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loganlermanstanaccount · 1 year ago

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Rigor Mortis (part 9)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 8, Part 10

summary: You both come to a realisation.

warnings: smut! f! masturbation, grinding, humping, fingering, (implied) recreational drug use, alcohol, dubcon (-ish! reader is drunk but the interaction is consensual, tagging just in case xx), teeny tiny bit of mutual pining. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: yuhh

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 7.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

all that light lost in gaps

You're gone, in the morning.

…he should've expected it. Miguel stumbles out of sleep, groggy and disoriented. He finds himself reaching out for something in the half-light.

He finds himself reaching for you. And when you're not there, leaving a person sized gap at the crook of his arm, his stomach churns. He pretends it's not disappointment, or the sharp crack of yearning ; settling at his chest like a crowbar, and prying open his ribs. It's worry, he decides resolutely, a perfectly normal, healthy amount of worry. As your roommate; and nothing else, he keeps reminding himself; he's just worried about where you've rushed off to, especially after yesterday.

Senior year. He was assigned a bullshit paper in a Civics class – one he'd usually half-ass for an easy A. He'd wax poetic about morality – amorphous, vague platitudes about duty and societal expectations. By the end of the year, he had it down to a science: a couple thousand words remixed and plucked from lesser known philosophers, videos online, and overdue library books. Either he was getting too good at it, or his teacher was too stupid to notice; but regardless, he coasted through the class right up until graduation. His last paper, and he remembers it distinctly, was on the book of the same name; aptly titled What We Owe Each Other. A plodding, pluralistic read; of which he had only scanned through, anyways. Extra credit, anything to graduate early, and he'd had more than enough on his plate at the time.

And so, he wasn't expecting the B+ underlined and circled in red ink on the front page. It felt like his teacher had handed it back to him face down, slammed onto the desk like the thunderous crack of a whip. And he didn't need that A, strictly speaking. Yet, he had found himself staying over after class, crinkling that piece of paper in hand as he'd asked why.

She sighs. Miss Hunter's glasses slip down her nose, as they are prone to do.

"You're an outstanding student. I hear you're graduating early, and you're off somewhere prestigious in the fall. This is… definitely not a bad grade, and it's nothing, I promise you."

It doesn't work like that, for him. His teacher doesn't get it, but it will eat him up inside-out if he's not able to understand.

"Was it my referencing?" He fumbles with the strap of his bag.

"No. Not at all–"

"I did the extra reading…the article you mentioned in class, and–"

He's cut off by the scrape of a desk chair. Miss Hunter gets up to close the door, before settling on her desk.

Arms crossed, she seems tired. Worried, maybe, but it doesn't register with Miguel. The thought doesn't even cross his mind, that there are others with the capacity to worry about him.

"Technically, it's well written. As usual, Miguel." She gives him a weak smile. "It just… lacked heart."

His brows jump up. "...heart?"

"There's not really a narrative voice, here."

He taps at the paper on the desk, frustrated. "You didn't ask for a narrative voice, though. You didn't ask for… for heart. I read the book, I did the extra reading, and I wrote a report. That was the brief."

"Not quite." She says it gently, but it still sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him. "The brief was vague, intentionally so. 'What Do We Owe Each Other? Discuss.' I gave examples, sure: excerpts from the book we touched on in class, articles, academic papers, etcetera. They were… suggestions."

"...suggestions." He's incredulous.

She nods. "You followed it to the letter, Miguel. You gave me a summary, with a few key links. Fully referenced, yes. Well-written, yes. But this feels like a sum of parts. It doesn't tell me anything about you; your perspective, your angle. Your voice."

He's biting back choice words. It sounds like bullshit to him, for lack of a better word. Flowery, hoity-toity BS; served up to him on a steaming platter. That's it?

Maybe it shows on his face, because she's asking, as delicately as possible,

"Is everything okay?"

Instinctually, he seizes up.

"Yeah. Yes. I'm good."

"I know you don't take this class as seriously because it's not an AP, or an elective, or maybe not as challenging as you need it to be. And that's okay, Miguel. I'm happy for you to use my class as a break from all the other stuff." She swallows thickly. "You're not from our usual feeder schools. The Academy is particularly rigorous. But considering your… situation, we can make exceptions. If there's anything I can do–"

"There isn't a 'situation'."

"Right. Of course, I'm sorry. But if you need a couple days off of school because of…" She pasues, saying the next part softly. "Because of the baby… I mean, you're already acing my class–"

"No." He says it firmly, eyes trained onto the wood grain peeking out from underneath piles of documents. He wants to ask how she knows, and how he's always the last to find out that rumours have spread, and–

"Miguel." Her voice cuts through dense fog. She repeats her previous statement. “If there's anything I can do–”

“If you want to help, you can give me that A.” It's bone dry, said with the kind of sarcasm he's grown accustomed to. He wears it over his shoulders, sometimes; draped to keep out biting cold, or unfamiliar warmth from a stranger - it all feels the same, now.

She gives him a rueful smile. “Need more than that, m'afraid.”

Heart. Voice. What We Owe Each Other – and he doesn't know why that phrase sticks in his throat. It's been drilled into him since childhood; family and community, helping each other out of the starting blocks; and beaten out of him during adolescence. The creaking and cracking of bones after each step, where out in the world it's a different matter entirely.

His mama has bad taste in men, and he finds himself picking up the pieces. Gabi is more sensitive than he'll ever admit, trying not to cry amongst broken plates and chicken-wire hidden in a bouquet of peonies: prickly words that cut and hack, and it's Miguel that wipes the tears from his brother's cheek. That devastatingly gentle sigh when he had told his mama what he had done - how he had fallen for a soft bed and even softer lips at the ripe age of 16 and a half - and Miguel carries that weight. What We Owe Each Other – and he's only ever fed entitled egos. Not his family, of course, but he's been burned. He's had more than his fair share of it.

He doesn't owe the world shit, he thinks.

He doesn't owe you shit.

It doesn't help that he's been stuck in place, grasping at cushion covers and a raggedy blanket. Trying not to drown in the heady scent of you, he's been dragging thick fingers over the fabric as if in a trance. You don't owe him anything, either. Nary an apology, an explanation; so much as a sorry spilling from pretty lips in that way where they quiver like a gentle flame.

He's touched them, felt them drag across his skin like the finest silk, and dropped to his knees in search of something you've never given him. It doesn't matter if you don't; kiss him , that is; the swirling, desperate sort that leaves him heaving and creaking and begging for more. He thinks he'd still scuff up the denim at his knees if you asked, regardless - he'd do anything , if it was for you.

It's not realistic to expect anything from you. You don't need to tell him where you've gone or why you've left so early. You don't need to, and yet he finds himself reaching for his phone.

Miguel sends a well placed message; deft fingers tapping away at the screen. Before he changes his mind, it's sent; and he's chewing his lip whilst waiting for a steady three dots. Lyla is slower than usual, but she comes through. She doesn't ask questions - because she knows him better than he knows himself - and gives him a thumbs up.

They'll call each other later, that much he's sure of, but for now he reads between the lines. Short bursts of text, like firecrackers flashing across a night sky, and only through nonsensical emojis and odd slang can they understand each other.

This part, he can do. And he'll do whatever he needs to, not what he owes.

~~~

You make it to Pam's just after it opens.

At 7 o'clock sharp, you've made the journey; in an empty subway car, spilling out onto the streets like treacle left in the neck of a bottle. It's not quite a squeeze, passing by only a handful of people, with nothing but a jacket thrown over last night's clothes. In a daze, you realise too late: it's Miguel's. A dusty, worn thing; brown leather crackling at the sleeves and heavy on your shoulders. It feels like a hug, and it feels like him : warm and stiff. It smells like him too, and you bury your nose in the collar on the subway, sleeves kissing your palm like his hand is in yours.

It's a feeling that takes you all the way to the doors: past the slats bolted shut and down a familiar alley. You push past them, sneakers on slick tiles, and give a weak smile to the woman that perks up from behind the counter, kicking away the mop and bucket.

"Hiya, welcome to Pam's! How can I–"

"Oh, God , no." You wave her off. "Take your time. I need a minute, if that's okay."

Settling on the barstool, you watch as the young woman smiles, picking up a rag and wiping at the counter. You sit in it, for a while.

Dregs drip in through the front. The bell at the top of the door chimes, tinny and cheerful in the relative gloom of a quiet morning.

It's cold , outside. Autumn, biting at your fingers and nose. Eventually you opt for a coffee, piping hot to stave off that chill. Bitter, the aftertaste lingers at the back of your throat. You find yourself picking at the chipped mug, chasing away that taste with fluffy pancakes. The combination doesn't feel quite the same – not after many a morning with your roommate.

You settle into the seat. You wrap that old jacket around you. You sip at tart coffee and pick at your nails. A quiet morning, one to yourself, one to keep hidden at the crook of your chest. Some semblance of peace , wrapped up in the spindles of a dandelion. That is to say; delicate and fleeting, whipped away by the breeze.

You've decided not to think too hard about it. That kind of thinking ends dangerously, you've realised: with long, hot nights spent tossing and turning. It ends with a head full of cotton, and a pounding at your chest. With blood, with tears, with a stranger in your bed. And so, you go for the cleaner option. The safer one, all things considered, that's less likely to end in a broken heart.

You float around for a while. Walking without a real destination, trying to ground yourself. Eventually, you end up home, opening the door to an empty apartment. There's no traces left of a night spent in Miguel's arms. Good, you think, slipping your shoes off at the door. It doesn't feel good , but if you say it enough times you just might believe it.

The cleaner option; the one with less gristle and bone; is a familiar one. You settle into a shower; steamy and soapy, taking your time to clean out the blood from under your fingernails. The grime, the dirt ; you watch it swirl into the drain, hands running across soft flesh. You try to do it like Jamie did, once upon a time. It doesn't feel right, and has you leaning onto the cool tile. The shower head sputters, a shaky pressure on your back but you lean into it and close your eyes. You rub a hand at the crook of your chest, and then down, down, down, circling your breast and then following the curve of hips to the apex of your legs. Tipping your head, letting the hot water stream through your hair and then your back; and you touch, feel , and you can almost taste him ; sweet and saccharine Miguel, at your lips.

With two fingers flat against your clit, you rub little circles at the nub, dipping into your hole for much needed wetness. Your other hand travels up soft skin, pads of your fingers grazing collarbone, and then they curl around your neck. With a little pressure, your thumb grazes your jaw. Like he does, except your hands aren't as deliciously rough or as large. You slip a finger in, and then two, water pounding your back and eyes screwed. You push past that initial tightness, searching for a little give. When it comes, cunt clenching around your fingers, just shy of that sweet spot as you press your clit with the heel of your palm; you're imagining it's your roommate. He'd wrap those thick forearms around you, press his cock to the crest of your back and touch you like you deserve.

You do it like Miguel would, reverent , touching you as if you were clay at a potter's wheel. In the hands of God herself, you cum; falling, falling, falling; tumbling down white water rapids and spit back up into the rushing water. You're panting, now, out of breath.

When you sink onto your bed, you realise it's not quite enough. Still in a fluffy robe, steam curls from your skin like clouds – ones that smell of cheap body wash and shampoo. Before you know it, you're reaching for your phone, sending two quick messages to a certain somebody.

[Sent: 15:32]

hey mig

[Sent: 15:32]

where did u go?

You don't expect a quick reply - he's never been much of a texter. But those three dots pop up in no time at all, much to your surprise.

[Received: 15:33]

Out.

[Received: 15:33]

Running errands.

It's succinct and to the point – of which you expect nothing else from Miguel. Your thumbs fly to the screen to reply but another message tugs the rug out from under your shaky legs.

[Received: 15:35]

Is everything okay?

[Sent: 15:35]

yeah

[Sent: 15:36]

all good

When that provides no response, you're left chewing on your lip, anxious. He's seen the message, he's read the message; but for some reason, several minutes go by and there's no response.

You're ready to give up and chalk it to your roommate's hot-and-cold nature, when your phone rings.

Immediately, you pick up.

" Don't believe you." His voice rings out, tinny, nestled amongst the covers.

"Hey, Mig." You settle down on the bed, putting him on speaker and placing it by your ears.

" Did you hear what I said?" His tone is deep and intense, making you shiver. It's not quite the same, of course, but you're reminded of nights spent with his lips tucked close the shell of your ear.

You swallow. "Yeah. I… I did."

" You sure? Because you suck at lying."

"Don't be an asshole."

" Think I get a free pass when you disappear for the whole day."

You roll your eyes. “You didn't call–”

“ Would you have answered?”

Ouch. He sounds frustrated, the quiet chatter of his background bathed in heavy silence. Silence thick with tension, and you almost choke on it.

He breaks it with a heavy sigh. “ You okay? ”

“No. Not really.”

“ Okay. ” He lets it sit for a while, before saying, “ I'll be home, soon. There's leftovers in the fridge, and you should eat, sweetheart. You want anything from the store? ”

His voice is so, so soft. It crackles like kindling on a fire: warmth that blooms and spreads to your chest. Like slipping off frozen gloves to thaw off in front of a heater, and he just makes you feel impossibly warm.

“Not really, thanks.” You mumble it, and hear a satisfied grunt from the other end. Before you change your mind, you say, “Sorry. M'sorry.”

Miguel gives a light chuckle and you think you can hear him smile, the kind you always chase after a stupid argument: one that tugs at the corners of his pretty lips.

“ You've got nothin' to be sorry about .”

He gives you a moment to feel the weight of his words, and ends the call. That heat at your chest blooms.

If Miguel O'Hara is the Sun, then maybe you don't mind being pulled into his orbit; bathing in steady light and warmth.

~~~

He comes home with flowers. A beautiful bouquet; delicate and balanced, featherlight wildflowers and brush, interspersed with sprays of blue and purple and pink. It's wonderfully dense, reminding you of the tangles of colour a child might decorate a picture with in wobbly crayon. Simply put, it's nothing short of a vision, and you notice how delicately he places it on the dining table.

With the rest of the grocery bags, Miguel clatters in, and you can't help but be curious. You're poking through the bags, sitting on the counter as he puts them away – after offering to help, of course, but he bats you away easily. Your bare legs bristle in the chill brought on by the window cracked open, and he just breezes past.

The cabinet opens with a thud , and your roommate busies himself with putting away food. Carefully, you watch the way the muscles of his back flexes this way and that - cut and lean under that thin sweater. He’s otherwise occupied, and so you take the opportunity to stare, playing with a loose string at the hem of silky shorts. And so, it makes you jump when your phone buzzes beside you. Innocuously, you glance at the notification, and your eyes go wide.

“Who’s that?” Miguel asks, voice light. With that freaky sixth sense of his, he doesn’t need to turn around to know, it seems.

“Lyla.” You murmur, reading the rest of the message.

“ ...And? ”

“Uh. Well…” Blinking, you can’t quite believe what she’s asking. “ Girl’s Night . I-I mean… she’s asking me to come with her for a Girl’s Night.”

“Really?” His tone is surprising, and you can hear how he beams by its lilting nature. Maybe he’s laughing at you, maybe he’s not, but you snap back regardless.

“ ... don’t act so surprised.”

“ You sound surprised.” He laughs.

“It’s different when I do it.” You say simply. “I just… I didn’t expect it. I didn’t even know we were close enough to–”

“Bullshit. You text her all the time.”

“A couple of times, Mig.” You correct him, trying to pin down a suitable response to give Lyla. You draw a blank. “I don’t want her to feel like she has to, or anything.”

He turns around, sleeves still rolled up. The look he gives makes you wither: one that could say about a million things. You think it means cut the crap , but he could just be constipated: you haven't quite mastered the art of reading Miguel O’Hara.

“Do you want to go?” He gets closer, hand flat on the counter next to your thigh.

You nod, and his hand creeps up and up.

Giving you a little smile, he shrugs. “Then go.”

It makes you shy. Bashful , even; and you’re wriggling as he squeezes the flesh. A hand on his forearm, and he’s close; so much so that all you can feel is the press of skin, and feel gentle breath fluttering past your cheek. You’re stuck underneath the gaze of his pretty lashes, and entranced at the way he licks his even prettier lips. A sudden thought seizes you - so heavy it makes your chest tight and leaden.

Oh. You want to kiss him.

In a moment, it’s gone. A broad palm nudges your thigh aside, and you’re shifting so he can reach the drawers just by your legs. You oblige, falling back into familiar routine.

Life moves on. Like Miguel said it would, and you find yourself entwined with the idea of time passing. Lying awake each night, picking out sand from underneath your fingernails, after clawing your way out of the hourglass. Steady, slow dregs; and it's tipped over each morning, restarting the clock.

The flowers disappear from the dining table. Miguel retreats into the folds and dark corners of your apartment; you see him less and less. Passing ships in the night, you seem to miss each other by a fraction of a second. All of a sudden he's busy , and all of a sudden you're swamped with work. You only see each other at night, looking out for the bits and pieces left as proof of life: sometimes he'll leave a hot flask out for you in the mornings, and you'll greet him with a cheesy soap in the evenings. If he's not leaving later and later after work, that is.

He looks tired, you note. Exhausted; prone to little yawns as you turn to him every now and then whilst watching on the couch. It's sweet, the way his frown has made way to a dopey smile, but it's frayed at the edges, tinged with something you can't quite place. You let him sleep that night, bringing pillows to lay his head on, and wrapping him up in that old blanket.

Girl's night creeps up on you. It shakes you by the shoulders when you collapse on the sofa after a long day – and you're rushing to get ready. There's no Miguel to make sly remarks or prod you into action, this time. You wonder what he'd say about what you're wearing; a leftover dress buried in boxes from your ex's apartment.

Short, tight, snug; it has you feeling glamorous – but you hope it doesn't look as fanciful as it feels. Too much; yet again, you're worried about being too much. Even though you're running a little late, you take the time to carefully apply makeup; something shiny on your lids, a dab of blush, and gloss slathered onto your lips. When you sling on little heels, and snatch a petite bag from the hooks near the door, there's barely enough time to catch that last glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Down and out you go, into a dusky night.

~~~

“I had to go through her manager– and wait, can you believe this girl has a fucking manager, now?” Lyla bats at MJ's shoulder, and the redhead laughs good-naturedly.

“It's not– she's exaggerating! My manager's just my mom, I swear.”

“It's a good thing, no?” You smile, taking a healthy swig of a brightly coloured cocktail.

“It means she is booked, and–” Lyla hiccups, raising an unsteady glass that threatens to tip. MJ straightens her elbow instinctually, before raising her own. “ – very busy .”

It's your turn to laugh, glass held high in the air. With a clink , there's a clash of crystal that's all but drowned out by the chatter in the upscale bar.

Somewhere fancy, courtesy of Lyla. One of those places that serves tiny portions in big, empty plates, a fusion of cultural food with white, upper class owners. No-doubt the result of summering somewhere in the ever-broad global South , Lyla had said slyly, under the lip of a menu.

There's powdered sugar on the rim of your flute. It dissolves on your tongue. You down the rest. Sickly sweet, and you wipe what drips onto your lips.

It has you checking your phone. Miguel hasn't called, not that you were expecting anything. Whilst Lyla and MJ talk, you scroll mindlessly through his chat; a smattering of one word answers. Missed calls. Unanswered messages.

" –what about you, babe?"

Your eyes snap back up to meet Lyla's, expectant.

"Uhhh…"

"Nevermind." Sharp eyes travel to your phone, and there's a flash of recognition. "Miggy said you're in school. He said you're gonna graduate early, this year."

"He said that?" You're confused. "I mean… I'm trying but it's not looking like that, right now."

She wags a finger, shaking her head like she's trying to remember something. "No, no, he seemed adamant. Said you're working hard, doing well."

"Doing better ." You correct her, shyly.

" Bullshit. " She says it the way Miguel does, and it makes you laugh. You see it now; he's the product of the people he loves. A kind of Frankenstein's monster, he's stitched together those bits and pieces; he's made himself beautiful. You wonder what piece of you he carries. If he even holds you that close to his chest.

"I bet you're doing amazing. " MJ finishes. Her smile is warm, and copper-coloured; it feels hazy and ambered in your little corner. "Better than me, anyways. I would rather die than go back to college."

"Back?" You ask.

"Oh, of course! You don't know." She giggles, leaning in like she's about to say something scandalous - the drink is clearly doing its job. Her next words are an exaggerated stage whisper. "I dropped out."

" Seriously? " You play along, with faux shock.

"...damn right she did." Lyla gives a drunken wave to a nearby waiter, asking for another glass of wine. Something expensive, she whispers, giving a deceptive smile.

"It just wasn't for me, I guess. I went because everyone around me was going, even Pete. Uhh, English Lit, or something. And it didn't… I–I mean it just wasn't–"

"It didn't click."

" Right!" She snaps her fingers. "It was too much. I didn't know what I was doing, I was 18, for God's sake. Think I stuck at it for a bit too long, honestly."

"...and the world didn't explode." You breathe.

MJ answers with a knowing nod. She chugs the rest of a crisp Mojito, raising the empty glass once more.

"To doing better ."

You're quick to follow. "To doing better."

Lyla frowns, looking for a glass that's tucked into the corner. The room must be spinning already, with the way she pats around for it. You nudge it towards her with an elbow, and she's raucous; crumpling into a fit of giggles.

One drink turns to two, two turns to three, and then four ; until you're ready to spill out onto the busy strip. When the waiter places a slip of paper into the centre, one with so many zeroes it makes your eyes bulge, you don't even have to pretend to reach for your wallet. Gleefully, Lyla picks up the bill, sliding a shiny Amex card onto the dish.

She's generous, you note, as she buys a bottle of wine to go when MJ picks up her bag. She's perceptive, too. You see it when MJ wrings her hands, still tipsy and stuttering in her heels as you pile onto the street. She's making apologies already - I've got an early start and need to see my May - but Lyla intercepts. There's the gentle clink of a bottle thrust into her hands, something expensive, and she kisses the apples of her cheeks before sending her off in a taxi.

Her own cheeks are ruddy, rosy with drink and she splits into a wide smile. The back of her hand comes up to your neck. Warm , she whispers, before linking arms with you like a schoolgirl off to do something they shouldn't.

Eventually, with shaky legs, you end up in a nightclub. She knows someone who knows someone, apparently, and you're ushered into a packed place just off 76th. Lights and pounding music, a flurry of limbs; you let the crowd take you in. If this is what it means to be a part of a whole; some writhing, heaving beast, to be more than your hand in someone else's and theirs in yours; then you could live here forever, you think. Forever, for the night, for the next ten minutes; you blink , and time passes.

You're having fun, you think. Letting the blood rush to your head, hips swaying to the music and you don't push away the quiet snap of a phone camera, nor it's red recording light. Dancing, singing, many seem to be pulled into orbit around you. This is how it works , pushed into an ebb and flow of people held together by broken lyrics and a thumping bassline. You let it wash over you, all-consuming, dragging yourself into murky depths.

You're in a booth, now, anchored by a dainty hand around your wrist. Pupils blown, she cups your face to inspect you, to figure out where you've gone. Someone's bought you a drink, there's a stranger's arm around your shoulders, but Lyla pushes them both away. Too much? It's a question, of which you shake your head firmly - lolling and with a distinct lack of fine motor skills - no. Not enough.

You blink. Bitter liquor hits your throat, and you chase the taste of somebody else's lips. A stranger, and even under the influence you know it doesn't feel right. Bile rises, and you're gone, clamping onto your stomach and trying not to hurl.

You blink. You're on the sidewalk, with a heavy head on someone's shoulder. The strap of your heels dig into your ankles and you fumble with it, trying to stop the road from spinning. Lyla holds you up, not much more up to task than you are.

A car pulls up, and at first you don't recognise it; entranced by shiny rims coming to a stop. You look up, still buried in Lyla's thick jacket; and you see it. You see him.

Miguel's wearing glasses. That's the first thing you notice, stumbling to your feet. Immediately, your face cracks into a dopey smile, leaning onto the lip of the open window. He gives you a once over, swallowing thickly, brows drawn.

Quiet chatter flys straight over your head. Lyla arguing, Miguel wagging a finger at her; but all you can see is him. It's like you've got blinkers on, tunnel vision making you focus on the curve of cheekbone, and the way his eyes scrunch up around black rims and glass.

You clamber into the backseat.

“Get in, Ly.”

The other woman seems resolute. “ M'not –”

“Did you take something?”

“Fuck you.” Flashing a middle finger, she wraps up her coat like a robe, walking away down the road.

He's adamant, driving up next to her. You keep your head on the glass where it's cool.

“Let me take you home. Please. ”

Frowning, she stops. When he leans over to open the passenger's side, she slips off her boots, and sidles in.

Their voices feel like a blur. You can barely register, only picking up half of the words hissed under their breath.

“... I called you, you can't give me a lecture…”

“...not fair, Lyla…. can't keep babysitting…”

“... fucking hypocrite… not the only one… I'm going through some shit…”

“...too far…. always taking it too…”

He drops her off outside of the apartment. From the backseat, you're sobering up; able to catch his heavy sigh as he watches her through the window. It's only when he sees her walk in does he turn to you, passing bottled water kept in the console.

“You want to come out to the front?”

You like the way he says it, for some reason. Any anger or frustration he had towards Lyla dissipates. He doesn't bring that into a quiet conversation with you.

He's too solemn, too serious, and so you clamber into the front over the console; limbs and legs everywhere, as obnoxiously as you can. A slight elbow to his chest, a hand clutching his shirt; you want to make him laugh. As you settle onto the seat, you see it: huffing dramatically, he gives you a small smile.

Miguel reverses back out onto the road.

You blink, and you're home. Legs still shaky, he helps you up the stairs, settling you onto the sofa. Car keys clink onto the dish by the door, and he slips off his coat – that brown one, your favourite, you think.

Fumbling with the strap of your heels, it must be too painful for him to watch as Miguel settles by your feet. His big, strong hands are surprisingly deft when he undoes the dainty buckle.

“Are you mad at me?” Meekishly, you watch and he shakes his head, not making eye-contact. Maybe it's the alcohol, but you're staring; looking for that light in his eyes amongst the dark room.

Now, he looks up. “What?”

“M'just looking.” You say, chewing the inside of your cheek as one shoe slips off. “ I'm not allowed to look?”

The other one comes off, and he hisses when he spots a little cut where the strap dug into your ankle. He can't help it, rolling it gently in his hands, trying to ease the pain with a massage.

“You wear glasses.” You say it softly, more to yourself than to anyone else. Giggling now, you cradle his face and he sits up. “I didn't know that.”

“ That's not – I've always worn glasses. You're just not paying attention.” He shrugs lazily, but he's smiling.

“Not true , Mig. I would've noticed.”

“You're drunk–”

“When it's you, I always pay attention.” Absent-mindedly, your hand curls into his hair. He keens . “Like… your hair's getting longer.”

Gently, he shakes out of your grip, getting up. “I know, I know. I need a haircut.”

“I like it.” Starry-eyed, you look up at him. “You're so pretty, Mig.”

It makes him heave. Still tipsy, your legs spread ever so slightly, hand taking his and pulling him closer. Placing his hand on your thigh, you let it trace up, up, up, catching at the hem of your short dress.

He practically caves in, collapsing next to you on the couch.

“You should–” His eyes are glassy as you ease yourself onto his lap. “ F-Fuck . You should go to bed, sweetheart.”

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you roll your hips, watching as he groans wantonly.

“But I'm not tired.” His hand ends up on your waist, applying just the right amount of pressure. Underneath, you can feel him stir, increasingly hard under loose sweats. “And you haven't touched me in weeks. ”

You're exaggerating, but it goes to his head anyway. He buries his head into the crook of your shoulder, whispering into the bare skin.

“I know, I know…”

“Just the tip, Miguel.” You're grinding your clit onto him, pussy barely covered by a thin thong. Whispered into the shell of his ear, you're a siren, honeyed words dangerously close to breaking him down. “Just the tip, and I promise , I'll let it go. Please , baby.”

Your dress rides up, and his hands come down to palm at your ass.

“ Please…” You're pleading, lips on his neck as he squeezes, forcing you down to hump directly over his cock.

“Oh, shit.” His hips jump once, twice; and then he stills, hands at your hips and ass to stop you.

Desperate, you whine, trying to fight against it. He doesn't let up, hand cradling your chin so you can look him in the eye.

“ Bed .” He says, shakily. “Not like this.”

He slips you off, noticeably adjusting his pants. Legs spread wide, head tipped back as he sighs; he looks delicious , and you're fighting off the urge to let him take you right there and then.

You stumble through the little hallway, pushing past some doors. Something clatters into your thigh, and you hear a dull thud as another thing falls to the floor. Frustrated, you strip down to your underwear, something light and lacy and it leaves very little to the imagination.

There's a bed, and you collapse on it; swimming in the silky sheets. It smells like him - musky and oaky and gentle - and you think you must be dreaming already. And then, you sit up, realising too late - this isn't your room.

Miguel wasn't too far off, hearing the thumping and clattering; hesitant as he opens the door. You're wrapped up like a present, spilling out of lingerie on his bed. He swallows, turning away to dig into his wardrobe, intending to pull out a baggy shirt for you.

“ Miguel .” You croak, but he ignores the want in your voice, so heavy it goes straight to his cock. “Miguel, please. ”

All his shirts blend together. He can't concentrate.

“Do you think I don't want it? Because I do, fuck, I need it. So bad, baby, please.” Your body heaves with a half sob.

Heart splintering, he turns. Finally, you meet his eye. You spread your legs.

“ Here. Right here .” You tap your clothed cunt with shaky fingers, pulling your thong to the side. His eyes drink it up, the way you glisten when your cunt eats up the fabric. You know he's watching, and you take advantage of it, circling your clit with the pads of two fingers. “Like this . When I touch myself, I think of you… d-did you know that?”

Swallowing roughly, he can't take his eyes off of you.

“What… What else?” He croaks.

“I think of your tongue, a-at my pussy. And your fingers… God. ” You slip a finger in, and he watches as your cunt clenches around it; gushing and sloppy. “Your l-lips. Meant it, before. When I said you were pretty. Want to sit on that pretty face and watch you melt– oh-h- fuck- ”

He wants to lick it up, all that slick that sluices from your hole. His mouth waters, just thinking about it.

“Put another one in, for me.” He says it low, sinking to his knees to watch you fuck yourself.

Nodding, you oblige.

“Does it feel good?”

“ Yes. ” You don't hesitate.

“Can you fit another one? Want to see how good she looks when she comes, sweetheart.”

Three fingers in, now, and he slides your thong a little further aside; reaching up to press his thumb to your clit. Light streams in from blinds cracked open and highlights your thighs perfectly. Nevertheless, he adjusts his glasses to make sure he doesn't miss anything.

The twitch of your leg, the way your hand cramps up, the way your lips curl into a delicious O - he sees it all, commits it to memory.

“ Faster , please.”

“ Doesn't –” You're frustrated, clearly chasing something that refuses to surface. “Not the same. Can't fucking reach. ”

He titters, nipping at your thighs and soothing the bites with the flat of his tongue.

“Poor baby. Will you let me help?”

Fervently, you nod, slipping out your fingers as he takes off his glasses. They're discarded, too foggy to be useful right now.

“Did I tell you to take them out?” He sighs and gestures for your hand. Wrapping his lips around them he sucks them clean, humming lightly. He pats your clit with a wet slap, content. “Put two fingers in, sweetheart.”

Doing as he says, your head feels full - cotton wool and bubble wrap, only able to focus on the pleasure building behind your clit. And when he slots two fingers in next to yours , it rips out a gravelly moan.

“ Here? ” He says dragging himself deeper, curling his fingers up. “Or is it… here? ”

You groan, limp against his hand as you feel impossibly full. It reminds you of the stretch of his cock; creaming around the base of his two fingers and yours. That wonderful curl as he pumps himself in and out, cupping your hand in the process to make sure you match his pace. He can feel your walls spasm around him, impossibly soft and velveteen.

“Can't say no to you,” His eyes are low, grunting as he palms himself roughly. “Even though… fuck … even though I should.”

It's wet, the slap slap slap of skin against skin echoing in his room. Miguel sits up, pressing his lips to your neck, and you take the opportunity to slip your other hand into his sweats. You start pumping, in time with his ministrations, eyes blown as you swipe your thumb over his weeping slit.

You know he likes it rough, and you jerk him into your palm; fast and hard and you watch as he matches your pace. Even now, you're competing, trying to catch the him up; to see who can make the other cum first.

You push back on his fingers, hips slotting against his, whispering nonsense into his neck. You're too fucked out to care; confessions you never thought would see the light of day. All the little things you like about him, things he says, things he does; and you don't even register the ochred flush smattered along the ridge of cheekbone.

He spills into your hand, and you're quick to follow; cumming around him as his fingers stutter in and out. It feels good , dangerously so, and has you pressing shaky kisses around his mouth, and nipping at his bottom lip.

He stills, but you're greedy, aching for more. You want him in you; seating his thick cock deep inside, painting your walls with hot cum, and pushing it back in with deft fingers. Every part of you is on fire, barely satiated by your heated foray.

You tip back onto the bed, and he joins you; caging you in with thick forearms, looking at you like you've stolen all the stars in the sky. That feeling , again, slams into your chest like a bullet. Messy hair, ruddy cheeks, hand gently tracing your jaw; he looks gone, and oh so soft. You want to kiss him ; and it's a thought that sticks, embedding itself somewhere you can't reach to dig it out.

“ Miguel .” You whisper, enough alcohol at the edges of your mind to stop thinking and spill your guts to him, unfiltered. “Are you sleeping with someone else?”

His eyes flit over your face before answering and he shakes his head.

“No. No. Just you. Only you.”

“ Don't believe you .” But you want to. So, so desperately. “Promise me?”

“I promise, sweetheart.” He swallows. “Are you?”

“No. Don't think I could if I tried.” It comes out watery, stuck at the back of your throat.

He just looks, for a moment, cradling the back of your head.

“I want to kiss you.” It spills out from your lips.

“I know.”

“Then why won't you kiss me?”

“Not a good idea.” He strains, kissing your forehead, and then each cheek. Hesitating, he places a gentle peck to your chin. “Ask me tomorrow.”

He says it simply, too easily; and it makes you want to sob. When Miguel slips away, and you hear the sound of a light turned on in the bathroom, you can't move. Catatonic; you blink, and he's cleaned you up, and slipped a shirt over your shoulders. Laying back in his bed, you watch as he lingers by the doorway, shrouded in shadow.

Goodnight. Y ou think you say it out loud, but it echoes in your head.

He says back, but not really. Instead, he leaves that goodnight hanging by the doorway like an old coat, and you wrap it over your shoulders.

It keeps you a little warmer through the night.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #rigor mortis 😼#miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #angst #heavy angst #mutual pining

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justagalwhowrites · 30 days ago

Text

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 5: Fracture

You and Joel try to find a balance in your relationship in Los Angeles. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 4 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Very mild violence. Masturbation. Description of porn. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 14.3k (IDFK what my problem is)

“Hey, Big Miller!” Tanya yelled toward her living room, wine glass clutched precariously in her grasp.

“Shhh!” You clamped your hand over Tanya’s mouth as she practically cackled. “Will you cool it?”

She shoved you away playfully.

“We need a camera man,” she said. “And I don’t think he’s busy.”

“Can’t we ask one of your security guards?” You asked, brows raised. “Because I don’t think they’re busy, either.”

“Yes but my security guards aren’t eye candy,” she replied, almost smug. “And they’re in the guard shack. So the obvious choice is… Oh, hello Big Miller.”

Tanya winked at you and you turned to find a surly Joel standing in her massive kitchen, his arms crossed and a fed up look on his face.

“Can I help you.”

“Yes, actually,” she practically flounced over to him. “We are making a TikTok…”

“No,” Joel said.

“Oh, come on,” she waved him off. “You’re no fun!”

“Ain’t paid to be fun,” Joel said. “Now if you two aren’t running off somewhere crazy, think I’ll get back to…”

“We just need a camera man,” Tanya said, putting a hand in the middle of his back and guiding him further into her kitchen. “All you have to do is press record, hold the phone and press stop.”

Joel looked to you like he was asking for an out and, given the new, strangely kind balance to your relationship, you wished you could give him one.

But… you did need a camera man.

“Ellie wanted us to make a video,” you said and Joel sighed and held out his hand for Tanya’s phone, just like you knew he would as soon as you mentioned your niece.

Tanya squealed and clapped for a moment before walking him through what she wanted him to do.

“Alright,” he sighed as Tanya took her place next to you. “Let’s get this over with.”

Joel was a surprisingly good sport about the whole thing, stopping and starting the recording again and again as you and Tanya swapped places and did ridiculous looking dances and you couldn’t help but laugh when you were supposed to be standing still as your friend did her part.

“Thank you, Big Miller,” Tanya said, taking the phone back when the two of you couldn’t think of any other stupid dances to do. “We appreciate your contribution to our art.”

“Something tells me that isn’t going to win either of y’all one of those fancy trophies,” he said before looking to you. “Should leave soon. You’ve got early shit tomorrow.”

“So bossy,” Tanya winked at him. Joel rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, he’s like that,” you smiled at him a little. “But we have to let him control what he can otherwise he gets grumpy.”

“Well I guess we do have to let the men be men occasionally,” she smiled at him again before looking to you. “Do I get to see you again this trip or no?”

“Probably not,” you said, scrunching your nose at that. “I’ve got more chemistry reads tomorrow morning, Kimmel in the afternoon, meetings in the evening, premiere the next day, flying home the day after that.”

“Ugh, home in Texas,” she made a face. “LA is way better.”

“I’m sorry, which of us has been on tour for the better part of a year?” You teased. “Not like you’re here for me to hang out with anyway.”

“Hey, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you,” she elbowed you lightly and you laughed before you both sighed. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” you smiled a little. “You can always come visit in Texas, you know.”

“Might take you up on that,” she smiled back.

Tanya loaded you down with two dozen cookies before you left and you couldn’t help but smile a little as Joel drove the two of you back to your house.

“Thank you,” you said, looking over at him in the glow of the street lights. “For the TikTok thing, I mean.”

“Not the end of the world,” Joel shrugged. “Don’t understand it for shit but…”

You smiled a little and opened the cookie tin, holding it out to Joel, who glanced at it as he drove.

“C’mon,” you shook the tin at him, making the cookies inside rattle. “You know you want one.”

“Can’t believe you just go over to some pop star’s house to bake cookies,” he muttered, reaching over and grabbing one, taking a bite and chewing for a moment. “And they’re fuckin’ good, too, that’s even worse…”

You just smirked, closing the tin with a satisfying snap, looking out the window as Joel drove you home.

It had been a strange few days since the lunch with Henry. You’d been busy - which you had expected, cramming weeks worth of meetings and outings into just a few days - and Joel had been a surprisingly comfortable companion for the whole of it.

He sat there, watching stoically from the corner as you read lines with the actors vying to be the romantic lead in Savage Starlight. He didn’t complain about the swarms of paparazzi and fans when you went to do interviews. He even kept whatever complaints he had to himself when you went for a fitting for your dress for the premiere and your stylist, Frank, dragged him in to get feedback from a man on the fit of your bodice.

“What was your name again, I’m sorry,” Frank asked as he stood there with his hands on your sides.

He sighed.

“Joel.”

“Joel,” Frank said. “Right. Well, Joel, since I’m pretty sure you’re straight given -“ he gestured toward Joel as a whole “- that, what do you think? Should we have it sit here…”

“Frank,” you said, half pleading, half knowing it was a lost cause. “Please leave him out of this…”

“Honey, if you won’t listen to me, listen to him,” he said, adjusting the bodice and turning his attention back to Joel. “Do you want to fuck her more with it here?”

He adjusted it again, making it so your breasts were higher, more ample. You sighed.

“Or here?” He said, looking at Joel. “Be honest.”

Joel’s eyes darted to you, wide and almost afraid.

“I… uh…”

“He doesn’t want to fuck me at all, Frank,” you said, rolling your eyes, your hands on your hips.

He rolled his back.

“Please, everyone wants to fuck you.”

“You don’t.”

“Yeah, that’s because I want to fuck him,” he jerked his head toward Joel.

“Oh, well, I’ll be sure to tell Bill that,” you teased, barely holding back a smirk. “Tell him you’re out here…”

“Don’t you dare.”

“…checking out bodyguards…”

“Please don’t.”

“…causing problems…”

“Do you really think that paranoid old man could cope if he knew I was hanging out with that walking wet dream?” Frank asked, brows raised. “Please. For both our sakes, save me the fight and keep it to yourself and you,” he rounded on Joel. “Tell her the truth, that you want to fuck her more when the girls are higher.”

“Can you promise me I won’t have a nip slip on the red carpet if you shove my boobs up to the sky?” You said before Joel had a chance to stumble his way through another response. “Because Quinn might kill me if I do.”

“Do you really think I’d let that happen?” He asked, brows raised. “If it makes you feel better, we’ll put some pasties on the girls, that way if your tits find some way to defy the laws of physics - which, if anyone’s could, it’s yours - you’re not really flashing the whole world.”

“Very considerate,” you said wryly, ignoring the roll of his eyes. “Then sure, put my tits under my chin if that will bring you joy.”

“You’re my favorite client for a reason,” he said, going about pinning the dress into place and you bit back a smile as Joel stood there, his hands in his pockets as he stared determinedly off to the side his eyes darting back your way every half minute or so.

Joel had even been a pleasant presence at home. You’d FaceTimed Ellie the night before while you sat at your kitchen island with a glass of wine, just nodding along and listening to her talk about her day, trying not to dwell too much on the little mannerisms she had that reminded you of Anna. Joel came in - you weren’t sure why, his hand running absently over the granite counter before rapping his knuckles on it and Ellie spotted him then, perking up even more when she did.

“Hey, Big Miller!” She called in a sing-songy voice.

Joel came up behind you, tall and broad at your back, leaning down to get in the frame of the camera of your iPad.

“Hey Trouble,” he said, teasing Ellie with her own code name. “Been keeping your nose clean for your grandmother? Behaving for Seth?”

“No,” she smirked. “But remember that one debate I had coming up?”

“I do.”

“Well, I did it,” she said proudly, sitting up a little straighter. “And I won.”

“You did?” He asked, pride in his voice. Ellie nodded eagerly. “Knew you could, that smart mouth of yours.”

“I kicked his ass,” she said happily.

“Was it that one kid?” Joel asked. “The asshole?”

“Yup,” Ellie beamed. “And I made him look like a fucking idiot.”

“Ellie!” You scolded.

“Sorry, Sissy,” she rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Joel. “Freaking idiot.”

Joel snorted.

“Good for you, kiddo,” he said. “Knew you could do it.”

Once you finished up the call with Ellie, you went and found Joel. He’d taken to spending time by the pool since the night he’d found you there. Sometimes he had a book, sometimes he just watched the water, his hands folded between his knees looking like he was lost in thought. He was there then, too, watching the water this time with a bottle of beer at his feet.

“Hey,” you said, knowing better than to approach him silently.

He looked back over his shoulder to you.

“Hey,” he said before looking back at the water.

You came and sat next to him, watching the light ripple in silence for a moment.

“Think Ellie misses you,” you said, glancing to him as you did. He just grunted. “It sounds like she talks with you…”

“We got time when I take her to school,” Joel said, almost defensively.

“I know,” you said quickly, gently. “I just… I appreciate it. You being nice to her, I mean.”

“Oh,” he said.

“She needs that,” you continued. “Her dad was never in her life, it was always just her mom, Elise and me and now… She needs as many people as she can to care about her. She’s been through a lot. I’m glad she has someone else she can talk to like that.”

“She’s a good kid,” Joel said, staring at the water. “Don’t mind.”

You nodded silently.

“Puns are awful though,” he said after a moment, smiling ever so slightly.

You laughed.

“God, they really are,” you said. “She has a book of them.”

He looked at you then.

“Who the hell’s idea was that?” He asked.

You laughed again.

“She picked it up at school a few years ago, one of those book fair things. I think she memorized it.”

“Jesus,” Joel laughed and then sighed. “Guess we’ll never be free of ‘em.”

“No,” you smiled a little. “Guess we won’t.”

It had become a strange balance. Not quite friends, not quite… whatever you’d been before. Some odd middle ground where you cared what he thought and found a disorienting comfort in his presence without the kindness of any affection.

Your phone lit up, a link from Tanya. You followed it and watched the video on TikTok, posted for not even five minutes and already thousands of likes. You smiled at it, the look on your own face as you tried not to laugh at your friend’s ridiculous dance moves and your own clumsy, erratic movements when it was your turn funnier than you’d realized.

“That the video?” Joel asked as you sat at a red light.

“Yeah,” you said, holding the phone out to him just as it looped. He watched for a moment, an almost serious expression on his face before it seemed like he was biting back a smile, shaking his head a little. You laughed. “You liked it!”

“I don’t really get it,” he said, giving you a look before the light turned green and he started driving again. “But… yeah, alright, it was kinda funny. Didn’t think you celebrities really did that kind of shit, though.”

“Why not?” You asked, going to repost the video on your own feed and texting Quinn to tell her that you had so she wasn’t caught off guard by it.

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “Just… seems like it’s beneath you.”

You frowned a little.

“You do realize we’re just people, right?” You said. “We just happen to do jobs that make us famous.”

“I know,” Joel said. “Still. Feels weird.”

You laughed a little at that. Yeah, fame was weird.

“Ellie seen the video yet?” He asked, glancing your way quickly.

“She’d better be in bed,” you said. “It’s almost 2 a.m. in Texas. But I’ll send it to her in the morning.”

“She do one, too?” Joel asked.

“She did,” you said, smiling a little and going to Ellie’s TikTok - which you’d insisted be locked down to hell and back so paparazzi couldn’t take advantage of it - and pulling up the video. Joel parked in your driveway and you handed him your phone, pressing play for him and watched as he smiled a little as Ellie and her friend Dina did different crazy dances in a classroom at school to the same song you had.

“Looks like she’s makin’ friends,” Joel said, giving you back your phone. He didn’t wait for a response, getting out of the car. You sat and waited patiently for him to come to your side of the car - a safety protocol that felt excessive but you went with it - before getting out yourself. “That’s good. Can be hard for kids that age now, especially at a new school.”

“Yeah,” you said, frowning slightly at him and biting your tongue. How would he know about kids that age? You weren’t sure of his exact age but you were pretty sure he was a few years older than you and it’s not like he had kids.

“Driver’ll be here early,” he said once you were both safely inside and you set the cookies down in the kitchen. “Any itinerary changes I should know about?”

“Nope,” you said. “Just going to be a busy day for me with a lot of sitting around for you. Might want to bring your book.”

“Be sure to keep myself entertained,” he said wryly, opening the tin and getting out another cookie.

You smiled.

“Goodnight, Big Miller.”

“Night, Siren.”

You brought a bag with you the next day.

You’d done enough shit like this in your time - days where you had to run from place to place at almost breakneck speed, places where you knew you’d be photographed to hell and back and others where you had some semblance of privacy and you knew you’d be desperate for some comfort - that you knew how to plan for it.

Joel sat up front with the driver, leaving you in the back seat alone and you sent the TikTok to Ellie, telling her you hoped she had a good day at school and that you were excited to see her in a few days. You took a few minutes to review the lines you were working with that day, making sure you were comfortable with the ones you’d be reading with the kids. You always remembered your first line readings with grown ups once you were actually old enough to fully understand what was going on, how some made you feel at ease and some made your stomach churn and skin crawl. You always wanted to be the comfortable person for these kids. You hadn’t worked with many children in adulthood but it always felt strange when you did, some twinge in you that made it seem like you were watching your younger self but not able to stop what was coming.

“Doomed by the narrative,” you muttered to yourself, skimming the lines of the girl who would play your childhood self.

“Hm?” Joel said back over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” you said, locking the iPad as the car pulled up to the studio gate. “Just running lines.”

There were four kids you were reading with but one that you’d been told was the favorite and she was reading last.

All the kids were talented, you’d give them that. Of course, they had to be to make it this far. They were all 10 to 12 years old, all excited to be there, all somewhat accustomed to this life already. But you posed for pictures with them anyway - the photos going on their agents’ phones so they couldn’t post them before they were allowed to - and performed your lines in all the different ways the casting director asked.

Eventually, the last girl came in, a sense of nervous, almost frantic energy pouring off of her, something that seemed so far away but so familiar from your childhood.

“Can I see her resume?” You asked the casting director quietly as the production assistant went over things with the girl.

“Sure,” she said, rifling through a small pile before handing it over. You reviewed it quickly and found what you expected - some commercial work, a three episode arc on a sitcom, no film. She was just 12 years old and new to this. You slid the resume back and went over to the girl who, you had to admit, looked a lot like you.

She was staring at you, her eyes a little wide and you tried not to laugh. Instead, you smiled and held out your hand, introducing yourself.

“Yeah,” she said, a little awed. “I know.”

“Thought you might,” you smiled a little wider. “What’s your name?”

“Catherine,” she said. “Catherine Ford.”

“It’s nice to meet you Catherine,” you said. “Want to run some lines with me, see how we do?”

She nodded quickly and you showed her where to stand in front of the camera that was capturing your line reads for the director to watch later.

“Let’s go from from the top,” the casting director said, giving you a nod. “Get us started.”

You just nodded and found the character quickly, falling into her headspace, making your eyes meet the girl who was yourself.

“Who are you?” You asked, a panicky edge to your voice.

“Don’t you know?” She asked in response, cocking her head slightly to match your own. “I’m you.”

“No,” you shook your head. “No, that’s not possible, you’re not real, you…”

“I am,” she said, all calm and wise. “I’m you and I know that you… I… crud…”

Her face scrunched and she looked down to the paper in her hands.

“Keep going,” the casting director said to you. “Lead her in.”

You nodded, taking a moment to reset and looking at Catherine.

“That’s not possible,” you said again. “You’re not real, you…”

“Don’t you know?” She said and then her face fell. “Crap, I’m sorry!”

“It’s OK,” you smiled gently. “Want to go again?”

“Is that OK?” She asked. You just nodded and she sighed. “OK, cool. I’ll get it this time!”

“From ‘that’s not possible,’ please,” the casting director said and you obeyed, but Catherine missed her cue to cut in that time, freezing in the moment and then looking like she was about to cry.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I promise, I know my lines, I was up so late practicing, I won’t mess up like this if you actually cast me, I…”

The casting director got up but you held out a hand, keeping her where she was.

“Catherine?” You cut her off before she had a full blown panic attack. “It’s OK. Did you warm up before you came in today?”

“No,” she sniffled a little. “No, I should have, and…”

“Hey, I’m not criticizing you,” you smiled gently. “Even if you had, it’s probably been long enough since you left your house that it wouldn’t make a difference now anyway. Why don’t we take a minute, warm up, then try again. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Yeah, that would be great.”

“OK,” you said. “Any warm ups you really like?”

“Um,” she thought for a second. “To sit in solemn silence? Do you know that one?”

You smiled a little wider.

“Good pick,” you said. “One of my favorites. Want to start or do you want me to?”

“Can you?” She asked. “I never have to…”

“Of course,” you said, taking a deep breath. “Ready? To sit in solemn silence on a dull, dark dock…”

You did a few warm ups with her, helping her loosen up and get relaxed before you got set to go again, tension coming back into her small shoulders as she got set for the next try.

“Hey,” you said gently. Her eyes met yours. “It’s OK. Just you and me, two actors doing our thing, OK?”

She smiled a little at that.

“OK.”

She seemed to take that to heart, hitting every word that time, the two of you falling into that rare space where you felt truly connected, that you were inhabiting these characters, building tension, pulling these feelings from each other and laying them bare. It was a space that was hard to find, you couldn’t do it with every actor, and this 12-year-old girl had managed it.

The room was silent for a moment when the scene wrapped but then the casting director clapped, you and Catherine both turning to look at her, Catherine beaming.

“Beautiful,” she said. “That was great, really really great.”

The two of you did a few other scenes, Catherine finding her groove more and more each time and you couldn’t help but marvel at her talent. She had raw skill that many of your contemporaries would kill for, skill that she’d only hone over time. She was going to be an incredible actor if this industry didn’t destroy her first.

“Who brought you here today?” You asked Catherine when the read was over, the casting director already talking conspiratorially with her assistant.

“My mom,” she said. “She’s in the waiting room.”

“Can I meet her?” You asked.

“Yeah!” She said eagerly. “She’d love that!”

You flagged Joel down from his spot in the corner and followed her there, her mom jumping up when she saw her come through the door.

“Hey kiddo!” She said excitedly, hugging her daughter. “How’d it go?”

She noticed you then, her eyes going a little wide at the sight of you.

“Hi,” you smiled. “I’m…”

“I know,” she cut you off, her eyes still wide but going somehow wider. “Oh my God, that was probably so rude, I’m sorry!”

You laughed.

“It’s fine,” you said. “Honestly, if it didn’t make me feel like such a self-centered jerk, my life would probably be a lot easier if I just assumed everyone knew who I was. You’re Catherine’s mom?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Margie.”

“Hi Margie,” you said. “It’s good to meet you. Catherine is really incredible, you know.”

“I know,” Margie said, tugging her daughter against her side and giving her a squeeze. “Trust me, we wouldn’t even be trying this if she wasn’t. She just begged and begged for years and eventually it was so obvious she was so good that we should at least give it a shot.”

Catherine beamed at that and you smiled, the familiar pinch of tears at the back of your throat that you swallowed as you did. Her mother seemed nothing like your own.

“I took a look at her resume, looks like you’re pretty new?” You asked and Margie nodded. “Well, getting started is hard, there’s a lot to navigate. Can I see your phone?”

She all but dove into her pocket and unlocked it before handing it over.

You entered your number, saving it with your first name and last initial.

“Don’t share that around,” you said, giving Margie her phone back. “But if you need anything - anything at all - give me a call or a text. Alright?”

“We gotta go,” Joel said quietly behind you. “Cutting it close.”

You just nodded before turning to Catherine.

“It was really great working with you today,” you smiled.

“You too,” she said, smiling hugely.

“Looking forward to doing it again soon,” you said, giving her a hug and a wave before going back to the audition room. Your bag was in the corner and you grabbed it before going to the casting director.

“I want Catherine,” you said, already going through your bag for your makeup kit.

“She was very strong,” she replied. “But she had the shaky start and…”

“No,” you said, cutting her off. “She’s it. No one else came close. Not trying to tell you how to do your job but it’s Catherine. She’s just green but she’s young, she’ll get used to it quick. Trust me.”

She considered you for a moment.

“Alright,” she sighed eventually. “She was the top pick going into today but if we need to recast because she can’t hack it…”

“We won’t,” you said. “I’ll make sure she’s got what she needs.”

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll confirm with the director but we’ll get her.”

You got changed into something far less comfortable than the leggings and sweatshirt you’d been wearing but looked way better for TV - Frank putting together a pair of velvet wide-legged trousers and matching jacket with a mesh turtleneck - and did your makeup and hair as quickly as you could before rushing to the car, Joel on high alert any time you were outside.

“You were good with her,” he said once you were safely underway.

“Hm?”

“The girl,” Joel said, his voice gruff. “You were good with her. She was nervous, I could tell.”

“Oh,” you said, watching the back of his head in front of you, as if that would tell you anything about what he was thinking. “Yeah. I just remember what it was like to audition like that. It’s lot of pressure.”

“Can’t imagine doin’ that to a kid,” he said harshly. “Should get to just be a kid.”

“There’s a reason I don’t want Ellie growing up here,” you said, looking out the window at the city going by. “Don’t want her getting any ideas.”

The car pulled up to the theater, a hoard of people outside the doors waiting for you.

“Ready?” Joel asked over his shoulder, his dark eyes meeting yours, something about the depth of his gaze making it impossible to look away.

“Ready,” you said.

He got out first and he tried to rush you through the crowd but you saw a little girl who had to be about seven or eight - wearing a t-shirt with the duck you’d voiced years ago, when Ellie was about her age - watching you with hopeful eyes.

“Hi there,” you smiled, getting down on her level. “What’s your name?”

“Parker,” she said, smiling hugely, one of her front teeth missing.

“Hi Parker,” you smiled back. “It’s so nice to meet you! I really like your shirt.”

“It’s my favorite movie!” She said excitedly.

“You have excellent taste,” you said with a wink. You nodded to the piece of paper clutched to her chest. “What do you have there?”

Her face lit up for a moment and she thrust the paper at you.

“It’s my drawing!” She said. “I did it myself!”

You took it and looked down at it, a childish, colored pencil version of the duck you’d played there on the page.

“Parker, this is so good!” You said, smiling at her. “You’re such a good artist! Is that what you’re in school for right now? Art? What college do you go to?”

“I don’t go to college!” She laughed.

“You don’t!” You gasped in mock surprise. “What! How old are you? 20? 21?”

“I’m seven!” She beamed.

“Oh, my goodness,” you said, looking back at the paper. “You were such a good artist and so grown up I figured you were much older.”

You gave her the paper back

“Can you sign it for me?” She asked, holding it out with a pen.

“Well, the artist is usually the one to sign their work,” you said. “But… I’ll sign it if you do, too.”

She beamed at that and you let her use your back to sign her name on her drawing before passing it off to you. You signed it, too, and gave it back before taking a selfie with her mom’s phone.

“Alright,” Joel said when you stood up again, his face drawn tight, his hand on the middle of your back. “Let’s get you inside, fuckin’ sitting ducks out here.”

“Oh, we’re fine,” you waved him off, going back to the crowd and taking selfies and signing autographs as you worked your way into the theater.

“You like trying to give me a damn heart attack?” He asked once you were inside.

“Everyone needs a hobby,” you said wryly as Quinn rushed over to you with a production assistant at her back. “Should try getting one yourself, you know.”

“Jesus,” he muttered, rolling his eyes but following you to the greenroom all the same.

Quinn reviewed the final topics for the interview and you said hi to Jimmy before getting ready to go on stage and put on a show.

Doing interviews like this one still felt odd to you. Not because they were unusual - you’d gotten used to the talk show circuit by this point in your career - but because of their very nature. The illusion of some intimate conversation between friends on display for the few hundred strangers in the same room and then broadcast for all the world to see.

You’d crafted a version of yourself for times like this, one that was built to appeal to an audience and seem genuine and real, some artificial sheen to wrap yourself up in that you slipped into like any other character. This one, though, grated on you. The strange dishonesty of it, the character you were playing yourself instead of the creation of someone else.

The interview went along like any other for a while, the two of you bantering back and forth and you sharing funny stories from set that sounded off the cuff but were actually carefully rehearsed to make sure you and your costars’ stories aligned.

“Speaking of Chris,” Jimmy said as your time was running down and the audience was quieting after another bout of laughter. “I do have to talk about one thing with him.”

“Just one?” You teased and he laughed.

“Well, plenty,” he said. “But did you know that you and Chris are going viral?”

“No,” you laughed. “But I’m sure my publicist does and she’s thrilled. What are we going viral for?”

“There was a moment in an interview this week,” Jimmy said. “I think we have it…”

The screen behind you changed and the moment from the junket days earlier played, you and Chris sitting side by side as he started on his rant, one that you’d thought would never see the light of day.

“First of all, my costar here is the most beautiful woman on the planet and the single most talented actor I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with so you will treat her with the respect she’s due…”

You sat there, cheeks getting hot, pressing your fingers into your thigh, nervous energy making your stomach turn as you watched Chris lay into the reporter. You’d hoped that this clip had been squashed by his publicist, that the reporter honing in on one of your lowest points wouldn’t be put out for all the world to consume. Apparently not.

“That’s all it takes to go viral now, eh?” You joked as the video ended. Jimmy chuckled lightly but no one in the audience laughed.

“You’ve got to admit, that was a pretty great moment,” he said. “But I was wondering what you thought of it.”

“I think Chris has a way with words that I can’t quite match,” you smiled a small but tight smile. “And I think if I say anything different, he might go off on me next.”

That did get some laughs and you laughed with the audience, hoping that you looked playful and fun, not tense and ready to crawl out of your skin.

“Well we don’t want that,” Jimmy laughed. “Thanks so much for coming on and everyone, go see As We Know It, out Friday!”

You waved your goodbyes and looked stage right, oddly comforted by Joel’s commanding presence there, his face firm as he watched you. You walked right for him as you left the stage, one of his arms going around you as you came alongside him, something grounding in his touch as he ushered you away.

“You’re OK,” he said quietly, guiding you toward the door you came in.

You frowned and looked at him, Joel glancing your way as you did.

“You’re stressed,” he said. “I can tell. I’ve got you.”

You did a more abbreviated run of the crush of fans this time, stopping for a few selfies and signing a few pictures, but not lingering, instead moving as quickly as you could for the car without looking like you were rushing.

Joel didn’t get in the front seat this time, instead climbing in back with you. You frowned as he did but he just ordered the driver to start toward the restaurant where you were meeting with producers.

“You alright?” Joel asked after the car was out of sight from the crowd outside the theater, his eyes oddly soft and open. “That was shitty, them springin’ that on you.”

“It happens,” you said, looking back at him as intently as he seemed to be looking at you. “I should be used to it. I am usually, but…”

“Shouldn’t need to be,” he said. “They should act better.”

You watched him for a moment, trying to puzzle him out but couldn’t see past his stern face with the strangely open eyes. You didn’t understand him. You weren’t sure you ever would.

“I’ll be fine,” you said when you’d been quiet a little too long. “But thank you.”

He frowned.

“For what.”

“Caring,” you shrugged. “Not many people do. But I’m afraid I need you to look out that window for a minute.”

His frown deepened.

“I need to change,” you said. “Shouldn’t be photographed in the same thing this many times so look out that way, please.”

His jaw quirked but he obeyed, shaking his head a little as he did.

“Shouldn’t be photographed at all,” he muttered, arms crossed tightly over his chest as you got a pair of black leather pants out of your bag and set them on the seat between you and Joel.

“Probably right,” you said, shrugging out of the jacket and adjusting yourself so you could slide your pants down and off, leaving you just in the mesh top. “But comes with the territory.”

You dropped the clothes you’d shed beside you, the velvet of the fabric brushing Joel’s arm and he glanced toward you - just a reaction, you told yourself - before he jerked his head back to look out the window again.

“Oh don’t act like half the planet hasn’t seen me half naked,” you rolled your eyes as you got into the leather pants, a task that was easier said than done in the back seat of an SUV. “I promise, I won’t bite.”

“Right,” he muttered.

You got the pants into place and pulled out another jacket, draping it over your shoulders and putting the other clothes away.

“You’re safe, Big Miller,” your teased, tossing the bag in the trunk.

“Try to make a habit of not seeing my clients naked,” Joel muttered, settling back into his seat.

“Sounds boring,” you said.

He gave you a look and you laughed.

“Don’t worry,” you said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I don’t think you’re at risk of anyone thinking you’re interested in fucking me. You’re safe.”

He just grunted and you smiled a little, looking out the window. There was something comfortable when he was like this. You weren’t sure what to do with a Joel who didn’t seem to loathe you, at least a little bit. Even though you wanted him to like you. You weren’t entirely sure why, but you did.

The paparazzi were waiting for you outside the restaurant, too, but you’d been expecting that. Quinn had told them you’d be here and you made sure your pants were actually zipped before getting out and putting on the show you always did, smiling and waving, taking selfies with fans who’d heard you were going to be there, too.

You kept the show on through dinner, talking with the producers of a period piece you were interested in doing, Joel sitting next to you the entire time, his jaw quirking when Leo joined the table, too.

But Henry didn’t make a surprise appearance and, after a while, you found yourself relaxing into things, a few too many glasses of wine deep and giggling when you left the restaurant.

“You got what you need for the premiere?” Quinn asked as you made your way to the door.

“Frank has a vision,” you said dramatically and Quinn snorted. “Don’t worry, my tits are basically hanging out, the press will love it.”

“Well I’ll see you there,” she said, kissing you on each cheek. “Need Frank to have a vision for me one of these days.”

“Call him,” you said eagerly. “I’m sure he’d work his magic! Oh, we could go somewhere matching, that would be fun!”

“OK, you’re drunk,” Quinn laughed and looked to Joel. “She’s drunk. Make sure she gets out of here safely and doesn’t talk to any of the paps outside?”

“I’m not drunk!” You protested and Quinn laughed, taking the lapels of your jacket in your hands.

“You’re drunk,” she said. “And that’s OK, you’ve been doing a lot lately, you deserve to have a little fun. Just don’t make more work for me in the morning when you do. See you tomorrow at the premiere.”

“The premiere!” You said and she laughed, giving you and Joel a final wave. You turned to Joel. “We know what I’m wearing for the premiere, what are you wearing for the premiere?”

“No one cares what I wear for shit,” Joel said, nudging you toward the door. “C’mon, driver’s pulling up.”

“Why wouldn’t they care?” You pouted, looking over your shoulder toward him. “You’re a good looking man, you know.”

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, shaking his head.

“What?” You said. “You are! I’m not trying to hit on you but that’s just an objective fact. Even Frank said so.”

The flashes caught you off guard. You’d forgotten, for a moment, that it seemed like half the planet cared that you’d had dinner here. You smiled and waved and Joel kept you walking straight toward the car, keeping you from stopping and talking to the people screaming your name.

“That felt rude,” you said once you were in the car and things were quiet again.

“Too bad,” Joel said, in back beside you again. “Don’t need to be talkin’ to those assholes, anyway.”

“There were some fans in there, too, I think,” you said, settling down into your seat. “But back to what I was saying.”

“No,” Joel said simply. “Seatbelt.”

“What?” You frowned. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I mean, put your seatbelt on,” he said.

Your frown deepened and you looked around yourself for a moment before Joel made an irritated sound and reached over you, grabbing the seatbelt and pulling it into place.

“OK,” you said, adjusting it and sitting up a little straighter. “Seatbelt’s on. Why can’t we keep talking about it? I’m just saying, you should take the compliment…”

“Not interested,” Joel said.

“Oh will you calm down?” You rolled your eyes. “I promise I’m not trying to get you into bed, you’re safe from my scary Siren claws, I just mean if you dress well tomorrow at the premiere people would notice because you’re a good looking person, that’s all.”

“It don’t matter because I’m not gonna be seen with you,” Joel said, his voice stern. “I’ll be on the other side of where press and shit are but the carpet will be you, some assistant and that Chris guy. Don’t matter what I’m wearing or how good I do or don’t look, alright? Jesus…”

“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “You really let them talk you into that? I’m shocked.”

“The premiere’s got it’s own security and it’s actually damn good,” Joel said. “Not good enough for me to just stay home but you’ll be alright. Don’t need me in any more goddamn photos with you than there already are.”

You watched him for a moment.

“You still don’t like me, do you?” You asked.

He frowned, looking at you.

“Why’s it matter.”

“I didn’t say it did,” you shrugged. “You just don’t like me.”

“Don’t need to like you,” he said. “Just need to keep you alive. Besides, the whole damn planet likes you, ain’t that enough?”

You scoffed.

“No they don’t.”

“Yeah?” Joel asked. “What d’you call that shit, the hundreds of people waiting for fucking hours just to catch a glimpse of you if it’s not like.”

“They don’t like me,” you said. “They don’t know me. They’re obsessed with a commodity. I’m not a person to them, I’m just a weird combination of every part I’ve ever played, every passing idea they’ve decided to assign to me, some idealized creation that doesn’t exist but they’re convinced is real. You know me, at least a little, and you don’t like me.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m right,” you said, your stomach twisting at that. You shouldn’t care what Joel thought of you but you did. There were so few people on this planet who knew you - actually knew you - and he was one of them. And he didn’t see something in you worth liking.

The car pulled up to your driveway and Joel got out first, going around and opening your door.

“C’mon,” he said, offering you his hand. “Like you or not, you got an early day.”

You took his hand - large and warm and secure - and slipped down to the ground, tottering on your heels enough that it made you laugh, Joel steadying you as you went.

“I trust you to actually get yourself to bed?” Joel asked as he led you inside.

You scoffed.

“Where else am I gonna go?”

“Sure you’d find some way to get into trouble,” he replied wryly.

“I’ll go to bed,” you rolled your eyes. “See you in the morning Big Miller.”

***

Joel watched you head down the hall, weaving a little as you walked before disappearing into your room, trying not to think about the way the fucking leather pants hugged your ass or the way your hips moved when you walked.

“Jesus,” he muttered to himself, stalking off to the kitchen to get a water.

You just don’t like me.

Lord, how he wished that were true.

He liked you alright. Far more than he should. Enough that the entire planet’s fucking obsession with you was starting to make sense.

He tried not to think about that.

Liking you was not a good idea. It was a completely horrible idea, actually. He wanted to go back to how he felt before he’d come here. It seemed like so long ago now, before he knew about your mom and Elise and Anna, before what you’d told him - and clearly hadn’t - about that fucking producer, before he saw you laughing with a friend or making kids smile just because you could. He wanted to go back to before you were a person - a real person, one with fears and wants and hurts - instead of some rich asshole he could pretend was a different species from himself.

It wasn’t a good idea to care about you. He had to protect you, he couldn’t be distracted by things like your fucking feelings. Caring about you was dangerous.

He opened the fridge and went to grab a bottle of water but, instead, took one of the beers that was sitting there. Not that drinking right now was a good idea, either, but fuck it.

Joel brought the beer to the pool and sat on the edge of it, the glow of your bedroom light almost tempting. The curtain covered the window but he could make out the silhouette of you through the glass and gauzy fabric. You must not have a shirt on, the outline of your breasts clear in the hazy, warm light. He watched for a moment as the outline of you pulled on some baggy piece of fabric, covering yourself, and he forced himself to look back at the water.

He wasn’t going to think about that. He wasn’t.

He wasn’t going to admit that he thought about it the day before, too.

He wasn’t going to admit that he thought he might break his fucking jaw from clenching it as he watched you with the actors during the audition shit the day before.

You with these men all made for the screen, designed to be your fucking equal in a way he never could be even if he tried - which he wouldn’t because it didn’t matter. They read lines with you and he watched as you looked at them with adoration, touched them with some kind of longing, pressed your body to theirs, arching around them to fit yourself to them like you belonged there. Because you did belong there. If not with these men in particular then with a man like them. Not a man like him.

Not that it mattered. It didn’t fucking matter.

No, he wasn’t going to think about those things. He wasn’t going to think about the way your tits looked in that fucking dress that Frank had asked his opinion on. He wasn’t going to think about glancing over at you in the car today when he knew he fucking shouldn’t have and seeing you there, half naked in your fucking see through shirt, your thighs looking so warm and welcoming and fucking soft.

He wasn’t.

He’d thought about it the night before. He wasn’t proud of that but he had, the image of you getting fitted for the damn dress at the forefront of his mind. It was like his head was a scratched record, skipping over that point in time again and again and again.

He tried to think about anything else as he stood in the shower that night but fucking couldn’t, his cock half hard as he tried to shove the memory of you away.

When he went to bed, he caved to his baser instincts. He decided to jerk off. Just to get it out of his system because he couldn’t be still stuck on this the next morning and he didn’t think he could sleep with his balls swollen and aching as they were.

He tried looking at porn but he couldn’t figure out what the fuck he wanted to watch. He was absently scrolling through a site, nothing standing out until something caught his eye. Your name, on a video.

He stared at it for a second, your name followed by EVERY SEX SCENE - COMPILATION.

His mouth went dry. His cock was painfully hard.

Could he watch that? It’s not like it was really wrong - it wasn’t something that had been shared without your permission and it wasn’t actual porn. It was just something he could see if he went on Netflix right now and sought it out.

But you hadn’t made it so fucking assholes like him could jerk off to it. And it wasn’t like you were a stranger now, he knew you. Could he do that?

His dick throbbed at the thought.

Could he stop himself?

Joel clicked on the video, his stomach twisting as he pressed play. There was an ad and he read the comments while it played.

She’s so fucking hot.

Bet she moans like a whore in real life.

Fuck I want to choke her out.

She was hotter before, she hit the wall when she hit 30.

The sound of you moaning in his headphones grabbed his attention, dulling the violent anger that swelling in him when he read what other people said about you. Joel took a shaky breath and made the video full screen. He was already this far down the rabbit hole, he may as well fully commit.

The first chunk of excerpts were from the movie you won the Oscar for and he could only stomach a few seconds of it. You looked disturbingly young to him, just a teenager with a softer version of your face getting on her knees, starting to take off her shirt making him jump ahead. He jumped again when it just felt too strange, watching you start to get undressed or turn around when you were obviously shirtless - seeing your skin this way feeling too keenly wrong.

It was the last scene in the video that he found himself watching in earnest. It was something more recent, you looked almost the same as you did now, none of the childish softness to your face that had been there in the first scenes. It was a romantic scene, one that was carefully shot so the viewer saw nothing illicit. The curve of your bare waist, the edge of the swell of your breast, a hint of your ass.

But Joel liked it this way, this moment not tinged with the wrongness the others were. You moaned as your on screen lover pushed inside you - or mimicked it, Joel corrected himself - your fingers spreading wide over the man’s back.

Joel took his cock in his hand, swallowing hard, his heart beating fast. He worked himself slowly as he watched as the man on screen explored your body, close up shots that revealed nothing interspersed with your face as you gasped in pleasure.

He let himself get lost in that, in the sounds you made, stroking himself harder, faster. He wanted to make you make those sounds. He wanted to press his lips to the delicate skin of your throat and kiss and lick and suck as he sank inside of you. He wanted his hands to run over the softness of you, to press his firm chest to your plush one and feel your heart beat through your skin. He wanted to feel you swallow him whole, his body slotting into yours as he made you come.

You moaned and gasped on the video and he let himself pretend that it was for him and he came, imagining it was you and not his own fucking hand he was buried inside as rope after rope of his come spilled over his skin.

His cheeks got hot as he closed the video and cleaned himself up, a pile of tissues on his nightstand the only sign of his indiscretion.

He tried to clear his mind as he settled in to sleep, reminding himself of what he already knew: You were not meant for something like him. It didn’t matter what he wanted, you were for someone better than him. You needed someone beautiful like you, someone with money and power and purpose. You deserved someone like you. And he needed to get past that, at least enough that he could do his fucking job and keep you safe. That was all he was good for now. He knew that.

He tried to remind himself of that again as he sat by the edge of the pool, his mind lingering on you, on your striking beauty and disquieting kindness and keen talent.

He took a sip of beer.

It didn’t matter, he told himself. None of it mattered.

That was the truth of it. Even if you were his equal - even if he was rich and famous or you were just some waitress or school teacher or something besides the most famous woman on earth - it wouldn’t matter. It’s not like he could do anything about it, anyway.

About a year after he lost Sarah, he’d tried dating. It hadn’t been his idea but Tommy had set him up with a friend of a friend and it hadn’t gone well. Not because she wasn’t a good woman - she was. She was kind, smart, beautiful.

But it didn’t seem to matter what Joel did, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to really care for her. He liked her well enough. Enjoyed her company and enjoyed her body but any real affection seemed far away. He’d broken it off before things would need to get too serious, just the thought of getting any further involved making his chest get tight and his head swim. He wasn’t meant for things like that anymore.

He’d left humanity behind when his daughter had. Anything like love and care was closed to him now, he knew that.

So why did he keep thinking about you?

He downed the rest of the beer and sighed before getting up, looking toward your window. He watched the outline of you pull back the blankets and climb into your bed before stretching and turning out the lamp.

He just shook his head and went inside, putting the bottle in the recycling bin before heading to his own room, trying not to think of you lying on the other side of the wall.

It didn’t make a difference. You were still in his dreams that night.

You were standing opposite him like you had the men you’d read lines with but, instead of the comfortable clothes you’d worn to the audition, you were in the mesh top you’d had on that day. Just that and your panties, like you’d been in the back seat of the car.

“Ready?” You asked, your eyes meeting his and he actually let himself look into them now, and how soft and deep they were. You didn’t wait for his response. “I’ll read you in.”

Your body changed, the physicality of you shifting as you became someone else inside your skin.

“What are you so afraid of?” You asked, almost forcefully.

Joel knew his line. He’d heard it enough the day before.

“You!” He said. “I’m afraid of you, of this power you have… I can’t protect you, I can’t…”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” you cut him off, stepping closer. “I need you to trust me.”

You were close enough that you were touching him.

He knew this part, too, but he didn’t stick to his lines.

“But I need to protect you,” he said. “It’s all I know how to do, I… I can’t…”

You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair, your eyes meeting his, your body arching against his own and he could feel every line of you through his clothes. You moved to kiss him and he went to meet you but you stopped just short, your breath warm on his skin.

“Why didn’t you protect me, Joel?” You whispered, your lips brushed his as you spoke.

He frowned, pulling back ever so slightly.

This wasn’t in the script.

“You should have saved me,” you said, stepping back from him.

Suddenly, he was somewhere new with you. The middle of the road, a burning car to one side of you. You stepped back from him again, cradling your arm to your chest, blood spreading quickly over your skin from a wound at your stomach.

“No,” he reached for you, but you stepped back. Your ankle was at an odd angle, making you limp. “No, this isn’t…”

“You should have been there,” you said, tears welling in your eyes. “You should have saved me. Why didn’t you save me, Joel?”

“I…” he began but you collapsed then and he jumped to catch you, pulling your body tight to his chest, panting for breath. “No, no, no, you’re OK, it’s alright, you’re gonna be OK, you hear me?”

“No,” you reached up and ran your fingers through his hair. “I won’t. Because you didn’t save me.”

He woke with a start, ready to jump between you and any unseen threat. His chest was tight so he could barely breathe, his whole body covered in a sheen of sweat.

It took him a moment to remember where he was, in a bed that was his but wasn’t, in a foreign land that wasn’t really so different from his own. It was still dark outside and he clutched at his chest, trying to calm himself down.

You were safe. You were safe and he was close enough to you that he could protect you if something happened.

He repeated it in his head like a mantra and it helped but only so much. There was this little, nagging thought that, while he thought you were safe and well, he couldn’t be sure. Not until he saw you.

It was early, still dark outside, but he checked his phone. It wasn’t the middle of the night, at least.

He got up on the off chance that you might be awake, glancing toward your bedroom door and seeing it closed. But it looked like there was a light on in the main part of the house so he followed it, finding you leaning against the counter in the kitchen in a bathrobe, a towel around your head. You were scrolling through something on your tablet, drinking from a mug of coffee. There were only a few lights on, the room still mostly dark, something quiet and almost illicit about his presence there. But the tension in his body eased all the same. You were whole, he could relax.

“Did I wake you?” You frowned, glancing up at him from the glow of the tablet screen.

“No,” he said, almost defensive. “Why.”

“Because,” you shrugged, looking back at the tablet. “You usually wear a shirt when I don’t catch you by surprise.”

He glanced down at himself and almost groaned. He hadn’t even thought about putting something on.

“Just woke up,” he said, going to get a cup of coffee for himself. “Didn’t think you’d be awake yet.”

“Well, I needed to get a workout and a shower in before the glam team shows up,” you said, taking a drink from a green smoothie that he hadn’t noticed before. “Don’t worry, I didn’t go anywhere. I just swam some laps and Quinn’s assistant brought me this.”

You held up the cup and waggled it in his direction. He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, because heaven forbid I’m concerned about you gettin’ grabbed by some stalker,” he muttered, getting himself a coffee and leaning against the counter across from you and tried to resist the urge to look down the neck of your robe, something that would be so easy to do with you bent over the counter the way you were.

Then you stood up straight, setting the tablet down, making his life a little easier.

“I’m sorry for yesterday,” you said, your coffee cup tight in your hand.

Joel frowned.

“What d’you mean.”

“I mean,” you took a deep breath. “That I behaved unprofessionally. I shouldn’t have gotten drunk, I shouldn't have said the things I did. You’re right, it’s not your job to like me and it doesn’t matter if you do or not. I hope I didn’t make you too uncomfortable but, if I did, I apologize. You’re good at your job and I appreciate the work you do. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh,” Joel said, taken aback. “Um… It’s… It’s fine.”

“Good,” you said, downing the last of your coffee. “Glam squad will be here in a little while. You may want to hide while you can. I might promise professionalism but I can’t speak for my stylist.”

Joel snorted at that.

“Good advice.”

You smiled tightly, taking the smoothie back toward your bedroom.

“Hey, Siren,” he said, almost wincing as he said it but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to use your real name, the words seeming almost too intimate. But you stopped all the same, facing him with your eyebrows raised. “I meant that. It’s fine. You didn’t do anything wrong, don’t go beating yourself up about it.”

“Thanks, Big Miller,” you smiled a little, softer this time. “I appreciate that.”

Joel ate something and got dressed before people started showing up for you. He met each of them at the door, making sure he knew who was in the house and what they were there to do. Makeup artists and hairstylists and, of course, Frank and his assistant. There was even a team of people escorting a fucking necklace and earrings in some oversized red box that made Joel grind his teeth. It was a little surprising, just how many people it took to get you ready to go to a fucking event.

He couldn’t imagine what they could all be fucking doing, especially not for hours upon hours. It’s not like there was anything on you to improve, he wasn’t sure why the hell it’d take an entire day to get you ready for anything.

But when you eventually emerged from your room, he understood.

Frank was carrying the back of your dress while you held up the front and you were nodding along to something the woman beside you was saying and Joel couldn’t help but stare at you.

It was like you were a sculpture or a painting, more a work of art than any mortal thing. The gown looked like it had been made for you, finding and highlighting every soft curve of your body. There was a diamond necklace with a massive center stone resting in the hollow of your throat, making him think about how delicate your skin would be there. Your makeup perfectly framed your eyes and the arch of your cheekbones and the plush of your lips. Your hair and nails and eyelashes were all longer and more elegant than they’d been just hours before and you were so beautiful it was hard to look at you. It was painful, wrong in some way. You were something beyond him entirely, ethereal and other. He wasn’t meant to look upon the likes of you.

“You ready?” You asked, turning your attention to him.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rougher than he’d meant it to be. “You really gonna watch an entire movie in that thing?”

“Not the most uncomfortable gown I’ve worn, trust me,” you cocked a smile at him. “But we should go, there’s always traffic for premieres.”

Joel just grunted noncommittally. He needed to get his shit together. He couldn’t afford to let you distract him just because you were beautiful. Not after his dream this morning, not when he knew what was at risk.

He stared determinedly out the window all the way to the theater.

“You’ll have to let me know what you think of it,” you said as the two of you sat in traffic, getting closer and closer to the red carpet.

“Of what,” Joel said, looking your way for the first time in a while, forcing himself to not let his eyes linger on the swell of your breasts, the curve of your throat.

“Of the film,” you said. “You might be the only person here who will be honest to me about it. I’m curious to know your thoughts.”

“Not a movie critic,” he muttered.

“I know,” you said. “That’s why I’m curious.”

The two of you finally made it to the red carpet and the door opened, your costar there waiting for you with his hand out.

“My God, love,” he said, looking you up and down. “Do you ever look anything but perfect?”

“I do what I can,” you smiled, giving him your hand and letting him help you out of the limo.

Joel got out, too, going around the back of the crowd instead of following you up the carpet, the distance from you making his heart beat faster and his muscles clench.

“Fuckin’ risky,” he muttered to himself, following your path from the other side of the cluster of fans who were pressed against velvet ropes. There was a large screen set up, a camera tracking you and Reese’s progress down the carpet and Joel kept his head on a swivel, watching you and the crowd and the space at the edges for any threats, trying not to grind his teeth at the way your costar’s hands rested at your waist, hip, back.

He’d very nearly relaxed when you and Reese had worked your way down most of the fans. You’d almost made it to the press, the more contained part of the carpet where you’d be more secure. Maybe, he thought, he was just being paranoid. Maybe there wasn’t anything to worry about here.

You started talking to a young man at the end of he cluster of fans, one not much older than the college idiots that seemed to dominate Austin half the fucking year, but there was something about him that set Joel on edge.

You took a selfie with him and signed something for him but he kept clutching at your arm, not letting you move. Reese’s usually carefree expression shifted, eyebrows drawing together, lips pursing. He put his hand at your waist and gave the man a wave, saying something and smiling a smile that didn’t reach his eyes before pulling you away. You smiled warmly at the man, probably saying something nicer than he deserved, and let Reese lead you on but the man wasn’t letting you go. Your eyes went up, immediately finding Joel’s, a spark of fear in your gaze he could see even from this far away.

Both of the man’s hands closed around your wrist and he yanked you back toward him, pulling you out of Reese’s hold and making you stumble and Joel was moving before he fully realized what he was doing.

It was instinctual, shoving his way through the press of fans with no care for who he knocked down on the way. Even with the tightly packed crowd, he was to you in seconds, the man’s hands locked tight around your wrist, bending it at an unnatural angle, Reese trying to pry the man’s hands away from you. Your eyes were wide, the hand that wasn’t in the mans’ grip on his elbow almost soothingly, as though your gentleness was all he needed.

“No, you don’t understand!” The man was pleading. “I love you, I need you, I’ll do everything for you, everything, no one else will ever love you the way I do, I…”

Before he could finish talking, Joel punched him across the face. The blow was hard and sharp and sent the man reeling, almost taking you with him before Reese caught you around your stomach and pulled you back from the velvet ropes.

Event security appeared then, swooping in on the man as he sat on the ground, looking dazed.

“About fuckin’ time,” Joel snapped to them before hurdling the rope and going to you. Reese had angled you away from the camera that had been following the pair of you down the carpet, cradling your wrist in his hands, saying something to you that Joel couldn’t quite hear.

“You OK?” Joel asked, a little breathless. Your head snapped up, your wide eyes meeting his, something almost frantic in your gaze. Your chest was heaving, your breaths coming in fearful little pants and he closed the distance between the two of you quickly, taking the uncanny beauty of your face in his hand. You closed your eyes, pressing your cheek into his palm and his fingers held you tighter than they should but he couldn’t seem to pull back. Your skin was soft, smooth, warm, perfect. You took a deep breath. “You’re safe, it’s OK.”

“Joel,” you said softly, your voice trembling and wet, none of your typical bravado to be found.

“I know,” he said. “But they got him. Not gonna let him hurt you, you’re safe.”

You nodded into him.

“Do we need to leave?” Reese looked to Joel, his brows drawn tight together.

“No,” you said quickly before Joel had a chance to respond. He frowned, going to argue with you but you cut him off. “No, we’re almost to the press, we need to just keep going, it’s fine, I’m fine. We keep going.”

Joel searched your eyes, your face still in his hand and, as afraid as you looked, you were just as determined, too.

“Fine,” Joel clenched his jaw.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“I’ve got you,” Reese said gently to you before turning back to Joel. “I’ll take care of her.”

Joel nodded once, firmly, before finally - painfully - taking his hand back from you. You closed your eyes and took a deep, centering breath. You raised your chin defiantly and steeled your spine and opened your eyes again. You smiled a little as you did and, for the first time, Joel recognized a shift in you. It was like the auditions, when you embodied someone else. You weren’t yourself anymore, you were just another character now, someone with your face and voice but detached from you.

“Let’s go,” you said, leading Reese down the carpet toward the press.

Joel watched until you were at the backdrop, smiling and posing with your costar, making sure event security was close by before slipping back into the crowd.

The man who’d grabbed you had been wrestled away from the crowd, tucked off to the side and now in custody of police. Joel went and found them, introducing himself to the cops and telling them about the stalking threat he’d been hired to protect against.

The man was still yelling, fully sobbing as he said again and again how much he loved you, how all he wanted was to take care of you. Joel wished the police would turn their backs for a moment, just a moment, just long enough for him to get another hit in on him. He wanted to hurt him, scare him, make him realize that you were protected and that he couldn’t get to you.

Joel had never dealt with a stalker before, but he wouldn’t be surprised if this was the guy. The level of obsession, the passion, the willingness to hurt you to get what he wanted made it seem likely.

That was good, he thought. If this was the guy, you were out of immediate danger. You’d be safe - or as safe as someone as famous as you could be. There was a certain sense of peace in him at that.

But there was this keen longing in him, too.

If this was your stalker, his contract would be up. He would go back to Texas with you, pack up the things at your house and say goodbye to this strange semblance of a life he’d found himself in with you and your niece. He’d be without the both of you, alone in the tomb of his house, waiting for the next time he could jump in front of a bullet for someone else so he could feel alive.

He tried to ignore the tightness in his chest at that thought, the sickening feeling in his stomach.

This had been a mistake, this whole fucking job had been a mistake. The second he knew who you were he should have told Tommy no, he couldn’t. You were too close to Sarah, the job too long lasting. It was too big a risk for him, too much of a chance for him to get attached to someone he had no business getting attached to.

“Joel.”

He looked around to find Quinn at his back, her face drawn.

“She alright?” He asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“She made it through the press but she might have a broken wrist,” she said, her voice low. “She’s ducking out the back once the film starts, we need to get her to a doctor. She has fight training starting soon and an injury is going to be who knows how much in production delays…”

Joel bristled.

“And if she’s got a broken fuckin’ bone it needs to be treated.”

“Obviously,” Quinn rolled her eyes. “I thought that went without saying.”

“She’s not just a fucking profit center,” he narrowed his eyes at your manager. “She’s a person.”

Quinn looked at him for a moment, considering him.

“I know that, Joel,” she said gently. “I just wasn’t aware you did.”

Quinn, at least, had the foresight to get your usual SUV to pick you up instead of the limo you’d arrived in. Security let Joel in the back door and you were waiting for him there, looking so out of place among the boxes and storage in your gown and jewels. You were stiff and oddly small, shoulders hunched as you leaned back against a cinderblock wall, cradling your injured wrist to your chest. Someone tried to talk to him but Joel ignored them, instead going straight for you.

“Changed your mind?” He asked, hands in his pockets so he didn’t touch you again.

You looked at him through your lashes, something sharply vulnerable in your eyes for a moment before you straightened and smirked a little.

“Figured going to an afterparty with a wrist the size of a grapefruit was a bad look,” you said, showing your arm to him. Your wrist was swollen and discolored and he resisted the urge to take it gently in his hands. “Don’t want the press to be about this, we want it to be about the movie.”

“Alright, c’mon then,” he said. “Get you checked out.”

He put his arm around you, tucking you against his side as you held your wrist against yourself. He stayed close to you on the drive, your body warm and relaxed against him.

“Do you think that was him?” You asked quietly, voice small.

“I don’t know,” Joel said. His hand was on your arm. Your skin was soft. “I talked to the police, told them about the stalker, they’re gonna investigate…”

“He scared me,” you said softly. “I know there were threats but… It didn’t seem real. I didn’t think anything would happen.”

“I know,” Joel said, his thumb tracing a slow, steady path over your skin. “I’ve got you. Keep you safe.”

He said it as much for himself as he did for you. He tried not to think about why he needed to.

The driver took the two of you to a small doctor’s office that, at this hour, was quiet. A nurse met you both at the back and you were quickly ushered into an exam room and given an x-ray, you in your gown on the cold paper of the exam table a sight that made Joel’s heart clench.

“You did indeed break it,” the doctor said, pointing out a thin line on the x-ray. “It’s a minor fracture, shouldn’t need a full cast and just a splint for three to five weeks.”

“How soon before I can train?” You frowned. “Can I train in a splint?”

“That really what you should be worried about?” Joel asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

You looked over to him, your eyebrows knitting together.

“There’s a whole movie depending on me, Joel,” you said. “People have contracts, they have bills they need to pay. I can’t just take weeks off.”

“Can’t make a movie if you don’t heal,” he muttered.

“You need to take at least three weeks before you do anything extreme with that wrist,” the doctor said. “If you don’t, you’ll need a cast and you’ll be out of commission even longer.”

“Alright Doc,” you smiled. “You win, I’ll take it easy.”

“Good,” he said. “I’d hate to see you try to hold an Oscar in a cast.”

It was a relief to get you back home again, in a contained space that Joel had gotten to know in the last week. Frank and a hairstylist met you there, the three of you disappearing into your room for a while and Joel considered sitting in his own, not sure he could handle seeing you again but then, he wasn’t sure he could handle not seeing you, either. So he sat on the couch, existing in a state of limbo, not sure what to do next.

“Sounds like you saved the day,” Frank said when he eventually emerged, a garment bag over his arm.

“Dunno about that,” Joel said. “Still let her get her fuckin’ wrist broke.”

“Seems like it could have been a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in,” he said. “Broken wrist will heal.”

Joel just grunted.

“Anyway,” he continued. “Thank you. She’s one of the good ones.”

He left before Joel got a chance to respond. The hairstylist left not long after, a bag of hair in her hands, and, when you didn’t come out right after, he almost thought you’d gone to bed. He was considering doing the same when you slowly, almost cautiously, came down the hall, peering into the living room as though your presence in your own home was somehow illicit.

“Oh,” you said, in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants and wrist splint. The makeup was gone, the long nails and lashes and hair, too. But you were still beautiful, maybe even more so now. It was the most human Joel had ever seen you. “Sorry, I thought you’d be in your room…”

“Don’t need to apologize,” he shrugged. “Your house. You OK?”

“Fine,” you shrugged. “A little sore but… I’ll be fine, it’s just a minor fracture.”

Joel nodded slowly and you stood there awkwardly for a moment.

“I’m going to make tea,” you said. “Eat something solid for the first time today now that I’m out of that dress. Call Ellie, check in. Want to join?”

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say yes, follow you to the kitchen and be next to you, have tea, talk to Ellie. He wanted to keep existing in the same sphere as you, be folded into your life the way he had become the last few months.

But he couldn’t. He knew that. You and Ellie and your lives weren’t for him.

“Should go to bed,” he said instead. “Been a long week.”

You smiled - a little sadly, he thought - but nodded and went to the kitchen and he listened to you just exist for a moment before he left you there alone.

It didn’t seem to make a difference. He dreamed of you again.

It was different this time. You were far away from him, in the t-shirt and sweats you’d changed into, larger than life but out of reach. All he could do was watch as someone hurt you and you looked for him to help you. He ran and ran but he couldn’t reach you, couldn’t do a goddamn thing except watch you hurt because he couldn’t do the one thing he’d been built to do.

He stared at the ceiling when he woke up, his heart pounding and body tense.

He had to stop this. Whatever road he was going down, whatever he was doing, he had to stop. He couldn’t live his life this way, where he was always afraid and waiting for things to go wrong. He’d learned that lesson once, the hard way. He couldn’t do it again. He just couldn’t.

“Ready to get back to the Lone Star State?” You asked, already in the kitchen when Joel got up.

“Guess so,” he said. You watched him, like you were waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

“Well,” you said when he was quiet for too long. “I know Ellie is looking forward to you coming back, she told me something about that video game you guys…”

“Look,” Joel cut you off. “Ellie’s a great kid…”

“Agreed.”

“But, if that guy was your stalker, I got no reason to be at your house all the time,” he said.

“Oh,” you said, your shoulders slumping a little. “Right. I hadn’t really… That makes sense. Yeah.”

Joel poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Should go get packed,” he said.

He didn’t wait for a response, just going back to his room to gather his things and avoid you and it was a relief when the car was there, ready to take the two of you to the airport.

“We do have to make one stop on the way,” you said, holding the red box that had shown up yesterday.

Joel frowned.

“Don’t you got people for that?”

“Well, the original plans got a little fucked with the whole ‘crazy man at the premiere’ thing,” you said. “But keep your shirt on, Big Miller, it’ll only take five minutes.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, rolling his eyes, wishing he was back in Texas already.

He sat in back next to you, anyway.

The stop at the jeweler was quick - you trading the large and ostentatious red box for a much smaller one - and it wasn’t long before the two of you were ushered onto the plane, the last people aboard as you tucked yourself into the window seat in the front row, a baseball cap tugged low over your face and a sweatshirt covering the brace on your arm.

Joel was tense the entire flight. He hated when people realized you were aboard and started demanding autographs and selfies, when you got up to use the bathroom, when the plane hit turbulence and he knew there wouldn't be a damn thing he could do to save either of you if the plane went down and that level of powerlessness disturbed him at his core.

He’d been stupid with you. Careless, reckless, dumb. He knew better now, he knew where giving a fuck led and it was nowhere good. He thought that wasn’t a risk with you, that your spoiled fucking attitude and obscene wealth and the ease of your life would make it so he could never care for you but he was wrong. He gave a shit. For the first time in five years, he cared.

And he needed to get far away from that before it killed you both.

He went wordlessly to his room at your house in Austin when you got there, Seth beating you both to the house to take over so Joel could have a few days off. He grabbed a few things he knew he’d want and resolved to ask Seth to pack the rest for him when the police confirmed that it had, indeed, been your stalker last night. For now, he just needed to get out of here and get away from you.

“Hey, Joel!” You followed after him as he stalked toward his truck, his duffle over his shoulder.

He gritted his teeth and turned to face you.

“What.”

You all but flinched back from him, blinking in surprise at his curt tone. He knew he was being short with you but it needed to happen. It had to.

“Oh,” you said, the smaller red box from the jeweler in your hands. “I just…” You thrust it toward him, looking at him with wide and oddly honest eyes. “I got you something. I ordered it before the thing yesterday, just to say thank you for everything in LA, but it can be kind of a going away gift now, too, since… well, anyway.”

He took it, the fact that you seemed out of sorts disorienting, and opened it. Inside was a watch. It was simple, rectangular with a silver case and black leather strap, but obviously luxurious.

“It’s engraved,” you smiled, fidgeting with your sweatshirt sleeves. “Which is probably dumb but I couldn’t resist, I’m a sucker for shit like engraving, don’t ask me why…”

“You think this is what I want?” He asked, holding up the box, voice cold.You just blinked at him for a moment. “That I want some fancy fucking jewelry? That I’m like your rich fucking friends you can just buy off or something?”

“What?” You looked at him, hurt. “No, no, I… I just… Yours is broken and I wanted to say thank you for…”

“For me doin’ my job,” he cut you off. “That’s what this was, a job. We’re not friends, you don’t need to thank me for shit. You paid me, I protected you, end of story. I don’t want your fancy fucking watch, I don’t want…”

“Then sell it!” You snapped, angry now. “Consider it a tip, run it over with your car because you hate me so fucking much, tell the tabloids about how the movie star bought you a present, I don’t care! I know you’re thrilled to be rid of me, anyway. Nice knowing you, Miller. Have a nice life.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond. Instead, you stalked back into your house, leaving him there with nothing left but a hollow ache in his chest and the watch that he wished he could find a home for on his arm.

Next Chapter

A/N: Look. If you're here because you've read my other stuff, are we at all surprised that we ended up here? Is anyone surprised that I'm back in my natural habitat - torturing Joel Miller - yet again?

I wish I knew why I was like this, I really do, but alas, here we are. Thanks for reading it and for putting up with my total lack of a posting schedule. I really appreciate you being here and caring about these characters enough to read the monster chapters I put out about them.

Love you!

Taglist: @christinamadsen@eff4freddie@brittmb115@copperhalfcent@r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler @lilyevanstan1325 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @wintersquirrel @missladym1981 @mellymbee @canthinkof1user @inept-the-magnificent @secretlyangelic @pedrobae @scarletsloveletter

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #tsats #the savage and the sanctuary

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si1verghosts · 6 months ago

Note

Hi!

3. A kiss on the forehead😌

helloooo dear anon!! i am sorry this took so long i could not for the life of me figure out to write but then ! i wrote this on the 4th and i realized it could work... maybe... sorta. this may not be what you were expecting/wanting but there's forehead kisses in there.... somewhere 🫡 also, if u are not american i apologize for giving you a july 4th fic 😭 but the holiday is relatively inconsequential here like theres no patriotism it's just a backdrop if u know what i mean.... anyway, i hope u enjoy <33

you taste like the 4th of july

di leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.5k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking | tw: thoughts about death and dying

tags: established relationship; fluff (i guess??); slight changes to canon to suit author's headcanons

read on ao3

a/n: for the past few months i've been working on this very insane multi-chap post di leon fic 😵‍💫 this was written with that in mind But does not have a place in that story... probably.... idk!!! either way, i think it can be read as a standalone just fine

additionally, there is a scene in here where leon picks the reader up. i would just like to say like... he gets thrown into concrete walls on a biweekly basis and gets up and walks it off without issue so i think he can lift anyone no matter their size or shape!!

not beta read or proofread - sorry if any of it is gibberish i've had a wicked migraine the past few days... will maybe attempt to proofread once i can see correctly again 🚬🧍‍♀️regardless, all mistakes are my own

i do not own leon or any other resi character mentioned, etc etc, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chatbot and/or writing generator.

-----

"It was a good day, wasn't it?" Leon asks, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as you stand over the patio table, cleaning up the abandoned plates and platters.

You hum. It was; a beautiful, cloudless July 4th, spent with Leon's friends in the backyard of your home. The only ones missing were Ashley and Ingrid; the former having a standing family commitment and the latter planning to spend her holiday on the beach, away from the country and your fiancé.

Typically, Chris hosted the Independence Day cookout, but Leon offered up your new home as this year's venue, citing your in-ground pool and the plenty of extra space you have for guests to stay. In reality, he just wanted the chance to out-grill Chris - he'd been preparing since Memorial Day; testing different spice and sauce combinations as well as stocking your freezer full of large cuts of meat.

He'd started before you were even awake, chopping and seasoning in the kitchen, slowly loading up the smoker. You'd joined him on the patio a few hours later, watching from your pool floaty as he poked and prodded at various things.

You don't even eat meat, didn't know the whole thing was so involved, but you did enjoy the view; worn blue jeans hugging his frame as he crouched to check a thermometer.

You had taken a short break from the water, tying up lights and setting a few little decorations around before your guests arrived. Rebecca was the first, tucking her jugs of pre-made cocktail and platter of deviled eggs into your fridge before joining you on the patio.

Chris wasn't far behind, unloading two coolers filled with beer and containers of homemade potato and pasta salads. He'd handed one off to you, grinning, "Claire made one just for you this year."

You'd thanked him, making another attempt to get him to share his family's recipes with you. It was futile, you probably couldn't even waterboard it out of either of them.

Claire had arrived on her motorcycle shortly after, pulling a bundle of fireworks out of her saddlebags. "Sorry I'm late," she said - even though she wasn't - dumping the pile on the ground, thankfully far away from the grill. "Had to stop for these."

Leon had crouched down to inspect them, listening intently as Claire told him about all the different varieties she'd purchased while you relaxed back into the pool.

Sherry arrived next, Jake trailing behind her. She'd left both him and her bags of chips at the table, giving Leon and Claire quick hugs before immediately joining you in the water.

She'd slipped in right beside your floaty, grabbing your hand to get a look at your engagement ring - she'd yet to see it, having been so busy with work. Her eyes widened at the ring as she pushed her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head, "Leon picked this out? Our Leon? Leon Kennedy? Are you sure?"

You'd giggled at her astonishment, "Ashley helped him out; took him to one of her favorite jewelers."

"I should've guessed," She nods. "For my 20th Birthday, he bought me this crazy cute pink tennis bracelet and I was like, 'no way you picked this out alone.' He fessed up that he got a little help from a friend named Ashley.

"At the time, I thought it was just some girlfriend - or hoped, I guess. Back then, I spent a lot of time hoping that Claire and Leon weren't just… working; I liked to think they were taking time for themselves, that they were happy," she had trailed off then, looking off to the tree line behind your house for a minute. Blinking the mist from her eyes, she shrugged, continuing on, "Anyways, I'm thankful to Ash for that bracelet, it was there with me though… a lot. And I'm thankful to you for making him happy, like I always wanted him to be."

With that, you slid off the float to give her a hug, holding her tight as you whispered your thanks. You had worked to bite back your tears - if she didn't cry, neither would you.

Luckily, Jill had walked in a few seconds later, providing a distraction in the form of the most ridiculously large watermelon. "Hey, Kennedy," she shouted, pulling Leon out of his conversation with Claire as she gestured to the melon tucked under her arm. "Can't burn this, can I?"

Leon had thrown his head back with a laugh - in previous years, Jill had always brought boxed brownies with extra crispy edges and Leon invariably had to make a comment about them. "I don't know," he had shrugged, "When it comes to you, Valentine, I'll never say never."

Jill had reared the watermelon back, acting as if she was going to throw it at him. Leon had thrown his arms up, shielding his face, causing everyone to crumble into laughter at the scene.

"It was nice," you agree, reaching to pick up the barong machete he had given Jill when she asked for a knife to cut the melon. "We do have kitchen knives, you know," you scold mockingly, gently waving the blade around.

"I know," he says, releasing you to reach around and pluck the machete out of your hand. "It's good to exercise these every once in a while, though."

You roll your eyes at him, "It's a machete, Leon, not a horse."

He waves you off, slipping through the patio door to wash the blade in the kitchen sink. You take the opportunity to speed clean, knowing it'll be a much harder task once he returns and wraps his arms back around you.

Thankfully everyone had taken care of their own plates and cups - they'd tried to stay and do more but you had ushered them out of the backyard, wanting Chris, Sherry and Jake to depart before the traffic picked up with the crowds leaving the city following the fireworks shows. Jill, Claire and Rebecca had taken up on your offer to stay, at least, piling into your guest rooms. You were glad to have them, secretly plotting to drag them to brunch once you all woke.

You finish piling the platters as Leon makes his way back outside. Before he can get his hands on you and derail your progress, you point to the stack, "Take those inside."

He frowns, "Can't it just wait until tomorrow?"

"We'll get ants; come on, five minutes and it'll be done."

He sighs, but doesn't protest further, carrying the heavy plates inside as you follow him with the utensils. You stack everything by the sink before turning to him, "Is there any of Becca's cocktail left?"

He cocks his brow, tilting his head, "You really want to try that again?"

It's a valid question - you had given it a go earlier and despite everyone's warnings to take it easy, you had thrown back a large mouthful right off the bat. You ended up wincing in pain, "Fuck, that burns. What'd you put in there, Becca?"

She'd shrugged, "Oh, you know, a splash of this, a splash of that. And," she teased, drawing out the vowel, "A bit of my own creation."

"Your own creation…" You had muttered, trailing off before it hit you, "Test tube alcohol?"

She had giggled, grinning, "Takes some getting used to."

You had tried another, much tinier sip. You were able to enjoy the sweetness of the juice for a moment before the burn kicked in again, causing you to curse once more, louder.

Leon had shifted his attention from Chris to you at your exclamation. Seeing the jug of Rebecca's cocktail in front of you on the table, he quickly pieced together what was happening, calling over to Rebecca from his place by the grill, "You trying to kill my fiancé, Becks?"

"Absolutely not; that'd be a stupid thing for me to do," she'd shot back. "She's the only one who can keep you in line, and we kind of like you like that."

"Well," you start, rolling the word around your mouth, "No. But yes - there's gotta be some sort of trick to it, right? Everyone else drank it just fine."

"The trick is," he starts, voice low, reaching out to grab ahold of your hips, "To not drink it. Let me make you some tea instead."

"Fine," you pout, relaxing into his grip, not bothering to argue - tea won't make you hate yourself in the morning.

He moves his hands from your hips, sliding his fingertips along your spine. "Go wait outside," he says, releasing you with a featherlight kiss to your forehead, "I'll bring it out."

With a brush of your lips against his cheek in thanks, you slip away from him, heading back out to the backyard and pulling off your shorts, settling onto the ledge of the shallow end of the pool. The air has cooled with the setting of the sun, becoming a comforting warmth instead of an overbearing heat. You dip your legs into the water, thankful you insisted on having a pool when you and Leon were house hunting.

Someone is still setting off fireworks; they're a few miles away, though - you can hear them more than you can see them. Resting back on your palms, you close your eyes, imagining what bursts of color may be accompanying each sound.

Leon joins you a few minutes later - just after the fireworks had died down - sporting his swim shorts and carrying your tea. He bends, setting the mug next to you with a kiss to your temple, nosing at your hair. "Earl Grey," he reports before drawling, "How terribly unpatriotic of you."

"You going to arrest me for treason, Agent Kennedy?" You laugh, reaching up to squeeze his thigh below the hem of his shorts. "You're the one who made it; they'd nail you as an accomplice."

He falls into a crouch, leg muscles bunching under the pads of your fingertips as he shifts closer to touch his lips on your cheek. "They can hang us together, then," he remarks, voice a bit too serious for it to be just a joke. "Side by side, off the same branch."

You sit back just enough to get your eyes focused on him, reaching your other hand out to thumb at his bottom lip. "Dulce et decorum est pro cor mori," you whisper, tacking on a hum in question.

He cocks his head at the unfamiliar words, nipping at your nail playfully, "English please, baby."

You consider him for a moment, the translation of the true phrase running through your mind; how sweet and honorable it is to die for one's country. The old lie, it's come to be known as - fittingly.

It's a similar sentiment to one that's grown to become your fear; that he'll die for the sake of the country, under orders from the government, believing it was his duty.

But you think your spin on it may be true; would be willing to find out.

You don't want to weigh him down with the thought, though, choosing to reel him in for a kiss instead. "I love you," is the answer you settle on, laying the words down right on his tongue.

He seems content with your translation - the method of delivery likely having something to do with it - humming into your mouth. He kisses you back lazily for a long, languid moment before he pulls away, "As much as I'm enjoying this, I've been wanting to get in there all day," he says, nodding his head towards the water.

"Go," you chuckle, giving him a gentle push away from you with the hand still resting along his face.

He lays another quick peck against your lips before standing, padding around the edge to the steps. He pauses for a moment to pull his shirt over his head, skin honeyed under the soft glow of the lights you'd hung around the patio.

A second later, he slips under the surface without hesitation; kicking off the steps, moving quickly to the deep end. He almost shimmers as he glides along the floor of the pool, the rippling of the gentle waves he'd created making him seem like some sort of mirage as he passes by you.

He comes up for air once he hits the far wall, tossing his hair back, smoothing the water from his eyes. He doesn't rest long, though, beginning to swim short laps across the width of the deep end.

You observe him, sipping your tea slowly, appreciating the way his back and arms work with each stroke. He continues long enough for you to nearly drain your cup, stopping short when another trio of fireworks set off in the distance.

Setting your mug down, you eye him, preparing to slip into the pool to soothe him if you have to, but he relaxes once he connects the sound to the flashes in the sky. The tension that had flooded the line of his shoulders drains into the water as he shifts to wade backward, moving closer to where you sit.

You finish off your drink as he starfishes out across the surface of the water, floating just a few feet in front of you. You wonder if you could use him as a floaty, pinning up a note in your brain to try it out sometime.

"I'm glad you insisted on a pool, sweetheart," he sighs, breaking your companionable silence.

You hum, pleased, kicking your legs out gently and causing the water to lap against his skin. More fireworks sound out; he doesn't tense this time, but he does get his feet back under himself, moving to where you sit along the ledge.

Sliding his hands up your legs, he pillows his head in your lap, wet hair fanning out across your thighs. You shift your weight back onto your right hand, laying the other along his jaw. His eyes flutter closed as you brush your thumb along his cheekbone and the scar that runs beneath it.

He picks at the tie of your bathing suit absentmindedly, tugging at the strings when you slide your hand into his hair, scratching at his scalp. "Sherry said something to me earlier."

He makes a noise urging you to elaborate, not bothering to open his eyes.

"She told me that when she was younger, she hoped that you and Claire were living your lives; that you were doing more than just working, you know? She said she wanted you guys to be happy," you explain, working to keep your voice even.

He cracks his eyes open, picking his head up to watch you as you continue. "She thanked me," you swallow thickly, "for making you happy, like she always wanted you to be."

He smiles at your words, and it's a beautiful thing. You still get all twisted up inside with how gorgeous he is; neurons overclocking themselves with the thrill of being the subject of his attention.

"I owe you a thank you, too, baby," he starts, pausing to nose at your wrist.

"You don't owe me anything, Leon," you tug at his damp strands still between your fingers, highlights catching the yellow glow from the lights around the patio.

"I do," he says, the words sending a jolt through you. You never intended on getting married, yet here you are now, eager to hear the phrase on the altar.

He kisses the thin skin of your wrist, lips lingering as if he can feel the thrum of your heartbeat; knows that the pace has picked up under his affection. "All this," he pulls back, taking a hand off you to gesture to the pool; the backyard; the house; to you. "It's something I never thought I'd get.

"Sherry's right - you're behind basically every bit of happiness I have now, sweetheart; I owe it all to you." He reaches up, untangling your grip from his hair, thumbing gently at the ring he put there, "Thank you."

You can't respond verbally, will burst into tears if you do. In lieu of speech, you lean forward, pressing your lips against his insistently.

He seems to get the message; understands that the pleasure is all yours, that you'd give him anything and everything you can - knowing he'd do the same for you.

He gets his arms back around you, continuing your kiss as he lifts you from the edge of the pool and into the water with him. You wrap your legs around his waist, safe and secure in his hold.

His teeth catch along your bottom lip and the neighbors down the street set off fireworks, the bright bursts of color painting your backyard in reds and blues and greens and oranges. The sparks reflect off the surface of the water as he slides his nose against yours and not for the first time, you think this may all be a dream. Maybe you died four years ago and this whole thing has been some sort of afterlife; you aren't sure you'd done anything worth this treatment, though.

Maybe it's more supernatural in origin; an intricate hallucination weaved by a Djinn that's got you chained up in some dark, damp basement as it feeds off your blood. Or maybe you just went crazy and the pool is actually a padded room, Leon's mouth against yours a product of your mind working to distract itself from your reality.

Whatever the case may be, it certainly feels real when he shifts his hold on you, hoists you up higher to get at your neck, laying kisses up and down the column of your throat, nipping at your jaw.

But before he can venture much further, the neighbor's fireworks show grows into an extravaganza, the relentless popping and bursting becoming a nuisance, shattering the illusion of your teeny-boppy movie moment.

"Jeez," Leon mutters, breath hot against the saliva cooling on your skin, causing you to shudder. "Did they buy out a whole tent?"

"Did you check that Claire actually went to bed?" You ask, shaking yourself free of his hold. "She could've joined them; brought everything I wouldn't let her set off here."

He hums, letting you down into the water, considering your words - even though you said it as a joke, it certainly is a possibility. You seem to come to this realization at the same time, eyes narrowing at each other as the spray of fireworks continues overhead. "We should…" He starts, nodding towards the stairs.

"Yeah," you agree, already beginning to move.

You pause to grab your towels, wrapping your own around yourself, throwing the other over Leon's shoulders when you catch up to him at the patio door. Stepping inside, you hear someone knocking around your kitchen.

Luckily, it's Claire. She steps back from the cabinet she'd been rifling through to face you and Leon with a frown. "Isn't this shit ridiculous?" She remarks, pointing to the ceiling in reference to the fireworks.

"You're one to talk, Claire," Leon shoots back. "Didn't you just set off about five hundred dollars worth of them in my backyard a few hours ago?"

"Yes, a few hours ago," she reiterates. "Nothing should be set off after the show at the Capitol is finished - after that, you're done; you missed your shot; better luck next year."

"Exactly," you nod in agreement at her reasoning, "They should put you in charge."

She grins at your words, moving to continue on, but Leon cuts in before she can start; "What is it that you were clawing through my cabinets for?"

She sighs, displeased with his interruption, setting her hands on her hips. "Where do you keep the ibuprofen?"

Leon shoos her out of the way, padding across the kitchen to get the medicine himself. Claire relents without argument, attention immediately shifting back to you as she leans over the counter. "So," she wiggles her eyebrows, "It seems like that pool was a good investment, huh?"

You bite at your lip, ears burning with embarrassment that she'd seen you and Leon necking in the water like teenagers - even though you shouldn't be flustered; it is your house, after all.

Leon sets the bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water down in front of Claire, annoyance evident with the way he uses a bit more force than really necessary, causing the items to clack against the marble.

"What?" Claire questions, glaring at him. "It was cute."

Leon huffs in response, unable to hide the flush that crawls up his neck at her words. You can't help the giggle that bubbles out of you, enjoying the way they bicker like siblings.

Claire leaves Leon to stew, tossing you a grin as she collects the bottle and glass, bidding you goodnight once more before she leaves the kitchen.

You move around the counter to Leon, steps careful in an effort not to slip on the water that has dripped off him and onto the tile. The neighbors must've ran out of fireworks while you were distracted by Claire as it's silent when you wrap your arms around him, tucking your face into his neck. "Still a good day?" You ask, voice muffled against his skin.

He slings an arm around you, fingers fanning out along the small of your back, "Still a good day."

#if anyone would like to see the ring i literally had a mockup created #because im crazy #its not exactly what i was thinking so i may have another one done.... we will see #also if my latin is incorrect just ignore it pls #its been over 4 years since my last latin class #my hs latin teacher would be mortified to know i had to google declensions #and still probably fucked it up #sorry mr. d.....#(inbox)#(writing)#leon kennedy #leon s. kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s. kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s. kennedy x you #what is The leon x reader tag #i've yet to figure it out

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twink-between-worlds · 5 months ago

Text

when the sun loves the moon

this ravioli fic is brought 2 u by chappell roan's "Hot To Go". the ao3 writer curse hit us btw. our hand is broken lol. this is so fucking long i dont know what happened it was supposed to be short.....

ao3 link; x

Legend hums, messing with the bracelet around his wrist. Not Ravio’s one—that one is far too thick for him to be able to fiddle with it easily—but a different, smaller one on the other wrist.

The second one—the one he’s playing with—is much smaller and simpler. It’s made of black rope, and has a small golden charm attached to it in the shape of a sun.

Ravio brought it back from Lorule after one of his visits. There was a moon-shaped one, too, but Ravio has that one. Legend doesn’t mind. He thinks the sun-bracelet is pretty.

He doesn’t really know why Ravio gave it to him, though. He just kind of showed up back home, gave Legend the bracelet, and never talked about it. It was a little weird, but this is Ravio. There is nothing about that man that isn’t weird.

That thought is nothing but fond.

He kinda misses him. He always does. Doesn’t matter how many times he’s had to travel and leave Ravio behind—he always misses him.

Deep down somewhere inside his chest is a part of him that’s scared that Ravio will be gone by the time he comes back.

He does his best to ignore it. Ravio wouldn’t leave without telling him—he knows that much.

“Your bracelet’s pretty,”Hyrule hums quietly, watching the veteran mess with it as they walk. “Where’d you get it?”

“Oh, uh. It was a gift.”Legend explains with a shrug. “Ravio brought it back from Lorule. He’s got the other one.”

“Other one?”

“It came in a set. The other one’s got a moon on it.”

“You and Ravio have fucking couple bracelets?”Four pipes up, and Legend goes a little quiet. A couple bracelet? No way, they’re not even together. Ravio doesn’t like Legend that way, and Legend doesn’t like Ravio that way either.

Or, well, he doesn’t think he does? It’s a little confusing and Legend doesn’t have time to unpack all that. He’ll probably never have the time to unpack that mess. It’s the emotional equivalent of moving all the things from his storage-shed around—lots of effort and very messy, best to just not do.

So he shakes his head with a snort. “No, Four, that’s not what they are. Rav’s literally just my roommate.”

Four doesn’t look convinced in the slightest. Honestly, Legend can’t even find it in him to be annoyed about that. He knows he and Ravio are a little weird, to the point that even his own sister thought they were dating for a while.

He wants to say she was just being hopeful and that she didn’t seriously think that he and Ravio were together.

“Don’t look at me like that,”Legend rolls his eyes. “It’s just a bracelet, Four. Nothing special.”

Four just snorts at him. “Sure.”

He decides that he isn’t going to respond to Four anymore. Why should he? Four’s just being dumb anyways.

“Why a sun?”Hyrule tilts his head, curious.

“I think Rav just gave me this one cause the charm is gold. The moon one is silver.”Legend shrugs. He never gets explanations as to why Ravio does things, and the reasoning behind the specifics of the bracelet is no exception, so really he’s just guessing.

The healer nods along with the explanation. Pauses for a second, then, “How long’ve you been friends for?”

Wonderful question—Legend doesn’t know. He can’t remember when he’d started welcoming the other man’s presence, when he stopped getting annoyed by the other being there. He doesn’t know how, or when, Ravio became something akin to home.

That thought catches him off guard, just a bit. He thinks Ravio is home, now? That’s…definitely a new development.

“A while,”He starts with a shrug, ignoring his own mind as he regards the other hero. “Known him for about five years now.”He thinks so, anyway. How old is he, again? He thinks 19, might be 18 though. He’ll ask someone else when he can.

“Is he your best friend then?”

Legend could laugh at that idea. He doesn’t. Instead, he just shakes his head. “No. He isn’t my best friend. That title belongs to someone else, and she really is not willing to share it.”

He did bring it up to Styla once; not about Ravio, specifically, but just in general. She got all pouty and dramatic at the idea of sharing the best friend title, so he’s never really tried that since.

It’s not like it matters a whole lot. He never really had anyone in mind the first time he brought it up, and he doesn’t exactly have anyone in mind now either.

Or, well…okay. Maybe he does. But he’s taking it to his grave. Legend is never telling Four that they’re on the same level as his current best friend.

It’d probably go to their head.

The conversation dies, Legend thinks. Admittedly, he isn’t paying much attention anymore, so they could still be trying to talk to him and he’s just not listening enough to hear.

He wonders how Ravio’s doing. In his last letter, he mentioned that summer must bring out the hero aspiration in people, so business is probably good for the merchant right now. The other is likely ecstatic about it.

Ravio said the orchard is looking good. He collected the honey from the beehive, too, but he hasn’t sold any of it. Didn’t want to in case Legend wanted to keep it. He’d told him to keep two jars, and that he can sell whatever was left. No point keeping all of it when the two can make a profit.

He knows for a fact that Ravio hasn’t actually touched the orchard, either—he never does. He knows better. Ravio just…doesn’t do it right, it drives Legend a little bit insane, so he learned to just not do it.

Maybe it’s a little mean, and a little weird, but Ravio hasn’t directly complained about it, so Legend guesses that it’s fine, since Ravio is often vocal about things he isn’t happy with. It’s surprisingly a good thing that Ravio likes to complain—it lets Legend know what’s wrong and what needs work.

Legend wonders if Ravio’s sneezing every five seconds now that it’s summer over there again. He always does it, so realistically he knows the answer is yes, but he doesn’t exactly have real proof of it happening right now.

He really just kinda wants to go home.

“You okay?”A voice snaps Legend out of his thoughts, and he turns slightly to see Sky walking with him. Four and Hyrule wandered off at some point, it seems.

“Mhmm,”The veteran hums in response, because what is there to say? He can’t tell Sky the whole truth cause he’ll get all weird and start thinking Legend is into Ravio or something too, like everyone else.

“You’re, um, playing with your bracelet a lot,”Sky notes gently, “Are you missing home?”

Legend doesn’t miss a beat as he nods, still toying with the bracelet’s charm. “It’s been way too fucking long,”He mumbles with a frown.

Sky doesn’t say anything about Legend’s previous claims of preferring life on the road. Hell, he probably knows that Legend’s home is a person rather than a place. He doesn’t say anything about that, though. Instead, he hums softly and places his arm around Legend’s shoulders. “I get it. I miss Skyloft a lot.”

Legend wants to make a comment about him really missing Sun, but he doesn’t say it for two reasons. The first, and most important, being because it would set Sky off on another ramble about her.

The second is more confusing. He’d feel hypocritical if he said anything, and Legend might be a lot of things but he doesn’t like being a hypocrite. He’s not 100% sure why he’d feel like one, but he has a vague idea that it’s because of his own current issue of missing Ravio.

It’s different, though. Legend doesn’t like Ravio the way Sky likes Sun. He doesn’t.

“Is it new?”Sky hums, reaching over and gently holding Legend’s hand so he can look at the bracelet better. “I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”

It’s not exactly new, not really, but…he guesses he hasn’t really let anyone see it, so the assumption isn’t baseless. Usually he just has it hidden under his sleeve. “Sorta. I mean, I’ve…had it for a while, but only started wearing it a little while ago,”Legend mumbles with a shrug.

The chain never really needed to know about it. It isn’t magic—just a regular bracelet—so there was no reasoning for letting them know it exists. He isn’t gonna sit down and tell them every accessory he has—they’d be there forever just on his piercings alone.

Sky nods along with Legend’s words, a soft smile on his face. Legend’s not really sure what he’s smiling about. Then, “Wanna tell me about them?”

Legend shoots him a look.

Sky takes it like he has to elaborate. “The person who gave you the bracelet. What’re they like?”

“Dad.”Legend complains, rolling his eyes. “It’s just Ravio. You know him.”

“Oh! You and Ravio are—”

“Slow your roll,”Legend cuts him off with a huff. “No. Ravio is just my roommate.”

“Oh.”Sky pauses, then frowns. He looks genuinely confused. “Really? But you two are so cute together.”

“Ugh, dad, come on.”The veteran rolls his eyes, face tinting slightly pink.

“What? You are!”Sky insists with a pout. “I think the nicknames are adorable,”

Legend wants the ground to swallow him whole. “They’re mortifying, actually.”

“He calls you honeybee. That’s so cute.”Sky ruffles Legend’s hair. “The whole ‘bunny and rabbit’ thing you two’ve got going on is adorable, too.”

Legend falls silent. Hm. So Sky’s heard that. Shit. Legend thought he was being careful enough.

“You weren’t…supposed to notice that…”Legend confesses after a brief moment, ears tilted downwards from the embarrassment. He didn’t think anyone was around when he called Ravio ‘rabbit’.

Being wrong is not a great feeling.

Sky just giggles about it. Giggles, right in front of Legend. He notices that Legend goes even more red, and just smiles more. “Awh—hey! It’s okay, you don’t have to be embarrassed. You know, I have more embarrassing nicknames for my Zelda!”

That doesn’t really make anything better, but Legend appreciates the fact that Sky at least made an attempt at comfort.

“Whatever,”Legend mumbles after a moment, “It’s not the same as yours and mama's nicknames.”

Sky hums. Legend has the idea that Sky doesn’t believe him. That idea is only solidified as Sky responds with a simple, “I’m sure.”

Legend chooses to ignore him now, too. Seriously, what’s up with them? It’s just a bracelet. It isn’t even the first gift Ravio’s ever given him.

Ravio gives him a lot of gifts, actually. Legend can’t offer much in return — Ravio doesn’t exactly have any piercings, nor does he really wear that much jewellery. All Legend can do to show appreciation for the gifts is cooking for him whenever he’s home.

Ravio says that it’s enough. Legend doesn’t particularly agree, but he doesn’t have anything else, so he just sticks to what he knows. He’s started learning how to cook Lorulean dishes too, for when Ravio’s missing Lorule. The hero’s never actually tried making one of those yet, but he’s got a cookbook that he’s been reading. If he can memorise the recipes, he’ll have an easier time when it comes to making them.

He hasn’t told Ravio about that part yet. Doesn’t know how Ravio would even react to that. He wouldn’t be upset by it, he doesn’t think. He’d probably get too affectionate about it, though. Every time Legend does something that Ravio really likes, the merchant gets weird and doesn’t leave him alone for a little while. Always keeps close to him for at least a day or two afterwards.

Ravio never explained it ; Legend never asked.

It’s just one of those unwritten things about them. There’s a long, mental list that Legend has that’s just filled with unwritten things that Ravio does. Ravio has a written list about things Legend does. He knows because he found it while cleaning up their room. …he’s pretty observant, but Legend supposes that it’s hard to miss things when you share a space with them. Especially for so long.

It would probably be more concerning if Ravio knew nothing about him, to be honest. Legend being cagey doesn’t translate over to the little things — the stuff Ravio’s written down. The fact it’s all written down on physical paper does make him a little embarrassed though. Some of those habits are intended to be taken to the grave, thank you, and putting it into a physical form is not taking it to the grave, Ravio, that actually makes it harder to take to the grave.

He hates him sometimes and he really does mean that in the most affectionate way possible. He doesn’t actually know what he would do if Ravio left now — he’s gotten far too used to the other being around. The stupid part of his mind tells him that he would simply stop existing. The rational part tells him that he would go into isolation again. Neither is very helpful, actually. Or particularly great. Hell, at least the rational part usually tells him he’d be fine. Fucks up with that part today? Just because it’s true doesn’t mean he wanted to hear it.

Legend tries not to let the homesickness show on his face, fingers tracing over the small, golden charm. It’s a small comfort. Both bracelets are somewhat comforting — even if he still doesn’t like that the chunkier bracelet smells like Twilight. It’s something he, unfortunately, grew used to. Ravio did say that he’d probably get used to it eventually, so it isn’t like he wasn’t warned about it.

Having it on just gives him a false sense of security — he feels safe with it, even though it realistically can’t do much in terms of protection. Neither of the bracelets can…he doesn’t think? The matching one has a strange aura that Legend can’t figure out. It’s magic, that much he knows. He’s just not really sure what type of magic it is, or what it does.

Little frustrating, but of course it is. Ravio, one of the most frustrating men that Legend has ever met, gave the thing to him, of course it’s frustrating. He’d ask about it but he wouldn’t get an answer. Hell, Ravio never answers questions half of the time. Thinks he’s really funny, and he’s only right about that one every so often. Most of the time, he’s just a little annoying.

“Fuck,”He mumbles under his breath. Doesn’t bother to even fully distract himself from his thoughts, can’t even tell if anyone heard him. He’s a little busy with his inner turmoil, with the fact his brain is yelling at him and he kind of wants to scream but he can’t because it would be concerning and nobody would have the context but —

Four and Sky were right. They were right about him and that’s never a sentence that Legend likes to say.

He likes Ravio. How did he miss that? It’s so fucking obvious. Fable noticed it, and he’d laughed at her for it. Four noticed. Sky noticed it, even compared it to his own relationship with Sun.

This is so dumb. Also a little mortifying. But mostly dumb. How can he be that stupid to not even notice he was into Ravio before it was essentially spelled out for him?

It’s been years since he’s ever liked someone that way. Years. He damn near swore off that emotion entirely. Maybe he did notice it, then. Maybe he just ignored it til he forgot about it. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d dealt with things that way. It’s not healthy, but it’s efficient, and he’s taking efficiency over health any day.

He should probably tell Ravio. It kinda scares him to think about. Is this the type of conversation you have to have in-person? Or is it acceptable to just put it in a letter and hope for the best? He’s not really sure. He could ask, but he knows better than to think that the rest of the chain won’t figure it out. Four or Sky would know. They’d probably mention it.

God, this sucks. He might just write a letter and call it a day. Future Legend problems are not Current Legend’s problems. Who knows, he might not even send the letter! Might just write it and chicken out! It’s very plausible! It has happened before, and it will continue to happen throughout his life!

When they all stop for the night, Legend tries to keep his mind off of it all. Helps set up camp, and he knows that they’ve noticed him trying to distract himself by helping out, but nobody mentions it so it’s fine, he’s fine. Honestly, he could just ask one of them about the whole…like…etiquette of love confessions, or whatever it is, but they’d get weird about it, and Legend would rather do it wrong than be teased for it.

How should he know how it’s done? He never had the chance to confess the first time he liked someone this way, and that was years ago now. He’s about on the same level as the actual child of the group when it comes to this kinda thing, and it’s only partially his fault. It’s not like it’s ever come up often — sure, he’s had people try to date him ; has been technically engaged, but they all did the work of the whole…confession business. Legend’s never done it himself. He waited too long with Marin. Doesn’t know, even now, if he would have managed to do it at all, even if the circumstances were different.

He’s starting to think he doesn’t know anything at all. Maybe that’s a little dramatic. He isn’t surprised that he’s started being dramatic too. Legend’s picked up a lot of Ravio’s other habits — talking with his hands, clicking his tongue when annoyed, he’s even picked up on Ravio’s awful habit of chewing on whatever’s available when he’s nervous or thinking — so it was just a matter of time before he picked up the dramatics.

Legend chooses to ignore that he was dramatic without Ravio’s influence, was dramatic about things ever since he was a kid. One of the many things he never grew out of, the many habits he never had time to get rid of. His uncle used to say that he was the most dramatic girl in the entire kingdom. Now he’s the second most dramatic man. Ravio’s always going to be the most dramatic, he thinks.

He wonders if he and Ravio had a kid, would that child be extra dramatic, on account of having two dramatic parents? And then he shoves that thought away, embarrassed at the idea and the thought of having a kid with the merchant. He’s got it bad, huh? He didn’t even notice it before. Legend is really hoping his face isn’t betraying him, because he doesn’t know how to explain why he’s embarrassed. What would he even say? ‘I thought about having a kid with a guy I just denied having a thing for’? Not a chance in hell.

Legend can’t even remember how long he’s been ignoring this. Can’t even tell if this is going to cause Ravio to finally decide he wants to move out, to ‘expand his business’ as he would explain it. He doesn’t think Ravio even thinks of him as more than the guy that saved his life and kingdom. Sure, they live together, but…Legend still kinda thinks Ravio’s only still around just because Legend doesn’t charge him rent. He wouldn’t really blame him — it’s a good deal. Legend can admit that he’s being very nice letting Ravio do what he does, and that anyone rational — anyone not stupidly in love with the man — wouldn’t put up with it.

Yeah, honestly, he’s not sure how he didn’t notice the signs of him liking the guy. The signs seem really obvious now that he’s caught up to himself enough to read them. He’ll blame it on not having time for it. That’s usually the only answer he can give — he never has enough time. It’s not a very peaceful existence, but it’s his, and isn’t that enough? Who cares if he doesn’t like it all that much. He has to work with it, he doesn’t get a choice.

Of all things to catch up on, did this really have to be the first? He feels a little cheated. Is there nothing else that he can get? Does he have to deal with this one right now? This one is all stressful and scary, could end with him losing the comfort of sharing a home with someone. He doesn’t like being alone, and Ravio being around helped with that. What if this makes him leave? Legend doesn’t really know what he’d do. Fable always says he can move into the castle when he wants to, that she would like to see her brother more, but he doesn’t like how big it is and he doesn’t feel safe around the knights, so even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t move in there. He doesn’t want to leave his house either — his uncle left it for him. It’s all he’s really got left, and he likes the orchard.

If Ravio left, maybe he would just…stop existing, or something. He’s never had to think about it before. He’s worried about it before, sure, but he always has the confidence that Ravio would tell him before he left and he wouldn’t just go — Ravio’d told him so. But this? He’s never thought about it in this circumstance. This could really fuck things up and make the merchant never want to even look at the hero again.

He hopes that, if the goddesses can hear his thoughts, they hear him when he begs for his life to stop getting complicated. The goddesses have never listened to his pleas before, so he doesn’t bother having high expectations, but it would really be great if his life could stop getting complicated and weird. His life hasn’t stopped getting complicated since the moment he stepped out of that house and was given the burden of ‘Hero’. It’s just kept getting worse, actually. He prayed, at first, for it to all stop and go away. He gave up on that a long time ago.

Maybe if he asks really nicely, Hylia can make this problem go away for him. Maybe he can finally get some use out of being her favourite? Probably not. The thought’s nice, though. He probably wouldn’t do it anyways. Being her favourite has just made him really tired and he thinks that if he tried to use it to get her to help him out, she’d just make him keep working. He does kinda want to retire without having to die to do it.

The letters are usually reserved for Fable. He doesn’t tend to send them to anyone else — Ravio sends a few, but Legend just replies on that paper and sends it back. He’s never actually written to the other first. — but he guesses he can’t just ignore this. If it all goes wrong, at least…at least he won’t have to see Ravio leave, if he does. It’ll still hurt but it would hurt more if he had to watch it happen. This is safer. He has the safety of it being on paper, of not having to watch as Ravio puts on that fake little smile, the one he puts on when he’s uncomfortable but doesn’t want to hurt feelings. Legend’s seen him put it on around knights and particularly annoying customers. He never wants it directed at him.

Legend doesn’t eat a lot of his dinner that night. Mostly just pokes at it, eats whenever Sky gives him a look, but doesn’t finish it. Passes it off to Four, when he’s sure nobody else is paying much attention. He just tells Four that he isn’t hungry. Doesn’t know, or care, if they believe him or not. They don’t question him, which is good enough. He kinda likes that about the smithy — they barely ever question him on things. They love questioning everyone else, just to make them annoyed or upset, but they never seem to do it to Legend anymore. The two have got their own little dynamic going on, anyways, so the cycle of questions and annoyance wouldn’t work with them for long.

It’s especially helpful now, because Legend hates telling Four that they’re right about anything. They’re a cocky little shit about it and Legend has enough going on, he doesn’t think he could convince himself to not throttle the smithy this time. That’s hard enough to do when he isn’t distracted. He loves the other like a little sibling, but it’s very hard to not want them dead sometimes. He supposes that might just be a sibling thing, though, because he and his sister have wanted each other dead every so often too and they’re literally twins.

He takes first watch. Manages to convince Time to let him take watch on his own. He doesn’t tell him why, just manages to make up some bullshit excuse about how it’ll be better so that the later watch doesn’t have to only be one person. It’s convincing enough to work, and that’s good enough for him. It gives him time to work on writing that letter that he has to write, and it means nobody will be bugging him while he does it.

His handwriting isn’t the best anyways. He doesn’t like to write around other people due to that. It’s messy and it’s just not something he’s proud of. Honestly, it’s bad enough that he can’t figure out how to say the things he wants to, it’s even worse when his terrible handwriting is thrown into the mix. This whole thing is making him feel ten times dumber than he is.

They head to bed not long after sorting out the watch system for the night. This is somewhat comforting. Means he isn’t sitting around with anxiety for even longer than he wants to, and gives him extra time to figure out what the hell he’s doing. Does he put filler in the letter? Talk about something for a while before getting to the point? Should he just confess and leave the letter as nothing more than a shitty confessional? He thinks the former, but he knows Ravio’s attention span isn’t great. Would he get bored of the letter if he talks too much, miss the point of it completely?

Damnit. Why isn’t anything ever easy? Everything has to be a difficult task for him, even when it’s something stupid, small and trivial. It’s so unfair. Legend thinks he deserves a raise, but then remembers that he doesn’t get paid for any of it, and just gets a little annoyed at how he doesn’t get paid. He wishes he did. He doesn’t really need it, he and Ravio make enough from their own business ventures, but it’d sure be nice to be paid for his efforts.

Is that selfish? Maybe a little bit. He’ll probably forget about it in the morning anyways, he’s just upset and has a lot going on at the moment. It’ll pass. It always does. This is not the first time he’s gotten annoyed about this topic and it certainly will not be the last time, either. Seems to come up whenever he’s stressed. Maybe he should talk to someone about that.

Nah. He’s got more important shit goin on. Such as this stupid letter. He hasn’t actually managed to write anything yet — he has the paper out, and has a pencil in his hand, but he doesn’t have any words. Not even one. This is a lot harder than it looks, alright? He’s never done this before and it’s definitely showing. Who knew something as simple as a letter could cause so much difficulty?

It’s just Ravio. He shouldn’t be worried. Ravio’s never given him reason to be afraid to tell him things. He briefly glances at the bracelet on his wrist, watches the sun-shaped charm reflect the firelight. It really is a pretty bracelet. The veteran hasn’t been able to stop looking at it, today. Maybe it’s because it helps with homesickness, or maybe it’s just because Ravio gave it to him, but he doesn’t ever really want to take the thing off. There’s something about it. He still doesn’t know what kind of magic this thing is coated with. Maybe he should ask about it. Ravio knows him better than to think he wouldn’t be able to tell it’s magic, maybe he’s just waiting to be asked about it.

Wouldn’t be surprising in the slightest. The other hasn’t ever been very forthcoming about things until he’s directly asked about it.

As he just sits there and looks at the charm, Legend realises that he just feels so out of his depth. This isn’t something he’s good at — the whole…expressing emotions thing. He always feels awkward and embarrassed about what he feels, so he just never really talks about that kinda stuff. He’s not sure why he gets so embarrassed about it, really ; nobody else seems to struggle with it. Maybe this is just another thing he never learned to do. Like reading. He didn’t learn to read until he was twelve, after all. Maybe he just needs to learn how to do it when he has time.

He is never going to stop giggling about anything relating to the word ‘time’ now. Every time he just thinks of Time himself and it gives him the funniest mental images in the world. He is very glad that there’s only one person in the world that can hear his thoughts and that she finds it as funny as he does.

This is just stalling. He’s absolutely stalling by thinking about anything and everything except the task at hand. Maybe he should just get it over with — throw some words on the paper, shove it in an envelope and seal it up so he doesn’t have to look at what he wrote before he sends it off. But, then, he worries that he’d throw the wrong words on there, or that he wouldn’t even get to the point. No matter what he does, he’s going to be anxious about it. It’s eating at him, a little bit. The worry. It wants to swallow him whole and leave not a single thing behind.

Legend chooses to stop thinking about it so much. He tries to write as neatly as he can, though it takes more effort than it would take anyone else. He just wants it to be legible. If he was so nervous about it only for Ravio to not be able to read his handwriting, he would actually die. He asks what magic the bracelet has. Tells Ravio that he noticed it a while ago and felt awkward asking about it. Talks a little about different things that’ve happened since they last spoke. He leaves the confession until last. Puts it at the end, and he notices that his handwriting is shakier when he writes it. No matter how hard he’d tried, he couldn’t stop his nerves from getting the best of him when it got to the point.

He signs it off with a small doodle of a bee and folds the letter in half to go into the envelope. Seals it with a small, blue wax seal that he stamps with a small bunny-shaped stamp. He has the one with the royal crest on it, but he’s never actually used that one. He just has it in-case it’s needed.

There. Done. He bit the bullet and now whatever happens after he sends this is in the goddesses hands until he gets home to find out if Ravio left or not. No big deal. Not terrifying at all, no sir. Not at all.

He doesn’t have to wait for the postman. He can just get Sheerow to deliver it — she’s been the one taking the letters back and forth between himself and the others back home anyways. She wouldn’t mind. But he doesn’t actually know how she would feel about it. She’s a smart bird, she would know this isn’t a normal letter.

What to do.

If he waits, he has to hold onto this thing for longer. If he just calls Sheerow, she could investigate the letter herself. …she can’t read, can she? He genuinely isn’t sure. He can read when he’s an animal, and Twilight can. Is that only because they’re really Hylian? Or can all animals read, to an extent? Has Sheerow been reading their letters this whole time?

He really didn’t think he’d be questioning if birds can read. Maybe Sky knows. Surely he wouldn’t mind being woken up for one question? Legend glances over to where Sky is sleeping. He’s got Four tucked under his arm, the other laying across his own stomach. He’ll never say it out loud, but he kinda wishes he was tucked into Sky’s other side.

Legend heads over anyways. Pokes Sky’s face a little. “Dad. Dad, wake up.”He whispers, rolling his eyes when Sky makes a vague noise in response. “Daaaaaaad.”

“Whuh?”Sky blinks his eyes open sleepily, looking a little more awake the second he sees Legend next to him. “S’mthing wrong?”

“I need to know if birds can read.”

Sky stares at him for a minute. Legend just stares right back. After a moment, Sky lets out a tired sigh. “Baby, it’s late.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But can birds read? It’s important.”

He clicks his tongue slightly, but smiles softly anyways. “Birds can be taught to read a little, yes.”

“Oh. Okay.”Legend nods. Ravio wouldn’t have taught Sheerow how to read, so he’s in the clear. “Thank you.”

“You’re…welcome? I think?”Sky blinks rapidly, confusion written on his face.

“Night dad,”Legend hums before heading back to the fire. He’ll just call Sheerow to give Ravio the letter, in that case. What reason would Ravio have to teach her to read?

…apart from just because he thought it would be funny. He would do it for that reason. But it doesn’t matter — Legend doesn’t understand a damn thing about that bird anyways. He’s not sure how she even gets here when he needs her, but it’s efficient. He’s still taking efficiency over all else.

Who cares if the little jelly bean shaped bird is somehow a tiny time-traveller? She’s cool. Legend likes her. She sometimes just hangs out in his hair. Fun times all around. He likes Sheerow a lot. If Ravio leaves him, he would actually mourn the loss of Sheerow, too. If anything bad ever happened to Sheerow he would commit a crime. Maybe he just likes small animals. Another thing to add to the list of weird things about himself.

She doesn’t take long to arrive when he calls for her. She sits on his knee patiently, nudges his hand a few times until he pets her. He never does give her the letter right away, always gives her affection first. Come on, how can he not? Sheerow deserves it. She chirps a few times, turns her attention to the letter after a while.

“Yeah, um.”Legend sighs when she does, frowning. “I, um. Need ya to take that to Rav. Okay?”

She confirms and takes it with little convincing. She stopped being stubborn about things a little while ago, when Legend started giving her attention first. It’s a decent way of dealing with things, and it’s not like he minds much. She gets one final pet before she takes off with the letter.

Legend lets out a heavy sigh. Well. That letter is Future Legend’s problem now, not his. Whatever happens…well, it happens, he supposes. He just hopes Ravio won’t hate him now. The merchant likes to say he doesn’t have a single hating bone in his body, but Sky said that too, and Sky hates some of the people in his and Four’s eras just because of how they speak to them. So his worry isn’t really placated by the statement.

He wakes Warriors and Wild up when it’s time to switch shifts. He’s tired and stressed at the same time, which is a really fun combination. Will he succumb to the tiredness, or will the stress keep him awake? He has absolutely no idea! He hopes he gets to sleep. Really, he does, because if he doesn’t sleep he’ll just think, and thinking is way worse than sleep sometimes.

Legend ends up giving into what he wanted to do earlier. Heads over to Sky and tucks himself into the man's other side, more for the comfort of it than anything else. Maybe it’ll calm his mind down and let him sleep? It does the trick. He isn’t sure when he falls asleep, but he manages it eventually, curled up into Sky’s side.

Morning comes and Legend’s anxiety hasn’t gone away like he thought it would have. It’s still there eating away at him, which is total bullshit. It should have left. The letter was sent, he doesn’t have to stress about it anymore.

He wonders if Ravio’s read it yet. Immediately after, he lets out a tired sigh. He’s still worrying about it. He can’t even get a break — fuck, he isn’t going to relax until he knows what Ravio’s reaction is, will he?

This is so lame.

“You alright over there?”He hears Four, but doesn’t actually answer. Just lets out a heavy sigh and tucks his knees up to his chest so he can hide his face. He's not ready to exist as a functioning person. Won’t be until he gets an answer.

He hates this, actually. This was supposed to be Future Legend’s problem, not Current Legend’s problem! He feels a little bit robbed, honestly. So not cool.

He doesn’t express his anxiety. Just gets up for the day. Doesn’t eat his breakfast, passes it off to Four again. They give him a look this time — Red’s worried about him, going off that eye colour. He feels a little bad about worrying her — but don't speak. Good enough. He can ignore looks much easier. Even if he does feel a tiny bit bad about it.

At least it’s not Vio today. Vio would hold him at knifepoint until he told them what was wrong. A little intimidating, but it gets the job done, so Legend can’t blame Vio for using a method that’s never failed them.

He just would like to never experience it. Ever. Vio honestly scares him a little. But thankfully, it’s too early for Vio to be fully functioning, so he isn’t getting threatened today.

He hopes Ravio replies to the letter. Even if it’s just to make an excuse about why he has to go back to Lorule. Even if it’s just to tell Legend that he hates him and doesn’t want to see him again in their entire lives. It would hurt, but it wouldn’t be new. Legend wouldn’t blame him.

They don’t linger around long, and it doesn’t take a long time to get all their shit together either. Legend ends up helping Four out with their things ; he thinks they have a headache. They aren’t focusing very well this morning. Legend wouldn’t be surprised if they have an argument going on up there right now.

He sticks to the back of the group when they set off. He ends up having to walk beside Twilight, and he has to do his very best to hide any of his negative emotions right fucking now because Twilight can read emotions far too easily. He doesn’t need Twilight asking him about it.

The worry is still eating at him. It hasn’t stopped.

“I hope we get a portal soon,”He hears Wind whistle, “We’ve been in this era for a while.”

“Yeah, I hope we get to go somewhere else. Who’s era do you think we’ll end up in?”

“Hyrule, nobody’s keeping track of it,”

“I think we’ll end up in Legend’s era next,”Four speaks up, “We haven’t been there in a long time. It would make sense if it was his next.”

Oh he hopes not. He would take anyone else’s era right now, not his own. His own era is exactly where he doesn’t want to be. Like, there is nowhere he wants to be less right now.

“Oh, fun!”Sky laughs a little. “You might get to be home soon, bun!”

“I really, really do not know how to express how much I do not want that.”Legend snaps out, too busy trying to ignore his nerves to even remember he’s supposed to be pretending to be fine.

“...you don’t want to be home?”Warriors blinks slowly. Legend can feel the confusion from the rest of the group.

“I don’t want to be home,”He repeats back simply. “Can we drop it?”

He watches Sky’s confusion turn into concern, as the other slows to walk beside him. “Okay, baby, we don’t have to talk about it.”

Legend nods once. Doesn’t open his mouth again. He’s not sure what Sky or the others are thinking about what he said. Really, he isn’t convinced that he wants to know their thoughts.

They run into a portal, eventually. Legend really hopes Four is wrong. He doesn’t want to be in his era. He’ll take Wild’s era over his, and he fucking hates the champions era because of how much walking you have to do. He hopes this isn’t his era, he isn’t ready.

It’s his era. He knows it the second he walks through that damn portal. He feels his connection with Fable strengthens back up, smells the familiar scent that his era has.

He lets out a long, pained sigh. Sits on the ground with his head in his hands. He does not want to be here — really, he doesn’t. He can’t avoid his problems forever when the person he’s avoiding knows all of his hiding spots. The goddesses must really enjoy laughing at him.

“Um.”Four kneels down and pokes Legend. Wind copies Four’s actions and pokes Legend a second time. “Are you good down there?”

“Let me rot and die.”

“Um, I don’t think I want to do that,”

Legend flips them off. Four just hums.

He isn’t ready for this. He doesn’t really know if he was ever going to be, but he definitely isn’t ready right now. This is such a cruel joke. He knows he hasn’t been very into religion, despite Impa’s best efforts, but is that really bad enough to warrant being turned into the goddesses personal jester?

If they think he’s going to start praying because of this, they are sorely mistaken.

“Apple, come on, we need to get moving, if that’s okay?”Sky tries to nudge him gently to get up.

“Why are none of you willing to let me just sit here and die?”

“Because we need you. Now get up.”Warriors is much less gentle about it. He gets glared at by Sky for it, which is a little bit funny.

He gets up, eventually. He’s not going to be addressing any of his problems right now, not when he has a much bigger one to address when he gets home. He was hoping he had a little more time, but really, why did he expect to get what he wanted? Never does. Probably never will. He exists to suffer. Yes, he’s probably being dramatic again, but it feels perfectly reasonable to him right now.

“I need you guys to fuck off for a little while so I can deal with the consequences of my own actions.”Legend states once they reach the village. He can just head home, deal with his problems, and then promptly die. If Ravio isn’t there, he will be letting the earth reclaim him, though.

He doesn’t wait for a response. Just leaves them behind and heads to his house. He can feel his heart pounding as he walks, the nerves eating his insides and his brain screaming at him.

The shop signs are still up. Usually, Legend hates those things, but he can’t help but be a tiny bit relieved to see them. Ravio wouldn’t leave without those — “It’s way too expensive to replace them, Mr. Hero.” — and so it’s good to know that, at least, the merchant is still here.

He doesn’t think he’s ever opened that front door with more hesitation in his entire life. “Rav?”His voice sounds way too quiet but he can’t even care about it at the minute. He sees the envelope open, discarded on the top of a sales cabinet. Ravio read the letter, then. Legend takes a breath.

“Ah! Mr. Hero!”Ravio jumps a little. “You’re back!”

A hum. “Yeah. Um. Hi.”

Silence.

Ravio tilts his head at Legend, but Legend doesn’t know if he can even look at him, so he looks at the ground and kicks his feet a little. It’s so quiet, it might actually drive him insane.

“If you hate me can you just tell me?”He blurts out after the silence dragged out for too long. It was too much, he couldn’t take it. He’d rather Ravio just yell at him or insult him or something, anything is better than silence.

“Mr. Hero…”Ravio hums, and Legend hears him walking over. “I don’t hate you! I could never!”

He doesn’t know if he believes him.

“Your letter was nice,”He continues, voice quiet. Legend can’t tell if he’s just trying to match Legend’s own quiet energy with it. “I’m afraid that the magic on that bracelet is a trade secret though, honeybunny,”He laughs a little and pokes Legend’s nose. Legend bites his finger for it. “Ow—meanie!”

“Deserved it.”

“I thought you loved me,”Ravio teases with a grin, and Legend falls quiet. Shrinks in on himself a bit, takes a step back. He’s scared of this whole thing and he wants to run and hide and never show his face ever again — “Hey, hey. Breathe. I’m sorry, Link, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Yeah right. Legend doesn’t believe that for a second. “So you read the whole thing, then…”

Ravio sighs. “Yep. Did you not want me to?”

“I don’t know.”

Ravio goes quiet. Legend hears him tapping his fingers against his arms like he does when he thinks. All that’s running through the hero’s mind is “He’s trying to figure out how to let me down easy”. He really regrets sending the letter, this shit is way more terrifying than any of the monsters he’s ever fought.

“I’m glad you were the one to say something. I thought you were going to kick me out if I told you I wanted to kiss you.”Ravio shrugs, eventually, and Legend genuinely thinks his brain just stopped working. He just kinda looks at the other for a while.

What.

“Don’t look at me like that!”He laughs nervously. “I did! I thought you would kick me out for it!”

Why did Legend’s type in men have to be ‘stupid’.

“Oh.”The hero sighs, shaking his head a little. “You don’t hate me for it?”

Ravio shakes his head again. “The opposite, actually! See, if you didn’t say anything, I was going to have to. We’ve been at this for months now, Mr. Hero. Honestly, I’m glad we can get past that whole deal now.”

He lets out another breath. Oh, hey, the anxiety’s stopped eating his guts out. Hooray!

“Though, you never asked me to date you in that lovely little letter of yours,”

“I will actually kill you.”

Ravio just laughs. Legend cannot believe that this is the man he’s decided he wants to live for.

That thought is still fond, though, because of course it is. Legend hasn’t had a single thought about Ravio that hasn’t been affectionate in the past twenty four hours.

“I guess you did do half of the work,”Ravio speaks again with a shrug. “Okay. So. You did the confession stuff, can we date now, or do I need to wait for your next emotional breakthrough for that one?”

“Just for that, you have to wait.”

“What—hey! No!”

Legend heads out to go and fetch the others, laughing at Ravio’s minor distress as he leaves.

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tk-fandom-stuff · 12 days ago

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Hi guys it's a Christmas miracle that I actually managed to finish a fic 😝

Anyway enjoy this no crash and no jimjam fic!! If u tag this as ship I'll get u

If you want to read it on ao3 its right here

Fic under the cut!!

Curly stared at the scene in front of him, cursing the fact that his responsibility as captain means he has to deal with stuff like this. Daisuke, with a look on his face somewhere between sheepishness and a pout, is stuck in the emergency foam. With Swansea glaring at the kid like he's the cause of all his problems, unfair, but the kid was trouble sometimes. They've only been on the ship for close to 5 months and there's already been several incidents like this, usually with Daisuke as the unintentional culprit.

Curly can't ever bring himself to be mad at the kid though, he's a good kid and he only wants to help out, he just needs to listen a little better. “Well. I see the issue here.” He says. Swansea's glower is turned on him. “The kid was brought on just to make me suffer!” He snapped, “Intern my ass.” He grouses. Curly sighs, waving Swansea off, “Go, I'll deal with this, I'm the only one with access to the axe case anyway.” He ignores the man's muttering as he storms out of the room, the door closing behind him.

Turning around to face Daisuke, he raises an eyebrow. “How many times has he warned you not to mess with the vent now?” The kid pouts, “I was just trying to help! How was I supposed to know it would trigger the emergency foam?” He wiggles a bit while he's talking, trying to free his hands from the foam. He gets one out and starts slowly digging out the other hand, which is quite a ways deeper in the foam than the other one was. Curly clears his throat, and when Daisuke looks up at him, gives him a stern look.

“You should know better than to mess with the vent, it's collapsed inside since before this voyage and you've been told that it's too dangerous for even Swansea to try and fix.” He raised an eyebrow. “You've only worked on this ship for 5 months, you're nowhere near qualified enough to fix the vent, it could kill you if you try, at the least it would hurt you pretty bad.” As he's speaking, Daisuke droops, ashamed and embarrassed. He sighs, ruffling the kids' hair. “I'm not mad at you, kid, I don't want you to get hurt and Swansea doesn't either. It's why he's so hard on you.” He gives him a reassuring smile, which Daisuke hesitantly returns.

Curly stepped away to get the axe out of its case, pulling out the code scanner to make sure he puts in the right code. When he grabs the axe and starts walking back, he sighs as he sees Daisuke's nervous look. “Can't you just use your hands and pull me out? I got my hand out on my own” He says with an uneasy grin. Curly leans the axe nearby, resigning himself to calming the kid down. “It's too thick for me to pull you out of it, the only reason you could get your hand out was because it wasn't deep in the foam. And,” He raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn't be in this situation if you had just listened to Swansea.” He shrugged.

Daisuke still looked hesitant, and Curly struggled to think of something to help the kid calm down. The last thing he wanted was him freaking out and getting hit with the axe on accident. He thinks back to earlier in the week during game night, after losing at sorry for the third time in a row Anya had started to tickle him to distract him from the game. The tickle fight that happened could have gone down in history. It would calm him down, and Daisuke never seems to mind it. Plus, maybe it would finally stick that he needs to be more careful and listen to what he's told.

He raises a hand and starts poking at Daisuke's side, grinning at the immediate giggles it elicited. It was always hard not to smile when Daisuke laughed, he's so bright and energetic that his joy and laughter are contagious. “Waihahait!” He squealed and covered his face with his free hand as Curly moved to scribble at his belly. “Daisuke, I'm not even doing anything,” he laughs softly. “Liahahar!” He shrieked when Curly poked at his belly button.

Curly stopped to give Daisuke a moment to breathe before smirking at him. “Is that any way to talk to your captain?” Daisukes eyes go wide. “Waihahait! I dihihidn't mehehean it! Dohohohn’t!” He pleaded as Curly reached for his free hand. He halfheartedly tries to squirm away, but the foam might as well have been concrete with how tough it was to move through it.

Curly, pausing as he gets a slightly evil idea, hums to himself. “don't what?” He asks, hiding a grin. Daisuke walks right into his trap, “tihihickle mehehe!” He giggles out. Daisuke freezes, eyes wide, as he realizes that he just fell for the oldest trick in the book, and one that he himself uses often. His nervous anticipatory smile grows as he stares at the silently grinning captain.

Curly lightly drags his nails around his palm and down his arm, listening to Daisuke's panicked laughter fluctuate as he goes back and forth. “Awww does it tickle, Daiske?” He can't help but tease. He's met with squeaky giggles as he draws closer to his palm.

Curly waited, letting the anticipation build until Daisuke started to get fidgety. Then he strikes, spidering down his arm and scratching at the palm of his hand. Daisuke's giggles get wilder as he unsuccessfully instinctively tries to pull his hand away.

After a moment, he lets go of Daisuke's hand, giving him a moment to breathe. “Alright kid, let's get you out of that foam.” Curly said, picking up the axe from its resting spot. Daisuke nods, still giggling slightly, waiting for Curly to chop through the thick foam before shaking out his body from being trapped in the foam for a while.

When free, he rubs at his palm, chasing away residual tingles. He seems to remember what got his stuck in the foam in the first place, and his head droops, expecting a reprimand. Curly sighs softly, pulling Daisuke into a side hug and ruffling his hair. “Like I said, nobody's truly mad at you, just worried because you could have gotten hurt or worse. Just don't do it again and you'll be fine.” He grins at him, and Daisuke smiles back.

“And you should cheer up, don't think I won't go for round two. Now, go help Swansea, I'm sure he needs your help right now. ” He says, poking Daisuke in the side a couple of times. Daisuke squeaks and moves away a bit. “Okahahahay! Message received!” He laughed out, walking towards the door. He pauses at the entrance for a moment. “Thanks Curly.” He says with an embarrassed flush, before scampering out of the room. Curly watches him go with a fond smile, turning around to get rid of the rest of the foam.

#mouthwashing tickles #do i main tag this #nah #ler!curly #sfw tickle fic #sfw tk community #sfw tickle blog #lee!daisuke #sorry im indecisive about tags

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seoafin · 2 years ago

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dog days are over | chapter three

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru warnings/tags (for this chapter): beginnings of a panic attack, mentions of implied dissociation and depression, slight nsfw word count: ~7.7k

fic masterlist read on ao3

There’s a wedding.

You know this because Satoru is holding a pristine white invitation with elaborately floral borders and calligraphy so curled it’s difficult for you to read it when for all intents and purposes, you are used to handling and deciphering historical accounts and journals.

That’s not the only thing.

The invitation had been addressed to both Satoru and Suguru.

The two of them are getting invitations sent as one. It means something. It’s an acknowledgement. Unspoken, but palpable.

Satoru flicked the invitation open, indifferently scanned the contents, and threw it on the nearest surface (the desk in front of him) with a lazy flick of his wrist. In his words: a higher up’s daughter was getting married to some big shot young politician. Their honored presences was humbly requested. They’d be delighted to have the strongest in attendance for the joyous occasion.

You picked up the invitation and scanned the date. Next month, on the sixteenth. A Friday. You have off on that Friday. You know that because there is an exhibit one of your professors is curating at the Tokyo National Museum you had planned on asking Satoru and Suguru to.

Satoru doesn't really respond well to invitations. You could still ask him—

“Friday’s going to be a real pain.” Satoru texts away on his phone. You watch as Suguru replies in real time. You wonder if the two of them have resolved all of their problems if they’re texting normally.

“Oh,” you say, surprised. “You’re going?”

Satoru’s gaze momentarily flicks up at you, holding your gaze for a few seconds, before returning to the screen. “Might as well.” The words come out begrudgingly. Satoru makes a face at his phone, presumably one of Suguru’s texts, and types out a long response.

You suppose that means that they have plans already. You don’t mind. You had been intending on going alone anyway.

Your own phone vibrates in your pocket. It’s a message from Shoko.

Ieiri Shoko

[4:31] there’s a wedding

[4:32] i have been invited to a wedding

[4:33] Satoru and Suguru too. Satoru said he’s going. Suguru too. Probably.

[4:33] ? Those two? lolololololol

[4:34] I didn’t think Satoru was going to go.

[4:36] your guess is as good as mine.

[4:36] how about you come with me? be my plus one

[4:36] say yes

You stare at Shoko’s text. Come…with her? To the wedding? You hadn’t expected to be invited. Either as a person or a plus one. You wouldn’t know anybody. The thought of being surrounded by people somewhere clearly didn’t belong makes you nervous. You won’t be able to rely on Satoru or Suguru or even Shoko’s presence. They’d be busy, too busy for you. You’d stand in a corner and stay quiet, and people would brush over you, a nameless person of little importance and significance.

If you’re being honest, it doesn’t sound like a good time. If Shoko really needed you it’d be one thing. But you’re sure your presence wouldn’t be missed.

You’d let her down gently.

You press out of the chat just as Satoru stands up to peer down your head and squint at your phone. You wonder what has him so curious, and shut your phone off and look up.

“We should go meet up with Shoko and Suguru, shouldn’t we?”

Satoru only sighs, rubbing at his neck with a faintly irritated look on his face. That’s not good.

He takes your hand and leads you out the door.

----

Dinner is fraught with tension. You look from Satoru to Suguru who are pointedly refusing to look at each other, which is difficult, considering they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder in a crammed yakitori restaurant.

You’re…unsure what exactly is going on. You thought your worries about Satoru and Suguru were a worry for the past, but now, it’s impossible to ignore the pointed silence, Suguru’s cool silence, or even Satoru’s increasing agitation. Without the usual sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, it’s even easier to tell Satoru's patience is running thin.

You look to Shoko, whose head rests on your shoulder as she idly scans the menu, unbothered.

“We should share the chicken meatballs,” she says. “And the squid. I’ll order two draft beers, and maybe some plum wine…”

You make noncommittal noise. Then look back to Satoru and Suguru, wondering what you can say to dissolve the tension and make them look at each other again.

“So,” you clear your throat. “Excited for the wedding?”

You smile encouragingly when they look at you.

“No,” Satoru says, unhappily. “Not really.”

You wonder why he’s even going in the first place. Is it because of Suguru? Are they fighting over attending the wedding? That sounds wrong. Satoru doesn’t like to put up with troublesome things, but for Suguru, a four hour wedding was nothing.

“Only children think the world bends to their whims,” Suguru remarks pleasantly, despite the sharp edge of his words. “Adults should know better. Even Mimiko and Nanako know better. Tsumiki and Megumi—”

If there’s one thing Satoru can’t handle, it’s a lecture from Suguru. That hasn’t changed since high school.

“Yeah?” There’s a dangerous challenge on Satoru’s tongue as his eyes narrow in accusation. “I know what I want. If that makes me a child, then fine. At least one of us does.”

“Shoko,” you whisper to her. “Something’s wrong.”

Contrary to your own panic, Shoko’s watches the two, amused. “The only thing wrong here is that I don’t have a beer.” She waves a waitress over just as Satoru and Suguru fall into stony faced silence.

A young, fresh faced waitress with her hair tied up in a ponytail bounds up to the table. Shoko lists half the menu, ordering for the table. Then she orders drinks. Alcohol for you and her, a melon soda for Satoru, water for Suguru.

“Make that three,” Suguru interjects. “I’ll have a beer too.”

She flushes prettily when Suguru gives her a polite smile, slyly tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. Satoru’s face darkens.

“How is medical school?” You ask Shoko. “You’re taking care of yourself, right?” You hope she’s taking breaks in between her studies and her work at the school, eating well, and sleeping a good seven hours every night.

She faces you, cheek flattened on her open palm. “I should be asking you that. Do you even remember to eat if I don’t remind you?” She pokes your nose.

“I eat,” you say, a touch defensively, but you already know Shoko knows better. Sometimes, you forget to eat. Sometimes it’s too much of a bother. You're fine though. Healthy enough.

“Hmmm.” She turns her attention to Satoru and Suguru. “This wedding is going to be awfully awkward if you two don't kiss and make up soon.”

“Everything’s fine,” Suguru says civilly. He softens at your concerned look. “It’s fine.”

You don’t believe him.

Satoru’s gaze is flinty. “Who says we’re even going together?”

“You’re free to go by yourself,” Suguru replies, serenely unbothered.

“Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll go with Shoko.”

“Absolutely not,” she says immediately. “I’ve already got a plus one.”

Your stomach drops, put on the spot. You hadn’t had the time to think of an adequate excuse to avoid the wedding as Shoko’s date. It’s too late for excuses if Shoko’s already told them you’re going. You can’t let her look the fool by backing out now!

They look at you. Your lips curl in an automatic smile.

There’s the beginnings of a playful grin on her face. “We’re picking out dresses tomorrow, aren’t we?”

“Yeah…”

Well, if any good came out of this wedding, it would have to be getting to go dress shopping with Shoko and helping her pick out a formal dress. You’d like that. You always thought she looked good in bold colors, and if the occasion warrants it, she’ll wear her bright red lipstick. You already feel lighter, excited at the prospect of seeing her in all different types of dresses. You’d take the job seriously, make sure you help her pick the best—

“Kimono,” Satoru states.

“Dress,” Suguru asserts.

You blink. Their gazes clash, and you can feel a chill come over you. What are they fighting over now? This might even be worse than the several occasions they fought in high school. Never had they fought about anything that couldn’t be settled with a good fistfight. Something tells you this runs deeper. It’s more than a trivial burst of high tempers, more than juvenile attitudes at work.

“What?”

A lazy smile hangs from Shoko's lips. She is thoroughly amused, taking everything in as if she’s at the theater. “I asked them whether or not I should put you in a kimono or a dress for the big event.”

You didn’t even think about what you’d wear to the wedding. You assumed Shoko would give you something. And if not, you could just go shopping. If Shoko was too busy to come, then Ijichi usually had a good eye for silhouette and fashion. You worry about your kouhai once more. He really is too competent for his own good. You hope you won't be troubling him too much in the future.

You are discomfited. You don’t want the hypotheticals of something as inconsequential as what you plan to wear to an event to be another point of contention between them.

“That’s…I don’t really care what I wear.”

“Whatever you want to wear,” Suguru says reassuringly. “I’m sure you’ll look perfect regardless.”

You warm at Suguru’s words, unexpectedly abashed as you lower your gaze to your lap. It’s hard to think of yourself as perfect, especially in terms of appearances when you’re anything but. You determinedly meet Shoko’s eyes. “I’ll do my best not to embarass you,” you say deathly serious.

You’ll do your best to be sociable, speak when spoken to, and try not to let yourself get caught up in all the important people you’re sure are going to be in attendance. You figure if anything this could be practice. Making new friends. Although all you’ve known for the last years of your life is Satoru and Suguru and Shoko. Occasionally Utahime when she visits down from Kyoto. Mei Mei too, even. You can’t rely on them forever, you know this. It’s easy to forget the monotony of the days before you entered high school. Days passing while in a trance, food tasting bland, the perpetual buzzing in your ears. You slept and slept and slept. You spent more days asleep than awake until you were inevitably needed for another mission.

You don’t think you had known what it meant to live, in those days. You didn’t know that the salty breeze of the ocean was a sensation in your nose that felt akin to the seconds before a sneeze. You didn’t know that the colored disco lights in a small karaoke room could bring you so much joy. You didn’t know that hot summer days could be idle, that eating a popsicle with friends could be a momentous occasion. All of these moments, engraved on your heart. You’d take them to the grave, and you’d be content.

You still occasionally experience these fits of sadness so encompassing you drown in it. Especially around certain times in the year. Sometimes, you find it difficult to wake up. There’s a boulder in your chest, pressing on your lungs and weighing you down. You sleep for days. Wake up to remind yourself that you still exist, and close your eyes. Other days, you feel your body move on auto pilot, from one destination to another, cursory smiles and words. You don’t remember much of anything. Just that when you wake up, you feel yourself again. And if you don’t, you sleep and repeat until you do.

It’s a troubling matter to articulate. Something you’ve never quite put into words. If it’s an inconvenience to you, it’d be an annoyance to others. So you keep quiet, and hope it stays a secret, where it won’t bother anyone.

“As if that matters,” she sighs, eyeing you warmly. “ You’re not that one that needs to worry about embarrassing me.”

She side eyes the two men seated across from you, and sighs. "Hopeless.” She flings the word at them.

Your waitress returns with skewers of meats and vegetables and more. Shoko gratefully takes her drinks, and downs half of it down. Then she takes a chicken skewer.

The rest of your meal continues in either silence or short lived conversation. Suguru asks about your thesis. About Shoko soldiering through medical school. Shoko orders more alcohol. You ask him and Satoru about Kyoto, since the two of them have been spending more and more time at Kyoto tech for one thing or another. Meetings, clan visits, Satoru visiting members of the Gojo clan, etc. You stick to safe topics of discussion, and decide that any talk about matchmaking ceremonies or arranged marriages is dangerous.

It’s only so often that the four of you can meet up like this. Adult responsibilities and all. You hope Satoru and Suguru make up soon. To you, this time is precious. And even with Satoru and Suguru refusing conversation with each other, you’re happy to be with them.

The night goes by in a blink of an eye. Shoko orders another round of drinks. Soon it’s twelve in the morning, and Shoko calls for the check. You’re getting ready to leave when your waitress approaches apprehensively.

“Excuse me,” she says, fingers curled around a piece of paper. You watch eagerly, excited at being able to watch a confession unfold. But the storminess in Satoru’s expression creeps back in and you sweat. She hesitates, gaze flicking from Satoru, back to Suguru, and draws back with a shake of her head. The scrap of paper clenches in her hand. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

“Oh, I am,” Suguru smiles. “Single.”

Shoko chokes on her laughter. Satoru doesn’t look amused in the slightest, jealousy as palpable as a strike of lightning and the aftermath smell of burnt grass. You stare down at your lap, willing yourself to be as small as possible, discomfort prickling at your chest.

“Oh…Oh! Then I—” she flushes, looking back at the gaggle of other waitresses towards the cash register, two of whom give her a thumbs up. She extends her arms, bowing her head, piece of paper tucked between her fingers. It looks like an offering. An offering of Valentine’s day chocolate. “I wanted you to have this! Just—just in consideration of me!”

It’s undoubtedly endearing. You’ve never been in love. You wonder if you were normal, if it’d come more naturally to you. If you were a normal girl without the occasional bouts of terror and sadness and the all consuming exhaustion. Without the need to hide away every once in a while. Someone who could lead a happy and guiltless life. You wonder if you had ever had a chance. A possibility for you to be loved. Or if it had been the inevitable circumstances of your birth that had condemned you to a lonely, forgotten existence.

Shoko takes you by the arm, excusing the two of you for fresh air, before you can hear or see Suguru’s response.

Outside, snow is beginning to fall. You stare at it as it lazily floats onto buildings, Shoko’s head, the ground. You brush the white off her head as she lights a cigarette and inhales with a gusto.

“I needed this!” She rests against the brick of the restaurant and exhales. “Those two love to make their business everyone’s problem, huh.”

Your lips twitch, despite the gravity of the situation. “I’m worried about them.”

“They’ll be fine,” she briefly stares at the lit end of her cigarette, the ashes flickering to the floor, before meeting your gaze. “They always are, aren’t they?”

----

You immediately feel out of place as you and step into the hotel’s banquet hall for the wedding reception. It’s beautiful, decorated with flowers, vines that hang from the ceiling and down the columns, and ice sculptures set up around the floor. Round tables with designated seating and personalized name cards set atop the plates fill the venue while leaving the middle of the room, the dance floor, open. Not a single yen wasted.

You scan the crowd of faces for Shoko, or even Satoru or Suguru. There’s not a single recognizable face. You swallow down your growing unease, adjust the silk skirt of your dress, and try your best to inspire confidence in yourself.

You slowly take in the rest of the grand room, take a glass of champagne offered, and then realize you’re too nervous to drink. There seems to be an unusual amount of people concentrated around the main entrance. Your skin prickles uncomfortably. Years later, you still don’t do well around consistent crowds of people. Sometimes, it feels like if you’re slowly suffocating, boxed in where the walls are slowly closing in on you.

It’s not a pleasant feeling. You walk in the opposite direction and try to tune it out, careful not to grip the champagne glass too tightly. You hadn’t been invited to the actual wedding procession. You wouldn’t be invited to the Shinto ceremony either. That was reserved only for a special group of guests. You’re glad for it. You don’t know if you can survive in close quarters with people important enough to run the country of Japan.

“There you are,” a familiar voice pulls you out of your thoughts, a hand on your shoulder.

You turn, brightening. “Shoko!”

She looks stunning in the dark crimson gown she picked out when the two of you had gone dress shopping, and you can already see a few interested glances in her direction. Her hair is braided up, exposing her slender neck, and you can smell the cypress of her favorite perfume. You catch yourself staring at the red lining her lips, a few shades lighter than dress. If anything, you think being able to see Shoko like this is worth all the troubles of pretending to be… somebody.

“How was the wedding?” You hand her your own untouched champagne. She lifts it to her lips and it’s gone.

That gets a grin out of her. “Interesting.”

She tells you that it had been an arranged marriage, and the bride had staunchly resisted the match, to the last second, which explained the closed, intimate ceremony. Furthermore, the bride refused to write and recite her vows, which had made for an entertaining scene on the altar. And that when the groom had leaned down to kiss her, she had angled her face away, so that his lips had collided with her cheek instead of lips.

The story is entertaining. Though you can’t help but feel bad for the bride, forced into a marriage by forces outside her control. What if she was already in love with somebody else? What if she had no interest in marriage? What is she didn't want a husband?

Shoko draws back a step, looking you up and down with a nod of approval. She smooths out the neckline of your dress. “I thought you’d look good in this one. It makes me want to show you off.”

You glance down at the silk dress adorned on you, so soft it ripples with every movement. It’s a pretty dress, although you’re sure you don’t do it justice.

“How are Satoru and Suguru?” You ask hesitantly.

Shoko tilts her head towards the main entrance. “How about you ask them yourself?”

Upon closer inspection, you realize the crowd of people around the entrance had been gathered around Satoru and Suguru. Huh. You didn’t originally notice them. You must have been too caught up in your head.

“No thanks,” you say, not wanting to intrude, but you take the time to watch them for a little longer.

Suguru’s face is animated with a bright smile as he converses with several other older guests, head slightly inclined in a politely deferential stance. They’re both in Kimonos. Matching colors. That brings a smile to your face. Still united in some way even if they may be in the midst of a long standing argument.

Satoru’s face is shaded with sunglasses, a suspiciously blank expression in the indifferent set of his lips. You aren’t sure you’ve caught his eye, but he perks in your direction, and when you raise your hand in a slight wave, he straightens.

Shoko weaves her arm through yours. “Alright, let’s get more drinks!”

You catch the frown forming on his lips just as Shoko tugs you away.

Shoko manages to get an entire bottle of champagne. Then she leads you to the largest table in the room, towards the front of the banquet hall, and gestures to your seat next to hers before taking a seat and filling her glass back up.

“I healed the bride’s father a while back,” she says, taking a sip of the champagne. “Stage 4 kidney cancer.” She makes a face. “I hate making house calls, but the higher ups insisted. I’m not trying to become a private doctor.”

“He must have been grateful.”

“He was,” she snorts. “He tried to buy me into his employ.” She leans back into her seat, looking at the banquet hall. “The man certainly has the money.”

“You like it at jujutsu tech,” you say with a bright smile. “You’d never leave us.” You’d like to think she’d never leave you.

“I wouldn’t leave you,” she says, matter of factly. “How could I leave you with those two insensitive jerks?"

You’re so pleased you don’t think your smile can contain it all. She said she wouldn’t leave you. The champagne you took one sip of sits bubbly in your stomach. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be that bad. Less work, more money…” you shrug. “If it made you happy, I wouldn’t mind.” Jujustu tech would probably fall apart without Shoko, so you leave that part out. You just want her to be happy.

She exhales. “I’m happy where I am right now.”

The two of you share a smile.

Shoko’s bottle inevitably runs empty while she recounts a funny incident in medical school involving a cadaver, and you offer to get her another one.

When you come back, there’s a man you don’t recognize in your seat, conversing with Shoko. You wonder what they’re talking about, for Shoko to look so unusually engaged. You’ve observed her in all her varying degrees of disinterest and moods to be able to read her well. You don’t want to disturb her. So you drop the bottle on the nearby counter of the open bar and turn on your heels to do another lap around the room. Once again, you spot Suguru and Satoru, who have relocated to underneath one of the glass stained windows running the length of the wall of the room.

Satoru is with the groom, a tall man with handsome features dressed in a tailored black suit. The rising star politician, you assume. Next to him, his sullen bride stands, surly disposition visible all the way from your place in the room. A stunning emerald dress is draped across her figure, ending at her ankles. Her arms are crossed. Satoru’s lips move in response.

Next to him, a couple feet away, Suguru is talking to a woman dressed in a silver colored heavy furisode, the two of them deep in conversation. Your interest is piqued. You can’t quite see her face, her back towards you, but you think she may be Suguru’s matchmaking attendee.

You should give them privacy. Well. You shouldn’t be gawking at them. You turn just as someone else steps behind you, colliding into them. The ensuing collision has you precariously teetering back. Before you can regain your balance, a strong hand wraps around your upper arm, another around your waist, steadying you at once.

“You alright?”

The man you bumped into you gives you a dirty look, before continuing on his way. You look at the man. There’s something familiar about the set of his cheekbones, the curl of his lips in an easy smile, his dark green gaze, like the clearing of a forest. You’ve had this thought before, long ago. When the green of a boy’s eyes made you remember there was color in the world.

“Yes,” you reply slowly, waiting for him to let you go. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“I’ve been watching you.”

You stare at him, unsure of how to take his comment. Watching…you…? You hope you haven’t done anything embarrassing. “Excuse me…?”

He promptly drops his arms and steps away. You slowly move to take a step back. Maybe you could pretend someone was calling you over—

“Wait a minute! That made me sound—” he shakes his head. “Wait.” He extends his hand, a wide grin on his face. “Let's start over! Shirokami Hideo.”

It clicks. Oh. You know this man. Well, you knew the boy. You don’t remember much from your time at the Kamo compound. It’s a series of blurred faces and muffled voices. Long stretches of darkness. You slept a lot back then too, you think, because the only thing you do remember in clarity is the sandalwood scent of your comforter, and your preference for sleeping on futons.

“Hideo-kun,” you say, as you remember a shallow brook deep in the forest, and the boy who had taught you to catch fireflies with his hands. You wonder how and why you had forgotten in the first place. You left the Kamo compound, and forgot it all in the monotony of the ensuing years. His voice is deeper, and he’s grown into his face, but if nothing else, his eyes are the same. “I remember you.”

He beams. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Do you still like stargazing?”

---

The surprise must be evident on your face because he sheepishly scratches his face. “The first time you talked to me, it was to tell me that I was looking at the Canis Major, not the Crow.”

You don’t remember it, but it touches you just the same. To think that someone remembered you, even when you didn’t. You had left a piece of yourself in someone.

You take a bite of your lobster, nodding. “I do. I try to go when I can. But I’ve been so busy lately…” You’ve also been meaning to take the kids with you one night. When the weather warms up, you’ll bring them to the mountains. They’d like that. You know Tsumiki was delighted when you gave her a book that illustrated the constellations. You had bought it for her with Megumi on one of your outings.

Hideo nods in sympathy. “It’s tough being a jujutsu sorcerer. Trust me, I’m taking advantage of the low season to take time off to relax!”

The two of you sit at a table tucked away in the far corner. Hideo’s table. There had been an empty seat which he offered. You gratefully accepted, especially when you managed to catch a glimpse of your original table. You had seen Shoko, Satoru, and Suguru. Along with the bride, groom, and a couple other distinguished people seated at the table. You’re glad to escape from the scrutiny. You do much better in obscurity.

You spent the last hour catching up. Hideo was mainly located in Kyoto, with his clan, a Kamo branch family, but he had been preparing to move to Tokyo for a change in scenery.

You knew him for a brief three months, before his return to his clan for his mother’s funeral. He regretted not being able to leave you a note, or tell you that he was leaving. He tried to contact you after, but nobody knew your whereabouts, especially since you moved back to Tokyo and was subsequently lost in the system.

Currently, with his father on bedrest, he was preparing to take over the clan from Tokyo. The move to Tokyo is an effort to bridge the gap and relationship between the Tokyo and Kyoto jujtusu societies.

In return, you offered your own mundane and uneventful recollection of your life up to this point. Compared to Hideo’s, you didn’t have much to offer. You moved to Tokyo after studying the katana at the Kamo compound. Undertook missions as expected of you, and lived alone up until high school. Then you enrolled in jujutsu tech. Now you’re in school for your masters, and then hopefully, a PHD.

It feels odd to talk to someone other than Shoko, Suguru, and Satoru. You don’t know Hideo nearly as well, despite a brief history together. Where you can search for familiarity in the softness of Suguru’s smile, the mischievous curl of Shoko’s lips, Satoru’s straightforward demeanor, there’s nothing here to cling to. You don’t remember what it ever meant to be without them. It’s alarming. It’s frightening.

But you think this is what it means to start anew.

The room quiets as a spoon taps glass. Attention gathers towards the table in the middle of the room where an older man in a tuxedo stands. It’s a five minute speech that you don’t really give much thought to, your thoughts with the bride who looks precariously close to storming out of the room.

Hideo tilts his head towards you, his lips in your ear. “She doesn’t look too happy, huh.”

You have to agree.

There are three more speeches. You don’t recognize anybody. Soon after, conversation fills the room once more.

During a lull in a conversation, you excuse yourself to the restroom for a few minutes to yourself. Upon entering the brightly lit room, your gaze is directed towards a woman seated on one of the loveseats in front of a large, wall length mirror, fixing her makeup. You recognize her silver kimono immediately, and when the small, compact mirror slips from her hand and onto the floor by your feet, you bend down to hand it to her. There’s a lotus engraved onto the back of the mirror.

“Thank you,” she says delicately, fingers brushing yours as she takes back her mirror. Up close, you take in her full appearance. The delicate contours of her light makeup to her exceptionally beautiful hazel eyes. Her brown hair is shoulder length, brushing her shoulders, bangs immaculately cut across her forehead. She looks like a doll, even more so when she gives you an inquisitive look, a polite smile curling her lips.

“Is something the matter?”

You realize you’ve been staring. Your face burns. “I’m sorry,” you say, voice reedy, unable to articulate how lovely you think she looks, or how you had seen her talking to Suguru earlier, and whether or not she is who you think she is. So you simply awkwardly look at her. Nod your head in a curt goodbye and turn back around, intent on not speaking to anyone but Hideo for the rest of the evening, lest you embarrass yourself further.

You run right into someone’s chest, and hear a familiar voice say your name, the familiar scent of sandalwood in your nose, as a hand on your upper arm rights you back up.

“Suguru,” you say happily, looking at him. Up close, you think he looks especially handsome in his dark blue kimono. His usually pulled up hair is down, flowing down his back. You like it when he lets his hair down. You didn’t think you’d get to see him, or even talk to him today. “I seem to be bumping into a lot of people today…”

Concern immediately colors his face as he smooths your hair down and fixes the shoulder of your dress. His hand stays on your shoulder, thumb tracing your collarbone in comforting motions. “Everything alright?”

“Yes!” You reply immediately to assuage his concern, if anything. You hope he's alright. Or at least making nice with Satoru for the duration of this event. You're sure they've grown past making a public spectacle of their arguments, but one can never be too sure. “I’m no good at these types of events. I guess I’m just a little nervous…”

“I was looking for you,” he says, eyebrows furrowed. “Shoko said you were…” his features grow taunt, lips tugging into a slight frown, “fine. But you weren’t in your seat.”

Shoko must have seen you with Hideo. Which meant she looked for you. Your smile grows wider. However, even the thought of returning to your designated seat surrounded by the most important people at the event you’d be expected to converse with makes your stomach twist. Embarrassing yourself was one thing. Embarrassing Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko was another.

“She’s right,” you confirm, doing your best to reassure him. “I found an old friend!”

His lips reflexively twitch into a smile, maintaining an amiable expression, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “An…old friend…?”

“I’ve been with him the entire time, so you don’t need to worry. I’ll introduce you,” you say eagerly, excited at the prospect of being able to introduce Hideo to Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko. “He—”

“Are you cold?” Suguru suddenly asks you lightly, hand slightly squeezing your shoulder. “The air condition is cold in here, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” you blink. “...Are you cold?” That wouldn’t do. Maybe you could ask the hotel receptionist—

“Geto-sama,” a voice interrupts, “I didn’t think I’d find you out here.” You turn, seeing the woman in the silver kimono, once more, smiling, a fresh layer of red painting her lips. You straighten, resisting the urge to smooth out your dress.

“I was on my way to get some air,” Suguru answers with a smile of his own. “I ran into a close friend.” He chuckles goodnaturedly. “I’m trying to convince her to come back with me.”

Come back with him?

Her gaze slides to you. If she remembers you, her expression is unreadable. Her eyes slightly widen. “Oh my,” she lifts her hand to her mouth. “Is it your seat I’ve taken? My apologies—”

“Oh, it’s fine!” You wave her off. She looks genuinely apologetic. “Please, take my seat. I’ve found another with an old friend.”

“Is that so…” She trails off, glancing up at Suguru. “Forgive me, we haven’t been properly introduced.” She lowers her head. “Sasaki Kumiko. Pleased to meet your acquaintance.”

You reply with your own name, and an encouraging smile.

“Speaking of,” you step away. “I’ve kept Hideo-kun waiting long enough. Why don’t you take her with you to get fresh air, Suguru?”

“It would be a pleasure,” Kumiko says, eyes brightening at the idea, giving a face a certain type of incandescent joy. “I would love to accompany you.”

You don’t wait for his reply to make yourself scarce. You give his hand a little squeeze, before making your way back to Hideo.

The two of you fall back into easy conversation and talk until the moon is high and bright in the sky. Plates are cleared and guests start to rise once again, mingling and talking as the dancefloor begins to fill up.

You’re unsure of what to do. Should you look for Shoko again? You’re not much of a dancer. You don’t want to hold her back with your discomfort. Hideo lightly taps on your arm, bending down to whisper into your ear: “There’s a garden outside. Do you want to walk with me?”

You are instantly relieved. With everybody crowded around the dance floor to witness the bride and groom’s first dance, the two of you would be able to slip outside. Nobody would be there. You could get away.

You nod, and he takes your hand, leading you towards the exit leading to the hotel lobby, and then outside. As the two of you step out into the pebble lined path, lit up in anticipation for the wedding, you can still hear the strings of the quartet playing from the ballroom. Immaculately tended flowers line the path, flowers of every color and shape. You sigh, feeling the tension slipping from your body.

“I’m sorry if I scared you. Earlier.” Hideo laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, turning to you earnestly. “I saw you earlier, and I spent so much time thinking of what to say to you that I completely forgot what I was going to say!”

You laugh, despite the outside chill trailing over your body. You relate to the feeling of your tongue not working at times. “You didn’t scare me. But I did think you mistook me for someone else at first,” you admit. You were initially perturbed, that was true. You’re glad he cleared the air before you managed to escape. You’re glad that you’ve met him again, after all these years.

The path opens to a small clearing with an empty fountain as Hideo fondly details his short lived time at the main Kamo estate with you. At the Kamo compound, he was one of many boys, left alone to his own devices in favor of the more elite sons of the family. It was the first time he had ever tasted freedom away from his own clan estate, where he was coddled by servants and his sickly mother.

Upon your silence, he looks at you, concerned. “Is it cold?” He moves to take off his jacket but you stop him.

“It’s not that,” you blurt out. The cold feels good on your skin. Calms you down. “I don’t remember much from back then. It’s all…hazy.” Any recollection of your childhood draws a blank. It makes you feel bad that you can’t dignify his memories with your own. “But I know that…” you trail off, staring at your feet. “You were kind to me. Back then.” Even you know that you hadn’t been in the right state of mind so soon after your father died. You wanted to leave the past behind. You didn’t want to remember. You had to forget to survive.

You sit down on the cold surface of stone, and exhale. You didn’t realize Hideo’s appearance would dredge up the past like this. You feel tired all of a sudden. You want to go back to the apartment you’ve made a home, curl up in your bed, and let sleep claim you once more.

A weight settles on your shoulders as the warmth of Hideo’s jacket envelopes you. He takes a seat next to you, gaze searching yours.

“You were a child,” he says gently. “It’s okay to forgive yourself—”

You don’t hear the rest of his words as blood rushes to your ears. You can’t swallow the lump in your throat, and your face feels hot to the touch. Your fingers curl into the skirt of your dress. Forgiveness . You have no right to forgiveness. You allow yourself just enough happiness, and that’s enough.

“—it was only three months.” His gaze turns a touch concerned. “Are you alright?”

Panic bubbles in your chest as you manage shallow breaths, staring at him in increasing discomfort as your vision begins to go spotty.

Forgiveness? Your father died before he could forgive you. He died resenting your birth. He wished you had died instead of your mother. The forgiveness to absolve yourself isn't yours.

“There you are.”

You’d recognize the sharp cadence of Satoru’s voice anywhere. You focus on it. He’s unhappy. You wonder if he got into another fight with Suguru. You turn to where he stands, arms crossed, jaw set into a hard line. In the moonlight he glows otherworldly, a piece of divinity on earth. If only his expression matched.

His eyes are piercingly alight as he approaches. “Shoko’s looking for you.”

“Oh.” You perk up. “She is?” In your momentary elation at the prospect of seeing Shoko again, the anxiety dissipates enough for you to collect yourself. You almost forget to make introductions, but Hideo beats you to it, standing up.

“Gojo-sama,” he says, inclining his head. “It’s an—”

“Like I care,” is Satoru’s clipped response. A dismissive glance in Hideo’s general direction, before his gaze is focused on you again. You stare at him, taken aback at his rudeness.

He pulls you up, not roughly, and examines you with a keen eye. He takes in the coat on your shoulders, and irritation shrouds his face once more. He swipes it off your shoulders and throws it back on the fountain. Then he takes off his haori and sweeps it over your shoulders. Without another word, he takes you by the wrist and away.

You give Hideo one last glance over your shoulder. He waves, a good natured smile on his face.

You eye Satoru’s back, trying to tug your hand back to your side to no avail. His fingers are locked around your wrist. Despite his annoyance, you’re happy to see him. There’s so much you want to tell him, about all the small details about your shameful past you tried to hide, about the small things you did remember about your time at the Kamo compound, even about Hideo—

You are backed into a wall, Satoru looming above you, eyes flashing. “Who the hell was that?”

You blink at him, looking from Satoru’s left arm caging you into the wall, to the other with slight disbelief. “Shirokami…Hideo…” We lived together when we were younger. Back when I had nobody. Back when I was a ghost. He taught me how to catch fireflies. I don’t remember much about those days, but I think he made me happy.

You hold your tongue.

You hope you aren’t being presumptuous. “He’s a friend—”

Satoru’s fingers dig into your chin as he lifts your face up. You look into his eyes, brighter than the moon hanging in the sky, and you think there’s something disconcerting in the way he looks at you. Like you could ask him to defy the laws of the world. For you, he do it. And if you asked him to bring down a star, he’d lay it on your palm.

The world stills, just as it usually does when you meet his gaze. Your heart skips a beat in your chest as you stare at him, daring you to pull away, to drop your gaze back to your feet.

You feel his hand curl around your nape, pulling you to him with a squeeze that feels branding. He takes your lips with a bruising kiss, pressing you back into a garden shed. A startled noise leaves your open lips, and Satoru takes advantage, teeth sinking into your bottom lip with a distinct viciousness. You feel his tongue dragging against your own, hungry. Your eyes widen, never leaving his lidded stare that could be a glare. His hands come up to cup your face, angling you to his whims, effectively keeping you still against the onslaught of his lips as he steals your breath away.

He’s all you can see and feel. The heat of him, his palpable desire, so feverish it eats you alive. You push at his chest, feeling the lack of oxygen muddle your brain but he only holds you tighter. When he finally pulls away, a string of saliva briefly connects your lips, broken when Satoru’s tongue runs over his lips. Your hands are fisted into the fabric of his nagagi so tightly that you’ve pulled it open, exposing more of his chest than necessary. You let go, hands falling limp to your side.

His eyes lower back to your lips, and you startle. You’d take a step back if you could, but instead you push back into the wall. Somewhere in between, Satoru had lifted you up, your legs loosely wrapped around his waist, dress hiked up. Satoru’s hand is resting on your bare thigh with a grip that has no intention of letting you move, and a shiver rips through your body as you inhale gulps of air. His leg rests between your thighs, reminding you of the uncomfortable wetness staining your panties.

He leans forward and you unknowingly tense, but instead of your lips you feel a sting on your neck. Teeth. You wince, but Satoru holds you in place, fingers curling into you like a warning. You feel his tongue tracing the bruise, before he straightens with a finality. You might be shaking but you’re unsure if it’s from the cold or…

You stare at him, stunned, while he meets your gaze unrepentantly.

“I…” your voice trembles as the awful reality slowly sets in. “Could you…” you struggle with the words. “...Please put me down.”

For one terrifying second, you see the beginnings of the stubborn set of his eyebrows, as if he might refuse.

Then, wordlessly, wearing a frown, he lifts you down.

You don’t think. You bend down on unsteady legs to pick up his fine haori that had fallen to the ground, and neatly fold it. You hand it to him. He takes it.

“Good night,” you intone.

You stiffly walk back into the hotel lobby, where everyone has gathered, ready to leave for the night or take taxis to the invite exclusive after party. You think you might walk to the train station. Nothing feels real.

You should text Shoko. Tell her that you didn’t feel good and that you took a taxi home. Yes, you’ll do that.

You accidentally meet Suguru’s searching gaze from across the room. You register surprise across his face. Then he slowly makes his way through the crowd. There's something wet on your lips, and when you raise your hand there's a smear of blood on your fingers. You take a step back, stomach twisting into knots. You’ll walk.

You’ll walk.

You turn around, starting through the hotel lobby where cabs have begun to line the entrance and the streets outside. You'll feel bad later. You walk through it all. Once you get far away enough, you manage to flag an empty taxi down.

You don’t remember the car ride home. You enter your apartment and make it to your bed just as your legs buckle. You fall asleep in daze, wondering if the night was all just a bad dream.

#geto suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #m.jjk #ddao

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sequinsmile-x · 8 months ago

Text

Receiving & Giving Gifts

Five times the team witness Aaron & Emily's gift-giving skills, and one time they didn't.

The final part of my series of unrelated oneshots, each one dedicated to one of the five main Love Languages.

-x-

Hi friends,

Hope you are all okay!

This one massively got away from me, shock horror I know, and is based on an ask I got about a fic with the team point of view when Aaron and Emily buy each other things, with a focus on the fact Emily is rich af.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 5.6k

Warnings: pregnancy, a LOT of fluff

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Dave

Dave liked to pretend he knew they were together from the start.

Emily always called him out on it. She’d roll her eyes as she pressed herself closer to Aaron’s side, telling him that he was full of shit as she drank his expensive wine on pasta night. Dave knew Aaron didn’t believe him either, although he was more subtle in his attempts to let him know that, and he was fine with that.

If Dave was honest, he had no idea until Aaron and Emily told them. It made him look back at every moment he could think of over the previous eight months to see if there was anything he’d missed, any sign he’d overlooked. His friends were worryingly good at keeping secrets, something he’d already known about Emily once her past with Ian Doyle had come out, but it was news about Aaron. He’d always been private, always played his cards close to his chest, but Dave had always liked to think he could read him like a book.

Even now, six months after Emily and Aaron had come clean about their relationship, it was strange to see them together sometimes. They were professional at work, called each other Hotch and Prentiss and kept their distance unless the other was hurt, but outside of work, things were different. They’d always be huddled together somewhere, sometimes lost in their own little world as they had a conversation no one else was privy to. They were soft with each other, tender in a way he wouldn’t believe if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

It was what they both deserved, the gentle life they both had earned after waging through fire to make it to the other side.

He smiles as he watches them walk into the office together, how Emily knocks her shoulder against Aaron’s as they walk through the glass doors before they step apart from each other. They exchange a quick look, a soft smile that passes from his face to hers, and then they go their separate ways. - Emily towards their desk and Aaron towards the kitchenette where Dave is standing.

“Morning,” Dave says, smiling behind his mug of coffee as he lifts it to take a sip. Aaron smiles at his friend and grabs two mugs and places them on the counter.

“Morning,” he replies, reaching for the coffee pot and pouring it into the two mugs, “You’re in early.”

“Thought I’d try and beat the traffic,” Dave says, watching his friend as he reaches for the box of Splenda packets, his sleeve shifting up just enough to expose his wrist and the new watch Dave had never seen before. Even at a glance, he knew it was expensive, that it was worth more than anything else he’d ever seen Aaron wear and his smile gets wider, “That’s a nice watch.”

Aaron smiles as he dumps two Splenda’s into Emily’s coffee, “Thanks. It’s from Emily,” he says, a look that always shone in his eyes when he spoke about his girlfriend briefly flashing through them, “She bought it for me because of what happened last week.”

Dave nods in understanding. Aaron’s watch had been damaged in the takedown of the unsub in their most recent case, its glass face smashed against the floor as the guy made a run for it. Aaron had walked away without a scratch on him, which was something that Emily had made sure the EMTs confirmed before they left the scene. His smile turns into a smirk as he looks at the watch again.

It was something he’d noticed almost as soon as they told everyone they were together. They bought each other gifts frequently. Aaron would bring Emily flowers. She’d buy his favourite dessert and they’d both pretend it was for her, Aaron’s denial of his sweet tooth long established, and they’d eat it together. They were always small things. Tokens of affection that reminded the other that they were there, that they loved each other.

This was the first big purchase he’d seen, a rare show of Emily’s wealth that he couldn’t help but smile at.

“Nice to have the finer things in life, huh?”

Aaron frowns as he turns to look at him, “What do you mean?”

“The watch,” Dave says, nodding towards it, “It’s got to be worth $10,000.”

Aaron’s eyes go almost comically wide as he briefly looks over at his girlfriend, her focus on trying to get her computer working so she could start her day, and then he looks back at Dave, “It’s…it cost $10,000? That’s more than I spent on my first car. A lot more.”

Dave chuckles and pats him on the shoulder, “Like I said, nice to have the finer things in life,” he says, winking at him, “It pays to have a girlfriend who’s rich.”

Aaron hums thoughtfully before he excuses himself, both coffees in hand as he walks back over towards Emily. Dave watches intently as they have a quiet discussion, Emily’s brow furrowing as she looks back and forth between Aaron and his watch, the flush to her cheeks obvious even from where Dave is standing.

He finds it amusing until Aaron walks up to his office and Emily turns to look at Dave, her eyes narrowed as she glares at him across the room. He clears his throat and sips his coffee, hoping he’d be able to get through the day without her carrying out whatever revenge she was clearly already planning.

___

Penelope

To say she was delighted when Aaron asked for her help was an understatement.

She’d actually had to cover her mouth to contain her squeal when he walked into her office, a nervous expression on his face that she’d never seen before, and asked for her help to buy an engagement ring for Emily.

It’s how she finds herself in a jewellery store with him on a Saturday morning, her body almost vibrating with excitement as she looks in all of the cases, her eyes shifting from ring to ring as Aaron does the same.

“Where does Peaches think you are today?” She asks as she looks up, suppressing a smile at the slightly bewildered look on his face as he stares at the rings in front of them.

“She thinks I’m with Dave,” he replies, a smile flashing across his face, “Something about helping him build furniture.”

Penelope chuckles, “Does he know about that?”

Aaron nods as he looks back at the engagement rings in front of them, “He does,” he smiles, a rare smile she only ever saw on his face when he was thinking about Emily, “He’s still trying to get back into her good books after the incident with the watch.”

She has to suppress a smile at that, pressing her lips together as she fights a laugh at the memory of Dave coming to her, furious and insisting that there was something wrong with the firewall because he was being inundated with marketing emails from companies he’d never heard of. It turned out Emily had signed him up for several different mailing lists to get him back for freaking Aaron out about the watch she’d bought him.

The emails were still occasionally coming through even all these weeks later, and Emily never failed to find amusement in it when Dave would groan in irritation.

Penelope looks at the watch and smiles, “It’s a very nice watch,” she says, “And we have to get her a very nice ring.”

He chuckles humorlessly, “Not $10,000 nice though,” he quips, “I don’t have that kind of money, and it wouldn’t feel right to buy a ring with her money.”

She can see the insecurity that flashes across his face, a moment of vulnerability that was rare in itself but seems even more obvious in the casual clothes he’s wearing, the lack of his suit, something he always wore like armour, making it stand out. She sighs sympathetically and tilts her head as she looks up at him.

“Sir,” she starts, her cheeks going warm when he raises his eyebrow at her, something she knows is a silent reminder that she didn’t have to call him that, “Hotch,” she corrects herself, “Emily loves you. She’d love anything you gave her - even if it was one of those ring pops.”

He chuckles and nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly as his gaze drifts back to the display case full of rings, “You’re right.”

“I so often am,” she replies, smiling widely when he looks back at her, “Now,” she says, standing back at the case and looking at the rings with a level of concentration she usually only had at work, “As much as I am a fan of getting the flashiest diamond possible, we both know Emily would want something she could wear at work. So we need to pick something she can wear with gloves at a crime scene.”

Aaron nods and blows out a slow breath, “It wasn’t this complicated last time.”

She smiles sadly when she looks at him, “When you proposed to Haley?”

“I used her mother’s ring,” he says, giving her a rare insight into his life. She doesn’t push, doesn’t ask any more questions in case he stops, she simply stands there and waits for him to carry on, “I was fresh out of college and broke and…she was close to her parents,” he says as he looks at her, “So it seemed like the right thing to do,” his lips curl into a half smile, his dimples slowly appearing in his cheeks, “Emily on the other hand…”

“Isn’t close to her mother,” she finishes for him and he nods, chuckling humourlessly as he looks back at the rings.

“No she is not,” he replies, not saying anything he knows Emily wouldn’t want him to. His expression changes as he looks at one ring in particular. It was a white gold band with a teardrop diamond. Simple and beautiful and everything Emily would love, “What about that one?”

Penelope smiles as she leans over the case, familiar happiness warming her from the inside out, “I think it’s perfect.”

It’s hard to keep it a secret. Love and excitement for her friend bubbling under her skin as she watches Emily go about her days unaware of the upcoming change in her life. She has to stop herself from saying something when Emily tells her Aaron has a date planned but isn’t telling her anything about it, a hint of irritation in her voice Penelope knows she doesn’t mean.

The next morning when they walk into the office, Emily’s smile shining just as brightly as the ring on her finger, Penelope knows it had been a secret worth keeping.

___

Derek

Derek hated the mall.

He’d never been a fan of them, found them too busy, too loud and the exact opposite of how he liked to spend his free time, but the case with the missing little girl a few years ago had made him hate them even more.

He planned to get in and out as quickly as possible, a firm plan in his mind to get his mother’s birthday gift and card and then immediately head home. It’s as he’s choosing a card when he hears it, a laugh he’d recognise anywhere in one of the other aisles. He smiles to himself as he goes to investigate, his smile only getting wider when he spots Emily and Jack standing huddled together, a card in the little boy’s hands as he looks at it thoughtfully.

Derek still felt guilty sometimes about his initial reaction to finding out Emily and Aaron were together. He’d never been one to react to change well, something his mother often told him, and he knew he hadn’t on this occasion. He’d been standoffish, only talking to them both when he had to. It had culminated in Emily yelling at him, her irritation finally getting the better of her as she told him to get his head out of his ass, that she was happy and that she deserved to be.

It took Aaron getting hurt, a minor injury only a few weeks after they told the team that they were together, for him to realise how much they actually cared for each other. He saw with his own eyes that the relationship he was convinced was nothing more than a fling that would fizzle out was so much more than that. Concern flowing off of Emily like he’d never seen before until she saw Aaron herself, the relief palpable as she threw herself at him only to pull back immediately when he grimaced slightly.

Ever since then, he’d watch them together when they thought no one was watching. Observe as they focused only on each other. He’d done so at their wedding as the guests slowly left, his eyes fixed on them as they slow danced together on the empty dance floor, letting themselves be led by the love they had for each other in place of the music that was no longer playing.

He takes a moment to watch her with Jack, her focus entirely on the little boy who now called her Mom. She’d always been good with kids, he knew that, but seeing her as a mother was something else entirely.

Something that, if his hunch was right, she’d be doing more of soon.

She’d been different lately. Exhausted all the time but turning coffee every time it was offered to her and turning her nose up at food anytime someone ate in front of her. Penelope had mentioned that she knew they were trying for a baby and he couldn’t help but wonder if their family would be getting bigger soon.

He clears his throat to announce his presence, “Fancy seeing you two here.”

Emily smiles as she looks up, and she steps towards him, wrapping her arms around him in a hug, “Derek, hi. What are you doing here?”

He pulls back, “Getting my mom’s birthday present,” he says, winking at Jack, “What about you two?”

Emily opens her mouth to reply but is cut off as Jack excitedly replies, “It’s Father’s Day soon so we are getting Daddy’s card and present.”

Derek ruffles the little boy's hair, “That sounds great buddy,” he says enthusiastically, “What are you getting him?”

“We got his cologne because Mom said he smells nice,” Jack replies, not picking up on how Emily’s cheeks go bright red, her gaze drifting to the floor as she avoid Derek’s eye contact and smirk, “And then a picture of the three of us from the wedding,” he carries on, “And then Mom said she’s got him a surprise.”

Derek smiles as Emily’s eyes briefly go wider before she wraps her arm around Jack, “Come on sweetie, we should leave Uncle Derek to it.”

He shrugs, hiding a smile as he tests his theory, “I have time for a slice of pizza at the food court if you guys do.”

Emily almost turns green, visibly swallowing thickly as she shakes her head, her free hand briefly pressing against her stomach, “That’s okay,” she says, smiling tightly, “We were just there and Jack had something to eat,” she looks down at the little boy, “You ready to go?”

Jack nods and smiles and waves at Derek, “Bye Uncle Derek.”

“Bye Little Hotch,” he says, fist bumping Jack and smiling when Emily rolls her eyes at him, “Bye, Em.”

“See you at work on Monday, Derek.”

A month later, when they announce Emily is pregnant, he smiles and then immediately goes to Penelope’s office to get the $20 she owed him.

___

“I am so uncomfortable.”

JJ hums sympathetically at her friend as she sits back in the booth they are both in, a soft smile spreading across her face as she watches her friend rub her hand on her belly, “Your back?”

Emily grumbles as she tries to get comfortable, “Everything,” she complains, shifting again, “I feel so full of baby and food. I have no idea how I’ll cope when I’m further along.”

JJ chuckles and raises her eyebrow at her, “I guess you probably won’t have room for two desserts when you’re further along.”

Emily narrows her eyes at her, “The cake was good,” she replies defensively, “It doesn’t help that the mattress in our room is a piece of crap.”

“It’s bad in my room too,” JJ replies, checking her watch, “Where did Hotch get to?”

“He had to stay at the precinct,” Emily says, smiling as she rubs her hand on her stomach again, “I was going to wait but he told me to come get some food. He knows I’ve been eyeing up this diner since the moment we arrived.”

JJ smiles at her friend, “Well, I’ll always be free to go out and eat with you.”

She laughs and nods at her, “You’re a good friend,” she winces and rubs a firm circle on her bump, “She won’t stop kicking,” she smiles and sighs contentedly, “She never stops. I haven’t slept properly in weeks.”

“Totally worth it though, right?”

Emily smiles and nods, her lips pressed together as she tries to contain the joy that JJ knew she still wasn’t sure she deserved, “Totally worth it.”

They both look towards the diner’s front door when the bell indicating it was open rings, and Emily’s smile gets impossibly wider when Aaron walks in, a large Target bag in his hand. He smiles when he sees them and walks over, kissing Emily as he slips into the booth next to her.

“Hi sweetheart.”

“Hi,” she replies, kissing him again, “I thought you had to stay behind to work and you went shopping?”

He clears his throat and JJ finds the flush that tints his cheeks pink adorable and she can’t help but interrupt, enjoying the insight into their lives that she wasn’t privy to, “I didn’t even know this town had a Target.”

He looks back and forth between her and Emily, sighing at the teasing grins on their faces and he smiles tightly, “There isn’t,” he says, passing the bag over to Emily, “But there is one the next town over so I went to get this for you.”

Emily frowns curiously, “Honey, the next town is an hour away…” She drifts off as she opens the plastic bag, her eyes shining as she pulls a U-shaped pillow out of it, “You bought me a pregnancy pillow?”

He nods as if it is obvious, “You were uncomfortable and the mattress in our room is terrible. I know you have one at home but I thought this could be one we brought on cases until you stay back,” he says, reaching over and tucking some of her hair behind her ear, sneakily catching a tear that JJ thinks he didn’t know she’d seen, “I’ll carry it for you and everything.”

Emily shakes her head at him and leans in to kiss him, her hand on his cheek as she pulls back, “I love you,” she says, kissing him again, “You’re the best husband I’ve ever had.”

“I’m the only husband you’ve ever had,” he quips, and she laughs, hugging the pillow to her chest.

“Well, you’re setting the bar pretty high for your replacement,” she jokes and he rolls his eyes before he leans in and kisses her cheek.

“I’m going to order some of that pie the sign outside claims is the best in the state,” he says, stepping out of the booth, “Do either of you want anything?”

They both shake their heads and he walks towards the counter, leaving them alone for a couple of minutes. JJ looks at her friend, at how she’s looking at the pregnancy pillow as if it’s the best gift she’s ever been given, Aaron’s thoughtfulness, the fact he’d gone out of his way without being asked to get her something to make her more comfortable, making it worth more than anything else.

“You okay, Em?”

Emily looks up at her and nods, her lips pressed together as she tries to control her emotions, a slave to her hormones as she had been for months now, “Yeah,” she replies, chuckling at herself as she wipes another tear from her cheek, “I just never thought I’d have all of this, you know?”

JJ nods and reaches over the table, resting her hand over her friends and squeezing, “I know,” she says, squeezing her hand again, “But if anyone deserves it, it’s you and Hotch.”

Emily blows out a shaky breath and looks over at her husband, smiling as she catches his eye as he stands at the counter, and she nods as she turns back to JJ, “Yeah, I think you might be right.” ___

Spencer

He was always the first in the office these days.

Aaron and Emily used to get there before him, something he knew was largely down to Aaron, but they didn’t anymore. Ever since Ivy was born 6 months ago they were almost always the last in. The realities of having an infant and a 7-year-old and getting them out of the house in the morning was something that not even Aaron’s efficiency could overcome.

Spencer sighs as he settles at his desk, his cup of coffee in hand, and he starts to catch up on his paperwork. He greets the team as they come in, always arriving in the same order. First Dave, then Derek, then Penelope. JJ would come next, throwing him a wink as she passed him a pastry she’d bought for him on the way in. She also puts one on Emily’s desk, and it draws his attention to something he hasn’t seen before.

Just to the right of her computer is a framed photo of Jack and Ivy, the baby girl in her proud brother’s lap, his smile wide as he looks at the camera. Something about it is familiar to Spencer, even though he’s never seen it on Emily’s desk before but it takes him a second to place it.

Aaron had the same picture on his desk. It was a new feature there too, something he’d never seen before the recent Christmas break, but he’d spotted it the day before when he’d dropped off paperwork in his office.

“Good morning.”

He looks up and smiles at Emily as she sits down, a large coffee in her hands as she shrugs off her jacket and yawns.

“Tired?” JJ asks and Emily groans, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Ivy hates sleep,” she complains, turning her chair around, “And she hates anyone else sleeping.”

“I brought you a pastry.”

Emily groans and tears the paper bag open, “You’re an angel,” she pulls the pastry apart and takes a bite, her gaze drifting to Spencer, her eyebrows furrowing when she spots him staring past her, “You okay, Reid?”

He seemingly snaps out of it, his eyes widening slightly before he clears his throat, his curiosity getting the better of him, “I thought Hotch had that picture on his desk.”

“Oh,” Emily looks at the framed photo next to her and then back at him, her lips pressed together as she clicks her tongue, “He does.”

Derek pops his head up, seemingly interested in their conversation now there is a chance to make fun of her, “You have the same photo?”

“It’s a cute photo,” she says, slightly more defensive than she means to be, and she blows out a breath, “We…got it for each other for Christmas.”

“You got each other the same gift?” Spencer asks, furrowing his brow, “In the same frame?”

Emily pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs, “Yes. We did.”

Derek laughs and leans back in his chair, “I guess it’s true that couples start to turn into each other after they’ve been together long enough.”

“Shut up Derek,” she replies, narrowing her eyes at him, “My kids are cute and it’s a cute picture.”

He holds his hand up, barely hiding his smile, “Whatever you say Princess, but the two of you aren’t that far off dressing the same.”

“Actually, Emily and Hotch co-ordinated their outfits long before they were together,” Spencer says, only realising he’d spoken when they all stare at him, varying degrees of amusement on their faces, “His ties matched your shirt often enough I actually thought you were together before you were.”

He’d never told anyone that he already knew they were together when they told them. He’d spotted them together months ago but kept it to himself, certain that there was a reason Emily and Aaron were keeping it to themselves. Even if he hadn’t seen them, he thinks he would have figured it out. Patterns had started to emerge. They would arrive at work at similar times. They would go to breakfast together at the hotels they stayed at during cases. If one was upset or hurt, the other would disappear alongside them and then when they came back they’d stand a little closer than usual.

He’d never said anything, largely because he knew no one would believe him, but also because he saw no merit in taking their secrecy away from them. It had brought them a kind of peace they both were due, and he wasn’t going to ruin it for them.

Emily stares at him for a moment before sighing and shaking her head, picking up her coffee and turning her back on them all as she switches on her computer.

“It is far too early in the morning for this.”

When Aaron walks out of his office, his tie the same shade of red as Emily’s shirt, the team all burst into laughter, something that’s only made worse by his obvious confusion.

___

Aaron & Emily

There were two things Aaron had always known about Emily.

The first was that she was rich. He hadn’t known quite how rich until they got together and she told him. He’d had to sit down afterwards, his eyes wide as she showed him that she could buy their dream house, that she could buy the whole neighbourhood if she wanted. When he’d finally pulled himself together he could see that she was worried, as if knowing this about her had changed his opinion of her. As if anything could make him be anything less than in awe of her at all times.

The second thing he’d always known about her was that she was endlessly generous.

She spent money without thinking about it. She bought dinner for the team on nights when cases got away from them, or paid the tab at the bar on a night out. She bought him a $10,000 watch when his broke. She’d paid for Penelope’s medical bills when she was shot, easily picking up the bits that the FBI insurance didn’t cover, and Aaron had learnt after they became a couple that she’d done the same for him too. That she’d paid out of pocket for him to have the best physio in the state so he could recover as quickly as possible. She always did it quietly, was less flashy than Dave sometimes was with his wealth, something Aaron thought must come down to being ‘old money’ rich instead of ‘new money’ rich, and she never seemed to expect anything in return.

As much as he loved her for it, for the way she so casually loved him and their children, it sometimes made it impossible to buy her gifts that didn’t feel like they were lacking in comparison. She would never make him feel that way. She’d react to any gift from him or the kids like they’d handed her the stars themselves.

He feels nothing short of annoyed at himself at how long it takes him to realise it’s the homemade gifts that mean the most to her. How her smile would get wider when she unwrapped a mug that had been made at Ivy’s daycare, her eyes shining with tears when she’d traced her fingers over their daughter’s tiny hand prints and then refused to drink tea out of anything else. How she’d kept every drawing Jack had ever given her, even the ones from before she and Aaron got together, and had her favourites framed and on her desk at work.

By the time their anniversary comes around, he’s worked on his gift for her for weeks. He’d found old ticket stubs and receipts from dates they’d gone on when they were first together. He carefully stuck them down in a scrapbook, pushing through the frustration when the pages would stick together because he knew she’d love it. He puts in an invitation from their wedding that he’d kept back. Pictures of them all drawn by Jack and copies of the first ultrasound images they had of Ivy.

He knows he’s not an artist, but by the time he’s done, he’s pleased with it. A scrapbook of their life so far together, pages purposely left blank so he could add to it if she wanted him to. Despite liking it, when it comes to their anniversary he’s nervous, anxiety licking at his insides as he slips it into the gift bag he’d bought.

He finds her on the couch, dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of leggings, a sleepy smile on her face as she tucks her legs up under herself and pats the spot next to her.

“Come here, honey,” she says, suppressing a yawn, “The kids are asleep, but we both know Ivy won’t be for long,” she smiles as she thinks of the 13-month-old. Their little girl had never been a good sleeper, but they were used to it now and neither of them could imagine their lives any other way, “Let’s exchange gifts and go to bed.”

He smiles as he sits next to her, leaning in to kiss her cheek, but she turns, capturing his lips with hers instead. He stamps another kiss against her before he pulls back, “We could have gone out, sweetheart.”

She shakes her head and runs her fingers through his hair, “No, this is what I wanted. You, me and the kids. And a home-cooked meal,” she kisses him again, “I don’t need to go sit in a restaurant to feel loved by you.”

He nods, knowing he doesn’t need anything else either, and then blows out a slow breath and hands her the gift bag, “Happy Anniversary, Em.”

Her smile gets impossibly wider as she takes the bag from him, stamping a kiss against his cheek as she leans back with it in her lap, “Oh it’s heavy,” she says, reaching into the bag and pulling out the book, “Your gift is a lot smaller by the…”

She drifts off as she realises what she is looking at, her fingers tracing the outside of the scrapbook before she opens it, a gasp catching in her throat as she turns the pages. Memories of their time together stuck down and on display for her to see. She feels a burning in the back of her eyes, familiar tears that she knew she wouldn't avoid shedding as she continues to turn the pages - pictures and tickets and keepsakes from the last few years staring back at her.

“Aaron…”

“I know it’s not much-” he starts, but she cuts him off, all but launching herself at him as she grabs his face and kisses him, the book trapped between them.

“It’s perfect,” she says, pulling back just enough to speak before she kisses him again, “It’s…I love you.”

She’d already preferred homemade gifts. It was as if love was pressed into the very seams of them, time and effort from her loved ones more precious to her than any amount of money ever could be.

“I love you too.”

She smiles as she pulls back and reaches behind her, grabbing a small gift bag she’d hidden amongst the couch cushions, “Here you go,” she says, nervously biting her lower lip as she hands it over, “Your’s is homemade too.”

He smiles curiously at her as she wraps her arms around her knees and hugs them to her chest, the scrapbook now between them, and his heart skips a beat when he feels a long thin piece of plastic in his hands and he already knows what it is before he looks at it. He looks down and chokes on a surprised laugh when his suspicion is confirmed, a positive pregnancy test staring back up at him.

“Em…”

She presses her lips together as her lips shake at the wonder in his voice, “I know technically you helped make this gift,” she says, her cheeks warm as he looks at her with so much love she thinks she could burst, “But I’ll be doing all the hard work and literal heavy lifting, so I thought it counted.”

“It definitely counts,” he says, pulling her towards him so she’s in his lap, his arms tight around her as he kisses her fiercely, hoping it goes some way to express just how much he loves her, “This is the best anniversary present ever.”

She nods and kisses him, her forehead against his as she sighs contentedly, her thumb pressing into his lower lip as she gently corrects him, “Best anniversary present so far.”

-x-

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pearlescent-poppies · 25 days ago

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Hello Hello Hello!!!!

And welcome to my 12 Days Of Christmas event!!!

What is this?

Well I’m so glad you asked!

I have four wonderful, incredible, and amazing friends (@theseusmc, @tazzomi, @valeriistars, @starrysilv3rse) I was trying to figure out how to give Christmas gifts seeing as they’re online and I came up with this: For the 12 days leading up to Christmas I’m posting a fic of one of their top three favourite (mcyt, because you know how we do it over here) ships! Each fic also has a “prompt” and they’ll get more and more Christmasy as time goes on!

I felt so smart coming up with this, and honestly I still think it’s brilliant. 12/4=3 after all so really it couldn’t have been more perfect! Whoever said gays can’t do math was clearly wrong (lol).

To my friends: I sincerely hope you all enjoy this, it was so fun for me to create and despite how absolutely suspicious I’ve been I hope you didn’t catch on too much. I’ve been excited to start posting this since right before Halloween when I came up with it on a call! I mean- it only felt right to give you guys a bunch of silly fics since I’ve become a much better writer thanks to your help. And- I know I say it all the time, but I really do love you guys so very much and I hope this silly little thing I put together can further prove just how much I mean it. You all mean the world to me <3

To everyone else: I hope you enjoy the Christmasy fics and the excitement of daily posting which is crazy! So crazy actually! Any support means the world to me and if you did enjoy, I would really appreciate either comments or reblogs on here or on AO3. Share your thoughts with me! I live for that.

Anyways, without further ado I give you:

GemPearl: Snowball Fight

For: @tazzomi

I hope you enjoy this Tazz! And if you don’t, don’t tell me /vsilly

(Fic underneath the cut)

“Pearl, Pearl, Pearl, Pearl!” Gem runs up to her girlfriend excitedly. The Christmas season is getting underway and Hermitcraft has just seen its first snow. Snow has always been the elf’s favourite weather, and she wanted to celebrate the first snowfall with her favourite person in the whole world.

“Yes, Gem?” Pearl giggles. She’s been waiting for Gem to come bug her all morning.

“It snowed! It finally snowed!” she shouts excitedly as she bounces on her heels.

“It did!” She matches Gem’s enthusiasm. Pearl watches lovingly as Gem waves her hands around in her elation. The avian thinks her girlfriend looks especially pretty in this moment, cheeks flushed pink from the cold and bundled up in her green coat. She’d foregone her usual skirt and swapped it for brown trousers, though she looks as beautiful as ever.

The red head takes a deep breath, the air cold in her lungs; when she breathes out it’s with a white puff. “Come celebrate with me?” she asks.

“Of course! I don’t think my base is the place for it though,” Pearl smiles and reaches out to intertwine their hands.

“My base then?”

“Sounds perfect,” Pearl agrees and connects their lips for a chaste moment before they begin their short walk.

———

They had been enjoying the scenery for a while now, hand in hand as they meandered down the paths of Gem’s little kingdom. It’s gorgeous like this in the snow but well- the peace could only last for so long.

Pearl gives her girlfriend an inquisitive look as she lets go of her hand. The taller watches with a small smile as Gem walks off the path and into a much snowier area. When she bends over, back to Pearl, and reaches down, she figures it’s so Gem could feel the snow in her gloved hands.

Colour Pearl surprised when Gem whips around and throws a snowball at her. It hits right in the dead center of her chest just as Gem doubles over in laughter at her shocked expression, “Ha! I got you!” She teases with a shout.

After she recovers, Pearl laughs and darts somewhere opposite Gem, “Oh you’re on,” She starts to make a snowball as fast as she can, but not quick enough before two more hit her in rapid succession.

Then comes Pearl’s first snowball, barely making her mark. It hits the elf’s arm and causes her to squeal. The avian’s wings flutter with her laughter, oh this is so much fun, she thinks; and quickly sets to making more snowballs.

———

They run around pelting snow at each other for a whole half an hour. Smiles never leaving their faces and bright laughter ringing through the area. It’s the best way to spend a day. In the company of their other half, causing chaos, and laughing so much it hurts.

They finally pause, looking at each other with eyes full of adoration as they come down from the rush of the last while.

Though- Pearl does have one last trick up her sleeve. She inches her way steadily towards her girlfriend, trying to will her wings to keep her inconspicuous, as she throws one final snowball with all her might.

Gem doesn’t notice till it’s too late, and the thing is making contact with her face. She falls to the ground, blinking a few times from the impact. It hadn’t been quite hard enough to knock her to the ground, that was the shock more than anything. She’s giggling again soon after though, laying on the ground and letting the cold snow dampen her hair.

“Oh stars! Gem! I’m so sorry!” Pearl shouts and runs over to where the elf is lying on the ground.

As soon as Pearl is close enough Gem pulls her to the ground with her. With Pearl now over top of her and looking more concerned than she should, Gem giggles softly as she cups her face in her hands, “It’s okay! You didn’t mean to. It was fun regardless.”

“But I-” the avian frowns, the tightness of her little headwings giving away just how sorry she is.

“Nuh uh,” Gem says with a fond roll of her eyes. She connects their lips shortly after, a much longer kiss than the one they’d shared over an hour ago. The contact is a warm contrast to the cold surrounding them on all sides. It’s nice, and they both melt into it until it’s broken by too broad smiles and… the trickle of something wet?

Pearl’s mouth forms an o shape as she takes in the sight of blood trickling from Gem’s nose.

“Oh my stars, Gem you’re bleeding,” she whines and wipes at the trail.

“I’m fine! It could’ve been from the cold too, my nose gets dry. You know that!” She brushes it off.

“I think that means it’s time to go inside,” she Pearl sighs and gets off of Gem.

Once they’re both standing and dusted off of snow, Pearl sweeps her into a bridal carry, ignoring Gem’s surprised squeak.

“Pearl! I’m fine!” She laughs even as she wraps her arms around her neck.

“Well what if I just wanna hold my girlfriend then, hm?” She inquires with a raised eyebrow and a partly mischievous grin.

“Guess I can’t complain then,” she sighs and tries not to wipe at her nose, knowing it’ll stain the white gloves she’s wearing.

“Your place?” The brunette asks as she begins walking.

“Mhm, that sounds good. Oh! We can have hot chocolate! Only way to end a snow day y’know,” she hums and lays her head on Pearl’s shoulder. Just because she’s a very strong woman, thank you very much, does not mean she doesn’t want to be carried around by her equally strong girlfriend. That would be silly when Pearl is so warm and comfortable, god she’s gay.

The red head giggles to herself at her own thoughts and winks when Pearl asks her about it. She mutters something along the lines of, ‘Oh just you’, and settles in for the short walk to her castle.

———

Once inside Pearl sets Gem on the couch, then briskly walks to the kitchen. Once there, she fills a kettle with water and sets it on the furnace (which had already been lit) to boil. She also dampens a towel before rejoining Gem who from the looks of it, had just taken off her coat and shoes.

Even with blood running from her poor nose she’s the picture of beauty and elegance. Red curls tied in a braid that falls over her shoulder just right and her off the shoulder shirt that shows off the milky skin of her collarbone and chest area. When she gets closer, she sees the little gold snowflake necklace she’d gifted her girlfriend a while before they’d joined Hermitcraft. She loves her more than words can describe.

“C’mere,” Pearl calls softly, still in the throes of her admiration as she sits down next to Gem. She uses one hand to cup Gem’s face, and one to delicately wipe the blood from her face with the damp towel.

They both sit there in silence, just enjoying the quiet and each other’s presence. Gem’s the one to break first, “Thank you,” she murmurs, “For hanging out with me today and just- well for everything really. I love you Pearlie.”

“I love you too Gemmy, and you don’t need to thank me. I do it because I love you,” she giggles and sets the towel down so she can lean in.

Just as their lips are about to connect again, the kettle starts whistling. Pearl groans dramatically and stands, “We’ll continue this in a second,” she giggles.

After re-entering the kitchen, Pearl expertly takes two matching mugs from a cupboard and pours boiling water in each. Next, she takes chocolate powder mix and stirs both of the drinks together. After topping with marshmallows, they’re good to go!

She takes the mugs in her hands carefully and walks back to where Gem is still sitting. Her girlfriend's eyes light up as she claps excitedly causing Pearl to smile wider. She hands her mug as soon as she’s close enough, and before settling in herself, her mug goes on the coffee table so she can grab a blanket. The fireplace is already burning strong, but the extra fluffy blanket will be a nice layer anyways, especially seeing as they were out in the cold for so long.

Pearl lifts Gem slightly as she sits down. Once her girlfriend is comfortable in her lap, blanket covering both of their legs, and limbs all tangled together, Pearl loosely settles her wings around the both of them. She places a kiss on her cheek and finally takes her own mug in her still cold hands.

Gem hums at the taste of her hot chocolate and melts into Pearl behind her. “This is perfect, I love you,” she says with a smile.

“I love you too, and yeah, it really is.”

They stay like that for the rest of the day, empty cups long discarded in favour of cuddling closer. Warm and safe in the arms of their lover.

#Briar’s 12 Days Of Christmas #I absolutely did not get emotional writing the To My Friends bit of this #that would be silly!#crazy even!#also! I made the little banner things myself! They’re so fun I think!#hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitshipping #hermitshipblr #geminitay #pearl pearlescentmoon #pearlescentmoon #gempearl #shiny duo #fan fiction

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pjowasmy1stfandom · 23 days ago

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This is something I should probably save for when I'm not supposed to be asleep. Ce' la vie or whatever

I've been wondering about what exactly Morro did to deserve getting banished to the Cursed Realm bc why not. Anyway, I have a headcanon as to how he got there exactly (taken from an amazing fic I'll probably talk about later) but I wanted to know if there was a canon reason so I went to the wiki

I guess this turned into an essay of sorts so I added a cut bc it got long what the heck

Summary isn't proving helpful. What 'previous actions'? Cause if you're talking about his being willing to defy fate, I think that could honestly be taken as either arrogance or desperation

Again with the arrogance vs desperation. He's been told by Wu for years or however long he's trained that he's the Green Ninja. He essentially was taught to associate his self-worth and competency with being the Green Ninja. And then that got taken away from him

Audacity??? Really?? Did the person who wrote the wiki watch the same episode as me?? He hadn't even hit his growth spurt yet, he still had the tiny legs! Okay, yes, waking a Grundle. Not smart. He's what, a preteen/teenager? That's kinda what they're known for

Okay, now we're getting somewhere! Aaaand nevermind. The link just took me to the summary of the episode where they do the whole entire exposition dump. From Wu's perspective. Hmmm. I wonder how the way the story was written would change if we heard it from Morro instead?? Anyway, they say he's committed atrocities, but the only atrocities I've actually seen any real proof for are the things he did during Possession, not before he ended up in the Cursed Realm. I'm not saying he didn't commit them, I'm just saying if they want me to believe he actually deserved to get cursed, they needed to give me a better idea of what he did wrong. So far, I'm just seeing a kid with an identity crisis

Oof. Awful way to go out. I mean, it could have been worse, but still. The fact that the Master of Wind died underground... Yeah, that's all sorts of levels of irony this post isn't about. Anyway, still haven't gotten any clear idea of what his 'actions' were and why they were so horrible

And honestly, I'm not even gonna touch what the wiki's saying about his personality rn. Let me just summarize it as 'literally everything is negatively spun, even the good things'. Which, yes, I get bc he is a literal antagonist, but at the same time...

Okay, moving on! Trivia!

I mostly knew this already but. Wow. That's a teenager. I'm somewhere around that age and yeah, being that age is hard. Having an extra identity/existential crisis on top of all that and having no way to actually healthily deal with that... Yep, I can see why he went evil

Okay, that's it? Just 'some bad act'??? Wait, as he perished?!? But he was in an explosion... We don't see any other skeletons around him, right? I think that'd be mentioned/shown at least ONCE. So I don't think he killed anyone...

Anyway, cool cool cool. I learned... Pretty much nothing I didn't already know. Nice. I wanna fist fight the wiki now

If anyone's curious, my headcanon is based off Land of the Living on Ao3 by CaptainBrookeworm. Basically, Morro accidentally managed to curse himself just by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time (and I highly recommend reading the fic if you haven't already, it's one of my absolute favorites)

#my thoughts #whoops this got long #morro wu #morro ninjago #ninjago morro #an essay #i guess #mainly this is me heavily critizing how one-sided the wiki feels #yes he's a villain #but can we have a bit of his perspective on this beyond what he says??#some internal processes would be nice #and people tend to lie #like a lot #so i dont trust him to actually say what he means #i dont trust anyone to say what they actually mean #one of the downsides of being a writer: overthinking #one of the upsides of being a writer: overthinking comes in handy for worldbuilding 👌🥳

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spaceofentropy · 9 months ago

Text

Thank you, @ihni , for the baton! Without further ado, here's my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race!

It's a little fic (that I'll post on ao3 later, when I'm awake and cosplaying as a functioning human) and that is very cleverly (not really) titled...

A Pirate's Life For Me

Billy's always known he wasn't lucky in life and this, right here, is the culmination of it all.

Not even two months at sea, working his ass off for a meager pay in the hopes of earning enough to exstinguish the debts his father and Chrissy's father put on their shoulders before dying, and his ship gets captured by pirates.

Worse: captured by the Dread Pirate Roberts, who has a reputation as a great swordman and a ruthless bastard who doesn't leave survivors.

Billy did his best in the fight, but he's just a farm boy turned deck swabber, his swordmanship goes very little further than "the handle goes into your hand, the pointy part goes inside the enemy". So now he's kneeling, hands raised, on the deck of the Panthaira, along with the rest of the surviving crew and passengers.

Well, with all the survivors except Captain Loman, who's huddled against the main mast. The Dread Pirate Roberts is crouched in front of the captain and talking to him in a low voice while the captain clearly draws his last breaths, shirt painted a vivid red with the blood gushing from the puncture wounds in his chest. Loman was a petty tyrant, so Billy is not exactly bawling his eyes out at the prospect of the captain being gone soon. It's just the principle of the thing that counts. The Panthaira has been captured, and, to put it mildly, Billy is fucked.

There are too many pirates keeping them under threat of more stabbing, and also no damn place to go even if he were able to escape the ship. They're in the middle of the ocean, nothing but water in every direction for hundred if not thousands of miles.

So Billy stays where he is.

And looks either at the back of the Dread Pirate Roberts or at the slow rising and falling of Loman's chest.

He waits and hates how his arms are getting heavier and heavier by the second. Soon, he'll be dead and, back home, Chrissy will have to mourn her best friend too, not just her parents.

Captain Loman's chest at last goes still and Roberts extends a careful, gloved hand to close the man's unseeing eyes, before turning towards his prisoners in one swift, elegant movement.

Robert's dressed all in black and wearing a mask, just like the stories say. He has long brown hair tied in a low pony tail, and dark eyes that sweep the crew and passengers of the Panthaira like he can weigh the wort of each of them with just one look.

Billy lets his hands fall down, tired of this charade. If he's gonna die anyway, what good comes from obeying? Might as well die with some feeling left in his arms.

Someone shouts at Billy to raise his hands again and he just ignores him. Roberts is walking their way, his steps slow and his attention pointedly fixed on cleaning blood off the blade of his sword.

Somewhere behind Billy, a woman starts weeping. One of the crew members pleads for his life. Another offers all the money he's got to be spared.

Bunch of cowards.

Roberts stops in front of Billy, ignores everyone else.

"You're not pleading," he says in such a voice and cold tone that the people around them fall silent, too scared of what's happening.

"I don't plead."

"Aren't you scared, boy?"

"To death."

Roberts grins. It makes the moles on his cheek dance.

"Should I bestow on you the sweet mercy of death, then, or not?"

Billy licks his lips and grins back.

"You should let me live, sir."

"And why should I make an exception?"

That's the true problem. Both Billy and Roberts know it, judging by the predatory look in his eyes.

Why, indeed.

"True love?" Billy tries.

Roberts laughs.

"She must be an exceptional lay, to make you believe someone will let you live only so that you'll be able to bed her again!"

"Wouldn't know, I've never wanted to fuck my best friend. Is there truest, purest love than the one that's never been tainted by lust or carnal needs?"

The Dread Pirate Roberts laughs even more and then shakes his head.

"Unbelievable," he says in a stage whisper. "What's your name, boy?"

"Billy."

"Well, Billy, I find myself in sudden need of a personal attendant." Roberts pauses for a beat, cocks his head to the side. Predatory is now an understatement for the look in those dark eyes. "Do a good job and one day you'll be able to return home to your best friend. Do a bad job, and your friend will never see you again. Are you interested in the position?"

Billy grits his teeth and never lets his gaze waver from Roberts.

The decision is so simple he doesn't even need to think about it. He nods and Roberts smiles.

Billy doesn't know what's in his future, but he'll do all he can to survive whatever Roberts throws his way and then return home. His best friend is waiting for him.

And with this, my installment of the race is done and it's time to head over to @liverditty in an hour for his contribution! I can't wait to see what he created for this beautiful event! In the mean time, thank you for reading, fair tumblr users, and thanks for organizing this, @harringrove-relay-race ! ❤️

#harringrove relay race #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #my fanfic #soon on ao3 too #princess bride au

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yayakoishii · 1 year ago

Note

Before I send my request your way lemme tell you how much I loved reading your recent Sanji Fics!! I enjoyed them a lot!!

And as for a request, I don't have anything specific but a vague scenario in my head. The strawhats dock at a lone mysterious island. And they as usual disperse off to do their own things when Sanji happens to stumble upon the reader. Perhaps caught in some trouble, going around with a hidden identity? I'm sorry this is cringe. But it's been in my head for a while now. Whether this ends up interesting you or not, I just wanted you to know, it's been a lot of fun reading you! Have a good day! Or night :D

Unfortunate Encounters | Sanji x Reader

Fandom: One Piece

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader

Word Count: 5,997 (that's practically 6k)

Genre: Light Fluff, more Angst, happy ending ofc!

Warnings: Plot heavy, light swearing. Slightly ooc crew maybe? I'm still new to writing for OP, please excuse any mistakes!

A/n: First off, thank you so much for the sweet words anon ;-; they really made my day <3 As for the request, this was not cringe at all!! I got super into it and I had like 3-4 mental drafts of how this fic could go (the og ending was even more angsty lol, but I decided to cut back...) I may have focused too much on the 'lone, mysterious island' part because this was more plot heavy than romantic. The inner plot writer in me emerged because of your prompt; I'm not a romance writer so I struggle with that in this fic >< However, I did enjoy writing it so I hope you enjoy this one too! Thanks for sending such a fun request ❤️

also available on ao3!

The log pose had brought them to another island, but even before they had touched down, Sanji could feel something was up with it. The island just gave off some vibes he couldn't place and he wasn't one to chalk it off to a mistake. His intuition told him something was going to happen here.

"There doesn't seem to be a town here," Nami frowned, looking at the island. All they could see for miles and miles was a dense tropical forest, with trees that seemed larger than their usual size. When they got off the Thousand Sunny, Sanji realised that it was too silent. There were no sounds of birds or any animals that he could hear from the shoreline. "Be careful, guys."

They decided to separate and cover the island quicker. The log pose needed time to reset and it was a curious little island anyway. They could cover it within a day, maximum. Something in Sanji's gut twisted in protest but until he could explain it, there was no way he could stop the chaotic crew. So he let it be and started hacking a path to somewhere.

The trees were dense and the forest was dark, lit up on random intervals by sudden sunbeams that looked like nature's spotlights. Sanji hummed to himself as he studied the plants around him. He walked for a while, noting all the things he could use but not picking anything because the island just rubbed him off the wrong way. It felt dangerous to pick any part of it.

Sanji walked for a while, pausing only when he felt he had heard something – something that sounded like a rustle of leaves, but he couldn't sense a person. He couldn't sense anything but the wind, a gentle breeze drifting through the trees. Strangely, he had not yet come across any of the other Straw Hats either, even though he had been walking for well over an hour and the island wasn't that big in the first place.

There was another rustling, but this time, Sanji could feel a presence. Multiple ones, to be precise. He tensed and cautiously moved aside the curtain of vines blocking his views. The clearing revealed in front of him shocked him– it was like all the animals of the entire island had gathered in one place. And they were all looking at something that he couldn't see.

The moment he stepped in, the animals all turned to him, some of them baring teeth or growling and it was so much sound after so much silence that even Sanji couldn't help the shiver running along his back. A human shout of, "It's okay guys! I'm okay now!" distracted the animals and they turned back to whatever– or rather, whoever, they had been looking at.

Sanji held back, not quite sure what to make of the whole situation, until he heard a barely audible, "Disperse."

Almost like a flip was switched, the animals scattered and Sanji was left incredulously staring at the vines in the middle of the clearing, from where a figure gracefully jumped down. You straightened up and patted at your hair to check for any stray leaves or twigs before you walked over to him.

"An intruder?" You asked, smiling amusedly. "Been a while since we had one."

"That's a harsh word, beautiful," Sanji couldn't hold himself back from calling you that way, after he had gotten over his shock enough to note your features.

"Would you prefer 'uninvited guest'?" You cocked an eyebrow, not cutting eye contact as you straightened out your clothes.

"Ah, you hurt my poor heart," he said, a little bit dramatically as he leaned closer but still at a respectable distance. "Am I unwelcome in your home, goddess of these woods?"

"Wh-?" You couldn't help the chuckle that left your lips at his words. "You're quite something, alright. And as fun as you are, you really are unwelcome here, sorry."

"Why?" Sanji asked curiously. The entire experience felt like some weird fever dream to him, and he couldn't quite make head or tails of anything that was happening but the one thing he was sure of was that there was something about you that piqued his curiosity in all the ways.

"You can't stay on this island," you shrugged and walked past him, expecting him to follow you. Sanji did not fail, falling in step behind you as you started walking somewhere. "2 days, that's all you get. Any longer and… well, it's better if you don't find out."

"Alright, then I guess I'll let my crew know," Sanji sighed, figuring he wasn't getting any more out of you after seeing your guarded expression. The moment he finished his sentence though, you froze in your step and turned around to face him in horror.

"Did you just say… crew?" Your voice sounded a little hoarse and Sanji paused, looking at you in concern. "Please tell me your crew is not on the island."

"If I said that, it would be a lie, sweetheart," Sanji's brows furrowed even as he said it. Something was wrong. Your expression melted into one of full-blown panic, anger and horror.

"Not again!" You cried, burying your face in your hands.

"What's wrong?" Sanji would really, really like some answers today. The entire day had been confusing and eerie vibes and the growing chill in his stomach was now an unnecessary addition.

"What's wrong," you snapped, looking wild and terrified for a second, "is that your entire crew is fucking loose on a cursed island! If they do not get off this island in 3 nights, they will turn into animals and never, ever turn back to humans."

Sanji just stared at you for a few seconds before he dropped the unlit cigarette he had pulled out of his pocket. You were pacing around in circles and he had so many questions that he didn't even know where to begin.

"Then I'll just tell them when we all meet back?" He said unsurely except you turned to face him with eyes full of unshed tears.

"That's a great plan," you said a little sarcastically, "except for the part where this island is cursed and anyone who isn't an animal can't find their way out. Ever. They literally cannot find the way back on their own."

Sanji's jaw dropped. He stared back at you in equal parts horror.

"This has to be the Moss Head's curse spreading," he whispered to himself.

Half an hour later, the two of you were making your way through the dense foliage, exchanging questions and answers– although Sanji was the one doing the asking the most.

You had calmed down after finding out that the crew only had 9 members. You could probably find 8 people in less than 3 days. The island wasn't that big.

Sanji's first question was about how you weren't affected by the curse.

"Because I'm not fully human," you had replied off-handedly and not offered more. It only added to your mystery but despite all your secrets, Sanji could somehow feel inside him that you weren't a bad person. You were going out of your way to help out so that their crew won't turn into animals– if the curse didn't affect you, then you could have very well done nothing.

Then he asked about the other things on his mind. Were the animals in the forest also humans? To his horror, you had replied with a sad yes.

"The log pose doesn't take pirates to this island much," you had explained as you expertly and gracefully made your way over the thorny plants and overgrown roots. Your movement was almost like a mystical dance and Sanji couldn't take his eyes off of it, thankful that you were walking in front of him and couldn't see his ogling. "It's rare but it happens sometimes. Mostly single man boats tossed through storms end up here, but there's been two small crews who came here after me. There were already some animals on the island before though, and I'm pretty sure they were once humans too."

"And there's no cure for this?" Sanji swallowed, his heart hammering from a weird mix of fear, nervousness and excitement.

"Nothing as far as I know," you confirmed, pausing to close your eyes and feel something. "That direction, I can sense someone."

You ran over without waiting for Sanji and he was left to catch up by taking long strides. Before he could show himself though, he felt the presence close in on you and automatically moved in to defend you. His boots rammed against the blunt hilt of a familiar katana.

"Love cook?" Zoro's eyes widened in surprise and he immediately tucked his swords back in. Sanji ignored him in favour of ensuring that you were okay. He found you staring behind him curiously at Zoro, as if the swordsman fascinated you. It didn't mean anything, but it left him feeling a little irritated at Zoro. "Who's this?"

"Um." Sanji realised he had never asked you for your name. Or given you his.

"Inconsequential," you waved it off. "It's not like we're to know each other longer than a day or two. Let's just go and search for the rest. Blondie here can explain everything to you on the way."

"Sanji," he blurted out, reeling back when he saw your surprised face. "Forgive my insolence, sweetheart. I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Vimsoke Sanji."

"Well, Sanji," you smiled at him, already walking like you knew where you were going, "get your friend to join us and follow me."

Gladly, his heart answered for him.

✿

You knew this was a mistake. It never ended well when you met other people and liked them. And as you collected more of the Straw Hats, you couldn't help but like them all more and more. You knew this was a mistake, but you couldn't bring yourself to regret it because you knew that if you didn't help them, they would be cursed too.

You had eventually acquiesced and given them your first name, careful not to offer your last name in case any of them recognised you. Zoro seemed to be staring at you quite frequently, but maybe it was just a Straw Hat thing? Sanji had been staring at you the whole time too. Or maybe you looked hideous and they were all politely staying quiet. You didn't quite know, but the thought of looking terrible in front of them (in front of that beautiful blonde boy) was a little mortifying to you.

All those thoughts took a backseat though, because you were on a mission. By the time evening rolled around and the sky had turned to pitch black darkness, you had found a cyborg and a rubber man called Luffy, who was the captain of the ship. He didn't really feel like a captain, or somebody who commanded everyone, but the Straw Hats didn't seem like a typical group of people. They were… unique.

"Let's stop for tonight," you said after assessing the darkness. Of course, you could see everything clearly even in the darkness, but they didn't need to know that. The less they knew about you…

"Shouldn't we keep going?" Zoro asked, looking around.

"Trust me, we're better off waiting the night out," you answered, already settling into the clearing for the night. You had to get a fire going and find food and there were things to be done.

"So I can't eat the animals?" Luffy pouted for the fifth time, asking the same question.

"No, Luffy," you sighed, waving a stick at him. "They might look like animals, but they are people. Please don't kill them or try to eat them."

"They won't attack our crewmates, would they?" Sanji asked, looking worried. You finally managed to light a fire and carefully structured a ring of stones around it to ensure it won't get out before answering.

"The curse lets them have their brain for most of the time," you fidgeted on the spot. "But sometimes, if you harm them, or if they get really hungry, or, y'know… their animal instincts kick in and then they are more animal than human. But it's rare, and won't happen if you don't harm their survival."

The crew fell silent and you watched them whisper amongst themselves a bit. They probably wanted to talk things out, so you got up and said you would go grab something to eat.

"Please don't leave this clearing," you warned them as you walked away. "Finding you again would be so much trouble."

You heard footsteps following you though and turned around to find Sanji trailing behind you.

"Sanji?" You asked, confused. His tall, lanky figure in the forefront of the golden orange light spilling from the fire you started was a picturesque scenery that left your heart thumping a little louder than usual.

"Would you be okay with some company?" He asked quietly. "I'm a chef, so I could probably help you gather some food."

"Alright," you nodded. The two of you walked a while in silence until you found the spot where there were a bunch of large fruits and flowers that you started gathering. Sanji observed what you collected in the little moonlight that was shining through the trees, but you could see him struggling.

"You can see in the dark?" He asked after a beat of silence.

"Mm," you were exhausted from the day. Lying and avoiding things was tiring as it is, and you really weren't in the mood to play the game. If Sanji knew who you were… would it really be that bad? He had been kind so far, always at a respectable distance but with honeyed sweet words that tugged at your heartstrings. You had never had anyone flirt with you, but Sanji was the first. And it left you feeling giddy and warm, the attention he gave you without losing any of the respect and your need for secrecy. If he knew… would he hate you?

Sanji didn't say anything for a while, just offered up his arms for you to stack all the food you had collected.

"Who else is remaining?" You asked, finding the silence was eating at your insides. You had spent so long in silence. And now that you had people around again, you wanted to make the most of it before they had to leave. Just for a while, you could forget and pretend that you're one of them. Just for a while.

"Nami-san, Robin-san," Sanji said, "Brook and Chopper. Wait, Chopper!"

Sanji clapped his hands like he had just thought of something. You looked at him curiously.

"Chopper is a reindeer," Sanji said hurriedly.

"You have a reindeer in your crew…?" You were confused. The Straw Hats were definitely one of a kind, alright.

"He ate the Hito Hito no Mi so he can talk and walk," Sanji explained. "He's our doctor but that's not important right now. He's an animal, right? So he wouldn't be affected by the curse?"

"Highly likely that he isn't," you confirmed.

"Which means he must be the only one back on the ship," Sanji murmured to himself. That's one person (animal?) less to search for, you mused. "He must be scared."

"I hope he's okay," you said quietly. The animals on the island knew each other well. If Chopper ran into them… You didn't really know what would happen. Animals could be scary when they were territorial.

The two of you finished collecting as much as you could carry and walked back, and you asked Sanji to tell you about their adventures. He indulged you, colouring a vivid and humorous picture of the crew in the short while it took you two to get back.

You came back to find Zoro sleeping on his side while Luffy was springing around in the clearing, howling about being hungry and crying for Sanji. Franky sat against a tree, fiddling with something on his body that you didn't wait to see despite your curiosity.

As Sanji started portioning the food to serve to everyone, you stood back and watched the crew interact quietly. It was strange, how at home you felt with them despite not knowing them– but you attributed it to your loneliness.

Even if you wanted to be one of them, you could never curse them like that.

The next morning, you found Nami at the top of a tree. You had seen her when gathering some flowers for breakfast, asleep. You decided to get Sanji to recognise her before you woke her up and got her down. Seeing Sanji fawn and fret over her made you insanely jealous; but you forced it down under a smile and led them back to the camp that had already been cleared up.

You gave the crew a few minutes to catch up and celebrate before you started the search again.

"So…" you searched for a topic as the six of you trudged through the forest. "A reindeer, a cyborg, a gum man, an ex-pirate hunter… Who should I expect next?"

"A skeleton!" Luffy excitedly yelled as he swung past you on the vines, nearly making you stumble from the shock.

"A… what?!" You turned to stare at Sanji in shock, who just smiled softly and shrugged.

"Brook is…" he explained the whole story without getting tired and you couldn't help but be fascinated by everything. The more you learned about them, the more they intrigued you, the more you wanted to beg them to let you join them. But you didn't let those thoughts come to life in words, just helping them find the said skeleton from where he was surrounded by some of the island's animals growling at him.

"Down, guys," you shouted and the animals immediately backed off, all staring at you with innocent eyes that made you huff in laughter. "Don't pull that on me, I just saw you. I know you mean well but it's a little scary when you're surrounded by animals."

One of the deer whined and bumped its snout into your hand. You could feel the Straw Hats staring as you petted it and whispered it to leave the skeleton to you. When the animals had dispersed, you shot a grin at Brook.

"Hi there!" You held out a hand, "It's my first time meeting a skeleton!"

Once the pleasantries were out of the way, you started covering the northern part of the island. It was the only place remaining, aside from the centre. You found Usopp and Chopper there, the two of them hugging each other and bawling.

As it turned out, Chopper had in fact gone back after finding nothing on the island only to find out that no one else had returned. So he had stayed the night in the ship and then came back in search of the others even though he was scared.

"That was very brave of you," you patted him on the head. The reindeer blushed and glared at you.

"I'm not pleased by that at all!!" So he said, but you could see the smile on his face. With almost all of them collected, you started your way to the centre of the island when you heard the clouds rumble.

The sky was full of grey clouds and you were ready for rain, since this was the season on the island.

"There's an underground cave near here," you told the crew as you led them through the thick canopy of trees. "I usually go there when it rains so let's wait it out before we search for… Robin, was it?"

Zoro grumbled something about constant waiting but you chose to ignore it. You knew this island better than any of them. Rains were harsh and the droplets were like bullets on the skin. You couldn't find Robin on the way to the cave but when you reached its opening which looked like a hole in the ground, surrounded by overgrown grass, you felt a presence inside.

The last Straw Hat member was inside the cave, much to all of your relief. This time, you truly stepped back and let the crew reunite, feeling like a true outcast for the first time. Your time together with them was over. Once the rain was gone, they would be out of here and you would be alone again.

Except Sanji turned to you and offered you his hand to invite you into their awkward group hug that Usopp had initiated. You didn't want to intrude but they all looked at you with similar grins and smiles and you couldn't hold it back. You joined them, savouring your first hug in years.

✿

As it turned out, the runes you had found on one of the walls of the cave actually had some sort of meaning that Robin had been able to decipher in the while she had spent in the cave. She had apparently found the cave the previous night and stayed in, then worked on the runes in the morning when she found them.

"It's about a curse on this island," she explained. "Like (y/n) already told us, if anyone spends 3 nights on this island, it turns them into an animal forever. There's a piece of it missing at the end, but the last line says 'the answer lies in the satisfaction of life and a prayer answered'."

"What does that mean?" you asked, confused.

"I'm not really sure," she admitted, running her fingers over the runes. The whole crew mulled over the words as you waited for the rain to stop. You didn't join into the conversation, just letting your mind work quietly with their suggestions as background.

Satisfaction in life… A prayer answered… None of it seemed to make sense. The Straw Hats didn't need to help the animals out, but they were still trying to figure it out. The crew was clearly good at heart and you were glad that you helped them out, even though you would only be left with hurt after they were gone. That pain was worth it.

A squirrel scampered up to you while you listened; the rain outside seemed to be slowing down. You knew the squirrel was the girl around your age who had ended up on the island after a shipwreck. You scooped her up and let her sit on your hand, where she tried to shake off the water from her soaking body. The water sprinkled onto you and you let out a fake indignant "hey!" that made her laugh. Not that you had ever seen squirrels laugh, but you could always understand the animals on the island.

"We found something here," you said quietly to her, bringing her close to wipe off some of the water from her body. "It could be an answer to turning you all back to humans."

She tilted her head and stared at you.

"But none of us understand the riddle," you continued, feeling apologetic to them. You had been the only person on the island who was unaffected by the curse, so you felt like it was somehow your responsibility to help them all turn back. And yet, you had failed at that over and over again. Saira, as the girl's name had been, simply shook her squirrel head and placed a tiny paw on your chest where you had tucked her close.

"It's alright," you could hear her saying in your head. To the others, it probably sounded like a bunch of squeaks. "It's not that bad. I long gave up hope of turning back. Being a squirrel is not that bad. Being able to spend everyday with you who looks out for all of us… I'm happy. All of us are."

Your chest swelled with the emotions and for the first time in a long while, tears streamed down your cheeks. You had held it all in for so long, not wanting to burden the helpless creatures that always kept you company. But knowing their faith in and love for you made your insides warm.

"All we want is for you to be happy too," Saira continued, turning her head to look at the crew. You glanced at them, noticing that Sanji was looking over at you two. "I know you. Go with them."

"I can't," you said in a choked whisper. "Even if they let me, I can't do that to them. I'm not… I'm a curse, Saira. I can't risk it."

The squirrel looked at you helplessly as you cried a little more. Eventually, you wiped away the tears and let your eyes shut to listen to the pitter patter of rain outside. Saira scrambled off your body and over to Sanji, who had watched you the whole while but hadn't heard what you had said.

When you opened your eyes, the rain had stopped. You looked around blearily, and found the Straw Hats all lying around, looking upset.

"You guys should have woken me up when the rain stopped," you said, rubbing your face as you stood up. "Come on, you must be missing your ship, yeah?"

"(Y/n)," Sanji started, looking a little nervous. You looked at him quizzically, but Zoro spoke up before he could say what he wanted.

"Or should we say Kuroneko no (Y/n)?" The familiar words made you freeze in horror. "Harbinger of Death? A 30 million bellies bounty."

"That's…" You took an involuntary step back, bumping into the cave wall. They knew. They knew the secret you had tried so hard to hide. They knew… and they were still looking at you with badly hidden curiosity and grins. None of them looked scared, or upset anymore, like they had been when you were asleep. "I'm… I don't want to lie. That's me. But I swear, I'm not going to do anything. I mean, I don't even actually do anything, all of those incidents just happened–"

"(Y/n)," Sanji placed a hand atop your head, effectively stopping your rambling. You looked up at him, afraid to see him look at you differently, but if anything, his eyes had only become softer. "It's okay. I wish you had told us before, but we get it."

"You do…?" Somehow, it felt too good to be true. People were usually upset when others lied and kept secrets. The secret of who you were could essentially have been a matter of life or death. Kuroneko no (y/n), or rather, Black Cat (y/n) was a name based on your Devil Fruit powers that let you turn into a cat. But they were also a result of you being the only survivor in 4 separate incidents– the annihilation of your home island, the mass genocide in a war town country and the two small crews you had once been a part of. Every single time, all the people had died and you were the only one alive left behind. You had never belonged anywhere, so how could you believe now would be any different?

"It must have been very lonely," Robin's sorrowful eyes reflected that she understood you on some level. You didn't know what to think or feel, unwilling to let yourself hope for anything beyond acceptance.

"It was," you admitted, more to yourself than to them. You had never let yourself truly dwell on the thought, but you had been so, so lonely. "I won't stick around for long. I'll take you to your ship and you'll be free of this island's curse, and of my own. So if–"

"Your curse?" Sanji looked at you, confused.

"It's not exactly a curse," you hesitated, "but there's nothing else I can call it for why… the people I care for end up dead."

"That's not true," Luffy frowned, walking over to you. "Everyone here is still alive. Everyone on this island is alive, we are alive. You are not cursed."

"You were like a blessing in disguise," Usopp said from where he stood, not looking you in the eyes. "I was of course not afraid at all, considering my heavy list of achievements, but you brought us all back together."

"I'm…" you didn't know what to say, feeling overwhelmed.

"You're not cursed, sweetheart," Sanji gently held up your hand, squeezing it to comfort you. "You just had a string of… unfortunate events."

Sanji's struggle to find the right term made you let out a small giggle. Maybe you should extend a hand. Maybe this time…

"Maybe I'm not cursed?" You said hopefully, looking up into his clear blue eyes. Sanji nodded, carefully tucking back a lock of hair behind your ear. The action made you flush, suddenly realising the proximity you two were in.

A flash of light startled all of you and you turned around to find Saira, the human, standing in the place of where the squirrel was. The girl was staring at her own hands and body, like this was a dream. You blinked, unable to believe your eyes either.

Outside the cave, you could hear shouts. Human shouts.

"What just-?" You ran out to find the people who had been turned into animals were back to human. "How…"

"Satisfaction of life and a prayer answered," Robin's voice from behind you was startling. You turned to look at her, and she smiled down at you. "Perhaps the answer was just for the animals to be happy with who they are, with no regrets."

"Then… Then why didn't it change them back before?" You said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Perhaps their prayer wasn't answered back then," she placed a hand on your shoulder and patted it. Did she mean that it only happened now because your one wish through life had been answered? To be free of the curse you had…

With much enthusiasm, the crew got out of the underground cave and everyone was celebrating. The sight of everyone back made you feel like this was the happiest day of your life. You participated in it, letting yourself enjoy the moment without worrying or thinking of anything.

The sun was already setting when the party started and it went on for hours as everyone laughed and danced and ate. (If you were fascinated by how much Luffy could eat, you kept it to yourself to be polite.) It was probably getting close to midnight when Sanji sought you out to where you were sitting by yourself and just watching everyone with fond eyes.

He didn't say a word at first, just sat down next to you. At that distance, you could feel the warmth of his body and you subconsciously leaned closer to the source. For the first time in a long while, your heart felt at peace.

"How did you end up on this island?" Sanji's question made you look over at him. He wasn't demanding an answer, just looking down at you with deep blue eyes that seemed to flash golden as they reflected the bonfire.

"I was on the run from the Marines around a year ago," you hummed, feeling safe and comfortable enough in his presence to finally talk about yourself. After years of not being able to share anything with anyone, it felt freeing to tell him something even as simple as this. "I had just escaped the battle between the crew I was in and this one big pirate ship that I don't even remember anymore. I was wounded but I reached this island on a small boat somehow with a half broken log pose. I shifted into my cat form, which looks less like a cat and more like a black jaguar if anything, to ensure that no one recognised me– because my full transformation is not known by the Marines. I stayed in that form for quite a while, too scared and shaken at that time to turn back into human. Only after a few days of exploring the island did I realise there are no humans here.

"I thought… if there was any place I could not affect anyone with my curse, it would be here. Away from any humans who would get affected by it. At that time, I didn't know about the curse. Looking back on it, I suspect that maybe the curse never affected me because I was in my animal form for 3 nights. Or maybe it was just because that form is like my second skin. I was never disappointed or dissatisfied with it. I only found out about the curse after Saira came on the island and turned into a squirrel. And then two other pirate crews."

"That must have been hard for you," Sanji's voice was quiet but there was no way you could miss the low timbre of it over the excitement all around you. Not when it was the same voice that set your heart off; you wanted to hear everything he had to say. Wanted to know him more and more, as much as he would let you. "(Y/n)-chan."

"Mm?" You turned to look at him, breathless at the proximity from where you could no longer smell the perfume he smelled of the first time you met. The smell coming off him now was something purely him. It was a little intoxicating when coupled with the warm atmosphere and the gooey feeling in your stomach.

"Would you… like to join us?" Sanji seemed a little nervous asking you that. The question gobsmacked you and you stared at him. He… wanted you to join them? As a part of the crew? "I asked Luffy and he said that if you want it, then he's all for it."

"Sanji…" you bit your lower lip, unsure once again. Even though you felt free of the curse, the mentality couldn't be erased in a day. The what ifs, the fear, the apprehension was all still there. "What if we're wrong, though? What if I really am cursed and this has just been a really long build-up to something worse? I might be a risk to your–"

"You're not," Sanji interrupted you for the first time since you had met. The quiet but firm determination blazing in his eyes surprised you. "I believe in you. (Y/n)-chan, if you would let me, I would gladly prove it to you by staying by your side for the rest of your life. I'll stay alive and well, and show you that it's not your fault. I'll be by your side to the very end, so place your fears in my hands and… trust me on this, even if you don't trust anything else."

That little crush you had developed on him at the start seemed to blow up in that moment into a gigantic furnace of emotions. He was ready to take the risk of death, and saying every word with such sincerity that any inhibitions you had went out the window. You couldn't stop yourself from wanting him any longer– he was like the sun, taking your world by storm.

"Really?" You didn't realise when the tears started streaming down your face until his gentle hands came up to wipe them. "You'll stay?"

"I will," and that genuine sincerity was something you couldn't help but believe in. "I will be there for you, as long as you need me."

"Sanji." His name felt both urgent and at ease from your lips.

"(Y/n)-chan," he whispered, voice open and vulnerable again. "Do you… want to be a part of the Straw Hats?"

You swallowed and wondered if you really deserved this much happiness after everything. Yet the moment you looked into his eyes, you felt like there was nothing you could do but be a moth chasing the sun– running after something that you knew will only end up in flames.

"I do."

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#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece fanfic #one piece imagines #one piece sanji #op sanji #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji x reader #sanji fanfic #sanji #black leg sanji #angst with a happy ending #light fluff #plot heavy #or as heavy as it can get in a 6k fic

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