#ask me about cornbread and I will TELL YOU how it's one of the best things ever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hunterbunter3000 · 2 years ago

Note

OH LORD MAMA TAKE THE WHEEL THISNIS MY LAST ONE.

imagine the boys just got back from a mission and when they enter the base, they found sweetheart cooking their country food for them. The taste is giving ✨SEASONED✨, its giving ✨you want me to marry you✨, its giving ✨that type of food that added 10 years to your life span✨, ITS GIVING ✨YOU DID A VERY GOOD JOB AND IM PROUD OF YOU✨

NOOOO NEVER STOP THESE I SWEAR YOU'RE JUST FINE 😍😍🫂🫂 these give me life you have no idea miss roro💕

(@missroro ROROOO GURL IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER😭😭 PLS FORGIVE ME I WAS SHADOWBANNED AND THEN OTHER ASKS KEPT POURING IN🧎‍♀️this is quite long, so hopefully you will take that as a sacrifice for my tardiness 🙏I hope you're doing well! I miss you LOTS 💓)

BUT UGHHH GOD

And the FACT that I already have a scenario that's kinda like this blows my mind 🤯🤯

When Sweetheart wasn't needed for this certain mission, she said "aight bet. I know yall are gonna be so damn tired and hungry so watch this WORK."

(Idk if you wanted Sweetheart to cook her home food, or cook their country meals, so imma do both 💀)

Her home-cooked food:

When Task Force 141 came back to the base they smelt that SEASONING IMMEDIATELY LIKE--

Gaz: Something just happened.

I know he's the FIRST to book it to the living room, and then he sees the PLETHORA

GRITS, SWEET YAMS, MAC AND CHEESE, CHICKEN, HAM, GREENS AND OX TAILS, CORNBREAD-- ALL THE GOOD SHIT YOU CAN THINK OOOFFF

Gaz squeals (LITERALLY SQUEALS) cause he's been wanting to taste her cooking.

(He's always asked about African-American cooking since he grew up with British cooking. Sweetheart told him the goodness and he's been hooked on it ever since)

Everyone else comes in and sees the table and they're just in shock

Like what the hell- how long did it take you to make all this?? I love you???

It felt so domestic, like coming home to a home cooked meal after getting off work and seeing your wife smile at you saying "welcome home, dear!"

Sweetheart is just beaming at them, saying "I know yall have been through hell, so have a lil' piece of heaven!" (She's so CHEESY) the mother in her comes thru, telling them to take showers and get situated first then come eat.

WHEN I TELL YOU THAT THEY B O O K E D IT TO THE MENS SHOWERS TO GET CLEAN-- GHOST PUSHED ALEX AND SOAP INTO A WALL SO HE CAN GET THERE FIRST (König and Price were already in there LOL they're witches I swear)

They were done so quickly Sweetheart had to check if some of them were actually clean

Sweetheart: Suds?

Soap, flushed: uhm, yeah?

Sweetheart, eyes squinting: Did you wash yo' ass?

Soap:

Soap: Yes...?

Sweetheart: GO GET CLEANED

Soap: BUT FOOD--

Sweetheart: G O

(Alex and Gaz low key laughing at him and Price is disgusted that Soap sometimes doesn't wash his ass)

They all finally sit down and they just enjoy the warm feeling in their chests while looking at the food. Sweetheart turns on some r&b music (is this a black 80s BET movie? MAYBE) and she walks to the edge of the table, eyes are filled with love and pride for her team. "Aight, I'm gonna keep this short and simple cause I know all yall are hungry and tired," she starts. The team sit on every word she says, as they always do. She smiles. "I'm glad you all made it back safely. Successful mission or not, I will always be proud of all of you. I love yall."

She's too good for them, man. Wtf

They all just fell in love with her more AHA

So she sits down and the chatter and clatter begins. They all moaned so much when they ate the food 💀💀

(They all went into a food coma and had the BEST SLEEP EVER)

(If she made everyone's food from their culture) (I put my whole ass into this wow)

When SAS and Los Vaqueros trudged through the hallway, they heard a clang and a yelping "Ow! Son of a-"

Price and Ghost look at each other before picking up the pace towards the kitchen. "Sweetheart? Are you -" Price freezes when he sees the kitchen filled with different types of food. " - Okay..."

"Oh fuck-- Hey! Yall are back already! That's wonderful." Sweetheart nervously laughs as she wipes her hands on her messy apron. The others start to come in, not expecting the different dishes on the counters. She squeals, "Nah uh! Don't come in here! Go and get cleaned now, all of you!" They stare at her for a bit until sprinting to the Men's Showers. Shouts and loud bangs from falling tact gear are heard, making Sweetheart chuckle and shake her head. Once the men came back to the kitchen, she was gone and so was the food. "In here!" She yelled. Soap made it first to the dining room and let out a big gasp. On the long, make-shift table sat a multitude of different foods and drinks each man recognized from their home country.

"Oh, mo leannan, this looks barry!" Soap exclaims.

"In English, Mactavish." Ghost mumbles, making Soap kiss his teeth. "This looks wonderful, St.! I'm- how did you--" Sweetheart shushes him, Soap still smiling ear to ear. "Don't ask questions! Just come sit down and get your plate."

They all grab a plate and utensils with rushed steps and big smiles.

- 𓆩♡𓆪 -

Price, Ghost, and Gaz sat at the end, where they all recognize the things to make Bangers and Mash. Shepherd's Pie and Fish and Chips could be found on all their plates with a side of Barm cakes. Their dishes melt in their mouths, dragon breathing at every bite since it was still hot. Ghost had a feeling in his chest that he felt extremely warm and overwhelming. He didn't think she would make something like this for him. "How're yall enjoying it?" She asks behind Price. "Umberweivable!" Gaz spouted out, a disbelief and amazed look on his face. Sweetheart laughs at him, "Hopefully, that meant unbelievable!" Gaz nods quickly with big food-filled cheeks. "Absolutely amazing, Princess." Price says after taking a swig of homemade Ginger Beer. "Haven't had Shepherd's Pie and Ginger Beer in so long. Good run down memory lane." Price smiles with soft and grateful eyes. Sweetheart snorts out a laugh and taps her cheek. Price raises an eyebrow until the embarrassment creeps in. He grabs his napkin and wipes the food that was stuck to his cheek. "I'm glad you like it, Cap! It was so hard finding an easy recipe for that damn beer." Sweetheart grumbles, looking at the kitchen with furrowed eyes and hand on Price's shoulder. He leans into her touch and sighs. "All in all, thank you." He murmurs, lifting her hand and placing a kiss on it. Sweetheart giggles, ignoring the heat coming from her hand. "You're very welcome!" She moves to Ghost, who has been quietly shoveling food in his mouth. "Hey Ghost! Are you--" Sweetheart stopped when he looked up at her. Eyes big with tears running down his flushed, stuffed cheeks. His eyes tick away from her changed face. "What...?" Simon whispers. She gives him a soft smile as one of her hands wipes off his tears. He didn't even notice the tears falling... "You enjoying the food?" She asks softly. Oh, that tone. That tone she uses only for Simon. He shivers, nodding his head slowly and then laying on her hip. She coos, wrapping her hand around his head while giving him head scratches to calm him down. You're alright, Simon. She's saying through her touch. Enjoy yourself.

Soap was practically vibrating in his chair when he saw a pitcher of Scottish Ale next to a big pot of Cullen Skink and an array of Scotch Pies with small Bacon Butties on the side. He did a double take when he saw a dish filled with Stovies and fried cut potatoes. Just how he ate it when he was younger. He lets out a disbelieved laugh as he reaches for it. "St.!" He calls out to her. She comes over with a worried look. "Wassup Suds? Everything okay?" He looks up at her with glassy eyes and a smile, nudging the Stovies. Sweetheart snickers, "I told you I would make it! I remember you tellin' me that your...màthair? Or-- mudder- damn I forgot how to say it-- but ya mom use to make this for you! So I looked up a recipe and may have added some of my extra spice to it." She explains as she whispers and laughs that last part. He can't believe that she remembers that. He told her that when he met her; telling her all the different Scottish cuisines. "I hope it tastes good..." She mumbles to herself. She cares. Soap grabs his spoon and collects some of the dish. She cares so much. Memories going through his mind when he chews it. She cares too much. "It's delicious." Soap whimpers out. Sweetheart smiles as she bends down to hug him. "I'm glad you like it."

Alejandro exclaims loudly when he takes a bite of his abundantly covered Elote. Rudy chuckles at him, taking another big ladel of Pancita and putting it in his bowl. "Hey guys, are you- WOW," Sweetheart yells. "You guys really ate almost everything! The Tamales and Flautas are gone..." Alejandro hums as he swallows. "So is the Ceviche and the Pipián." They both laugh at Sweetheart's surprised face. "Yall were hungry!!"And we still are, mama!" Alejandro snickers, taking more bites of his corn. "Mi flor, how did you make some of these dishes? And by yourself?" Rudy asks. He's so proud of her. He feels like he's back at home. "Oh, I had some help! Kinda-- some of the rookies helped me make the dishes! But then I kicked them out cause they were getting on my nerves." Sweetheart said, making the men laugh. "I knew you were a good cook. You would make a good wife someday, Sweetheart!" Alejandro shouted out as he smiled. Her shy laugh made him feel warm, but he wants his statement to come true.

König wanted to cry. He hasn't seen such a big pan of Tiroler Gröstl in a while. A basket of Kaiser Rolls is next to some Kasnocken and a pot full of Potato Gulasch. He scratches the brown hood he has on. Sweetheart made it for him so he could wear it when he's on base, since his other one was stinking up the joint. He watches Krueger take a big bite of his food and gulp down his drink that tastes like Almdudler. He's also wearing a hood that Sweetheart made for him; light blue fabric and handmade yellow stars scattered around it. It's scrunched up to his nose, his scarred lips still munching on his roll. He seems to be enjoying himself. König hasn't eaten with Krueger ever since they were kids. The impact on Krueger's actions in the past really changed everything for König and the family. But at least they're bonding in silence. "Hey, you two! Enjoying the food?" Sweetheart asks. Sweetheart. "Yes, meine kleine Göttin. It's very tasty." Krueger compliments her. She giggles, but it's cut short when Krueger grabs her arm and kisses her cheek. "Thank you for this wonderful feast, my love." He whispers in her ear with a smirk. Her mind goes blank for a moment, the heat of the kiss still searing on her brown skin. König grips his fork hard, turning his knuckles white. She sputters and then loudly laughs. "Yeah! No- no problem! I uh, König? How you uh, you enjoying the food?" He looks down at his plate, still quite full of food, yet not feeling like eating any of it anymore. König smiles with his eyes. "I am, Schatz. Thank you."

Horangi was enjoying himself to the fullest. Slurping down some Jajangmyeon with korean fried chicken and Kimchi fried rice with an egg. It reminds him so much of his mother's cooking, and when he didn't receive any Valentine's Day gifts so he would eat the noodles on Black Day. He blows on the noodles, the steam fogging up his black sunglasses. He wishes his past choices didn't bring him to this point. To be reminded of what he had, and now it's gone. He drank some of his soda, causing a big burp outta him. "You seem to be enjoying it, Horangi!" But without all his choices, he wouldn't have met her. He chuckles, covering his heavily scarred smile with his hand. Her warm hand snakes around his, gently pulling it down. She wants to see his smile. Her eyes sparkle at seeing his half-uncovered face. He's so pretty... "You like the noodles? M'sorry if I got the sauce wrong, I think I forgot some ingredients--" Horangi shakes his hand up. "No, no! It's perfect. The black bean sauce is amazing. I almost finished the whole pot." He's extremely impressed by her, but the cold feeling in his spine is wanting him to put the mask back on. Sweetheart squeals and claps, "Oh wonderful! I'm so glad you like it! By the way.." She leans down to hug his frozen form. "I hope to see your smile again. It's very pretty." She says. He is not grateful for his past choices, but he is grateful for her.

Alex and Roach enjoy their food in comfortable, happy silence. Alex hasn't had a decent cheeseburger since his leave. He dips a crinkle cut fry in ketchup, while Roach enjoys a big Maine Crab Roll. He's never tasted one before, but he always has, ever since Sweetheart gave him a postcard with the Roll on it, it's been his dream to taste one. "Yo, Alex! How's the burger?" Sweetheart asks, walking up to the both of them. Alex hums with a smile on his face. "You can't go wrong with a cheeseburger unless it's from a dirty bar." Sweetheart laughs, "Amen to that! And you're you doing, Gare Bear? Ya like the roll?" She asks sweetly. Roach can feel his face heat up from the nickname. He puts it down, finally taking breaths from horking it down non-stop, and putting two thumbs up. Her bright smile made both of them feel warm inside.

Graves sighs. His bones and joints hurt so damn bad. That mission with everyone was successful but it always costed some type of labor pain. He went to his dorm, already clean and changed into casual clothes. He could've sworn he heard laughing on the other side of the base... It didn't matter to him. All he wanted to do was to sleep off this pain. He notices a big plate covered in tin foil and a small note plus a coke-a-cola on his door mat. His eyes scan down the hall way with confused brows. Is he being pranked by one of his shadows? He better not be, he doesn't have the patience for it- Oh it's from Sweetheart. Wait- "What?" Graves mumbles, eyeing the messy note. The note reads:

Hey Graves. Congrats on the successful mission

Made you some dinner cause I'm pro proo pri PROU FUCK proud of you. That is the only time I'm gonna say that to you and it's not even in person. Doesn't matter, enjoy the food

Sweetheart ♡ (p.s. you still an asshole and NO I did NOT put laxatives in your food this time)

He huffs out a chuckle with a wobbly smile. So she does care for him. In a-- weird, hateful way. He walks in his dorm with food and drink in hand and opens the tin foil, the smell of barbecue baby back ribs, steamed carrots, buttered rolls and mashed potatoes fill his nostrils. His mouth waters immediately as he sits in his desk chair. He digs in with the utensils that Sweetheart gave him, his mind immediately going to his repeated fantasy about having a family with Sweetheart. Her, serving him a big plate of food with their baby boy on her hip. She kisses Graves's forehead and situates their son in the high chair before she starts to eat as well. A happy smile works on his face, not feeling the tears streaming down his cheeks. A happy family. "It's delicious..."

- 𓆩♡𓆪 -

After Dinner Bonus!

"Hey, no one go ANYWHERE! Yall are helping me clean all this shit up!" Sweetheart points out with a frown. Soap laughs, "Of course, hen! Why wouldn't we?"

"You did a lot for us, Princess. We'll take care of everything now. Go and take a load off." Price says close to her. Very close to her. "Nah, I can help!" Sweetheart pushed. "Your shoulder has been bothering you, hasn't it?" Ghost said, making Sweetheart flinch. "Why you gotta call me out like that, man?" Sweetheart whined. He was right, though. She's been rotating her left shoulder from time to time, playing it off every time one of the boys asked about it.

Alejandro laughs, placing his hand on her hip. His thumb doing small circles on her thin clothing. Rudy and Krueger strolled towards Sweetheart. Rudy wore a soft smile, yet his eyes told a different story. A more mischievous story. Alejandro's voice dropped an octave, making a hot jolt spike through Sweetheart's spine. "Come now, mama. I know just what to do to help you relax."

°.Reblogs are highly appreciated.! Thank you for your support everyone!!

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suzdin · 1 year ago

Text

Jackson: Redemption (Part Two)

(Joel Miller x female reader)

Summary: The conclusion to part one here.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mean Joel, dom Joel, smut, edging, spitting, rough sex, mentions of weapons, unprotected sex, mentions of loss

——

Joel is back to ignoring you. And truth be told, it hurts.

Hurts a lot.

You had a pleasant enough dinner that night, after he’d fucked you, sitting with not only the two of them, but Tommy and Maria as well. It was nice to not sit alone. It was so nice, you looked forward to it again at breakfast the next day.

Only, it didn’t happen.

You sat with Ellie, Tommy and Maria, sure. But Joel wasn’t there. And he hadn’t been to a meal in the mess hall for days.

At least he didn’t seem to hate you any more. He no longer glowered at you when you saw him, didn’t make a point to make you feel uncomfortable in his wake. Didn’t fret over you talking to Ellie anymore, either. In fact, you were almost sure he appeared sad in the off chance you saw him looking at you.

But you wish he would go back to hating your guts because that was at least better than…whatever the fuck this was.

So you go on with your life. Taking care of the horses, feeding them daily, cleaning their stalls, working them so they don’t grow restless when they aren’t being ridden. Helping out in the kitchen a couple days a week.

Patricia, a rugged older widow from Montana whom you admire, shows you how to butcher a deer the day one of the scouting parties drags a massive, 8-point buck back to Jackson. It’s as gross as it is fascinating to you, Patricia’s worn hands expertly breaking down the still-warm animal as she discusses all the parts and techniques. You mentally log everything for later, should you ever need it.

You have venison and cornbread for dinner that night and it’s fantastic. You gab on about town life with everyone, since they’ve finally started to accept you. To trust you. It feels nice, but…

It’s empty without Joel. He has a way of filling a room with his presence alone.

You’re pretty sure Tommy and Maria know. Pretty sure they could tell that night when you’d come to dinner, the way you were both so mussed and flustered, Joel wiping the blood from his face instead of cleaning himself up properly like he normally would have. The way you’d smelled of each other.

Maria has tried to talk to you about it a few times. “Are you okay?” she’d asked. “Is something going on between the two of you?”

“Nothing is going on,” you responded, and it’s the truth. Because nothing is going on. He hasn’t wanted to be near you in days.

It doesn’t surprise you when Ellie also clues in that something is off. She’s too smart not to. She’s the only person who can really read Joel, aside from maybe Tommy. She’s taken up Joel’s place for glaring knives into you, but it’s less intimidating when she does it, because she isn’t a big and burly emotionless wall of muscle.

“You remember what you told me?” she’d asked you. “‘Bout that girl I like? You said, ‘Don’t be afraid to say hi. Just go talk to her.’ But you’re over here pussin’ out about talking to my dad when I know you want to! What the fuck?”

“It’s more complicated than that, kiddo,” you’d told her. But was it?

You start having nightmares about your grandparents again. They had stopped for a while. A stress response to everything you’ve been going through with Joel, no doubt. Not that you’re going through anything…the man has made it obvious he doesn’t want you.

So you whittle down the days, doing the best you can to keep your head up, to keep moving.

Because it’s all you can do.

——

Late night. Most everyone in town is settled in their homes or sleeping, except for you and a few other stragglers, as well as night patrol. You know Joel has been on night duty lately—probably took it up to skirt you as much as possible.

You’re sat at the bar and you’ve been nursing a glass of twenty year old wine for the last half hour, rolling the stem of the glass between your forefinger and thumb. You’ve already finished off half the bottle by yourself so it isn’t as though you aren’t already wasted.

It’s red wine which isn’t really your thing, but it’s the only option available other than whiskey, which most definitely isn’t your thing.

It’s quiet in here and you welcome the silence. There’s a low whine of wind outside and the hum of the ice machine, but everything else is serene. You close your eyes. Your head swims from the alcohol.

That’s when a familiar and haunting sound breaks the otherwise stillness of the bar: boots scraping against earth and then wood, the heaviness of the footfalls an unequivocal tell of who they belong to.

Your blood stills. You don’t turn around, hoping that if you make no sound or movement, he’ll be on his way. Like a T-Rex.

You listen as the boots slow and then stop in the doorway behind you, and you purse your lips into a hard line.

Here we fucking go.

“Hey.” Baritone, dripping with that sweet caramel southern charm.

You turn and press the small of your back against the bar, elbows propped up on the wood. You see Joel standing in the dark, dressed in jeans and a light blue shirt that barely fits his wide shoulders with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark hair disheveled.

He looks fucking good, but you’re still livid with him for ignoring you. You need to steady your resolve—gain the upper hand.

“Hey,” you say in a monotone drawl in response, downing the remainder of your glass of wine in one swallow.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Joel says, taking a few tentative steps toward you.

He stops under the lights, casting him in enough shadow to deepen the lines of his face. His brows are drawn upwards into an empathetic countenance, his eyes large and glossy, lending him a wounded puppy appearance.

It’s almost enough to break you. Almost.

“Why? You think I’m an alcoholic?” you laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

He hesitates. “‘Course not. Just see you here a lot, s’all.” His voice is cool and even. Almost soft.

He gives you a once over that makes you swallow. You’re dressed not dissimilarly to Joel, or to anyone else in town for that matter, since you all share the same work loads. You’re wearing dark blue jeans that hug your curves, a light green scoop neck tee that shows the slightest hint of cleavage, and weathered dark brown cowboy boots.

“I just wanted to say—“ he starts, but you whip a hand up to cut him off. Surprisingly, it works, when he stops and looks at you.

“Don’t,” you clip.

“Look,” he continues after a moment. “I’m—“

“Joel, there’s nothing that needs to be said. Because this…” You waggle a finger between the two of you. “This is nothing.” It sounds a lot meaner than you intend it to, but you’re still hurt and you never handled your alcohol well. Especially when you’ve downed half a bottle of it.

He recoils almost like you’ve injured him. “You think this is nothing?” he asks in an accusatory tone, placing his hands on his hips.

“Isn’t it? I mean, you’ve made that abundantly clear, yeah?” you question. You can feel your cheeks heat, but you feel surprisingly brazen, even under the hungering stare he’s currently pinning you with.

He says nothing, but takes another couple of steps forward. You’re so close to breaking—so close—as you imagine him bending you over and ripping your pants down, taking you here right up against the bar. The alcohol coupled with the sight of the surly man in front of you is enough to make your cunt clench tight at the thought.

But you’re angry and hurt and you want him to hurt too. So you hold up your hand again. You know if he actually reaches you, you’d never be able to control yourself; part of you hopes he won’t listen.

But he does. He stops, his arms swinging pendulously at his sides as he comes to an abrupt halt. His countenance twisting into a sneer.

��Fine,” he tuts in that dark, gravelly drawl. “‘F that’s what ya want, then so be it.” You see something in the lines of his face that resembles pain, and then he turns.

He balls his hands into fists and leaves you there, stalking out of the room like some twisted, angry thing, in so few strides that for a few moments you can’t actually believe that he’s there one instant and gone the next.

“Joel! Wait!” you call out, but it’s too late. He’s already gone—or maybe he’s lost interest.

And then you feel empty. Sad. Full of regret for lashing out, thinking maybe you’ve just ruined the only chance you had with Joel Miller. That maybe you should just leave Jackson and go find an abandoned cabin in the mountains and eke out some kind of existence on your own there, away from him.

You think that maybe that’s the right thing to do since being in such close proximity to Joel but not able to have him is madness and you’ve only made it worse.

You re-cork the wine bottle and leave it behind the bar for someone else to finish off, and you make a vow to never drink again.

——

A few more days go by, and Joel has reverted to his usual angry, sullen self. The Joel that hates you and by the way he looks at you, you guess still wants to kill you.

Yeah, that Joel.

You’re okay with it because at least it brings a sense of normalcy to your life, but the more it drags out, the more you begin to seriously consider leaving Jackson for good.

Would they let you? You hadn’t left the walls since you’d been filtered in, and hadn’t really shown any interest in doing so…until now.

It’s currently early morning. The sun isn’t even above the mountains yet, the air still sharp and chilly. You’re dressed unceremoniously in a black hoodie, light colored blue jeans and the same cowboy boots you always wear, because you’re on your way to start taking care of the horses with the help of Chen today.

You get to the stables and greet Chen, who has already begun shoveling hay into a wheel barrow to distribute around to the herd. Chen is about your age and decidedly handsome, and you think he might like you, but you aren’t too sure.

You’ve flirted casually with him and even thought about asking him out, to get your mind on someone other than Joel, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to actually do it.

“Hey,” he greets back. “Rats got into the grain again—we need to do something about that,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll talk to Maria or Tommy about it after we’re done today.”

As if summoned by the mention of her name alone, you hear a familiar voice chime from behind you. You jump.

“I’ll have Tommy put down poison again,” Maria says.

You turn to face Maria, who’s smiling the same bright smile she uses when she expects something of you, causing your skin to creep with worry. She says hello to Chen and then turns back to you.

“You’re needed elsewhere,” she says to you. “Patricia will help Chen out today.”

Your eyebrows lift, but you don’t question it. They normally tell you ahead of time when you aren’t doing stables, so it catches you a bit off guard, but you’re okay with that. Anything that gives you a break from routine.

“Pick out two horses and get them saddled up,” she says. “You’re going on patrol today.”

This time you do question things because you’ve never been sent out on patrol—much less beyond the walls—before. That usually wasn’t your thing.

“Patrol? With who?”

She only smiles. You know exactly who.

“Maria! No!” you protest.

“Chen, can you excuse us for a few minutes? Girl talk,” Maria says. He nods and exits the stables.

Once he’s out of earshot, she turns back to you. “You have to. Tommy’s under the weather today. Flu, I think.”

“Maria, there has to be someone else. Surely there’s someone else?” you question in earnest.

“Maybe. But Tommy and I think you two should spend the day together. You know. To chat.” She smiles innocently. You can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Joel hates my guts. You know that, right?”

“No, actually, because he doesn’t. I don’t know Joel the way Tommy or Ellie does, but I’ve come to know him well enough to see that when he’s angry and broody, it’s because he’s trying not to feel anything at all. And he’s been…weird, since the two of you came to dinner together the other night,” she says. “You’ve been weird, too.”

You laugh. “I’ve been weird?” you ask.

“Yeah. I mean, you’ve been distant. Distracted. Something on your mind?” she accuses.

No. Nope. Only a fifty six year old man who fucked you senseless and you’re pretty sure you already have feelings for. That’s all.

“Not really,” you answer.

“Right,” she replies, completely unconvinced. “Well, you’re still going on patrol today. Final decision.”

The barn suddenly grows a little darker and you look up to see Joel, the whole expansive frame of him blotting out what little bit of light has managed to spill in. He leans one arm on the doorframe and his eyes sweep over you, slowly.

You can’t help the way your heart skips when you see him.

——

Joel seems as nonplussed about the arrangement as you are.

It surprises you when he doesn’t put up much of a fight about it; however, he often tends to cow when it comes to Tommy’s orders, and by extension, Maria’s.

You’ve been riding in complete and utter silence for about an hour. The sun is peaking over the mountains now, warming the morning and you’ve already shucked off your hoodie, draping it across the neck of your horse. Joel’s eyes stare straight ahead, unmoving, as you remove the bothersome article of clothing.

You steal glimpses of him when you think he isn’t paying attention. He’s also discarded his black and gray flannel overshirt, leaving his torso adorned in only a snug fitting, dark gray tee.

Said shirt beautifully accentuates the curve of muscles beneath the threadbare fabric, and his arms…you don’t think you’ve seen them before, but his biceps are enormous and unbelievably toned for a man of his age. You squirm when you imagine them wrapping around you; pinning you.

He’s wearing black jeans that somehow grip the tree trunks he has for thighs like they’re hanging on for dear life, and on his feet are the same dark brown Elk Tracker boots he always has on. His hair is unbrushed as usual.

He had picked Amarillo, a handsome buckskin quarter horse; the same one he always takes on runs. You had to admit the two of them shared a bond, the young gelding often listening to Joel better than anyone else.

It annoyed you that a horse held more of a place in Joel’s heart than you did.

For yourself, you had taken out Dakota, a lovely and gentle appaloosa mare whom you’d ridden around town a few times. She snorts as she takes in the surroundings, her ears flicking this way and that as she listens to the songs of the early morning birds.

You grow sick of the silence after a while, so of course you’re the one to break it first. You’ve never been one to be super chatty, but Joel takes not talking like it’s some kind of religious vow.

He could probably go the rest of his life without speaking. You, on the other hand, need to be assured of things on occasion, so you speak up.

“So, what do we do on these patrols?” you ask him. He shoots you a look like you’re stupid, and you probably are, his eyebrows pinching together and his lips parting slightly.

“We patrol,” he answers flatly.

“That’s it? We just ride around all day?” you ask. He shoots you another look and sighs.

“We look for anythin’ that might be out of the ordinary. Signs’a life or tracks. Shoot anyone who seems like a threat,” he expounds.

“How often does that happen?” you ask.

“How often does what happen?”

“Shooting people.”

“Not often. Usually don’t see anyone ‘t’all.”

You recall the night he had returned to town covered in blood. Someone else’s blood. Your fingers curl into the reins, trying to shake the image—and associated feelings—from your mind. Not the time or the place.

You nod and ‘mmm’ softly in confirmation. His eyes return to the trail and you glance at the rifle slung across his torso.

“I don’t have a gun,” you say, as if it’s some big proclamation.

He looks at you again.

“Ain’t givin’ you a gun,” he says. “Said yourself you’re a shit shot.”

“Then how am I supposed to shoot people?” you ask. You’re just trying to get under his skin at this point.

“I’ll shoot ‘em,” he replies.

You hold a hand up in mock defeat. “Ooookay,” you say.

He glares at you. “You’re a pain in the ass,” he chides. “Should cut you loose.”

You know he’s being facetious—at least you think he is—but it doesn’t prevent the words from stinging deep in your gut when you hear them coming from Joel’s mouth. The same way your words most likely did to him a few nights before.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” you remark. He tilts an eyebrow.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he asks, incredulous.

“Leaving,” you answer, intentionally keeping your response vague. He scoffs.

“You wouldn’t last the first winter on your own,” he replies. “Or even the first month. Can’t shoot, can’t hunt.”

You hate to admit it, but he’s right. You were young when outbreak happened, barely a teenager, and your grandparents coddled you; shielded you from the darkness the world had become.

Your grandfather did all of the hunting and gathering while your grandmother tended the garden, so you learned very little about survival during those formative years in the cabin. You had probably learned more in Jackson than you ever had with them.

Although they weren’t good men, you had been lucky at the time to be taken under the wing of the group who’d found you hapless and wandering the roads in Colorado, half-starved and dehydrated. You didn’t mind that they used your body. You welcomed it, in fact, because it meant you earned their protection, though you always knew they weren’t good people by any stretch of the imagination.

In spite of yourself, you decide to postulate with Joel anyway. “I would be just fine on my own,” you assert.

He smiles—like, actually smiles—to that. The first time you’ve ever seen anything from him that was more than just a sarcastic smirk. “Sure,” he drawls.

You’re trying to think of a good comeback when he pulls back on Amarillo’s reins. “Whoa, boy.” His dark brown eyes fix on a patch of soft, pock-marked mud.

You also stop Dakota, who shakes her head and lowers her muzzle to the earth, munching on the fresh spring grass.

“What?” you ask, oblivious. Joel points to what he’s seeing before dismounting to get a better look.

You dismount as well when you see it. There are three sets of similar tracks, the first being heavy and deep; the other two are barely visible, hardly heavy enough to make an indent in the mud at all. Round and fat, with with four corresponding digits on each track.

“Puma?” you ask. Joel nods.

“Looks that way,” he answers, and there isn’t a hint of snarkiness to his tone this time. “Mama and two babies, by the looks of it.”

“Awww,” you can’t help but say. He looks at you and raises his eyebrows, causing his forehead to crinkle in an endearingly adorable manner.

“Ain’t cute,” he grunts. “This is a problem. This is the closest set of puma tracks we’ve found t’town.” He runs a finger along the inner wall of one of the mother cat’s prints. “Fresh tracks, too. Probably from last night.” He scans the area for any signs you’re being watched, particularly the trees.

“She’s just trying to live, like the rest of us,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“She’s a potential threat. Babies too, when they’re grown. To the horses, the livestock—us,” Joel retorts. “You think those walls can stop a puma?” he asks.

You shrug.

“Well, they can’t. She gets any closer, she’ll need t’be dealt with,” he says.

“That’s kinda fucked,” you say. He smirks—dry and mirthless—and shakes his head.

“I change my mind. You wouldn’t last a week on your own with that kinda mindset,” he says. “Don’t know how you survived this long already.”

Your chest swells with anger, but you have to admit that, once again, he’s right. You had only been on the road three days when those men found you, and you’d been lucky to find a fresh stream to drink from until then, which you’d stumbled upon by happenstance rather than skill.

Though you don’t know it yet, Joel admires your softness—your naïveté—for what it is. It had been a while since he’d known someone like you and it made him miss the old days. He wants to protect you. To teach you. He won’t admit it, but he doesn’t want you to leave, either. He thinks, if you left, he’d probably have to leave with you, if nothing else but to ensure your survival.

He stares down at you with a mixture of longing and annoyance in his eyes. All you happen to notice is the latter.

“Exactly. I have survived all these years. There’s a reason for that,” you say.

Yeah. Your grandparents. Those men. Tommy and Maria.

“‘F you say so,” he responds, rolling his eyes. That lights a fire in your belly and your skin heats at how flippant he’s being.

“Fuck off,” you snarl.

He laughs, pleased with himself that he’s managed to get under your skin finally, and the satisfaction of it goes straight to his cock. He wants to push your buttons a little more to see just how much he can get you worked up.

What he doesn’t know is that you also want to get under his skin even more than you already have. You aren’t sure how, since he’s seemed to trap you with his words, but you’ll figure something out.

He turns to clamber back up his horse and you see your opportunity. It’s childish. It’s stupid. It will most definitely piss him off, which is what you want. But you need to regain control, and swiftly.

He lifts his arms to grab the saddle horn in order to propel himself upwards, and in doing so, exposes about an inch of skin between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his jeans. You need to act fast, before he’s actually on the horse, lest he hurt himself—or you—in the process.

You slip your fingers under his shirt and skate your finger tips up his spine. His skin is surprisingly soft to the touch, and you want to hold them there in reverence of the warm, silken flesh, but he obviously doesn’t give you the opportunity.

He reacts like a spooked animal—which is not too far off once you stop to think about it—startling the horses in the process. He grabs your arm and twists you against him, pulling you close, contorting his lips into a gnarled sneer.

“Just what the hell you think you’re doin’?” he snarls in your face.

You should be satisfied with your victory since this is exactly how you wanted him to react, but you still feel a ripple of fear go through your chest, your breath hitching in your rib cage. His brow furrows into a dark line, his lips stretched thin in a frown.

“Well?” he asks, and his grasp on your arm loosens, but he pulls you closer with his other hand at the small of your back. “Manage t’finally shut you up?”

You shouldn’t be so turned on by this, but your core is rife with heat and your underwear already on the verge of soaking. What you don’t know is that Joel has been half hard in his jeans most of the morning, staring at the back of your head whenever you happen to glance away, thinking about that night.

That one night.

But he’s also been thinking about the night when he found you in the bar, and subsequently the pain you’d caused him by pushing him away. He was there to apologize, and you wouldn’t even give him half a chance.

You maintain eye contact as long as you can, but you’re forced to look away when his dark eyes overwhelm every sense in your body.

He uses his free hand to drag your face back to his. “Asked you a question, pretty girl,” he says, and that’s when you feel the hard line of his cock digging into your thigh. You swallow.

“Just um—just wanted to piss you off,” you answer meekly. “Couldn’t let you win.”

He smirks, keeping your gaze forced in his grip to look at him. “Well, it worked. Now what?” he asks you.

You attempt a shrug, but you’re barely able to hump your shoulders when his mouth is on you, ravenous, starting at the delicate dip of your collarbone and working his way up to your lips, bit by bit, until your mouths collide, teeth and tongues lashing.

You chirp with satisfaction—relief—that he’s finally touching you, kissing you, again, his hand that was at the small of your back moving up to tangle in your hair. He rumbles in his throat, baritone and needy.

He kisses you deeply, deft tongue working the inside of your mouth, latticing his tongue over yours as you suckle back with equal fervor.

Using the hand currently fisted in your hair, he drags your face away from his, your lips parting in a satisfactory smack, to stare into your eyes, while the other hand roves your body.

“This what you want?” he asks you, stopping at the swell of your breast to massage it against his palm, feeling the hard peak of your nipple. He digs his fingers firmly into the pillow soft flesh.

You can’t nod quickly enough, your desperation with which your body moves against his, with his, more than evident.

He sweeps his hand down your body, slow, slow—agonizingly slow—eventually settling between the soft apex of your thighs, hooking his middle finger against the seam of your pants.

“How ‘bout now?”

You nod even more desperately than before, a minuscule whimper sounding in your throat at the contact, even through the layers of material separating you.

“Use your fucking words. Talk to me,” he snaps, your name falling from his tongue.

“Yes, Joel,” you answer, your voice wavering with need. His expression is stoic, unreadable. It’s hard to know exactly what he’s thinking.

Both hands move to your front now, undoing your pants just enough to slip a single hand inside, his middle finger pressing against the sensitive bud between your folds, causing your hips to jerk into his hand at the sudden invasion.

He drags said finger down your seam, gathering your slick on the pad of his finger, and you grind against him, chasing the feel of his rough digit against your skin. Your breathing is erratic now; labored.

“Fuck, baby, already so worked up,” he says. “Bet you’d let me fuck you right here in the woods, wouldn’t you?”

There’s no use denying it. It probably isn’t the wisest choice with a mama lion running around and god knows what else in those woods, but you’d already let him take you in an alley between some buildings in Jackson—the least romantic place you can think of—with a high probability of being caught. There really isn’t much juxtaposition here.

Besides, he can already tell by the way your body bends to his touch that you would salaciously agree to any of his demands.

“Yes, Joel,” you admit, swallowing the lump cresting your throat.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he snarls. “Knew ya’d say yes. What else would you let me do t’you?”

He drags your jeans further down your hips, exposing your cunt to the cool spring air, your arousal so evident that you can actually smell yourself.

He fixes his hand in your hair again, screwing his fingers in deep until they tug at your scalp, jerking your gaze up to meet his glare.

“Asked ya a question, sweetheart.”

You blink, your mind misty as you struggle to recall what he’d just asked you, overburdened by every towering inch of him.

“Any—anything you want, Joel,” you answer when it finally hits you, and it’s the truth. Joel’s lips crook into a lopsided smirk.

“S’what I thought. Little slut, letting me take her an’way I see fit, in the middle of these woods.”

He notches two fingers at your entrance with his other hand, collecting your wetness on the pads of his middle and index fingers. Your eyes slide down to where he’s currently cupping your pussy, and he whips your head back up for the second time.

“Keep your eyes on me. Wanna see you,” he rumbles.

You obey. At least for a moment.

He glides both fingers through your opening, pushing deeper, slowly stretching you around thick, calloused digits. You keen and gyrate against his touch, eyelids fluttering shut.

“What did I just fuckin’ say?” he barks, feeling the heat of his breath on your face. Your eyelids fly back open.

“S-Sorry, Joel,” you reply.

“Sweet girl,” he praises, smirking. “All bark and no bite, ‘specially when I’m full fuckin’ knuckles deep inside of her.”

His words make you moan and you curl your body against him, craving more, more, your cunt clenching to pull his fingers deeper.

He obliges, crooking them against the soft, spongy material deep within your walls, sending you into a shuddering buck, your arm shooting out to steady yourself on his broad chest.

“So needy, baby. Do you think about me when you touch this cunt?” he asks, not giving you a chance to respond. “Or do ya think of your little boyfriend, Chen?”

Your brows knit together, and you shake your head fervently. “Don’t think about him, Joel. On— mmf— only y-you.”

His fingers fuck into you at a gingerly pace, palm brushing your swollen clit on every pass.

“Faster, Joel, please—“ you plead, chasing his fingers with your body. The hand in your hair moves down to your hips, keeping you firmly in place.

“Stop movin’.”

His lips find your neck, teeth biting sharp against your pulse point, causing you to yelp with pleasure at the small amount of pain. He grins against your flesh and soothes the mark with his tongue, nipping roughly up your jaw, uncaring that it’ll most likely leave marks, groaning deep in his chest when he feels you tightening around his fingers with every scrape of teeth on skin.

He finally picks up the pace and you keen, breathing hard in his ear.

“Who’s this pussy belong to?”

“Y-you, J-Joel—only you,” you say.

“S’right, angel. All mine. And you’re not gonna let him have my pussy, are ya?” he growls.

“No, never—just—fuck—just you,” you say.

“Good girl,” he breathes against your skin, snaking his free arm around to encircle your back, keeping you solidly in place against him as he continues his ministrations with his fingers, repeatedly nudging your g-spot. You feel the pressure building deep in the pit of your abdomen.

Your eyes move from Joel’s visage to his bicep, admiring the way it flexes as he’s pumping deep into you with his fingers, and you realize that Joel is still completely clothed, not even palming himself over his pants despite the ever present erection bearing down on your hip.

“Eyes up here, darlin’,” he says quietly, but there’s a hint of edge to it.

You suck in a breath and obediently shift your eyes back to his, unblinking, as your fingers wrap around the prominent outline of his cock through his jeans.

The arm that’s currently holding you in place moves so fast you don’t register the movement at first; not until his hand is already ensnaring your wrist, pulling you away, his dark eyes flashing with something as if he’s annoyed he doesn’t have enough limbs to keep you where he wants you.

“No. Not yet,” he commands lowly.

You swallow back a whimper.

Finally, his pace reaches the crescendo that you were so desperately needing, a single trickle of perspiration rolling down Joel’s forehead, the combined effort of pumping into you with his fingers and holding you in place making him break into a sweat. His lips part and his nose crinkles, dark eyes drilling holes through your skull as his gaze remains fixed on your face.

You’re so close.

The sound is obscene, slicked wet skin slapping against slicked wet skin, both of you nearly out of breath.

You keen, biting your lip, wrapping a hand around Joel’s sweat covered neck to steady yourself. He lets you.

“You ‘bout to come for me, sweet girl?” he asks. You whimper and seek out his mouth with your lips, but he denies you access.

You pout.

“Come on my fingers, darlin’,” he says, a dastardly grin widening his features.

He can feel you clamping around him, that familiar feeling of pleasure building in your core, the dam on the verge of breaking at any moment.

You’re about to come, your chest heaving in tandem with Joel’s, a loud, throaty moan escaping your lips.

You’re about to come and then Joel stops.

“Jo-Joel? What?” you ask, breathlessly, searching his face for answers. Your eyes dart around, thinking something is wrong. Your core throbs, aching for release. You try to move against him, but he stops you.

“W-why?”

He pulls his fingers out of you, bringing them to his lips and actually licking them clean right in front of your face.

“Pull your pants up and get back on the horse, sweetheart,” he commands softly.

“But—“

“Do it,” he says, leaving no room for protest.

You pull your pants up and fasten them as you watch Joel. He has a triumphant look on his face, and that’s when it hits you.

Joel is denying you an orgasm because he is punishing you.

Punishing you for what? For taunting and poking the bear? For touching him? For pushing him away a few nights ago?

Maybe all of the above?

Angry tears threaten to breach the levy, your hands twisting into fists, nails digging so hard into the soft flesh of your palm you break skin.

Fury licks like hot embers at the backs of your eyes. You see red.

“Joel, what the fuck,” you snarl.

“Get back on the horse, or I’m leavin’ you here,” he threatens. “Ain’t gonna ask again.”

Your cheeks heat. You want to punch him. He stares you down, daring you to defy him, jaw clicking to one side as he plants his hands on his hips.

You want to. You want to defy him so badly, but you believe him when he says he’ll leave you behind.

With a deflated snarl, you turn and clamber back up your horse, refusing to look at Joel.

You finish the rest of the patrol in silence.

——

Despite being on a horse most of the day, your legs are surprisingly sore from keeping you balanced in the stirrups for hours. Not to mention your ass is numb and your back hurts like hell.

And Joel. Fucking Joel.

You can’t even look at him without wanting to strangle him.

You think you catch the occasional cocky smirk playing on his lips, but you can’t be sure; the man is so hard to read sometimes. Either way, you somehow maintain composure despite wanting to slam your fist into his jaw, and that alone deserves a medal.

You return to Jackson approximately six hours after you left. The rest of the ride was uneventful—boring even—and Chen is there to greet you at the gate.

“Welcome back,” he says, taking Dakota by the reins as you dismount. Your legs shake with the effort, causing you to groan.

“Hey,” you greet.

“You okay?” Chen asks, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. The way Joel’s eyes clock the movement doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

Joel dismounts next to you, bumping Chen’s arm with his elbow in the process. You know it wasn’t an accident.

“Sorry,” Joel says. “Slipped.”

You glare at Joel. He pretends not to see.

Chen clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with whatever he just witnessed, reaching for Amarillo’s reins next. “I’ll just take the horses back to the barn, then.”

“Hang on. I’ll help you,” you announce, trailing after him. You’re barely able to make it a few steps before you feel a familiar hand surround your wrist.

Chen turns just in time to see Joel rooting you firmly in place.

“S’okay,” Joel says to you, but his eyes are currently burning holes through Chen. “Think he can handle it.”

You look up at Joel, your brows knitting together. You then turn to Chen, apologetically.

“Is everything alright?” he asks you.

“Everythin’s fine. She’s needed elsewhere,” Joel responds before you can. Chen passes the much larger man an incredulous glance, before sliding his gaze back to you.

“Are you sure everything’s alright?” he asks you again, sensing the tension churning between the two of you.

You swallow, briefly toying with the idea of ripping your arm free of Joel’s grasp and telling him in no uncertain terms to fuck right off.

But you don’t, because you can’t help but feel a small amount of giddiness that Joel Miller is actually touching you in public. The way your body thrums under his spell doesn’t go unnoticed by Joel, either. You swear you see a ghost of a smirk gracing his naturally pouty lips.

You’re also more than a little curious what he could want with you.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just forgot that…Joel wanted me to help Ellie with her homework today,” you lie, hoping it sounds convincing enough to be be true. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

He nods, casting his gaze where Joel’s large hand still loosely encircles your wrist. His thumb skirts the meat of your palm.

“Yeah. Okay. See you tomorrow,” Chen says.

——

You walk in silence in the direction that you know leads to Joel and Ellie’s small cottage. Joel doesn’t move his hand from your wrist, and you get more than a few stares from the townspeople of Jackson who have probably never seen the two of you together aside from that one dinner several long nights ago. And even then, you had Ellie separating the two of you.

You imagine that from a distance it must look pretty intimate, as if you’re two lovers linked hand in hand. Your fingers brush over his, teasingly, but he doesn’t falter.

He’s a man on a mission, making a beeline straight to his house. You try not to let yourself get your hopes up, but it’s difficult not to. What does he want?

“Joel,” you say, and he looks at you with a frown. “Slow down, please.”

Surprisingly, he does.

“Why are we going to your house?” you ask. You think you know—maybe—based on prior events. But you don’t want to make assumptions.

“To talk,” he answers vaguely.

Well, that clears things right the fuck up.

“That doesn’t tell me anything, Joel,” you retort.

“Jesus,” he says, followed by your name. “Can’t wait five fucking minutes?”

You huff, but don’t press the issue further, falling into yet another palpable silence.

——

You’re standing in Joel’s living room.

You’ve never been in here before, with all the times you’ve seen the outside of the small cottage. It’s cozy. The furniture is a mix of new and old, rustic and mass produced. It’s decorated like a woman lived here once, long ago, the few feminine touches here and there making you smile. Making you remember your grandma.

Joel strides in from the kitchen, clutching a bottle of alcohol by the neck in one hand and two short, clear glasses between his fingers in the other. He perches them on the coffee table and leans into a sit on the couch, pouring the brown liquid into each glass.

“Sit down. Ain’t gonna bite,” he says.

“With you? I’m not so sure about that,” you joke, hesitantly scooting next to him on the couch. You intentionally leave about a foot of space between you.

He smirks.

He slides your glass closer to you on the table. You think by the color that it’s whiskey. Smells like it, too.

“Ellie?” you ask him. You don’t need to elaborate more than that; he knows what you’re getting at.

“Stayin’ over at Tommy and Maria’s place tonight,” he responds.

You swallow.

“Oh,” you say. Oh.

Your cheeks flush. You vowed not to drink alcohol again, but you find yourself reaching for the glass anyway. You definitely fucking need it now.

“Don’t have ice like at the bar. Sorry ‘f it’s warm,” he says.

You down the contents of the glass in one go. The heat blooms hot in your chest all the way up to your throat. You hiss at the way it burns.

Joel shakes his head at you. “Lightweight,” he criticizes, downing his glass without even making a face. He pours two more glasses; you wring your hands nervously, watching him.

The veins in his neck pulse as he leans over the coffee table; his biceps flex as his arms reach. You can already feel yourself starting to sweat.

“So you wanted to talk,” you say, attempting to stay focused.

“When you got here. To town, I mean. I didn’t like you,” he says like it’s some kind of revelation.

You purse your lips and hum lightly. “Yeah. I know. Everyone knows,” you reply. “You still don’t. Right?”

He scowls at you sidelong and rolls his eyes, bringing the whiskey to his lips and sucking down the second glass.

“Thought you were too soft. Didn’t think you’d ever integrate into the community.”

“So you brought me to your house to insult me? Real classy, Joel,” you berate, putting your hands on your knees as you stand to leave. A single hand—broad, thick, warm—wraps one of your legs.

“Sit down,” he says sternly. “Ain’t done.”

You flounder. Eventually, you sit back down, and you notice you’re considerably closer, this time.

“Didn’t think you could do it, but ya proved me wrong. Can’t deny you’re a quick learner and a hard worker,” he admits. You relax…a little.

“The reason I came to the bar the other night…” he begins, raking a hand through his stubble, “…is ‘cause I wanted to apologize for bein’ an asshole to you.” He looks at you directly this time, and you can see the barest hint of warmth in the dark pools of his brown eyes.

You peer back at him. You want to say something, but you aren’t sure what, exactly. You want to trust him, want to kiss him, fall into his arms, but you still have reservations. This isn’t a side of Joel you’ve ever seen before. This isn’t even the Joel from this morning.

“And I forgive you. For Diana. Know it wasn’t…your fault,” he continues. You hear him swallow, watching his adam’s apple make a pass along the line of his throat.

You feel your pulse quicken and you rip your gaze away, reaching for your glass on the table to swallow it in a single gulp. Somehow, it burns even more than the first.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, your voice cracking. “How did you know her?”

You don’t think it could have been a romantic connection; she seemed quite a bit older than Joel. Then again, who knows. It isn’t like Joel doesn’t have about twenty years on you.

“When I first came to Jackson, I was a nobody. Just some angry old man who happened to be related to Tommy. Ellie was having trouble adjustin’, too. People didn’t like us. But Diana took Ellie under her wing, same way Patricia has with you. Little by little, people started accepting us. I was forever grateful to her for that. For helpin’ Ellie.”

You nod slowly, taking in this new bit of information. You aren’t sure what to do with it, if you’re being honest.

Part of you wants to thank him for the booze and flee back to the safety of the barn or the mess hall. You can feel the alcohol working its way through your system already, heating you from the inside out. Your thoughts thrumming high like a fever pitch between your ears.

You want to flee. But an even larger part of you wants to stay.

You settle for placing a hand on his knee, consolingly, because you’re afraid to touch him any other way right now. He tracks the movement like you’ve just dropped a cobra into his lap. And then he’s on you.

The broad expanse of his hand wraps the back of your neck and his lips crash into yours, devouring you like a man starved. His other hand slithers around to the small of your back, tugging you into him.

You let out a moan while his tongue explores your mouth the moment your lips part. You moan a second time and he swallows it down, rumbling in a deep timbre as he tastes you.

Ellie’s stayin’ over at Tommy and Maria’s tonight.

Is that an open invitation for you to stay? You can’t even begin to imagine sharing a bed with Joel for an entire night. You can barely envision a bed at this point, after sleeping on that uncomfortable cot for so long. The idea makes your head swim. You can’t help the way your body begins trembling like a cornered mouse.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Joel. “You alright, darlin’?” he asks. “Shakin’ like a leaf.”

“I’m fine,” you lie. Truthfully, you’re still wrung tighter than a bow string after this morning, and you’re more than a little concerned that history will repeat itself.

You tell him in as many words.

“Won’t happen again if you’re a good girl this time,” he rumbles. It goes straight to your core.

Oh, fuck.

He stands, pulling you up with him in the process. “C’mon, darlin’,” he says. “Bedroom’s this way.”

——

You’re in Joel fucking Miller’s bedroom.

You’re in his room.

It’s sweltering in here. You aren’t sure if it’s because the room is already warm, or the alcohol, or both. You feel a bead of sweat roll down the plane of your back.

Joel’s already shucking off his jeans. You look at his face and that familiar scowl has returned, the distinct line of his visage darkening predatorily.

Won’t happen again if you’re a good girl this time.

His words buzz through you, making you shiver. Making you sweat harder.

“Take off your clothes, sweetheart,” he orders.

It would probably help with cooling you down. At least for a moment. You sit on the edge of the bed and pull off your boots, tossing them to the corner next to an unfolded pile of laundry. You remove your shirt and pants next, joining your boots on the floor.

“Can we open a window?” you ask, fanning yourself lazily.

Your back is still to him. Although you’ve already fucked once, and Joel has been face and fingers deep in your pussy, you’re still mostly afraid to turn around.

You haven’t seen each other fully naked yet.

“Neighbors are gonna hear us,” Joel replies lowly. You hear the window open soon after, and a cool breeze slips over your body. It’s exactly what you need.

“Thanks.”

You turn nervously to face him, heart fluttering like a caged bird in your chest. Your breath hitches when you take in the sight of the man before you—he’s stripped down to his boxer briefs, the long line of his cock straining against the thin fabric.

For his age, he’s fit. You could tell he was muscular before, but you didn’t realize the extent of it since he’s always covering himself up in flannels and jackets.

His shoulders are wide and square, easing down into the corded musculature of his chest and arms, sweeping to a barely pooched stomach marred by a healed over, ugly scar, and hips that are just slightly more narrow than his shoulders. A dark swathe of curly hair disappears into the waistband of his shorts, and you’re impervious to stop your eyes from fixating on the bulge there.

Your breath damn near stops when his gaze rakes over every inch of exposed skin. He looks at you like you’re the only person he’s ever bothered to see.

“Something on your mind, darlin’?” he asks you.

“You, Joel. J-just you.”

“C’mere,” he says with an outstretched hand.

He meets you halfway and snakes an arm around your back, the other hand moving to loosely collar your neck. He bends his face to the hollow of your collarbone, swiping at a line of sweat on your skin with the flat of his tongue. You keen, feeling the vibrations of your throat against his palm.

“Y’gonna be a good girl for me?” he queries. You nod, your heart rate quickening at your pulse points still in his grip.

“Then prove it.” He pushes you into a sit on the edge of the bed in front of him, spreading your legs with one swift motion of his foot, slotting himself between them.

His face is hard and expressionless. He says nothing, but you already know exactly what he expects of you.

Your fingers are shaking. This is ridiculous—it’s not like you’re some wide-eyed, innocent virgin. But as you reach for the waistband of his shorts and pull them down his thick legs, large cock springing free right in front of your face, you can hardly prevent yourself from vibrating with need.

“S’okay, angel. You’re okay,” he soothes, cupping your cheek with a weathered hand.

It’s not like you haven’t seen his cock before. But not like this, inches from your face, the head an angry shade of pink and leaking precum.

You steady your nerves as you fist the base of the shaft in your hand and bring him to your lips, sliding the tip into the heat of your mouth and slowly inching yourself down onto him, your jaw gradually adjusting to the girth. He grips your shoulders and releases a ragged breath.

“That’s it, baby girl. Jus’ like that,” he praises.

You relax your throat muscles as you take him deeper, breathing through your nose, hollowing your cheeks.

“Doin’ so good. Takin’ this cock so well. Not even a single tear.” He moves a hand from your shoulder to your hair, brushing it aside so he can watch you. “So fuckin’ pretty with my cock buried in your face.”

The head of his cock bumps the back of your throat and he moans, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation, causing you to choke. He pulls out of you, letting you catch your breath.

“Doin’ so well. Know you can take it, though, can’t you?”

You hum in affirmation and take him back into your mouth when you feel you’re ready, better adjusted to his size on this go around, taking him almost all the way to the back of your throat in one go. He rumbles deep in the barrel of his chest and twists his fingers tightly in your hair.

You reach the end of his cock and hold there as long as you can, tasting the salty tang of sweat and precum on your tongue. You pull back off of him when you feel like it’s too much.

“One more time for me, baby. Prove to me what a good little slut you are,” he growls. “Be a good girl f’me.”

You slide him back into your mouth, the vein that runs the length of his cock pulsing against your tongue, the dark curls at his base tickling your nose when you reach the end and he bottoms out again. You take long, even breaths through your nose, holding him in your throat.

He doesn’t give you a chance to break away this time. He grips either side of your head and holds you in place as he begins to slowly fuck into your face.

“Mmmf— fuck yes, baby girl, doin’ so well…”

His pace quickens when you proffer no resistance, rutting at a heedy crescendo into you. Rivulets of drool dribble down your chin.

It doesn’t take long before it becomes too much, your throat tightening and jaw aching something fierce. You make a small sound of surrender as you tap his forearm, and he stops almost immediately, gazing down at you, his lips parted into an arc. He cups a hand under your chin and tilts your head back, eyes shifting from brown to black.

“Open up for me, baby. One more time.”

You oblige, his thumb and forefinger pressing gently into the hollow spaces between your upper and lower jaw. He runs the thumb of his free hand over your bottom lip, dragging it down, and spits directly into your mouth.

You blink up at him in surprise as he gently clasps your lips shut.

“Good girl. Think you’ve earned it now?” he asks you.

“Y-yes, Joel,” you answer as you swallow him down.

He moves away from you, grabbing a pillow from higher up on the bed and positioning it at your back.

He crouches in front of you, wrapping your hips with his muscled arms and dragging you to the edge of the bed, lifting and spreading your legs.

“Fuck, sweet girl. Fuckin’— fuckin’ soaked,” he growls.

If it’s possible, the attention makes you even wetter, causing you to cant your hips and clench around nothing. He chuckles.

“So needy, sweetheart. Get comfortable.”

You lean back onto the pillow and the way it smells like Joel makes you swoon. He pushes your legs together briefly to drag your panties down and off, tossing them onto the dresser pressed to the wall behind him.

“I’m keepin’ those,” he says. You don’t dare to question it.

He lifts himself slightly higher and reaches your breasts, gripping your bra in both hands, and before you can say anything, he rips it free from your body, leaving it in tatters on the bed next to you.

You want to say something. It’s not like bras are common nowadays, having to get them custom made most of the time, or be lucky enough to find one in a derelict store.

But, once again, you don’t question it. Your desperation for the release Joel is about to give you overrides the logical portions of your brain. You can worry about the scrap of fabric later.

He must read what you’re thinking on your face, because he says, “I’ll replace that for you. Panties, too.”

You nod. “Thanks.” You don’t know what else to say, but you forget about thinking soon enough anyway, because his mouth is on you in an instant, tongue parting your seam as he swipes up your slit.

You’re still so sensitive from the orgasm he denied you earlier, your back coming all the way off the bed when his tongue reaches your clit, your hand darting out to grip his hair for purchase; to ground you.

“Fuck!” you cry out.

He drags his teeth with the lightest pressure he can manage over the delicate bundle of nerves, keeping you spread open with his hand. Each pass has you mewling and writhing against him.

“You that desperate to come, sweetheart?” he asks, his lips glistening with your slick as he locks eyes with you.

“Yes, please,” you beg.

“Poor baby,” he jests, burying himself back into the hot apex of your thighs. He takes your clit between his lips, suckling it. You grind against his mouth, shamelessly chasing the high he denied you earlier as retribution.

He slips two fingers between your soaked folds, sinking them all the way to the hilt and crooking them against your g-spot, fucking into you with both fingers as his mouth showers your clit with much needed attention.

He can already feel you bearing down on his fingers, and he can’t help but grin as he fucks into you faster.

“Gonna come for me, angel?” he asks softly.

That’s all it takes; suddenly your orgasm is ripping through you, and you’re falling to pieces beneath him, the flood of your release dripping down and soaking the bed sheets below. He doesn’t pull away immediately, riding out your high as long as he can, murmuring at the taste of you on his tongue, his lips, until you indicate that the stimulation is too much. He stops, lifting his eyes to yours.

You’re a mess. An absolutely wrecked, fucked out mess.

He stands, motioning for you to move back. You do your best to climb up the bed at his behest, but truth be told, you’re absolutely weak from how hard you just came.

“Take your time,” he says, trailing a hand up your spine. It’s almost affectionate.

You eventually make it to the middle of the bed and he places the pillow behind your neck. You settle into it, situating yourself as best you can. He’s on you an instant later, caging you down into the sheets, his massive frame pressing you into the mattress as it groans under your combined weight.

The first time you fucked was not intimate, with you facing away from him in a dark alleyway as he railed into you from behind. You’re almost shy to be face to face with him like this.

He gnashes his teeth over your earlobe, bearing down on the soft flesh. “Gonna make you come again on my cock, darlin’,” he drawls in that sweet southern lilt in your ear. “Think you can take me all at once?”

You nod. “Yes, Joel. Know I can.”

“Know ya can too, sweetheart,” he agrees, shifting his weight on top of you as he lines his hips up with yours, slotting his head at your entrance. “Ready?”

You hardly have time to incline your head in a nod before he’s spearing into you, hips snapping roughly against yours as he enters you in one long, hard thrust. You cry out, arching beneath him at the intrusion.

“Fuck, baby. So goddamn tight,” he groans.

He angles your legs up, tilting them back so he can push himself further into you. He bottoms out, bumping your back wall with the head of his cock.

The stretch is almost too much. He’s almost filling you too much. But you’ve taken all of him before and know you can do it again.

He snaps into you one more time, making you keen. You’re both slippery with sweat, the breeze through the small window hardly providing any relief at all, but it doesn’t matter.

He props himself up on his elbows, hovering over you as he presses the flat of his hips into yours, rutting into you slowly. You shut your eyes and roll your head into the pillow.

“Uh uh. Eyes on me,” he growls. You don’t test him, your eyes flying open and making contact with his a second later, the ridge of his brow pinched in concentration. “Good girl,” he praises.

Every press into you, no matter how languid, is heavenly. No one has ever split you open like this before, made you ache like this before, and you don’t think anyone will compare ever again.

Not like you would ever want to be with anyone else after Joel.

“Joel…” you whimper, skating your fingers up his biceps. “Harder, fuck me harder,” you plead.

He smirks, twin dark eyes sparkling. “Not yet. Goin’ to enjoy you,” he replies, leaning back onto his calves so he can watch the way you swallow him. “Such a needy little cunt.” His words would make you drip if he wasn’t currently stuffing you full of him.

He lowers himself onto you, lips skirting your neck as he peppers the occasional kiss up the line that extends into your jaw. It’s surprisingly soft—for Joel, anyway—until he bears down with a sharp sting of teeth along the curve of your cheek, making you moan. He feels you clamp down on him in reverence to the small hurt.

“Such a dirty little slut,” he rumbles, soothing the area with his lips. “Only for me.”

You nod in agreement, shuddering beneath him, writhing with desire as he continues to pump steadily into you, nudging your clit with his lower belly on each pass. “Yours, only y-yours,” you agree.

He fists a handful of your hair and presses his lips into yours, your mouths merging in a clash of tongues and teeth, pausing on occasion to administer soft nips to your lips, making them puffy and swollen with use.

He’s marking you; claiming you. A stark contrast from only weeks ago.

You match the motions of his hips with your own, desirous to feel more of him, chasing the sensations of his cock driving into you, craving more. He’s still going so slow—agonizingly so.

He places a rough palm into your hip, preventing you from moving. “Tell me what you want,” he says.

“Need you to fuck me harder, Joel,” you beg.

“Only ‘f you ask nicely.”

“Please, please, fuck me harder,” you plead, slinking your fingers into his sweat-soaked hair. “Need to come again.”

“Okay, angel. Since ya asked so nice.” He grabs you just under your thighs, hiking your legs up above his hips, deepening the angle. You keen and buck against him at the added depth.

He begins slamming his hips into yours, your keening moans matching every wet and squelchy smack of his hips into yours, your combined utterances of pleasure filling the small space.

Each thrust threatens to knock every breath, every sense out of you; you feel the familiar pressure starting to flower deep in your core. His name becomes a chant on your tongue, which only spurs him on.

“Gonna come for me, angel?” he asks you, feeling your walls tightening around his length. You barely manage a nod, your head going swimmy at the thought.

His lips contort into a snarl, and he gives you everything he can, railing into you so hard the head board is slamming roughly into the wall. There’s a feral, hungry look in his eyes, seeing you and seeing through you all at the same time.

Suddenly, your vision turns to white stars and your head slumps back, hitting the pillow, crying out as a second orgasm crashes through you like a freight train.

“Fuck, Joel, yes—“

Joel isn’t far behind, his breaths becoming more ragged—more erratic—in the broad barrel of his chest, jaw going slack as he clamps his eyes shut in concentration. His hips stutter into you and stall out for a brief moment and then he’s pulling himself free of your soaked folds, gripping himself in his fist and pumping a few times before he’s spilling thick rivulets of cum across your stomach and mound, your name departing his lips multiple times as he milks out the last few drops.

He stays perched over you for just a moment, admiring his work; you’re both breathless and drenched in sweat, and he falls back onto the sheets next to you, his chest heaving as he sucks in as much oxygen as he can.

“That was—“ he begins, lungs shuddering in his chest. “Fuck, baby. Thank you.”

You smile, propping yourself up on your elbow next to him, leaning down to place a soft kiss to his temple.

“No, Joel. Thank you.”

He looks at you. There’s a gentleness in his eyes, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this soft and vulnerable before. It makes your heart sing.

You fall back onto the bed next to him, still in the process of catching your breath, a cool breeze spilling through the window just in time to fan over your sweat-slick bodies. And you lie there in silent worship for who knows how long, basking in the afterglow.

——

You shower together to conserve the limited usage of water. As soon as the last of the shampoo is rinsed from your hair, he reaches behind you and cuts it off.

You didn’t expect Joel to let you shower at his place. You had been showering daily at Tommy and Maria’s for so long—practically living there for the most part aside from sleeping arrangements—that you had half expected to do the walk of shame to their house afterward.

You’re relieved when Joel offers to let you use his instead.

You both step out of the shower in tandem, dripping onto the bath mat as you stand shoulder to shoulder in the small en suite. He passes you a towel, and you both dry yourselves in silence.

You aren’t talking as usual—Joel being a man of few words—but it isn’t tense as it usually is. It’s a peaceful, relaxed silence, one that doesn’t make you second guess your every minute gesture.

Together, you go back into his bedroom. When you’re done with the towel, he takes it from you, tossing it onto a second pile of laundry in the opposite corner.

“Classy,” you tease. He smirks, and you think you might hear a faint chuckle.

You don’t expect to take this as anything other than face value—just sex—so you aren’t going to assume that he’ll want you to stay. You wonder how long he’ll ignore you this time before wanting to fuck you again.

You bend to the floor to retrieve your pants and shirt, not exactly thrilled to be slipping back into soiled material that stinks of sweat and horses, but it’s all you have available. Joel stops you the moment your fingers graze your jeans.

“What’re you doin’?” he asks.

You arch a quizzical brow at him. “Getting dressed?”

“Not’n that. You can wear somethin’ of mine to sleep in.”

You lift both brows, this time. “Sleep in?”

“Didn’t figure you’d want to go back to that uncomfortable cot,” he says. You balk.

First he asks you to shower with him and now he’s asking you to stay?

For how long?

“Sure.”

He tosses you one of his shirts—Miller Contracting, Austin, TX, it reads, and you think to yourself that’s an odd coincidence, slipping it over your head and shrugging into it. It swallows you, falling about mid-thigh.

Joel strips off the soiled bedding and replaces it with freshly cleaned linens, which he pulls from the dresser, and to your surprise they’re actually folded neatly. Maria or Ellie must have done that for him.

You fix dinner for the two of you in his kitchen—which doesn’t consist of much—namely some leftover rabbit and root vegetables from the community garden, and some slices of unleavened bread.

You had done the bulk of the cooking at your grandparents’ cabin, and what had once felt like a chore now made your heart feel full as Joel cleans his plate in front of you.

You spend the rest of the evening sharing the bottle of whiskey, laughing and swapping stories, reminiscing about the days before outbreak.

When the night grows long and the inevitability of sleep settles like a fog over both of you, you climb into bed together, but not for sex this time.

The idea of actually getting to sleep in a real bed in as many months fills you with a type of elation you had forgotten exists.

Joel pulls the blanket up over you, kissing you between your eyes before dragging your arm across his torso as he rolls the opposite way, his back now facing your front. You’re confused for a moment until it dawns on you—it’s strategical positioning, placing himself between you and the door, should a need ever arise from it. Hopefully it never will.

It makes your heart thrum happily in your chest. You kiss his exposed shoulder blade, and he damn near purrs.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

“G’night,” he repeats, saying your name sleepily. There’s a short pause. “Hey.”

“What?” you ask.

“Don’t want you to leave Jackson,” he states.

You smile, hugging him tighter, burying your face into the curly strands of hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m not going anywhere,” you say.

#writing #romance #smut #author #fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro fanfic #the last of us #joel x reader #joel fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fic

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maximura · 5 days ago

Text

Ad Astra: The Theory Of Relativity | An Interstellar Ateez Story | Chapter 10

Words: 6k. Warnings: Science and swearing. You can also read it on A03.

****

They’re in the middle of a training exercise when Hongjoong realises just how fragile the entire Lazarus mission is and how ridiculous it is that something so monumentally important should hinge on something as small and trivial as human relationship. Hope for billions of lives, resting on the chemistry between four people. It shouldn’t matter what anybody thinks of him.

But it does.

It matters that Wonwoo and Hyunjae trust him to lead them even though he’s been brought in at the last minute. It matters that NASA respects his judgement even though they have every reason to hesitate. It matters that his qualifications and knowledge are recognised.

And it matters that Park Seonghwa believes Kim Hongjoong is right for this job.

A physics equation has no chance of success if the hands that control it aren’t compelled to use it.

It keeps Hongjoong up at night. Just wondering. Seonghwa hadn’t chosen him. NASA, Professor Park and then Seungcheol had chosen him. His brain has tried to convince him that it doesn’t matter.

But his heart tells him it does.

“What’s up with you?” Yunho asks at breakfast, in between bites of the cornbread he made that morning.

And that’s the other problem.

Hongjoong hasn’t told his brothers about the mission. They still don’t know that in seven months time, he’ll be flying perhaps one of the last interstellar missions, with no guarantee of return or success.

The indigestion and insomnia gnaws away at Hongjoong. He can’t remember when he last had a decent night’s sleep. Maybe when he was seventeen.

Yunho, with his sense of duty, will dissociate from the grief and force himself to be strong and carry on. Hongjoong worries about him less, though only slightly.

It’s Wooyoung that he saves most of his worrying for. Fifteen going on Thirty, jaded by tragedy but still so enthusiastic about life and living. He’s always been the one that reminds Hongjoong to live and keep on living.

Breaking the news to him will be one of the hardest things Hongjoong will have to do, and he’s already told that kid a lifetime of bad news.

For now, Hongjoong reminds himself to savour the time they have left together.

“It’s just work stuff.”

“NASA work or Farm work?”

“NASA.”

“What? You can’t handle training those nerds in your old age?” Yunho teases.

“Actually, yeah.” Hongjoong replies with a snort. “You’d think I’d be used to raising brats by now.”

“I haven’t been a brat since-“

“-last week.”

Yunho puts his fork down and crosses his arms in defence. “I told you that it was Mingi’s idea to take the truck to the old river. It was meant to be dried up. How was I supposed to know it was still wet and full of mud?!”

“It’s funny how it’s always Mingi’s idea when he’s not here to defend himself. I’m starting to think that kid is a bad influence on you. You sure you want him as your best friend?”

“There’s nothing wrong with him!” Yunho huffs in indignation. “He’s not a bad influence. He’s got a job and everything! He’s got multiple jobs actually!”

“Yeah yeah, I know. Well, at least I finally got round to teaching you how to winch a truck out of mud. Wasn’t exactly ideal but at least you know now.”

“Mingi could’ve taught me. He really loves that sort of thing. He’s pretty good at it. I mean, almost as good as you.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes internally.

But this was something Hongjoong already knew about Song Mingi: despite the outwardly airheaded golden retriever personality, he is a (surprisingly) emotionally intelligent and practical kid when it really mattered. Hongjoong can see why Yunho has stayed friends with him all these years, when so many others kids have come and gone.

They’ve all heard stories about Mingi since grade school. He was an equally gangly and tall kid who became Yunho’s friend due to proximity and virtue of height; they found themselves always seated at the back, always stood behind all the other students, always book-ending photos so not to steal focus for their shorter colleagues.

Hongjoong hadn’t kept up with it all when their parents died but knows he should’ve. It’s another regret he stuffs away in the corner of his brain.

Song Mingi was polite enough, if not a bit too loud and lacking control of his body, which often times seemed both too big and too small to contain him. Yunho had never called Mingi his best friend. They could spend days together then weeks apart, it hadn’t mattered to their friendship, which always picked up where it left off, whether that was two hours ago or two weeks.

Hongjoong knew of Mingi’s parents, had spoken to them many times over the years, though that too had dropped off once his own parents died. He isn’t proud to admit that, back then in his youth, he felt a deep resentment towards anybody who still had parents. Adulthood dulled those thoughts but the sting never really leaves. It’s just another shame he harbours quietly in secret.

Mingi’s parents are both still alive, both working at the local desalination and water filtration plant. It was expected that Mingi would follow in their footsteps after high school and he had in a way; choosing to spend half his time there to help his parents and the other half with Yunho at the Mill. And the third half, in the spare time he doesn’t have, he spends volunteering at the local fire station, which is likely why he knows how to winch cars out of mud.

“He was pretty good.” Hongjoong nods in agreement. “How’s he handling all his jobs?”

Yunho looks up in mild surprise, abandoning the bread crumbs on his plate. “What?”

“What?” Hongjoong mirrors. “Why do you look so shocked? I’m not allowed to ask you about your friends?”

“You’ve just never been that interested in him before. I thought he annoyed you and he definitely thinks you hate him.”

Hongjoong frowns at that. He hadn’t even notice.

“I don’t hate him.”

“Well, I know that.” Yunho says emphatically. “I keep telling him you’re just a grumpy old man but he’s taking it personally.”

“I’ll…try harder to be nice next time.”

“Yeah but do it gradually. Otherwise he’ll know we’ve been talking about him. Be chill about it.”

“Chill? Geez, you’re talking about the same kid that used to throw a tantrum over Monopoly real estate?”

“He still does that. He’s a Leo, what did you expect?” Yunho says, as if the astrology explains everything.

“And you want me to be chill?”

Yunho shrugs in response and they both turn when Wooyoung’s footsteps thunder down the stairs.

“Are you guys talking about me?”

“You know not everything revolves around you and your problems right?” Yunho says with an eye roll.

Wooyoung sits down at the table with a grin. “Or maybe it does. You never know.”

“You’re being sus.” Yunho says, narrowing his eyes. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! Why do you always think I did something!”

Hongjoong sighs. “Wooyoung-“

“Okay okay, so I was talking to San on our radio, about SPIKE, when Seonghwa came in his room and then I was talking to Seonghwa, did you know he’s been working on more robots? So anyway, I was telling him about the military drone chip we found and how it’s crazy powerful for a small robot like SPIKE and then…”

Wooyoung takes a breath as his brothers both wait expectantly for the conclusion.

“…he said he’d might have some old NASA robot parts he can give me!”

Hongjoong puts his fork down. “He said that?”

“Yeah? He said it was stuff they weren’t going to use because it needed too much time and work. So he’ll give it to me. Can you believe it?!” Wooyoung’s joyful expression falls for a moment. “I can keep them right?”

Hongjoong finds himself nodding, mind still trying to process the fact that Seonghwa has been talking to his little brother.

“I promise I’ll take care of it all.” Wooyoung continues. “And I won’t let it distract me from school and work stuff."

“You can keep them. Just be sensible. And don’t blow up the basement.”

“I’m always sensible.” Wooyoung nods gravely. “And the last incident wasn’t really my fault.”

Yunho snorts. “So it was one of your space ghosts that started the fire?”

Wooyoung chews on his cornbread, seemingly ignoring the jab, before calmly swallowing. “Hongjoong, tell Yunho he’s just jealous Seonghwa isn’t giving him any robot parts.”

“I don’t even want them!”

“Everyone wants stuff from NASA!”

“Trust me, we don’t. Not everyone is obsessed like you.”

“Hongjoong, tell Yunho to go hang out with the flat-earth truthers.”

“Hongjoong, tell Wooyoung he’s such a child.”

Hongjoong doesn’t do either. He lets Wooyoung swipe the crispy corners of his bread and doesn’t stop Yunho from pouring obscene amounts of syrup onto his breakfast. He just lets life happen.

They have the rest of their meal in loud chaos, where the conversation swerves from one topic to the next, and it never ceases to amaze Hongjoong how opinionated and intelligent both of his brothers have grown up to be, and how they will disagree on just about anything. r

During a discussion about who the best Batman villain is (Yunho thinks it’s Ra's Al Ghul, Hongjoong went for the classic Joker and Wooyoung picked Selina Kyle because “she actually won”), Hongjoong becomes hyper aware of the fact he might only have a few more months of this left. There was a time when Hongjoong would be annoyed if one of his brothers breathed too loudly in the next room or ate his junk food but that feels like a whole other lifetime ago. He’s changed, so have they, and one day, in the not too distant future, he will miss all this loud mundaneness.

Maybe this is the last of it.

Maybe this is the last time Wooyoung will steal the crispy bits of cornbread. Or the last time Hongjoong will be able to eat something Yunho cooked. Or the last time they’re in the same room together, bickering about things that don’t really matter in the grand scheme of life but definitely matter in the here and now.

His mind drifts to the other side of town, wondering if Seonghwa is feeling the same thing as he eats breakfast with San and whether he too can hear the same loud ticking of a silent countdown.

He wonders if San knows everything about the Mission yet, because once San knows, Wooyoung will know.

He really needs to talk to Seonghwa about this.

****

It’s the following week, during a flight landing exercise, that Hongjoong blurts it out.

“Does San know about the Mission?”

Seonghwa, still a little stiff in the neck, turns to the question slowly and with a guarded expression.

“Yes. All the trainees know about the Lazarus Mission.”

“But does he know you’re leaving?”

“No.” There’s a flicker of uncertainty and sadness as Seonghwa looks away for a split second. “Does Wooyoung?”

“No.” Hongjoong replies. “When are you planning on telling San?”

“After the evaluations.”

“That’s in a fortnight.”

“It’s unnecessary to worry him if I don’t pass my physical assessment. You might be flying with someone else.” The physicist says with a wry smile.

Hongjoong frowns before ending the training exercise, causing the simulator to grind to a halt. “They made me Captain but this is your mission. We can’t fly without you.”

Seonghwa looks up with a sigh when his monitor blacks out. “Of course you can. You’re the pilot. I was never meant to fly in the first place. That wasn’t part of the original plan.”

“Yes it was.” Hongjoong insists. “You were always part of the plan.”

“How do you know that?” Seonghwa laughs. “Have you been talking to my father again? Did he spin some tale about destiny and fate?”

Hongjoong doesn’t have an answer, just more questions.

“Why wouldn’t you pass the evaluations? You’ve been to the physiotherapist and neurologist to fix your gravitational vertigo and I know you’re now physically and psychologically capable of interstellar flight.”

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow, taken aback but just how closely Hongjoong has been studying and paying attention to everything, but he’s the Captain after all, of course he would know the health status of his crew and read the countless mission reports.

“We all have to meet the same criteria. It’s up to NASA now.”

“The mission will fail if you don’t fly.”

“You don’t know that. NASA will send the most competent man for the job. Wonwoo has been briefed on everything I know-“

“Well that’s sounds like bullshit.” Hongjoong mutters under his breath. “How can he know everything you know?”

It’s loud enough for Seonghwa to hear but he presses on regardless. “Wonwoo is a ready and capable member of NASA. He-“

“-isn’t you.”

Seonghwa takes off his gloves and sits back in his chair with an amused smirk. “Is that your criteria for acceptable mission personnel? That one of them just has to be me?”

Hongjoong huffs in frustration and sits back in his own chair by way of answer.

“It’s a bit biased, don’t you think Hongjoong? And very unfair to other scientists who weren’t born me.”

Hongjoong cringes inwardly as Seonghwa continues, voice filled with the same kind of arrogant amusement he heard when they first met.

“It’s a moot point anyhow. Of course this Mission is mine. They’ll ground me to their own detriment. Nobody knows this mission like I do.”

Hongjoong smiles to himself. That’s more like it: this is the Park Seonghwa he remembers from their first meeting.

“Why does that sound like a threat?”

“Because it is.” Seonghwa replies frankly, before his sharp features softens its edges. “But to answer your other question, I’ll make sure San won’t say anything to Wooyoung until you’ve had the chance to. I know it’s important to you.”

Hongjoong hadn’t asked that question but Seonghwa seems to have heard it anyway. He turns to regard the Doctor again, who has gone back to staring at the blackened monitors, and suddenly wonders if he’s ever had anyone best him so consistently before.

Part of him is somehow okay with that.

The other part can see the conflict.

And it’s a conflict that Hongjoong learns it the hard way when the main Mission crew are called up to their first team simulation exercise. He learns that there is such a thing as too many cooks in the kitchen and that too many brains doesn’t necessarily equate to collective intelligence.

“The docking sequence is ready to go. Call it, Cap.” Wonwoo says from his position as station support.

Hongjoong settles into the Captain’s seat and nods. “Situation report, Hyunjae?”

“We’re going too fast. We’re off by 0.8 of a second. If the velocities don’t match, we will grind the metal and risk damaging the seal. No seal means no airlock and no airlock means certain catastrophic death.”

“Okay, just the report will do. No need for the morbid dread.”

“Oh that part is free, Cap.”

Hongjoong just shakes his head. “Our options are to burn the thrusters to slow down and match the velocity to the station, or we hover and wait for the gravitational pull from Titan to match our speed.”

Hongjoong contemplates the scenario. “If we burn thrusters, we will use more fuel, which is a finite resource we can’t easily get more of, but it will save time. If we rely on the gravitational pull, we’ll conserve fuel but lose time.”

“What’s the split Wonwoo? How much fuel will we save? And how much time will we lose?”

“0.8% fuel but that’s potentially enough to reach a nearby wormhole or planetary system-“

“Fuel is there to be used. This isn’t about conserving fuel.” Seonghwa points out. “I suggest we remember the objectives of this mission.”

“I am aware of the mission objectives. There’s no point making a ground breaking discovery if we can’t get back home.” Hongjoong counters. “I think we should wait for the gravitational pull. Save the fuel.”

“And the Mission is futile if we don’t make a ground breaking discovery at all.” Seonghwa fires back. “I think we should burn the thrusters, use the fuel, save time for extra exploratory travel. We can transmit data back, even if the rest of the Mission is unsuccessful.”

“Incomplete data is useless. We need data from both Titan and the black hole. They’ll never solve the relativity equation without it.”

“Which is precisely why we should save time for exploration and travel.”

“It’s why we should save fuel to enable exploration and travel.”

Seonghwa wants to say something more but doesn’t. It’s just a training exercise but Hongjoong is irritated by it.

“Let’s vote on it then.”

Wonwoo and Hyunjae shift uncomfortably in their seats.

“The data shows both options are viable.” Wonwoo says carefully. “Depending on which end point we want: save time or save fuel.”

Hyunjae clears his throat. “I should remind you all that we’re outside Titan. The time dilation here is not as significant as near a black hole as big as Lux Aeterna, but it’s still significant.”

“What’s the ratio?”

“Every minute near Titan is a day on Earth. So twenty minutes here is nearly a month on Earth. We will need to hover for close to 40 minutes if you want to rely on gravity to slow us down. That’s two months in Earth time. Near Lux Aeterna, every minute is a month of Earth time. A forty minute pause will cost you nearly a year.”

The other two scientists split their vote. Seonghwa is the last to decide.

“It’s a dead tie. Protocol dictates it’s the captains call.” Hyunjae says.

They use the gravitational pull, conserve the fuel and dock the ship.

The simulation ends.

It’s technically a success but it doesn’t feel like one.

And Seonghwa walks off with a scowl.

“No, let him be.” Wonwoo says, holding Hongjoong’s arm to stop him from following. “Talking isn’t his way of fixing things.”

“Well what is?”

“Good science.” Wonwoo says without missing a beat. “You know he’s not a talker.”

Hongjoong sighs. “Well that’s going to be a problem once we’re up there. If he doesn’t talk, we’re never going to be a team.”

“Just give it some time.”

“Time?” Hongjoong laughs. “We don’t have time. Time is why we have a problem.”

Wonwoo smiles and puts his glasses back on. “Yeah, I know. It sounded stupid as soon as I said it.”

Mercifully, their next team task is getting the robotic cybersynk ready but this involves two procedures to install the transmitters first. It’s Hyunjae’s task to do it and Hongjoong is relieved.

Choi Hyunjae is older than the other three. He has been a loyal and dedicated member of the Professor’s team for years. Hongjoong met him during his early training but not much since, as one pursued theoretical physics and the other flight.

Hyunjae is quiet, fiercely intelligent and darkly humorous.

And he approaches Hongjoong now with a gun.

“What the hell is that?”

“NeuroTransmitter Insertion Device.”

“It’s a tagging gun.”

“Yeah, it’s a tagging gun.” Hyunjae grins. “Actually the biologists used it to tag livestock. We thought it would prove helpful at NASA. Especially tagging black sheep.”

Hongjoong gives him a withering glare. “Anyway, I read your briefing. One transmitter in my arm and the other in my neck and this should sync me with CAASI and LEO for the interstellar mission, right?”

“Yes, the arm is easy, just pick one. But the neck, well, it’s going to sting going in and for days after.”

“It’s not going to turn me into a cyborg or anything right?”

Hyunjae grins again, wickedly joyous this time. “Well, what if it does? Too late for you to back out. Can’t wait for you to sync up with CAASI.”

“That thing hates me.”

“It’s a machine. It doesn’t have human emotions Hongjoong.” Hyunjae says, swabbing antiseptic on Hongjoong’s right forearm.

“It does! When I first met it, it tasered me!”

“You broke into a NASA facility. You’re lucky you only got tasered.”

“Yeah yeah, let’s get this over with.” Hongjoong grumbles, tensing his arm before Hyunjae swats him to relax it.

It takes all but a second, too quick to really register pain, but the loud metallic clunk echoes in the lab, and as Hyunjae glues up the wound, Hongjoong wonders what would happen if, when, they succeed in the mission and the device has to come out. Or maybe he’d just have to live with it forever.

The neck neuraltransmitter is more difficult and delicate, due to its close proximity to both his brain and spinal cord. Hyunjae instructs him to lay face down on the examination bed for the scanner to map out the planes of his neck and spine. He’s seen a machine like this before, back when his parents were in and out of hospital for radiation treatment.

Only this time, there’s a robotic arm attached to a console, where Hyunjae sits, peering into a microscope to program the insertion site within a millimeter of accuracy.

“I need you to lay as still as possible. Seonghwa is going to numb your neck but it’s going sting going in.”

“Seonghwa? Why does-“

Before Hongjoong can protest it, there’s a hand against the back of his head, then fingers feeling for the bony landmarks of his spine. It makes every hair on his body stand on end.

“-because I’m qualified and they need someone who knows what they’re doing.”

The antiseptic is cold, which doesn’t bother him, but the anaesthetic injections, all four of them, sting sharply going in.

“Ah, fuck.” Hongjoong mutters through gritted teeth.

Above him, Seonghwa holds some gauze to where his neck bleeds, massaging firm pressure. “The tattoo was worse than this, surely.”

“Nope, this is worse.” Hongjoong replies, before pausing abruptly in thought.

How does Seonghwa even know about his tattoo. It’s not on a particular visible part of his body.

The gauze rubs a few more circles into his neck before it leaves altogether, the skin feeling numb and tingling now.

“Well, it’s about to get worse.”

The robotic arm burns the code into his neck. Not unlike a tattoo but in place of ink, it embeds inert metal. Even with the anaesthesia, it burns hot and searing.

Hongjoong curses into the pillow and counts down by the second, trying to think of something calming; big skies, wide fields, slow rivers, quiet sunsets and vast space.

It’s only half effective.

By the time the procedure is finished, he’s completely out of breath and would kill for an ice pack and shot of whisky.

“It’s all done!” Hyunjae announces cheerfully as he comes to inspect his handiwork. “It looks good. Well actually, it looks like a minor murder scene but it’ll look good when it heals.”

Hongjoong throws him a glare. “That better be it. You said it’d only sting. That was a flesh burn.”

“You’ve been through worse, you big wimp, but you can go now. Unless you want to watch us torture Seonghwa.”

He really doesn’t but Hongjoong can hear the faint cursing and groans as he exits the lab.

****

Having control of your own limbs is unconscious until you lose it, much like breathing, it’s not something a human notices until someone mentions it.

Having control of something else, be it a space ship or a robot is surreal and unnerving and thrilling all at once.

They ask Hongjoong to test the cybersynk program in Seonghwa’s lab a few days later when the flesh burn has healed.

It’s only then that Hongjoong realises he’s never been in Seonghwa’s lab before, it feels intrusive walking in but the door is already open so he figures it’s fine.

The space is neat, except for a stack of notebooks in the corner, some opened, dog-eared and scrawled over. Some pristine without a single mark on the pages.

There’s a big desk made of black wood, on-top on which sits four or five black fountain pens in a crystal glass. There’s exactly one photo, that Hongjoong peeks at as he passes, it’s of a younger San, sitting on a prototype robot, grinning toothily, with a lanky teenage Seonghwa and the Professor smiling in the background. San is waving at the person taking the photo and Hongjoong wonders if that was Seonghwa’s mother.

That very physicist, all grown up now, is towards the back of the lab, crouched in front of CAASI, whose red light is blinking threateningly, telling Hongjoong it must already be processing everything.

“Don’t embarrass me CAASI, just look for his signature like you did with mine.” Seonghwa says quietly.

“Confirmed. Zero percent embarrassment.”

Hongjoong smiles in amusement and knocks on the table, waiting for Seonghwa to look up.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Good afternoon, Kim Hongjoong.”

“Uh, good afternoon CAASI.” Hongjoong says, feeling self conscious that he’s talking to a machine. “How did it know it’s me? We haven’t turned the Cybersynk on.”

“Well, he does have a sophisticated scanner system and facial recognition programming. I haven’t disabled those yet. This is NASA, not some backyard robot.”

“I know, I just thought erm….” Hongjoong chuckles nervously but doesn’t know how else to defend himself.

“The link is for when we’re interstellar.” Seonghwa explains, mercifully ignoring the awkward stammering. “So you can pilot and control CAASI and LEO without being in close physical distance or line of sight. But we have to prove it works on Earth first.”

“It’s never really been put into practice before has it? The files weren’t clear.”

Seonghwa shakes his head. “Yes and no. It went into flight once but NASA thought it was a waste of money because we had enough expendable human personnel at the time. We don’t now, so Hyunjae’s been doing victory laps of vindication ever since it’s been back online.”

“Why didn’t he get the link himself? Why did NASA only approve you and me for cybersynk?”

“That’s a question you’ll need to ask Hyunjae himself. And yes, we will both have control of CAASI and LEO but protocol dictates they’ll be programmed to follow you first, as the Mission’s Captain. Unless, of course, your orders contradict the data and laws.”

First Law: A robot cannot injure a human or allow a human to be harmed through inaction. Second Law: A robot must obey human orders, except when those orders conflict with the First Law. Third Law: A robot must protect its own existence, as long as it doesn't conflict with the First or Second Law. -Isaac Asimov

“Seems risky that it can override my commands.”

“It isn’t an override system. They will just not execute them if your commands violate those laws.” Seonghwa says as he stands up. “You should remember that they can process a million data points faster than you can. My suggestion would be to make decisions based on the best science you have at the time. When you want accurate probability and impartial information, use the robots. If you can’t be impartial, well, I guess that’s why my father wanted you on the team.”

It’s the way it’s said that unexpected stabs at Hongjoong.

Hyunjae interrupts their conversation by announcing his arrival with a childlike glee. “Okay Hongjoong, ready to become a cyborg overlord?”

Hongjoong’s not sure what he was expecting, maybe some electric shock or big lever to be pulled. In the end, all it took was for a specific code to be entered and activated.

CAASI’s red light blinks bright crystalline blue.

Hyunjae nods to Seonghwa to disable the robots old system and activate the new programming. They give Hongjoong a walkie-talkie and send him out the lab.

Through the comms, he can hear:

“CAASI, find Kim Hongjoong.”

“Finding Kim Hongjoong...... Located. East block. NASA Headquarters. Boardroom A. Exterminate or neutralise? Conditions favourable for both.”

Seonghwa’s amused voice crackles through the walkie-talkie. “Neither, good job CAASI. Stand down.”

“Affirmative. Standing down. Maybe next time Doctor Park.”

Hongjoong’s neck tattoo tingles.“What did it say? Next time what?”

“Next time Doctor Park may not be present to order a stand down. I may go rogue.”

Hongjoong splutters in disbelief. “What? He can do that?”

“He’s joking.” Hyunjae snorts. “He has humour settings. To mimic normal human conversation. You know, to make us more comfortable.”

“Comfortable? What’s his setting on? 98% dark and morbid?”

“95%. But I can be adjusted for your fragile disposition. You’re not as entertaining as Doctor Park.”

Hongjoong huffs through the walkie-talkie. “Listen here you punk, you’re dialling it down to 70%. That’s an order.”

“70% Humour settings. Affirmative.”

When Hongjoong makes it back to Seonghwa’s lab, he asks the man, “You deliberately programmed it like this?”

“It’s kind of funny.” Wonwoo grins. “And obviously the link works for you now.”

“It’s kind of psychotic. That thing has it out for me.”

Seonghwa barely conceals his eye roll. “He does not.”

“Why does it even need humour settings? It’s a mission robot isn’t it? We just need it to execute human led orders. Why does it need a personality that back talks?”

The other three scientists exchange a silent look between them and Hongjoong knows he’s missed something when Seonghwa speaks to him with a serious expression on his face.

“Greater humans have gone mad in the isolation of space. We’ve lost valuable missions and personnel, not from dangerous environments or lack of supplies, but loneliness. I designed CAASI and LEO to be as human as a machine of their purpose can be. If you should ever find yourself alone on a hostile planet, you may view their human-like features more favourably.”

Hyunjae hums sagely before lightening the mood and redirecting them to test out the next robot.

“Come on, you morose lot, let’s sync up LEO while we’re here.”

A smaller unit enters the room, after Hyunjae inputs the same coding to activate it, its blue light starts blinking and Hongjoong feels another sensation down his spine.

Instead of sending him out the lab again, Seonghwa leads LEO down the hall to an undisclosed location.

“LEO, find Kim Hongjoong.”

“Finding Kim Hongjoong. Located. East block. NASA Headquarters. Laboratory of Doctor Park Seonghwa. Awaiting next orders, Captain.”

“Oh, this one I like.” Hongjoong says with a grin. “What’s its humour settings on?”

“My humour settings are not yet activated. Would you like to set them now?”

“LEO, humour settings 70%.”

“Humour setting 70%. A conservative decision but appropriate given the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” Hongjoong asks.

“I have deduced you are still on Earth and have not entered an environment that requires my humour to distract you from peril.”

“Oh, a smart ass huh?” Hongjoong says, looking at Seonghwa as the Doctor re-enters the room and merely shrugs nonchalantly, as if it should’ve been expected.

“Okay great.” Wonwoo says, clapping his hands together. “So the link is functional at close range and you’re all good at playing Where’s Waldo. How about we attempt something a little more advanced? Like, another docking sequence.”

“Ah, the team favourite.” Hyunjae snarks heartily. “Hopefully it’s less mutinous than our last attempt.”

It isn’t.

It’s worse.

They accurately assess their situation with CAASI’s guidance and LEO's data, both robots following Hongjoong’s commands through the cybersynk with only a few glitches, which will be patched before the next flight, but eventually a small argument breaks out when the question of time versus fuel resurfaces.

Professor Park hears about it in great detail when Seonghwa visits him later that afternoon.

“You cannot both be right every time. Only science is right.” The Old man chuckles.

“It was a docking manoeuvre. There should only be one right outcome. He insists on conserving fuel and resources, despite the fact that the purpose of the Lazarus Mission is to explore new planetary systems. We won’t explore enough space if we only focus on coming home.”

“And your mission will not be a success if you are adrift at sea without a beacon or chance of rescue. He’s being what we ask of him: a Captain.”

“Does he also have to be so contrary? He has a problem with every second thing I say.”

“Then you need to communicate this to him. He’s motivations may be different to yours.”

“Our motivations and goals should be the same: they should align with the mission!”

“He is not your enemy Seonghwa.”

“I know.”

“Don’t get comfortable thinking of him that way.”

Seonghwa sinks into the chair. “Why did you involve him? The Lazarus Mission was always meant to be piloted by Commander Song.”

“But did Commander Song ever challenge you like this?”

“I don’t really enjoy having to work so hard for every single decision on a mission that I know more about than everyone, except you.”

The old man peers over his glasses with a knowing look. “You don’t enjoy the challenge?”

“No! The odds are against us, even before we’ve launched. I don’t need some stubborn pilot to make my life more difficult up there. And why is he risk averse when it really matters? Where’s the law breaking rebel you promised me he’d be?”

“Come now, Seonghwa. Your metrics for success are not the same as his but you know he’s the best man for the job.”

“Father…”

“I believe him to be your equal. Or the closest thing to it.”

Seonghwa doesn’t understand how that could be true. “But we’re nothing alike.”

“I said, equal, not similar. He is able to consider ideas you haven’t even thought of. And you are able to solve problems that he will never be able to process. Your compassion and understanding for each other is crucial to the Mission’s success.”

“You didn’t even know he was still around six months ago!”

With a sharp look that belies his age, Professor Park says, “I did. I’ve kept my eyes on him throughout the years but he had to come to us on his own terms.”

Seonghwa sighs. “If you knew he was a good pilot-“

“He’s an exceptional pilot.”

“Okay, if you knew he was an exceptional pilot, why didn’t you involve him from the start. We started working on Lazarus years ago.”

“He was not the same man years ago. You forget his parents died and he was on disciplinary hiatus from NASA back then. We were very much the enemy. He would not have come willingly. The tragedy, the very fact he needed to pause his life to raise his brothers is precisely why he’s agreed to join us now. What stronger motivation for a dangerous science experiment than love and survival.”

Seonghwa screws up his face.

Professor Park chuckles. “Do you really have an aversion to love and friendship or is it just a habit at this point?”

“I don’t have an aversion! I care about plenty of things.”

“I know you do.” Professor Park says gently now. “You always try your best. But let Hongjoong try his best too. He’s done remarkably well educating himself over the past few months.”

Seonghwa doesn’t want to dwell on the looming Mission anymore. He’s mentally and physically fatigued from the worrying.

“I wish this was over with already. Waiting is the worse part.”

The Professor hums knowingly before sitting up. “I will guarantee that one day, when you’re up there, flying past Saturn, and I’m long gone-“

Seonghwa startles at that. “Dad...”

“Let me finish. One day I will be long gone and you will be on Mission, you will be prepared to give up everything you have to be in the place you are now. Savour the time Seonghwa. You can’t know how precious this current present is. You will only understand when you are up there.”

“I know time is precious.” Seonghwa says quietly. “All I think about is time and schedules and how I have to leave you and San behind.”

“He will understand.”

“Will he?” Seonghwa snorts sadly. “He’s going to throw a tantrum.”

“Well, he is sixteen after all.”

They both laugh.

“What have you told him?”

Seonghwa slumps down into his chair again, the weight of the question, the heaviest of all.

“He just knows NASA kept me on the Lazarus team. We’re all technically Earth Crew until we pass our physical evaluations. Which I will. He doesn’t know I’ll be flying.”

“When will you tell him?”

“After final evaluations are confirmed.”

“He will understand.” Professor Park repeats. “He grew up in NASA. He knew of hydrogen economics and terminal velocities before he knew how to drive a car. He will understand why you must leave.”

Seonghwa nods. “Actually, Hongjoong taught him how to drive just last week.”

“I know, he told me. Very proud of himself but worried you’d be upset that he didn’t ask you to teach him first.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Oh?”

Seonghwa sighs. “Alright, I am a little upset. Not that he prefers Hongjoong, they’re so alike so that part makes logical sense, it’s just how secretive he was. I only discovered it all when I came to the farm to pick him up.”

“Well, he wanted to surprise you. Telling you would defeat the purpose. He wanted to show you that there’s one less thing you need to worry about.”

Seonghwa looks up, shocked he hadn’t thought of that reason himself. “But I don’t mind driving him. It’s the only time we really see each other and can talk.”

Professor Parks smiles. “Perhaps you need to talk some more, hmm?”

“I need to schedule it in. Did he tell you Wooyoung built a radio and they’re on it every night?”

“I have heard about it in great detail. Dare I say he is obsessed with it?”

“He’s completely obsessed with it and Wooyoung. They’re all he ever talks about.”

The Professor takes in the statement with its bittersweet edges and lets it linger between them in the quiet confines of the hospital room.

“He hasn’t replaced you. If that’s what you are worried about.”

“I’m not worried-“

Another stern look from his father has Seonghwa closing his mouth.

“This is what parenting is like. It’s a series of goodbyes until the very last and final goodbye. You’ve done a good job with him Seonghwa, so much so that he feels brave enough to finally committ to a friendship after all these years. This is what you had hoped for isn’t it?”

And Seonghwa knows he should count it as a success. That this project, this mission, for San to finally connect and open up to someone that isn’t just him, has finally been completed.

It’s a success, it just barely feels like one. In seven months he’ll be leaving, but right now, he’s the one that feels left behind.

“The melancholy is bittersweet. But your bird must fly the coop. As does mine.”

It doesn’t make Seonghwa feel any better.

“You’ll make sure he’s alright? You and NASA. When I’m gone.”

“Of course.”

With heavy footsteps Seonghwa leaves the hospital once again. It’s early sunset outside, the sky pale blue with swirls of pink, visible even through the dust haze. It’s almost peaceful, if not for the anxiety on his mind.

#Ad Astra: The Theory of Relativity #Ad Astra au #Ateez AU #ateez fanfic #interstellar au #ateez au #space #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #mingi #wooyoung #san #jongho #yeosang #i wanted to post something to ring in the new year

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faggotryandtransjesterism · 1 year ago

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i've been thinking about people who write hannibal fics, and how incorporating will's louisiana upbringing could be so hard if you didn't grow up there, and it just so happens that i did grow up there! so i'm making a little list of things about louisiana that people might not know. go forth and write cajun will graham!

food: first off, there's a lot of things that are very specific to poor people in louisiana. i didn't realize until relatively recently that these weren't things everyone ate. molasses and milk (poor man's chocolate milk. honey and milk also is a thing, but molasses is more common bc of all the cane fields.) actually, let me just get a whole category out of the way: put everything in milk. cornbread and milk (with honey or sugar dumped in to sweeten it, this is a whole meal, we used to eat this for dinner), oats and milk (raw oats. with sugar.), crackers and milk (saltines. i'm not joking.), literally put any carb in milk and that's a cajun dish. dinner foods you see a lot of are things like jambalaya, gumbo (pro tip, gumbo is always better on the second and third day, and you eat it with potato salad), etouffee (if you look this up, you'll see a lot of fancy shit, this is not fancy. it's the slimiest gravy pot full of meat and veggies.) everything has rice, you can't eat dinner without rice. sweet potatoes are big, a lot more common than regular ones. okra is also very very common.

environment: we all know louisiana has a lot of bayous, but a lot of people have never seen one i guess? and have no idea what that looks like. it's not like shrek swamp kind of deal. the water's not that filthy most of the time, at least not to look at. you've got a lot of foliage on top of the water mostly. cypress trees are the big thing that makes a bayou look like a bayou. cypress trees with spanish moss all over them. the line between a bayou and a lake isn't big, and a lot of them are connected. also. (about to tell you something that will blow your mind.) swamps are full of nutria rats. (but percy, what are nutria rats? (pronounced noo-tra rats)) they look like small capybaras with long thick tails, and by small i mean they gut up to 20 pounds. 3 feet. they're actually adorable though. alligators are common, they're not aggressive, you just have to keep an eye on them. there's usually saw palmettos around the edges of the water. outside of swamps, though, something you'll notice is there are sugar cane fields everywhere. there's also live oak trees, which if you've never seen, are beautiful. they do exist in other places, but they grow differently in louisiana bc of all the water. they have enormous, sweeping branches that dip down onto the ground sometimes, and they're (once again) full of spanish moss.

culture: in louisiana, some people speak cajun french. this is not the same as parisian french, and it's not always mutually intelligible. also, there's really very few people left who speak it, and it's mostly older folks. for example, my grandpa learned french before he learned english, but he didn't pass it on to his kids, and now he has very few people to speak it with. cajun music is a pretty unique thing, you've usually got an accordion, a fiddle, a bass, that kind of thing. some songs off the top of my head are jolie blonde, opelousas sostan, the boscoe stomp; there's also a lot of instrumental music, because it's all actually dancing music! cajun dancing is a whole thing that, once again, is dying out and mostly older folks know how to do it (my grandparents took me dancing all the time, so that, at least, i know). you might be able to look it up, but keep in mind, if you see something that looks more like square dancing, that's not what i'm talking about. (if you want a demo send me an ask lol, i can explain. in the meantime, i used to dance at randol's in lafayette, and the best band was donny broussard, so look those up on youtube if you want to hear cajun music.) zydeco is a whole other genre, and honestly not one i know much about, but it is an integral part of cajun culture.

that's all i can think of for now, but if i think of anything else, i'll add on. if you have any questions, my ask box is open!

#hannibal #will graham #hannigram #fic writing #reference

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themswritinwords · 1 year ago

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ALSO I'm once again going to be a panelist, presenter, and moderator at the LTUE Symposium in February!

LTUE is one of the most affordable writers'/creatives' conferences out there (extra discounts for if you're a student) while still giving you a massive bang for your buck. They have eight different 'tracks' for presentations and panels (writing, world building, art, TMA, academics, books, gaming, and professional development), but you can attend literally whichever sessions, panels, or presentations you want, so you can mix and match interests and professional goals.

It's super educational and I highly recommend it to anyone trying to go pro with their creative works, but it's also fun. Like obscene amounts of fun. It's all the best of a convention while also providing genuine professional opportunities. People come in cosplay, Sunday Best, and/or street clothes; I was on a panel last year next to an author with electric purple hair and a real silver fairy tiara whilst I was wearing a t-shirt with a sunglasses possum on it, and the guy on the other side of us was in a full suit and bowtie. There was a life-size Springtrap cosplay out in the main lobby. I pitched for the first time ever to 3 actual literary agents and got 3 requests. I got personal career advice from a 25+ year industry pro. A 12 year old with a "future author" pin asked me questions on my presentation and took notes, and so did an octogenarian in rainbow suspenders. I was taught how to write a professional query letter-- that has a 16% positive response rate, where standard is ~10%-- by a former lawyer in a pirate hat.

It's good vibes only, man.

But you'll also find professional agents, editors, artists, authors, directors, game devs and so on. It's a huge geek-fest that puts people at all levels of the professional world on equal footing. They've even got gaming events and filking circles.

In short, it's networking, fun, hyperfocus material, and professional-level education in equal measure.

I seriously can't say enough good things about it (and not just because I'm involved). There's something for every type of creator/creative out there, 11/10 highly recommend.

Anyway, here's what I'll be up to as a guest during all three days under the read more. (tl;dr conclusion, if you plan to attend and want to meet up, message me!)

Thursday

Original presentation (academics track): Folklore of the American South. An overview of myths, monsters, and old wives' tales from the rich storytelling heritage of the Southern States. AKA I finally have a platform to yell about my cultural heritage and by golly am I gonna yell about it! 10 am (yes it's a bit early, but I swear it'll be worth it! Y'all know you wanna hear about the Rougarou the destiny-determining powers of cornbread!)

Friday

Panelist: Shellshocked: Writing PTSD. Injecting realism into and dispelling myths surrounding characters with PTSD. AKA how flashbacks do and do not work, how to avoid making your character a caricature, and how to be sensitive so you don't use peoples' actual lived experiences as a sensationalist, reductionist cash grab. 10 am.

Panelist: Life After Coming Out. How to feature queer characters in more than just coming-out plots. AKA OwnVoices is not an excuse to exclude the reality of queer people in your built universes; don't write a story that's not yours to tell, but for the love of all things holy there's more stories to tell about queer folks than just The Big Realization! 11 am. (whew mercy, they gonna have me hoofin it all across that hotel RIP my ankles and my asthma)

Panelist: Fat Doesn't Mean Unfit. What it says on the tin. AKA a bunch of chubby folks are gonna demolish your fatphobia and why that's an important and good thing. Also I have a degree in health so I will be demolishing that fatphobia scientifically. 5 pm.

Saturday

Moderator: Dining Throughout History. A panel about how food, meals, and feeding communities did and did not work throughout history. AKA ancient Romans absolutely DID have takeout on the regular, and you're not a failure for not making 3 square meals a day at home with all-fresh all-natural ingredients. I mean, your characters aren't failures.... Yeah. That. 9 am.

Panelist: Nonnormative Relationships and You. The whats, whys, and hows of all the different non-romantic/nonsexual relationships your characters can find themselves in. AKA no shade to the romance crowd, but can we please stop forcing characters to kiss just because they're in physical or emotional proximity??? 11 am.

Moderator/Facilitator: Do-It-Yourself Medical Care: Hands-On First Aid. Come learn how to effectively injure and care for your characters by actually doing it! The caring part, not the injury part. We do not condone irl violence in the Marriott and as mod I will be obligated to fight you if you attempt to injure another participant. I can tell you right now as a both a stress crying asthmatic and the parent of a toddler with professional experience handling and subduing dangerous animals, it will be highly embarrassing for everyone involved. I seriously cannot tell you how excited I am for this one! It's me and four other authors who are also trained in medicine/health, so we're working hard to make this an informative and relevant experiential learning opportunity. They're only giving us 45 minutes, unfortunately, but we're already coordinating to try and pack in the most opportunities and most interesting exercises possible. It's gonna be so fun!! 1 pm, do not be late, we can only fit so many people and training dummies into the room!

Moderator: A Brighter Future: Solarpunk Fiction. A panel discussing the Solarpunk genre, why it's relevant, the ways conflict and worldbuilding would be different in a Solarpunk setting, etc. AKA a bunch of neohippies walked into a bar professional panel and decided to rant about sustainable living. 3 pm.

The rest of the time I'll be flitting around attending panels and presentations, checking out the art show and vendors room, socializing/networking, generally vibing, and maybe getting in a few pitch sessions. If you want to meet up, shoot me a message! I'm always open to Friending, and I know all the good places to grab lunch.

#writing #writing conferences #irl #ltue #ltue 2024 #creative writing #writeblr

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runnerk · 1 year ago

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Hello @crazyspookies ! I was your ZR Secret Santa! I want to tell you that you were my PERFECT match - Stam/5tam is my *favorite* pairing. And I know it wasn't a requirement to put in every single thing you asked for, but I tried to include everyone on your list: Sam, Five, Steve, Simon, Janine, Amelia, and a Radio Cabel cameo.

This story is a Christmas Tree Farm AU. Title, "In the Bleak Midwinter" from the Christmas song of the same name. Sam has inherited the Yao family tree farm business. It's December 23d, closing day, and one last VERY PARTICULAR customer comes in demanding a tree. But when the closed sign goes up, the Christmas spirit (spirits?) take over and the lines of friendship get a little blurry.

Will post on AO3 eventually, but I wanted it to be here, for you, first. 🤶 Enjoy. Merry Everything.

Story under the cut. AU so no spoilers. Hints at NSFW material.

Thank you @notforconsumption and @delucadarling !

“If I were a wise man, I would do my part. But what can I give him? Give him my heart.” Quote from "In The Bleak Midwinter"

In The Bleak Midwinter

Five threw a log into the pot bellied wood stove and willed its hot breath to defrost her toes. She slammed the door closed and sighed as the wood popped and groaned.

The smell of burning wood.

It used to be one of her favorite smells.

It turned her stomach a little now. Since that one day - The Day - the day everything changed. .

She shivered despite the warmth wafting her way.

The door to the little shack flew open and Sam walked in, brushing snow from his hair, stark white falling from jet black. Sam grinned.

“Thanks for covering for me, Five. My alarm didn’t go off and-” Five cut him off with a shake of her head and a loud cough

“Janine knows about your car trouble.” She winked. Sam nodded his appreciation.

Sam never asked for this life. Heir to a Christmas Tree Farm. He expected his parents to grow old and die safe in their beds, hearts gently coming to a natural stop. He would also be old and would sell the farm to the highest bidder as he went on with whatever life he had chosen for himself.

But fate had other plans.

And now here he was, barely 30, owner of Abel Christmas Tree Farm. Even after all these years, he still had no idea how to run a business. Which is why he used the majority of any inheritance money (there wasn’t much) to hire Janine DeLuca as the farm manager. She was organized and..well…a little mean, if he was honest. She knew how to get things done.

“It’s okay, Sam.” Five continued, reassuring him. “It’s December 23rd. It will be a quiet day except for a few frazzled last minute tree getters.”

“It will be nice to close this place up and not have to think about it for a few months.” Sam sighed and made his way behind the register tucked away a corner of the little cabin.

“You still coming over to my place for Christmas? My parents are looking forward to seeing you.” Five grew up next door to the tree farm and spent most of her childhood chasing Sam through the trees. In the spring, racing between the saplings. The Yaos shouting reminders to watch their steps. Summers lying in the shade of the taller trees. Reading. Listening to music. Always in each other’s company. Then the fall would come and the cheerful holiday paths would be temporarily lined with skeletons, ghosts, and zombies. Haunted trails brought in money when finances were at their tightest. As soon as they were old enough, Five took on the job of acting as a zombie hunter. Sam would ride on the hay wagon and narrate stories. It was Five’s favorite time of year. As soon as the last zombie head was taken down, the farm once again became a magical winter wonderland.

Five and Sam had been the best of friends for as long as she could remember.

“Yeah, I think I will. It’s just…” He stopped. Thought. “I’ll be there.”

Five smiled. “You’d better. I’m making that cornbread stuffing you like. And I think Steve is stopping by with some shortcake.”

As if on cue, Steve threw open the door and entered with a bang.

“Happy closing day!” He stomped the snow off his boots.

“Close the door.” A voice came from a dark back corner. “We aren’t paying to heat the outside.”

“Merry Christmas, Janine.”

“Same to you, Mr. Sissay. Again, I ask you to please close the door.”

Steve turned to Five and raised his eyebrows before flicking the door and letting it slam closed.

“At least she said please.” He shrugged. He made his way to where Sam was tangled in receipt paper in an attempt to replace the spool in the register. “Merry Christmas, Sam.”

Sam looked like he was overheating.

��Uh, yeah. Same to you, Steve.”

Five turned away to organize the few ornaments they had left in the small sales section of the cabin. Truth be told, the little cabin was one of her favorite places in the world. It was the size of a garden shed, but there was a wall of sparkling ornaments for sale, a wood stove along the back wall to keep warm despite the lack of insulation, and in the front corner sat the register, a little stool, and an electric kettle for hot chocolate. The most recent addition was a janky folding card table in the darkest back corner, which Janine called her “office.”

It wasn’t much. But it felt like home.

“Where is Simon?” Janine muttered from her corner. Sam and Five often referred to her as Scrooge, but never to her face.

“He’s outside. I passed him on the way in.” Steve answered, continuing to look at Sam. “He’s just getting one last smoke in before he’s officially on the clock.”

Janine sighed, irritation evident.

A few minutes of silence passed. Five continued straightening ornaments, Janine shuffled paper. Steve had finally grabbed the roll of receipt paper from Sam and swiftly placed it in the machine.

“You can tell me I’m your hero. It’s okay.” Steve chuckled. Sam just looked at him with his mouth open. It was rare for him to be at a loss for words, but Steve somehow managed to tie his tongue with a single glance.

There used to be a team of people working at Abel Tree Farm. They stayed for a few years after…well, AFTER…but each year a few more would find reasons not to return. And the year before Janine was hired, Sam had to let any remaining staff members go. There was no money to pay for help.

Janine saved the farm within the year. She agreed to hire a few new people, but there wasn’t much interest in tree farm work. Sam was able to find two interested parties. One guy, Steve, was a pyrotechnician who spent summers working at a local amusement park in charge of their fireworks shows. The other, Simon, was a personal trainer at a local gym with a flexible schedule. And flexible…everything.

Janine hired them because their schedules were flexible.

Sam approved the hiring because he liked how they both looked like burly lumberjacks.

Simon burst through the door moments later, smelling of cigarettes and pine.

“Little things!” He sang, obnoxiously loud. Five watched Janine’s head fall into her hands. “Like that happy noise. As a brand new day is dawning on this lovely Christmas morning!” He barreled through the little shack over to Five and cradled her neck in his strong arm. He dug his knuckles into the crown of her head as she struggled to get away.

“I didn’t know ABBA had a Christmas song.” She joked.

“ABBA has a song for everything.” He replied, and flexed his bicep, keeping her in place. “Little things,” Simon continued singing. “Like your naughty eyes. You’d consider bringing me a breakfast tray, but there’s a price.” He let Five go and she kicked him in the shin. He winked at her. “Go on. Guess the price for bringing me a breakfast tray.”

“Stop being gross, Simon.” Five scolded, but she couldn’t contain her laughter.

“Mr. Lauchlan, this is a professional environment. If you can’t behave-”

“Aw, don’t be jealous Jenny. Come on, it’s almost Christmas.” He walked over to her with such long strides Five could swear it only took him two steps to cross the entire floor. “You know everyone has been calling you Scrooge?”

“Simon!” Sam yelled, a blush bursting across his cheeks.

“I do not care about how others feel about me. I wasn’t brought here to be popular. I was brought here to run a tree farm.”

Janine sounded stern enough, but Five noticed that Simon had begun rubbing her shoulders and she wasn’t shaking him off. In fact, she seemed to sink a bit lower in her chair and…was she relaxing?

That was new.

A Christmas miracle, almost.

Seems Sam wasn’t the only one who liked his lumberjacky-ness.

The rest of the morning went by in a lazy haze. Between small talk about holiday plans and organizing the store for closing, a peaceful calmness filled the shack.

Five sighed.

She was going to miss this.

There was something so unbelievably comforting about these people.

It was just-

“I need a tree.”

Nobody heard the door open, but a cold breeze wafted in with the most striking woman Five had ever seen. The room froze.

“This is a tree farm, is it not?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Simon spoke first, tripping over his own feet to get to her and take her hand. He grasped it and shook it wildly. “I can help you find something thick and sprucy.”

The woman’s face twisted in disgust and she took her own hand back. She shook it as if it were contaminated.

“A standard thickness will do. I need one that is tall and has all of its branches perfectly balanced.”

“One well-balanced tree coming right up.” Simon was at the door and gestured her out first.

“Simon.” Janine called after him. “Behave."

Simon smiled and winked.

“There is no chance of him behaving, is there?” Sam asked. Steve laughed.

“Not the slightest.”

They were back in minutes.

“Amy, I’m sorry! You can’t call a tree ‘perfectly erect’ and not expect a comment!”

“The name is Amelia and as a customer I have a reasonable expectation of professionalism no matter what words I choose to use.”

“Our apologies, Ms…”

“Spens.”

“Apologies, Ms. Spens. Our other associate, Mr. Sissay, will bring you the finest tree we have. AND he’ll be quick about it.”

“On it.” Steve disappeared outside as both Janine and Amelia glared at Simon, who, for his part, looked completely unashamed.

“Would anyone like cocoa?” Sam asked.

“Yes, please.” Five grinned. Of course Sam would know how to break the tension.

“I’ll take some, Sammy.”

“Oh no you won’t, Mr. Lauchlan.” Janine said. “I would like to see you out back.”

Five and Sam gasped. Out back was the wood storage shed. It was cold and dark and had a potent woodsy smell. Five had once compared it to the feeling of being buried six feet under in a pine box and since then…nobody wanted to go out back.

But Simon looked oddly intrigued.

“Have I been a bad boy, Jenny?” Janine’s cheeks flushed and she shook her head.

“Actually, yes. And I need to speak with you urgently.”

Five thought they left a little eagerly, but it was really none of her business.

“Anything for you, Amelia?” Sam pushed the button for the electric kettle and started setting out mugs.

“From an electric kettle? And is that…powdered mix?” She shuddered. “I’ll pass.”

“Please have a seat near the fire while you wait. I’m sure Steve will be back momentarily.”

“He does seem quite strong. Those biceps are certainly impressive.”

An awkward silence filled the room until the kettle began to boil. Sam poured two mugs of hot chocolate for himself and Five and offered Amelia a cup one final time.

“Absolutely not.” She shook her head. “Horrifying.”

Five took a sip, slurping loudly.

Sam immediately looked away. Five never slurped anything in her life. He knew if he looked over he’d see a devilish look in her eye and she would only double down on trying to annoy their only customer of the day.

Amelia was browsing their selection of ornaments.

“Some of these are quite beautiful.” She picked up a miniature snow globe hanging on a string. Five smiled.

“Oh, that’s a great one. It was handmade by-”

“This is the ugliest snowglobe I have ever seen.” Amelia squinted as she examined it. “I mean, really. As I was saying, some of these are beautiful, but this is not one of them.”

Five looked over at Sam, who was still facing the wall. She knew even without seeing his face that he was holding back laughter. Five, on the other hand, was not feeling overly playful with this terrible woman.

“Listen, I don’t know who you think you are-”

“Here you go, ma’am. The perfect tree. It’s almost 200 centimeters tall, blue spruce. She’s an absolute stunner.” Steve announced from the doorway.

“Do you commonly equate women with trees?” Amelia asked. Steve didn’t miss a beat. He leaned on the counter, making sure his arm muscles rippled under his flannel shirt, which was at least two sizes too small.

“No, ma’am.” Steve said. He seemed to be remembering that Simon was currently out back for his attempt at innuendo. “I rotate pronouns with trees so all sexes are represented equally through the…whole forest. Out of respect. For nature.”

Five winced.

“Hmm. Very well then.” Amelia walked over to Sam and leaned on the counter, gently bumping Steve with her backside.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Uh - no charge. Because of the - uh - trouble.” Five watched Sam die a little inside.

It was definitely a weird day.

“I guess this place isn’t as bad as I assumed it was. Happy Christmas, workers.” Then, to Steve, “You’ll be tying this to the roof of my car?” It was a question but also - not.

“It’s my pleasure, ma’am.” Steve grinned and followed her out.

Five and Sam stood frozen for a solid minute before Sam finally burst with laughter.

“What the hell was that?”

“That woman was a real piece of work. We need to hang up a picture with her face and never let her back in here again.”

“Aw, come on, Five. At least she didn’t take any of Simon’s nonsense.”

“Yeah, but she insulted the ornament that the children’s hospital made.”

Sam made his way across the little shack and folded Five into a hug.

“She couldn’t have known that. But I’m sorry she didn’t let you explain.”

“And she insulted your hot chocolate.”

“Well that was definitely out of line. You’re right. We should ban her.” Five giggled into Sam’s shoulder.

“See? I told you. She was terrible.” Five felt Sam start to let go but pulled him closer. “How are you Sam? Honestly?”

Sam paused and Five felt him tense up in the hug. He took a long breath, considering his answer carefully.

“I’m…okay. It’s been a long time but…some days are lonelier than others. Christmas still stings quite a bit. Which is inconvenient, you know? Since I pretty much sell Christmas.”

When silence and sadness fill the space between words, it’s hard not to fill it. Five fought the urge to say something encouraging like, “It will get better” or “Your parents are so proud of you for carrying on” because truly there was no way to know either of those things. She wasn’t in the business of making empty promises. Not to anyone, but especially not to Sam. Never to Sam.

“Which is why you shouldn’t have to wake up alone on Christmas. Why don’t you-”

Sam pulled back to look at her.

“Wha-”

“Oh! Am I interrupting?” Five and Sam both jumped. Neither one had heard Steve come back in.

“Nope. No. Not at all. Just - normal friendly conversation.” Sam stammered. Five laughed.

“You’re fine, Steve. Hey, listen. I’m not the owner of this place or anything, but I’m thinking that was probably our last customer. She was the only person all day looking for a tree and it’s getting late. What do we say to closing an hour early?”

“Also not in charge but I say that’s a great idea.”

“As the person who IS in charge, I’m calling it.” Sam walked to the small, frost covered window in the front and flipped the open sign. “Closed for the season.” He sighed.

“So I’m no longer an employee here until next season, right?” Steve asked.

“Right.”

“Then I can’t be fired, right?”

“Ummm, right.” There was a hint of a question in Sam’s voice.

“And, since we’re closed…” He pulled a flask from his pocket. “This isn’t drinking on the job, right?”

Sam shrugged. “I suppose it isn’t.”

“But only if you share.”

“Five, darling. I wouldn’t ever whip out whiskey and not offer it to a lady.”

“I’ll warm up more water for hot cocoa. Whiskey would be great in cocoa.” Sam added more water to the kettle and clicked it on. Five chuckled. She knew Sam wasn’t a fan of straight alcohol. Five on the other hand-

“I’ll take it straight from the flask.” She waited patiently for Steve to finish swallowing and grabbed it from his hand.

She took a long pull and the whiskey burned her throat on the way down. She felt the warm liquid sit in her belly and run through her veins. It was a feeling not much different than getting a hug from Sam.

She couldn’t remember exactly when she met Sam. Somehow it seemed like they had been together since the day they were born. The best of friends. There was never a question. Except lately something was changing. Something felt …more. She took another swig and handed it back to Steve.

He seemed to sense that she had been thinking about other things and gave her a questioning look. She smiled to reassure him that she was okay.

“Do you still have that little radio?” He asked. Sam, still behind the counter, reached down and pulled out a tiny radio. He turned it on and static blared through the shack. He adjusted the signal until he heard a voice break through.

“Today, Cit-i-zens, everyone here at Radio Cabel will be sharing our favorite holiday traditions!” Phil Cheeseman’s voice blared from the speakers. “You start, Zoe.”

“I like to start the day by making a nice breakfast and eating it in front of Christmas specials with my cats.” Zoe paused. “Later in the day I go see family and it’s busy and crazy, so I like having the time to myself to prepare for all of that.”

“That sounds kind of lonely.”

“It’s actually not. I like a balance of quiet and loud.”

“Not us.” Jack cut in. “Since Eugene and I have been together, we started a new tradition of blasting Christmas music and dancing in front of the tree while we open gifts.”

“No,” corrected Eugene. “Jack blasts music in front of the tree and dances. I try to get in as much coffee as I can to keep up with him all day.” Eugene let out a gentle laugh.

“And you love it.” Jack chuckled. “This next song is one of my favorites to annoy Gene with.”

The water was boiling and Sam mixed another cup of hot chocolate before joining Five and Steve in the middle of the cabin.

“You didn’t drink it all, did you?”

Steve winked and poured a large quantity of alcohol into his mug. Sam raised his glass as if to say ‘cheers’ and took a large gulp. He coughed and sputtered a bit but managed to play it cool.

“Yum.” He managed to squeak out. Steve laughed.

“Don’t worry. If we finish this, I have one or two backup flasks in my coat pocket.”

“Of course you do.”

The next song came on the radio. Over the intro, Phil gently spoke of how this song sparked memories of his childhood traditions.

Five found herself wrapping her arms around Sam, who responded in kind. They began some kind of involuntary swaying that she supposed could have been dancing.

Another set of strong arms wrapped around them.

The song ended with the three of them huddled together. They each took another drink - Five and Steve from the flask and Sam from his mug - and sat on the ground.

Sam leaned toward the merchandise for sale and pulled over a few tree skirts and some bags of cotton, sprinkled with glitter to look like snow. They wiggled around, arranging the items to make pillows and blankets. They cuddled together for warmth.

“Come on, loves. Tell me. Are you really best friends or is there something else happening here?”

“Yes.” Five said, while Sam stammered something incomprehensible next to her. The drink had loosened Five’s tongue and she continued without thinking. “We were always friends but since his parents died and his sister skipped out on him, I guess I want to be his family now. But not in a gross way. In a way that, like, I just want to be there for him all the time. I want to be the person who…” She trailed off, realizing that Sam had now propped himself up on an elbow and was staring at her. “Well…it’s true.”

“What happened?” Steve asked. Five, apparently a chatterbox when drunk, opened her mouth to answer. Sam never spoke about The Day. But he took a deep breath and launched into it.

“It … it’s going to be sad.” Sam warned. Nobody spoke. He shrugged and continued. “It was Christmas Eve. Everyone was home - my parents, my sister, and me. I had moved out into my little apartment down the road and my sister lived on her University campus. But as it was Christmas - this was the first time since the summer we were all under one roof. We had a fire going in the fireplace that morning, feeling festive and whatnot, and for just a few minutes - that was all it took - everyone was distracted. I don’t know where they were. I was upstairs in my room, wrapping some last minute presents when the fire alarm started blaring. I tried running downstairs but there was already so much smoke. The house - that damn house - we only had one working alarm. It was something my dad always said we needed to fix. But we never got to it. So anyway, by the time the smoke set off the alarm, it was already a pretty big fire. I don’t know what happened, but my parents never made it out of the house. Maybe they went to go get our dog? I don’t know. Maybe the downstairs just filled with smoke too fast? It doesn’t matter. The doctors tried explaining some theories but honestly I didn’t care enough to listen. What did it matter how it happened? My sister and I both made it out by jumping out the second floor windows. There were big trees around the house. Both of us could climb down. We got outside and it was just - the whole house. Flames out of every window. I don’t know. I can’t quite remember much. But I made two phone calls that morning. One to the fire department. The other…” His voice trailed off.

“Was me.” Five finished, quietly. “You called me. I ran over from my house as fast as I could. It was…awful.”

“Where is your sister now?” Steve asked cautiously.

“She didn’t stick around. Right after the funeral she took off with her boyfriend - his family is rich - and finished her schooling in some tropical location. I don’t even know where she is. She didn’t leave an address. She just said she wanted no part in the tree farm business and just - left.”

The room was quiet save for everyone taking a few gulps of their drink.

“I’m so sorry, Sam. I really had no idea.” Steve said eventually.

“Yeah. I don’t like to talk about it. I can’t bring them back. But it is why…it’s why I don’t go out to the tree field much. I like to stay in here. If I go too far back, to the last row of trees, I can see the foundation of the old house. They tore it down, but…they left that part.”

“Yikes. I’ve seen that before. I just figured it was torn down to make room for the tree farm.”

“Nope. Just the shattered remains of my old life.” Five patted his shoulder. “Anyway, it’s okay. I mean, no. Not okay. My therapist keeps reminding me that I don’t have to say it’s okay. Because it’s not. It’s just…thank you. Thanks for your…uh…concern. And stuff. I’m dealing with it.”

Steve leaned over and took Sam’s face in his hands.

“You’re doing really well, love. This is a great business you’ve got here. Everyone who comes here feels welcome and has a great time. Well, everyone except for Amelia.” They laughed. Despite his laughter, Sam squirmed a bit.

“Your face is..uh…close.” Sam licked his lips and winced, suddenly realizing how suggestive that was.

“You’re adorable.” Steve said and kissed him gently. Five raised her eyebrows.

“Well, that wasn’t on my list of things I thought I’d see today.”

“Oh, darling. You should always expect the unexpected. Especially when Christmas magic is in the air.”

“And whiskey is in the glass.” Five raised the flask and took another swig.

Sam remained still and silent as Steve backed up to give him space.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

Five laughed, but Steve just whispered,

“You’re welcome.”

The radio played another slow song, long gentle lyrics about bleak midwinters and moaning wind. “Snow had fallen, snow on snow on snow.” Caught up in the music, in the warmth, in the closeness, a shirt was discarded. Hands grasping. Not quite sure what belonged to who. Lips on lips on lips. Skin on skin on skin.

If anyone had approached the little tree farm shack that night, they would have had a hard time seeing through the windows, steamed with heat and want. Three bodies silhouetted in the light of the wood stove. Friends and passion and love.

It was close to midnight by the time Steve left. The drink long gone, a few hours of sleep, the fire snuffed. And then it was Sam and Five, closing the door to the shop. Closing the door on the season. Closing the door on the only closeness he still felt to his parents.

Five kissed Sam long and deep, knowing there was no returning to “just friends.”

“Don’t go home.”

“Where - what?”

“Don’t go home. Ever. Forget your little apartment. I want you with me.” She held him close but pitched her head back to look him in the eye. “Stay with me.”

“Five, you’re all caught up in the - whatever…”

“Christmas magic.” Five grinned. “Yes. But also, no. Sam - I have loved you for a long time. I’m your family. I’m your love. Stay with me.”

Sam was quiet, contemplative.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. But…I’m not giving up my apartment yet. Just in case.”

“You won’t need it.”

“It’s just…it’s hard to believe things can be permanent. Awful things can happen, Five. I don’t want anything to happen but I know -”

“We’re going to be great, Sam.”

“How do you know?”

Five stopped and thought. How could she possibly know? She didn’t. Of course she didn’t. Just like she didn’t know that Sam would be okay or that his parents would be proud. But this didn’t feel like a lie.

“Sam, I don’t know. I have no idea if things will work. And I could be ruining the best friendship in the world. But here’s what I do know. I don’t want to spend another minute without you. You are my whole heart. I have loved you for as long as I can remember. We’ve wasted so many years treading so carefully. Without great risk, there can’t be great rewards. And Sam…a lifetime with you would be the greatest reward I could ever imagine. It’s worth the risk.”

Sam stared at her, mouth gaping.

“Okay.”

“Okay? I gave you all that and you’re giving me okay?”

Sam chuckled.

“I love you. So much. And I owe Steve my whole life for getting us over this friendship hump.”

“Wow. Poetic. And don’t get me started on how much Simon would love the use of the word hump.”

“Let’s go home.” Sam said. “To your place. I’ll move my toothbrush in tomorrow and it will be home.”

With that, Sam and Five started down a long, winding path. Winters are a lot less bleak with someone you love by your side.

#runner five #zombies run #sam yao #simon lauchlan #5tam #Zombies Run Secret Santa 2023 #ZRSS23

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mitsuki-komori · 1 year ago

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Your Bakery Event Sounds Fun! ✨💖😇 Can I Get Astelle Vanilla Cake With Raspberry Sauce For Fake Dating? 😍 And some Cornbread (For Asta To Say) Too? 💘 Please And Thanks!!! 😭💖😘

“Ah, our precious Yuno has returned! Welcome back! Have you gotten yourself a girlfriend yet?”

“Father, please…” Yuno sighed in an immeasurable disappointment.

Asta had brought along Noelle to visit Hage with Yuno, like always Father was more interested in speaking to Yuno.

“Oh come on! You’re the only one with the chance at getting one!” Father sulks, Yuno shook his head.

“I’m not interested in a relationship…”

Asta takes a moment to process Father’s words. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?!”

Noelle awkwardly stands behind Asta as the three bicker.

Father shook his head with a slightly guilty expression. “I’m sorry Asta, but the chances of you getting a girlfriend before Yuno is about 0%” Father replies as if the answer was as simple as that. The nerve!

Asta out on his angry face and then an idea sprang into his head, one that he wouldn’t even take the time to think about. “We’ll actually, this is my girlfriend!” Asta places his hand on Noelle’s shoulder.

The look on her face was utter shock and confusion. It got more and more red. “Wha…?!” In her mind it was just… ‘WHAT?! GIRLFRIEND?! WHEN?! ME?! DID I JUST HEAR THAT CORRECTLY?!”

Yuno scoffed and tried his best to surpress a laugh. Father’s face was just completely frozen in shock. He looked like a stone statue… “You… Your girlfriend?! With Noelle? Really? When did you two get together? How did it happen?!”

“W-Well… uh…” Asta realized what he had done when it was already too late.

“We uh… We started dating a few weeks ago… He kinda just let it slip out, so… We decided to get together…” Noelle stuttered out. After all Asta has done for her, this was the least she could do… Only because of that! Plus, the way this Father was treating Asta really made her irritated.

“That sounds like our Asta alright… Oh, Asta’s all grown up now! Good job, I’m so happy… uh, for you…” Father pats Asta on the back, Asta spots Yuno’s face and gives him a look.

“I’m not helping you with this.” Yuno whispers. Asta has gotten himself in… a situation.

Father didn’t catch the exchange as the only thing going through his mind was: ‘Asta has such a pretty girlfriend, and she’s rich too! Oh, I’m so proud!’

“Wow, is that so? I wouldn’t have seen this coming!” Sister Lily walks up to them, and it seems that she had seen the whole thing.

“Sister Lily?” Asta gasped. It wasn’t as if he minded it because he liked her, because he was over Sister Lily, it was just kind of embarrassing knowing that the truth would have to come out eventually…

“It’s great to see you again, Noelle! So you and Asta are dating now? I’m so happy for the both of you, I can tell you two are great for each other.”

Noelle nodded and took an awkward deep breath. “T-Thank you! We’ve been thinking of… how to tell you guys…!”

Noelle wasn’t a good liar, but if it was an arrogant Father and little children, she could probably get away with it. Sister Lily was the one to worry about, but Noelle knew even if Sister Lily had figured it out she wouldn’t call them out.

“Woah, Asta with a girlfriend?! Did you guys hear that!?” The children came flocking out of the church’s doors. Did everyone just have the best hearing ever or was Asta going insane?

“Wow, Noelle’s so pretty!” Aruru and Hollo immediately surround Noelle as if she was a magnet.

Recca gave Asta a look that basically told to not mess it up. “You are one lucky guy, Asta. Its honestly a miracle you got one before Yuno.”

“I’ll still be the Wizard king though.” Yuno chimes in.

“No, I’m gonna be the Wizard King!” Asta shoots at Yuno.

They begin to bicker back and forth as usual.

“Hey… Are you really dating Asta?” Nash asks Noelle with a dead serious expression.

“Uh, yeah…”

Nash stares at Noelle for a few moment. “Alright… I don’t understand why you’d want to be with him of all people, but make sure you treat him well…” Nash attempts to add a pinch of intimidation in his voice, but it came out more shy. Not to mention is height probably didn’t help.

“I will-“ Noelle gets completely cut off by a very obnoxious voice.

“YUNO, FIGHT ME RIGHT NOW!” Noelle snaps their head in their direction and sighs with annoyance. It’s a mystery how someone like Sister Lily was able to deal with all 7 of these immature humans.

“You should join us for dinner, Noelle.” Sister Lily says with a smile. Noelle ponders whether or not it would be a good idea. Seeing as how she came all this way AND that she is apparently Asta’s girlfriend now, she might as well.

“Yeah, sure…”

Dinner was stressful. Asta and Noelle were sitting next to each other and questions just kept coming at them one after the other, and Yuno’s amusement was not helping whatsoever. It was getting more overwhelming than the dryness in her mouth.

She stood up and began to walk out of the room causing a short silence.

“Noelle? Where are you going?” Aruru asks, slightly confused and sad. “Do you have to leave?”

“I’m just stepping out for a few moments, I’ll be back soon.” She replies, surpassing her exhaustion. As soon as she’s outside, she slumps down onto one of the steps.

This was certainly now how she expected to get to the girlfriend topic with Asta.

“Noelle? Are you ok?” A voice comes closer from behind. Asta sits down beside Noelle. “I’m sorry about this…”

“It’s fine. That guy was irritating me anyway. It’s my duty as royalty to humble such ignorance!” Noelle flips her hair behind her shoulder.

“Yeah, thank you for gong along… It’s just that hearing Father say things like that really gets on my nerves… He’s always put me under Yuno, so I just wanted to be on top for once…”

Noelle nodded. “Yeah, I get it. I know how you feel. I don’t even get what he sees in that Yuno guy, you’re much better than him.”

“Ha, thanks.”

Noelle looks at Asta and tilts her head. “There’s still a lot of time to get stronger, you’ll definitely become the Wizard King.”

Asta nods, “That’s right! But… Are we gonna tell them the truth?” His voice gets a bit quieter.

Noelle thinks for a moment. “We can keep it up a bit longer.”

“Really? Thanks, Noelle… Oh gosh, what if they tell us to kiss?! I mean, I’d totally kiss you if you asked…! But uh-“

“What?!” Her face flushed and she sit up straight.

“Sorry, I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable! Sometimes things just like to come out of my mouth.” Asta scratched the back of his neck.

Noelle turns away, “Whatever! Stupidsta!”

Asta smiles and rests his chin on his hand. ‘Noelle’s so amazing…’

#Asta #Noelle Silva #Black Clover #fanfiction #request

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nomoreusername · 2 years ago

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Interesting Things To Say

Pairing:Aris x female reader

Summary:After escaping the Glade, you end up meeting a boy the exact opposite of you.

The emotions from escaping the Maze were indescribable. I'm sure there was a lot of trauma and grief I was shoving down, but I didn't particularly care. My friends that got out with me had food, real beds, real showers, and safety. What else is there to ask for?

"Y/N, over here you shank,"Minho yelled from across the cafeteria. I cringed at the volume but still went over. Of course he'd yell across the cafeteria. That's such a Minho thing to do.

"Thanks Minho. I love being yelled at in front of strangers,"I deadpanned. He gave me an exaggerated smile and an even more exaggerated "You're welcome."

"Looks like there's others like us. Wonder what their stories are,"I questioned aloud.

"Why don't you go ask them? I'm sure they'd love to spill their guts to a stranger,"Minho said, his voice dripping with sarcasm that I completely ignored.

"Maybe I will. Who looks like the most interesting person here?"I asked the Gladers.

"Probably that one. The one having a staring contest with his cornbread. I heard he's-"

I tuned him out as I craned my neck to look at him. He did in fact look invested in the cornbread. He was also completely alone. His friends must have been picked. He could also just hate people.

"Thanks Fry,"I said walking off.

"Y/N, we weren't bein' serious!"Newt exclaimed.

"Dang. That sucks for ya'll,"I shrugged. My friends were saying something behind me. Probably something like 'Seriously Minho' and 'Fry I expected more from you.' There's probably a 'why do we encourage her?' thrown in.

I set my tray down in front of the boy. He peered up through his hood looking confused. "Hey there.I'm recruiting members for my cult, and you seem like the perfect candidate,"I said. His eyes widened.

"Kidding. I just wanted to talk to someone, and you seem worth talking to,"I said with a smile. He looked at me again still silent. "You don't disappoint do you? My name's Y/N. What's yours?"I asked.

"Aris. Aris Jones,"He mumbled.

"First and last name. Fancy,"I teased.

"No, I don't know why I've been here so long, no I don't know anything more than you, and yes you can tell your friends that,"He said with a sigh. It sounded rehearsed. That must be a daily thing for him.

"You genuinely want to have a conversation with me?"He asked again. I nodded. "You're weird then."

"I don't care how long you've been here or think you have the answers to the universe. I genuinely want to talk to you,"I assured him. He raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"He asked skeptically. I shrugged.

"I don't know. You intrigue me, and I act before I think."

"I've been told that a few hundred. Usually it's because I've done something to confuse or annoy people."

"Can't imagine how,"He said under his breath. I pointed at him in triumph.

"You do have a sense of humor. I knew there was something good about you. I have a knack for these things,"I told him, grinning.

"You're definitely confusing. I can't tell whether or not you're being serious."

"What do you think? Take a guess,"I suggested.

"I think you either open conversations like this because you're scared people won't like who you really are. If you come in saying something jokingly ridiculous you'll know how they'd react if you did it accidentally. This could also just be what you're really like."

I blinked at him. "That was. . .scientific,"I said, trying to figure out the right word. He was the one who shrugged this time.

"This is my best attempt at a conversation. I'm just answering your question."

I felt myself smile. He certainly was interesting.I'd have to thank Frypan later. "You have surprisingly good conversation skills for someone alone in a room full of people,"I half complimented, half joked. He responded with another shrug.

"Kids here keep asking me questions. I try to avoid them."

"You have experience with that?"He asked, smiling for the first time. I wanted to make him smile more. It's amazing something so small could be so contagious.

I glanced around me. They sounded like assholes.

"You should give them crazy conspiracies. They won't come near you again. I guarantee it."

"You're somehow easy to talk to. I didn't think anyone here would be."

"Don't worry your pretty little head Aris. I will."

"Well Aris. From now on I'll talk to you until you feel like you're losing your mind. Sound good?"I asked, reaching out for a handshake.

"Sounds good. As long as you do most of the talking,"He said, shaking my hand.

Minho's P.O.V

"I didn't think she would actually do it. How was I supposed to know she would befriend a stranger?"

"It's Y/N, Minho. How could she not?"Newt asked, shaking his head like a disappointed parent.

"What's wrong with her making friends?"Thomas asked.

"Because half of them end up losing their minds. Now eat your food. We can pretend Y/N,'s irritating later."

"I don't know about you, but I don't have to pretend,"Frypan said, smiling like a maniac.

"Why do we pick on Y/N so much?"Thomas asked. I looked at Newt, and we grinned.

"You have a lot to learn, Tommy. Now just eat your sandwich before Y/N takes it."

#aris jones #aris x reader #the maze runner #one shot #tmr #meet cute #aris tmr #tmr aris #aris maze runner #maze runner aris #aris oneshot

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notsocheezy · 7 months ago

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Brain Curd #72

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. The following is a continuation of yesterday's Brain Curd - read that first!

Postal Fred raised his hand. “Can I go first?”

Cody gave an affirmative hand gesture.

“I’ve been doing good lately, mostly, but I had a setback. You remember that guy who kept putting the wrong amount of postage on everything? A couple days ago, he came in, and I tried to stay calm, but it was too much to take. The label said it was for a three pound box with dimensions of twelve by twelve by twelve, but it was a four-and-a-half pound box with dimensions of twelve by ten by thirteen!”

“What happened?” Cody asked, with all the patience and grace of a kindergarten teacher.

“I did what I believe any self-respecting postal worker would do. I followed protocol and told him this was insufficient postage and that he could either pay for a new label here or go back home and print one with accurate numbers.”

The group snapped in applause.

“That doesn’t sound so bad, Fred.”

“Exactly. That’s when it got bad. He started arguing with me, saying no one was going to notice ‘one pound’ and that the size was ‘close enough’ and that the price difference was ‘nothing’. I told him, hey man, we can’t bend the rules to save you a dollar, we’ll go broke, and he started throwing coins at me, saying, ‘Fine! Fine! Let me buy a stamp to make up the difference! I don’t have time for this, I’m a busy man!’.”

Fred started crying, and put his face in his hands.

“That’s not how it works!”

Roberta put her hand on his back to comfort him. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

He hugged her tightly, burying his face into her abdomen. Government Man thought it looked very uncomfortable, since Roberta had very defined and firm abdominal muscles.

Cody waited a moment to see if Fred had anything more to say. “Thank you for sharing,” he said, before moving on to someone else. Pablo raised his hand and Cody gave him a thumbs-up.

“My bakery has been attacked once again by the Yeastie Boys. They smashed the back window and unlocked the door, then came in and took all my honey and left several gallons of homebrew mead. I think what gets to me the most is all the questions: like, if they didn’t have honey, how did they make the mead? And why do they leave things behind like that? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Richard half-raised his hand. “Was the mead any good?”

“I don’t know, I don’t drink.”

“Do you… do you have any left?”

“The police took it as evidence.”

“Dammit.” Richard crossed his arms. “They’re just gonna drink it themselves.”

Pablo continued. “Last time they left behind the best croissants I have ever tasted. I’d think about hiring these crooks if I knew who they were. I just want them to stop stealing my ingredients! I couldn’t fulfill a large order for cornbread because I had no honey. I’m in danger of bankruptcy.” He sighed. “Anyway, that’s all that’s going on with me.

Cody looked around and set his eyes on the theater usher. “Deborah, do you have anything to share?”

“Not really… Honestly, once I stopped trying to stop Charlie from sneaking into the theater, things went back to normal. I’ve just been living my life again. It’s nice.”

The group snapped in applause. They sure liked doing that.

Cody turned his gaze. “Richard?”

“Nothing new to report this week. The plumbing business has been reasonably stable.”

All eyes were on Government Man, now. He didn’t like it.

“Government Man,” Cody said, “How much can you share about your adversary?”

He swallowed. “My adversary is… classified. But I will tell you this: He is always one step ahead of me. I have never seen him and yet he knows exactly how to manipulate me. He has impersonated my coworker. He has escaped my grasp. He has infiltrated my dreams. I have not slept a full night since our first encounter. All I want is for things to be how they once were. For things to go back to normal. Everything used to be so easy then - go here, go there, shoot that, cuff him, follow that car… I’m trapped now. Trapped in this diabolical plot.”

Government Man leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I don’t feel like myself anymore.”

Cody put his hands together and leaned forward. He spoke softly. “Things can be okay again. You just have to let him go.”

“I cannot do that. I cannot let him get away.”

“You don’t have to. But you need to stop thinking about him at every moment, or else he wins. Because if you don’t get the rest you need, Government Man, you won’t be able to stop him.”

Government Man’s weary eyes met Cody’s.

“Find any sort of healthy distraction you can. Maybe get a new plant for your garden.”

Government Man took a deep breath and let it out.

#NSC Original #brain curd #brain curds #writing #creative writing #writeblr #flash fiction #author #writer things #writers #writers on tumblr #writers of tumblr #writerscommunity #women writers #female writers #queer writers #Government Man #Adversaries Anonymous Part Two #Government Man Ep 9

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spoodrm4n · 2 years ago

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This is Me Trying

Chapter Two: I Can Go Anywhere I Want (just not home)

Pairings: Harley Keener x Peter Parker

Summary: Peter and Harley run into each other as their alter egos and Peter doesn’t take lightly to the new hero on the streets.

read chapter one here

Harley sets down two of the four boxes that contain Peter’s life and searches for his keys in his jean pocket. He finally fishes them out and shoves them into the lock, twisting until there’s a small click. He pushes open the door and holds it open, allowing Peter to go first. Harley grabs the two boxes and comes in after him.

“This is super nice,” Peter’s voice is small as he takes the space in. The apartment looks more sterile and hotel-like than homey. “How are you even able to afford this?” Peter knows the question may be a bit inappropriate to ask, but the words slip out anyway.

“Got a lot of money passed onto me after… after someone close to me died.” Peter can tell Harley’s being honest by the way his shoulders tense at the question and the pause in his words.

“Oh. I’m sorry, that must suck.” Peter doesn’t know what else to say. Sure, he’s practically in the exact same situation, but that doesn’t mean he knows what to say or how to fix it. Peter’s at a loss of what to do with himself, let alone someone else who’s basically a stranger. They move through the apartment and down the hall, reaching a vacant room. The only furniture inside is a full bed, a desk in the corner, and a nightstand right next to it. Harley sets the boxes he's carrying down and Peter follows him.

“Yeah well that’s life, I guess.” Harley is curt and Peter can easily pick out the bitterness that shines through his words.

“There’s more to life, Harley.” Peter almost sounds like he’s trying to convince himself rather than the blonde in front of him. Harley doesn’t meet his eyes for a while and the silence between them is suffocating.

“Well it doesn’t feel like it.” Peter hears the anger in Harley’s tone and decides to no longer talk about this kind of stuff. “This is your room, get settled in and what not. I’m making dumplings and cornbread for dinner. You’re more than welcome to join.” Harley extends the invite and Peter smiles faintly.

“Yeah sure, sounds great, thank you.” He stumbles over his words but Harley just smiles back and walks past him, closing the door behind him.

Peter begins to unpack. His first box is just full of clothes to which he neatly hangs on the provided hangers in the closet opposite of the bed. The second box is school stuff: his backpack, laptop, notebooks, pens, pencils, and folders. He places the items on the desk and thinks about how well the desk is placed in the room to where the sun from outside shines down right upon it. The third box is his Spiderman gear which he had made sure to carry instead of Harley. He shoves the box in the closet, eager to go on patrol after dinner tonight.

The fourth box is memorabilia. It contains pictures of him and May, Tony, Ned, MJ, Ben, and even a few with his parents. There’s some of Ben’s old sweaters and May’s necklaces. He has a couple of letters and gadgets from Tony. The box hurts. It hurts to even look at the brown cardboard on the outside, not even the inside. His chest aches and his hands shake as he opens the daunting box. He feels sick to his stomach as his eyes find a picture of him and May after one of his decathlon meets that they had won. It was one of the very few she had gotten to be at and she was so stoked. She had brought the camera and everything and had convinced Ned to snap a photo of the two of them. He remembers the way she had hugged him and whispered how proud she was of him in his ear.

Peter closes the box with trembling hands, deciding it’s best to be kept in the closet and hidden away.

…

Peter offers to clean up the kitchen after dinner and Harley lets him, only assuming it’s fair since he was the one who prepared it. He found himself in the living room, picking up from the day and reflecting. Dinner had been quiet. The two shared small talk but it was obvious neither one of them were too interested in getting to know the other. Harley was okay with that. He had to keep his identity as Iron Lad, but there was a small part of him that wished Peter would open up to him. He had been alone for so long and now that there’s someone else living with him he can’t find it in him to get to know the guy.

After a week of Harley knowing Peter he would describe him as calm, genius, and a ray of sunshine. The latter part of those adjectives Harley thinks he sees through, though. Harley knows that Peter is all on his own and probably has been for a while by the looks of it. He thinks he can see the weight that Peter carries on his shoulders and the way his eyes gloss over and grow distant every now and then. Harley can see right through him and it’s only been a week.

Harley has always been good at reading people. He knows when Pepper is stressed even if she doesn’t act like it because she straightens her posture out more, her eyebrows draw together and she talks a bit too quickly.

He knows when Abbie is upset even when she tries to hide it because she gets awfully quiet, her steps are lighter, and she bites her bottom lip.

There are countless other examples of Harley being able to read people like a book. Sometimes he wishes he couldn’t so he could be oblivious and go on about his day but he can’t. When Harley sees something wrong his mind won’t let him forget it no matter how hard he tries to push it away.

So when he observes these seemingly invisible traits in Peter, he can’t ignore it. It’s obvious to him that Peters hurting and Harley wants to help, but he doesn’t want to get too close. It seems like Peter doesn’t want to either— which is fine by him.

Harley’s watch lights up, alerting him of a potential weapons deal downtown. He’s shaken from his thoughts and walks to the kitchen.

“I’m going out. Don’t know how late I’ll be, don’t wait up for me.” He’s already walking out the door, barely hearing Peter’s hum of a reply before it shuts behind him.

��

As soon as the last dish is cleaned and dried off, Peter is sprinting to his room, eager to go patrol. Harley had left a few minutes ago and Peter was thankful for it. He wouldn’t have to explain where he was going for the night to Harley.

He pulls his homemade Spiderman suit out of the box from in his closet and quickly changes into it. He pulls the mask over his face and turns on the police scanner that was on his desk, determining where to go first.

Talk of a potential weapons deal on 96th street catches his attention and he flips the scanner off, opening the window and swinging away into the night.

…

Yep. This was definitely a weapons deal. Harley watched as the two parties cautiously danced around one another, letting the other see the new, high-tech weaponry that would be loose on the streets. Harley knew he would have to be careful. He doesn’t know what kind of power these new weapons hold and even though his suit is practically impenetrable, he doesn’t really want to test that fact.

It looks like the deal is coming to a close and Harley hasn’t gotten any information from these guys’ conversation other than that they think ‘these weapons are sick’. Time to break it up. Harley flies down behind the men, quietly, and then–

“Playtime’s over, it’s time for naptime now, kids!” Harley jerks his head to the new voice. There’s Spiderman, who has dropped down at the end of the alleyway.

“Kill him!” One of them shouts and then it’s a complete free for all. They’re all focused on Spiderman, they don’t know that Harley’s right behind them.

“Well that’s not on today’s schedule.” Spiderman quips, shooting a web at one of the guns in the dealer's hands and yanking it from his grasp. Harley knows he needs to distract at least some of these guys because of the sheer amount of gun shots sounding off in the alleyway.

“Hey, idiots! I’m here too,” and Harley’s not proud of his distraction; it’s not quick-witted or snarky like Spiderman’s, but it still ends up doing the job. Half of the gang members turn around towards him and start firing. Harley easily dodges their bullets, F.R.I.D.A.Y. helping him every step of the way, warning him when one is headed his way. He’s doing pretty well, almost taking down his share of dealers when he hears a sharp gasp from across the alleyway.

His eyes find Spiderman’s and dip down, seeing red starting to pool out of his side. It doesn’t stop the hero though, and he continues to take down man after man. Spiderman actually finishes picking off the guys first, Harley not too far behind him. Harley watches Spiderman web up the dealers against the wall, ensuring they go nowhere.

“Are you okay–” Harley starts.

“I’m fine.” The response is cold and short, taking Harley’s next words and ripping them from his throat.

“Sir, he is bleeding out and requires medical attention immediately.” Fri says in his helmet and the hero in front of him freezes up.

“You can hear her?” Harley asks, as he watches Spiderman press his hands to his side.

“Of course I can. I can hear like five blocks down.” His words hold so much venom.

“Well I don’t know that, genius.” Harley can be rude back, it’s not hard. If this is the game he wants to play, Harley can play along just fine.

“Why can’t you just let it rest?” The question makes Harley freeze, eyebrows furrowed under the mask he’s wearing.

“What rest?” Harley doesn’t know why he’s treading on thin ice, but he can feel the tension in the air.

“Tony. His legacy.” Spiderman says it like it’s personal and that’s what makes Harley’s blood run cold. Spiderman never knew Tony. Spiderman only ever knew Iron Man— not Tony. “Stop pretending to be something you’re not.” As quickly as Spiderman had appeared he was leaving now, swinging out of the alleyway with a hand on his side. All that was left behind was a bit of his blood and the rounded up criminals.

Harley had nothing but respect for Spiderman. The guy was a hero for the little guy. From what he could tell the guy was also incredibly humble and kind. He had never killed anyone except for Mysterio, but Harley could’ve guessed there was something more sinister happening behind the scenes of that whole predicament. Spiderman was good. He was so good. Harley believed that with everything in him.

So why did he just treat Harley like complete horse shit and claim to know Tony personally? It all seemed so out of character. Or maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe Spiderman was actually an asshole. And he had fooled almost everyone in the world into believing he wasn’t.

…

Peter swung home quickly, hand pressed hard into his side and his vision blurring at the edges. He was angry. Peter didn’t get angry. He’s only ever felt true, gut wrenching, jarring rage towards Osborn. Norman was the only person Peter ever wanted to kill with his bare hands.

Seeing Iron Lad for the first time up close and personal comes close to that rage— a soul crushing rage. Peter had seen red when he saw the other vigilante at the end of the alleyway. It's a wonder he didn’t kill any of those gang members.

Seeing Iron Lad brought him back to the battlefield where he watched the life drain from Tony’s eyes. It brought him back to the spaceship where he had met the Guardians and Tony had dubbed him an ‘avenger’. It brought him back to many nights in Tony’s lab and movie nights he shared with his mentor. It brought him back to the countless times Tony would save his ass and then lecture him for an hour afterwards. It brought back so many memories and it hurts.

Peter doesn’t know who this fraud is and he doesn’t care. It’s plain disrespectful. Tony saved the world and now some idiot is flying around in a replica suit trying to be something he’s not. Peter knows there’s some hypocrisy in his thoughts, but at least he’s original and not a copy.

He sticks to the side of his and Harley’s apartment, finding his window that he had left cracked. He forces it up and tumbles inside, breaths heavy, eyes misty, and side throbbing. He pushes himself up off the floor and trudges to their shared bathroom, not forgetting the medkit that stashed away in his Spiderman box that’s hidden in his closet.

Patrol had ended extremely early which Peter was frustrated about. But he was more frustrated about his encounter with the Iron Man duo. What was the guy’s name? Why did he just now decide to pop up? Why did he have to copy Tony?

He strips out of his suit, careful not to jostle his injured side. Peter opens the medkit and quickly finds the antiseptic, grabbing a stray washcloth and dabbing his side with it. He hisses, the sting making the tears in his eyes threaten to fall. This isn’t his first rodeo, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to patching himself up.

It’s in moments like these that Peter feels truly alone. He’s not sure how he managed to keep Spiderman a secret from those he loved most because it seems so impossibly hard without them here to help. He’s learning to be lonely. It’s a new normal for him.

Once he cleans up the wound, he finally sees that the bullet had just grazed him so he wouldn’t need stitches. He’s grateful his first night in his new home isn’t spent stitching himself back together. He gathers his medkit and suit in his arms and makes the trip back to his room, dumping the contents back into the box in his closet. He makes a mental note to fix the hole in his suit tomorrow.

He needs to figure out who this iron guy is. He changes into pjs and sits at his desk, pulling his laptop out.

He starts it up and pulls up google search, typing ‘new iron man’ into the search bar. The first result to pop up is a dailynews article that’s titled, ‘Iron Lad: The Cities New Protector’. Peter scoffs and clicks the link, eyes scanning over the article's contents. The article lays out all they know of the new hero:

His first appearance was two months ago and he had saved a woman and her two children that were stuck inside their burning apartment complex.

He has a suit similar to Tony Starks, but instead of red and gold, his suit is teal and silver.

He has continued fighting crime and saving lives consistently the last couple months.

And lastly, the public has given him the name of “Iron Lad”.

Perfect. Not only is this guy a dupe but the public has given him an incredibly unoriginal name.

Peter doesn’t hear the footsteps come down the hall and towards his room.

Harley stops in the doorway, watching Peter hunched over at his desk for a minute before lightly tapping his knuckles against the door frame.

Peter jumps and slams his laptop shut on instinct. Harley raises a brow.

“Watching porn?” Harley's voice is gravely and Peter can feel his face heat up instantly.

“N-no dude! Gross get your mind out of the gutter!” Peter groans, hiding his face in his hands.

“Well why else would ya slam the laptop shut like you’re closing the hood of a car?” Harley leans cooly against the door frame as Peter sputters at his desk.

“Because it’s personal,” Peter hisses, arms crossing over his chest, careful to avoid his recent injury.

“I won’t pry, Parker. But I thought I would let ya know I’m home and I locked up.” Harley holds his hands up in surrender. He turns to leave the other be, but Peter stops him.

“Wait, actually I have a question.” Harley turns back around and steps into Peter’s room, sitting on his neatly made bed.

“Shoot,” Harley leans back on his palms, getting comfortable.

“Do you know anything about Iron Lad?” The question punches the air out of Harley’s lungs. He tries to act calm, but sits up straighter, clasping his hands together and leaning forward towards Peter who is now turned to face him in his desk chair.

“Why do you wanna know?” Harley says it smoothly, even though his mind is screaming at him to panic.

“Just haven’t heard much about the guy. He seems like a cheap copy of Iron Man and it’s weird how he just recently popped up.” Peter explains, eyes distant. Harley can see the anger hidden deep down in Peter’s eyes and it sends chills down his spine.

“Well I think it’s nice of him to take up the mantle and help the city. He’s just doing what Spiderman’s doing; helping the little guy.” Harley defends. And yeah, maybe Harley shouldn’t have fought back with as much bite but why was Peter so angry about Iron Lad?

“He’s ruining Iron Man’s legacy is what he’s doing. Does the guy think his death is just an opportunity for him to come into the spotlight?” This gets Harley angry. Harley doesn’t hide his anger well.

“Maybe the guy just wants to help people the only way he knows how? Why do you care so much?” Harley's tone is firmer and he sees Peter’s shoulders slump. The kid looks unbelievably exhausted the more Harley takes him in.

“J-just doesn’t seem right.” Peter mumbles, turning his attention back to his desk and opening his laptop. Harley peers over the brunette's shoulder and finds an article on Iron Lad opened up on his desktop. Harley feels sick.

“I'm going to bed, Pete.” Harley doesn’t want their first night to be so tense, but Peter seems like he’s onto Harley and it’s literally only been a day. This is bad.

“Night,” Peter calls over his shoulder.

#this is me trying #parkner #harley keener x peter parker #peter parker x harley keener #parley #peter parker #harley keener #tom holland peter parker #parkner angst

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