: Create a record of all of the messages you receive highlighting your achievements, milestones, recognitions, or compliments. Compile a folder that acts as your "praise" archive for every area of your life. Create a folder in your work email inbox to save all of your professional achievements, praise, and positive contributions. Do the same for your personal email. Create a folder in your photo album of screenshotted texts. Keep a running list on your "Notes" app of any compliments you receive on your conversational contributions, actions, attire, personality, smile, etc. Hyping yourself up to connect to your highest self.

Create A "Siren" Kit: Take note of all of the clothing, scents, songs, cosmetics, phrases, people, and other aspects of your environment that empower you to feel your sexiest. Keep all of these items/songs/texts together to make it simple to set the mood before engaging in some indulgent action or revisit when you need a boost of confidence throughout your week.

Do A Financial Audit: Create an income/expenses spreadsheet to understand your current spending behavior and budgeting plan going forward. Set up your 2023 financial goals and projections, including target amounts for income, savings, and investments.

Give Yourself A Weekly "Treat": Find a healthy indulgence that you can strategically incorporate into your week. This "treat" can be a massage or nail appointment, permission to watch a movie or a couple episodes of a TV show, a serving of your favorite dessert or a glass of wine, etc. Life is meant to be enjoyed. Consider regular indulgence as an act of self-care not as a sign of weakness or self-destruction. Embracing pleasure does not require guilt or external permission.

Happy New Year, loves! Cheers to an abundant 2023 xx

[familyvideostevie]

the meaning of it all

joel miller x reader

summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help. 

word count: 13.6k

warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.

a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.

___

Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.

And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.

You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.

Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.

Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable. 

You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.

Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.

You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets.  You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.

"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.

"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."

It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.

"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."

He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --

"Quit harassin' her."  Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.

"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"

"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"

"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.

"Joel Miller," he says back.

You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.

It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.

"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."

"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.

"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"

Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"

Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.

You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."

Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.

You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.

Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.

And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.

"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."

You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.

Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."

It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.

"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.

"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.

"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."

It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.

"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.

The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.

"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"

Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.

"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."

You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."

"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"

"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.

"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.

Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."

You didn't know, actually. "Really?"

Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"

He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.

Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."

Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"

He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."

"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.

He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.

"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."

Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.

"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."

The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.

"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"

"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.

"Good," he says. "Good."

You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.

Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Joel says your name and you turn around.

"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."

You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.

Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."

___

Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.

But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.

Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.

But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.

Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.

"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"

You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.

"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"

"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."

This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.

"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.

"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.

"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."

Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"

You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.

"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"

"I--what?"

"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"

You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.

And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.

Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.

"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"

You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."

Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."

Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.

She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"

"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.

He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.

___

You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.

Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.

"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.

"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."

"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."

"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."

Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.

It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.

It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.

Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."

You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."

He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"

You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.

"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."

That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.

"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.

"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"

That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."

His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"

You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.

It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.

It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.

But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?

"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."

You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"

"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"

"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.

"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"

He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.

Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.

"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.

"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.

___

You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.

The doors in your house open and close silently.

Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.

Until you have a bad patrol.

It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.

You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.

Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.

A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.

"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.

"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"

"Yeah. Can we go home now?"

Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.

Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.

The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.

You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.

You could only be so lucky.

You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.

But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --

You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.

"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."

The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.

Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.

Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.

Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.

Something in your chest tightens.

Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.

"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.

"Couldn't sleep."

He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."

Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.

"Sorry," you say softly.

"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"

You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.

He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.

His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.

"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.

"Heard that one before."

He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."

"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.

"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."

"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.

"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.

"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."

Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?

"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.

His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."

The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.

You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.

"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"

You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.

The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"

"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."

A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.

"Sorry."

Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."

"I don't think I feel any better."

He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.

"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."

"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."

"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."

Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.

You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.

"I might," he says. Neither of you move.

That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.

"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"

"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"

"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.

"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."

He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.

__

Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?

"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.

"Am I?" you say lightly.

She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"

Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.

"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.

"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"

"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."

"Am not," you mutter.

Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.

Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.

Well. It's thank you at the very least.

And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.

And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.

The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.

Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.

"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."

The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"

Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."

He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.

"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"

"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?

"I...what?"

"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."

"Joel--"

"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"

He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.

"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."

"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."

There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.

So did you. You didn't dream.

"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.

"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."

A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.

You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?

Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."

The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.

"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"

"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."

This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.

"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."

Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."

You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?

But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.

"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.

He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"

"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."

Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?

Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."

He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.

"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."

It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.

"Joel--"

"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."

The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.

He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"

"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."

You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.

Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.

You'll never stop wanting him now.

His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.

It's very possible that you gasp a little.

He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.

"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."

"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.

Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."

Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.

You're so fucked.

But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.

You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.

"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."

"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.

You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.

"And thank you for--"

He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."

You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.

"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.

He turns. "Countin' on it."

___

You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.

"Fucking amazing," she says.

You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.

As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.

Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.

It goes to shit fairly quickly.

The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.

He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.

You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.

"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.

"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.

"What happened?"

You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.

"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."

"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."

"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"

"But the rules say --"

"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"

"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"

"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."

You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.

Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.

"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."

Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.

You're going to need a lot of help.

You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.

The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.

What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.

A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.

There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.

Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something. 

Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.

"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --

Joel.

A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.

Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.

"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.

"Joel --"

"Sit."

You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?

"How are you here --"

Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.

"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"

The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.

"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"

"No, I don't think so --"

"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."

He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.

"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"

Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.

Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."

You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.

"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."

"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.

"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.

And then he's back crouching in front of you.

Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.

"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."

"I told him to."

"Can't believe that either. You know better."

"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"

He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."

Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"

His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."

For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.

"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.

He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.

You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."

"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."

This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.

He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.

"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."

You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.

"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.

He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.

He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.

Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.

"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."

The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.

"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"

Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.

"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.

You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"

"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"

"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.

"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."

We.

"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.

And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.

"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."

He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.

The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.

You sniffle.

Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.

But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.

And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.

You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."

"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."

There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.

You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.

"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.

"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."

You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.

"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."

"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"

"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.

"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.

Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.

You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.

"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.

"For my sake or yours?"

You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."

He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.

You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.

You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.

"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[sh0esuke]

" Frustration " - ENG VERSION.

Starring : Joshua Washington.

Summary : After a few months spent studying in the city, the Washington siblings can finally rest at the Washington Logde located in Blackwood Mountain, this time, the getaway being quite small, they only bring one person with them. The beginning of the weekend starts, and the guest seems to have many catch-up to do with Josh. Without their parents in sight, away from the city, they only have one thing in mind.

Warning : sexual content.

ENG : PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORKS. If you want to translate it, ask me first then we can talk about it. If you want to find me on Wattpad, my account is in my bio, this is the ONLY ONE i have. FR : MERCI DE NE PAS VOLER MES OS. Si vous avez envie de les traduire, merci de me demander la permission avant. Si vous voulez me retrouver sur Wattpad, j'ai un lien dans ma bio, c'est mon SEUL compte.

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 𝟑,𝟎𝟏𝟗.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are heavily appreciated. All types of support are ! Thank you !! <3

A/N : English isn't my first language so I apologise if you find any incoherence/mistake in this work. I tried my best to translate it as I know not many french people read fanfiction about Until Dawn, I wanted to see if i was able to write in English and also maybe find other fans of Josh on this app. I truly hope you will enjoy my work, feel free to criticise anything, I'm willing to learn and get better. Thank you !!

“Are you going to close that window or what ? I’m freezing !” 

I bring my hands to my arms, rubbing them generously in order to make my goosebumps disappear. A huge storm is blowing outside, the shutters can’t hold straight, they won’t stop slamming against the windows, and a few snowflakes manage to enter the room and melt on the floor. Even with a blanket on my shoulders and my legs warming up under the sheets, I'm still freezing to death. My whole body is shaking. My toes are iced. Winter has always been rough here, in the mountains, makes me wonder why Josh’s family has made it a tradition to come here every now and then. It must be a habit for him, he grew up there the cold doesn’t do anything to him anymore. But, unfortunately for him, not me. I’m cold and I can’t take it anymore. I await only one thing; for him to close this damn window and join me in bed.

“Give me two sec’ babe, I'm trying to put on some ambiance. Wouldn’t want the neighbors to see us while we wrestle between the sheets, if you know what I mean. Well, you know.” he jokes. 

“You won’t wrestle anything if you waste any more time.” 

“What ? You’re breaking my heart.. I did all I could to make you happy and It’s a little storm that’s going to come between us ?” 

He rotates the window handle. He looks at me questioningly, pretending to be hurt. 

“The next house is miles away !” I curse. “Hurry up !” 

A smirk takes place on his lips. He approaches the bed, take off his jacket and climb on it before leaning in my direction. Our faces are getting closer. Using my elbows to lean forward, I kiss his mouth. The blanket falls from my shoulder, sags onto the pillow which makes a chill run up my spine –or it’s because Josh’s hand is grabbing my neck, fondling my jaw with his thumb. My stomach wiggles. I close my eyes and let him take over me. 

Josh kisses me. 

The day was tough, between the walk here in the mountains, cleaning up the place, Josh, Hannah, me and Beth have worked hard in order to make this house a home. The rest of the year it collects dust, we had a lot to do.

I thought about it the whole day. Me, him, finally alone in his bedroom, I dreamed of it between two strokes of feather duster, three snow fights and a non-satisfying meal. So, in this moment, having him against me, his hands on my body and his lips on mine, it’s a fantastic sensation. I need him closer. I want to entirely lose myself to him, forget our exams, the pressure of an uncertain future and our parents’ expectations. Everything falls apart while he is sliding the sheets off my legs to take place between them and while he pushes his tongue in my mouth. I shiver. My fingertips are pulsating, my heart is racing and I'm losing my mind. A fire is burning inside of me, which makes me forget about any kind of coldness and which gives me the irresistible desire to let go. 

Josh's lips are tender. They’re thin and unctuous. I’ve always loved touching them, with mine or my finger, other parts of my body. I love feeling them against my skin. They give me the impression of flying. It’s as simple as that : they touch me and nothing else matters, everything disappears only to leave nothing but me and him. 

My hands reach his shoulders then his hair. His strands of hair are getting tangled as I caress them. Our lips keep meeting as he’s standing above me, I try to breathe between kisses. His tongue touches mine. I can’t help but whimper. The humid noises escaping our exchange are making me feel funny. I can’t stop. I feel him all around me, everything that my legs touch, my arms, everything my ears hear, my nostril smell. Everything loops back to him. 

I’m still cold but his arms wrapped around my waist and his torso crushing my chest are the reason I'm sinking into this burning bubble, leaving me sweating, craving more. I don’t know how but Josh –who was wallowing on the windows a few minutes ago, warms me. His nose blows against my skin. He growls and kisses my lips. 

When I suddenly get a grip on his neck and open my eyes, I hear the door of the bedroom creaking. Josh appears lost, gets away from me.

"Joshua ? We’re not interrupting anything ?” says a voice.

We turn our head, jump out of surprise. 

“Beth ? Hannah ?” 

Josh breaks away from me to get off the bed, swallowing with embarrassment. I can’t blame him. At the same time his sisters enter the room, both of them have a blanket on their shoulders and are holding bowls of food. Shaken up, I pull a strand of my hair behind my ear then clear my throat. It’s not enough to make the knot I feel there disappear though. 

“What are you- why are you not asleep yet, hum ?” asks Josh. 

“It’s too early.” declares Beth. 

“We wanted to watch a movie. Are you guys coming ?” says Hannah. 

Sitting cross-legged, I wave my hand at them, to which they enthusiastically respond. Hannah smiles at me. 

“We were-” Josh looks at me. “We were a bit busy.” 

"You’ll have all the time in the world to make out later, come on ! We’re going to put a horror movie and we’re too scared to watch it alone.” 

“You have to protect us !” insists Hannah. 

Josh needs nothing less to be convinced, I already know it because he’d never dare say no to his sisters, they are way too precious to him. But the way he stares at me makes me understand he’s afraid I’ll be frustrated. He knows I've been waiting for this. Waiting to get my hands on him. Despite the affection I have for my two friends, I have not come in this desolated place to not enjoy some alone-time with my boyfriend. The whole year, I thought about it. With our studies, our parents, we barely had the time to hang out. This night was supposed to fix it.

Unfortunately, I think I will have to wait a bit more. 

My feet fall onto the ground as I get up and get closer to my boyfriend. He seems out of space, looking at me with big eyes, I don’t know if he’s still with us. However, the moment I take his hand into mine, he comes back to us. 

“Let’s go, Josh.” 

He frowns his eyebrows. 

“You sure ?” he asks. 

“Mhh. Your sisters are waiting, come on.” 

He moves effortlessly, I just have to pull him a little to make him follow Beth and Hannah. They keep the door open for us, giggling happily, I smile back at them. Leaving without us, I hear them rushing to the corridor, almost running down the stairs leading to the living room. Beth yells, her sister laughs. Their enthusiasm warms my heart, I truly didn’t have the heart to ask Josh to stay with me, they are way too adorable. I also believe that since we are not alone, it would be incredibly foolish to stay on our own the whole time we’re here. 

Hannah and Beth would’ve understood. They know Josh and I are together –it's been a few years since; I can’t remember what was my life before him- they wouldn’t have minded. It won’t be the last time we leave a place to make love. Nevertheless, it’s not something I like to do; keeping their big brother away from them. Not while knowing he would move heaven and earth for them. I would rather please them and wait a little bit, it’s not like Josh is going to disappear : we have the rest of our lives to make out et have fun under the sheets. I’m not saying it’s not bothering me –of course it is, but I know what choice to make under such circumstances. We will still spend the night together, it’s a win-win situation.

I glue myself to Josh, look up to him. It's hard to see his face when it’s so dark in the house, but I can feel his fingers tightening around mine and his body heat caressing my skin. He’s here, he’s letting me know. 

“I can’t believe I missed the best sex of my life.” he curses, makes me laugh. 

"The best ?” 

"Babe, I promise I had a feeling. Have you seen me ? I even put this little ambiance, made you warm up real’ good.” 

“Dumbass, it was just a window...” 

“Ah ha,” he cuts me. “I saw how you reacted, you’ve never done this before, you can’t lie to me.” 

“What ? You think you’re getting better or something ?” 

"I think...? I am !” 

Rolling my eyes, I hit his chest. 

“Don’t be too full of yourself, it’s been a long time since we last saw each other.” 

"And ? Doesn’t mean what I did was for nothing. You would be surprised to see what a little attention to detail can do.” 

"You learned that in a porno ?” I asked curiously, about to scoff but still with a mocking smile on my lips. 

"Ah ha, very funny, babe.” 

Josh kisses my cheek. 

“You’re the only girl I want to see finish. I tested a theory which came true, that’s all.” 

“That’s actually so sweet I could almost think it was a compliment.” 

We arrive at the stairs. Just like Hannah and Beth did previously, we go down them. From here I can see the light of the television, and hear my friends bickering about what film they want to see, I believe they can’t pick between two films. 

Josh pulls my hand. I stop walking. 

It’s sweet, the way he draws me towards him, pressing me in the center of his arms. I melt under his touch. His body against mine, his beautiful dark eyes fulling staring at me. The natural light going through the shutters make one part of his face glow with a blueish tone, the rest is black, but it’s enough for me. I know every part of him. Spiritually, physically, I don’t need light to find him. It’s hard to believe. That all of this is real, I mean. This universe is big, I’m somebody among billions of other beings, but it’s still given to me. I'm lucky enough to be with the person that I love, to be loved in return and to enjoy fully all of this, I become aware of this the moment his skin encounters mine. Like a strike of lightning. It's too good to be true. Josh and me... It’s.. It's everything I've dreamt of. He’s with me, touching me, caressing me, kissing me. His lips encounter my cheek again as he’s leaning over me. 

I don’t know why he stopped us here, between the two stairs. He suddenly took me in his arms and is now leaving kisses all over my face. Coming from him, it’s almost too sweet. 

It’s only when he reaches my mouth that he dares to stop. He doesn’t go anywhere else. 

Josh kisses me with passion. 

Our lips meet, touch each other with such fondness, our saliva becomes one. While his hands are wrapped around my waist, mine are all over his face. I’m holding him. Eyes closes, I’m holding his head, savouring the taste of him. It’s not enough to satiate my thirst of him, but I can satisfy myself with this. 

The moment we break away from each other and our forehead comes in contact, I can’t help but giggle. 

“What’s so funny ?” asks Josh out of breath. 

I put my hands on his chest. 

Embarrassed, I look away. 

"Nothing... I’m starting to regret saying yes to your sisters, that’s all.” 

My heart is painful. It beats too fast. My stomach feels heavy. 

"Too late now, if we change our mind and go back I’m pretty sure Hannah will kill the both of us.” he jokes. 

"You think ?” 

"Wouldn’t be the first time she tried. Remember last Halloween when we slipped away ?” 

"Oh no... don’t remind me. Sam had to come save us.” 

Josh laughs. He touches slowly the top of my head before taking a step back. He is so pretty... I want to kiss him. I don’t even want to move. 

I’m fine here. 

Perfectly fine. 

“Josh, I-” 

I need to tell him those three words. However, I can’t, lost into his eyes, his gaze takes away every single word in my mouth. I hold onto him. Losing control. 

“You’re so regretting saying yes right now.” he mocks me. 

I’m suffocating. It’s hot. 

My body is still freezing. 

“Shut up.” I grumble. 

"Admit it, babe.” 

His snarky smile leaves me weak. With the palm of my hand I smack his chest and glare at him. He’s being real' annoying right now... Once he’s started, I fear nothing can stop him. 

"You love me so much you can’t spend five minutes without drooling all over me.” 

“Ah ! Says the one who kissed me. Between the two of us you’re worse.” 

“Me ?” he takes offense. 

I grab his hand, force him to walk. He’s shaking me up, I can’t look into his eyes any longer. 

"You literally begged me to go upstairs to f- ouch ! Did you just pinch me ?” 

"I said shut up.” I reply with a smirk. 

"You become violent when we don’t have sex ? That’s new.” 

Josh gets closer to me, I jump at the feeling of his lips brushing over my neck. He then whispers into my ear : 

"Looks like I'm going to have to fix this.” 

"Will you- Will you move...?” 

I try to get away from him but he’s not letting go of my hand. It ties me to him. I try to get it back but Josh is faster and grabs it again, he then intermingle our fingers and laughs. 

"Are you mad ? Come on, it was just a joke.” 

We continue our path down the stairs while still arguing, even after reaching the living room where Hannah and Beth are seated. One on the couch and the other on an armchair. Hannah waves her hand at us and points us to her sister who glares in our direction. I push Josh with a hit from my elbow, let him growl, and suffer on his own to get closer to his sisters. 

"Are you guys alright ?” asks Beth, worried. 

"Of course ! Why wouldn’t we ?” 

Between two whimpers of pain, Josh raises his thumb. 

"Everything’s good.” 

"See ? Everything’s good, he said.” I add. 

Hannah giggles. 

“You’re the worst.” 

“Come on, Joshua, you’re making your sisters wait, we gotta go, let’s go !” 

With all the strength in the world, I grab his wrist and bring him over. Josh keeps a hold on his stomach with his other hand, where I very gently hit him. He doesn’t fight me. He lets me install him on the couch, I go grab us a blanket, knowing it’s cold as winter in the living room, and come back to him in order to find a place in his arms. I’m almost jumping into him. It’s not the night I've dreamt of for the past few weeks but the idea of spending three hours into Josh’s arms doesn’t seems that bad to be honest, even if we’re not doing anything. My boyfriend receives me into his hands and snakes his arms around me, he says nothing the moment I cover mostly myself with the blanket. I even dare to bend my legs and put them over his thighs. 

“Are you comfortable, is it okay ?” says Hannah, the tv remote in her hand. 

"Amazing.” answers Josh, fully crushed, my arms around his neck. 

"What a fool..” says Beth, rolling her eyes. 

Hannah clicks on a bouton and the screens turns white, I hold my breath. 

Josh and his sisters are immediately getting into the movie, as for me, I have to get used to this scene. Not only this room or the house, but the Washington and the mere fact that this weekend will stay engraved in my memories for the next few years. Nobody moves. I look at them one by one. When comes my boyfriend’s turn, I can’t help but melt; my lips turn into a smile and my gaze softens. I touch the extremity of his jawline, then let my head rest against his : it’s not very comfy. I’m sure I won’t take me long before I start stretching out and find another position, but for now it’s all I want. Being close to Josh, it’s all I crave. 

From the corner of my eye, I see something. Something is moving. 

“Mhh ?” 

I almost stand up. 

What was that ? 

“Mhh ? What ?” worries Josh. 

He brings me closer to him, his head raised in my direction. 

“What ?” 

“What’s up ?” he whispers. 

I sit back. 

“Must’ve been my imagination, sorry.” I respond. 

Beth hits the armrest. 

“Shush !” 

Josh and I look at each other, I can’t help but smile. To be scolded like this is rather funny. Josh hugs me. He leaves me enough time to move to find a more comfortable spot while returning his attention to the TV. Having nothing else to do, I do the same. I squeeze my head on his shoulder, intoxicated by his presence, and observe the same thing as my three friends. From time-to-time, Beth and Hannah share their food with us, make the bowls pass from one person to another –pop-corn, chips- the movie is sprinkled with noises of chewing, small screams. And, sometimes, kisses. It’s perfect. Everything’s perfect. 

[ashleyloveswriting]

co-parent bakugou

katsuki bakugou x reader (part two)

   fwb! bakugou who often came by your dorm during college to drop off school work when you missed lectures and loads when you missed him.

fwb! bakugou who came by before bed to fuck you into your pillow and listen to your hushed moans, hushed so your roommates wouldn’t hear. (they did)

fwb! bakugou who’s scared of committing because he “couldn’t see you in his future” and was too focused on his.

fwb! bakugou who’s late night visits became more and more scarce.

fwb! bakugou who months later soft launches his new partner on his story after telling you he’s not ready for a relationship.

fwb! bakugou who stops breathing at the sight of your name popping up on his phone as he cuddles his partner while watching movies, and nearly has a stroke at the “Im pregnant.” text. 

_____

“well are ya sure it’s mine?” he asks, not daring to look away from you. you break eye contact and look outside the coffee shops’ window to focus on anything other than this conversation you’ve been dreading. “are you serious? you should know i’m not exactly one to sleep around,” you say to the man. he nods and his grip on his mug gets tighter, knuckles visibly whiter. “well, are ya keepin’ it,” he asks, “i don’t think  that’d be a bright idea for either of us.” you kind of glare but think over his words. “you know how my parents feel about abortion kats.. i’d be disowned. the second the press found out about it, my family would be done for,” your eyes start to water and a tear threatens to fall, you pause “.. i thought you said you don’t do relationships?”

katsuki stares at you and shakes his head, “those fuckin’ hormones already getting to your brain or somethin?“ he sighs, “you know i can’t do this *nickname*. i’m in a committed relationship with raya, we’re getting engaged next month. on top of that, i can’t be number one with a baby leechin’ of me.” your heart drops, “you’re.. getting engaged? i.. um.. well, congratulations. i’m sorry to burden you with all of this… and i can’t abort it anyway.. i.. i’m too far along.. and i cant do this.” you finish & get up from the table and leave.

________

baby daddy! bakugou who ends up losing contact with you for months after you block him on everything a refuse to meet up per your family’s request.

baby daddy! bakugou who nearly forgets about you years later til kirishima brings you up and shows him your instagram.

baby daddy! bakugou who gets home and stalks you from a burner account, finds out you still talk to everyone from college but him.

baby daddy! bakugou who sees a pretty little ruby-eyed girl down your timeline, her resemblance to him uncanny.

baby daddy! bakugou who pulls some strings and texts your number asking to meet his daughter, hana. 

___________

hana is 2 years old by now, forming choppy sentences and now waddling on her feet. after a week of texting, you finally fold and let him come over to meet his daughter. when you open the door to let him in he nearly finds himself choking on his spit at how beautiful you are. you looked even better than your posts, if that’s possible. you greeted him with a nod and invited him in. he takes his shoes off and head to the living room you led him to. you exchange stale pleasantries and small talk til you decide to go get your baby girl. “her name is ‘hana lei bakugou,’ as much as i wanted her to have my last name.”

you walk over to him and hand her to him, noticing the wedding band resting around his ring finger. you scoff, “wow so you two actually got married?” he nods and analyzes his daughters’ features. “shes so pretty, just like ‘er momma,” he half smiles and look up at you. “so i’ll have her back later tonight, gonna take ‘er home to meet the wife and all of that.” he goes to get off the couch. “woah, you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to come back back after all this time like nothing happened.” he looks frustrated for a second, “you can’t just- … yea yer right, ‘m sorry.’’

you nod, “how about we go up to her room and play?” he agrees and follows you into his daughter’s bedroom while carrying her.

“So.. how long have you two been in the area?” he asks, scanning his daughter's room. “I never really left, just moved closer to the city i guess,” you reply; putting hana down to the floor. She waddles over to katsuki. “hana, baby this is your father,” you look down at the little girl. At first she looks up at you with her glowing beady eyes then she looks over to Katsuki sitting over on a couch. “papa?” she asks and she points her dainty finger at him. you nod and smile. “yes baby, that's your papa.” 

katsuki looks at the little girl and she reaches up for him. “up.” she says, and he obliges. you two talk and rekindle for what seemed to be days. In reality it was just about 4 hours. “*name* it was really nice to see you again, let's go out for dinner sometime. with hana of course.” you lead him downstairs while he says his goodbyes to hana. 

-- 

“I told ya about this years ago raya, you can't be mad about this. What did you expect? for them to disappear?” bakugou yells at his wife. “well i didnt fucking expect you to go out of your way to to reach out either!” she pouts, anger and jealousy laced in her tone. “I have to own up to this responsibility now whether you like it or not, stop fuckin’ cursin’ at me. ‘m already stressed as is; ‘ion need yer bitchin’.” 

“oh so now i'm bitching because you went out and got some slut pregnant.. you're just full of it katsuki.” raya says, glaring at him now. “ya cant get mad at me because I wanna be a father, ‘nd not just leave some kid stranded out here.” 

“it's not just about the kid is it? do you miss the bitch or something? do you miss the sex? did she give you better head than I do?” raya accuses, bakugou sighs and goes to leave the room, “‘nd yea- she did give better head.” as he walks to their shared room he can hear her still yelling in the distance.

katsuki bakugou goes to sleep confused tonight. He wonders why was he such a prick. he wonders why did his heart pound so fast- why were his hands so sweaty when he saw you.

he couldn't do this. he has a wife. hes happily married, regardless of any arguments. his wife was the mayors daughter and promised him various things, she promised him glory. of course he didn't need her but it's definitely more helpful to have more "support." plus you hated him, only putting up with him for the sake of his daughter. no, it wasn't attraction- it was just nervousness. he loved his wife.

katsuki woke up to his wife, raya in his arms. she looked so pretty and peaceful like this. he snapped out of his daze and got out of bed to catch a shower. he couldn't help but find his hand reaching down to take care of himself. usually when he finds himself touching himself; its of thoughts of his wife from the night prior. but today it was you. he felt shameful but he just couldnt help it. he couldn't stop himself from thinking about you. hes only human.    

[snowball-doie]

| pairing: fem!Reader x Yuta ft. Johnny and Jungwoo

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. Poly ilichil. No threesome/orgy. Period sex. Reader is prob free bleeding or using a pad in this scenario. Breast play. Mentions of fingering and sex toys. Unprotected sex. Vaginal penetration. Creampie. MLM behavior.

| wc: 2.6k

It seemed counter productive, but you had a tendency to get incredibly needy whenever your period was just starting up, in the days leading up to it but also once it was in full swing and you were having all kinds of cravings while hiding under a heating pad to help with your cramps. Before you began dating the boys, you would take care of it on your own. You spent hours and hours getting yourself off, yet it never seemed to be enough. It was frustrating, truth be told. But once you started dating the boys, that frustration disappeared once your shyness went flying out the window after you were caught by Johnny and Yuta while you were touching yourself to help with your cramps and to get rid of your unbearable horniness. 

“Our baby girl is a little desperate for some attention, hyung,” Yuta played with Johnny while they leaned on opposite sides of the door frame to stare at you as you scrambled to cover yourself up.

“Don’t stop on our account, darling,” Johnny told you.

But you tried to kick them out even though you knew that you’d get in trouble for talking back to them— It was only because you were on your period and you didn’t want them to know! As if it were anything to be embarrassed about. When they caught wind of what had gotten you so worked up, Yuta grinned. He found it enticing. Johnny was a little wary because he wasn’t sure if you were actually okay with them being there once they had pried the truth out of you, but Yuta was insistent on knowing more and lending a helping hand.

“Open your legs for us, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you did so. Yuta was the first to crawl into the empty space, and all Johnny could bring himself to do was watch from behind with curiosity. Yuta took good care of you. It was like he had done it before. He understood that it was messier than usual, so he called for a towel, which Johnny retrieved in the blink of an eye, meanwhile Yuta got to work with his fingers, and that took you by surprise because you never imagined in a million years that a man would willingly do such a thing for his girlfriend… Then again, Yuta was different from most guys. Even Johnny seemed interested but only from afar. Yuta enjoyed it so much that he had to pull two orgasms out of you before he was content and cleaned the two of you up in the shower.

After that month, Yuta would linger outside of your door, waiting to see if he would catch your neediness spurred by uncontrollable hormones in the hopes that his assistance would be needed again. It was. Every time. At first you were nervous to ask for his help— He found it adorable how you fidgeted with your hands and couldn’t look him in the eyes when you popped the question; and he only accepted after he made you look him in the eyes and ask again politely. Once you were more comfortable, it became habit. Your period would approach, Yuta would catch onto the signs so he would fuck you more often. The others weren’t sure what to think of it. Johnny was still intrigued, but the others allowed Yuta to have his preferred alone time with you. And you had a lot of alone time during those days. Yuta would get tired if he fucked you too many times, but that was what his fingers and toys were for! You tried pretty much everything he had in his collection, and that still wasn’t enough sometimes, so he would go shopping for more, and he would even ask you to join him for input sometimes.

You couldn’t believe that someone cared so much to take care of you during your period. You had gotten so used to doing it yourself for so long that it never occurred to you that maybe someone would willingly do it— That someone would be as into it as Yuta was. He would even lock the door to make sure you wouldn’t be interrupted… Locked doors were practically unheard of around the house… But that was how the boys started to know when they didn’t need to bother you or Yuta. If the door was locked, there was a silent agreement in the house that your bedroom was off limits until you would emerge in a good mood and ready to see literally anyone aside Yuta. If he were being honest, Yuta was proud of himself for staking claim to a week of your attention— He knew it was wrong to think of it like that, but sometimes he didn’t want to share you, and he didn’t want to have to worry about someone walking in on you and asking if you could join. He wanted you all to himself. And he was more than happy to provide when you were desperate for someone to help you out and no one else was exactly jumping at the chance like he was.

“Weirdo,” Haechan had joked one time when you came out of your room in the morning, feeling like shit, and all you did was croak that you had cramps, and Yuta scrambled to go help you. That comment got Haechan a week’s worth of punishments from Yuta and Johnny who were of the same mindset that claimed if anyone had an issue with your period or Yuta's help, they would suffer too. Cramps? Dirty sheets? Sore muscles? Irritable mood? Exhaustion? Dehydration? Oh, how Yuta hated the things you had to endure. Calling him a weirdo for wanting to help was his last straw.

Ever since then, everyone was chill about it. You did your thing, Yuta did his. All was good in the house. So long as the boys knew what was going on— Some of them were a little more oblivious than others.

“Sorry, baby, let me grab that real quick,” Jungwoo told you, already leaning up to grab a box of crackers from the cupboard over your head. When he brought the box to the counter, he accidentally elbowed you, getting you right in a sore spot in your breasts.

“Ah, fuck, Jungwoo, don’t do that.” you whimpered, on the verge of breaking down pathetically. “My boobs hurt today.”

That caught Yuta's attention. While he began eavesdropping, Jungwoo apologized by wrapping his arms around your hips and kissing your cheek while saying that he was sorry a million times over. It cheered you up enough that you didn’t want to cry anymore. Instead, you giggled at his silly faces and kissed him. When Yuta snuck up behind you, you were slightly taken aback, but you welcomed his warmth and the way he began sensually kissing your neck, and since your hips were taken by Jungwoo, Yuta's hands wandered upwards towards your breasts.

“Yu…” you croaked into the hanging air.

He massaged them for about a minute, his hands so gentle with you in order to wear off the lingering pain from getting elbowed by Jungwoo, and after you melted into him, he looked up at Jungwoo to offer quietly, “I’ll take care of her from here,” which caused Jungwoo to let out a frustrated and confused pout. “She needs some special attention…” And as his fingers gently rubbed over your bra to stimulate your sore nipples, you let out another relieved groan. Jungwoo understood immediately that what was happening was too far out of his realm of capabilities. So he surrendered you to Yuta peacefully.

You brushed Jungwoo's orange hair out of his eyes. “I’ll play with you later, baby, I promise.”

That hope was enough to send Jungwoo off with a grin on his face. In the meantime, Yuta was dragging you towards the bedrooms upstairs. He was interrogating you. “When did you start? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I thought I fucked the hormones out of you last week, fuck. Do you need anything? I’ll make Jungwoo get it since he hurt you. Do you want to shower first? Do you want to change?” You thought he was funny like that. He was right, he was usually so good about knowing when your period was coming that he’d be all over you before it started; but it started the day before and you hadn’t told him. Why? Well, you weren't exactly sure… Maybe it was because you thought it wasn’t going to be that bad. You were feeling okay. Yeah, you were desperate like usual, but Yuta and Jaehyun had their fun with you all of the week prior to your period. Now that the cramps were starting to kick in and the soreness was becoming more of a pain, you were glad that Yuta had taken notice and leapt into action before you could ask him to do something about the state of you.

“I need you…”

He locked the door behind both of you after you entered. “I know.” He grabbed you gently and led you towards the bed before laying you down on top of the comforter. “Let me grab the towels, baby…” He left a fat, wet kiss on your lips before rushing to his dresser.

You took off your sweatshirt in order to stop the fabric from rubbing against your nipples anymore. Yuta, the second he was back on the bed and had slid the towels under your hips, gave back into the desire to heal your troubles by latching his lips around your left nipple and using his hands to play with the other. It stung a bit… The feeling of having your soreness played with had an unbearable bite to it in the beginning before it slowly began to feel relieving and relaxing, encouraging your lust for Yuta to grow while you got wetter. Sometimes Yuta liked to take his time with you— Most of the time, actually; but on the rare occasion that you were instigating a rushed fuck, Yuta let you do what you wanted. He let you reach between your bodies so that you could find his erection in his basketball sleep shorts. He moaned around your nipple and pinched the other when you began pumping his length quickly. Foreplay and teasing wasn’t necessary. Both of you knew what you were there for, and you were both ready.

So Yuta pulled away from you in order to focus on ridding himself of his pants, then he lifted your hips so that he could pull your shorts down too. You watched as Yuta held his hips in the air. He concentrated solely on wrapping one of his hands around his cock while the other held your hips steady so that he could line his tip up with your entrance for a few teasing moments in order to feel how wet you were. He bit his lip as he began pushing into you.

You moaned, throwing your head back into the pillows, squeezing your eyes shut. The stretch felt so good. It was a distraction from your breasts and your cramps. The way he slid so easily into you was a slight reminder that there would be a mess to clean up afterwards, but Yuta didn’t seem concerned whatsoever— Especially after he was balls deep in you and could let out a moan that was caught in his throat while he tried to put so much attention on making you feel good before himself.

“Move,” you begged quietly.

Yuta's hair fell in his face when he nodded in agreement, then began thrusting into you at a fast pace right off the bat. You turned your head to the side to hide your face in the pillows, but Yuta moved one of his hands up to grab your chin and force you to look at him while he was panting and moaning above you, his lip bleeding from how hard he had bitten it in the middle of sliding into you for the first time that day; And you fell apart a bit more when you saw how attractive he looked. His butterfly tattoo was moving with every thrust. His 127 tattoo on his bicep was flexing while Yuta held your hips with such a tight grip that you couldn’t even squirm left or right. You were stuck pinned beneath him. The sound of your moans and skin clapping together echoed throughout the bedroom— You wondered if you were loud enough yet that the boys were now warned of what the next week or so would be like.

“You guys could learn to keep it down, you know,” Doyoung scolded the two of you one time after you spent four days fucking through your period back in March. “We don’t have to hear it every time.”

“Blame her,” Yuta pointed at you.

You scoffed, offended. “You’re the one who told me to scream your name so that it would wake them up.”

Everyone believed you over Yuta because they knew how possessive he was over you and how he liked to make you scream whenever you would cum. It was like a reward for him.

“Focus on me, baby,” Yuta brought you back to reality with a coo in your face before kissing you passionately.

You craned your head up slightly in order to reciprocate. “I wanna cum, Yu, please.”

It wasn’t a warning that you were close. No, you would’ve said it more outright if that were the case; and besides, you had only just begun so there was no chance you were that close already. Yuta was good but he wasn’t that good. He understood that it was your way of not-so-shyly asking him to fuck you even faster and harder, and to add to the pleasure with a finger on your clit. He obeyed. There would be other days for him to mess with you, but for now, he just wanted to help you forget all your pains by cumming on his dick.

“Cum whenever, baby.” And that was his way of giving you unlimited permission as your Dom. His index and middle fingers found your clit and began rolling over the sensitive nub at a pace which rivaled his thrusting hips. “That’s a good girl,” he said in response to feeling you tighten around him. “My good girl.”

You kissed him even harder than before.

“Mine���”

He bit your lip like he forgot that he was supposed to be kind and of service to you rather than causing more pain. But Yuta was Yuta. He couldn’t help himself sometimes. He reveled in the way your lips tasted when he’d prick a little bit of blood out of them, and he swooned at how your walls fluttered at the feeling.

“F-Faster—”

Yuta immediately put more of his attention on his fingers since it was more pleasurable for you than his selfish need to brush the tip of his cock against your sensitive spots in order to chase his own orgasm. He was a gentleman. He wanted you to cum first, always. Whenever he was in a foul mood and had you tied up, he would make you cum over and over again for his own entertainment, but at least he was “still a gentleman” like he said!

“You gonna cum on my cock, pretty girl?”

You nodded desperately.

“Go on and cum.”

After his hand on your hip loosened slightly, you were able to buck your hips up into Yuta so that he was all the way inside of you once more when the coil in your stomach snapped, pleasure immediately replacing every single ounce of pain you had experienced throughout the day. The pulsing of your walls, the relief washing over you from head to toe, your eyesight blurring slightly, it was everything you needed to overcome your bad day.

“Ah, fuck, baby, I’m close. Fuck, you feel so good.” His pace picked up again. "So fucking good for me, princess. Fuck!"

With another deep grunt and a thrust into you that had his pelvis pressed against your cunt, Yuta came. You tugged at his hair. The feeling of being full in the midst of the pain in your stomach was somehow a relief rather than an annoyance. It felt good. You liked having him inside of you, his cock throbbing, his cum so deep that you imagined if it were any other time of the month that he’d be bragging to the other boys that he surely got you pregnant.

Yuta slumped. “How do you feel?” He kissed your collarbone.

“So much better…”

You also slumped as he slid out of you.

He would take care of the towels, and he would help you into the shower— You would probably go for round two in there— And once you would be back in bed, Yuta would likely go to the kitchen to get you something warm to drink, or maybe he really would force Jungwoo to do it instead. Regardless, you were certain that you were being taken care of, so you didn’t move a muscle. All you could do was grin and reply that you loved him too when he said it first. It was going to be a long week with Yuta.

[desertduality]

gigs phasmo but the ghost is just confused mumbo jumbo

physically unable to write a snippet so here's a whole oneshot AKJSDKJ I hope you like it!! Personally I had a ton of fun lmao

-------

The house was nice, as far as haunted locations went. The flowers out front were dead, sure, but that was probably on account of their caretaker being dead as well.

The neighbors had been the ones to call this address in, claiming that although the owner of the property had died quite some months ago, lights frequently turned on and off in the house. The police had been by several times to check for intruders, and had come up empty every time. Finally, some desperate neighbor had given in and called paranormal investigators.

So there they were, Impulse pulling up on the curb just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Prime ghost hunting time, for some reason; Scar hadn’t really paid attention to the science and research when he’d signed up for the job. Besides, the other three had all that handled quite nicely. Scar was just along for the ride. 

“Scar, you know what you’re doing?” Impulse asked, grabbing a flashlight off the wall and clipping his walkie onto his belt. 

“Sir, yes sir!” Scar quipped, scanning the gear for his usual fare. “One paraba-dolical microphone coming up.”

“Grab a thermometer, too,” Impulse suggested, clapping him on the shoulder on his way out of the van. “Let’s try to keep this one clean! The company is running low on cursed items with resurrection abilities.”

“I know for a fact we’ve made the biggest dent in that,” Skizz’s voice crackled out of the walkie, changing to a slight echo as he presumably walked in the house.

“Why do you sound proud of that?” Grian asked, speaking into the radio as he grabbed a salt canister. Scar snickered, reaching over him to grab the thermometer. 

“We’ve got a record going, man! No one can stop us!”

“You have to admire his positivity,” Scar said brightly, clicking his flashlight to make sure it worked. 

“Yeah, I guess he’s got that going for him,” Grian replied, giving a short wave as he left the van. “See you on the inside, Scar.”

Scar gave a jaunty wave, doing one last check on his equipment before starting after him. A voice cut him off before he could leave. 

“Did anyone check the name?” Impulse asked, and Scar turned around to squint at the corkboard, eyes catching on the top. 

Huh. Interesting. 

Scar clicked the talk button on his walkie. “Looks like… Mumbo Jumbo?”

There was a long pause, and Scar almost thought they had missed it somehow. Then the response came.

“Scar,” Grian said, sounding tiredly amused. “If you can’t pronounce it, don’t just make something up.”

“No, It— It literally says Mumbo Jumbo,” Scar replied, glancing up to double check. “Don’t make me waste a photo to prove it. I will, you know I will.”

“Don’t, Scar,” Impulse jumped in, so quickly that the start of his sentence cut out. “We believe you.”

“Get in here before I come and drag you, Face,” Skizz chimed in, and Scar rolled his eyes with a chuckle, stepping out of the van. 

The house was warmer than the air outside, so Scar took that as a sign that someone had gotten to the fuse box. He wandered around with the paradabolic microphone for a few minutes, watching closely for big leaps in the readings. Eventually, Impulse called out from upstairs, claiming that he’d found the room. Scar hurried towards him, making it there just in time to watch him set up the video camera, fiddling with the tripod and muttering complaints about its stability. 

The room was a bedroom, a large bed against one wall and a shelf full of dead plants on the other. Everything was covered with a thin layer of dust, but that was pretty usual. Obviously no one had been keeping up with the cleaning.   

“Anyone done spirit box?” Grian asked, and Scar jumped and whirled around, finding him in the doorway. Grian giggled, and Scar huffed. 

“Not yet,” Impulse said, finally getting the tripod to settle. He looked over at them. “Want us to leave?”

“Not really,” Grian grumbled, starting to power up the spirit box. “But yes.”

Scar walked out of the door and Impulse followed him, closing it and leaving Grian in the room alone. Immediately, they heard the telltale singing introduction of Grian beginning to ask questions. The rest of the house was quiet. So far, everything had been entirely unremarkable.

“I’m going to go grab D.O.T.S and a book,” Impulse spoke suddenly, starting to walk away. “Maybe you could start grabbing some stuff for a polty pile?”

“Sure, will do,” Scar said, and started picking up objects from the table in the hallway. A lot of picture frames and spare wires, for whatever reason.

Grian opened the door to the room just as Scar arrived with his arms full, and Scar tilted his head at the odd look on the other’s face. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was wearing a faint frown. 

“What’s wrong?” Scar asked, curious. Normally, Grian came out of a spirit box session with wide eyes and immediately ran to the van. This was out of character.

“I think…” Grian started, contemplative frown getting more pronounced. “I think the ghost apologized to me.”

“...huh?”

“I asked where it was,” Grian said, spirit box slack in his hand. “And then it said something, and then I screamed, and then it— I could have sworn it said sorry. Like, for scaring me.”

“Oh,” Scar said, tilting his head. “Has that happened before?”

Grian shook his head slowly, staring at the spirit box for a minute before exhaling forcefully. “Let’s just keep going,” he said, shoving the device in his pocket. “We still have a job to do.” Then, into his walkie: “We’ve got spirit box, guys. One thing down.”

They kept doing their jobs like they normally would, but none of them could quite shake the sense of something being different.

Usually, the haunted locations they visited had a foreboding sort of feeling to them. They get in and out of those places as soon as possible, the feeling of imminent danger settling on their shoulders like a heavy jacket. There was none of that, here. It was obviously haunted, but it still just felt like... a house. It didn’t feel malicious at all. 

Impulse put a book down, and writing appeared a few minutes later. Just a single sentence, asking if they would water the plants on their way out.

They laid down D.O.T.S and stayed out in the van for a while, eventually seeing a tall, hazy figure pass quickly through. 

They caught ghost orbs on the video surveillance.

Impulse took the Ultraviolet flashlight and found fingerprints on the side of the video camera, like the ghost had been curious about it. 

The salt Grian had placed on the ground was smeared and scattered, almost as if the ghost had slipped on it instead of stepped in it. 

“If we discovered some new type of ghost,” Grian said eventually, muffled through his own hands covering his face, after hours of pouring over the conflicting evidence. “I am going to be upset.”

“None of this makes sense!” Impulse complained, flipping through the research journal that Scar had never touched. He was scowling at the pages like they’d personally offended him. “It won’t even hunt!”

“He seems kinda friendly,” Scar said, staring at the steady line of the EMF reader on the screen. “The poor guy just wants his plants watered. I don’t even have the heart to tell him that it probably wouldn’t help. Those things are dead dead.”

Impulse’s head thunked down on the table in front of him. “We’re so fired.”

In the silence following that statement, Skizz burst into the van, holding an object aloft in celebration.

“I found it!” Skizz yelled triumphantly, the wrinkly figure of the monkey paw clutched in his hand. “It fell behind some boxes. I told you it was here.”

“Oooh,” Scar said, rushing over in excitement. “What should we wish for?”

“A quick death?” Grian said flatly.

Scar waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve had too many of those. It gets kind of boring, believe it or not.”

“Let’s just wish to see it,” Impulse said, heaving himself up from his hunched position by the monitor. “We’ve done everything else we could do, let’s just do it.”

“Sure, why not,” Grian said, shrugging. “Let’s go out in a blaze of glory, then.”

“That’s the spirit!” Skizz laughed, and together the four of them marched back into the house.

The room was exactly as they’d left it, and Impulse took a moment to turn off the D.O.T.S. Then they stood in a loose circle, tense and determined. Whatever was happening here, it would be over soon. One way or the other. Maybe the company wouldn’t even bother to bring them back, this time. 

Skizz held the monkey paw aloft, dim light casting dramatic shadows on his face. “I wish to see the ghost!”

A finger on the monkey paw cracked and groaned as it bent down, and a chill swept across the room, quick and encompassing. Their flashlights flickered, and then died, leaving them in complete darkness. For a long moment, the only sound was their chorus of quick and shaky breathing.

When the lights turned back on, Scar was face to face with a ghost. A ghost that looked equally as startled as he was. 

Scar yelped and stumbled backwards, tripping over the open book on the ground and hurtling towards the bed. The ghost — a tall man with dark hair and an absolutely wonderful mustache — lunged forward and reached out as if to catch him, eyes wide and panicked. To be fair to the dead man, it absolutely would have worked if his hands were still a tangible thing; As it were, his attempt at grabbing Scar to keep him upright was rather rudely foiled by his outstretched hand passing right through Scar’s flailing arm.

Scar hit the bed with a grunt as various cries of alarm sounded out around him, light bouncing around the room haphazardly as the sound of clattering reached his ears; someone had dropped their flashlight, apparently. Scar laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling, dazed. 

“Oh gosh! I’m so— I didn’t mean to pop in like that, I—”

Scar looked up just in time to watch a crucifix fly through the air and pass harmlessly through the ghost’s head, hitting the wall with a thud and falling gracelessly to the floor. The ghost yelped and ducked — much too late, not that it mattered, anyway — and Scar’s gaze next landed on Grian, still standing there with his arm extended in a throwing motion, hand empty and eyes wide.

“What was that gonna do, G?!” Skizz asked hysterically, fumbling for his camera, accidentally snapping a picture of his own face and swearing when the light blinded him. 

Impulse had knocked over the tripod in all of the chaos, and was now frantically attempting to set it back upright. The ghost — Mumbo Jumbo — turned his anxious eyes on Scar, who for once was struck speechless, jaw slack. 

“Are you alright, mate?” Mumbo Jumbo asked, hands fidgeting together. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but— Well, you summoned me. There’s only so much to be done for that.”

With everyone else still scrambling about the room, Scar allowed himself a few seconds to process things. Most ghosts they’d come across — all of them, actually — had been nothing less than murderous and bloodthirsty. The cordial ghost of a perfectly normal man was not something they had been trained for, but that didn’t exactly mean that it was impossible. Sure, maybe it had come way, way out of left field, but Scar prided himself on rolling with the punches. He pushed himself up from the bed with a sheepish, charming smile. 

“It’s all good,” Scar said, bright and friendly. “For sure our fault, we summoned you and got surprised when you showed up. Kind of rude of us, I think. Your mattress is super comfortable, by the way.”

Mumbo Jumbo blinked, as if surprised by the onslaught of words, a confused little furrow appearing between his brows. “Thank you?” he said, glancing behind him at the bed. “It was…expensive.”

“I mean, hey! We spend a lot of our lifetime in a bed, right? Might as well shell out some cash for quality.”

“What are we doing?” Grian asked quickly, almost like he was talking to himself, hands pressed to his head in utter bafflement. “This is insane, what is happening.”

“Grian! Don’t be rude,” Scar admonished playfully, then turned back to grin at the ghost. “Mumbo Jumbo, right?”

The man nodded faintly. “Just…Mumbo is fine.”

“Sweet! I’m Scar,” Scar said, and then started pointing to his friends, all standing stock still in various stages of shock and confusion. “The rude one who throws stuff is Grian, that’s Impulse by the window, and over there is Skizz!”

“Nice to meet you?” Mumbo said, glancing around nervously. “I would offer to shake your hand, but…”

“God, this is weird,” Skizz blurted, eyes still wide but starting to relax his stance. “You do know you’re dead, right? We never actually get to ask any of the ghosts we meet.”

“Oh, I— Yeah, I’m well aware,” Mumbo said, laughing a little. “You’ve met other ghosts, then?”

“We’re ghost hunters,” Impulse said, and now that the shock was fading, Scar could see a spark of excitement in his eyes. “But I mean— We’ve never met any like you.”

“Mostly they want to kill us,” Grian said, stepping up next to Scar. “Are you sure you don’t want to kill us?”

“I don’t think I know how, much less want to,” Mumbo said, glancing out the window. “Did someone call you to find me? I’ve been trying not to scare anyone, but I suppose the lights might’ve done me in.”

“Yeah, that was pretty much what tipped them off,” Scar said apologetically. “A few too many weird things happen and boom, here we are.”

“What happens now?” Mumbo asked, chuckling nervously. “I mean, you found me. Job done, yeah?”

“Usually we figure out what type of ghost it is and the company sends out a specialized team to evict it,” Impulse answered, brow pinched in thought. “But normally that’s for safety reasons. You don’t seem like a threat. No offense.”

“Oh, none taken.”

“Can I ask how you died?” Skizz asked, eyes alight with curiosity. 

“Skizz,” Grian hissed. “You can’t just ask people how they died!”

“I was just wondering!”

“No, it’s— it’s fine,” Mumbo stuttered, and Scar had a feeling that if ghosts could blush, he would be doing it. “I… fell down the stairs.”

Scar nodded solemnly. “Could have happened to anyone.”

“So what are we actually going to do about this?” Grian asked, vaguely gesturing at the room. “It feels like it would be wrong to kick this guy out of his own house. He’s not really causing trouble.”

“Yeah, I— I do like my house,” Mumbo interjected, awkward smile on his face. “I’d rather stay, if that’s alright.”

“Someone’s bound to move in eventually, you know,” Skizz said, pitying frown on his face. “There’s already a for sale sign in the yard. The new owners might not be super ghost-friendly.”

Mumbo’s shoulders slumped, a dejected look on his face as he frowned at the floor. Scar felt a pang of sympathy grow in his chest, and he glanced out the window at the rows of houses down the street. 

It really was quite a nice neighborhood. 

“...You know,” Scar started, gaze drifting over to Grian, a slow smile forming on his face. “Our lease is almost up.”

Grian looked over at him, eyes already resigned, and sighed. 

Scar laughed, grinning, and Mumbo slowly smiled back.

[chirpsythismorning]

This is everything the Stranger Things writers have posted publicly about the WGA strike:

TIMELINE

May 3rd:

Stranger Things writer Caitlin Schneiderhan tweets picture from personal Twitter account of sign from the strike that reads 'Pay us or Steve Harrington is toast'

May 6th:

Official Stranger Writers Twitter account makes post on behalf of the Duffers Brothers. They have since pinned this tweet to their profile. "Duffers here. Writing does not stop when filming begins. While we're excited to start production with our amazing cast and crew, it is not possible during this strike. We hope a fair deal is reached soon so we can all get back to work. Until then -- over and out. #wgastrong

Bonus:

May 12th:

Stranger Things writer Kate Trefry posts picture from personal Tumblr account of sign that reads, 'Byler won’t write itself'

As far as I know, the two writers that posted on their personal socials are the only writers from ST that even have personal accounts that are public, whereas the rest of the writers do not.

What does make me take a pause though, is that, while yes they did post these pictures from their personal accounts, which is about as official as it gets, they also cryptically did not include themselves in said pictures...

This just got me thinking about how Stranger Things is quite literally Netflix and vise versa. They are practically one in the same, where one without the other just doesn't make sense.

While this conflict of interest might run deep for many writers out there fearing to speak out against their employer, for us, the consumers, the fans, we as a collective have so much more power than we realize.

In contrast to the writers, streamers can't just fire their consumer base sometime down the line, out of spite for speaking out. Without consumers, neither Stranger Things nor Netflix would be what it is today.

We have the affordance of being able to speak up the loudest of anyone. And so why wouldn't we take advantage of that?

There are so many people out there protesting: writers, actors, others in the industry and even outside of it who are also taking a stand, many who need support so that they can continue to fight in the upcoming days, weeks, months, without being deterred by corporations that are making them feel greedy for demanding a contract that at most, asks that they be paid fairly.

And so I want to encourage anyone that is reading this, but fellow fans of Stranger Things especially, who have so much power in this strike when it comes to getting Netflix's attention, to consider taking the time to do whatever you can individually + with the masses as a community in order to best support the strike.

Follow the Strike! If you're active on various social media already, please be sure to follow the official accounts advocating for the strike via Instagram (@writersguildwest/@wgaeast), via Twitter (@WGAWest/@WGAEast). Engage with posts from folks that are out there daily, many with whom you can find by following tags like #WGAStrong, #WGAStrike and #WritersStrike. Although most fans are not able to join in picketing themselves, we can at least recognize all of those out there's individual efforts and do our best to show that we're paying attention and listening!

Spread the word! Show support any way you can by sharing posts and articles about the strike, or even fun memes to inform others in a more engaging way. This is the official site for the WGA strike if you want to learn more about what’s going on before diving in! And make sure to stay up-to-date here as things continue to unfold!

Donate! The Entertainment Community Fund is endorsed by the WGA for anyone that wants to support those affected by the strike financially. And this thread on Twitter is an incredible resourse, as it provides an ‘easy, one-click, stress-free, accessible-to-all-budgets’ ways you can support folks on the front lines.

Also! Consider donating through this link for the Entertainment Community Fund, where the money donated still goes directly to that fund, this is just an organizing page for Stranger Things fans specifically! By allowing fans to see how much of an impact we make as a collective, in real time, this could encourage even more ST fans to want to contribute. In a best case scenario, if this GoFundMe were to reach impressive proportions of donations from fans, that could lead to news outlets reporting on it, which could allow an opportunity for even more eyes on the strike, while also even more importantly being able to provide financial support to those that need it.

Trend! On social media, use #StrangerFansforWGA to trend or even just to reach other fans also looking to come together to support the strike!

While I know this post probably wont reach anywhere outside of Tumblr, I want to make a point to encourage those of you that are on other platforms to inform fans in those spaces about the strike and what they can do to help!

We might not all agree on everything, but I think we can agree on at least one thing... @Netflix & all major streamers and networks out there, who are still refusing to make a fair deal: PAY YOUR WRITERS!

In the mean time, if you're interested in working on different ideas for initiates we can carry out as a fandom, please reach out to me! I might only one person and I might not have all the answers and solutions, but I do know that with more of us working together, our odds of making an impact are much greater!

Over and out!

[luvyeni]

THE BUTTERFLY GARDEN ; LEE HEESEUNG

pairings. yandere!heeseung x fem!reader

wc. 1.4k

warnings. dark fic, reader is trapped , but heeseung has brainwashed her , oral (m. recieving) , unprotected sex , names (butterfly, baby, pretty) this is just fiction , this doesn't portray heeseung irl at all !

synopsis. heeseung loves you so much , his pretty little butterfly.

authors note. loosely based off a book i read called the butterfly garden by dot hutchinson , it's a really good book , i recommend it ! someone asked for a yandere heeseung fic and i thought of this

heeseung loved butterflies , he thought they were the most beautiful creatures he'd ever laid eyes on. as a kid , he'd go to his grandparents's house — his grandfather was very rich man , who had a huge mansion , with a huge green house , the size of a mini mansion — that's where his grandmother kept all her flowers , and butterflies.

he'd watch the butterflies fly around the green house, all sorts of different colors , he was mesmerized by them. when his grandparents past , he inherited all the money , along with all the properties , including the green house.

heeseung hadn't outgrown his obsession , rather he gained a new one , you. he saw you one day , working at a coffee shop he often visited , he couldn't keep his eyes off you. he could remember the outfit you wore , a yellow sundress , you were so sweet , the way you greeted everyone. your smile , you were so beautiful , like a pretty little butterfly... he had to have you , he needed to add you to his butterfly collection.

he watched you for silently months , learning everything about you , where you were from , your family name , favorite things. you didn't have many friends , so that was good , no one to really miss you. while watching you , he made some moderations to the green house , adding a beautiful bedroom , with all your favorite things , along with a bathroom. he made sure everything was perfect — perfect for his newest and prettiest butterfly yet.

it was so easy befriending you , you were polite to anything with a pulse , all he had to was introduce himself , and your friendship blossomed from there. you thought he was so cute , you never really got attention from boys , so it was new. you'd seen him multiple times at the shop , so you were aware of his existence. he was kind , and sweet.

you never saw the signs , you would have never believed that the doe eyed boy had a sick and twisted plan brewing. first he got rid of your family , isolating you from them , telling you lies , saying that they hated that you two were so close , that he was only using you as a charity case , until you stopped contacting them all together. your so called friends didn't even need any pushing , he just wired a few thousand into their bank accounts , telling them to back off. when you came crying to him , telling him that they completely cut you , he put a act , telling how he always said they were no good , that he was the only one for you , he was your only friend , you believed him , you believed that he was the only person who had your back , that everyone else basically hated you.

that's when he knew he had you...

that was was about a year ago , a year and 6 months to be exact. a year and 6 months since you last seen your family , or friends , or the outside for thay matter. a year and 6 months since he trapped you in his butterfly garden.

"butterfly , where is my pretty little butterfly?" you heard his voice , the door closing on the way in. "im in here!" you called from the bathroom , running out into the indoor fields where you spent most of your days , alone with the butterflies , watching them fly around. "hello pretty , it's been a while hasn't it." you smiled , nodding. "almost a month , i missed you so much." it was sick , you knew that , but he was your only source of friendship , that love that you so desperately craved.

"did you , i missed my butterfly too , i watched you from the camera , wishing to be with you while on my trip." he said , pointing to the camera in the corner. "maybe next time i can go with you." he shook his head. "now you know you can't , butterflies are fragile , people will hurt butterflies and i can't have you getting hurt and corrupted by those people , now can i?" he caressed your cheeks , noticing your frown.

"those work trips are boring anyway , i would rather be playing here with you in the garden." you knew what he meant by playing. "don't you like playing here with me and the other butterflies?" his doe eyes always made you feel bad about asking to go out , he knew that and he loved to use it to advantage. "i do , i promise i do love the garden." he smiled. "good , now don't ask about it again , okay?" you nodded. "i won't heeseung , i promise."

"good , now how about you show me those pretty wings of your , take off your shirt off for me." you turned around , taking your sweater off , revealing the huge tattoo on your back — butterfly wings. he had gotten them tattooed on your back the 4th day you were trapped here , it took almost 5 months to heal. "so pretty." he could feel himself growing hard in his slacks , just from the tattoo. "my pretty butterfly." he pressed his hard cock against your ass.

"i think you're the prettiest one here." he kissed your shoulderblade. "butterflies don't live long , but you , you'll last forever , won't you." he kissed your neck. "hee-heeseung." you moaned softly , he was sick , this was sick , you shouldn't want him to touch you , you shouldn't crave his touch. "i'll never let you go." he bit down on your earlobe , he genuinely meant what he said , he was never gonna let you go.

"get down on your knees." he said sitting on your bed once you reached your room. you sunk down to your knees , his bulge right in front of your face. "you see how hard i am for you?" he palmed his cock , unzipping his pants , his cock slapping against his stomach. "come on , grab it." he groaned as you wrapped your hands around his cock , jerking him off. "fu-fuck , put it in your mouth." you obeyed , taking him fully into your cavern. "sh-shit , just like i trained you to do , good girl."

he grabbed the back of your head , guiding you up and down on his cock , you gagged around his length , tears wielding in your eyes. "you looks so pretty , gagging on my fat cock , drooling." he grunted , pushing your head down , fucking up into your mouth. "fu-fuck im gonna cum , gonna cum down that pretty throat of yours." he whined , pushing your head down one last time , keeping you there as he came , hitting the back of your throat. "fuck!" he pulled you off him , you coughed , finally being able to breathe.

"you did so good , took my cum so well." he pulled you up , manhandling you on to the bed , putting you into his favorite position , face down ass up , so he can see the wings on your back. "such a pretty sight , my beautiful butterfly." he lined his cock up at you entrance. "so tight." he filled you up , his cock stretching you open like always. "your pussy is always so good , you feel so nice around me struggling to take my cock." he grunted , thrusting inside of you.

"fucking beautiful baby , gonna keep you here forever -fuck- the only butterfly i need." he began to fuck into your hole much faster , you gripped the sheets below. "fe-feels like heaven." his eyes were trianed on the tattoos as he fucked you , pushing your back down to hit a new angle that made you scream. "shit , heeseung im gonna cum." he grunted , fucking you faster. "fuck , cum for me , cum all over my cock." he rubbed your clit , you mouth formes a 'o' shape before you came , legs shaking.

"oh fuck , you're squeezing my cock , im gonna cum." he pushed your body flat against the bed , using your tired body to get himself off. "fuck , im cumming ngh fuck !" he whined , his cum painting your walls , pulling out milking his cock , more cum spurting on your back. "sh-shit." he stuttered , he breathing heavy. he looked down at your body , almost getting hard again , the way his cum looked on the wings , made his cock jump in arousal. "shit , i'm gonna get hard again if i keep staring at your pretty wings , covered in my cum like that."

you whimpered , trying to move away. "n-no more." your voice horse , body sensitive to touch. "i know , i know my fragile butterfly is so sensitive." he climbed off of you. "no need for clothes , i want to see my butterfly covered in my cum for awhile , just for me." he wanted to capture this moment.

"my pretty little butterfly"

©️LUVYENI

[diejager]

[a portal opens and i crash onto the floor, looking nauseous. i get up and weakly raise my hand:]

requesting.. your… makarov headcanons… pleaseee- AaHHHH-

[another portal opens and i fall into it, disappearing]

Vladimir Makarov headcanons

Pairing: Vladimir Makarov x reader

Cw: manipulation, kidnapping, obsession, DUB-CON/NON-CON, DARKFIC, mind break, physical abuse, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 854

As I’ve said previously, I doubt that Makarov knows how to love. He can’t love because it isn’t necessary for his cause, to provide him with something useful in his steps towards his purpose. He does not need something useless —something that’s lost its use over the years, that’s why he sees no problem with disposing of his helpers after they failed or disappointed him. 

If he has no use for something, he lets them go. If you plead your case enough and prove to him that you still have some usefulness in you, he’ll keep you for the time being. He has many enemies, much more than allies —those he considers allies. 

He, however, is still a man under his acts of terrorism and infamous image. Makarov might be busy, but he still has time for his needs, especially after spending four years in prison. He, however, has expectations, he likes challenges as much as he likes winning, and he wants something he can control, manipulate and order around. Makarov wants something easy enough to influence and exploit, and who better than a soldier stolen from his enemies —you.

He takes per quality. He prefers quality over quantity for the things he keeps close, for simple soldiers he employs for Konni, it’s all about quantity, a number high enough to overwhelm the people, but qualified enough to work. You’re the only thing that isn’t from the old Soviet Union in his organisation, little you who came from outside his precious Motherland. 

You’re feisty, you bite back like a feral dog he picked up from the streets, unruly yet smart. You see through some of his tactics, but miss others, falling straight at it and ending up skimming under his boot, wounded and yelping. 

He likes hearing you yip and bark, snide remarks turned to tearful mewls. He doesn’t harm you, he leaves that to his men until he comes to stop them, posing as your saviour. He specialises in psychological warfare as well as guerilla warfare done on a grander scale, breaking down the morals of his enemies and causing a break in their mental fortitude with his cruel and sudden attacks with little to no care about citizen casualties. The more chaos he causes, the better.

You power through his manipulation and control of the scenario for a while, seeing through his saviour charade and hissing at him, backing away from his touch. He likes that fight in you, mind overheating like the engines of old cars, working to find the gaps in his plans, the small mistakes you could use against him. But he had none, he accounted for everything to keep you.

Makarov won’t force himself on you, he’s subtle, making you ask for it, making you think it was your idea. It might take a month or two, but he’s a patient man, waiting for your mind to confuse reality and delusions, push you to think that he truly cared for you. Look at what he did for you, he took you away from death, the danger of fighting on the front lines and the danger of men and women who might want to take advantage of you. 

He’s your saviour. He gave you a house to live comfortably, a big bed where he could hold you after being cornered by his men, he handles you so gently and he cares for you. Where are the friends and family you spoke so fondly about? He’ll berate it into your mind that they never came, they thought that you were dead and never searched for your body. You were forgotten, a buried memory that he replaced with another so quickly that it insulted him. 

What he doesn’t tell you is that he faked the body, planted your dog tags on the unidentifiable body and left it for them to find. That didn’t stop them, they were determined to get you back, but he thwarted them at every step, stopping them from finding you and taking his new obsession away from him. He’s a possessive man, he takes care of what he calls his as long as they’re useful. 

And when you let Makarov in, it’s the best moment in years, everything he put into you, the time, the effort and the scheming, finally came to fruition. You’re teetering on the edge of oblivion and subservience, you’d forgotten the world outside of your relationship with him, content with being under his warm body, leaving yourself to his pleasure.

Give it a year and he’d have you eating out of his hand, becoming an asset he could trust to send out and come back home bruised and bloodied, hair matted and bags under your eyes from exhaustion, but you’d be successful, holding the head of your target in hand as proof of your success. 

You were more than just an object of pleasure and assassination, you were his doll, a puppet on strings that he controls. He dictates every step, he chooses every decision and he makes every plan. You are his to control and to own until you lose your functionality. 

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia @notspiders

[aphrodites-palace]

𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 𝑰'𝑽𝑬 𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑰𝑭𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯 𝑽𝑶𝑰𝑫

a boyfriend :

i manifested a loving and healthy relationship with my current boyfriend, he was my friend at the time and i really liked him and we had been flirting on and off for the past few months, so i manifested that he would confess to me and he did, we've been in a great relationship ever since.

being popular + a lot of friends :

i've never been popular but i've always known a lot of people. but after void people started coming up to me and asking to hang out, inviting me to parties, going to the movies, and even more.

a job :

i got a job 2 days after going into void just like i desired, i don't wanna share too many details but it pays really well and everyone who works there is really nice including my boss / higher ups

clothes :

i made a pinterest board with a bunch of clothes that i liked and fit my aesthetic, and when i finished void there were all in my closet ; even the ones i forgot about.

money :

i manifested finding money, and people giving me money.. to this day i still frequently find money on the ground outside and my friends sometimes just give me money to treat myself.

weight loss :

i lost around 30 pounds? i have gained it all back though, i didn't work out or do any diets so this was solely void.. no one noticed the change and all remembered me being 30 pounds lighter for my entire life.

changing my name :

i mentioned this in my introduction post but i changed my legal name to aphrodite! i've always really liked this name and it used to be my nickname, but while i was in void i decided to change my name. everyone in my life remembers my name being aphrodite and my legal documents changed as well as more stuff from the past.

all teachers like me :

alot of my teachers at the time hated me because i never turned in assignments on time and i was always late to important classes / tests. after void those teachers were super nice and caring to me, all my teachers now love me and they all say that i'm the "faculties favorite student"

got rid of my allergies :

i used to be allergic to milk, cheese, mangos, wheatgrass, and more.. i'm not allergic to that stuff anymore and i can eat it all without any side effects. i haven't been to the doctor in a while so i'm not sure if my documents still state my allergy to those foods.

🤍 :

and that's everything, i'm trying to post more stuff about me so people don't have to go in my asks if they have a question in the future. i got into void when i didn't really have a good understanding of how powerful it was, so i didn't manifest that many things.. i will probably share my story / experience with void when i'm a little bit more comfortable on this account, if you have any questions feel free to ask and with all that said thank you for reading..

— love, aphrodite.

[beannoss]

Twilight headcanon

Inspired by this super lovely art by @roucaelum-art 😍! (brief mood spoiler: roucaelum's art is so soft and so sweet! This hc has a touch of the bittersweet 🫶)

After Strix, when the Forgers are well established, no secrets between them, Twilight starts journaling. Obviously this is a security risk, so he creates an elaborate cipher. He tests it on Franky. He tests it on the cipher-breakers at WISE. He even feeds some to the SSS. None break it. Satisfied, he starts to journal. Twilight's journaling time is something he starts to jealously protect; given how much it means to him and helps him process things, Yor starts to protect it jealously, too.

Later in life, when he and Yor have been together for decades, he teaches the cipher to her in case she wants to read and/or share his journals after he dies. It takes time, of course, but not as much as someone might otherwise think, knowing Yor and looking in from the outside. This is in large part because Twilight creates the cipher with Yor in mind. Rarely one to do something for a single purpose when multiple are available, creating it with the intention that Yor can easily learn it also works to confound others in his profession. You see, he’d never met anyone who thinks the way Yor does, and certainly it's far outside espionage or intelligence norms, a way in which no one in those professions would expect a cipher to operate. This revelation he saves for his final journal, and Yor only learns it had been intended specifically for her after his death.

To that point, Twilight does (peacefully) predecease Yor, but she finds she can’t share his journals with the outside world, not yet. They're too precious, too close, touch her too deeply, to share outside the family.

She teaches Anya the cipher, so their daughter can read and share his journals after Yor passes away.

Anya does: she reads her Papa’s journals. Spends a few months, a couple of years, keeping them between herself and her parents' memories. Twilight’s accounts, unsurprisingly, have incredible detail about Yor and Yor’s life and Yor’s opinions and Yor’s views and Yor’s daily life and the way Yor moved through the world. There’s an incredible amount of detail about Anya too: Twilight hadn’t started journaling until years after Strix ended, nearly a decade after he adopted Anya. But, of course, his memory was impeccable, and once he started writing, he never stopped.

Anya reads about herself, about her mother, about their loved ones and their enemies. She reads his words about politics and the news and Twilight's opinions on literature, film, various cuisines. The bakery down the street and the neighbour with the lush roses. Spycraft, war, and international relations. Parenthood, partnership, friendship. Every other idiosyncratic thing he chose to write about. All of it written in her father’s matter-of-fact style from his matter-of-fact perspective, which was always more full of love than he would admit or accept.

She grieves anew, softly, and in her own time.

One day, when she's ready, Anya goes to her father’s favourite archive. She asks to speak with the archivist team. She asks if they would like the journals of the greatest spy in Westalis history: had they ever come across the name Twilight in their research?

She teaches them how to decipher his code (it is, of course, the most complex and creative cipher the lead archivist has ever seen. Anya thinks of her mother, and smiles). It takes them time to go through everything; it takes them time to verify it. But of course, they do. Because Twilight was thorough and he was precise and and he was an excellent planner, prescient more often than not. He ensured there were enough careful points of reference that diligent researchers would be able to confirm his identity and the veracity of what he wrote. And he would only trust the most diligent of researchers.

It's a small archive; the launch of the display of Twilight's journals is similarly small. Anya thinks he would prefer that. The idea of hoards of people reading his words all at once, even if he had intended their being made public, might be enough to revive his stomach aches from beyond the grave.

Anya attends the opening with her loved ones, and later, at home, she shares her own memories of her Papa, and her Mama, and the times they saved the world.