#and he gives seedlings to people from time to time

[joelsrose]

First Date? Part 5

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

My masterlist!

I KNOW CHRISTMAS IS OVER BUT ITS OK PRETEND ITS NOT i'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, i have split the last part into 2 because i wanted to give yall something - multiple crying emojis. I LOVE YALLLL AND AGAIN I APOLOGISE

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Maria had asked you to meet her at the greenhouse under the pretense of planting seeds, but you couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to her invitation than pulling weeds.

She knelt beside you in the soft earth, her hands deftly working to clear the tangled mess of weeds from the fragile seedlings. Her movements were steady and deliberate, but her sharp, watchful eyes weren’t focused on the plants—they were on you.

The silence hung heavy, thick with unspoken tension, until Maria broke it, her voice deceptively casual. “So,” she drawled, her tone light but her gaze cutting. “Tommy told me about yesterday.”

Your hands faltered for just a moment, the weeds slipping from your fingers before you quickly resumed, feigning nonchalance as her words hit their mark. “What about yesterday?” you asked, keeping your voice steady, though your chest tightened.

“You know,” she said, her tone deceptively casual, “in the dining hall. With Joel?”

“I already told you what happened,” you muttered, your focus dropping to the soil as if it could shield you from the conversation.

“Yeah, you did,” Maria replied, sitting back on her heels, her expression impossible to read. “But you left out the part where Joel nearly took some guy’s head off. For you.”

You exhaled, leaning back and brushing dirt off your hands. “Maria, it’s just… Joel being Joel,” you said, your voice quieter now. “He’s protective. That’s all.”

“Protective?” Maria’s laugh was louder this time, tinged with incredulity. She shook her head, reaching for another weed. “Honey, Joel doesn’t just get protective over people. Not like that.”

You busied yourself with the watering can, your fingers tightening around the handle as you avoided her gaze. “He does it for Ellie,” you said, your tone defensive. “And Tommy. And you. It’s not—”

“Not that special?” Maria cut in, her voice sharper now, though there was no malice in it. She leaned closer, brushing a hand against her knee to wipe off the dirt.

“This is different, and you know it. Joel Miller doesn’t make a scene unless it’s life or death. And yesterday?” She shook her head, her gaze unwavering. “That was a declaration.”

Your breath caught at her words, your hands tightening on the watering can as you tried to focus on the steady stream of water pooling at the base of the plants. “It wasn’t a declaration,” you said softly, almost to yourself. “He just… cares. That’s all.”

Maria’s brow lifted, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to puzzle you out. “Oh, he cares, alright,” she said, her tone softer but no less sure. “But this isn’t the kind of caring he shows for Ellie, or Tommy, or anyone else. This isn’t just Joel looking out for you. This is Joel claiming you.”

Your heart skipped, the word hitting you like a jolt. “Maria, stop—”

“I won’t,” she interrupted, her voice firm but gentle, her gaze steady as she gestured toward you. “Because someone has to say it. Joel didn’t just stand up for you yesterday. He didn’t just step in. He made it loud and clear to everyone in that room that you’re his priority. You think that’s nothing?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words tangled in your throat. Maria’s expression softened, her voice dropping just enough to make you listen.

“That’s Joel Miller’s language for ‘I care more than I know how to say,’” she said, her eyes locking on yours with quiet intensity.

You sighed, setting the watering can down and wiping your hands on your thighs, your gaze fixed firmly on the uneven soil in front of you. “It’s… complicated,” you murmured, the words heavier than you’d expected.

Maria didn’t back off. She shifted closer, her sharp gaze unwavering, her fingers pausing their methodical tugging at weeds. “So tell me,” she said softly, her tone gentle but edged with curiosity. “What’s so complicated about it?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, the loose thread unraveling under your touch as you tried to find the words.

How could you explain it? How could you possibly articulate the way Joel made you feel—like standing on the edge of a cliff, the wind catching your breath, thrilling and terrifying all at once? How every gruff word, every lingering glance, every unspoken act of care felt like something delicate and fleeting, something you were too scared to hold for fear it might break.

“I don’t know,” you sighed finally, the weight of your own uncertainty pressing down on you. “He’s… hard to read.”

Maria tilted her head slightly, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Even Tommy sees it. He brought it up last night, said he’s never seen Joel like that before.”

Your hands stilled, trembling slightly as her words settled over you, heavy and unrelenting. “What exactly did Tommy say?” you asked, your voice quieter now, betraying the nerves prickling at your skin.

Maria’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk curving at the corners. “He said, ‘Joel’s actin’ like a damn fool,’” she said, her tone light but her eyes sparkling with something deeper. “And when I asked why, he just shook his head and said, ‘Because she’s got him wrapped around her little finger, and I don’t even think she knows it.’”

You inhaled sharply, the words twisting in your chest, warm and fragile and terrifying all at once. “Maria—”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Maria said gently, cutting off your fumbling attempt at a response as she brushed the dirt from her hands with deliberate care.

Her gaze softened, though her voice held a quiet firmness that left no room for doubt. “But let me say this—Joel Miller doesn’t look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

Maria paused, a small, knowing smile flickering across her lips. “I think you made him soft,” she added, her tone light but carrying a weight that landed squarely on your chest.

“When I’m around him,” you said softly, your gaze falling to the soil as the words slipped free before you could stop them. “I feel… safe. Like nothing could hurt me. Like he’d do anything to protect me.” You paused, your voice faltering as your chest tightened. “I’ve never—” you stammered, swallowing hard. “I’ve never felt like that before.”

Maria didn’t respond right away, letting the weight of your confession settle in the quiet space between you. Her sharpness softened, her expression shifting to something tender, almost maternal, as she studied you. Finally, she spoke, her voice low but firm, carrying a truth you weren’t ready to face.

“Sounds an awful lot like love to me,” she said, the words landing with the force of something undeniable, wrapping around you in a way that felt both comforting and terrifying.

You shook your head quickly, the denial automatic, but it felt hollow, a reflex you couldn’t fully believe. The truth sat heavy in your chest, unspoken but undeniable, like a secret that refused to stay buried. You loved him. You had for a while now—longer than you cared to admit, maybe longer than you even realized.

You loved him with a yearning so deep, it scared you. A love that felt raw and all-encompassing, a love you couldn’t hide even if you wanted to. You loved him, you loved him, you loved him—and it was as thrilling as it was terrifying.

“Maria,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, as if speaking too loud might give too much weight to the feelings you were barely holding together. “Every time we get close, he pulls away.” Your voice broke, a tear slipping down your cheek before you even realized it. “Sometimes… sometimes I feel like he’s about to say something, or do something, to show me he feels the same way. But then he flips, like none of it ever mattered.”

“That man’s been through more than most of us can even begin to understand,” Maria said, her voice quiet but carrying a conviction that struck deep. “But listen to me—this isn’t about you being a risk he’s too scared to take. You’re not some passing thing. You’re the one thing he’s terrified of losing.”

Her words hit like a punch to the chest, knocking loose something you’d been holding too tightly. Because deep down, you knew she was right. Joel had told you himself—the words I’d die for you still echoed in your mind, raw and unshakable, like a vow you hadn’t asked for but couldn’t ignore.

“The other night…” you began hesitantly, your fingers twisting nervously at the hem of your shirt. “He came over.”

Maria’s eyebrows shot up, her entire face lighting with intrigue as she leaned in closer, the teasing lilt in her voice unmistakable. “Do tell,” she urged, her grin already forming.

You winced, immediately regretting opening your mouth. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” you said quickly, holding up a hand as if to fend her off, though the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed you. “He was just… making me dinner.”

Maria blinked, clearly caught off guard, before a slow, knowing smirk took over her face. “Just cooking you dinner?” she repeated, dragging the words out, every syllable dripping with disbelief. “Uh-huh. Because Joel Miller is the kind of guy who goes around playing chef for just anyone.”

Your face burned, and you groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”

“No,” Maria said with a laugh, shaking her head, her grin widening. “I think you’re not making enough of it. So? What else happened?”

You hesitated, your teeth sinking into your lip as your hands fumbled aimlessly with the nearest seedling. “Well… I… I gave him a massage.”

Maria froze mid-motion, her hand hovering above the soil, her eyes widening as her jaw dropped. “You what?” she asked, her voice pitching higher, loud enough to make you wince.

“Maria, keep your voice down!” you hissed, your gaze darting toward the greenhouse door as though someone might be lurking just outside, ready to overhear.

Maria’s hand clamped over her mouth, but it did nothing to hide the glint in her eyes. She looked ready to burst. Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, she leaned in closer, her expression a mix of pure disbelief and delight. “Hold on. You gave him a massage? Like, with your hands? On his bare back? Oh my god—did he take his shirt off?”

The words sent your stomach into a spiral. You groaned, your face falling into your hands, wishing the soil beneath you would swallow you whole. “It wasn’t like that,” you muttered, your voice muffled. “He was sore from patrol, and I offered because he looked like he was in pain. That’s it.” You paused, knowing there was no way to escape the next part. “And, yes… he took his shirt off.”

Maria’s mouth dropped open before morphing into the widest grin you’d ever seen. She let out a delighted squeak, clapping her hands together like a kid who’d just been handed the world’s juiciest secret. “So let me get this straight,” she began, her tone exaggeratedly slow, like she was savoring every word. “Joel Miller—Mr. Grumpy, Mr. Lone Wolf, Mr. Don’t-Get-Too-Close—was shirtless in your house, letting you touch him? Are you hearing yourself right now?”

You threw your hands in the air, the flush on your face deepening. “It wasn’t a big deal!” you insisted, though your voice betrayed you, rising in pitch as the memory of the moment came rushing back. “He was in pain, Maria. Pain. I was just helping him out.”

Maria leaned back, her arms crossing as she gave you a knowing look. “Sure,” she said, drawing the word out with enough skepticism to make you want to crawl under the nearest seedling. “That’s why your face is bright red and you’re stammering like you just got caught sneaking out after curfew.”

“It didn’t mean anything,” you muttered, barely above a whisper. “He probably didn’t even think twice about it.”

Maria snorted, “Oh, he thought about it alright,” she said, her voice ringing with certainty, “Hell, he’s probably still thinking about it.”

Your head snapped up, your brow furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Maria grinned, leaning closer like she was about to share some grand secret. “You know, late at night.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, her words loaded with meaning.

Heat flooded your face as her insinuation brought a wave of memories you wished you could forget—Joel’s visible arousal, the way his pants had tightened at the crotch, the strategic placement of the pillow he’d used to conceal it. You swallowed hard, determined not to let those thoughts, or Maria’s teasing, derail you. There was no way she was hearing about that.

“Jesus, will you stop?” you nudged her arm, heat prickling up your neck as the implications of her statement hit you.

“You’re so ridiculous sometimes, you know that?” she said, shaking her head as though she couldn’t quite believe the sight of you sitting there, a mess of nerves and denial.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you shot back, though your voice wavered, and the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you.

Maria leaned in, her elbows resting on her knees, her eyes sharp and glinting with mischief. “It means,” she said, her words slow and deliberate, like she was explaining something painfully obvious to a stubborn child, “that he was probably using every ounce of self-control not to flip you over on that couch right then and there.”

“Maria!” you hissed, her name bursting out of you, sharp and scandalized.

“What?” she said, feigning innocence as she gave a casual shrug. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. He’s a man, after all. And let’s be honest—Joel Miller probably hasn’t had a woman’s hands on him in years.”

You let out a heavy sigh, dragging your hands over your face in frustration. “Ugh, I don’t know, okay?” you mumbled, your voice muffled behind your palms. “I mean… if he did feel that way about me, wouldn’t he have done something by now? At least kissed me or—or something?”

The words slipped out in a rush, unguarded and raw, trailing into a whisper like they might disappear if you spoke them softly enough. But they didn’t disappear.

Instead, they hung in the air between you and Maria, heavy and unrelenting. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, pinned you like a butterfly under glass. Her voice, when it came, was gentle. “You really believe that?”

"Yeah," you murmured, the word brittle. "I mean… wouldn’t he? If he wanted to?”

"Sweetheart," Maria began, her tone steady but kind, "Joel Miller is the most stubborn, self-sacrificing, emotionally constipated man I’ve ever met. You really think he’s just gonna march up to you, bare his heart on a silver platter, and hope for the best? That’s not how he works.”

You frowned, shaking your head as frustration prickled hot at the back of your neck. “So what?” you asked, your voice sharper now, brittle around the edges. “He’s just… never gonna say anything? Never gonna do anything? I can’t just wait forever, Maria.”

“No,” she said gently, shaking her head. “That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is Joel’s spent most of his life believing that caring about someone—really caring—is a weakness. Something that gets you hurt or worse. And then you come along and, well…” She paused, her gaze warm and steady. “You make him feel things he thought he’d buried a long time ago. But that terrifies him, probably more than you realize. Because letting you in? That means tearing down walls he’s spent decades building. That means risking everything.”

Your voice came quieter now, uncertain and aching. “So… what am I supposed to do?” Your eyes found Maria’s again, searching her face for guidance, for answers, for something—anything—that might untangle the knot of doubt tightening in your chest.

“Be patient,” she said simply, her voice a balm to your frayed nerves. “Joel’s a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. He knows exactly what you mean to him. He’s just gotta figure out how to stop fighting himself and let it happen. And when he does?” Her smile widened, turning sly as she gave your knee a light squeeze. “Trust me, it’s not gonna be some half-hearted thing. That man will move mountains for you. Hell, he already does.”

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Winnie’s steady gait beneath you was a quiet balm, each step rocking you gently as you tightened your hold around Joel’s waist. Your hands rested over his ribs, rising and falling with his even breaths, the rhythm anchoring you more than you cared to admit.

The world here felt almost untouched, too peaceful for its harsh reality. Overhead, the canopy swayed like a living thing, the leaves whispering secrets to the wind. A bird trilled somewhere in the distance, its song rippling through the stillness like a pebble dropped in glassy water. It felt like the kind of day you could bottle up and save for when the world grew too dark again.

“So,” you started, your voice light, teasing, as you broke the quiet. “You’re really gonna teach me to shoot a deer today?”

Joel’s head tilted just enough for you to catch the edge of his profile—sharp, rugged, softened by the glow of the sun. “That’s the idea,” he replied evenly, his drawl as familiar as the creak of the saddle beneath you. “Long as you listen to what I tell you.” He paused, then added with a smirk, “For once.”

You gasped, overly dramatic, smacking his shoulder lightly. “Hey, I do listen.”

Joel hummed, a low, skeptical sound, and you swore you could feel his lips twitching even though you couldn’t see them. The small, almost imperceptible sound made something inside you warm, like you’d just struck gold.

Truthfully, you’d been surprised when Joel had offered. You’d been at the stables after patrol, brushing Winnie down when he approached and casually suggested you join him the next morning. Hunting, he’d said, like it was the most natural thing in the world to ask.

“Well,” you sighed now, letting the moment stretch as you leaned your cheek lightly against his back, “don’t get your hopes up. I have a feeling we’ll head back empty-handed.”

“Don’t matter,” he said after a pause, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “Good to be out here. It’s nice. We’ll make it fun.”

You froze, pulling back, your brows lifted, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Uh, excuse me? Am I having a stroke?”

Joel’s shoulders stiffened immediately, and he glanced back at you, brow furrowed, his tone rough with instinctive gruffness. “What?”

“Joel Miller,” you said, barely able to keep your grin in check, “talking about fun?”

His exhale was short, just shy of a laugh. “You’re a pain,” he muttered, the words carrying no real heat as he turned his attention back to the path ahead.

You laughed, the sound spilling out of you before you could stop it. It felt light and unburdened, a sound that didn’t belong in this harsh world but fit perfectly here, in this pocket of peace—where the trees swayed gently overhead and the sun filtered down to warm your face.

Joel didn’t say anything, but you could feel him relax in front of you, like the sound had smoothed out the edges of him, loosening a piece of the armor he always wore.

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Joel walked ahead, his steps deliberate, his boots barely making a sound. You followed, watching the subtle tilt of his head every so often as he listened for sounds you couldn’t pick up. He was watchful, always, as though the forest could turn on you at any second.

“Stay close,” he murmured over his shoulder, his gaze flicked to yours for a heartbeat before shifting back to the trail ahead.

You nodded, your own steps careful as you matched his pace. Twigs snapped faintly beneath your boots, the crunch of dried leaves mingling with the faint rustle of wind through the trees.

Joel stopped suddenly, his hand lifting to signal you to pause. You froze mid-step, holding your breath as he crouched low. Without a word, he gestured for you to do the same. You sank into a crouch beside him, the earth cool beneath your palms as you balanced yourself.

“There,” he whispered, his voice so quiet it was barely a breath, the heat of it brushing your ear. You followed his line of sight, your heart stuttering as you spotted it—a deer, grazing in the clearing just ahead. Its coat gleamed in the broken sunlight, rich and golden, and its ears flicked lazily as it chewed on the grass, oblivious to the two of you watching.

Joel turned to you, his expression calm but focused, “We’ll take it slow,” he said, inching closer. The warmth of him followed, settling like a weight around you as he crouched beside you. He reached for the rifle, his movements slow and deliberate, before he settled you against a fallen log.

His touch was gentle but firm as he adjusted your position, “Here,” he murmured, the word soft enough to almost get lost in the hush of the forest. His hands covered yours, guiding the rifle into place with a patience that made your pulse quicken.

“You remember, don’t you?” Joel asked quietly, his voice a low hum at your ear. “Keep your grip loose. Just enough to hold it steady. Like we practiced.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as your heart stuttered under the weight of everything—the rifle in your hands, the quiet between you, the solid feel of him so close. He leaned in more, his breath ghosting against your cheek as he tilted your aim slightly.

The deer grazed peacefully in the clearing, its movements unhurried, and you let your focus fall there—tried to drown out the way your skin burned everywhere Joel touched.

“Now,” Joel murmured, his voice softer still. “Take a deep breath. Steady. Slow. You don’t rush this.”

You inhaled, deep and deliberate, the air cool against the tightness in your chest. Joel’s hands stayed on yours, steadying, grounding, and you found yourself focusing not just on the rifle but on him—the way his presence felt like an anchor.

Your finger hovered over the trigger. The weight of the moment settled over you, a knot of nerves and something more twisting deep in your chest. “What if I miss?” you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

Joel didn’t hesitate. He leaned in closer, his voice steady and sure as if it held the power to undo every doubt in your head. “You won’t,” he said, the confidence in his tone like a balm. “You trust yourself. And you trust me.”

You blinked, your breath hitching as his words sank in. Joel didn’t pull away, his face still close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the rough timbre of his voice lingering like an echo.

“Breathe,” he reminded softly, the word curling through you like an unspoken promise.

You exhaled slowly, your shoulders relaxing under his touch as you centered your aim once more. Joel stayed still, his hands steadying yours—not pushing, not pulling, just there, like he always seemed to be when you needed him. The world felt smaller somehow, narrowed to just the two of you and the stillness of the forest.

You exhaled, slow and deliberate, your heart hammering in your chest. And then—click. The sharp crack of the rifle firing shattered the stillness, the deer collapsing instantly to the ground.

The forest went quiet again, as if it, too, were holding its breath. You stared, wide-eyed, your pulse thrumming in your ears as the reality of what you’d just done settled in.

Then Joel’s voice broke through, low and steady, laced with something proud. “Hell of a shot.”

You turned to him, chest heaving, a grin spreading across your face—wide, uncontainable. “I did it,” you breathed, the words tumbling out on a rush of disbelief and elation. “Joel, I did it!”

His smile was small but real, softening the sharp lines of his face. Pride flickered in his eyes, a quiet warmth that made your heart stumble. “Knew you could,” he said, his voice gruff but gentle, like he’d never doubted you for a second.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in—quick, impulsive—pressing a kiss to his cheek. It was fleeting, barely more than a brush, but it was enough to make him freeze. The world around you seemed to pause, Joel going stock-still beneath your touch, his breath catching as if the smallest movement might shatter the moment.

“Thank you,” you murmured softly, pulling back just enough to look at him. The words carried the weight of more than just this one moment, more than just a lesson with a rifle. “For helping me. For—” You hesitated, your voice faltering under the way he was looking at you. “For everything.”

Joel didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something there—something soft and unguarded that he rarely let slip. His eyes darted away for the briefest second, a faint blush creeping up his neck and dusting his cheeks.

“Uh—yeah,” he muttered, clearing his throat as his hand went to the back of his neck. “You’re… you’re welcome.”

The gruff awkwardness of it pulled a laugh from you, light and unrestrained, cutting through the tension like a sunbeam breaking through the trees. Joel Miller—this man who stared down raiders and infected with unflinching calm—was blushing because of you.

He began to rise, his hand already extended to help you up so you could see your catch, but you reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm.

“Wait,” you murmured, your voice quiet but sure. He stilled instantly, his gaze flicking to yours. Slowly, you set the rifle aside, your movements careful, deliberate. Then, you shifted, turning over to rest your head against the log, your eyes lifting to the canopy above.

The trees towered above you, their branches swaying lazily in the breeze, sunlight filtering through in golden streaks that dappled the forest floor. It was a moment that felt too perfect to disrupt, too rare to let slip away.

“Lay with me,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper, but the words carried weight, a quiet invitation that hung between you.

For a moment, he hesitated, and you thought he might pull back—say it was getting late or that you were being silly. But he didn’t.

Instead, Joel obliged with a quiet groan, sinking down beside you. He stretched out, his head coming to rest just near yours, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of him. His eyes followed yours to the canopy above, where the trees swayed gently, their leaves rustling in a soft, rhythmic whisper.

You stayed quiet for a while, letting the hum of the woods fill the spaces between breaths. Joel’s shoulder brushed yours with each small shift, a touch so faint it almost didn’t count—but it did.

“I have a question,” you murmured, your voice barely above the whisper of the wind through the trees.

Joel hummed softly, a low sound that felt like an invitation, steady and patient, as if he’d wait forever for you to ask.

You hesitated, teeth catching the inside of your cheek, unsure why your heart suddenly felt too big for your chest. “What was your first impression of me?”

Joel chuckled, the sound rough and warm, a quiet rumble that sent a shiver through you. You could feel his gaze shift toward you, even as you kept your eyes fixed on the swaying branches above. “First impression?” he asked, his voice carrying that familiar, low drawl.

“Mhm,” you replied, your lips curving faintly as you tried to sound casual, though your chest tightened in anticipation.

“Let’s see…” He dragged the words out like he was savoring them. “Lazy,” he started, his tone laced with teasing. “Chatterbox. Stubborn as hell.”

Your head snapped toward him, and before you could think better of it, you swatted his arm. “Hey! Be serious,” you protested, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Joel smirked, rubbing the spot like you’d actually hurt him, though his eyes had softened in that way they sometimes did when he wasn’t guarding himself so tightly.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, the teasing slipping away as he leaned back a little, his gaze drifting somewhere far off, like he was digging through memories he hadn’t let himself touch in a while. “I remember Tommy talkin’ about you before we were first partnered for patrol. Said you were a nice kid. Reliable. Good to have around in a pinch.”

He paused, his words settling into the quiet between you. You might have teased him for calling you a “kid” if it weren’t for the way his voice shifted then—lower, steadier, like he was choosing his words with care.

“But then… then I got to know you, and you’re... a hell of a lot more than that.”

“You’re a good girl,” he murmured, the words soft but heavy, landing squarely in your chest and taking the air right out of you. His voice dipped lower, roughened by something real, something unguarded. “Sweet… even when the world tried to take that from you. Didn’t let it. That’s somethin’.”

He let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his face like the next words were harder to admit. “You’re tough. Know how to stand your ground. Don’t let anyone push you around. But you’ve got…” His voice faltered, a slight hitch in his breath. “You’ve got a good heart. And that’s rare. You don’t see that much anymore.”

He turned his head toward you, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you,” he murmured, his voice low and weighted with sincerity. “You’re... different.”

“Different?” you whispered, your breath catching.

“Special,” he replied, the word lingering in the air like a quiet confession.

The weight of his words settled over you, pressing against your chest in a way that made it hard to breathe. You blinked up at the sky, pretending the ache you felt was just from the cool air brushing against your skin. You didn’t trust yourself to speak—not now, not when your voice would betray everything you weren’t ready to admit.

Joel shifted beside you, clearing his throat like the moment had gotten too heavy for him too. “’Course, you still talk too damn much,” he muttered, his voice gruff, but it lacked the sharp edge of his usual teasing.

You didn’t swat him this time. Instead, you let the silence stretch between you, the space filled with nothing but the sound of the forest and the quiet, steady rhythm of his breathing beside you. Your shoulders brushed again, and this time you didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

"What did you…" Joel started, his voice low and halting, like he was pulling the words up from some place deep inside. He paused, his throat working as he forced the rest out. “What did you think about me?”

You blinked, his question catching you off guard. Joel Miller, asking what you thought about him. The man who could silence a room with a look, who walked through life with his walls so high you were sure no one could climb them.

And now, here he was, his voice so quiet and uncertain it felt like the wind could carry it away. It was so uncharacteristic, so achingly vulnerable, it made your chest feel like it was splintering under the weight of it.

He stayed still beside you, his gaze fixed upward on the swaying trees, but you could feel the tension in him, as though the question alone had cost him more than he was willing to admit.

You swallowed hard, searching for the right words. A soft laugh escaped you, unsteady and a little raw, the memory rushing in before you could stop it.

“I remember Maria warning me before our first patrol,” you said, your voice light but tinged with something deeper. “She told me, ‘He’ll probably ignore you, or say something that might hurt your feelings—but that’s just Joel.’” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and he let out a huff of air through his nose, shaking his head like he’d heard that before.

“And sure,” you continued, your tone softening, “the first few times, we didn’t talk much. You kept your distance, and I figured that was just who you were. But you weren’t mean. Not once. Never did anything to hurt my feelings. If anything…” You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “If anything, you were… thoughtful.”

“You let me eat half your food,” you said, your lips curving into a soft, wistful smile as you held his gaze. “You carried my pack even when I argued with you about it.” A quiet laugh escaped you, though it trembled under the weight of your emotions. “And you… you brought me a damn Christmas tree.”

Your smile faltered, the ache of those moments flooding through you—the quiet, selfless things he did without ever needing to say why.

Each one was tucked away in your heart, little treasures you’d clung to, but now they came crashing down all at once, sharp and overwhelming.

You loved him. God, you loved him. And all you wanted to do was tell him.

Your voice wavered, trembling as you pressed on, your chest tightening with every word. “You… you make me dinner. You bring me firewood when it’s cold, even when I don’t ask. You…” Your breath hitched, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut. “You take care of me, Joel. In a way no one ever has.”

You swallowed hard, the words I love you hovering on the edge of your lips, too fragile to speak but too real to ignore.

The silence between you stretched on, heavy and endless, the weight of what you’d just confessed hanging in the air like the low hum of the wind through the trees. Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, each beat loud and uneven, as though it was trying to drown out the unbearable quiet.

For a moment, you thought you’d said too much, crossed an invisible line, shattered something that could never be put back together. And then, just as the ache of it became too much to bear, something warm and rough brushed against your palm.

You didn’t have to look down to know what it was.

Joel’s hand, strong and calloused, slid into yours with a gentleness that stole the breath from your lungs. His fingers intertwined with yours, hesitantly at first, as though he wasn’t sure you’d let him stay. But when you didn’t pull away, when your hand instinctively curled tighter around his, his grip steadied, solid and unyielding, like it was exactly where it belonged.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you dared to speak. The tension, the quiet, was no longer unbearable—like the spark of something long denied, long overdue. You didn’t look at him, and he didn’t look at you; both of you kept your eyes fixed on the swaying branches above, as if the fragile balance between you would shatter if either of you broke the spell.

The warmth of his hand seeped into you, grounding you, anchoring you to the moment. It wasn’t just a touch—it was an admission, a promise, a vulnerability he’d never offered anyone else. Joel Miller, who had spent years building walls so high no one could breach them, had just let you in. And it was enough to make your heart ache in the most devastating, beautiful way.

You lay there together, the forest whispering around you, the sky shifting above. His thumb brushed your skin, almost imperceptibly, as though he couldn’t stop himself, as though he needed to remind himself you were still there.

And you stayed like that, wordless, motionless, the world around you slipping away until there was nothing but him, and the way his hand fit perfectly into yours.

₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊

The ride back to Jackson was quiet, but it wasn’t empty. The sound of Winnie’s hooves hitting the dirt was familiar and steady beneath you, grounding in a way that felt almost intimate. Your arms were wrapped around Joel’s waist, and though the cool evening breeze brushed against your skin, the warmth radiating from him was enough to chase it away.

Joel was the first to break the silence, his voice low and soft, meant only for you. “Told you you could do it,” he said, and there was a thread of pride in his tone, so pure it made your chest ache. “Your shootin’s gotten real good.”

The words sent a blush rushing to your cheeks, and you were grateful he couldn’t see the way you were smiling like a fool behind him. “That so?” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away, and the pause felt heavier than it should have. Then, without warning, his hand left the reins and covered yours where they were clasped around his waist. His touch was steady, deliberate—a quiet reassurance that made your heart stumble over itself.

“Steady hands,” he murmured, his voice even softer now. “Steady heart.” His hand lingered there for just a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

Your heart was thundering now, and you were sure he could feel it where your chest pressed lightly against his back. You let your cheek rest against him, the worn leather of his jacket cool beneath your skin. “Guess I had a good teacher,” you said, your voice quiet but certain, the words carrying everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say outright.

Joel let out a huff of air—a sound that might’ve passed for a laugh if it weren’t so gentle. You felt the rumble of it beneath your cheek, a low vibration that seemed to settle into your very bones. “That right?” he said gruffly, but there was no edge to it, only something soft and unspoken.

The silence stretched on, soft and comfortable, broken only by the steady rhythm of Winnie’s hooves against the dirt. The world felt small out here, just the two of you and the trail ahead, cocooned in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“What were you like as a kid?” you asked, your voice soft, almost hesitant, like you were stepping carefully into a part of him he rarely shared.

Joel didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, you thought maybe he wouldn’t. But then his voice came, low and thoughtful, “Grew up in Texas,” he said. “Spent most of my time outside. Fishin’, climbin’ trees, gettin’ into trouble with Tommy.”

You smiled at the thought, the image of a younger Joel flashing in your mind—sun-kissed and wide-eyed, a boy too good for the world he’d been handed. “Were you the troublemaker?” you asked, teasing, but there was a softness in your tone.

Joel let out a huff, more breath than laugh, but warm all the same. “Nah,” he said, a hint of fondness creeping into his voice. “That was Tommy. Always gettin’ himself in a mess. I was the one cleanin’ up after him. Still am, come to think of it.”

The corner of your mouth tugged upward, and you shook your head lightly, even though he couldn’t see you. “Sounds like you had your hands full,” you said, your voice laced with quiet amusement. “But it doesn’t sound like a bad way to grow up.”

“Could’ve been worse,” he said simply.

“And you were in construction, right?” you asked, your tone light, almost cautious, as if not wanting to disrupt the delicate quiet between you.

“Yeah,” he said. “Took on whatever jobs I could—houses, repairs, sometimes just fixin’ fences. Wasn’t glamorous, but it was honest. Made sure Sarah had what she needed.”

There was something in the way he said her name, a warmth that softened the rough edges of his voice. It made your chest tighten, the weight of everything he’d carried alone for so long pressing against you. “Sounds like you worked hard for her,” you said softly, your words laced with admiration you didn’t bother hiding.

Joel glanced back at you briefly, his dark eyes catching the fading light of the trail. For just a second, his expression softened, the lines on his face easing. “Had to,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “She deserved that much.”

“And were you,” you started, hesitating for a moment as the words danced on the edge of your tongue. You glanced at the back of his head, at the way his shoulders shifted subtly with the rhythm of the horse. “Were you married?”

Joel’s posture stiffened at your question, just for a heartbeat, before he let out a quiet breath. “No,” he said, his voice low, deliberate. “Well… divorced.”

“Oh,” you murmured, the word soft, instinctive. You bit the inside of your cheek, suddenly wishing he could see you nod, as if it might somehow convey the understanding you didn’t quite know how to voice.

You hesitated, unsure whether to press further, but the curiosity wouldn’t let you stop. “And after the outbreak?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

It felt like uncharted territory—dangerous, intimate. You and Joel didn’t talk about relationships. Hell, you hardly talked about the past at all, and now here you were, asking questions you weren’t sure you wanted the answers to. Or maybe you did.

Joel shifted slightly in the saddle, his shoulders tightening under your arms. For a moment, you thought he might brush it off, deflect the way he so often did. But then his voice came, quieter than before, weighted with a kind of honesty that made your chest ache. “No one after that,” he said, the words slow and deliberate, like he’d been carrying them alone for too long. “Didn’t have the time. Didn’t see much point.”

Relief washed over you, unexpected and sharp, mingled with something darker, something you didn’t want to examine too closely.

You weren’t sure why you wanted him to say no—why the thought of someone else knowing him the way you did, maybe even more, made your chest tighten.

It wasn’t fair, but you couldn’t help it. You didn’t want anyone to know Joel like you did, to see the cracks in his armor he let you glimpse, the moments of tenderness he seemed to reserve just for you.

“Some of us just… don’t get second chances. That’s all,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was speaking more to the shadows of his past than to you.

Some of us don’t get second chances.

The phrase knocked the breath from your lungs, a sudden, raw ache blooming in your chest. Your heart stuttered at the thought—the idea that he believed that.

That Joel, with his quiet strength and steady hands, thought himself unworthy of something so simple, so human. The idea of him carrying that weight, that belief, settled in your bones, cold and sharp.

You wanted to tell him he was wrong. You wanted to reach into the silence and pull him back, tell him he deserved more than he could ever imagine. But the words caught in your throat, tangled in the unspoken feelings you weren’t ready to say out loud.

Because the truth was, you wanted to be his second chance. You wanted to be his, in every way that mattered. You wanted to show him that even in a world as broken as this one, he was still worthy of love and light and everything he’d spent so long denying himself.

“What about you?” Joel asked suddenly, his voice breaking through the stillness. He glanced back, just enough for you to catch the flicker of something in his eyes. Vulnerability, curiosity, maybe even hope. “You got someone waitin’ out there?”

The question sounded casual, almost offhanded, but you felt the weight beneath it—the way his words carried something deeper, something braced. Like he was preparing himself for whatever answer you might give, steeling himself for a name that wasn’t his. Boyfriend. Husband. Someone—anyone—out there waiting for you.

Your breath hitched, and you blinked, your brows lifting in surprise. A soft, startled laugh escaped before you could stop it, not because the question was funny, but because it was him asking. Him, who never asked things like this. Him, who you never thought would.

“Me?” you repeated, your voice higher, breathless with something you couldn’t quite place.

Joel’s shoulders stiffened slightly, his posture betraying the casualness his words tried to feign. “Yeah,” he said, quieter now, rougher. “You. Someone back home, or… someone out there?”

You could see it then, how much he wanted you to say no, how much he needed you to say no. The thought made your chest ache, the quiet yearning in his question making your throat tighten. You shook your head, slow and deliberate, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “No,” you said simply, your voice low, steady, but tinged with something you couldn’t hide. “There’s no one.”

Joel’s shoulders eased—just slightly, just enough for you to notice—and the sound that left him was little more than a hum, low and thoughtful. “No one, huh,” he murmured after a moment, the words quiet, like he was turning them over in his mind. Then, softer, almost to himself, he added, “I find that hard to believe.”

Your heart stopped for a beat, the words sinking into your chest like a stone dropped into still water. The quiet conviction in his tone, the way he said it like it wasn’t a compliment but a fact, left you breathless.

“Why’s that?” you asked, your voice quieter now, a whisper carried on the soft afternoon air.

Joel hesitated, his hands shifting slightly on the reins. “A girl like you,” he began, his voice low, unsteady in a way that made your pulse quicken. “Could have anyone.” He shrugged, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “You’ve practically got all the boys in Jackson lined up. Toby. That Levi guy.”

You shut your eyes, shaking your head in frustration at how blind he was—how this man, so steady, so stubborn, couldn’t see that you loved him with every fiber of your being.

Slowly, carefully, your arms tightened around his waist, the movement deliberate, your grip firm as though you could somehow hold him together in a way no one else ever had. A secret message in your touch—silent, desperate, saying all the things you didn’t know how to put into words.

“I don’t want just anyone,” you said, your voice quiet but steady, trembling only slightly with the rawness of it. The words carried every unspoken truth you’d kept hidden, tucked away in the quiet spaces between your moments together.

You didn’t know if he’d understand—not fully—but you had to try. You had to give him this, even if it was just enough to plant the seed of something he’d been too blind to see.

Joel’s breath hitched, sharp and sudden, the sound cutting through the tension like a lightning strike. You felt it under your cheek where it rested against his back, the way his ribs rose and fell in a shallow, uneven rhythm. He didn’t speak—didn’t turn or shift—but the tension in his shoulders gave him away, his body betraying everything his words wouldn’t.

You let your eyes drift closed, the warmth of Joel’s back beneath your cheek grounding you, his presence steady in a way that made your heart ache. Winnie’s sure, rhythmic pace felt like it could carry you both away from the world, from everything, into a place that was just this. Just him.

I could stay here forever, you thought, the words unspoken but so loud in your chest it almost hurt. My cheek against his back. My heartbeat pressed into his spine. Safe.

The silence stretched, soft and full, until the thought finally broke free, escaping as a murmur that carried with it something raw and fragile as you spoke, “I think we would’ve gotten along back then.”

“I think we would’ve too.”

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

It was Christmas Eve.

You perched on the edge of Maria’s kitchen counter, swinging your legs idly as she moved around the room, her hands busy but her sharp gaze flicking to you now and then.

A Christmas hat dangled precariously on your head—your Christmas hat, patched together from mismatched scraps scavenged over the past few weeks on patrols with Joel. The red fabric had come from a faded curtain in a half-collapsed house, and the fleece trim? From an old jacket no one could use. The stitching was uneven, one side slumping more than the other, but it had heart.

Joel had never asked about it. Not outright. He’d just given you those raised eyebrows of his, paired with that low mutter—“Don’t know what the hell you’re plannin’ on doin’ with that.” And yet, not once did he stop you from stuffing another scrap into your pack.

Maria glanced at you as she slid a bowl of something fragrant onto the counter. “So,” she said casually, a smirk already tugging at her lips, “how was shooting with your man?”

“Oh my god,” you said, your voice rushing out in a flustered tumble. “He’s not my man.”

Maria leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms as her smirk widened, sharp and teasing. “Yeah,” she said lightly, dragging out the words, “but you’re almost there, though.”

You opened your mouth to shoot back some half-hearted denial, but instead, a soft sigh escaped. The fight left you before it even started. “It was sweet,” you admitted, almost to yourself, the edges of your lips curling into a small, unbidden smile. “He’s… sweet.”

The memory of him holding your hand lingered, unshakable.

You wouldn’t tell Maria that, though. No way. She’d have a field day with it.

“You’re in loooove,” she sang, dragging out the word like it was some cosmic revelation.

Your jaw dropped, heat flushing your face as you scrambled for anything, anything, to shut her up. “I—”

Nope. Nothing.

So, you did the next best thing. Reaching over to her cutting board, you snatched up a slice of carrot and popped it into your mouth before she could stop you. “Whatever,” you said around the crunch, waving her off as if her words hadn’t just hit you square in the chest.

“Hey! That’s for dinner,” Maria scolded, her tone caught somewhere between irritation and amusement as she shot you a sharp look.

“Relax, you’ve got like fifty more,” you said, waving a hand toward the mountain of chopped vegetables she’d already prepped.

“Yeah, and I’m counting on you to ruin at least ten of those by sneaking bites,” she quipped, her knife hovering over the cutting board as she gave you a mock glare. “Seriously, get out of my kitchen. I’ve got enough to worry about without you slowing me down.”

“I’m here to help,” you protested, raising your hands in exaggerated surrender, your grin refusing to fade. “I could chop something. Or, like… boil water? I’m a multi-talented individual.”

Maria snorted, her eyebrow arching skeptically. “Oh, sure. And if I wanted someone to set the kitchen on fire, I’d call Tommy.” She waved her knife at you for emphasis, her smirk cutting through the threat. “Go. Living room. Now.”

“Fine, fine,” you sighed dramatically, sliding off the counter with an exaggerated slump of your shoulders. “But for the record, this is the last time I offer my expertise to this household.”

Maria didn’t even look up, her focus already back on the cutting board. “Expertise,” she muttered under her breath with a scoff. “God help us all.”

As you shuffled toward the doorway, dragging your feet for maximum effect, you couldn’t help but shoot a glance over your shoulder, your grin widening as Maria flicked a stray piece of carrot in your direction without looking. You caught it midair, popping it into your mouth with a crunch that echoed defiantly through the kitchen.

“Living room!” she barked, her voice sharp but laced with unmistakable warmth.

“Going, going,” you called back, retreating into the next room with a laugh, your heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

“Hello, baby,” you murmured as the living room couch came into view, the words half a sigh of longing. It practically called your name, and you didn’t hesitate, flopping onto it with all the grace of a potato sack. A groan escaped you, muffled by the cushion as you sprawled out, one arm draped dramatically over your eyes.

For a moment, you stared at the clock on the wall. 4 p.m. Two whole hours until dinner. Two hours until Tommy and Joel got back from patrol. Two hours of absolutely nothing to do but wait—and wasn’t that just the most unbearable stretch of time?

“Maria!” you called out, your voice loud enough to carry back to the kitchen.

“What?” came her sharp reply, tinged with her usual exasperation, followed by the rhythmic chop of her knife against the cutting board.

“Can I take a nap?” you asked, drawing the words out in a mock plea for permission, even as you settled deeper into the cushions.

There was a pause. You heard her muttering, low and unmistakable, and you caught just enough to know she’d said something like “lazy ass.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Love you too!” you called back, but you didn’t bother waiting for her retort. Sleep was already pulling you under, warm and heavy, the couch a cocoon against the fading afternoon light.

Whatever meddling Maria had planned for the evening—whatever teasing or remarks or too-knowing smiles she had up her sleeve—it could wait. Joel would be back soon, and for now, that was enough.

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

You woke with someone poking your face. Actually poking your cheek.

Your eyelids fluttered open, the haze of sleep blurring your vision as you struggled to make sense of the looming figure above you. It was Joel, his hand hovering suspiciously close to your face, like he was about to do it again.

“You drool when you sleep,” he said plainly, his voice gravelly and low.

“Joel?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep, your mind still caught between dreams and the dim reality of the room.

“No, it’s Santa,” he replied dryly, a faint flicker of amusement in his tone as he stepped back and crossed his arms.

You pushed yourself upright, blinking around the room to find the clock. The arms of the clock stared back at you: 6:15 PM.

“How was patrol?” you asked, your voice soft and thick with sleep as you rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand, still trying to shake off the lingering haze.

Joel chuckled, the sound low and warm, sending a quiet thrill through you despite yourself. He dropped heavily onto the couch beside you, his weight making the cushions sag. His arms stretched out across the back of the couch, his posture relaxed but his presence anything but. You shifted instinctively, making room for him.

“Fine,” he said with a shrug, his voice as casual as ever. But there was a flicker of mischief in his eyes as he added, “Though we got things done faster ‘cause you weren’t there yappin’ my ear off.”

“Please,” you huffed, throwing him a look as you leaned back into the couch, trying to ignore how close his arm was to brushing your shoulder. “You love it.”

Joel shrugged again, feigning nonchalance, but his lips twitched upward in a faint, unguarded smile.

“Can’t believe you were sleepin’,” Joel muttered, tilting his head toward you, his voice thick with a faint yawn. “Shouldn’t you be helpin’ Maria?”

You groaned, leaning your head back against the couch, letting your frustration bleed into an exaggerated pout. “She practically kicked me out of the kitchen,” you muttered, your voice laced with mock indignation.

Joel turned his head, and the faintest smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, how’d I forget? Can shoot a man dead, but can’t even bake a potato.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes as heat flushed your cheeks. Without thinking, you reached for the nearest pillow, brandishing it like a weapon. “Ha-ha. Very funny,” you shot back, tossing it at him with little care for accuracy.

The pillow bounced harmlessly off his shoulder, and to your surprise, Joel laughed—a real laugh, deep and unguarded, rumbling low in his chest. It wasn’t something you heard often, and the sound caught you off guard, striking something tender inside you. You wanted to freeze the moment, hold it tight, and keep it for all the days when he felt a million miles away.

When the laughter faded, a quiet calm settled over the room. Comfortable, warm, and charged with something you couldn’t name. Joel’s dark eyes lingered on you, softer than you’d seen in a long time, his smirk mellowing into a faint, almost shy smile.

You felt yourself staring back, your lips curving into an answering smile before you could even think about it. There was something about him like this—unguarded, at ease—that made your chest ache, your breath hitching before you caught it.

He shook his head, his gaze dropping to his lap for a moment before returning to you. “You’ve got—” Joel chuckled, pausing mid-sentence like he was trying to stop himself. But then he reached over, his fingers brushing against your lip, and your heart stuttered.

“Drool,” he said, his voice low, tinged with something you couldn’t quite pin down. “All over your damn face, you silly girl.”

His touch was fleeting, so light it might’ve been nothing, but it left sparks in its wake, the warmth of his fingers lingering long after he pulled away.

Joel leaned back, shaking his head like he was fighting off a grin, but you caught it—the quiet fondness in the way he looked at you, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long.

For a moment, it was just the two of you. The world outside the living room melted away, leaving nothing but the low hum of the fire, the faint scent of Maria’s cooking drifting in from the kitchen, and the feeling swelling between you.

“Dinner’s ready!” Maria’s voice rang out from the kitchen, cutting through the quiet like a sharp blade, snapping the two of you back to reality.

Joel’s hand, which had lingered just a second too long near your mouth, dropped abruptly, as if he’d only just realized it was there. He cleared his throat, the sound rough and awkward, his gaze darting away from yours. “Better get movin’,” he muttered, his tone gruff, like he was trying to pull himself together.

He pushed himself up from the couch, his movements stiff and purposeful, tugging at the hem of his jacket like he needed something—anything—to do with his hands.

You stayed where you were, watching him as your heart thudded in your chest, the warmth of his touch still ghosting over your skin.

“C’mon,” he said, softer now. “Maria’ll have my head if we’re late.”

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

The dining room was warm, cozy in the way only Maria could make it. The table was set with care, adorned with steaming bowls of vegetables, a mound of golden mashed potatoes, a basket of fresh bread, and little details that made the world outside feel miles away.

“Maria, this looks incredible,” you said as you pulled out your chair, the scent of everything making your stomach rumble.

Maria smirked, hands on her hips as she surveyed the table with satisfaction. “Look how much work I got done without you sneaking bites of my veggies,” she teased, her eyes twinkling as she shot you a playful glare.

“You’re a naughty one,” Tommy quipped, his grin wide as he turned to Maria, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. “You’ve outdone yourself, baby.”

Joel slid into the chair across from you, the scrape of wood against the floor almost lost in the hum of conversation. His gaze caught yours for just a beat—a quiet, fleeting connection—before he looked away, his attention falling to the food in front of him.

“So,” Tommy began, already reaching for the bread as if he hadn’t eaten in days, “Joel and I had quite the day on patrol.”

Joel huffed, his lips tugging into a wry smirk as he leaned back slightly in his chair. “If by ‘quite the day,’ you mean you spent half of it yappin’ and the other half tripping over your own damn feet, then yeah, sure.”

The comment drew a laugh from your lips. Joel’s gaze flicked toward you again, his eyes catching yours, and for a moment, his expression softened.

Tommy, oblivious as ever, was already grinning smugly as he tore into a piece of bread, slathering it with butter. “Hey, I didn’t hear you complainin’ when I saved your ass from that clicker,” he shot back, wagging the bread at Joel like a weapon.

Joel leaned back in his chair, shaking his head slowly. “I had that under control,” he said gruffly, his voice carrying just enough edge to hold back Tommy’s teasing.

Tommy barked a laugh, clearly enjoying himself, but the word clicker lodged itself in your chest like a thorn. The lighthearted chatter around you blurred into static as the weight of the word pulled your attention elsewhere. Your fork froze midair, the food on your plate forgotten as your gaze snapped to Joel.

“Clicker?” you asked, your voice soft but taut with concern, your brows furrowing as your chest tightened. All the humor drained from your face, replaced by something raw and unguarded. Your eyes searched his, desperate for assurance, for some unspoken promise that everything was fine.

Joel’s jaw tightened as he saw the worry etched into your expression. “Yeah,” he admitted after a beat, his voice low and steady, smoothing the jagged edges of the truth. “Just one. It was alone. Nothin’ we couldn’t handle.”

His gaze locked onto yours then, steady and insistent, and the intensity of it made your heart falter. It wasn’t just words he was giving you; it was something more—a silent plea for you to believe him, to let him carry this so you wouldn’t have to.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he added, his tone softer now, like he was trying to calm the storm he knew was already brewing in your mind. Joel wasn’t good at words, not when it came to things like this, but the way he leaned slightly forward, his shoulders tense, told you he felt it—the weight of your fear, your worry.

God, he thought, looking at you, his own chest tightening at the way you seemed to fold into yourself, worry so plainly written on your face. If he were half the man he wished he was, he’d reach across the table, take your hand, and kiss that fear right out of you. He’d tell you, I’ve got you, and make you believe it.

But he wasn’t, so he didn’t. Instead, his hand hovered over the table for a split second, as if it might defy him, before retreating to his lap.

You nodded slowly, but the tightness in your chest refused to ease. The weight of Joel’s words lingered, heavy and uneasy, the thought of him—your Joel—that close to danger settling like a stone beneath your ribs. “Okay,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as your fingers fidgeted with the frayed edge of your napkin.

“I’m fine,” he said at last, his voice softer now, almost tentative. His eyes, though, carried the weight of a promise, silent but firm: I’m fine. I won’t let anything happen to me. Not when it would hurt you.

The moment stretched between you, filled with something unspoken but undeniable, before Tommy, blissfully oblivious to the tension, jumped back in with a teasing grin. “Yeah, well, I’m the one who made sure he stayed that way,” he said, tearing into another piece of bread with all the smugness in the world.

“Anyways,” Tommy said, undeterred, turning his full attention to you with his mouth still half-full of bread. “Joel was tellin’ me you shot a damn deer. That true, darlin’?”

Your cheeks warmed instantly, the heat spreading down your neck as you ducked your head. You nudged the peas on your plate with the tines of your fork, suddenly unable to meet anyone’s gaze. “Yeah,” you mumbled, biting your lip. “But Joel basically did all the work.”

“Not true,” Joel cut in, his voice steady and firm, leaving no room for argument. He set his utensils down and leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “She did it all herself,” he said, his tone softening, a quiet pride lacing every word. “Too modest for her own good, as always. She lined up the shot, kept steady, and didn’t flinch—not once. Clean hit, too. Not many folks can say they’ve got that kind of aim, especially their first time.”

Your cheeks burned hotter under his praise, and you dared a glance up, only to find him still watching you, his expression warm and earnest. “Really impressed me,” Joel added, his voice dropping slightly, almost as if the words were meant just for you. “Takes guts to do what she did. Can’t teach that. She’s a natural.”

Tommy let out a low whistle, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, damn,” he said, grinning. “Sounds like you’ve got some real competition now, Joel.”

Joel didn’t even glance at Tommy, his focus still entirely on you. “She’s better than I ever was,” he said simply, the honesty in his tone making your heart ache in the best possible way.

Tommy let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair with an appreciative nod. His gaze flicked between the two of you, a teasing glint in his eye, but for once, he didn’t say anything about it. “Well, I’ll be damned. Good job, sweetheart,” he said, his voice warm, the smile he gave you full of pride.

You glanced up, catching Joel’s expression as he reached for his drink. His eyes lingered on you, softer than you’d ever seen, a quiet pride flickering in their depths. That’s my girl, you could almost hear him think, though the words never left his lips.

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

After dinner, the group drifted into the living room, the gentle crackle of the fire glowing steadily in the hearth lulling everyone into a comfortable rhythm.

Tommy and Maria claimed the couch closest to the flames, their silhouettes bathed in the warm amber light.

You lay sprawled out on the floor, propped up on your elbows, your feet swaying idly behind you as you flipped through an old scavenged recipe book Tommy had brought back for Maria on patrol. The room seemed to hum with an easy warmth, the golden light catching on the strands of tinsel Maria had strung up earlier in the week.

Across from you, Joel sat on the far couch, his posture deceptively relaxed, though the way his fingers curled around the glass of whiskey betrayed a quiet tension. The amber liquid swirled lazily as he tilted it in his hand, but his attention wasn’t on the drink—it was on you. You didn’t have to look up to confirm it; you could feel his gaze, steady and unwavering, burning into you with an intensity that made your skin prickle and your heartbeat quicken.

You swallowed hard, trying—and failing—to ignore the weight of his eyes, the way they seemed to see through every wall you’d so carefully constructed. Instead, you focused on the firelight dancing across the room, on the warm crackle of the wood burning low in the hearth, on the worn fabric of the book in your lap that you hadn’t turned a page of in far too long. Anything but him.

But it was impossible. He was impossible to ignore. His face, slightly pink from the fire’s glow and the remnants of the day’s sun, was achingly familiar yet disarmingly softened in this moment. His dark lashes, impossibly long, fluttered with every slow blink, as though time moved differently for him. You caught yourself wondering if he was thinking about you—or if he already knew you were thinking about him.

“Okay,” you said suddenly, breaking the comfortable lull in the room, your voice a touch too bright, betraying the nervous energy humming beneath the surface. You sat up straighter, tucking your legs beneath you, your arms crossing behind your back in a small, self-conscious gesture. “I have a surprise for everyone.”

Maria tilted her head, a flicker of curiosity lighting up her eyes. She raised a single brow, her tone a mix of intrigue and caution. “A surprise?” she echoed, drawing the word out like she wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.

“You’re pregnant!” Tommy blurted out, a mischievous grin splitting his face as he leaned back, clearly pleased with his own joke.

“Tommy,” Joel said sharply, his voice cutting through the moment like a blade. The single word carried enough weight to make his brother immediately hold up his hands in mock surrender.

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks, crawling up your neck and settling there as a stubborn flush. But you didn’t look back, didn’t dare meet anyone’s gaze, least of all Joel’s. Instead, you crouched near the corner, your fingers diving into the bag you’d carefully stashed earlier. The familiar texture of the fabric met your fingertips, grounding you as you grasped it.

You turned back to your bag and pulled out the Christmas hats you had made for everyone, holding them up triumphantly with a grin that spread from ear to ear. “Ta-da!”

Maria’s eyes widened, and then her hand shot to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Oh, God, you made more,” she said, though the amusement in her voice betrayed her words.

“Damn right I did,” you replied, your grin unstoppable as you shook out the cascade of red and white fabric, the soft material spilling over your arms like a dramatic reveal.

Tommy leaned forward, squinting at the hats like they were a personal insult. “Sorry, darlin’, but those are some ugly-ass hats.”

“Hey!” you shot back, clutching the fabric like they were precious cargo. “They’re not just hats.” You pointed a finger at him, your grin growing wider. “They’re Christmas hats. Festive, delightful, and mandatory.”

Before Tommy could even open his mouth to protest, you strode toward him and plopped one onto his head with an exaggerated flourish. The pom-pom flopped to one side, the whole thing slightly askew, and yet it was perfect—perfectly ridiculous.

“Maria, help me out here,” Tommy groaned, gesturing toward his head with his free hand like the hat was some great injustice.

Maria shook her head, her own laughter soft and warm. “Sorry, honey, but I think it suits you.”

You turned to Maria, handing her a smaller hat trimmed with red velvet and gold ribbon. “And this one’s for you.”

“Gosh,” she murmured, her tone half-teasing, half-genuine. “You shouldn’t have. Really—you shouldn’t have.”

Next, you turned to Joel. He was watching you.

The weight of his gaze was heavy, grounding, and it stole the breath right out of your lungs. Your steps faltered for a heartbeat, the oversized Christmas hat clutched tighter in your hands like it could shield you from the way his eyes bore into you.

The walk to the couch stretched longer than it should have, each step carrying the ghost of that night—the night of spin-the-bottle.

The memory slammed into you unbidden, vivid and searing: the heat of Joel’s lap beneath you, the solid weight of his thighs pressing against your own. You could still feel it, the way his breath had mingled with yours, warm and shallow, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own. You’d been so close. His breath had ghosted against your skin, and for one fleeting second, you’d thought—hoped—he’d kiss you.

“What you got for me, darlin’?” Joel’s voice broke through the haze, low and rough, his drawl curling around you like smoke. It was quiet, meant just for you.

Your heart stuttered, your fingers clutching the hat tighter as you stopped in front of him. His eyes hadn’t moved—not once.

“This one’s for you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling slightly as it escaped your lips. You hated the way it wavered, like a tightrope swaying in the wind, hated how exposed he made you feel. Like he could see everything—every soft, raw, guarded secret you tried so desperately to keep hidden.

Joel hummed low in his throat, a deep, quiet sound that thrummed through the room and settled heavy in your chest. His fingers reached up—not to take the hat, but to brush lightly over the fabric where it rested in your hands.

His dark eyes flicked from the hat to your face. Then, faint and almost reluctant, the corner of his lips curved into a smile.

It wasn’t the teasing smirk he reserved for Tommy or the polite, distant warmth he gave to Maria. This was something else entirely. Softer. Warmer. And it wrecked you because there was no hiding the truth in it—adoration, raw and unguarded, spilling from him like he hadn’t even realized it was there for the world to see.

From the other couch, Tommy leaned toward Maria, his voice low enough to think you wouldn’t hear. “Joel’d never be caught dead in somethin’ like that.”

But Joel didn’t flinch. He didn’t glance in Tommy’s direction or roll his eyes the way you expected him to. Instead, he set his glass down on the small table beside him with deliberate care, his movements slow and measured.

“Well then,” he drawled, his voice low and rough, laced with something that made your breath catch. “Go ahead.”

Your hands trembled slightly,“You… want me to—?”

He tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking just enough to send your heart tumbling in your chest. “I ain’t puttin’ it on myself.”

The space closed as you stepped closer, your hands trembling as you raised the hat toward him. You didn’t notice the ridiculous green felt or the uneven trim. All you could feel was him. The way his hair brushed softly against your fingertips, surprising you with its texture. The way his shoulders loomed in your vision, broad and unyielding, steadying you even as your heart raced so fast it threatened to undo you.

Joel didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back. He stayed perfectly still, his dark eyes locked on you, unwavering, as if this moment was as pivotal for him as it was for you.

Your heart pounded in your ears as the world around you disappeared entirely. All you wanted—all you needed—was to close the space between you, to sink down and kiss him, consequences be damned.

From the other couch, Maria’s hand darted out, smacking Tommy lightly on the leg, “Oh my God, look at them,” Maria muttered, her voice hushed.

When you finally stepped back, the hat perched crookedly on Joel’s head, you allowed yourself to take him in.

It was utterly ridiculous—the slouched green fabric and the pom-pom dangling lopsidedly made him look impossibly out of place, like he’d been roped into something far beneath his dignity.

But somehow, impossibly, it suited him. Or maybe it was just because he was him—Joel Miller, so rugged and handsome he couldn’t possibly look bad in anything.

Your lips quirked upward before you could stop them, the warmth in your chest blooming like the soft glow of the fire.

“Perfect,” you whispered, the word slipping out unbidden, your voice barely audible.

Joel tilted his head slightly, the faintest breath of a huff escaping him, low and rough. “You happy?” he asked, his voice gruff but quieter than usual, like the words carried a tenderness he wasn’t sure how to show.

“Yes,” you murmured, the word trembling as it left you. “Very.”

His lips pressed together in the faintest twitch of a smile, his gaze flicking away for a second before settling back on you. He shook his head, slow and deliberate, like he couldn’t quite believe himself. “Good,” he murmured, his voice so low you almost didn’t catch it.

And it ached—physically ached—because you knew. Deep down, in a place you rarely let yourself linger, you understood that there wasn’t a single universe where Joel Miller would wear something like this for anyone but you. It wasn’t for Tommy’s teasing or Maria’s amused approval, and it certainly wasn’t for the absurd cheer of the holidays. No, he’d done it for you.

Every glance, every quiet word, every second of stillness as he sat there with that ridiculous hat on his head—he’d done it because it made you happy. Because somehow, in a way neither of you dared to name, you mattered to him.

And it wrecked you. It wrecked you because Joel Miller—this man who had built himself out of iron and grit, who would rather face a swarm of infected or a pack of raiders than do anything to chip away at the unyielding, stoic image he’d crafted—had done this without hesitation. For you. The thought was staggering, dizzying, and when he looked at you again, his eyes softer than they had any right to be, you knew: he’d do anything for you. He’d endure anything. He’d die for you.

“Tommys gonna think I’ve gone soft,” Joel murmured, his voice low and meant only for you.

Your smile deepened, warmth pooling in your chest, and you tilted your head slightly, your voice just as soft. “Have you?”

You were still standing in front of him, looking down at where he sat on the couch, the firelight catching in his dark eyes, making them burn with something unspoken.

“D’ya think I have?” he asked, his voice rough, quiet, the rasp of it threading through your veins and anchoring you to the moment.

You swallowed, the tension tightening in your chest like a quiet ache, the words slipping out in a whisper. “Maybe.”

Joel’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile, though his eyes stayed on yours, unreadable yet devastatingly open all at once. “Then maybe,” he murmured, his tone dipping lower, softer, pulling you closer like a tide you couldn’t resist.

The heat in his gaze felt too much, too raw, and you turned, ready to claim your seat by the fireplace and retreat before it swallowed you whole.

“Hey.”

Joel’s voice stopped you mid-step, rough but not sharp, more like a tether than a command. Your breath caught as the word curled around you, pulling you back to him.

“Come sit with me.”

You turned slowly, the quiet invitation pressing against you like gravity. He was still sitting there, his hand resting on his knee, fingers loosely curled, the other gripping the armrest. His broad frame leaned slightly forward, like he couldn’t help but close some of the space between you—as if his body physically couldn’t bear the distance, even in the same room.

His expression was carefully unreadable, a mask you’d seen him wear so many times before, but his eyes—oh, his eyes—gave him away. A silent plea wrapped in his gaze.

“If you want,” he added, almost shyly, his voice dipping lower, like he didn’t want to push too hard.

If you want. The simplicity of it nearly broke you. Joel Miller, a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without complaint, who never asked for anything, was asking now—for you.

“Okay,” you said softly, your voice barely audible.

Slowly, you settled next to him on the couch, the heat of his body radiating toward you like a magnet pulling you in. Your thighs pressed together, neither of you daring to move away.

Joel shifted slightly, just enough to turn his head toward you, his dark eyes catching the firelight. “That’s better,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, each word like a warm ember slipping into the space between you.

The sound of his voice wrapped around you, soft but steady, and it seeped into your bones, settling somewhere deep in your chest. Your lips twitched, threatening a smile you couldn’t quite hold back.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath, but the words carried everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say. “Much better.”

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

One drink turned into two. Two turned into three. And before you knew it, the edges of the world had softened, the flickering firelight blending into a warm, golden haze that wrapped around you like a blanket.

You weren’t someone who got drunk—it wasn’t your thing. You knew your limits, knew when to stop, how to keep control. But tonight… tonight felt different.

Tommy, with his easy grin and mischievous glint, was no help at all. Every time Joel told him to quit—his voice low, tinged with irritation—Tommy would wave him off with a laugh, saying something about Joel having a stick up his ass.

“C’mon, Joel. Live a little,” Tommy drawled, pouring you another drink with all the flair of a showman. And you, caught up in the warmth and ease of the night, shrugged and raised your glass in a tipsy cheer, obliging without a second thought.

Somehow, the night unraveled from there. You’d gone from sitting beside Joel, close enough to feel the subtle heat radiating off him, to sprawling across the living room floor, your head tipped back, your arms stretched wide. Your voice—off-key and full of enthusiasm—belted out Last Christmas like it was your personal anthem, each wobbling note echoing off the walls.

Tommy was in stitches, practically doubled over on the couch as he slapped his knee in delight. Maria shook her head, her smile soft and indulgent as she sipped her drink, her eyes crinkling with barely-contained amusement.

But Joel—Joel stayed quiet. He hadn’t joined in the way Tommy had, hadn’t pushed the bottle toward you or filled your glass with a mischievous grin. He sat on the couch, his broad frame hunched slightly forward, one hand resting on his knee, his dark eyes fixed on you with a quiet intensity.

He wasn’t laughing. His lips were pressed into a firm line, his brow furrowed just enough to make your chest tighten if you weren’t already too clouded to notice. It wasn’t disapproval exactly—not the kind you might’ve expected from someone like him—but something closer to worry.

His dark eyes stayed on you, steady and unflinching, like he was trying to gauge how far you were from the line, how much longer until he might need to step in.

At one point, something small—a bottle cap, maybe—rolled under the coffee table. It didn’t matter what it was; in your tipsy state, it became an immediate priority. With all the single-minded determination of someone far too gone, you leaned forward, hands groping blindly under the table, muttering something about how “everything needs its place.”

You didn’t notice the sharp edge of the table creeping closer, didn’t feel the unsteadiness in your own balance as you reached further and further. But Joel did.

He moved before you even realized - his hand, warm and rough, settled over the crown of your head just as you were about to smack it against the edge of the table. The pressure was firm but careful, guiding you gently away from danger before you could even process it.

“Careful, baby,” he murmured, the words low and instinctive, slipping out before he even realized what he’d said.

You didn’t register it, your focus still entirely on the bottle cap beneath your fingers. “Got it,” you mumbled after a moment, your voice smaller than you intended as you pulled back, victorious and unaware.

When Tommy reached for the bottle to pour you another drink, Joel stepped in without hesitation. His hand closed over the neck of the bottle, firm and commanding, pulling it away before Tommy could even tilt it.

“All right, that’s enough,” Joel said, his voice steady but carrying an edge sharp enough to cut through the room’s hazy warmth.

Tommy blinked, caught off guard for a moment before his easy grin slid back into place. “Hey, man,” he started, his tone light but laced with the slightest edge of challenge. “The girl wants a drink.”

“Quit, Tommy,” Joel said, his tone dropping lower, heavier, leaving no room for argument. His eyes cut to his brother with a pointed sharpness that made Tommy sit back slightly, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Fucking child,” Joel muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch it.

Maria stood then, shaking her head as she picked up the nearest empty glass with a sigh. “Honestly, you two are worse than children,” she said, her voice exasperated but warm, her eyes flicking between the brothers like this was nothing new.

The haze in your mind started to shift then, softening into something weightier, more complicated. The room seemed quieter, heavier, and your cheeks burned—not just from the whiskey but from the weight of Joel’s eyes on you. He wasn’t laughing like Tommy, nor sighing like Maria. He was watching you.

You shifted slightly, your fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans as a quiet embarrassment crept in. Not because of him, but because he could see the truth you weren’t ready to admit—not even to yourself. That you weren’t drunk for nothing. That this wasn’t just another night. Joel saw it, as he always did, and somehow, that made you feel both more vulnerable and more understood than ever.

“You’ve had enough,” he murmured, his voice low and steady as he reached for your glass. Joel leaned back against the couch, his broad frame sinking into the worn cushions.

“I don’t… I don’t get drunk,” you mumbled, your voice unsteady, trailing off as you lay back against the carpet. Your eyes stared upward, fixed on the wall as if it held the answers you couldn’t find yourself. The words were soft, almost more to yourself than to him, but the slight slur in your tone betrayed you. “I’m not drunk,” you added, weaker this time, as if saying it aloud might make it true.

Tommy grinned from his spot on the couch, raising his hands in mock solidarity. “Me neither, sister.”

“Exactly,” you said, jabbing a wobbly finger in his direction as if he’d just made the most compelling argument of the night.

Joel’s voice broke through the room then, low and firm, slicing through the haze like a knife. “You’re drunk.”

Your head snapped toward him, narrowing your bleary focus on the man who’d barely spoken all night. Joel sat back on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely in front of him. His posture screamed patience, but the kind that was wearing thin.

“You’re grumpy,” you said, a weak jab, though the words stumbled on their way out. “And I am not drunk.”

Joel arched an eyebrow, leaning back slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Right. That why you’re lyin’ there like you can’t tell which way’s up?”

Your brows furrowed, defiance bubbling up despite the haze in your head. “Alright,” you said, preparing to stand up. “I’ll prove it to you.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed just slightly, his brow creasing as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “No,” he said, his voice low, steady, and firm. “I believe you. Don’t gotta prove nothin’.”

“See?” you huffed, crossing your arms like you’d just won an argument. “That’s what I thought.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand down his face like he was physically holding himself back from commenting. “Christ,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Maria stood then, stretching with a soft yawn and giving Tommy a light nudge. “Alright, it’s way past my bedtime,” she announced. Her gaze shifted to you, her expression softening. “You can stay here tonight,” she offered, her voice resolute. “No sense sending you out like this.”

You opened your mouth to agree, but Joel was already moving. His shoulders stiffened, his jaw flexing as he stood abruptly.

“No,” Joel said, the word coming out firm, final, leaving no room for debate. His voice cut through the room with quiet authority, drawing all eyes to him. “I’ll take her home.”

Maria blinked, visibly surprised. Her gaze flicked between you and Joel, her eyebrows arching slightly as her lips curved into the faintest hint of a knowing smile. “You sure?”

“She’ll sleep better in her own bed,” he said gruffly, the words deliberate but carrying a weight that was hard to ignore.

Maria tilted her head, her brow lifting as if to say Oh, really? But she didn’t argue, just exchanged a quick glance with Tommy, whose grin threatened to break across his face.

Tommy stretched lazily, his grin lopsided as he turned to you with a look that could only be described as fond mischief. “Night, troublemaker,” he said, his voice brimming with affection. His gaze slid to Joel, and the grin widened, his tone taking on a teasing edge. “Be careful. This one’s feisty when she’s drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” you mumbled, but the slur in your words betrayed you, and Tommy’s chuckle made your cheeks burn.

“Sure you’re not,” he said, ruffling your hair like you were a kid. You swatted weakly at his hand, your protest too slow to land, and he laughed again, shaking his head.

He clapped Joel on the shoulder as he passed, the weight of it friendly but carrying a knowing edge. “Good luck,” he added, the words laced with that unmistakable Tommy charm.

Joel sighed, the sound low and heavy, threading with both frustration and a quiet sort of resignation. He didn’t bother responding to Tommy, didn’t even glance his way. Instead, his focus was on you, his dark eyes sharp and steady as he stepped closer.

“C’mon,” he muttered, his voice gruff but softer than you expected. His large hands reached for you, settling gently at your elbows as he helped you up, his grip firm and steady. You wobbled slightly, your balance faltering just enough to make Joel’s hold tighten instinctively.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, almost like a coaxing whisper. His hands shifted, one sliding to your lower back to steady you as you leaned into him without realizing it.

Together, you made your way toward the front door, Joel guiding you with a patience that felt like it shouldn’t belong to someone as gruff as him.

The boots by the door stared back at you, almost mocking in their silent challenge. You blinked down at them, swaying slightly, trying to figure out how you were supposed to get them on when the floor seemed to tilt every time you moved.

“Alright,” Joel said, nodding toward the boots. “One shoe at a time. Think you can handle that?”

“Obviously,” you muttered, though your fumbling hands betrayed your confidence almost immediately. You bent down to grab one of the boots, determined to prove him wrong, only for the room to tilt ever so slightly, the lazy spin of the world throwing you off balance.

Before you could topple forward, Joel’s hand shot out, his grip firm and steady as it curled around your arm. “Thought you said you weren’t drunk,” he muttered under his breath, his tone low but laced with exasperated fondness.

He guided you upright gently, his other hand bracing at your side. “Hold still, or you’re gonna end up kissin’ the floor,” he added, dropping down to one knee in front of you with a quiet sigh.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as heat surged to your cheeks, spreading like wildfire through your chest. Joel Miller, kneeling in front of you, his broad frame grounded and steady against the backdrop of the room, sent your pulse into a frantic rhythm you couldn’t seem to control.

Joel laced the boot quickly, his movements efficient but deliberate, the steady brush of his fingers against the leather sending warmth up your spine. When he finished, his hand lingered for just a moment longer, giving your calf a light squeeze. It was subtle, almost absentminded, but achingly tender—like he couldn’t help himself, like the simple touch meant more than he could say.

“There,” he said softly once he finished, giving your leg another light pat before standing again. He stepped back with a groan, his dark eyes sweeping over you in a way that felt less like he was checking your boots and more like he was checking you, making sure you were steady, secure, okay.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, your face flushed, hair sticking out in every direction, a picture of tipsy disarray. Joel’s gaze softened despite himself, his lips pressing into a line that didn’t quite hide the tenderness creeping into his expression.

“You’re a mess, y’know that?” he muttered, shaking his head with a soft huff. But even as the words left his mouth, he leaned closer, his hand lifting with a careful steadiness to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“I’m fine,” you argued weakly, even as your feet betrayed you, slipping slightly on the uneven floor.

He turned, grabbing your coat from the hook by the door, shaking it out before holding it open in front of you. “Arms up.”

You blinked at him, your mind struggling to catch up. “What?”

“Arms up,” he repeated, this time with more insistence. When you still didn’t move fast enough, Joel sighed, muttering under his breath as he stepped closer, already lifting your arms himself.

“Jesus,” he muttered, tugging the coat snug over your shoulders with a final, purposeful motion. “You’re worse than dealin’ with a kid.”

“Don’t be mean,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze as your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, your voice carrying the faintest pout.

Joel’s lips twitched—not quite a smile, but just enough to send a flicker of warmth curling in your chest, cutting through the biting cold lingering beyond the door. “I’m not bein’ mean,” he murmured, his tone softening, though that familiar gruffness clung to the edges, giving his words weight. “Just tryin’ to get my girl home in one piece.”

The words slipped out so naturally, so effortlessly, that Joel himself didn’t even realize what he’d said. His focus remained on you as he adjusted the coat on your shoulders, his movements careful, deliberate, like you might catch a chill if he left even a corner undone.

You, too tipsy and too focused on fiddling with your gloves, didn’t seem to hear him. The weight of the moment passed unnoticed by you, but Joel froze for half a beat, his hands stilling against your sleeve as the thought settled into his chest.

It didn’t feel strange to him, calling you that—my girl—because somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

When you finally got home, Joel was all practicality. He unlocked the door with ease, nudging it open with his shoulder while keeping a steadying hand on your arm.

He turned briefly to shut the door, but when he looked back, you were gone. “Jesus Christ,” Joel muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the room until he found you.

You’d somehow made it to the living room, sprawled out face down on the rug like you’d decided it was the most comfortable spot in the world. Your muffled hums filled the quiet space, a nonsensical melody that made Joel sigh deeply, dragging a hand down his face.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, the words barely audible as he disappeared into the kitchen. A few moments later, he returned with a glass of water, his footsteps deliberate and steady.

“Hey,” Joel said sharply, his voice cutting through your tuneless humming as he stopped a few feet away. His hand rested on his hip, his broad shoulders framed by the soft glow of the kitchen light. “What the hell’re you doin’? Get up.”

You turned your head sluggishly, your cheek still pressed against the rug. Heavy-lidded eyes met his, and for a moment, you just blinked at him, the alcohol dulling the sharper edges of his tone. Despite his words, the concern etched into his brow softened the bite.

Joel let out a sigh, muttering something under his breath as he knelt beside you, the floor creaking faintly under his weight. He held out a glass of water, his hand steady and deliberate. “Drink this."

You reached for the glass, your fingers brushing his as you took it. You drank the water in a few large gulps, the cool liquid grounding you slightly.

“Alright,” he said firmly after you were done drinking, “time for bed.” He extended a hand toward you, palm open and waiting.

“I’m not tired,” you mumbled into the rug, though your traitorous body betrayed you with a yawn that slipped out before you could stop it.

Joel arched an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the faintest shadow of a smirk. “Yeah?” he drawled, his tone thick with dry amusement. “Tell that to the yawn you just tried to swallow.”

His voice softened then, the edge fading as something gentler took its place. He crouched slightly, his hand still extended, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “C’mon. Up. Now.”

You groaned dramatically, burying your face in the rug for just a second longer, drawing out the moment like a child protesting bedtime. “Ugh,” you said, dragging the sound out with exaggerated flair. Finally, with a sigh heavy enough to shake the earth, you reached for his hand. “Fine.”

You reached up, slipping your hand into his as he helped you to your feet, “Atta girl,” he murmured.

Without thinking, without hesitation, your fingers instinctively intertwined with his. The movement was so natural, so effortless, that it didn’t register at first—not to you, and not to him. But then Joel’s gaze dropped to your joined hands, his breath hitching as his mouth opened slightly, the smallest flicker of surprise crossing his face.

Joel swallowed hard, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, unspoken emotions swirling there. He didn’t pull away—he didn’t dare. His hand stayed firmly in yours, his fingers curling around yours like letting go wasn’t an option he’d even considered.

You blinked up at him, your mind sluggish from whiskey and the creeping warmth of exhaustion, but his steady presence anchored you. “What?” you asked softly.

“Nothin’,” Joel muttered, his gaze fixed on your joined hands. His voice dipped lower, softer, like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. “Just… don't usually hold hands.”

The quiet admission hit you like a ripple in still water, gentle yet profound. Your chest tightened, a wave of something achingly tender washing over you. “Oh,” you whispered, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m sorry.” You started to pull your hand away, the movement hesitant, reluctant.

But his grip tightened, firm but careful, like he was afraid to let go. “No,” Joel said quickly, his voice rough but urgent, his thumb brushing against your knuckles in the faintest, most deliberate motion. “Don’t.”

He didn’t look at you then—couldn’t—but the tension in his jaw and the quiet plea in his tone said everything he couldn’t.

“Alright,” he murmured after a beat, his voice softer now, gentler. “Let’s get you to bed.”

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

When you finally reached your room, Joel reached out with his free hand, twisting the doorknob and nudging the door open.

He led you to the edge of the bed, your hand still firmly clasped in his. You swayed slightly as you stopped, the whiskey and exhaustion making your balance unsteady, but Joel’s steady grip kept you upright.

He guided you gently to sit on the edge of the bed, his hand still wrapped around yours, steadying you. His grip lingered, his fingers flexing slightly as if testing the moment, like he didn’t want to break whatever fragile thread was holding you together.

“Time to let go, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice impossibly soft. Slowly, reluctantly, you let your hands part, the absence of his touch leaving a faint, lingering ache. You sank into the mattress with a soft sigh, your body sagging into the familiar comfort as Joel stood by your side, his presence steady and grounding.

His movements were careful as he reached for the blanket, pulling it up over you with the kind of gentleness that made your heart flutter even in your sleepy haze. He tucked it around your shoulders, his hand lingering for just a moment before he straightened.

“Go to bed,” Joel said softly, his voice gentler now, though still firm enough to leave no room for argument. As your eyes dipped shut, his hand moved to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, the touch so light it barely registered but sent a warmth blooming in your chest.

“You’ll feel better in the mornin’,” he added.

He turned toward the light switch, his hand halfway there when your voice cut through the quiet, soft and desperate. “Wait,” you said, the word tumbling out before you could stop it. “Don’t leave.”

Joel froze mid-step, his broad shoulders stiffening. He didn’t turn right away, but when he did, his expression was carefully guarded. “You need to sleep,” he said, his tone gruff, his walls snapping back into place. “No more games. Go to bed.”

“I will,” you promised quickly, your voice barely above a whisper but carrying an edge of pleading that you couldn’t hide. “I will, I swear. Just… stay. For a little while. Please.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking toward the door as though he was considering making a quick exit. But then his shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t catch. How could he possibly say no to you?

“Fine,” he said at last, the word carrying the weight of reluctant surrender. He moved toward the chair in the corner of your room, sinking into it heavily, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back. “But only for a little while.”

“No,” you said suddenly, the word slipping out before you could stop it. You sat up in bed, the blanket pooling around your waist as you blinked at him.

Joel frowned, his brows furrowing as he turned to look at you. “What now?”

“Not there,” you murmured again, your voice softer now, hesitant but insistent as you patted the empty space on the bed beside you. “Here.”

Joel blinked, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His brow furrowed deeply, his jaw tightening. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head like he needed to convince himself as much as you. “Not happenin’.”

You groaned dramatically, flopping back against the pillows with an exasperated huff. “Jesus, Joel. Do I have to beg?”

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended, his knuckles whitening as his hands gripped the arms of the chair like it was the only thing tethering him to resolve.

His gaze flicked to the bed, to the empty spot you’d been patting, and you could see the war raging behind his eyes. It was written in the way his lips pressed into a thin line, in the way his chest rose and fell with controlled breaths. The push and pull of wanting and resisting.

“Please,” you whispered, the single word soft, breaking through his defenses like a crack splintering through glass. Your voice wavered, your gaze locking onto his. “I’ll sleep better if you’re close. That’s all.”

Joel’s eyes softened, the fight in them faltering for just a moment. He sighed deeply, his head tilting back like he was asking the ceiling for patience. His shoulders sagged slightly, and you could see the exact second he gave in. Slowly, deliberately, he stood, his steps heavy as he crossed the room.

He stopped at the edge of the bed, his gaze dropping to yours. For a long moment, he just stood there, torn between holding his ground and giving in completely. His jaw clenched, his hands flexing at his sides, before he let out another long sigh and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

The bed dipped under his weight, and you watched him. He sat stiffly, awkwardly, like being this close to you was something he hadn’t quite prepared for.

“Joel,” you murmured softly, almost unsure, almost hesitant. “Lay down. Please.”

He sighed again, his shoulders sagging slightly as if the sound of your voice alone had unraveled him. “Alright,” he muttered, the word rough but softer than before.

With slow, deliberate movements, he shifted onto the bed, laying down beside you. His posture was stiff, his head resting on his folded arm, as if he were trying to take up as little space as possible. “You happy now?” he asked, his tone gruff but not unkind, a quiet exasperation bleeding through.

You hummed softly in response, a sound of contentment as you scooted closer, the blankets rustling softly around you. Without thinking, you rested your cheek against his chest, the steady warmth of him seeping into you like sunlight through a window.

Joel froze, his breath catching for just a moment. Christ, he thought, glancing down at you. His arm hovered awkwardly for a beat before it came to rest at his side, his hand brushing against the curve of your back like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“You comfy?” Joel asked finally, his deep voice breaking the quiet.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your smile soft as your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Are you?”

He hesitated for a second, his gaze lingering on you like he was trying to memorize something he couldn’t name. “Yeah,” he said eventually, though his voice was quieter now. He nodded faintly, his expression softening.

“Not gonna get much sleep with your eyes wide open, though,” he added, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You laughed, the sound quiet and airy. Tucking the blanket higher over your shoulders, you tilted your head slightly to look at him. “You know, for someone so serious, you actually have jokes.”

Joel shrugged, the faint smirk fading into something softer, quieter, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the compliment. “There’s more to me than bein’ old,” he muttered.

“You’re not old,” you said instantly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You shifted onto your side to face him more fully, your expression earnest, a small crease forming between your brows. “Quit saying that.”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, his gaze dipping away from yours like he was trying to brush off the warmth creeping into his chest. “It’s the truth,” he said simply, his voice low, though the rough edges softened when he glanced back at you. Got more years behind me than ahead,” Joel said quietly, almost offhand, his voice dipping low like it was just a fact of life.

The words hit you harder than he probably meant them to, sinking into your chest like a stone dropped into still water, rippling outward and unraveling the easy warmth of the moment.

You froze, staring at him as the ache that bloomed in your chest caught you off guard. Slowly, you pulled back just enough to see his face more clearly, your gaze searching his, the playful ease from before slipping away entirely.

“Don’t say that,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with a quiet urgency that surprised even you. Your hand moved instinctively, coming to rest lightly on his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm only deepened the ache.

Joel glanced down at you, his brow furrowing as he caught the way your brows knit together, your expression tightening. He hadn’t meant for it to land like that, hadn’t thought it would hit you so hard.

“I mean it, Joel,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to make him pause. “Don’t ever say that to me again.”

His lips parted, the words caught in his throat as he stared at you, unprepared for the way the emotion in your voice clawed at something deep inside him. The thought of him not being here—of losing him—was like a sharp blade pressing against the edges of your mind, and you couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t let him dismiss it so easily.

“Hey,” Joel murmured after a moment, his voice softer now, the sharp edges smoothed by the weight of your words. His hand lifted instinctively, covering yours where it rested over his heart, as if to anchor both of you.

Your hand fit perfectly beneath his, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm a subconscious reminder that this was real—he was real. He was here. He was alive.

Joel’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, the movement slow, deliberate, pulling you back from wherever your mind had wandered. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he murmured, his tone low, filled with a quiet kind of tenderness he rarely let surface. His dark eyes flicked to yours, holding your gaze with an intensity that made your chest ache. “It’s just… the way things are.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” you shot back, your voice barely above a whisper but laced with a quiet intensity.

Joel’s jaw tightened, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “Alright,” he murmured after a beat, his voice low and tender, stripped of the usual gruffness he used as armor.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gentle, grounding motion. “I’m sorry. Promise I won’t say it again—sorry, darlin’.”

You nodded, letting your head sink back against Joel’s chest, his hand moved without thought, slipping into your hair and threading through it gently.

“You gettin’ sleepy’?” Joel hummed, his voice low and soft, vibrating through his chest where your cheek rested.

“No,” you said quickly, your voice just a little too sharp, your body shifting slightly against him. You weren’t ready—not for the moment to end, not for him to leave, not for the fragile warmth that wrapped around the two of you to slip away.

Joel huffed a soft laugh through his nose, his hand pausing in your hair for a brief second before continuing its gentle rhythm. “Don’t sound so sure,” he muttered, his voice laced with quiet amusement.

You tilted your head up, your gaze finding his, and he glanced down at you, his brow furrowing slightly. “Quit staring at me,” he said, his tone gruff but devoid of any real bite.

“Can’t help it,” you murmured, your lips curving into a small, playful smile.

His brows knitted further as he looked at you, his lips parting like he was about to say something, but you beat him to it. “Pretty,” you whispered, the word barely audible, so soft it almost disappeared into the space between you.

Joel’s brows knitted further as he turned his full attention to you, his gaze heavy and intent. “You know I got a bad ear,” he said, his tone gruff but tinged with a faint trace of amusement. “Gotta speak up.”

You blinked up at him, lips parting slightly as hesitation gripped you for a brief moment. And then, as if the alcohol had burned through the last of your reservations, the words spilled out, clear and bold, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “I said… pretty. You’ve got pretty eyes and a pretty smile.”

Joel froze. You paused, your heart racing as a grin, small but sincere, tugged at your lips. “Handsome,” you added, softer but no less certain. “You’re handsome, Joel.”

Joel’s face dropped, his eyes widening slightly as he stared at you. His mouth opened, as if to respond, but no words came out. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his fingers flexing against your hand like he needed something—anything—to ground himself.

Joel finally shook his head, a sharp exhale escaping him as he muttered, “You’re drunk.” The words came out fast, like a reflex, a shield he threw up to deflect the blow before it could land. But his voice betrayed him, the rough edges fraying with a faint tremor that he couldn’t quite hide.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you leaned in just slightly, your gaze steady and unwavering. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” you murmured, your voice soft but resolute.

Before he could deflect again, you broke the silence, your tone softer now but still certain. “Joel, I have a question.”

Joel sighed, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to gather what little patience he had left. “What happened to sleepin’?”

“Joel…” you began, your voice quiet, fragile. “Why didn’t you kiss me? At Tommy’s birthday.”

The air shifted instantly, heavy and stifling, as if the room itself had stopped to listen. Joel froze, his body going completely still. The hand that had been absently stroking your hair stopped, his fingers hovering like they didn’t know where to go.

His other hand, which had been resting over yours on his chest, slowly withdrew, falling to his side as though retreating from the weight of your question.

The teasing light in his eyes vanished, replaced by something darker, something harder to read. His jaw tightened, the muscle ticking as he stared at the ceiling, his gaze fixed like he might find the answer buried in the walls.

He didn’t say anything, but the silence spoke volumes. It felt like a door that had been cracked open was now slamming shut, and you weren’t sure whether to step forward or back away.

“I—” he started, but his voice caught, faltering before he could finish. Joel wasn’t expecting this. The weight of your words hung in the air between you, pressing down on him like a physical force.

He ran a hand over his face, dragging his fingers through his beard, his shoulders stiffening as though he was bracing himself for a blow that hadn’t yet come.

“It’s okay,” you said, though the words felt like they were breaking you apart from the inside. “If you don’t… if you don’t find me pretty, or if you think I’m annoying, or if you just didn’t want to. I just…” You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it harder to breathe. “I just need to know why.”

Joel moved instantly, sitting up straighter as his arm pulled away from you. His head snapped toward you at that, his eyes locking onto yours with a sharpness that stole your breath.

They were brimming with something raw, something unspoken and fierce. “Don’t,” he said, his voice rough and firm, the single word cutting through the space between you like a knife.

Your brows furrowed, confusion and hurt twisting in your chest, the ache blooming into something unbearable. “Don’t what?” you asked, your voice softer now as you sat up, mirroring him, the distance between you suddenly feeling vast despite your closeness.

Joel’s fists flexed at his sides, his knuckles white as the tension in his body radiated off him in waves. His jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped for the briefest second before snapping back to yours. “Don’t put words in my mouth,” he said, his voice low and strained, trembling with the effort of holding something back. The look in his eyes was fleeting but sharp—like he was fighting himself, fighting you, fighting the weight of the moment.

“Shit,” Joel muttered, shaking his head as if trying to wrestle with the storm in his own mind. “Why’re you askin’ this now?” he murmured, his tone rough, defensive, but there was something else beneath it—something raw, like the weight of the question was almost too much to bear.

“Because I need to stop thinking about it all the time,” you said, your voice trembling as the words tumbled out, unguarded and vulnerable. “I need to stop replaying it in my head.” You hesitated, your breath hitching as you fought to steady yourself, but the truth burned too hot to hold back. “You said, ‘Not like this,’ and I—” The words broke off, catching in your throat as the ache you’d carried since that night threatened to overwhelm you.

Your eyes searched his face, desperate for something—anything—that might explain the way his words had stayed with you, carved into your heart like a scar. But Joel wouldn’t look at you. His gaze stayed fixed on some indeterminate point, his jaw tightening as if he were bracing himself for the blow he’d already dealt.

“What did that mean, Joel?” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of longing and hurt.

His head shook, sharp and almost violent, like he was physically trying to shake the question away, to shove it into some dark corner where he wouldn’t have to deal with it. “You’re drunk,” he muttered, the words rough and uneven, cracking under the weight of his own defenses.

“I’m drunk, but I’m not stupid,” you fired back, the frustration slipping into your tone, making it wobble. “I’m asking you what you meant.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his muscles twitching under the strain as his hand raked through his hair, his exhale shaky and unsteady.

“What do you think I meant?” he said finally, his voice low and hoarse.

“I don’t fucking know, Joel,” you said, your voice rising as your words cracked under the pressure. “That’s why I’m asking. You confuse the hell out of me.”

His hand flexed against his knee, restless and agitated, but his face remained locked in that tight, unreadable mask he wore when the stakes felt too high.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” you said, the confession tumbling out in a whisper that wavered on the edge of breaking. “I wanted you to kiss me so badly that night.”

Joel froze, his whole body going rigid as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Slowly, painfully, his eyes lifted to meet yours, and what you saw in them made your heart twist painfully. It was like he was searching for something—desperately, almost frantically—as though hoping to find some small lie buried deep in your gaze. Because if you were lying, if this wasn’t real, it would destroy him.

“You don’t know what you’re sayin’,” he said, his head shaking almost imperceptibly.

“Did you think,” you began, your voice softer now, quieter but no less resolute as your hand reached for his arm, resting lightly against the warmth of his sleeve, “maybe I got this drunk because it’s the only way I can tell the truth?”

Joel’s eyes followed your hand, lingering where it rested against him like he couldn’t decide whether to pull away or hold on. His jaw tightened, and he shook his head slightly, the motion almost imperceptible. “That ain’t somethin’ you’re gonna wanna say in the mornin’,” he said, his voice rough and uneven, frayed at the edges like he was already bracing for the fallout.

Why? The thought clawed at your chest. Why can’t he believe me? Why won’t he let himself accept that he’s worth loving? The ache swelled, raw and heavy, pressing against every unspoken word between you.

“But it’s true,” you countered softly, your tone steady, carrying none of the sharpness his did—only quiet, unyielding conviction. “Even if I don’t say it tomorrow, it’s still true tonight.”

“Stop,” Joel said, his voice firmer this time, but there was something in it—a thread of desperation, raw and unguarded. It wasn’t an order. It was a plea. “You don’t mean it. You’re just—”

“I do, Joel.” You interrupted him, your voice trembling with the effort to keep steady. Your hand tightened slightly on his arm, grounding both of you in the moment. “Look at me.” The words fell with quiet insistence, steady despite the tremor in your chest. “I mean it, Joel. I’ve always meant it.”

His breathing faltered, his eyes flickering toward yours like he wanted to believe you but didn’t know how. The silence was unbearable, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out, each one carrying a piece of the ache you’d held back for too long. “Fuck, Joel, I care about you,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “I more than care about you. I love—”

“Don’t.” The word came sharp and sudden, cutting you off like a knife. Joel’s voice was hoarse, rough, like gravel scraping against stone. It hit the space between you with the force of a blow, making your breath hitch.

His gaze darted to you, his dark eyes stormy with something raw and pained, before he looked away again, like he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. “Don’t say it. Because you don’t mean it.”

The words crushed something in your chest, the weight of his denial suffocating. “Joel—” you began, but he shook his head again, his hand lifting to run through his hair, his movements jerky, restless, like he was trying to hold himself together.

“You don’t mean it,” he repeated, quieter this time, his voice barely more than a rasp. “You can’t. Not about me.” His shoulders sagged slightly, and for the first time, you saw it—the cracks in the armor he always wore, the fear in his eyes that no amount of gruffness could hide. “Don’t do this. Not for me.”

Your breath caught, your chest tightening as if a fist had wrapped around it, squeezing until it was hard to breathe. The tears welled in your eyes, hot and stinging, but they didn’t fall.

Your mouth parted, a soundless gasp escaping as your mind reeled. You silly girl, the thought screamed. He doesn’t feel the same. He’s letting you down easy, and you’ve ruined everything. The silence between you stretched, suffocating, the weight of it pressing against your chest until you thought it might break you.

Then, slowly, Joel stood. His shoulders sagged, his head dipping low as though the act of leaving was as heavy as the words left unsaid. His voice, when it came, was quiet—so quiet it was almost a whisper, but it carried the finality of a closing door.

“I’m leavin’. I’ll lock up.”

You stared at him, frozen, the world tilting beneath you as his words settled in. He didn’t look back. He didn’t stop. And as the sound of his footsteps faded, the tears finally spilled over, carving silent paths down your cheeks.

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

yall do i have an angst kink?!

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[so-that-was-okay]

Plant Dad!Tommy has been in my heart since we spotted this little plant in Buck's place in 7x10. And I need it to be so real. I also need to see Tommy's life from the plants' pov.

They love his place and living with him. It's cosy, never too hot, never too cold. He lets the sun in when it's less burning, and the fresh air rustles their leaves when the temperatures fall.

Tommy always takes good care of them, water is filtered, the fertilizer is organic, he tends to them, talks to them, sings to them, never forgets to check on them.

Then one day... something is new. A new voice sings broken songs, new hands tend to them, touch them more roughly. Tommy is different too, he always takes care of them the same way but there's something more. His voice is warmer, his laugh richer.

And the love... It's everywhere.

[jarofstyles]

Allure

Hello my lovelies. I’ve been writing this on and off for a lil bit but I figured I’d give it to you guys as a treat since I’ve been slacking a bit with updates 😔 we’ve got a dark sugar daddy/psycho Harry and soft y/n who is completely enamored with him. This is a toxic relationship for sure but he is very soft for her- soft as hell, really.

Check out our Patreon for Early access and 190+ exclusive writings.

WC- 10k

Warnings- oh boy… weapons, murder, Harry has no regrets at all, sugar daddy behavior, big dick energy, mention of blood, blood play, daddy kink, spit play, impact play, slight breeding kink, housewife(??) kink, controlling h, toxic relationship, age gap, Harry is not a good person in general but he does love her, sweetie pie y/n, use of slut and bitch, creampie, cum play, unprotected sex, mention of anal, etc… I probably forgot some 😆

—————

Her smile was sweet as she looked up at him. God, always so fucking sweet. Far too sweet for him, he knew. Her hand placed against his arm, she looked up at him, trusting him enough to keep her safe even when she probably shouldn’t. Most people wouldn’t, but Harry always did keep her safe. “Are you okay?” She peeped up at him, fingers gently rubbing over his arm.

"M'fine, my Angel." He mumbled, eyes sharp as they looked over the room. Always on alert, he had a hard time relaxing at any stage- but the soft hands on him reminded him why he especially couldn't let his guard down at the current moment. Harry was the only one who could hurt Y/N, and that was usually in the name of pleasure and pretty marks for them to admire the next day. "You're gonna behave for me tonight, yeah?" The words were slightly sharp on his tongue, but he needed that promise.

She blinked up at him, surprised by the sudden change in tone. Her cheeks flushed slightly at the implications of his words, but she didn’t look away from her boyfriend. Weirdly, it gave her one of those familiar tingles in her stomach that she knew all too well to be the first seedling of arousal. It wasn’t time for her to question it. Instead, she gives him a small nod, a determined glint in her eyes. “Of course, H.”

“I know y’will, lovely. You’re always good for me… but s’extra important tonight.” Harry had been gone for two weeks working on… things… and Y/N had been the good girl she always was, waiting for him diligently. He knew she hadn’t expected to come out with him tonight, but he also knew she couldn’t say no to him. Her dress that she had thrown on in haste was covered by his jacket that she was sort of swimming in, but it soothed the possessive beast in him. “Don’t let go of me, and stay close.”

She nodded, her fingers gripping the man’s hand tightly. “I won’t move from you. I promise.” Her heart raced. In her chest as she felt the serious demeanor radiating off him in waves. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he’s always on edge. She did her best to always do as she was told when it came to Harry’s business. Never sticking her nose into anything that wasn’t for her, not eavesdropping, listening when he said to drop it- tonight wasn’t going to be any different. One thing she was good at was listening to him- something they both benefitted from.

Weaving through the crowd of people, he finally made it to the dingy back room of the club. Dark and ugly with god awful gaudy plates on the door, he rolled his eyes as he approached the one he needed to go into. It wasn’t the way he wanted to spend a night back, not when he had Y/N’s pretty face and petal soft thighs he wanted to focus on, but duty called. And duty sort of pissed him off. Y/N knew that very well. His fist slammed on the door in three knocks, stepping back and shooting her a look. “Y’know the drill, hm? Keep that pretty mouth shut while I do business.”

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. The anticipation of what was to come had her heartbeat quick, but there was no questioning she was safe. Harry was the safest man to be around- for her- and that wasn’t debatable. She knew this was part of his life, and she had to accept it – even if it made her stomach churn with nerves.

The girl kept her gaze focused on the ground – not wanting to meet anyone’s eye for fear of giving something away. Her fingers played with the hem of her dress, a nervous habit she couldn’t shake.

“Gentlemen.” Harry nodded, walking into the room with Y/N on his arm. “I hope you have what I was promised.” It was immediately that he noticed their eyes on his girl, his angel, and that didn’t make him very happy. With a sigh, he took the gun out of his waistband and fired into the wall, making all of them jump, features blanching. “I’m really not in the fucking mood for this tonight. Keep your eyes away from my woman if you want t’keep them. I asked a fucking question, so answer it.”

Y/N flinched at the gunshot, her eyes wide with terror. She had only seen him like this a few times before, and it was terrifying each and every time. Her handed tightened her grip on his arm, trying to ground herself and offer some sort of comfort- if she could. Harry was different in this sort of scenario.

She silently cursed herself, her heart hammering out of her chest. Of course didn't like the attention from these men- it felt icky and objectifying, not in the way she liked either- but she didn't like seeing Harry resort to violence. Part of her was still sort of in denial at times about the different sides of him. Her sweet boy turned into this hardened man, it was always off putting her to see. The reminder of how dangerous the man was, despite how much she loved him, always had her knees feeling shaky.

No one spoke, making Harry exhale slowly. “I gave you a month. Plenty generous, I think. Sent my guys over here every week for updates. They said y’had it.” He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know know better than to bullshit me?”

“It’s almost done, I promise. We just, we had an unexpected expense and we had to pull some of the funds-“ Harry didn’t think twice before he aimed the gun, placing a bullet in the guy’s shoulder. His face cold, unfeeling as he looked borderline bored. “I fail to see how that’s my problem. You borrowed from me, it was expected back now. I was the priority.”

Y/N gasped as Harry shot the man, her eyes fixed on the blood soaking through his shirt. She knew Harry had a temper, but seeing him this way was something else entirely. The calm, collected way he acted as if he had just done the most mundane thing in the world, it was chilling. No matter how many times she heard him talk about it, heard it in passing, it still shocked her each and every time it happened in front of her.

His irritation grew as he felt Y/N hide her face in his arm, lip twitching in a snarl. the first sign of emotion he’d had since walking in. “See what you’ve done? Made me shoot you, and now my girl’s uncomfortable.” Sharp eyes looked over to the head of the table, keeping his weapon out. “So do you magically have my money now? Or am I gonna have t’kill that son of a bitch and come back to pick you off one by one until I’ve got it?”

Y/N slowly pulled her face away from Harry, her ghroat thick at the tone of his voice and the pure irritation bubbling under the surface. She took in the scene before her, the man on the floor writhing in pain, the others around the table all stiff, their faces frozen. She was praying that for their sake, they had the money. Harry was notorious for not liking his income fucked with- even if he had millions that people had no idea about.

“We don’t have it yet, but you don’t have to kill anyone! I swear, next week-“ the man was cut off by the gun firing off again, finishing off the man on the ground. His struggles froze, his body still as the bullet took him out. Harry didn’t care. He had been lenient enough. “So have it next week, or one by one you’ll each end up like him.” Motioning to the body with his gun, he narrowed his eyes. “And if you have the stupid idea of running, don’t. I have you all surveillanced.”

Y/N felt her heart sink as she watched the man on the floor die, his life slipping away in a pool of his own blood. She glanced up at Harry, seeing the cold, calculating gaze he was giving the others. She knew he wasn't bluffing, he would do exactly as he said. Sometimes it was moments like this that made her understand exactly who she was with, made her wonder if it was worth it- but only for a mere moment. Realistically, she knew no one else had ever or would ever make her as happy as he would.

As soon as she was pulled out of the room, Harry led them out the back exit and gently pushed her into the waiting car, barking at Adam to drive. “M’sorry you had to see that, my angel.” His hand stroked her cheek softly. And there was the switch. The man she knew. the cool mask slipping off and the warmth gliding up his features, the fingers that had just pulled the trigger curling under her chin and those hard eyes looking so adoringly. it was hard to believe that just moment ago, he had killed someone in cold blood. “I know y’dont like that. I didn’t want our night out to end that way… was hopin’ they had the money so we could go get you something pretty.” His frown was laced with irritation before it softened again, lips twitching up. “Mm.. too bad. Guess we’re gonna have t’use some of Daddy’s other money, hm?”

Y/N's eyes welled up with tears as she looked up at Harry, his hand on her cheek was warm and gentle, a stark contrast to the cold brutality he had just displayed. She felt unsettled seeing this side of him, hated the way it made her feel so small and helpless. He wouldn’t stop and she knew that, but she also knew she couldn’t try and change him. "Harry, please..."

“Oh, baby…” He cooed, wiping over her chin. “Don’t cry, my love. Breaks my heart.” It wasn’t that he didn’t understand how it must affect her, but he simply didn’t think of all of it as devastating. The people in that room were bad people. They didn’t deserve mercy. Y/N was a sweet little thing, she saw the good in everyone. She saw they probably had families or lovers and all of that and cared for that rather than the fact they were bad people.

It was endearing, but he did worry for her.

"I know, I know." She sniffled, leaning into his touch. "It's just... hard for me to see you like that. You're always so kind and caring with me. It's hard to reconcile the two."

“Mhm. I know that, my heart. But you’re the only one who gets that side of me. S’all for you, yeah?” It wasn’t a secret. Harry was known for being cold blooded in the underground, and Y/N like a soft, fuzzy little bunny. She’d fallen right into the big bad wolf’s jowls and made a home there, submitting happily and stroking his teeth. He’d never seen himself as a relationship type of man, but the moment he saw her shy away and get flustered from him, he knew she was his. “Don’t need to shed any tears for that man. We’re gonna go get you somethin’ pretty, okay?” Tilting her chin up, he forced her gaze. “C’mon, baby. Give me those eyes.”

"Harry... I-" She swallowed hard, trying to force the lump in her throat down. Her eyes met his and she was met with a sense of warmth and safety. She didn't understand how he could be so violent and yet so gentle with her, but she couldn't deny it made her feel weirdly special.

“Alright. C’mere.” He sighed, pulling her into his lap and tucking her face into his chest. Sometimes it was hard for him to understand how she was so tender hearted and why he of all people had her love, but he had her now and he was selfish. There was no chance of letting go. “Tell me about what you did when I was gone, hm?” In reality he knew almost every detail. His girl was watched 24/7, protected, but she didn’t need to always be aware of it.

"W-well... I mostly just worked at the bakery." She murmured, feeling a sense of comfort in his embrace. She knew he had people around her, but she never felt threatened by them. Instead, she saw them as her protectors.

“Yeah? What did you make?” Even if he had insisted she didn’t need to work, she liked it. He was allowing it for now. She liked to bake and make treats, though he knew she would have been a little sad he wasn’t there to eat them. “Anything new?”

"Um, yeah... I tried making some new cupcakes. Chocolate peanut butter and strawberry basil- not all together though, cause that would be a little cross." She said, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the buttons on his shirt. The girl loved baking new things, but she always hoped he would like them too. It made her happy to see him enjoy her creations.

“Oh, wow. M’a little sad I didn’t get to try them.” His lips ghosted over her forehead, letting his facial hair tickle her skin. “Do you think you’ll be especially nice t’me this week and make them again so I can try?” His attempt of cheering her up was working, thankfully, because he wanted that smile after the bloody week he’d had.

"Maybe... if you beg." She teased, a small smile appearing on her lips. She looked up at him with a sparkle in her eyes, the stress from the day already seeming a little lighter. "But only if you promise to give me a kiss as soon as you get home tomorrow."

His eyes flashed, eyebrow high as she teased him. This was one of his favorite parts of her- how easily she gave into him and his love. Never once did she take it for granted. “Oh, I’ll give you far more than a kiss, little miss.” He purred, thumbing over her lip and watched it snap back into place. God, he loved that fucking mouth. “Daddy’s missed his angel. Been missing you so much while I was away..” Lightly pinching the plump bottom lip, he gazed over her face and saw that she was early getting the message. “Did you miss me too, my heart?”

She nodded eagerly, her heart skipping a beat at the possessive nickname and the gentle pinching of her lip. "I missed you so much, Daddy," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. She loved when he called her his angel or his heart, it always made her feel so cherished and loved. She felt her body relax as she felt his gaze on her, his touch on her face, her lips. She couldn't believe she could miss someone so much, but she did, and his touch was slowly making her calm. There was no doubt in her heart that she could never deny him.

“How much, baby?” He crooned. “How much did y’miss me?”

She swallowed hard, her eyes filling with tears as she looked up at him. "I... I missed you so much, Daddy," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I couldn't sleep at night without you, I couldn't eat without thinking of you, I just... I missed you so much."

Harry grinned widely at her emotional display, smug that he had gotten her here. As fucked up as it probably was, he wanted her to need him. Wanted her to be just as needy for him, crave him, never want to leave him- because there was no way in hell he was letting her go. Y/N belonged to him in every sense of the word. “Oh, my girl.” He chuckled. “I missed you too. M’glad that you think of me while I’m away.. but you don’t need to cry.” His voice was soft just for her, though he didn’t really care if Adam overheard. “S’so nice to have my girl miss me while I’m away. Gives me something to come home to.”

She nodded, wiping at her tears as he chuckled at her. There was nothing more she loved more than she loved that sound. It made her heart soar and her body shiver, it was her favorite sound in the whole world. Being one of the very few people who could make him react like that made her feel special. She loved him so much, and now that he was back, she could just relax in his presence.

“Now… do you want a necklace?” Moving forward, he wanted to spoil her some more. Give her a reward for listening to him while he was away, keeping herself safe. Just like he asked. “A bracelet? Earrings? Mmm… maybe some clothes? What does my angel want me to buy her?”

Y/N sniffled and looked up at him with shining eyes, her smile forming at the prospect of a reward. "A necklace, Daddy," she whispered, her voice trembling with excitement. She loved getting jewelry from him, it made her feel like a job well done. Getting to wear something he had bought just for her had been the best part.. "Something pretty, please?"

“I doubt I can find anything as pretty as you, my heart… but we can try.” His lips pressed against her cheek, before tapping her nose. “Anything for you.”

——

Harry let her pull him around the shop, looking at the glittering jewels and precious stones. His hand firmly in hers, he watched with contentment as she looked over the selection, trying to understand which piece it was that she wanted. “Have you got your eye on anything?”

She shook her head, still staring at the necklaces. None of them seemed good enough for his money- or so she thought. Suddenly, her eyes lit up as she spotted a dainty gold chain with a tiny heart-shaped pendant hanging from it. "Look at this one!" She squealed with excitement as she pulled him over to the necklace display, her hand tightly gripping his. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she pointed at a dainty gold chain with a tiny heart-shaped pendant hanging from it. "Look, Harry! Isn't it perfect?"

“Absolutely.” His grin was gentle as he felt fondness take over his chest. This was the only time he felt this way. The only time he felt gentle and sweet and yearning to feel that all encompassing warmth, it was Y/N that made him happy. It was no wonder he was obsessed with her. Her joy and gratefulness were genuine. There was no hint of being spoiled even if he bought out a whole store. She would take anything, a rock even, and coo over it. He didn’t know much about or have much of an opinion about jewelry, but he did want her to make her feel happy. “There’s a matching bracelet too, you see it? would you like that too?” His fingers ran over her back as he looked back at her pretty face.

She nodded eagerly, feeling his fingers tracing over her back, sending a wave of warmth down her spine. "Yes, please!" Watchin on with glittering eyes as he picked up the matching gold bracelet with a small heart charm, she bounced on the balls of her feet. She watched as he paid for the necklace and bracelet, taking care of it without blinking an eye. There was no second thought as she wrapped her arms around his, tilting her chin up to look at him. The way he looked at her made her feel like the most precious thing in the world.

“You happy, love?” His other tattooed hand stroked over her hair as the sales assistant wrapped up the boxes. “We can do a proper shop later this week and get you some new clothes… know you’ve been good all week, so I think you deserve more than just some pretty jewelry. I’m just a little selfish with my alone time with you tonight.” The man had spent enough time away from her and having to control his hands.

She beamed up at him, nodding her head eagerly. "I would love that, H." she replied, letting out a little sigh of contentment as his hand ran through her hair. The way he pampered her and took care of her made understand just how much he adored her. For a man who could clear a room with a single glare, he sure as hell made it no secret how much he loved her. Spared no expense in taking care of her.

“Good. It’s settled then.” Harry kissed the top of her head before taking the bag holding their purchases. “Let’s get you home so I can see you put them on for me.”

—

When they arrived back to his place, he was quick to scoop her up in his arms. Jewelry bag hanging off his wrist, he held her bridal style as he climbed the staircase. In all honesty? He needed to be truly alone with her for a little bit. The whole time he had been away had been brutal, and to come home and have to go do some work had really fucking irritated him. He wasn’t bothered by the people he’d killed in the last few weeks, but he was bothered by the fact it had taken precious time away from spending with his girl.

She giggled as her body was bounced with each step he took, letting herself lean into him. Y/N safe in his arms, nuzzling her face into his neck as he carried her up the stairs, no complaints as she let him do as he pleased. She could sense the hint of tension in his body, the slight tightness in his jaw, and she knew exactly what it meant. He was stressed, and he needed her. She would never fully grasp the reasons why he did what he did, nor did she ever want to. He was a dangerous man, a killing machine, but he was hers and she loved him regardless. If he was flawed, so was she. Y/N's eyes fluttered closed as she breathed in his scent deeply, her fingers tracing small circles on his shoulder.

“Alright, my heart.” He started lowly, placing her down on to the bed. “Why don’t you put these on for me… and something else pretty.” He tilted her chin up to look at him. Yes, he towered over her, but he liked it that way. Harry liked to be in charge. “Something that shows that gorgeous body, how much of an angel you are. I missed my slice of heaven while I was away.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words, her heart racing with excitement at his request. She loved when he talked to her like this, when he made her feel like a treasure to be admired an cherished. Like he didn’t have access to all the other luxuries in the world, and she was the only one he indulged in. She obeyed, slipping off the bed to go to her dresser.

Harry took the moment to go into the bathroom, freshening up. Taking his shirt off, washing his face and hands, cleaning up whatever could stain his precious girl. The only marks or stains he wanted on her were to be put in by him. Bite marks, mottled bruises from sucking or his thumbs or striking her plush flesh, he’d welcome those and those alone. Leaving the gun in his waistband, he strolled back out of the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe, looking over his pretty girl.

She had listened.

“Oh, sweet little thing. You know how to make me happy.” Lingerie, soft looking and a light blue. his favorite.

Y/N smiled shyly, the grin deepening on her cheeks at his praise. She turned around slowly, giving him a full view of the lingerie he had requested. The light blue material contrasted her skin beautifully, almost making her glow under the room's lighting.

“God…” He sighed, pushing off the doorframe to approach her. “You are my gift. Someone sent the little angel down to hell for me, didn’t they?” Y/N was too bright for his world, but he made sure she knew she was the most important thing in it. “You are so gorgeous, my girl. Makes me so happy…” His fingers brushed the strap of her little babydoll top. “N’You love to make me happy, don’t you?”

Y/N bit her lip softly when he drew closer, a small whimper escaping as his fingers grazed her top strap. Her eyes half-lidded with the desire that he brought her, a soft smile gracing her lips, "Of course, I do... I love you."

“I love you more than you could ever fathom.” He whispered. “I’d kill armies for you. If it wouldn’t upset you, I’d gouge the eyes out of any man who looked too long.” Harry would shed liters of blood for her if need be. “But you’re my personal angel, sent t’make me happy. Sent to show me love… to help me.” his fingers trailed up her throat, gently clasping it in his grasp. He felt her swallow against his palm, a dark smile raising on his lips. “Are you going to help Daddy, baby?” Applying a tiny bit of pressure on the sides of her neck, he watched her eyes get hazy. “Hm? Gonna get on your knees for me and make me feel better?”

Y/N felt herself lean closer to him, the possessiveness and the darkness he exuded was addicting. His pet names for her, so sweet but borderline condescendingz she loved it. The way he touched her making her head feel so empty, but so alive at the same time.

"Yes, Daddy..." she whispered, eyes hooded with her arousal. She'd help him in any way he wished, even if it meant getting on her knees for him. It was what she was made for, his love for her pure and true but his actions wildly darkening that love.

“That’s my girl.” Keeping his hand around her throat, he kissed her hard. He’d been holding back most of the day, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from letting loose the moment he truly allowed himself to kiss her.

She moaned into the kiss, her hands instinctively going to his chest, nails scratching lightly into the tattooed skin. She could feel the tension radiating off him, his kiss hungry and bruising. It was moments like this that Y/N felt like she truly belonged with him.

The way his hand tightened around her throat made her tummy clench in the best way, the possessive hold sending a thrill down her spine. His lips were demanding, taking everything she could give and more. A metaphor for him. She felt herself getting lost in the kiss, her mind going blank as she gave into him completely.

“Open that mouth.” He demanded darkly. “Stick out that pretty tongue for me, baby.”

Y/N complied immediately, her lips parting and her tongue sticking out, trembling slightly as she looked up at him with wide, adoring eyes. She loved when he spoke to her in that commanding tone, it made her feel so small and helpless in the best way possible.

He groaned deep, pursing his lips and spitting onto her tongue. Y/N knew better than to move, and when he spit a second time, he felt his cock stir as she whimpered for him. “That’s it. Swallow.”

She swallowed his spit as he commanded, not even bothering to close her mouth. Y/N could hear the praise in his tone, and that alone made her heart skip a beat. She would do anything for him; she'd proven that more than once.

“You’d do anything for your Daddy.” Harry crooned, taking his thumb and running it over her tongue. “You filthy little bitch. I love you so much.”

Y/N's eyes welled up with tears at the endearment, her devotion for him more the evident. She loved being called his dirty girl, his filthy bitch, his everything. She nodded eagerly, her mouth still open as she awaited his next command, her tongue still wet from swallowing his spit.

“Get on your knees.” he pulled his touch away momentarily. “Get my cock out. I’m pent up, my girl. Need you to get me relaxed before I take that pretty cunt.”

Without a second thought, she lowered herself down onto her knees as soon as he pulled away. Like the habit it was, she reached to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants, taking a deep breath before grabbing the gun he had tucked in there and looked up at him in question.

“Safety’s on, sweetheart. Put it on the bed.”

Y/N carefully placed the gun on the bed, hands slightly shaking before reaching back into his pants to pull out his hard cock, stroking it a few times before looking back up at him, awaiting further instructions. She loved how big and heavy it felt in her hands, and she knew just how to make him relax. He’d taught her just how he liked it. Her plump lips were slightly parted, ready to wrap around his thick cock as she looked up at him, momentarily biting at her bottom lip. Her fingers gripped him tightly as she waited for his permission to worship him.

“Go ahead, pet. Show me how much you missed my cock.” Lazily he wrapped his hand in her hair, pulling her face closer. “Give it some kisses.”

She moaned softly at his dirty words as he pulled her closer to him, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his cock before parting her lips wider and wrapping them around his hardness. Slowly, she sucked on the tip, her mouth stretching wide to accommodate his thick girth before popping off and making her way back down. She kissed and licked every inch of his cock, making sure to pay special attention to the head. Her hands fondled his balls, gently rolling them between her fingers as she pulled the tip back into her mouth again, keeping her eyes on him for his approval.

“That’s my filthy girl.” He laughed under his breath, slowly pulling her further down his cock. “Y’don’t know how badly I needed this all week. It was so fuckin’ annoying, y’know that?” Shaking his head, he felt her take what he fed into her mouth with no complaint. “Got half of my clothes soaked in blood… ruined my appetite half the time. And then, when I got back t’my room afterwards I didn’t even have my precious little cunt to fuck afterwards. Wasn’t fair.”

Her lips stretched further down his cock as he pulled her head down, her tongue lapping at his hardness as she listened to Harry's musings about his gruesome work week. She let out a soft, muffled moan around his cock, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through him.

Her mouth felt like a warm, wet heaven on his cock. Every inch that disappeared between her lips was met with a satisfying suckle and the soft cushion of her tongue l. The velvety interior of her mouth enveloped him, her plump lips stretched around his width as her head bobbed up and down ever so slowly. Her saliva coated him, adding a slick layer to her movements as her tongue danced along the underside of his shaft.

His reaction was a pleased groan, his eyes rolling back in his head as he savored the feeling of her mouth on him. Hands tightened in her hair, guiding her head up and down his cock at a pace that was both slow and relentless, giving her time to breathe between sucks.

“Fuck… I needed this.” He sighed, slowly pulling her head off to let her take a breath before pushing her back down, making her take it further. “This perfect mouth. This is the only cock it’s ever gonna take.” He muttered darkly. “Right? You’re mine to fuck?”

"Yes," the gasp was wet in agreement, sound muffled with his cock still filling her mouth. She pulled back to look up at him, eyes wide and pupils dilated with lust. The possessiveness in his voice only made her hotter, making her core clench with want.

He groaned again, the sound deep and guttural as he felt her mouth envelop him again. His eyes glazed over with pleasure, a lazy smile crossing his lips at her words. He tangled his fingers back in her hair, encouraging her over and over again to take him as deep as she could. The room was filled with the sounds of his pleasure. The wet slurping of her mouth on his cock, the occasional moan escaping past her lips. His deep sounds of pleasure, punctuated by occasional curses as she took him deeper than before.

“You love it, don’t you baby? Love taking this cock down your slutty little throat.” He breathed hard, pushing her down until her nose brushed the thatch of groomed hair at his stomach. “Yeah… you do. That’s fucking perfect, choke on it. Choke- yeah, that’s my girl.” he growled, pulling her back and watching the strings of spit web from her mouth to his cock.

She coughed at his words, pulling back to take a much needed breath, but she didn’t stop. She kept her glazed over eyes locked on his, sucking him again as he pulled her back down on his cock, helping her take what they both needed over and over again.

Her chin was a mess, spit stringing from her mouth to his cock with each pull. Her lips were puffy and swollen, her mouth hanging open as she gasped for air between sucks. His cock was glistening with saliva, his balls heavy and slick with each thrust of her head.

“Fuck, yes.” He hissed, feeling his cock pulse inside of her mouth before finally pulling her off. “Need t’be in that cunt. Bend over the bed.”

As usual, Y/N did as she was told, still gasping for breath. She leaned over the edge of the bed, her ass in the air as she braced herself with her arms, spreading her knees wide. Arms shook slightly as she held herself up, her back arched as she presented her ass to him. Her pussy was dripping, the juices running down her thighs and pooling on the bed. Her hole was puffy and slick, the lips slightly parted to reveal her clit, already starting to swell with need.

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, the sight of her pussy nearly making him cum right then and there. She was so open, so vulnerable, and it was all for him.

“You are a vision.” he murmured, brushing his hand over her. The little angel had forgone panties under her babydoll, the smartest choice when it came to his tendencies. “Poor little pussy… did it miss me, too?” His fingers slid down and over her slippery slit, spreading her open. “Did you touch it while Daddy was gone, getting all the money so he can buy you pretty things?

She let out a soft whimper at his touch, her hips bucking slightly as his fingers spread her open. "Y-yes, Daddy." Shyly, she admitted it, her voice a hesitant whisper. "I missed you so much, and my pussy kept getting wet thinking about you."

“Oh, darling.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he looked down at her. “You know you’re supposed to wait for me…”

She sniffled, her face pressing into the bed as she felt his fingers teasing her entrance. "I'm sorry, Daddy... I just couldn't help it. Every time I thought about you, I would touch myself and imagine it was your fingers inside me..."

“Yeah?” His tone was painted with intrigue. “And what exactly did you dream about Daddy doing to your little holes, hm?”

She let out a soft little moan, her body trembling beneath his touch as she felt his fingers teasing her entrance. "I… I dreamed about you taking me roughly, Daddy. I imagined your thick cock stretching me out and filling me up completely… N’I dreamed about you punishing me for being a bad girl, Daddy," she continued, her voice breathless. "I imagined you spanking me until I cried, and then taking me hard from behind... It made me so wet..."

Harry let out a deep sigh, stroking his cock with his other hand as he admired her bare pussy, glistening and wet. “You know… This is why you’re perfect for me. Such a sweet, angelic little thing most of the time… but let me move wrong, and your filthy cunt is weeping and you’re ready to be a proper whore for me.”

She shivered at his words, her body responding to the word she had been waiting all week to hear. Sure, she knew he wouldn’t be fully pleased at the idea of her touching herself but she knew he would understand this instance. "Yes, Daddy… I can't help it. You bring out this side of me that no one else does. Wanna be your little whore, Daddy, please…” She backed into him. “Use me however you want." Her voice cracked with desperation. "Spank me, choke me, fuck me rough... Just please, make me yours completely. I'm your girl, your little fucktoy... Use me however you see fit."

A chuckle sounded in the room as his hand pulled back, smacking against her wet cunt. Sharp and stinging, he watched her cunt get slicker, ass pushing into him as he did it again. “There she is. There’s my slut.” He sighed in relief. “You know I love you… but you know how much your little holes love to be filled.”

She squealed and writhed at each blow, but her legs apread wider and her moans grew louder. She craved his roughness, craved his filthy words and his cock. All she had been wanting to do was make him feel good, and there was no doubt that they’d both get what they wanted. "Yes, Daddy." She mewled, her body aching for him to continue.

With each slap to her pussy, Y/N's eyes rolled back in pleasure. She was completely at Harry's mercy and she reveled in it. Her body was racked with shudders as he continued to spank her, and her hand snaked down to rub her clit.

“Who told you to do that?” The man scoffed, pushing her hand away. “You had enough self pleasure. Think you forgot about the fact that this cunt belongs to me.” His hand sharply smacked her clit again with his fingertips, watching her body jolt. “Played with this little button while Daddy was out there, covered in blood. All so you can be a little princess at home.”

Her voice was breathy and full of desire as she pleaded with him, "Only because you were gone so long. I needed release, Daddy." She spread her legs wider, silently begging him to touch her again. "Please, forgive me."

“God, you really are a desperate little thing.” He laughed in awe. “If it didn’t drive me mad, I’d leave more often. Make you this desperate for me when I come back… Make you beg and cry for my cock.” The taunt had her shaking her head as he slipped two fingers into her cunt, curling them slightly as he began to fuck them into her. “Tell me you love me.”

"I love you," The girl whimpered, her hips thrusting back to meet his fingers. She was so wet and ready for him, her pussy clenching around his fingers as he fucked her harder. "Please, daddy, I need you so bad."

“Tell me you’ll never leave me.” He pulled his fingers out, teasing his cock over her clit. Using the arousal left in his fingers and the spit as lubrication, he nestled the tip of his cock at her entrance. “Tell me that you’re going to be my little angel forever, and I’ll give you that cock.”

"I'll never leave you," she promised, her voice shaking with need. "I'll always be your little angel, Harry. Forever and ever." She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, desperate for him to claim her as his own. "Please, daddy, fuck me. Need it."

“Never fucking forget it.” His cock was thick, achingly so, as it began spreading her open as he pushed it inside of her. Y/N was always tight, always hot for him, and it never wavered. He let out a little groan as he felt her cunt flutter around him as he pushed himself further inside, wrapping a hand around her hair and tugging her up further. “You’ll never leave me, because m’not gonna let you. M’gonna make you my wife, make you mine in every fucking way possible.” He shallowly jumped into her as he worked his length in.

Her back arched, the stretch feeling oh so good. She moaned and bit her back lip as he pushed the rest of himself inside of her, completely filling her up. His words made her heart surge and tears appeared in her eyes, knowing how hard it would be to remain his calm and rational force.

"Y-yes, daddy," she stammered out, her voice trembling with desire. "Make me yours." She spread her legs wider and pushed her hips up to meet his thrusts, taking him deeper inside of her.

Harry's grip on her hair tightened as he heard her agree, a sly smirk appearing on his face. His thrusts began, deep and slow as he bottomed out each time pushing her further onto the bed with each push inside. His eyes were wild with desire, watching as Y/N submitted to him so readily. It was exactly how it should be, how they both wanted it. “Think we need t’make it official now.” He breathed, hand brushing over as ass. “Think we need to ink my name on this pretty skin. Where should we do it?” Watching his cock sink into her over and over had him worked up. “Should we put it right above your ass, hm? so there’s no doubt I own it?”

She gasped as his hand brushed over her ass, the idea of having his name permanently inked on her body making her shudder. "Yes daddy, I want that." Maybe she was mindlessly agreeing from how good it felt, but she felt slightly crazy for liking that idea. A small moan squeaked out as she felt him thrust deeper, her body aching for more.

"Above your ass, right where I can see it every time I spank it," The man agreed, his hand leaving her ass to reach up and grab her chin, forcing her to turn to look at him. "And maybe a permanent necklace on your neck with my name, so everyone knows you belong to me. Get a nice little lock that only I have the key to." Harry's fingers dug into her chin, his grip unyielding as he held her gaze captive. His other hand never left her ass, occasionally giving it a firm slap as he spoke. "I want to see my name on you, skin or necklace, marked as mine for everyone to see."

She was too good to let go of. He never knew of someone who was so good at keeping him calm and yet able to elicit such extreme reactions from him. He’d always been cold and calculated- it’s how he was good at his jobs- but something in this woman had melted the ice around his heart. Lit him on fire. “Fuck, this ass is mine. This cunt is mine… No other cock is ever going in there again.”

Y/N's cheeks flushed at his possessive words, her body aching for his touch once more. She never wanted to be with anyone else, as Harry had somehow managed to break down the walls she once had up. "Only you, daddy." She arched her back, pressing herself further against him with a soft moan. He has always been a little rough with her, but she loves it, loves him. "Do you want me to say it again? How you’re the only man I want."

Again- she was perfect. He nearly laughed at how she knew exactly what he wanted, making him push her back down so her cheek was on the mattress. “Yeah. Tell me, baby. Need to give your cunt a better fuck.”

Y/N’s heart raced as she felt his strong hands grip her hair, pushing her face into the mattress. She loved when he was rough with her, it only turned her on more. She opened her mouth, speaking softly into the pillow as he demanded. "My cunt belongs only to you, daddy."

She felt his hand run down her back, grabbing a handful of her ass. She was glad she had worn something that showcased her assets for him. "I'm the only one who can make you scream my name, the only one who will ever be deep inside you."

She felt his hand leave her ass, only for it to return with a firm slap. The sting of pain made her gasp, but only served to heighten the pleasure coursing through her body. "Yes!" She cried out as he entered her once more, filling her to the brim.

She shifted her hips down to meet his thrusts, desperate for more contact. "Daddy, deeper. Please, fuck me deeper." She pleaded with him, gripping the sheets tightly as her body arched against him. "Are you going to fill me up, give me what I need?"

“Greedy.” He snarled, picking up the pace. “Greedy little bitch for my cock. For my cum…” The little whimper she let out at the mention made him chuckle. “Yeah… I know what my sweet little whore wants. Jus’ needs my load dripping out of that puffy hole…” He groaned as she clenched around him. “Thought about it when I was gone. How it’s time to make you permanent. Make you my wife…” He felt her buck back into him. “Can quit the job and bake just for me, be a good little housewife for me.”

Y/N's eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he spoke those words. The thought of being his in that way, his wife, it was everything she wanted. She loved the idea of quitting her job and dedicating herself entirely to him, being his perfect little housewife.

"Yes, Daddy. I-I want to be yours like that, wanna be your wife. I'll quit my job and be your perfect little housewife. I'll cook, clean, and bake just for you. I'll wear the clothes you like and do whatever you say. I'll be yours completely. Never wanna to be free from you." She moaned as he slammed into her with renewed vigor. "Do whatever you want with me, as long as you never stop fucking me."

“Fuck… I knew you were meant to be mine.” The answer stroked something in him, a new level of obsession breaking through. He’d known she was going to be his since he set eyes on her, but hearing such a needy and solid agreement to what she should want made his life easier. It was her path, the one he carved out for her. “Oh, baby… m’never gonna stop using your pussy. And that ass…” His thumb rolled over it. “But right now M’gonna focus on that pussy. Think it needs practice for when m’ready to knock you up.”

Her breath hitches at his words, a new surge of pleasure flooding her system. The idea of him breeding her, of making her pregnant with his children, was the most erotic thing she'd ever heard. "Yes- fuck. Please, fill me up with your cum and make me pregnant." She cried out as she felt him thrusting harder and faster, his thumb rubbing her ass as he spoke. The thought of carrying his child was the hottest thing she'd ever imagined. "H-Harry."

The idea was enticing. Even further trap her with him, add another layer to it… He would deliberate later. “Mm.. Just practice for right now, my angel.” His voice softened. “Want t’have you as my pretty little housewife for a bit before I knock you up full, but I’ll give you my cum….” His smile returned. “If you really think you deserve it.”

She nodded eagerly, her eyes wide with desire as she looked up at him. "Mhm, daddy, I deserve it. I'll be such a good little housewife for you. I'll cook and clean and take care of you, anything you want. Just please, give me your cum and practice breeding me."

Harry pulled out of her, grabbing her hips and tossing her into her back before slipping back inside of her. He wanted to see her face, watch her as he said these things and filled up that perfect cunt that was so snug around him. “I’ll kill anyone who wants you.” He murmured. “Gun, knife, my bare hands. I’ll kill them for thinking about you.” His hand collared her throat as he gave slower thrusts, a contrast to his brutal words. “I’ll make it clear to anyone who has the privilege of looking at you that they can’t have you, even in their thoughts. Because you belong t’me, my angel.”

Her face flushed with a mix of arousal and adoration as she looked up at Harry. She knew he would protect her, keep her safe and loved. The possessiveness in his words only added fuel to her desire for him, her body trembling beneath his touch as he choked her gently.

Her eyes watered slightly from the pressure of his hand on her throat, her body squirming and arching towards him with need as he thrust into her again and again.

Nails dug into his back, leaving crescent moons in their wake as she moaned and gasped for breath, her body trembling with pleasure and need beneath him. "Harry..." She whimpered softly, her voice strained and needy as she begged for more. "Please..."

“Yeah? You’re okay with that, my heart?” His eyes were dark and hot, staring into her own. “You don’t mind if Daddy kills for you? Because I’m looking forward to their blood on my hands.” He purred, the deep thrusts getting harder, full balls smacking against her ass. “Won’t mind being pretty in our kitchen, me coming home and washing the blood off my hands before I use them to make you cum?”

Her eyes rolled back in her head as he spoke, the dark promise of his words sending shivers down her spine. She loved how possessive and protective he was, how he would kill for her and make a mess in their home. It was so wrong, so fucked up, but it was everything she craved. That dark piece of her that he had exposed and had embraced was something he cherished, made her feel normal.

Her back arched against the bed, pushing her breasts out and up as she felt herself crawling closer to her climax, every smack of his balls against her ass making her whimper and moan. "Daddy..."

At her plea, Harry's expression twisted into something feral and possessive, his eyes burning with an unholy hunger. He leaned forward, his teeth sinking into the side of her neck as he fucked her harder, his thrusts becoming brutal and punishing.

Y/N's back arched off the bed, her breath hitching at the mix of pain and pleasure. He wanted to claim her, mark her as his while he fucked her to the edge of no return and back.

The bite on her neck made her let out a strangled whimper, a sound filled with pained pleasure and submission. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her nails digging into the fabric as Harry fucked her relentlessly, her body bouncing on the bed with every hard thrust. Blood dribbled from the bite on her neck, trailing down her skin as Harry continued to fuck her with vicious abandon. His balls slapped against her ass with a sickening smack, the sound echoing through the room along with her desperate moans and his growled curses.

“That’s fucking right.” He grunted between thrusts. He knew she liked a bit of pain but how tight she had gotten around his cock, how she had gushed, it made him understand that his angel was more of a masochist than he had ever realized. “You’re gonna happily take my dick in those holes whenever I want, because you love me, don’t you? You’ll let me fuck away all my anger and be the sweetest place to unload my cum…” He wanted to hear it again, even with his fingers pressing into her throat. “Tell me, my heart. Use that gorgeous mouth.”

Y/N's eyes rolled back in her head as Harry's words washed over her, his fingers tightening around her throat, smearing the blood on her skin. She struggled to breathe, her vision blurring at the edges as she fought to gasp out air. "Y-yes... I love you... I'll take your dick anywhere... anytime...” It was hard to think straight with his cock hitting her perfectly. "I'll be your toy, your angel, your wife, your everything," She choked out, her voice barely audible over the sound of their harsh panting. Harry's fingers squeezed harder, cutting off her air supply until he let her breath, the rush of air making her shudder. “Wanna cum. Wanna cum, please, H. Please make me cum.”

Harry's reaction was immediate. His thrusts became erratic, his hips slamming against Y/N's ass with feral force as he chased his own release. He released his grip on her throat just long enough to grab her hair, yanking her head back to expose her neck, the teeth marks from the bite, the blood smeared on her skin. She was the prettiest picture, bloody skin, hazy eyes and swollen lips. His personal angel under him, letting him sin with her body. Letting him corrupt her, dragging her down to hell with him. Leaning down, he nuzzled his nose against hers before pulling back. “Cum. Cum for me, make a fucking mess."

As Harry’s release built, so did hers. She could feel the warmth spreading between them, slicking her thighs as she writhed under his grasp. Her whimpers turned into gasps and desperate pleas as he brought her closer to the edge. “Yes, yes...” Y/N could hold back no longer. As her orgasm broke, she arched her back, her nails digging into his arms as she called out his name. The intense pleasure rolled over her again and again, a blinding tidal wave crushing down on her.

Her entire body trembled, shuddered, spasmed as Harry fucked her through the first orgasm as it rolled into another orgasm. The pleasure was overwhelming, the building pressure suddenly released and Y/N’s mind went blank, senses heightened as she experienced a pure moment of ecstasy.

As Y/N's orgasm subsided, Harry let out a guttural moan, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he chased his own climax. His hands tightened around her waist, his fingers digging into her skin as he fucked her harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. “Beg for my cum.” He demanded, slipping his hand up to hold her jaw. “Beg me to make you mine, for me to keep you, and I’ll give you my load.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, his grip on her jaw tightening as she looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes. “Please...” she whispered softly, the single word filled with meaning and need. “Make me yours, Harry. Keep me for your own. “I beg you, Harry...” Her voice was a soft murmur, barely audible as she whispered her plea. “Please cum inside me, make me yours. I want to feel you fill me up, I want to bear your mark.”

Harry's eyes squeezed shut as he reached orgasm, his body tensing and freezing as he released inside Y/N with a groan. The grip on her tightened, fingers digging into her skin as he felt his orgasm tear through him, so much pleasure that he almost felt pain.

Thick ribbons of cum shot deep inside her, coating her insides and marking her as his own. Harry's hips continued to jerk, his body shudders with each pulse of his release, as if he couldn't get enough of her, couldn't get deep enough. His cock throbbed and spasmed, pumping out an endless stream of hot, sticky cum into her waiting cunt. The room filled with the sound of his grunt, the slap of his hips against her ass, and the gush of his seed inside her. He felt her legs wrap around his hips, pulling him deeper. A satisfied groan escaped him, a sex drunk smile raising on his face as he kissed her deep, messy, but he didn’t care. He was happy for the first time since he’d left her side to go on ‘business’.

Y/N's arms wrapped tightly around Harry's neck, holding him close as he continued to fill her with his cum. She kissed him back just as deeply, her lips moving against his in a sloppy, loving mess. She moaned into the kiss, feeling so full and satisfied, so loved and cherished. Even with how rough he got, how dirty their need was, there was no doubt in her mind how he felt.

“There you go, my heart. Take every drop.” He murmured, slowly fucking the cum into her. “Practicing making it stick. This is how M’gonna knock you up, when I feel the time is right.” He brushed the hair out of her face, body feeling lighter and head less cluttered. Y/N was his medicine, his heart. “I love you. You’re never leaving me.”

A blush spread across her cheeks at Harry's words, a soft smile on her lips. "I love you too," She whispered back, pulling him closer for another deep kiss. She could feel the warmth of his cum inside her, a reminder of how much he had craved her.

“Good.” He stroked over the bridge of her nose and down to her lips, smearing their spit around. “M’gonna make that appointment for my name right above your ass. You’re going to quit that job and be my little housewife, and you’re gonna love every bit of it.”

She giggled at his words, her heart swelling with happiness. "I'd love that," she replied, her voice soft and full of affection. She could already imagine it, waking up every morning to make him breakfast and taking care of their future children.

“Yeah? That’s my girl.” He didn’t mention that now that his mind was made up there wasn’t much room to move the plan, but she knew that. Y/N knew that Harry loved her, but he was in charge. “Gonna take you on a shopping spree tomorrow, get you that ring…” It wasn’t the most romantic proposal but it didn’t need to be. Harry had decided she was going to marry him, and she would do it because she was good and she loved him right back.

She nodded excitedly at the thought of a shopping spree and a new ring. She knew that Harry wasn't the most romantic man, but she didn't need grand gestures to know that he loved her. The fact that he wanted to marry her was enough for her. "Anything for you, Daddy.”

[talesofesther]

wildflowers

Astarion Ancunin x Reader

Summary: Astarion has shared a lot of firsts with you already, and you just so decided to add one more to the list.

A/N: A little something special for valentine's day. <3

Masterlist

You'd grown up around flowers.

With your mother being a druid, it was only natural that wherever you went, nature followed. Even in your family's estate back in the city, the walls were adorned with all kinds of colorful plants and vines, the air feeling all the more pure inside your lungs and the green leaves being a sight for any sore eyes.

You'd spend hours in the garden, tending to the seedlings and speaking more with the flora than you did with people.

That's why, after the nautiloid's crash and as you walked through unknown lands, you found some semblance of comfort in all the wildflowers adorning your mysterious path.

You hummed a song under your breath as your boots crushed the gravel underneath, feet a little sore with all the walking you'd done today, but you needed to reach the shadow-cursed lands as soon as possible; how much time you had left remained uncertain.

Shadowheart had already started complaining about the rough terrain too, and with the sun starting to set on the mountainous horizon, you figured you could set up camp soon.

"I'm not offering any rides, if that's what you're thinking."

You caught the end of the cleric's conversation with Astarion, and at his quip, you changed a glance in his direction.

He caught your gaze, lips quirking in a small smirk as he gave you a wink that got you avoiding his stare again when you felt warmth coming to your cheeks.

You'd grown fond of the pale elf, it's true. But part of you thinks he's grown fond of you, too. At first, his smiles at you were sharp as a dagger or overly seductive, yet lately, there's been a softer edge to them.

Blinking at the golden sunlight in your eyes, you started scouting the area for a good place to rest, and that's when you caught sight of a patch of white on the ground. Leaving your companions to discuss amongst themselves whether it was late enough to camp or not, you walked up to it.

There, on the edge of a set of bushes and trees, stood a small bundle of star-shaped white flowers, their six petals delicate and thin; the bright white stood out amidst the deep browns and greens.

You reached down to run a gentle finger over one petal. And as you plucked a single flower from the bunch, you couldn't help but think of him.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

Bags were being dropped onto the ground with a few tired groans escaping your companions. You'd found a decent enough place, tucked in between old ruins and overlooking a breathtaking view of the nearly set sun.

You gave a sympathetic smile to Karlach as you passed by her tent, watching with a fond glint in your eyes as your fiery friend ruffled the fur of her teddy bear. Such a softy at heart.

Astarion had his nose buried in a book, and that's where you were headed. Whenever he concentrated on his reading, he'd furrow his brows ever so slightly; sometimes he'd play with his fangs, running his tongue over them and biting his lower lip. It was endearing, you wondered if he knew he did it.

You approached him, heart in your mouth and white flower held in between your fingers. The last of the golden rays were kissing his skin, he looked ethereal.

"Hey," you spoke lowly, the moment seemed to call for it.

The elf perked up at your voice, a smile instantly painting his face as he closed his book to settle his attention on you. "Hello darling, what can I do for you?"

You shook your head briefly, "Nothing, I just came to give you this." You raised the single flower with a timid tilt of your lips, hesitating on your next words, "It… reminded me of you."

Astarion looked at you as if you'd just asked his hand in marriage. He kept quiet, eyes way too wide and jaw way too tense for such a simple moment. You wondered if you'd somehow poked at something you weren't supposed to poke. If flowers brought him bad memories or if maybe he was allergic to them.

You watched as he gulped, avoided your eyes, and then looked at you again. He raised his hand but it was a clumsy gesture, as if he had no clue what to do.

Your heart shattered when you wondered if he had ever received any flowers in his life.

Taking half a step closer, you took the liberty of placing the flower in Astarion's hand, wrapping your fingers around his own so you could close his grip around the delicate thing. "It's for you." You reassured again.

With a gentle smile, you ran your thumb over his knuckles and turned around to check on your other companions, figuring he could use the time alone.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

Astarion never cared much for flowers.

In his 200 years of torment, trapped in an eternal night, there wasn't much room for color and delicacy.

There were rare times he saw it, when he'd stumble upon a young couple, one person bowing lightly with a smile as they gave the other a flower; both drunk in passion. He never understood the gesture. Everyone did it, but why?

Was it a silent request for something in turn? Was it a sign of commitment? Or did it happen simply to show affection?

In any case, he did not need to understand it, it's not like anyone would be handing him flowers.

Wrong. Maybe he did have to.

Because you had just given him a flower.

You had captured his attention ever since he put a dagger to your throat when you first met. His excuse for the captivation was because you'd be an easy one to seduce, nothing more. He'd charm you, gain your affection, and secure his safety in your group of misfits that you were unintentionally leading.

A simple plan, all he had to do was not have any feelings of his own. Yet it seemed like your plan, was to make his more difficult.

"It's for you." You'd told him, voice as sweet as honey and as soft as velvet as you placed the white flower in his hand.

Astarion held onto the delicate plant as if it could crumble between his fingers.

Would he care if it did? The thought certainly didn't bring him joy.

His mouth stayed agape, fangs barely poking from behind his lips. Looking between you and the pale white of the flower, he didn't know what to make of it. Did you want something from him? Was there some hidden message behind the gesture he was yet to understand?

You simply gave him a soft smile, bashful eyes avoiding his, and kept on walking. Just like that. As if you hadn't just turned his world upside down.

Was this what… affection looked like?

A small scoff escaped Astarion then. Clearly, his plan was working, you were growing fond of him. So naive, so easy.

But then… why did he feel like his dead heart was the one coming back alive only so it could beat for you?

All of a sudden he felt tainted for treating you as if you were nothing more than one of his victims. But did that mean he wanted you to be something more?

The question didn't even seem like it was his to decide anymore.

Astarion looked down at the delicate flower in his hand, twirling it around and making the petals dance.

"It reminded me of you."

His ruby eyes seemed to sting. When was the last time someone had compared him with something as delicate and precious as this?

He looked up at you again, watching as you crouched down to cup Scratch's cheeks and most likely spoke with him in that silly voice you always made.

There was a weight in Astarion's chest, heavy yet warm, scary yet pleasant. He wondered, would you catch him if he fell for you?

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

Next morning you woke up to the sight of a carefully crafted bouquet resting just beside your bedroll. Wildflowers of all colors and shapes held together by a single strip of red satin.

Astarion watched from afar, as you picked it up and buried your nose into the flowers, smiling brightly as your fingertips traced the shape of them.

When you raised your gaze to him, a dark blush dusted his cheeks and the tip of his ears. He didn't know what love looked like; but he's learning, he thinks. And if the feeling inside his chest is any indication, it looks a lot like you.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Astarion’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us @asterordinary

[wannaeatramyeon]

Goo Kim x Reader: Patience

G/N. Fluffy. 4.7k. Another friends to lover with Goo falling first

You're used to Goo's melodrama. You've known him since middle school, survived to tell the tale, hung around post-Juvie and joined him in HNH Group so of course you are used to this guy.

He considers you his best friend, partner in crime. Looks at you with a wicked smile that you return before descending into whatever diabolical plans you have cooked up.

(Goo likes to joke that he's the brawn and you're the brain when he's feeling particularly kind and charitable and you counter with that he's neither.)

And of course this includes witnessing his growth spurt from ankle biter to the somewhat reasonable specimen that he is now. Though you've never looked at him that way, it's a little icky if anything, and you just nod kindly when he tells you how hot he is.

You guess it must be true to some extent. He has a lot of pretty men and women hanging off him. An ever revolving door of beautiful people that you doubt he's winning over with his charming personality.

(Sometimes you take pause and wonder why you get on so well. Maybe it says a lot about your own charming personality but you handwave away any fleeting moments of introspection.)

Objectively, you suppose, he's fine. Like you wouldn't kick him out of bed. Although that's not entirely true. You have shared a bed many times, kicked him out more than you can count when he hogs your duvet and drools on your pillow.

However. It is funny and kind of endearing to watch him wake up bleary eyed. Pillowcase wrinkles pressed into his face, blonde hair a nest, as he pats around for his glasses.

Either way, it doesn't matter. You're childhood friends. You know him better than you know yourself and you think Goo can say the same for you. But he just doesn't give you those gooey fuzzy feelings.

Never has. Never will.

Goo would definitely agree with that too.

.

.

…Except he doesn't.

Well, he doesn't like to think about it, is what it is.

For all his drama and chaotic energy, he stuffs this down and ignores it. Do you know how difficult this is for him? Of course you don't. Goo is loud and boisterous and obnoxious. So to continue to act like everything is normal, to be patient and quiet and not howl and wail about it goes against everything that he stands for.

He can't pinpoint it, ok. Has no idea what changed or when.

Maybe it was when you were kissing that guy with the terrible fashion sense who he thought was fathoms below your league.

(Thank the heavens you came to your senses a week later and ditched him. Even if it took a lot of sly insults and put-downs from Goo to help you along the way.)

Or when you said you thought Gun was pretty handsome and Goo nearly threw up in disgust.

(Goo was particularly vicious to Gun for a short while after that. Hissing at him every time, calling him all sorts of childish names and relishing how the vein in his temple twitched.)

Or it could be the way you took care of him over the years. Waiting for him at an ungodly hour in the morning when he bounced out of juvie and into his first day of freedom. Accompanied him shopping as he spent his first HNH Group paycheck. Bandaged up his many injuries, taking care of age old scars, all the while chuckling at how pathetic he is even with a wetness in your eyes.

Something blossomed for Goo. 

Slowly but surely, blooming from a weak seedling and unfurling, growing into a hardy evergreen that never dies, never wilts. Kept steady and healthy by your sharp tongue and knowing eyes.

Whose roots are deeply embedded into Goo's core. That there's no way of ever untangling or removing.

.

.

So yes, Goo has an ever revolving door of distractions.

And if it's something to test the water now and then, to see if your face drops at seeing a new trophy on Goo's arm, then who can blame him for that working in his favour.

It never happens though. You're polite and courteous when you are greeted with his fling. A face you have likely seen in magazines and on the screen but will eventually forget about after their 15 seconds of fame and Goo.

Does it matter that maybe Goo should be direct and stop toying with everyone's feelings. Sure. But the odds aren't in his favour so why not have some fun. This is also Goo Kim you're talking about.

In all honesty, he's still a bit- a lot of an asshole.

.

.

"Why do I even like you," Goo mutters under his breath when he sees you dripping sauce down your top for the N-th time in so many minutes.

Your current hand eye coordination leaves a lot to be desired, and your table manners are atrocious. Goo sits and sighs, hand resting on his palm, watching you trying to clean yourself up when you're only working the stain into your shirt harder.

"Fuck, this is going stain forever isn't it." You frown at the brown splodge across your chest.

"No shit."

"Damnit."

"Let's go shopping after," Goo says, and what he means is I'll buy you a new shirt because you're an idiot and I'm not walking around with you looking like that.

"Again?!" You pull a face, and what you mean is thanks for taking care of me.

.

.

Goo has a theory. One he doesn't want to test or be proven wrong but he thinks about it all the time nevertheless.

Like right now. When you're rifling through the racks picking out clean clothing and he has time on his hands to think.

His theory is that you like him too.

He can imagine you scoffing when you hear that, rolling your eyes and accusing him of being delusional. Which ok, he admits he is. But he's not that out of touch. Even he knows how it sounds. 

He has realised the way you feel about him from the way you look at him, how you seek him out, the way you brighten seeing his handsome face even if you don't realise it yourself. You're just too stubborn to admit it.

There is no way on earth he can force this, and he is oh so very used to brute forcing his way through things with unscrupulous methods, so he waits for you to come to the realisation on your own and eventually bat your eyelashes at him and announce your own feelings.

Except it's taking a good while, and hasn't he already mentioned he's not the patient kind? You're not doing either of those things, nowhere close.

In fact, you're actually exiting the changing rooms in a new outfit that is far too flattering and spinning around for Goo to observe.

"Looking good, Sweetheart," he tells you, leaning back to take in the view with a cat smile. "You should get it."

And you do. Fishing out the credit card that Goo pays off every month to complete the transaction.

.

.

If Goo is someone that keeps count, and he absolutely is despite playful appearances, then he would know it's been years since the feelings have crept up on him.

And if he were to consider when his theory started, it would probably be around two years ago.

Yes, you do spend some nights together. Usually due to running errands from Charles Choi and it's more convenient, or more often because of Goo hanging around too long and too late in your home then refusing to leave.

But he reckons the turning point might have been two years ago when you were the one that stayed at his penthouse. Goo was riddled with some deadly disease (a cold actually, but it was a pretty bad cold to be fair) and you sort of unwillingly took on the role of caretaker.

How could you not? 

No-one else likes him half as much as you do. He's got more enemies than he knows what to do with who would rob him in his state then kill him without so much as a second glance.

You’re sure even Gun and Crystal and Kouji would finish him off then throw a party about it.

For that week, Goo’s usual quips and sharp edges were nowhere to be seen although he definitely did more than his usual share of moaning and whining.

But he was adorable. Pink cheeked and red nosed, hair in disarray, wallowing in his comfiest sweatpants and hoodie. A million miles away from his suited and booted, meticulously styled persona. Half lucid, curled around you or with his head in your lap looking absolutely weak and pathetic.

It's your fondest memory of Goo Kim.

You saw him at his worst, all soft and squishy and vulnerable and it did something to your heart ever since.

Goo knows this. The way you act around him, how you look at him, hasn't been the same since that week.

There's a softness, affection, that wasn't there before. It's just a shame you're too ignorant to your own feelings and any flirtatious behaviour from Goo is just seen as him being his usual fun self.

So he waits and waits, even as he loses grip of his sanity and falls more for you with each passing day.

.

.

Kindness is often repaid, and your kindness comes full circle in the present day when you're the one that falls ill.

It's a rare thing for something to knock you off your feet as much as this has. It started with a sniffly nose and Goo recoiling in horror when an unexpected sneeze crept up and you sprayed spittle in his car.

A cough also accompanied the snot a few days later. Goo rubbing circles into your back turned into thumping and you shoving him away from you, sputtering and hacking in his direction for good measure.

You continued to work, with Goo's stares growing more concerned and exasperated by the day. Likely making yourself much worse and prolonging any recovery until-

You're bedridden. Switching between hot flush and cold shivers and feeling worse than death.

"You only have yourself to blame," Goo mother hens around you, feeling smug. "I told you so."

In your delirium, you can hardly make out the words but a part of your brain, refined after spending so many years in Goo’s presence feels a surge of annoyance.

A hand reaches out to feel your forehead. "Ew, clammy" and you try to bat it away without success.

You're given pills and medicine over the next couple days. Water and herbal teas carefully tipped down your throat and spoonfed hearty meals in your delirious state. Idle chit chat passes through one ear and out the other. You flutter somewhere between half awake and passed out.

At some point, you become lucid enough to poke the body next to you and ask, "Why aren't you at work?"

Goo, burrito-ed in your duvet after you kicked it off for being too warm, and snoozing happily moments ago, turns and glares at you. Wants to point out that it's currently 4am so please shut the fuck up.

Instead, he looks into your eyes that are sort of looking at him but looking through him; notices the sheen of sweat across your brow and laboured breathing. He decides to be nice, for now. 

Voice groggy, he says "Go back to sleep," and gives you a pat on the head to send you on your way.

There's no work for Goo today at 4am. There's no work for him for the last few days either or for the foreseeable. Concludes it better for you to come to your own realisation that he took the time off so he could look after you.

There is no work, no other priorities for him, when you're like this.

Goo sighs and grumbles as he falls back to sleep. About making less money, about having to put up with Gun complaining when he's back.

Still, as he feels you curling your body around his back, your arm slung across his hips - he guesses he doesn't mind, if he can have this.

.

.

Your fever breaks on a Thursday. Lucky for you, it coincides with your medicine running out. Nonetheless, Goo insists on a supply run.

"But I'm fine," you whine, despite being completely not fine and stumbling out of bed.

Goo mutters something about the 'state of you', pushes you back into bed with one hand and cackles when you fall back with an 'oomph!' and minimal force.

"I'm going out." Goo states with no room for argument. 

Something in you clicks at hearing such a no nonsense, authoritative tone.

The bratty side of you insists on at least joining him. It's been days since you left your home, left your bed. You're going stir crazy. Fresh air will do you good.

Goo rolls his eyes as your reasons spill out in a jumble. Lips quirking, he gives in. "Fine."

You hate to admit this, but Goo is right. You'll never tell him though, lest his ego is inflated further.

But the bright noon sun, the city crowd, and the fluorescent lights of the pharmacy are overwhelming.

Has Goo always walked so quick, been so sure in his strides? Cutting easily through the throngs of people.

You trail him, struggling to keep up.

Goo glances over his shoulder, sees you looking bewildered and falling behind. He slows, stretches his hand out to yours and intertwines your fingers with his.

Leaning into your ear, he murmurs "Stay with me."

Something else inside you clicks at his breath ghosting over your skin and the sight of your hands joined together.

The pharmacy is a labyrinth. Aisles and aisles of medicine and toiletries and whatever else overwhelms your delicate senses.

Only the view of Goo's broad back and your hand in his keeps you steady. He winds this way and that, foot sure in where he's going but pace slowing to match yours.

"Here we are," Goo stops, arriving at the destination, untangling your hands and you slam into him.

"Careful sweetheart," he gives you a quick toothy grin before examining the rows and rows of packaged pills and bottled syrups.

Hands now in pocket, he bends at the waist, getting a closer look. Frown creeping over his face when his brand of choice is nowhere to be seen.

"Shit. C'mon, let's find someone to see if they have it in stock." He tilts his head and signals you to follow.

Or at least you try to. One moment he was in front of you, his bleached hair and tall lean physique within reach.

The next, he turned the corner and so did you. Except he vanishes. Completely into thin air.

Fuck.

If you were feeling like yourself, you would know that this pharmacy is only a block away from your home. You've been here a million times. You can wait for him outside if you have to.

But you don't feel like yourself. You feel like a kid lost in a sea of people. Suffocating between bodies and bright shiny plastic crap. Too small to know where to go or find the exit and your one lifeline, Goo, is nowhere to be seen.

"Shit," you look around, check behind you and down more aisles. "Shit shit shit."

The panic lodges itself into your chest and your stomach sinks. More faceless nobodies get in your way, blocking your view and your path, moving too quick for you to cut a route through.

"Where the fuck is he-"

A hand rests on your hip, stops you moving another step and you feel a chest lightly pressed against your back.

Anyone else and you would have spiralled further, but you already recognise who it is.

"Didn't I tell you to stay with me," Goo growls lowly into your ear.

It cuts through your fever induced haze, your sickness induced panic. It shoots into the pit of your stomach and travels like a lightning bolt straight to your groin.

When you turn your head, milimetres away from Goo's own, see an eyebrow arched, the amusement in his eyes and the smirk on his lips-

Your own desire is reflected in his glasses.

The final piece clicks into place.

.

.

Life moves on.

You get better, and you both return to work. You have a mountain of paperwork to catch up on and Goo has to put up with Gun once more.

However. Goo now knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that his theory is correct. He also knows that the realisation is starting to sink in for you too. 

He's seen the look in your eyes, it's blatant as hell. Somewhere between the pharmacy and the walk home you looked at him like he was a new person. Eyes greedy and roving all over his body (which did wonderful things to his ego, by the way).

That doesn't mean he doesn't like it.

You could hardly keep track of conversation, eyes always dipping to stare at his lips. And sure, Goo knows he has very sexy lips, but with the way you eyeball him... He actually feels-

Exposed.

Objectified.

It's just...

Unusual.

That's not even considering the flirtatious banter that returned full force once you were well enough to appreciate it. You've had years and years and years of it. Never batted an eyelid at Goo's innuendos and indecent words. Except now-

You're kneeling down on the floor, rifling through your bag for your wallet you've either left at home or in Goo's office. Neither of which are appealing options.

Goo continues to ramble, as he does. You're feeling around for the familiar touch of leather, holding eye contact with him as he mentions something about a new manga chapter-

But then a salacious smile spreads over his face as he realises the compromising position you're in. On your knees, at head height with his crotch and staring directly into his eyes. It's really a very intimate scene. Easy for minds to wander.

"Get off your knees, Sweetheart. Seeing you at this angle is killing me."

Goo pours all his dirty thoughts into that sentence, and you jolt like you've been struck. You can feel the heat under your collar spreading to your face and the tips of your ears.

Goo notices too, because he glances at your crimson ears and his grin only stretches further.

You are 100% certain that sentence changed your brain chemistry forever. You’ve thought about what it could mean every night since.

.

.

With each passing day, Goo knows you are also losing grip of your sanity too. He hit that point a long time ago and his chest swells with pride knowing you're following in his footsteps.

But Goo is an eternal little shit. He thinks where's the fun in confessing straight away. Why put an end to this game that has lasted so long. He's having the time of his life and frankly, you're so much fun to mess with.

He couldn't believe he went so long without knowing what a pretty shade you turn when you flush. How much your pupil blows open when you're looking at him and thinking your own obscene thoughts. The way you now flinch at his touch but lean in almost straight away.

And the nights. Oh the delicious nights. He spends more time playing sleepover with you than is healthy.

Even if he deprives himself of his own sleep, it's simply so much fun hearing you tossing and turning into the early hours of the morning. You can’t fall asleep knowing that he is next to you, that you want to touch him and hold him but can't. You're on edge, imagination running wild, but unable to do anything about it.

You're sporting matching bags under your eyes but Goo can't bring himself to mind. He is having the best time.

The revolving door of arm candy also stops. It was never serious in the first place, and now that Goo knows you reciprocate his feelings, even he isn't that mean. There's no-one else he needs as a distraction because there's nothing to distract himself from.

Still, if he name-drops a couple made up people in conversation with you, a few fibs and tall tales to make you jealous, see your nostrils flare and your lips thin then who has to know.

.

.

The first bit of doubt presents itself late that night, when Goo is surprisingly in his own bed and you are miles away.

What if you try to distract your own feelings with other people? Sure you're not the type but what if?

You probably feeling a bit unhinged with all your newfound feelings. Goo is doing nothing to help with his own silly game playing, so what if you develop your own revolving door of nobodies to distract you?

What if one of these nobodies turn into somebody?

Shit.

Goo doesn't sleep a wink.

As dawn breaks, he decides that the early bird gets the worm, or the early Goo gets you (Goo cackles to himself at his wit) and thinks today is as good a day as any.

Before anyone with their grimy mitts swoop in and steal you from right under him.

Maybe he only had himself to blame and he was a touch mean playing around with your feelings, but it's a small price to pay for how you have made him feel for years.

It's settled. You and him. Today. No-one is getting in the way of that.

.

.

The day starts off as normal.

Despite the lack of sleep, the alarm for work rings and Goo leaps out of bed with a bounce in his step. Whistles cheerily as he takes his morning shower, lathering himself in luxurious body washes and styling his hair with expensive products.

He chooses a suit that you picked out with him, knots a tie that he recalls you placing around his neck and selects a cologne that he knows is your favourite - every time he wears it, you drift a touch closer.

He drives fast and like a madman, grinning at everyone that flips him off or honks him and navigates to your block. 

You’re already waiting outside, two drinks in hand and smiling cutely when you see his car even if other drivers are still throwing him dirty looks.

“Morning,” You say, climbing in and handing him his coffee. Triple shot with triple syrup and whipped cream, sweet and sickly just like Goo himself.

“Good morning, Sweetheart.” He beams, reaching over to pat your thigh for thanks and enjoying the way you blush and squirm, taking a sip of your own drink to take your mind off the way your skin sears with his touch.

Goo mimics you, takes a gulp of his sugary concoction and finds it extra delicious on this fine morning and smacks his lips in delight.

“You-” You glance over and giggle.

“What?”

You gesture to your upper lip and Goo flips down his visor, examining his whipped cream moustache.

“Maybe I’m saving it for later.”

“Idiot.”

“You’re the idiot.”

Goo leaves the whipped cream. He doesn’t wipe it off. He doesn’t wipe it off when he smacks your hand away from changing the music, he doesn’t wipe it off as he drives to the office, nor when he parks up and unclips his seatbelt.

“Goo,” you say, exasperated at the state of him.

“Y/N,” he says, mocking and matching your tone.

“Wipe your face.”

“No.”

“You look a mess.”

“So do you.”

“You-” Goddamn. You make a split decision. “Fuck it.”

Goo doesn’t move as he sees your hand coming towards him, doesn’t move when you swipe at his upper lip, cleaning the cream off his face, doesn’t move when you lift your thumb to your mouth.

Doesn’t move, can’t; doesn’t breathe, forgets how to, when you suckle on your thumb and lick all remnants away.

Fuck it indeed. That’s Goo’s plans blown to shit.

Thing is, he had this whole scenario planned out. More flirtation and Goo being Goo and you being you until it comes to a head this evening and he confesses. 

Perhaps after he has pissed you off so much for one reason or another and you tell him to get out of your home and he shuts you up with a kiss; or maybe after he has teased you so much you’re a wreck and he finally takes pity and breaks the tension with a well timed smooch.

But goddamn, what a move. He’s supremely impressed and he really has been uncharacteristically patient for so very long, for so many years and he thinks that he deserves this.

“That was really hot,” he grins and he chuckles at the shock on your face.

“My turn-” Goo, voice dropping to barely a whisper, leans over the centre console and crosses into your space.

If he were more of a romantic, he would have wanted your first kiss to be anywhere other than the HNH Group parking lot where it’s dingy and grey, and the lights are flickering.

But you’re both in a fragile bubble. In the privacy of his car, and too wrapped up in the moment to really care about the when or where or how.

Goo closes the gap and kisses you.

It’s minty and barely a peck, your eyes flutter close and you can feel him smiling through it.

He kisses you. And there’s something so Goo and so right about it that you can’t think about anything else except that it is happening. That something really did click when you were ill, and afterwards you had a newfound clarity and a newfound headache because Goo was all you could think about for weeks and weeks.

When he pulls away, you subconsciously move forward, trying to chase his lips with yours.

“How was that, sweetheart?”

You open your eyes, the reality of kissing Goo sinking in, and let out a squeak, “What was that?”

You slam your mouth shut because that was definitely not the tone you meant.

The damage is already done when uncertainty flickers across Goo’s face and he snaps,  “What do you mean what was that.”

“I meant what was that!” You get the mad urge to giggle. That even though you don’t mind this turn of events at all, the ridiculousness of Goo Kim kissing you makes you unwell. In the best way possible.

“It was-!” Goo’s jaw tenses, he flinches as if he had been punched and he had grossly misread the room. He crosses his arm defensively and backs away.

“No!” You surge forward, grabbing Goo by the tie and yanking him close to you, “I meant-” you bring your voice down a few decibels, “It was good. I liked it.”

“Thought you would, idiot.” Goo pouts, side eyeing you but letting you hold on to him.

“I can’t believe you kissed me.”

“Well you’ve been making it obvious.”

You want to smack him. Instead, you catch his bottom lip still jutting out and you think you would prefer to bite him.

You do just that. Yanking Goo forward as he braces himself for another kiss but you nip, harsh and leaving a mark, on his lip instead.

“Asshole.” He says but he’s grinning and reaching over the console for your hand. Lacing your fingers together and squeezing.

“Sorry,” you say and you don’t really feel sorry at all. You feel like you’re floating. 

You can’t believe how long it’s taken to get here. You can’t believe you’re here at all. But now that it’s happened, you’re surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

“Are we…?”

“I’m all yours, Sweetheart.” Goo smiles, wide and toothy, squeezing your hand to seal the deal.

You yank him by his tie once more, and he follows obediently, across the console and into your space, and kisses you over and over.

[dontforgetukraine]

Nestor Bilous was born in 1889 in the village of Lebiazhe, Kharkiv region. He completed three grades of the church-parish school and participated in World War I. He began keeping a diary in 1911, but his most detailed entries describe the beginning of the Civil War, the mass man-made famine of 1921-1923, and the Holodomor of 1932-1933. Bilous essentially became a chronicler of the Soviet government’s destruction of Ukrainian villages. In 1937, Nestor Bilous,who was then the manager of the collective farm “Chervonyi Kolos,” was arrested by the NKVD for “discontent with party policies.” During the search, the NKVD confiscated a notebook with his notes, that became the main evidence of his “counter-revolutionary activities.” Bilous spent six years in forced labour camps and only returned home a year after Stalin’s death. Here are just a few entries from his diary: —Holodomor Museum

---

April 30, 1933 It rains often, and it’s cold. Sowing is progressing very poorly because there is no grain, no horses, and even if someone has a horse, it’s too weak to work a full day in the field. So, this year there will be even less sown. People are constantly dying, and they bury six in one grave because there’s no one to dig individual graves. On April 27, Mykola Fedorovych Butenko died, a young man, 22 years old, a real guard, tall and handsome. He had to die of starvation just because the village council didn’t give him a certificate, as the son of a dekulakized father. Without it, no one would hire him. And in the spring, when he was already too weak, there was work, but he couldn’t do it, and he died of starvation.

---

May 13, 1933 The warm weather started on May 8, and all the crops are sprouting. Beetroot and seedlings are being eaten by beetles and fleas. We need rain, but there isn't any. The collective farms keep sowing; they will probably be sowing until St. Peter's Day. People are still dying of hunger. On May 12,Paraska Chorna,an activist and party candidate,died of famine. When people were being sold out for not meeting the grain requisition quotas, she danced in the school out of joy in the evening,and now she has died of hunger, like a dog.

---

May 20, 1933 Every day, people die of famine. The village council has appointed a sanitary commission to collect the bodies and bury them because there is no one to do the burials. Now, the village council drives people out to dig a large grave for about ten people, and then they bury them. Many adults and children, and when you look at them, they are living corpses.

---

Since the beginning of the invasion of 2022, Bilous' native village Lebiazhe was in the grey zone for a long time, suffering from Russian shelling. The crimes continue... —Holodomor Museum

[bri-cheeses]

Fall Break — Part 3

| Rosekiller microfic | Word count: 888 | The link for Part 2 is unfortunately not working so…. sorry? |

-

“We’re really not like that–” he began, but she interrupted.

“Do you know what the first thing you started talking to me about was when I first called you this semester? It wasn’t how you were liking your classes, or whether or not you had a nice dorm, or even how you had seen some cute girl at the coffee shop down the corner or something along those lines–no, it was how you and Evan had been up late the night before, too busy talking and doing whatever it is you boys do to go to sleep at a normal hour. And there was that time I FaceTimed you only for Evan to pick up, apologizing on your behalf for being unable to talk, seeing as you were passed out in his arms on the couch together. And that time I came down for the weekend to surprise you for a visit, and I ran into Dorcas outside of your hall, who very politely informed me that I wouldn’t be able to see you right at the moment because you and Evan had gone out to eat together, and that time Regulus was teasing you in the background when you were on the phone with me about how you barely had time to keep up with your classes anymore because you were too busy keeping up with Evan, and really, Barty, are you sure that you two aren’t actually dating?”

Barty sat there, dumbfounded. How his mother had managed to notice specific instances of all those little things that had somehow worked their way into his and Evan’s relationship unbeknownst to either of them was beyond him, but here she was anyway, standing in the kitchen and forcing him to see his friendship with Evan in a new light.

And upon further inspection, Barty found that he had to admit his mother had a point. He and Evan weren’t normal friends. Normal friends didn’t sleep in each other’s bed every other night, normal friends didn’t want to be in each other’s company every second of every hour, and normal friends certainly weren’t too busy with each other to even think about dating someone else.

Memories came unbidden to Barty’s brain. The people all over campus telling Evan and him that they were a cute couple, only to be laughed off hysterically. Barty whining about having no love and Regulus jokingly suggesting that he simply start dating Evan since it would be so easy, except now that Barty thinks about it, it hadn’t really sounded like Reg was joking. The pact he had made with Evan to marry and move in together if they were still single by the time they were thirty five, and the little seedling of hope in Barty’s chest that he had thought so odd. The fact that multiple people had broken up with him because he was, in their words “too close to Evan” to truly be close with his partner like he supposedly should be, along with the fact that people had done that to Evan, too, for the same reason.

And yes, they were good friends. They had always had a nice, very platonic friendship that was just… very, very close at the same time. That’s how Barty had always viewed it. But if he took a step back and tried his hardest to think about it from an outsider’s perspective, things looked a bit different. And maybe the reason he had never tried looking at it from an outsider’s perspective before was because deep down, he had known what he might find.

His mother was still quietly looking at him, a knowing glint behind her eyes. Barty was half hysterical as he made eye contact, his mouth wide open in disbelief and his hands gripping his mug much too tightly.

“I,” he said, and stopped. He tried again. “I have to, uh, I, call… Regulus. Yes. I have to call Regulus.”

He nodded shortly as if to seal a deal, and the corner of his mom’s mouth twitched. He was thankful that she didn’t say anything, though, instead choosing to nod understandingly, giving him free reign to stand up and frantically pull up Regulus’ contact on his way out the kitchen.

He hit the call button as soon as he was out of earshot. His foot tapped an inpatient rhythm against the hardwood floor, just barely enough to accent the ringing of his phone, but there nonetheless.

“Regulus,” he said as soon as the call connected, not even waiting to see if Reg was actually even listening. “I need your help.”

Regulus was silent except for a long-suffering sigh that filled the space between them, but Barty didn’t stop to acknowledge his friend’s familiar impatience. Instead, he took a deep breath to prepare himself, then blurted out in one huge, potentially catastrophic jumble of a sentence, “Am I or am I not kind of unknowingly dating Evan?”

The sigh Regulus let out once more was so weary that Barty wondered at how he didn’t have wrinkles yet, if he was truly feeling that old. Still, the wayward thought was not enough to cause him to miss Regulus’s very much exasperated earth-shattering response.

“Finally,” he said, somehow sounding relieved and annoyed all at once. “I thought neither of you would ever realise.”

-

(The End!)

[maboroshi-no]

Hamefura LN14 Chapter 5 (End) Summary

I am currently reading Hamefura LN14 and will post summaries as I read.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1: The Encounter at the Party: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Chapter 2: What Dark Magic Is: Part 1 Part2 Chapter 3: The Domain Where Cyrus Was Born and Raised: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Chapter 4: To the Forest's Depths!

Chapter 5: Let's Go Back to the Ministry of Magic

Raphael Properly Reports About Sarah

The next day, Raphael tells Cyrus he gave a false report yesterday. He properly tells him what he knows about Sarah and that she might have run away because she felt shaken after seeing him. Katarina has accompanied Raphael because he asked her.

Cyrus tells Raphael he can understand why he felt shaken given his history and he won't blame him for that. But as a Ministry member, he doesn't think it was right for him to retain important information and give a false report. He asks him to be careful next time. Raphael replies he will.

Cyrus will process the details of yesterday's events.

Cyrus and Maria Have Become Closer

Maria tells Cyrus she has slept well and now feels considerably better. She thanks him with a bright smile for all he did yesterday.

Cyrus is still overprotective of Maria, which makes her feel obliged. 

Katarina thinks Cyrus is an overly caring person in the first place. After all, he constantly worries about her. It's just that he couldn't interact with Maria before because he was uncomfortable with women and she is his first love. But yesterday, he was so drastic as carrying Maria princess-style all the time, so he can probably interact with her now. His natural overly caring temperament is written on his face and he fussily worries about her.

He may be able to face Dewey now.

And the hardworking Maria who is not good at relying on people has started to rely more on Cyrus. Now she asks him to teach her about work more often and they are seen more together.

Since at first glance, Cyrus and Maria look good together, the household people warmly watch over them. Only Haru seems sad when she sees them.

Katarina, Sora, Laura, and Haru Help With Restoring the Fields 

Haru was originally supposed to return to her family right away, but she has offered the Lanchester family to help restore the damaged fields as thanks for looking after her. As a result, she will stay for a while.

Katarina, Sora, and Laura also help with the fields' restoration because they are bad at writing reports.

They go to the fields. They are such in a bad state that they need to till them again and clean up the half-eaten crops.

Now, they are helping a rice farmer who needs to harvest rice. Katarina is motivated not only because she knows it is a difficult job for the rice farmer, but also because she feels excited about harvesting rice for the first time in her current life.

The old rice farmer praises Katarina's skills in harvesting rice. Katarina enjoys the praise. She is glad because it is the first time she can use her experience from her past life.

Haru agrees that she is so good at it that it doesn't look like her first time. Katarina enjoys the praise again. Haru is really good at harvesting rice since she comes from Sharma.

The old farmer tells Katarina that given her skills, he'd like to ask her to help plant the new seedlings next month. Katarina instantly accepts but Sora reminds her they will probably be back to the Ministry of Magic by then.

The old farmer is sad and apologizes. He didn't think Katarina was part of the Ministry of Magic since she seemed comfortable here. He thought she was a girl from town. Katarina also apologizes: she felt so comfortable here that she forgot that she needed to go back to the Ministry. The old farmer and Haru laugh and Sora makes a shocked expression.

While holding many rice plants, Laura asks the farmer if she can carry them somewhere. The old farmer says yes.

The old farmer dazzlingly gazes at Laura carrying so many rice plants. He is glad that he could get their help this year. There are no young people in the area so farmwork is always so difficult.

Katarina tells him it is a shame since there is abundant nature and the food is delicious here.

The old farmer is happy that Katarina feels that way. When he was young, he also found the countryside boring because there was nothing there, but once he went to the city, he missed the region and ended up returning here. He likes the abundant nature and the kind people here.

Katarina thinks young people would understand the good sides of the region if they came here. But she wonders what could bring them here.

Katarina thinks the farmers should spread the region's food products a little more. After all, she became addicted to Sharma food after tasting it for the first time here. They should determine the region's selling points and appeal to people with them.

Laura overhears the conversation and agrees with Katarina. She would like them to appeal the region's food and if possible, spread it to the royal capital.

The old farmer blinks his eyes in surprise. He is so used to the food here that he didn't think about it. He will bring it up to the farmers association next time.

Katarina is looking forward to the day Japanese food arrives in the royal capital.

The old farmer tells everyone they can stop here and thanks them. He will have some rice delivered to them once he has finished processing them.

Katarina is happy that she will get new rice.

Sora tells Katarina the paperwork and the restoration of the fields are mostly finished, so they will probably leave for the Ministry tomorrow or the day after.

Katarina is disappointed.

To make her feel better, Laura tells her nothing has been decided yet.

Haru feels sad that they will leave soon since she had fun restoring the fields with them.

Katarina asks Haru if she will stay in Victoire a little longer.

Haru replies she will indeed stay a little longer and then go back since her family is worried.

Katarina tells Haru she will have a feast prepared for her if she comes to the royal capital again. 

Haru looks forward to it.

Katarina and Haru exchanges their addresses so they can send each other letters.

Last Evening At Cyrus's Home

Katarina, Sora, and Laura return to Cyrus's home.

Just like Sora has anticipated, Cyrus tells them they have finished the paperwork and fields' restoration, so they will return to the Ministry of Magic tomorrow. Katarina feels dejected that she won't have her new rice.

Since it is her last meal here, Katarina is stuffing herself during dinner. She doesn't care if she will have to rush to the bathroom afterward.

After dinner, Katarina rushes to the bathroom. After she is done, she sees Cyrus discreetly inviting Haru to go to the terrace. 

Katarina wonders why she always sees people on the terrace after going to the bathroom. Maybe people often uses it and she only notices them when she goes out of the bathroom?

Cyrus Rejects Haru

Cyrus tells Haru he has someone he loves despite what he told her at the party. While he isn't in an intimate relationship with the person, he can't get engaged and even less marry another woman.

Cyrus has firmly looked at Haru when he said this.

Haru tells Cyrus she already knows. She has realized who he has feelings for after watching him in the manor.

Katarina isn't surprised Haru knows. Haru has always looked so sad when she watched Cyrus and Maria. Maria told Haru the night before they arrived in the domain that she would support her, but Maria seems to have forgotten about it because of the mission. Haru didn't go to Cyrus herself and has just been watching them with a sad look.

Cyrus is shocked that Haru has known about his feelings.

Haru replies she knew and thus understood that she couldn't be the one. 

Katarina expects Haru to get mad at Cyrus for lying to her about not being in love with anyone, but…

Haru (dignified tone): I am praying for you to marry and be happy with the one you love.

Haru's words seems to be her true feelings.

Haru dignifiedly leaves in the opposite direction from Katarina. She looks beautiful but Katarina can't help feeling pain in her chest.

Katarina thinks Haru was most likely the rival character in Cyrus's route. She said the same words Mary said in Fortune Lover 1. Katarina found these words beautiful and cool when she played the game, but when they come from a real person, they feel sad and painful.

Katarina looks at Cyrus. He also seems pained while gazing outside from the terrace.

Katarina returns to her room in a sad mood and goes to sleep.

The Departure

The next day, everyone comes out in the garden after finishing the preparations for their return trip. Cyrus's family and Tylor are seeing them off. Haru is not here.

Cyrus's mother has prepared lots of food and sweets for Katarina to bring back as souvenirs. Katarina is incredibly happy. But the amount is too much for the carriage, so Katarina sadly has to reduce it.

The new rice for Katarina couldn't be prepared on time. Cyrus's mother promises Katarina to send it to her in the royal capital no matter what. Katarina happily thanks her. Cyrus's mother is happy that Katarina enjoys their food so much. She tells Katarina she will send food to her through Cyrus. Katarina is overjoyed but Cyrus has mixed feelings about this.

Everyone departs in the following groups: Maria, Cyrus, and Raphael in the first carriage, and Katarina, Laura, and Sora in the second one.

While gazing at the scenery, Katarina sees a woman in the fields waving at her. It is Haru. Katarina shouts good bye at her from the window and waves at her with all her might.

Back to the Ministry

The next day around noon, everyone has safely arrived at the Ministry. As usual, the whole gang is here to welcome Katarina. Katarina is glad her friends always make time to welcome her after her missions despite their busy schedules.

Katarina would like to catch up with everyone but Cyrus tells her "Report first!" and starts dragging her to Larna's office. The gang tells Katarina they will wait for her.

It is now report time with Larna. Katarina expects the report to be short since Cyrus has probably prepared their report. Unfortunately, Larna is extremely curious about the dragons and keeps firing questions about their sizes, their moves, etc. As a result, the report takes more time than Katarina expected.

After everyone has become worn out after Larna's questions, Cyrus asks Larna to stop for today and continue tomorrow. Larna is a bit dejected.

When everyone leaves her office, Larna discreetly moves towards Katarina and tells her she will create an opportunity to talk about "the story from the other day" once things calm down.

Katarina deeply nods in understanding.

Katarina Tells Her Friends How She Defeated a Dragon

When Katarina leaves Larna's office, her friends are rushing to her. They have borrowed a room and prepared sweets and tea for her there. They can all enjoy a tea party since Katarina will have the rest of the day off, but they can't stay for too long since they are busy with work.

Katarina tells everyone with gestures how she defeated the dragon.

Geordo is shocked by Katarina's dangerous actions.

Keith tells Katarina she should think before acting.

Alan is amazed by Katarina's actions.

Mary is shocked by Katarina's dangerous actions.

Sophia tells Katarina she was like a knight in a story.

Nicol is glad Katarina could come out safely of the mission.

After Katarina has finished her story, everyone has tired and dejected expressions on their faces. They make a big sigh.

Geordo can't believe Katarina even though he told her so many times not to put herself in danger or be reckless before she left.

Keith thinks Katarina's definition of reckless might be different from theirs.

Alan agrees since it appears she doesn't consider it reckless to fight a dragon alone.

Mary is so glad Katarina is unharmed.

Sophia wished she could have seen Katarina fight the dragon.

Nicol asks Sophia not to add to it else it will become troublesome.

Katarina can tell her friends are worried about her fighting a dragon alone.

Katarina tells everyone she had no choice but to fight the dragon. Besides, Raphael properly protected her with his wind magic.

Geordo sharply reacts to it: if Raphael protected her, does it mean she really was in danger?! She said before there was no danger!

Katarina explains the dragon breathed out dark mist at her at the very end. 

Everyone is horrified.

Keith wonders how Katarina could tell there was no problem during the mission. He really wonders what is inside her head.

Alan can't believe she said there was absolutely no danger. He is amazed by her optimistic thinking.

Mary asks Katarina to be very careful. She doesn't understand how Katarina can be so reckless.

Sophia would have loved to see the dragon breathe out dark mist… wait, no, Katarina was undoubtedly in danger. 

Nicol tells Katarina she should really think about her actions if even Sophia says it was dangerous.

Katarina apologizes to everyone for making them worried.

Geordo tells her with a black smile that if she keeps acting recklessly and putting herself in danger, he will confine her in a room.

Katarina feels a shiver running down her spine.

Katarina tells everyone she will be careful.

Everyone lectures Katarina. Everyone's stand is "We understand that it couldn't be helped since it was a mission from the Ministry. But because you didn't recognize danger, you happily thrust yourself into it and then told the story like a heroic tale." In other words, Katarina needs to properly recognize danger and act accordingly. She will be careful next time.

Katarina properly tells everyone "I am home". Everyone tells her "Welcome back" in return. Katarina feels like she has really returned home.

Everyone enjoys the tea party. They end it after about an hour since some of them need to leave because of work.

Geordo Wants to Ride in the Same Carriage as Katarina

Geordo: Why are Mary and Sophia riding in the same carriage as Katarina?

Geordo's lips are twitching.

Mary (elegant smile): Oh? Since we are returning home as well, we will ride together for part of the way. Prince Geordo, Prince Alan, Lord Nicol, you still have work to do, don't you? Please get into your carriages and go to work.

Geordo: In that case, I will also ride with her for part of the way and go to work.

Mary: Oh? But the carriage won't hold so many people.

Geordo: Alright. Then Keith, please get off.

Keith: Huh, why would I?! This is the carriage home to Claes Manor, I can't not ride it! So, no.

Mary: Lord Nicol, Prince Alan, Prince Geordo appears to feel lonely if he rides alone in a carriage, so please ride with him.

Geordo: Eh, what are you talking about, Mary?! This is not…

Nicol: Oh, is that so? I understand, Geordo. Let's ride in the same carriage.

Geordo: W-Wait! That's not it! Nicol, and you too Alan, why are you grabbing my arms?!

Mary: Prince Alan, please take him away.

Alan: …Okay.

Geordo: Alan, how much did she discipline you?! Wait! Katarina is my fiancéeeeee…

Geordo says this while being taken away. 

Katarina, Keith, Mary, and Sophia ride in the carriage going to Claes Manor.

Mary is making a triumphant face.

Katarina continues talking about her trip inside the carriage.

Katarina feels exhausted and starts dozing off. Mary offers to lend her shoulder so she can sleep. Katarina gladly accepts and falls asleep.

Fortune Lover 2 Dream

Katarina is dreaming about Acchan playing Fortune Lover 2.

Acchan is playing Cyrus's route. Katarina finds it timely since she has just returned from Cyrus's hometown.

Maria is telling Cyrus she can defeat "it" with light magic.

Cyrus tells Maria he will protect her so she won't have a single scratch.

Katarina figures it must be a battle scene. Cyrus and Maria are saying mostly the same things as during the Cezar scene before.

FL!Katarina appears and tells the two that Cerberus will crush them.

FL!Katarina makes a dragon appear.

Katarina is surprised to see the dragon they defeated a few days ago.

There is only one dragon, but Cerberus is on the enemy side.

The dragon and Cerberus attack Maria and Cyrus. Maria fires light magic at them.

Katarina recognizes the spell Maria used to fight the dragon. She saw that scene in reality.

Maria defeats Cerberus and the dragon with her light magic. FL!Katarina is arrested.

Katarina realizes their mission in Victoire was the Cyrus event just before his happy end.

Katarina wakes up shouting "Aaah, it was close~". Mary, Sophia, and Keith are surprised and ask her is something is wrong. Katarina replies she was just sleeptalking.

Katarina realizes that without her knowing, a doom flag was awaiting her during her mission. She has neglected thinking about her doom flags because of the dark organization. Things could have turned ugly. She needs to brace herself since she still has doom flags awaiting her.

Katarina shouts that she will do her best. Keith, Mary, and Sophia suggest that she go to sleep early because she is undoubtedly tired.

Katarina parts with Mary and Sophia.

Katarina has returned to the manor. She initially planned to have a mental meeting to think about measures against her doom flags, but since she is tired, she decides she needs to rest first.

Katarina goes to bed and instantly falls asleep.

??? POV

T/N: This scene is really unclear to me because I really can't tell who the person is or what they are talking about. 

The POV person hears lots of distant screams. They regain consciousness in the darkness.

When they look around, everything has changed. They guess a lot of time must have passed. They wonder how much time has passed since they were asleep, and also what happened to "that".

They will gather their consciousness and fill their body with it. 

They will return to the surface / this world to confirm what happened to "that" and what these screams were about. To keep their promise to that person.

[vixen-tech]

if you want to -- maybe AUTO with a botanist reader? i just think it'd be so interesting how it would play out !! u dont have to, so only do it if u want to!!

🩹 anon

To be Loved, To Maybe be Changed (Auto x Botanist!Reader)

Oh that certainly is a concept!! It's a great one for Auto to, this put an entire storyline in my head that I think justifies breaking out the oneshot format rather than headcanons. Which works out great because I think out of all the Ai's I've written for, he would need the most 'set up' from how not-sentient he's protrayed in Wall-E. Anyways grab a snack floks this is a long one

It had been many generations since the Axium returned home to earth. Humans, robots, and the all important plant finding themselves back on soil, populating the deserted planet once more.

Things have changed since then. The human body began readapting to earth's gravity, the majority of buildings around the landing site have been fixed up and inhabited, and most importantly: the city is covered in plants. Grasses sprout between broken walkways, invy weaves its way up repurposed skyscrapers, gardens spill out of every available alleyway, a gaint tree stands where that first plant took root all those centuries ago. Each year it seems the sky gets a little more blue.

The ever diversifying flora had captivated you ever since you first had the words to describe it. As soon as you had a say so, you began studying it. Dispite the flourishing growth, any sort of plant husbandry was still something of a lost art. You lived off of the ancient manuals and beginners guides that eventually made their way out of the Axium's archives.

Yet even those could only do so much for you when most of the crops that had evolved from that first seedling had taken forms a far cry from their original pre space-age forefathers. It became your life's mission to learn how to best take care of these new cultivars and of course, spread the knowledge (and hopefully passion) for botany that you had gained throughout your life.

That was what fueled your visits to the Axium. Still parked at the foot of that monumental tree, it had been transformed into something of a community center. With most of its facilities still running and new services offered everyday. You often came to drop off your experimental findings, teach classes, and check to see if other botanists had done the same. Why you began exploring the depths of the halls that one fateful day, you still don't know.

The spaceship was massive, clearly a crowning jewel of its time. To this day many rooms remained unused and largely blocked off. The bustle and warmth of public spaces giving way to dust and insect nests as you roam through areas no longer needed. Bathrooms too far from the people to warrant upkeep, storage rooms that were once filled with replacement parts for the robots that now walked side by side with humans. And at the end of your journey, the captain's quarters.

The door was practically sealed shut with age, and the room behind it was hardly any better. The air attacked you with a cloud of dust once you finally managed to shove open the door, and no matter how much you rubbed your eyes there still appeared to be an almost foggy looking quality to the room.

That's when you found Auto.

He was still dangling from the ceiling above a control panel you doubt still worked. You had seen and befriended many robots before, they were just as common as humans in the city nowadays with remarkably little tension between them. Recognizing that the innert steering wheel in front of you was once one, your heart ached. You were no mechanic, but surely you had to at least try to get him up and running again. What can you say, you were always a bit of a bleeding heart.

After carefully detaching him from the ceiling you carried what was essentially an inanimate hunk of metal all the way back home with you. People stared, sure, but they kept any questions or judgments to themselves as you made your way home.

Your residence was rustic, to say the least. A fairly rundown shack renovated into a makeshift greenhouse. Produce and flowering plants alike overflowed from their neat rows of pots on benches. Some were for you, more were to sell, all were part of research in one way or another.

You loved walking through your own little botanical garden to get to your living quarters. The moment you pass through the front doors you're always hit with a wave of earthy freshness. The smell of petrichor and pollen greeted you (and your new... friend?) just as it always did. Never once failing to make you feel at home.

Your living quarters themselves were similarly homey. Not drastically bigger than a hotel room, it's a modest living area with a kitchen tucked in the corner and two doors along the wall. One leading to a compact bathroom, the other your bedroom. Some may call it cramped, but to you it's cozy. You spent most of your time in the greenhouse anyway.

That might have been the only day you mourned your lack of space. As if he were a friend you had to drag home after a night of drinking, you placed Auto on the couch. Promising to yourself that you'd do your best to fix him up. You'd probably have to give him some wheels to, since you ripped him from the ship. Well, your life could always use some more excitement.

--------------------

Your knowledge of machinery had definitely improved over the past few weeks. On all accounts you were extraordinarily lucky that he was in such good shape. Age had rendered most of his circuits unusable, but isolation kept them from becoming unrecognizable. Night after night you would come home with a new part and with surgical delicacy, swap it out for its damaged counterpart.

You had heard stories from the time of the Axium. You knew of the 'evil autopilot program that tried to trap humanity in space'. You knew that you were probably trying to fix said evil autopilot program. It may have been the weeks of one sided bonding, but you didn't buy it. Surely at worst he was just following orders. And who knows, maybe with some free will he might be able to turn over a new leaf.

--------------------

"What happened?" His voice was striking, deep and inhumanly regular in a way that was still seen a trademark of artificial speech. He was upright on the wheeled body you attached him to, the red eye (camera?) at the center of his face seemed to scan you up and down before doing the same to the room around him.

The cocktail of pride and anxiety had yet to leave your chest. You attempted to explain, "Well I fixed you-"

"Before that." He interrupted. Slowly wheeling himself to the living room window, still unsure of the new addition you had made to his body. "Where are we?" He added.

You should have been prepared for that one. "We're on earth, in my house." You watched with apprehension as he stared out the window. The steering wheel that made his outer body clicked back and forth as if he were swaying in thought.

"Earth is habitable." His voice lacked strong inflection, you were unsure if he was asking you a question or stating the fact to himself.

"It has been for a long time." You said as gently as you possibly could. "You were... on that ship for centuries, a lot has changed since then."

If he was listening to you, he made no effort to show it. Instead continuing to look outside as if he were zoning out in thought. "There are plants", he observed.

The view out that window wasn't remarkable by any means. Just some grass and a few odd trees before the city's skyscrapers blocked your line of sight. But the mere mention of plants was always enough to get you excited. "Oh if you're interested in plants you should see this." Gesturing for him to follow you as you opened the door to your greenhouse.

He paused for a moment before trailing behind you.

--------------------

Auto made for a strange guest. With no astro-cruise to run he spent a considerable amount of time staring at you while you worked. It was only as you were measuring the pH of your plants' soil that you began narrating your work to him. It started as a way for you to simply diffuse the tension and explain why you were so invested in the vegetation.

He made for a good wall to rant to. You didn't have many close friends and certainly none as into botany as you, most other botanists spent as much time with their garden as you do. But thankfully, no matter how much you asked if you were being annoying, he would repeat that "The information is important, please continue." All while focused on whatever orchid you made the subject of your newest lecture. You did make it clear that he was free to leave at any time.

He never did.

--------------------

Your first trip to the Axium since Auto's reactivation was an awkward one, at least on your part. When you announced that you needed to go to drop off your latest batch of research he requested to could come with, one of the first things he asked of you since waking up.

Perhaps you shouldn't have been surprised, Auto had barely took a step outside your home. Relying instead on you and whatever books or documentaries you had to fill him in on what the world had become. Who were you to deny him some fresh air?

Although you had grown much more comfortable around him you were still anxious to hear what he thought of everything. And as always his judgment came in the form of definite reports. It was all "Humanity is stable." Or "Plant life is flourishing." If he had any semblance of opinion, he didn't tell you about it.

He didn't behave much differently on the Axium, continuing to trail you like a lost duckling and thoroughly scan the surroundings. It wasn't until you met up with a fellow herbalist that he spoke a word.

They asked you about a specific project you were working on, a new crossbreed of a medicinal herb of particular interest to them. However, as it wasn't the purpose of your trip you didn't have any of its records on you. You were about to apologize and tell them so until Auto informed them, "The crossbreed has shown accelerated growth but a greater sensitivity to sunlight." The herbalist thanked both of you and walked off.

Even though you shouldn't have been shocked to learn that he was actually storing the information you spat at him, it was still nice to know that he cared to some degree.

"Thank you, Auto."

"You're welcome."

--------------------

The days have gone on much the same since then. You had never sought out an adventurous life. Often you go out the greenhouse in the morning and find Auto observing the various moths and flies that had evolved as pollinators alongside the new flora. "Morning Auto!" You would cheerfully greet.

You never fully understood why he stayed, but it didn't matter to you at this point. He was here and he made no effort to go. You had more than enough room in your life for him anyway.

"Good morning."

And so another day starts.

[inneedofsupervision]

Wind Breaker Scenario 6/?

Imagine Sakura wakes from another nightmare at the crack of dawn. Sleep won't come to him again. Instead, he keeps tossing and turning under his futon before giving up on resting altogether. Getting dressed, the teen steps out of the door. The chilly fall morning forces him to bury his hands inside his pant pockets. Despite the people of the town greeting him kindly, handing Sakura snacks, and wishing him a good morning, the lack of sleep and the last fleeting images of the dream make him feel agitated. The irritation and restlessness caused by the lack of rest continued to be his partner for the rest of the day, clinging to him and picking on his subconsciousness.

When it threatens to escalate, as his irritation grows overboard, and his hands tremble while his mouth opens to retaliate against his friend's well-meant teasing with something that would cause harm, Sakura does something he hasn't done in a long time.

He runs.

Surprised shouts come from within the classroom. The teen bolts, not wasting a second to look over his shoulder and see if anyone dares to follow him.

Sakura's heart hammers in his chest as he leans against a metal door, the cold and hard material pressing into his back. Looking up, he dreaded the sight of concerned blue eyes greeting him, having fled to the rooftop of all places. Mismatched eyes frantically scan his surroundings, and taunt shoulders drop as no one's in sight. Glancing around, Sakura steps away from the door. Tired eyes wander over the neatly planted seedlings and the on-the-side standing pots.

Umemiya seems to be taking a break.

The fatigue makes itself known, Sakura's eyelids heavy as if stones were hanging from them. The sun is showing itself, but the sleepiness makes the teen's body more sensitive, and he shudders as a slight gust of wind blows some leaves over the rooftop.

Sakura is about to rub the sleep out of his eye. His hand freezes in movement when he catches sight of something that draws him in as if it were the song of a siren. His fingertips run mindlessly over the soft textile, the worn-out blanket feeling amazing under his cold fingers as it has been lying in a sunny spot.

Standing before the hammock, Sakura wondered if it had always stood there and why he hadn't noticed it sooner. Does it belong to anyone? Maybe Umemiya or another third year?

Too tired to care, Sakura dazedly stared at the alluringly cozy-looking hammock and the invitingly soft blanket spread out on top.

"Just for five minutes," mumbles the teen as he slips his shoes off and crawls ungracefully into the hammock. It takes some winding and wriggling until he's satisfied. As soon as the teen lets his muscles relax, his breathing slows down, as well as his tumbling and turning thoughts.

For the first time that day, Sakura feels at peace.

He vaguely registers the sound of a door opening. The last thing his consciousness picks up on is the sound of an amused puff of air leaving someone's mouth and the familiar feel of a hand ruffling his hair.

[nihildenial]

Tender is the Bite by nihil-denial (wc: 2,418)

Rated: M, nudity, blood drinking, violence and implied su!c!dality for a few sentences

Pairings: F/M, Dracopia x F!Reader

Tags: FIRST POV, 1600s, Witch Trials, Angst with Happy Ending, Ghouls are Wisps like in Scottish Folklore, Protective Dracopia

Summary: You lead a quiet life of gardening and lavender selling in early 1600s Salem, Massachusetts. The men of the town have other ideas for you.

“Tell me, village whore, how you’ve used these herbs to bewitch our children?”

There’s an angry crowd of my neighbors, townspeople, people who I thought liked me-- standing on my front porch with pitchforks, flames, and crucifixes. They point them at me as if I’m some wild animal from the forests around our town.

“They are herbs grown in the soil of my lawn! There is no magic or bewitchery in a plant ,” I affirm. I stare down the corrupt governor and let them take in my apron and petticoats smeared with dirt and grass from toiling in the garden. The only magic present here is how I didn’t grab my father’s musket when I heard them approaching.

“Then how come our children have been lured towards your house’s pathway and returned dizzy and smelling of grass? You are in league with the Devil’s assistants, the vampyres!” Rachael accuses, holding her toddler on her hip.

The vampire thing was complete horseshit. I shrug, “There is no such thing as a vampire. Besides, they are children. They are curious about the nature around their homes. Are they not allowed to explore?”

This only seems to incite the governor and then the crowd. “They are acting out; saying wild things about shadowy figures running faster than is possible, eating candies that are not made here, and complaining of how the woods around your house make strange noises at night.”

I wipe my hand on my apron, noticing how some of them shift their pitchforks into a ready stance. “There are wild animals. If the children wander up my pathway, then I give them treats from my journeys to other towns when I trade lavender seedlings. I even have some here.” I pull out one of the sweet taffy candies I bought last time I was in Boston. “My lavender is milled into powder, then added to taffy for flavoring.”

A child held back by their parents lights up at the mention of the treat.

“That is the devil!” Governor McCoy shouts, pointing a finger at it. “You have used this to hypnotize them into helping you with your rituals.”

“I wasn’t aware that stretching in my garden was considered a ritual. Maybe the men that watch a lone woman from the hidden perches of a tree are at fault for masturbating to me when I am dressed properly.”

McCoy’s face is purple with anger as I seem nonchalant in the face of his accusations. I have done nothing wrong. “We are simply seeing you sin, which makes them sin! Since that is not enough for you, you then involve our children!”

“You have totally warped my sensibilities around the womanly figure, and have made the devil tempt me into cheating on my wife!” Able Smith shouts. His thin, frail wife beside him glares at me in jealousy.

That would explain why Franny Doone came asking for herbs that would terminate an unwanted pregnancy. I can’t help but notice that she’s not present.

Still, not my problem. “I have done nothing wrong. If you have true accusations, I need to see some semblance of a warrant from a judge.”

Governor McCoy waves a hand and his deputy hands over a long paper. “I think this is correct,” He says smugly.

I take the parchment and read Judge Mather’s decree for my arrest and subsequent confinement in Boston’s gaol for a trial. A trial that I knew would not end well. I stare at the cross inked next to the Judge’s signature at the bottom.

“Allow me to pack my things and I will willingly surrender,” I say as genuinely as I could. I knew this was the end for me, even though both God and I know I have done nothing wrong. If I could go to my closet, I could grab the musket and end things before McCoy could ever get his slimy hands on me. They stripped those accused of witchcraft and gave them barely any clothing, allowing men to have their way with the accused ‘temptress’ before trial.

He grabs me by the bicep. “No. There’s no telling what devilish shrines or herbs you have in there. You will be taken to Boston now.”

I try to fight his grasp but other men grab hold of me. The musket is loaded. It would be a quick death compared to this.

“Let me go in peace! I will not run!” I shout.

Able’s forearm slides around and under my chin, placing me in a stranglehold. I can smell the whiskey on his breath and feel his erection pressing into the back of my petticoats. This is what he and McCoy wanted all along. All of these charges are false and they wrongfully convinced Judge Mathers of it.

Still I fought. I would not die without hurting one of them.

Able pulled me down the stone stairs of my cottage. I lost my footing in the blur of my petticoats and his hold. I hit the ground hard with him still grasping at me. His hands mistakenly (or not) pull at my chemise and expose my breasts.

A wave of horrified noises fill the air. Torches are held higher in the night air.

I hurry to escape and cover myself but Able is pulling me by the ankles down the gravel path along with the enraged crowd. I dig my fingers in the stones, though it does nothing but leave dirty tracks and cut my hands and body.

Maybe an insect will rise from their ground burrows and attack me, ending me sooner than these men will have me contained. Kicking Able only brings more hands to lift me.

I am dragged halfway to our small town of Salem when the shadows begin to spook the mob. First, the children cry of men watching us from the trees. Then, the wives and women shrilly say that I am summoning the Devil and his Vampires to make them retreat.

Governor McCoy keeps the mob moving towards Salem, where a wagon is waiting to drag me to Boston. “Pay them no mind, for the Lord is watching us fufill his teachings. We will be protected!”

A black bird suddenly swoops from the canopy of trees, a mighty caw startling everyone. It circles and swoops again. It steals McCoy’s moleskin hat and flies to a high perch out of sight.

“You blasted bird! Stop casting spells!” He cries to me.

I shoot him a bewildered look as I’m bodily carried by several men. “I am not casting anything! Your hat probably looks like its prey!”

Another black creature swoops down into the fold of townspeople. It’s a large, fuzzy bat with a short snout. It flaps its wings and catches several women’s pinned curls. The women are pulled out of the mob and thrown into the mud lining the pathway.

The Raven from before comes back and joins the bat in creating as much chaos as possible. The funny thing is, I actually do know the bird. It sits on my fence post and eats the blackberries from my garden. I leave it alone because those are my favorite and it always leaves a perfectly ripe bunch for me to have. I can tell it’s noon when it flys into the clearing of my garden.

Able and Denny drop me. I hit the ground hard . I scramble to my feet, throwing hair over my shoulder and pulling up my skirts to sprint back to my house.

“Stop her!!” McCoy yells as a second Raven joins the fray.

I run with all my might back up the path. The gravel is uneven and hurts my already bleeding feet. I’m nearly at the porch stairs when the bat flies ahead of me and hovers on the porch. It’s so sudden I freeze before it smacks into my face. In a blink, the creature is no longer a creature, but a thick man dressed in the finest black shawl. A thin, brown moustache lines his black-painted upper lip, which moves into a snarl and reveals sharp canines. His straight nose and mismatched green and white eyes are more handsome than any of the bachelors I’ve seen in Boston. He looks so exotic, with olive skin and decietfully strong arms.

I take a step back (unfortunately missing the porch edge) and begin to tumble down to the feet of Governor McCoy’s mob.

But I never hit the grass.

The Vampire quickly moved a hand around my neck and waist, pulling me into his embrace.

“Vampire! We knew you were in leagues with the Devil!” Able shouts. Fear and anger war on his square face.

I go stiff in the crytpid’s arms. What turn has my fate taken? He smells of sweat and the herbs from my garden. He smells like my home.

“You shall not have her for your sick pleasures. I am the Vampire, Copia, and you will understand that I am not to be trod upon,” The vampire declares. He does not shout, but his voice carries as if he has.

“We are putting her on trial for being in leagues with you! All this does is prove that!” Able argues.

“You are wrong. I have never sworn allegiance with her, and my Ghouls have heard you planning this on false accusations and lustful fantasies.”

At the mention, the shadowy creatures emerge from the trees. They take different sized blobs and surround the mob. All of the torches but McCoy extinguishes with a sudden gust of wind.

“She is now mine, meaning all that was hers now falls under my Dominion. You will leave these woods unless you want to feel my wrath.” Copia snarls.

His gloved hand is still grasping me. His thumb rubs calming circles into the nape of my neck. “I will save you,” He says quietly.

“Why?” I mumble in fear. “What better fate is this?"

“They want to do horrible things to you. You would never make it to Boston; doomed to be shoved into a shallow grave, defiled and broken. I can give you a kingdom of loyal creatures that lives in harmony with nature. You can keep your cottage, your garden, your barn cats. I will save you.”

The mob is busy trying to cower from the Ghoulish shadows.

I could trust his word and die in the village or trust his word about himself and face an unknown fate.

“Save me,” I whisper. “God has abandoned me anyway.”

Copia commands the mob’s attention with a snap of his fingers. “None of you shall ever enter the woods of Salem or this clearing ever again, or my Ghouls will feast on your blood! Be gone! ”

“We will have justice! The Devil has no domain in the Lord’s forest!” McCoy yelps. He tries to rush the porch.

Copia swings me out until I’m dipped towards the ground and buries his head in the exposed skin of his collarbone. “I’m sorry to be so rough,” He whispers against my neck before sharp teeth bite into my veins.

All of the adrenaline flows through my mind as he drinks from me. I go limp in his arms yet his grip doesn’t hold me any harsher. Arousal and fear and relief fill me. I’ve never had a man so intimately entwined with me. His slight erection doesn’t make me want to gag.

Copia rips himself away, my blood dripping down his chin. I can hear the gasps and scramble of the townspeople to leave. Once the gravel no longer screeches in the clearing of my house, Copia leans back down to my neck.

He takes one last taste before his hot tongue is sliding over the holes he created. The pain disappears into a warm ache. His arms help me to stand up.

I pant into his chest. “You--"

“That is not usually how I like to bite. I apologize for the pain, but it was critical.”

I can feel the vibration of his voice through the bloody velvet of his bat-wing shawl. “It…It, um, felt good after a bit.” I confess. Lust is no longer a worry of mine. God has no domain here.

His hand on my lower back creeps up my spine. “I am not here to have you as some devilish sex slave. You are free to live here with no strings attached. I simply could not stand to have you face such a horrible fate by their hands.”

He lets me go. I take a cautious step back just to gaze upon him. “You chanced all that to simply save me from those men?”

“These are my woods. You are a steward of the Earth and my Ghouls live in harmony with you. Swiss, one of the Ravens, is very fond of your blackberries. Cumulus, my Owl, eats the worms you till up when you weed the crops.”

At the mention, two of the eight shadows transform into the birds he said. They settle on the railing of my porch.

“All we ask is you continue your passion for the Earth,” Copia reaches out an arm and the Raven hops upon his forearm happily.

“Will I never see you? I am to continue a lonely life of gardening?” Sure, it was nice to think that I would keep my life, but I do have some dreams of finding companionship.

He presses his black-painted lip and lower lip together. “No, I will come as many times as you wish. All you have to do is call for me.”

I no longer feel scared. It feels as if he’s always stood on my porch. I can picture his shiny boots next to my slippers.

“What if I don’t want you to leave now?” I ask timidly. I am falling into lust the longer we stand here. His very presence calls me. “I was going to make dinner just before the mob arrived. Do vampires even eat normal food?”

He smiles brightly, his fangs poking out almost cutely. “Yes. I am very fond of meat.”

“It’s a good thing I have a fresh hare. Will you join for supper, my handsome savior? Please allow me to show my gratitude.”

Copia’s eyes flicker down to the small trickle of blood that has escaped into the exposed neckline of my shirt. Able ripped the fabric so badly that my breasts are almost fully out.

“I’m starving,” He smirks.

We don’t even get to the door before his lips are meeting mine.

[quotesfrommyreading]

In the terrible winter of 1932–33, brigades of Communist Party activists went house to house in the Ukrainian countryside, looking for food. The brigades were from Moscow, Kyiv, and Kharkiv, as well as villages down the road. They dug up gardens, broke open walls, and used long rods to poke up chimneys, searching for hidden grain. They watched for smoke coming from chimneys, because that might mean a family had hidden flour and was baking bread. They led away farm animals and confiscated tomato seedlings. After they left, Ukrainian peasants, deprived of food, ate rats, frogs, and boiled grass. They gnawed on tree bark and leather. Many resorted to cannibalism to stay alive. Some 4 million died of starvation.

At the time, the activists felt no guilt. Soviet propaganda had repeatedly told them that supposedly wealthy peasants, whom they called kulaks, were saboteurs and enemies—rich, stubborn landowners who were preventing the Soviet proletariat from achieving the utopia that its leaders had promised. The kulaks should be swept away, crushed like parasites or flies. Their food should be given to the workers in the cities, who deserved it more than they did. Years later, the Ukrainian-born Soviet defector Viktor Kravchenko wrote about what it was like to be part of one of those brigades. “To spare yourself mental agony you veil unpleasant truths from view by half-closing your eyes—and your mind,” he explained. “You make panicky excuses and shrug off knowledge with words like exaggeration and hysteria.”

He also described how political jargon and euphemisms helped camouflage the reality of what they were doing. His team spoke of the “peasant front” and the “kulak menace,” “village socialism” and “class resistance,” to avoid giving humanity to the people whose food they were stealing. Lev Kopelev, another Soviet writer who as a young man had served in an activist brigade in the countryside (later he spent years in the Gulag), had very similar reflections. He too had found that clichés and ideological language helped him hide what he was doing, even from himself:

I persuaded myself, explained to myself. I mustn’t give in to debilitating pity. We were realizing historical necessity. We were performing our revolutionary duty. We were obtaining grain for the socialist fatherland. For the five-year plan.

There was no need to feel sympathy for the peasants. They did not deserve to exist. Their rural riches would soon be the property of all.

But the kulaks were not rich; they were starving. The countryside was not wealthy; it was a wasteland. This is how Kravchenko described it in his memoirs, written many years later:

Large quantities of implements and machinery, which had once been cared for like so many jewels by their private owners, now lay scattered under the open skies, dirty, rusting and out of repair. Emaciated cows and horses, crusted with manure, wandered through the yard. Chickens, geese and ducks were digging in flocks in the unthreshed grain.

That reality, a reality he had seen with his own eyes, was strong enough to remain in his memory. But at the time he experienced it, he was able to convince himself of the opposite. Vasily Grossman, another Soviet writer, gives these words to a character in his novel Everything Flows:

I’m no longer under a spell, I can see now that the kulaks were human beings. But why was my heart so frozen at the time? When such terrible things were being done, when such suffering was going on all around me? And the truth is that I truly didn’t think of them as human beings. “They’re not human beings, they’re kulak trash”—that’s what I heard again and again, that’s what everyone kept repeating.

  —  Ukraine and the Words That Lead to Mass Murder

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Community Gardens - Komaeda/Reader

CHAPTER ONE [here]

CHAPTER TWO

Word Count: 4837

Contains: No warnings as of yet Summary: You were a member of the reserve course before everything went to hell. Now you're helping the Future Foundation by tending to a small farm on Jabberwock Island, the real Ultimate Farmer was busy, so you will have to do.

The last member of class 77-B has just woken up, and he has questions.

AKA: A talentless reader teaches Komaeda about the smaller things in life, and maybe they fall in love.

Read on Ao3

You are elbow deep in dirt when he comes up the pathway to the garden plot. Most of the 77th class have been polite enough to you, but it was very rare that you got a visitor because the garden was pretty out of the way. It was fine really, it was going to be a while before any of the vegetables you were planting would even start to sprout so there was no reason for visitors. Hinata would drop by every now and again, though it always felt like it was out of obligation more than genuine concern. So seeing the figure in the distance slowly coming closer is a real shock. 

You tip the brim of your straw hat up so you can take a look at your visitor. It’s someone you’ve never seen before, and with the small number of people on the island, that was an exciting development. You give him a warm smile and a small wave as he comes to a stop at the edge of the garden bed.

His brow furrows and his mouth pulls into a tight line, “Who are you?”

You laugh, “You must be the last one to wake up! Did Hinata not warn you about me before you started your walk?”

“I...no, he didn't.” He crosses his arms, and the sunlight bounces off the back of his metallic hand, “Hajime is in a meeting.”

You clap a palm to your forehead and laugh at yourself, “Silly me! I forgot it was meeting time, how do I keep forgetting something that happens once a week?” You take a moment to bring yourself up to your feet, dusting the dirt off of your overalls, “Did they let you leave early?”

He laughs breathily, “no, that's not it. I wasn't invited.” He swallows, looking down at the ground, “I'm not sure they've all forgiven me for…”

“Oh.”

He doesn't need to finish. The specifics of what went on in the Neo World program were not divulged to you, but you know enough.

“Well, i’m sure they'll come around eventually. Tsumiki had to drop by to check on a nasty bug bite I got a few days ago and she said that everyone was already starting to warm back up to her.” You smile up at him, “You’ll be okay.”

He doesn't say anything, he just blinks at you slowly, his white hair blowing in the breeze. You clear your throat, “well, since you're here. Do you think you could water the seedlings as I plant them? I'll finish up much quicker if you're happy to help.”

“Um.” He looks around for a second, seeming hesitant to answer, “...sure.” 

“Thanks! Two hands make light work, you know?” You hoist the full watering can up from the ground and pass it into his awaiting hands. The handle clinked against his metal palm, “And your name - It’s Komaeda, yeah?” 

“Mm.” He replies, “Komaeda Nagito.” 

“Okay! Well, we need to move onto the empty plot up the back, follow me!” You say, and start walking. Komaeda is a decent bit taller than you, but it feels like his steps are laboured, he'd probably only been awake for a few days and had just re-learned how to walk.

“You never answered my question.” He says

You look at him over your shoulder, his face is already turning a little pink from the sun, “what question?”

“I asked who you are.”

“Oh yeah. Sorry. I can be forgetful sometimes.” You crouch down to the ground and dig a small hole in the dirt before grabbing a seedling and burying it inside, “I'm from the Future Foundation, I stayed behind to get the farm set up so you guys will still have food if something goes wrong with a shipment. Water that one, but be careful not to drown it-” you point to the seedling you’d just planted and then move onto the next, “I should only be here a couple of months longer.”

“Oh! The ultimate gardener! What a hopeful talent!” Komaeda says, watering the seedling before giving you a blinding smile, “nurturing life itself! What could possibly be more hopeful than that?”

“Oh no! Please don't misunderstand. I'm not an ultimate.”

He blinks at you, “not an…”

“The ultimate farmer is on the mainland. Somewhere near Kyoto.” You wipe the sweat from your brow and look up at the sky, watching the clouds pass over the sun, “the ultimate botanist didn't make it through the riots and the ultimate gardener was in Australia last we heard. The Foundation did ask if they wanted to come, but the answer was a no and they weren't going to force them.”

You give Komaeda a polite smile, “I'm just a regular person who likes gardening. That isn't so bad, is it?”

___

Komaeda comes back the next week. You don't ask if he skipped the meeting or if he still wasn't invited, because either way you are glad for the company. He grabs your watering can again and starts following you around as you check on all the seedlings you had planted the week before, he doesn't have much to say. He seems content to water your plants as you walk from plot to plot, it’s good he’s here, the plants do need diligent watering. The sun on the island is always hot and there hasn't been a drop of rain in the month or so since the foundation left you on the island.

“You said you aren't an ultimate.” Komaeda says, snapping you from your rhythm. Today is less labour intensive, so you are wearing a knee length sundress instead of your overalls. Komaeda is still in jeans and a coat, you are worried about him getting heatstroke. 

“I did.” You reach out and finger the leaves of a particularly sad looking carrot, “it sounds like you have a question. Go on, don’t be shy.” 

He nudges you out of the way so he can give the sickly carrot some water, “I didn’t know the Future Foundation hired those without talent.” 

You laugh at that. A gentle chuckle that rises up from your chest, “Every business needs someone to get the coffee, and there are only so many ultimate personal assistants in the world.”

Komaeda is listening carefully, his head cocked gently in a way that makes the sunlight glint off his hair. 

“I think there were about 50 of us normal people in the building, but there must be more out in the field and across the globe. There aren’t nearly enough ultimates to fill every spot at the foundation, and some of them wouldn’t even help us much. Hiring an ultimate firearms expert to file taxes would be a waste, you know what I mean?”

“Hm.” Komaeda says in lieu of a real reply. His lips are pulled tight and his brows are drawn, he is thinking a lot harder about this than you had expected him to. So hard that he loses focus on the plants he is watering.

“Hey.” You start, reaching up to place a hand on his cold metal wrist, “I think that one has had enough.” 

His eyes flick to the carrot he is drowning, and he wrenches the watering can away, Looking at the soaking patch of soil with an expression of forced acceptance, “Ah. My apologies. I’ve ruined your garden...not that it comes as a surprise.”

“We’ve all killed a plant. Gardening is a crapshoot.” You gesture widely to the rest of the plot, “that’s why you plant so many! Kill one plant, kill a hundred, it doesn’t matter. There will still be plenty left.”

He laughs bitterly, tucking his free hand into his pocket, “not if I kill them all.” 

Your heart reaches out for him. For the sad boy who thinks he is so cursed that one drowned plant foretells the death of a thousand. Whatever happened inside the simulation was none of your business, But you can’t help but wonder if it made him like this, or if this is how he has always been. A gust of wind picks up and blows past the garden, picking up dirt and leaves as it swirls past you and through Komaeda’s hair. He is very pretty, you decide.

“Unless you decide to stomp on every plant, you aren’t going to kill them all.” 

He meets your gaze, his mouth curled in an imitation of a smile, but you can see his eyes are sad, “with my luck...you never know.”

___

It is a few weeks this time before you see him again. His green coat is rolled up to the elbows and there is an ill fitting wide brimmed hat on his head, it looks like his hair is all squished underneath it. As he comes closer you notice that the skin on his face is flaking.

“Sunburn?” You ask

He looks away sheepishly, “Mikan wouldn't let me outside again until it went away.” 

“Dr. Tsumiki to the rescue! Good on her!” You exclaim, jumping up from your spot in the garden, “can I...take a look?” 

“Mikan already checked on it this morning.” You can hear the creak of his metal hand clenching and unclenching at his side, “she’s the ultimate nurse, she won’t have missed anything.” 

“I know, I know. But I took a first aid course in middle school, so don’t doubt my expertise.” You chew on your lower lip, squinting up at where the sun disappears behind Komaeda’s head, “Please. I just...I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

He raises his hands, almost like he is planning to shove you away, but then he lets them drop, “hm. Okay.” You take a step towards him, the top of your head only reaches his collarbones. His eyes flit between you and the middle distance as you draw closer and he gives you an uneasy smile, “everything accounted for?” He asks.

You chuckle, “yeah, your nose didn’t burn off or anything. Did Tsumiki give you sunblock? The hat won’t be enough.” 

“She did. It smells weird.” He crosses his arms in front of himself as you continue examining the flaking skin on his face, “can I ask you something?” 

You make a sad noise at a particularly large skin peel under his left eye, your hand itches to touch it, “uhhh. Sure.” You manage, forcing yourself to look him in the eye. 

“Did the foundation scout you? Or did you apply?” 

“Uh, both? Sort of.” Your hands are getting fidgety, so you clench them at your sides to keep them still, “i was actually a student at Hope’s Peak in the reserve course and they were running through the list of students to see if anyone survived. Last they heard um…” you try to focus on anything but Komaeda’s intense eyes, “last they heard, it was just me. I mean, I’m sure there are others who maybe evacuated or didn’t answer the phone. It can’t actually just be me, right?”

“How did you make it out?”

You sigh, “I didn’t. I was sick with the flu the week the riots started, and once my parents heard about what was happening they didn’t let me go back to school.” You can feel your voice getting shaky, “lucky break, huh?”

“So the rest of your cohort died in the name of despair, while you sat at home in bed, huh?” His eyes are cold as he looks at you. His vitriol is palpable, “am I getting this right?” 

You shrug one shoulder, “pretty much.”

His eyebrows jump up at that, “you admit it?” 

“Yeah, no reason not to.” You kneel down to the ground and start absentmindedly weeding around a strawberry patch. They are growing nicely, and it doesn’t look like any birds have been trying to eat them either, “I know that it wasn’t technically my fault what happened there, but the fact that one small change would have left me in the same boat as the rest of the reserve course, well…” you pull back some of the leaves, and smile at the sight of tiny green strawberries just beginning to grow, “I’ve been trying make my good fortune worth something. That’s why I joined the foundation, and why I decided to stay here and help all of you. I know I don’t have a talent, but there are plenty of things I’m good at! So I think that doing my best to bring hope back to the world in whatever small ways I can, is better than doing nothing at all.”

“But surely you must understand that any meagre hope you bring to the world will be inconsequential compared to the deeds of ultimates.” Komaeda replies, staring down at you. With you crouched low in the garden bed and his already impressive height, he makes an intimidating figure. You swallow, “Doesn’t that upset you? Don’t you feel worthless?”

Something clicks into place when he says that. His tone has changed and he sounds far away, like he is talking to someone else. You feel yourself soften, “Why should it upset me?”

“Huh?”

“I can't sing well enough to perform in a stadium, but my voice is perfect for lullabies. I couldn't cook in a five star restaurant, but my class loved my brownies.”  You smile up at Komaeda, you can't help noticing he looks radiant in the sunlight, “I once watched the ultimate farmer plant a pumpkin under concrete and it still managed to grow straight through. I could never do that, but what I can do is grow enough food for you and the rest of the people on this island. Hope is still hope, even if it’s small. Right?”

Komaeda just stares at you for a few seconds, All is silent but for gulls and the ocean off in the distance. one curl of hair has escaped from under his sun hat and it flutters in the light breeze. Your heart is racing when you realise how desperately you want to tuck it behind his ear. 

Then, finally. He moves. He crouches down at your side, close enough that you can see flecks of gold in his eyes, “can you teach me?” 

“Teach you…?” 

“How to garden.” He rests his elbows on his knees and leans in to take a closer look at your crop, “I’ve looked after a few pot plants in the past, but when you leave we’ll need someone to look after the farm so-“

“That’s a wonderful idea.” You said, beaming at him, “I’d love to help!” 

“I hope I won’t be too much of a burden.”

You rest your hand on his and for some reason his skin feels electric, “Komaeda.” You breathe, and his eyes meet yours, “You could never be a burden.”

___

“Nice shirt.” You say the next time Komaeda comes to visit. When he expressed interest in helping you garden, you’d told him that he absolutely couldn’t show up in his big green coat unless he wanted to ruin it and pass out from heatstroke. Sending new clothes over seemed to be very low on the foundation’s list of priorities, so the other folks on the island spent a lot of time raiding the old Jabberwock island gift shop.

Komaeda’s new shirt is at least three sizes too big, he has it tied in a knot at the right hip to keep it from hanging down to mid thigh. The front of it reads in a bold bubblegum font, “Jabberwock Rocks!”

He laughs, “It was the only one left that wasn’t in kids sizes. Just my luck.” 

Most of his white hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, but some of the shorter bits at the front are hanging in his eyes. He lifts one arm up to tuck some behind his ear and the shirt creeps up a little on the side he’s knotted. You see a flash of his skin, it’s suddenly hard to swallow. 

“Oh, i wasn't trying to be facetious. I mean it, you look comfortable.”

He shrugs one shoulder, “It is comfortable I guess, even if i am swimming in it.” 

“Well that’s good, because we’re actually doing some more planting today.” You gesture for Komaeda to follow you as you head out towards your newest garden bed, you’d spent the last three days tilling and fertilizing so it was finally ready for seeds, “It’s not a huge plot, and with you here I’m sure we’ll be finished nice and quick!”

He tilts his head at you, for some reason you find yourself taking notice of the way the large shirt dips under his collarbone. You swallow, “I thought you were done with planting?” He asks

“Oh, I was! This is just for my own enjoyment.” You reply, bending down to grab a spare trowel and a collection of seeds to pass to Komaeda, “We’re planting flowers. Sunflowers specifically.” 

“Just because you like them?”

“I mean mostly because i like them. Tanaka also came by a few days ago looking for a more sustainable food source for his hamster- ah sorry. Dark Devas of Destruction.”

Komaeda nods pensively, “And they can eat sunflower seeds. I do remember him mentioning that.”

“So yeah, two birds one stone.” You crouch down and work on planting your first seed, gesturing for Komaeda to do the same, “I think it will be nice for you guys to have something pretty on the island. Sustainability is all well and good, but most people wouldn't want to live on tofu alone, if you know what i mean.”

He follows your lead, crouching down opposite you and copying the way you plant the seeds. Albeit slower and with shakier hands. They’re very nice hands, his fingers are really pretty. You feel your cheeks burning from more than just the sun, and quickly direct your attention back to the soil as you move onto planting the next seed. 

“Have you…” Komaeda starts, still too focussed on his planting to look at you, “ever wanted a talent?”

“Of course I have. I get a little caught up sometimes in who i am supposed to be, and what my path in life is and I wonder if maybe having a talent would give me some clearer direction.” Komaeda is looking up at you now, there's a smudge of dirt on his cheek, “I’m not always that philosophical about it though, I get jealous like everyone else does. I try not to let it bother me too much, when I can, I work on focusing on the good parts of being talentless.” 

“What good parts?” He says, it sounds more like a dismissal than a legitimate question. You have learned not to take these jabs of his to heart, it doesn't seem like they’re really directed at you.

“Well, even though i find myself a little directionless from time to time. The fact that my future is entirely my choosing is a luxury that most talented people cannot afford, even if they would like it.”

Komaeda scoffs and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. There is more dirt on his face now, “What reason would an Ultimate have to squander their talent?”

“Just because you’re good at something doesn't mean you enjoy it.”

“ Enjoying it, is beside the point. If you are gifted with an Ultimate talent, it’s your duty to use it to bring hope to the world.” He’s stopped gardening now, gesticulating wildly with his hands, sending dirt arcing off into every direction, “If you don’t use your talent, you might as well just be-“ he stops himself, as if he just remembered who he is talking to.

“Talentless?” You offer. Smiling softly.

“I-“ he turns his attention back to the soil, “yes, talentless.”

“People are worth more than their talents.” You say, moving onto planting your next seed, “Did you know that Tsumiki is learning to knit? Last time i saw her she was halfway through making this wobbly little purple scarf, it was her first try and she was so excited. Why should skill mean anything if doing something makes you happy?” 

He doesn't reply, he’s looking up at you now and it feels like he is peeling back your layers with his eyes. You find yourself turning pink under his gaze. 

“You should ask her about it next time you see her. I think she wants to show other people.” You laugh a little, tucking some hair behind your ear, “I mean, she took the time to show me, and I’m not even her friend.”

“Aren’t you?” Komaeda asks, tilting his head to the side.

You scoff, “No. I’m just a worker bee, I don't expect any of you to be friends with me if you don't want to. Anyway, if you want a more straightforward answer to your question, Yes I've often wished I had a talent.” you laugh quietly to yourself, averting your eyes as you feel yourself going red, “I’ve always wanted to be the Ultimate Songwriter, i uh…I really like love songs” You turn to Komaeda and smile, “What about you?”

“Huh?”

“What about you? What do you want your talent to be?”

His brow furrows, and he frowns, “I have a talent. It may be paltry compared to the hopeful talents of my classmates, but i have one. Don’t reduce me to your level.” He crosses his arms, eyes glinting with vitriol.

You laugh, “You misunderstood my question. If you could have a different talent, what would you want it to be?”

“What? I- I don’t-“

You give up on planting for now, crossing your legs and tucking your hands in your lap, Komaeda is practically squirming, “Come on, you can do it! Picture you get to meet yourself from another universe, what talent do you want him to have?” 

Komaeda just stares at you, eyes wide. For a moment you think you’ve said something wrong, that you’ve offended him again. His mouth opens and closes, trying to find the words but unable, his hands are shaking, “He’s-“ 

His chest is heaving and what almost sounds like a sob hiccups in his throat as his arms wrap around himself. Trying to curl up inside of a coat that he isn't wearing, “He’s-”

It’s like something inside him snaps back into place, he shoots back up from the ground and turns away from you. For a moment you forget yourself and reach out to him. He leans away from your hand, panic visible on his face, “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

The wind is blowing gently and the sun is setting behind the trees as Komaeda walks off into the distance. You’re still sitting in the dirt, heart racing in your chest with the gravity of the moment that almost was. The stars, the planets, the whole universe stops, and you realise you are in love with him.

___

It isn't Komaeda who comes to visit next, but Hinata. You feel guilty at the way your heart sinks when you see him walking up the path, he’s wearing one of the shirts he thrifted from the giftshop, a hideous orange hawaiian affair decorated with apples and bananas. The shirt is like a beacon, you know it’s him from a mile away. 

You’d spent all night pondering your next conversation with Komaeda, what you were going to say. You wonder if there has been a shift in your relationship after that moment you stepped over the line in the sand. After he left , you didn't attempt to follow. If he needed space you weren't going to stop him. You just hoped he would trust you enough to come back.

“Good morning, Hinata.” You say, pulling yourself up from the ground and dusting the dirt of your overalls, “everything okay?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Everything’s fine.” He tucks his hands in his pockets and takes a quick glance at your garden, “plants growing alright?”

You nod, “it’s slow going, I’ve been watering every day but there hasn’t been any rain.”

Hinata cringes, rubbing the back of his neck, “sorry I couldn’t help. I’m still...getting the hang of him.”

A few days after he woke up, Hinata had attempted to, as he described it, ‘wrangle Kamukura’ and use some of his talents to force it to rain. There had been a very quick and very aggressive torrential downpour, and then five hours straight of snow. After that it seems there was an executive decision to keep Kamukura locked away for now.

“I spoke to Souda about an irrigation system. He’s been scavenging for parts but he said it will

Probably be a few weeks, maybe a month.” You shrug one shoulder, “I just need to keep everything alive until then, it’ll be okay.”

“Thanks for giving him something to do. He was getting a little restless.” Hinata laughs to himself, “Kazuichi can be a nightmare when he’s restless.”

“I’m glad to be useful, even if it just means keeping Souda busy.” You smile and wipe your brow with the back of your hand. The sun is relentless as always, “Did you need something from me, Hinata? I doubt you just came by to chat.”

“Oh, uh yeah.” He starts, “The foundation sent the karaoke set that Ibuki has been begging for since day one.” Hinata smirks wryly at the thought, “So we’re having a party on the beach tonight.”

“Oh!” You say, “That’s nice, i hope you all have fun!”

Hinata blinks and clears his throat, “I’m inviting you.”

“Inviting me? You don't have to do that!” You say, heading a little further down the plot to water some more plants “I’ve been learning how to cross stitch so I have plenty to do tonight.”

Hinata’s red eye is boring into you. Your heart races. There is a secret that you haven't told even Komaeda about, a secret that maybe even the Future Foundation doesn't know, a secret that Hinata himself seems to have forgotten, so you swallow the thoughts down for now. It would be a waste to bring them up.

“Everyone is going to be there, that includes you.”

You smile, it’s nice of him to try and include you in the group. You know better. The class of 77-B has been nothing short of welcoming, but you are not their friend, “I’ll see what i can do.” he turns to leave, but right as he does you have a sudden thought, “Oh, Hinata?”

“Mm?”

“Can you tell Komaeda i said hello?”

Hinata blinks at you, “Tell...Komaeda…” he shakes his head, “Wait, is this where he’s been disappearing to?”

Your heart sinks like a rock in your chest, “He didn't tell you?”

“He didn't tell anyone.”

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, but all you can think about is Komaeda keeping you like some shameful little secret. You force a smile, “Dont worry about it, then!”

Hinata’s brows draw and he takes a step closer to you, “Wait, I have questions.” he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Has he been treating you okay?”

“Of course he has.” You tilt your head to the side, confused, “He gets a little rude sometimes, but i'm not sure he entirely means it.”

“Nothing...weird?”

Now you’re really confused, “No. Nothing weird. He’s quiet, contemplative. He mostly just asks me questions.”

The tension leaves Hinata’s shoulders and he nods, “Okay. Good. I-” He crosses his arms and averts his eyes, “I’m worried about him. He’s been, I don't know, withdrawn? Since he woke up, I haven't had much time to talk to him about it. That is if he would even listen to me.”

“Hinata. I know-” You sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself nervously, “I know that what happened in the program is none of my business, and that there must be a reason the Foundation didnt tell me everything but-”

Hinata holds up a hand and says, “I’m gonna stop you there. You’re right that it’s none of your business, and i would honestly prefer you didn't know if you didn't have to.” he exhales, “but if Nagito wants to tell you, I’m not going to stop him. I’m just not sure that should be my choice to make.”

“I don’t think i want to ask him.”

He huffs and rests his hands on his hips, “Yeah, i probably wouldn't either. Look, it uh- it was kind of fucked in there, you know? I just want to make sure everyone is doing okay now that we’re out, so if you notice anything strange-”

“I’ll tell you.” your eyes are feeling heavy, and you suddenly realise that you are trying not to cry, “Don't um...don't tell Komaeda i mentioned him. I think he would prefer no one knew that he was coming here.”

“Sure…” Hinata replies, he sounds uneasy, maybe even a little confused, “I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

You nod. 

Hinata leaves. 

You don't go to the party.

[btheleaf]

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Fandom: Legend of Korra

Pema/Tenzin/Lin Beifong

Words: 970

Rating: G

Ao3 link

It first happened with Tenzin in a moment of excitement in the greenhouse. Lin was on edge when Tenzin took her hand to drag her along the rows to show her all the clippings and sprouting seedlings that survived the long journey from the base of the mountain at the Southern Air Temple back to the island. They’re for the tattoos, he explained, they’re the bluest blue you’ll ever see when they blossom.

Her heart fluttered in her chest and the apprehension slowly melted into something else the longer he held her hand. He was touching her, showing her something he cared so deeply about, his excitement rolled in waves that permeated much deeper than any attack could ever get past her armor. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw him as something other than the steadfast councilman. The smile, the light in his eyes, the way he pulled her from one plant to the next detailing how they would make the ink. The process sounded excruciatingly boring, but she could tell his heart was full of something greater than joy, he was seeing a future that was once a dream becoming a reality for all the new airbenders.

She could have pulled her hand away sooner, she knew she should have, but seeing him like this left her full of a kind of selfish hope, as if she could actually see the future he was painting with his words. She found herself wanting to be a part of it. For a brief moment in time everything was so open-ended, boundless, limitless.

Pema’s trademark barefoot steps approached and Lin dropped his hand under the guise of wanting to touch some nearby flower pedals. The hope was gone in a flash and replaced with guilt. What was she thinking? Why was she so happy? Surely he hadn’t meant to touch her, he had been distracted. That was his happiness, not hers.

The next time it happened was that very same evening with Pema.

For reasons Lin couldn’t comprehend, Tenzin had somehow convinced her to settle on the couch with tea in her hands and left the room. Pema came in shortly after and poured her own tea. She smiled and sat on the other cushion with her legs up facing Lin.

Words like infidelity and homewrecker raced through her mind, but it was just holding hands by accident…

“Was he a dork about the flowers?” Pema asked and smiled into her mug.

Lin nodded. Tenzin had told Pema. She should leave and never come back. Pema’s smile widened. Lin kept her guard up.

“The harmonic convergence changed him in a way,” Pema said, “He’s never been so sure of himself. He’s never been so… open… about what he wants.”

Lin nodded again, unsure of how this conversation could end without her permanent dismissal from the island. There was so much she would miss. The kids, the acolytes, the sentries, Tenzin… hell, she’d even miss Pema after all the time they’d spent together over the past few months, but she figured she deserved it for acting the way she had earlier in the greenhouse. “That’s good. He’s always had a weight on his shoulders no one could ever pry off.”

Pema laughed a little. “You know him too well.” Lin shifted uncomfortably. Pema kept talking, “We like having you over here, Lin. It’s a real treat to be able to see you so frequently.”

Lin looked her over, trying to find the trick, the hidden weapon, the catch. “I like coming here,” she admitted when she didn’t see Pema moving to attack.

“We were considering giving you an open invitation of sorts if you’d like. You’d be able to stop by whenever.”

“Really?” Lin asked. Some of the apprehension that threatened to consume her was fading away the longer Pema talked. Maybe she wouldn’t be pushed away. Maybe she finally found people patient enough to deal with her.

“Really.” Pema shifted closer until their legs were touching. “Would you like that?”

Lin nodded again. Where were her words? Where was her spirit? This was like a dream come true; endless access to the island she spent so much time on as a child, a free pass to come check on the kids, opportunities to see her oldest friend and Pema’s smile that always made her feel like she was doing something right. Pema patted her thigh and slid her hand back to her mug.

“Consider it done. The island can be your home away from home.”

Lin’s throat tightened and she sounded out a very uncharacteristic sniffle. The endless monotony of going home to her empty apartment after work every day seemed less bleak. She could come here where there were people, where it was warm and full of life. She had a place to go where people, beyond her understanding, wanted her around.

“Thank you.” She blinked once and the tears were gone. She couldn't start looking unstable now.

Pema shifted to lean against her side and Lin’s eyes darted around the room to see if Tenzin was watching.

“We care about you, Lin. Please come over more frequently.”

Despite her confusion, Lin nodded yet again. The invitation was more than just an offer for a place to spend time, it was an offer for potential hand-holding with her friend who she missed dearly, an offer to have a warm, soft body snuggled up to her side. She didn’t understand why anyone cared about her this much, why anyone even wanted her around, to be near her, to touch her. But she made a promise to herself right then and there to do everything she could to not mess this up. The future was calling, a future that wasn’t set in stone, a future where anything could happen.

“I will.”

[lisutarid-a]

[Gakuen K] Fushimi Saruhiko Route Translation

Going shopping

LIST OF CHAPTERS

[Translation under the cut]

Saya: Summer vacation just started, but Fushimi-kun and I are going to buy the things we need to grow ipomoeas.

Saya: (I will leave early so as not to be late for the meeting time)

Saya: Ah, Fushimi-kun is already here!

Saya: Good morning! You're early.

Saya: I guess I made you wait. How long have you been here?

Fushimi: I just came.

Saya: I see. That's good then.

Saya: (Maybe it's because this is the first time I see Fushimi-kun without his uniform, but it's kind of refreshing…)

Fushimi: Why are you stunned? Let's get this over with.

Saya: Ah, Uhm!

Saya: Because we're going to be home late, I'm going to drop the bags off in the club room and then just go home.

Saya: I was thinking of asking Munakata-senpai to help us with the preparation with ipomoeas for tomorrow's club activities.

Fushimi: I got it. I'll help you.

Saya: Thank you! Ah, and I'm also thinking of buying seedlings since growing them from seed would be hard.

Fushimi: I don't care either way. It's up to you.

Saya: Understood. But seedlings are a bit expensive. I wonder if it will be okay for the club budget…

Fushimi: The club has a lot of extra money so it shouldn't be a problem.

Saya: Eh, really?

Fushimi: Yeah. I saw a budget control book once. Maybe it's because we have so many people.

Fushimi: We're also doing this for the Head of the Student Council Office, so I'm sure that's no big deal.

Saya: They won't go against Munakata-senpai…

Fushimi: It's certainly best not to make enemies with him.

Saya: (I should be careful…Ah!)

Saya: Fushimi-kun, I think the gardening supply store is in this building. Let's go in!

Saya: I'm glad we got everything we needed. As I expected, big places are different.

Fushimi: Give this to me.

Saya: Eh, the bag we bought?

Saya: (I wonder if he wants to check it…)

Saya: Okay.

Saya: …

Saya: (Ah, he meant he'd carry it for me)

Saya: I can handle that much.

Fushimi: It's fine. We'll walk faster that way.

Saya: Uhm, thank you.

Saya: (Fushimi-kun has a having a sharp tongue in certain moments, but he's actually quite kind)

Saya: Summer vacation starts today. Are you planning to go anywhere, Fushimi-kun?

Fushimi: For now, to a club camp.

Saya: Right, we're going to have a camp. I'm looking forward to it.

Fushimi: Looking forward to it? For what?

Saya: Aren't we going to have a campfire, cook dinner, and throw the pillows at each other?

Fushimi: We're not going to do such things. That's a school trip. A training camp is not such a sweet thing.

Saya: Ahaha, I see. It's a training camp…What kind of camp?

Fushimi: The main purpose of the Blue club's training camp is to strengthen physical fitness. Because physical fitness is the basis of all work, apparently.

Fushimi: Last time it was in the mountains, so we ran on mountain roads non-stop.

Fushimi: After that, for some reason, we were made to help the neighborhood chop wood and even clean out the horse stalls.

Saya: Sounds surprisingly sports-oriented…

Saya: (Maybe it's a whim of Munakata-senpai that is not in the plan…)

Fushimi: Since it's sea this year, the main activities will probably be long swims and running on the beach.

Saya: Well, do you have any other plans besides the camp?

Choice: I was hoping we could go hang out ❤︎

Saya: I was hoping to go hang out with Fushimi-kun.

Fushimi: Ha? Who?

Saya: Me and Fushimi-kun.

Fushimi: I have already went with you shopping in this damn heat.

Saya: I see… Too bad.

Choice: Let's go hang out with everyone

Saya: I was thinking about going hang out with everyone, what do you think?

Fushimi: I refuse. And who is everyone?

Saya: Eh, with everyone from the Blue club. I was hoping we could go out and have fun together, not just at a camp.

Fushimi: Why do we have to see each other again another day when we already have to face each other at the training camp?

Saya: I think there is a difference between camp and hanging out…

Fushimi: If you want to do that with those guys, do it on your own. I'm not going.

Saya: Thanks for carrying the bags.

Fushimi: Yeah, I'll just leave it there.

Saya: Uhm. Well than, see you tomorrow.

Saya: Is this the correct way to attach these two rings?

Fushimi: It's not. You put the smaller ring on the bottom. It's the other way around.

Saya: Ah, I see.

Saya: Do you think this place is sunny enough?

Fushimi: The sun can be different there if someone sits near the window. It'd be better here.

Saya: Understood. I'll leave them here.

Saya: (Even though he's acting like it's a hassle, he's doing it properly)

Saya: I hope ipomoeas will bloom beautifully.

Fushimi: Not interested. For a start, it'd be good if even one blooms.

Saya: Ah, Fushimi-kun. Where are you going?

Fushimi: Home. Because the preparations are over, I'm done working for the day.

Saya: I thought about giving them names…

Fushimi: Names? You can name them whatever you want.

Saya: (Ah…He's gone. Though I thought he was nice to me when he carried the bags…)

Saya: (Ah, right. I'll name this ipomoea after Fushimi-kun)

Saya: From today, I'll call you Saruhiko. I hope Saruhiko grows up well.

[Prev chapter][Next chapter]

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #343

Ohhh. Sephiroth. Today was entirely too busy. I had a fun time, but... I had very little time to breathe between everything that happened.

So! I'll start at the beginning!

If you did oblige my small favor to think positive things at our little pumpkin friend, it's definitely working because this morning, I discovered that a THIRD leaf is starting to peek out!! Look!!

I'm excited for the little seedling. Recently, we improved the lightbulb that we use in the kitchen, so now it produces something a little closer to sunlight. I'm hoping that this will be enough to help get it through the rest of the winter.

...Wow. It's only a few paragraphs in and I can't seem to focus for shit. Fwhoof...

...Okay. So. I went to work again today, and it was very good! I was there from 9am until 2pm, on my feet and super busy the whole time! Everyone is trying really hard to make sure everything is well-stocked for the looming holiday. People are going out a few days ahead of time to gather up the ingredients they need in order to make their traditional holiday dishes. And lots of the traditional holiday dishes involve breads, rolls, and glutinous sweets.

Before I went in, it rained, and the water running over the pavement made interesting patterns, so I snapped a picture:

So I was bagging up breads and rolls. I was tending to customers. I was boxing up cookies and pastries. I was applying labels to things and putting them out on shelves. I was all over the place today, and it was good!

Also... I thought maybe everyone would be stressed out all to heck. So I brought in some of the pumpkin brownies I made yesterday to try to give the others something to be happy about. The manager of the whole store was bustling in and out of my department today.

...Apparently, he thinks I'm a delight to work with, and he's very confused about why I don't have more hours, just in general. He's supposedly going to try to fix that. I guess we'll see.

...I have recollections of my mother telling me that in the “really real world”, no one was gonna deal with my clumsiness or slowness or inefficiency. She said that I was lucky that she was my mother instead of my boss, or else she would have fired me. And. You know. Sephiroth... in this space, I'm still kinda new. 4 hours per week isn't a whole lot of practice time. There's still a lot that I don't know. There are still a number of movements that my dyspraxic hands struggle with executing. I drop things sometimes. I print one too many stickers. I don't know all the tricks of the trade yet, or all the most efficient ways of doing these things.

...And. I know that if my mother was my supervisor, she'd be screaming at me and calling me all sorts of things, like “ungrateful”, “oblivious”, “stupid”, and even the r-word from time to time.

...But these people. These “really real world” people that she tried so hard to warn me about. They accept mistakes as part of learning. They accept that I'm not always gonna be maximally efficient. They accept that I'm going to need to ask questions and be reminded of things from time to time. A bit of clumsiness from me is expected by them.

Sephiroth. These “really real world” people treat me a whole hell of a lot better than she used to. Even during the peak stress part of the business year, they still treat me with grace and have faith that I'm earnestly doing my best. And... that's not something she was ever able to give me. In those days, anytime I wasn't perfect, it was treated as a purposeful act of stupidity, ungratefulness, carelessness, or disrespect, and...

...I kind of want to go up to her and tell her to go fuck herself for all the shit she put into my head. For teaching me that I was some kind of insufferable and annoying piece of shit, and that I shouldn't expect anyone to treat me any better than she used to. For teaching me that her “love” for me was the purest and most complete that I would ever receive.

Except. Ya know. All of that is false. The fact of the matter was that her expectations of me were absolutely fucking unreasonable and unattainable. They were ridiculous and wildly developmentally inappropriate. You cannot please someone who resents the very fact that you were born.

Even when I make mistakes, I don't have to fight to be treated with kindness and respect here. All I have to do is earnestly do my best. And that is what I am naturally inclined to do in the first place. I never had to be screamed at, guilt-tripped, insulted, intimidated, or belittled.

...But. Going to people's houses and trying to make them feel small, worthless, and unlovable by telling them to go fuck themselves is not how we do. It is not the way. I could try to have a conversation about these things with her, but she'll just list some 50 bazillion excuses as to why her treatment of me was justified and totally not her fault, and so I shouldn't be upset about the way it affects me now (we've been through this conversational cycle a lot, and... it kinda gets old).

When the person who did wrong by us cannot be reasoned with, the solution is not to try to hurt them or try to hurt ourselves or try to hurt someone else to get them to listen. Because they're not gonna, and because hurting people is wrong. The thing to do instead is to simply walk away from them, in favor of walking towards those people who are better capable of loving you. And... that's what I've done. The notion that no one will ever love you better than your biological family is a fucking myth and a lie, and I am proof of this.

Anyway, so I wasn't able to get many pictures today because I was all over the place. But I did manage to get this one; I put together a bunch of bags of stuffing bread:

Once my shift at work ended, I went home. I snagged this picture on the way out:

M needed to run an errand, so I decided to tag along with him as a means of spending time together. We went and got some snacks at a favorite spot. They have a new kind of sandwich there now – it's called a “chopped cheese” sandwich??? But it's more like ground beef mixed with American cheese and thrown on a roll with some burger toppings – stuff like onions, tomatoes, ketchup, mustard, mayo, and lettuce. It was REALLY GOOD:

And then, before I knew it, it was time to go to some gathering of people testing the board games they made. In a nearby town, there is a board game cafe that holds events like these. One of the games that some local person developed was a rather interesting take on Plinko – it was simple, yet strategic, and utterly delightful! The other game was some kind of card game with different classes of fantasy characters – a fighter, a bard, a mage, and a rogue. There are challenges, and you have to pass them by pulling cards. I'm having a hard time articulating the rules right now. But it was fun. Not as fun as the first game, but still! I played the fighter:

I heard of this event through a connection I made on the friend-making app I told you about before. M was supposed to go with us, because board games is one of his many passions, but he suddenly didn't feel well, so only J and I went. Still, it was a very good time!

And now I'm home. I've been home since maybe 9pm or so, and then I started writing this letter, and doing a load of wash, and... I also gotta get in the shower before bed, and... fwhoof.

My job wants me in tomorrow for another 9am-2pm. And I'm looking forward to it, but at the same time, I feel like I've not had much chance to breathe. I think tomorrow after work, I'm maybe gonna try taking a nap or something.

...Maybe I'll dream about drinking a tea with you. With a version of me whose face is already fixed, and so I won't have to worry about pulling out my braces beforehand and scrubbing out the inside of my face after the fact, hahaha...

...I ought to stop writing now in favor of taking that shower and heading to sleep. I... don't really want to. I could keep writing to you for a long time. But I've gotta tend to my body; bad things happen when we don't take care of ourselves.

Hey. I love you a whole lot. So promise me that you'll take good care of yourself, too, okay? Stay safe, and make kind, loving, and gentle choices while you're out and about, all right?

I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine