#but the last two years it seems like Gab

[lemoncrushh]

Friends Don't

Summary: Harry and Gabriella have been good friends for a few years. But neither of them knows the feelings the other has.

Warnings: Just some smut at the end. 18+ ONLY.

Word Count: 7.8k

A/N: Inspired by the song by Maddie & Tae. Real Harry x OC. Written in first person. Originally posted in 2020.

"Gabs..." I faintly heard in the distance as thick strands of sleep threatened to pull from my heavy eyelids. I thought I was still dreaming, so I rolled over, hoping to continue the fantastic scenario I was already starting to forget.

"Gabby," I heard again, much clearer this time, and I knew I was no longer on the red carpet next to my new BFFs Lizzo and Alexa Chung.

A hand tapped me on my shoulder, and with a groan, I lifted my comforter over my head, hoping to return to flashing lights and high heels, but for which event I was unsure.

"GABRIELLA!" the determined voice shouted, pulling the covers from my grip and forcing me to blink several times.

"What the fuck?" I pouted, finally realizing the light was not from cameras but from my roommate's cell phone.

"God, you sleep like the dead!" exclaimed Angie. "I can't believe you can't hear your phone."

"I have it on vibrate," I muttered sleepily, my eyes still mere slits as I tried to reach for my cell on my nightstand.

"So, I can hear it from the bathroom!" my roommate continued. "It's been going off for like the last fucking hour! Somebody's obviously trying to get a hold of you."

"You've been in the bathroom for an hour?" I asked smugly, knowing she had been exaggerating in typical Angie fashion. I didn't need to look at her to know she was rolling her eyes.

"Oh!" I sounded when I inspected the screen. "It's Harry!"

With a huff, Angie crossed her arms. "Doesn't he know some people sleep at night?"

"He's in London," I told her. "It's already morning there."

"Even worse," she spat. "He's famous but still doesn't know about time differences."

"Shh," I waved her off as I tried to listen to the voicemail Harry had left. With another look of disgust, Angie turned for the bathroom that separated our rooms.

"G'night, Gabs. Tell your boyfriend to get a watch," I heard her say before shutting the door behind her.

Shaking my head, I caught the tail end of Harry's message, then played it back once more.

"Gabs, it's me!" he greeted, sounding chipper. I sometimes hated him for his effortless ability to be pleasant before 10AM. "I just...wanted to talk to you. You're probably asleep, sorry. Sometimes I forget. Give me a ring if you're still awake though. 'Bye."

Though that was the only voicemail he'd left, I had three missed calls from him, and two texts.

Hey! Are you there?

Call me when you get this.

Eager to hear what news Harry had to tell me, I pressed the screen to call his number. He answered after the first ring.

"There you are!" he announced.

"Here I am," I giggled, sitting up in bed. I wasn't sure why, but I always seemed to sit up when talking to Harry, like it was an important meeting. I suppose in a way, it was. Conversations with him, though usually light-hearted were some of my favorites, and I liked to give them my full attention.

"Did I wake you?" he asked.

"No, Angie did," I jabbed. "To tell me my phone was ringing."

"Oh, shit," Harry groaned. "Sorry, love."

I laughed. "No worries. What's up?"

"Not much. 'm leaving for the airport soon."

"Oh!" I sounded. "I thought you were flying to LA tomorrow."

"Nope, today."

"Wait..." I shook my head. "It is tomorrow there."

I heard Harry's low chuckle as I mentally cursed my stupidity. Angie would be happy to know Harry was not the only one who had a lack of time zone knowledge.

"So what else?" I inquired. "Anything exciting?"

"No, not really."

"No?" I furrowed my brows in confusion. "Why'd you call?"

"I dunno..." Harry paused. "Just felt like saying hi."

"Oh," I felt my heart jump in my chest.

"I just missed you."

"Oh," I said just above a whisper. "I miss you too."

I heard Harry hum softly which only managed to send butterflies to my stomach.

Harry and I had been friends for a while. When I had only been living in LA for a little over a year, I had lucked out on getting invited to my first celebrity party through a friend of an acquaintance. Though I'd spent most of the evening ducking behind plants and drinking more than my share of vodka, I had managed to meet a handful of people, including Harry Styles and his One Direction bandmates. Through the years Harry and I had managed to stay in touch and form a long-lasting friendship for which I had a large fondness. I never told him I used to have a massive crush on him, however, as I didn't want to lose what we had.

"I have work to do when I get to LA," Harry said, "but then I have two days off. We should...hang out, yeah?"

"Yeah," I breathed, then cleared my throat. "Yeah, that sounds good."

"Great." I could literally hear his smile through the phone, as if that's possible. "I'll let you get back to sleep. I'll call you when I get in, okay?"

"Okay."

"Sweet dreams, Gabby."

"Goodnight, Harry."

Disconnecting the call, I returned my phone to the nightstand and crawled back under the covers. I laid awake for Lord knows how long, wondering why Harry had decided to call me in the middle of the night just to say hi. Even if he had forgotten about the time zones, he had never done that before. More than likely he would have waited until he was in LA, and it would have been a quick text to ask if I wanted to meet him somewhere for coffee or drinks. We were only friends, after all, not...together.

Somehow, the heavy cloud of sleep finally fell over me again and I was taken back to dreamland. This time, however, I didn't dream about a red carpet event or my wishful buddies Alexa and Lizzo. This time...I dreamt of green eyes and brown curls, soft lips curled up to meet dimples and inked skin on arms that held me close. And I only wished I wouldn't wake up.

"Gaaaabbyyyy!" Harry shouted into the phone. "How are you, love?"

I laughed, recognizing my friend's drunken voice. One thing I loved about Harry, he was a happy drunk.

"I'm okay, Harry, where are you?"

"I dunno," he said matter of factly. "Some party. I forget who it's for."

"Jeez, must be nice," I quipped.

"Honestly, I wish you were here with me. It would be more fun."

I chuckled again. "I doubt that."

"I don't. Why aren't you here?" he asked with a slight pout in his tone.

"I wasn't invited."

"Oh yeah. Sorry. I should have invited you. You could have been my date."

While his words made my stomach flip, I knew he didn't mean them literally.

Since Harry had been back in LA, we'd hung out together almost every free chance he'd gotten. We'd had lunch and dinner together a couple of days in a row, went shopping to a string of vintage shops that were his favorites, and he even let me check out a studio where he was putting some finishing touches on a song he was working on. When he'd leisurely mentioned going to a party this weekend, I had only let the possibility that he'd ask me to go flitter through my mind briefly before dismissing it. He was a busy musician and celebrity, and certainly under no obligation to bring me as a tag along to such an event. I hadn't even bothered to ask him for whom it was, or if it was entertainment or charity related.

Just then I heard another male voice greeting Harry, and Harry saying "Hey, man!" They exchanged a few more words until Harry returned with a cordial and unnecessary apology.

"Well, it sounds like you're having fun," I commented.

"Eh, party's starting to die down," said Harry. "Think I might leave soon. Can I come by yours?"

"Mine?" I gulped. "Um...what for?"

"Mmm...so I can see you?"

"Well...I mean..." I stumbled, my eyes darting around my room and landing on the unmade bed and pile of clothes in the chair, the collection of empty water bottles on my nightstand and dresser. I hadn't bothered to put a stitch of make-up on that day, and I was wearing an old sweatshirt and shorts, my hair up in a loose bun.

"I wasn't really prepared for company," I continued. "And you just saw me the other day..."

I heard Harry giggle and for a second I thought he might be pulling my leg.

"Never mind. That was a dumb idea. It's late," he said.

"Yeah, it is." I sighed, not a hundred percent sure if it was relief or disappointment.

"Are you going to bed soon?"

"Probably."

"Then I'll say goodnight," Harry offered softly.

"Okay."

"Call you tomorrow?"

"Of course," I grinned, unable to stop it if I tried. "Please don't drive, okay?"

Harry giggled again. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good," I said.

"I have a driver. But I like that you care about me, Gabs."

I bit my lip, grateful he couldn't see my face. "Goodnight, Harry. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

"Goodnight, Gabby. I love- I mean, talk to you tomorrow."

My hand shook as I disconnected the call. Was he about to say...? Nah. My friend had had a few too many and was feeling good. That's all it was. Right?

"So, what do you think?" Harry asked me.

He'd brought me to the studio again after a late breakfast where he'd told me the song he'd been working on was finally finished and he wanted me to hear it. I sat on the leather sofa behind him while he sat at the soundboard. I'd listened to almost the entire song with my eyes closed, letting the music surround me and fill my senses. When the song ended, I wanted to pop my eyes open and scream to him how amazing and wonderfully talented he was, but instead I bit my tongue and decided on a different approach.

"Not bad," I commented, straight faced.

Taken aback, Harry frowned. I watched his nose twitch before he scratched it, then looked away from me and back again.

"Not bad?"

"Yeah, it's a pretty good song." This time, I couldn't look him in the eye, so I brought my foot up to my other leg and pretended to inspect my shoelace. "I like it."

"You're shitting me, right?" he asked, using a phrase he'd heard me use far too often.

Unable to contain my composure any longer, I burst out laughing, throwing my hands up.

"Of course I am, Harry! Are you fucking kidding? It's incredible! You're incredible!"

I saw Harry's chest fall as he let out a breath.

"God, you had me for a second," he chuckled, shaking his head.

"Okay, okay, let's be real," I offered, waving my hands in front of me. "You're like off the charts good, alright? That's a given."

"Pppfff" Harry sounded, rolling his eyes.

"No, no, it's true. And you know it. Pretty much anything you put out is going to be great. But..."

When I didn't continue, Harry lifted a brow. "But what?"

"But this..." I raised my shoulders and held out my hands, "I don't know, it's like you just keep getting better. You can't lose. Everything you reach for, you achieve it. And I'm so fucking proud of you."

I could feel myself starting to get a little choked up at my own words, knowing they were absolutely true. Harry rose from his chair then and sat next to me on the sofa. He looked me in the eye as the most gorgeous smile spread across his face and he held out his arms. With no other words spoken, I turned and leaned into him, letting him pull me into a warm hug.

"Thanks, baby," he murmured against my hair.

At least, I thought he said baby. He might have said Gabby, and I've been known to get the two confused before. I didn't think I heard the Gab part though, and I might have just been hearing what I wanted to. Regardless, my insides were a mess when he pulled back and kissed my cheek. His gaze was mesmerizing as he continued to look me in the eye, and for a moment I hoped he would inch just a bit closer so our lips would touch.

I caught the corners of his mouth moving as he lifted a hand from my back to brush away a strand of hair from my face. My own hands were still at his waist from the hug that seemed to linger between us until I heard a noise and I jumped. The door to the soundbooth opened and I looked up to see Tyler.

"Oh, hey there Gabby, didn't know you were coming today."

"Just wanted her opinion on the track we finished," Harry explained for me as I tried to gather myself.

"Oh yeah? What'd ya think?" asked Tyler.

"Phenomenal, of course," I replied, catching Harry's smirk out of the corner of my eye. I was glad he didn't mention my teasing.

"Well, consider yourself lucky," said Tyler. "You're the first person to hear it."

"I am?" I asked incredulously. Then I looked at Harry. "You didn't tell me that!"

Harry shrugged, his smirk turning into a grin.

"And here I thought I was being sly and cheeky."

Harry laughed then, took my hand and rose from the couch, pulling me with him. We both exchanged goodbyes with Tyler, Harry stating he'd be back later that evening. It wasn't until we got outside to his car that I noticed he was still holding my hand.

"What was that?" I inquired.

"Wha'?" he glared at me innocently.

"You let me hear your finished song before anyone else?"

"Yeah. Thought you'd like it."

"Well, of course I did, but that's beside the point," I argued.

Stepping closer to me so that I was trapped between him and the car, Harry reached in his pocket with his free hand and pulled out his keys, his eyes locked with mine the entire time.

"And what's the point, Gabs?" he asked low, pressing the key fob.

"Nothing. Just that it's...special."

A grin grew on Harry's handsome face again, hitting a nerve I hadn't felt before.

"Exactly," he agreed, finally releasing my hand to reach around and open the car door for me.

Staring at him for a moment, I reluctantly climbed inside, locking my seatbelt when he shut the door and walked around to his side.

We drove in silence for what felt like an eternity until I broke the tension and said something.

"Thank you, Harry."

"You're welcome," he said.

"You're right, it was very special. I just wasn't expecting to be the first. Not even your mom or sister, or any of your other friends have heard it yet?"

"Nope. Only Jeffrey and Tyler and the band."

"Oh," I mouthed, feeling the butterflies again.

"I only just put it on my phone. But I wanted you to hear it in the studio since you were with me when we were finishing it. So actually, you got to hear it even before it was complete."

"Yeah, but that was just a snippet," I remarked. I wasn't sure where I was going with this. I wasn't trying to argue with him. I just couldn't fathom being the first person he wanted to hear his new music.

"Anyway," I added. "It was very nice of you to share it with me. I feel special."

With another grin, Harry reached across the console and patted my leg. I nearly came unglued when his fingers lingered a little longer and brushed my upper thigh. Electricity shot up my spine and I had to bite my lip to keep from gasping for air.

I must have been gazing out the window when Harry decided to disturb the silence and turn on the radio. I hummed along to a familiar song until I noticed Harry was getting off the freeway, a couple of exits before mine.

"Are we going somewhere else?" I asked, looking at him for the first time since he'd touched me.

"No," he shook his head. "Just thought I'd go this way."

"But...we'll hit way more lights," I said.

Harry chuckled. "You have somewhere to be?"

"No," I furrowed my brow. "It's just...longer."

"Sometimes longer is better."

I stared at his profile for a moment before I started laughing, which soon turned into a cackle. I had to cover my mouth so keep from sounding like a goofy hyena. As I was leaning over, I felt a hand on my back.

"Take it easy, love, it wasn't that funny," conveyed Harry, although I could hear the humor in his voice.

"I know, but I can't stop laughing," I croaked.

"Breathe, babe!"

Harry rubbed my back as I tried to catch my breath, but his babe remark wasn't helping.

"Need me to pull over?"

"No..." I gasped, sitting up. "No, I'm fine now."

Pushing my hair from my face, I tried my best to keep the giggles at bay. Then I took a deep breath and let it out.

"Sorry, Gabs," said Harry. "Didn't mean to get you going there. I just meant sometimes it's nice to take the long way home."

"Oh. Oh! Duh!" I blushed.

Harry smiled, turning up the radio. We sang along to an old Van Morrison song that just seemed to fit the mood for the day. When the next song started, Harry turned the radio down again and cleared his throat.

"So I have another party to attend this weekend," he stated.

"Oh yeah? Are you planning on drunk calling me again?" I jabbed.

"No," Harry laughed, turning down my block. "I was hoping you'd come with me."

"Oh. Really?" Taken off guard, I had no idea what else to say.

"Yeah. Will you?"

"Um...is it...like super fancy? Do I need a new dress...?"

"No, no, it's really casual. It's on the beach, actually. In Malibu. And um...it's overnight."

"Oh!" Damn. I wasn't sure I was prepared for a beach party. A rich, celebrity beach party. A formal event I could manage, maybe. I could fake my way through smiles and photo-ops, small talk and mingling. But casual celebrity parties made me uneasy. And overnight? With Harry?

"You don't...you don't think I'll be...out of place?" I asked.

"What? No. Gabs, you're the friendliest person I know, are you shitting me?"

I couldn't help but laugh at his use of my phrase again. Sometimes he was so fucking cute, and I wanted to kick myself for not allowing myself to notice it earlier. But at the same time I wanted to kick myself for noticing it now.

We pulled up to a red light, and Harry turned to look at me. "Please say yes. I'd love it if you went with me."

If the light hadn't changed, I would have gotten lost in his pleading eyes right then. Instead, as he shifted gears and accelerated, I sighed and gave in to his request.

"Okay. I'll go."

"Yay!" Harry exclaimed, reaching for my hand and giving it a squeeze. "We'll have a great time."

When we arrived at my place, Harry walked me up to my door while giving me more details about the Malibu party. Angie was in the kitchen making some of her famous oatmeal raisin cookies, of which Harry could not resist. I finally sent him off with four more to take home with him and a reassurance I would go to the party.

"Just making sure," he grinned against the door frame, playing with his keys. "I have to give them a plus one, and I just think I'd have more fun with you than Jeffrey."

"Jeff's not going?" I teased, dismissing the first part of his comment.

"Eh..." Harry tilted his head. "He'll probably manage snagging himself an invite."

I pursed my lips before giving in to his humor. "Bye, Harry."

"Okay girl," I heard Angie say from the kitchen after I shut the door. "Spill it."

"Spill what?" I asked, grabbing my second cookie from the plate.

"The tea. You sure have been spending a lot of time with Harry lately."

"He's fun to hang out with," I said with a mouthful of cookie.

"Oh c'mon. I know I tease you about him and call him your boyfriend. But is there something going on between you for real?"

"No!" I replied a little too hastily, swallowing hard. "You know we're just friends."

"Well I thought you were," she said. "And you say you are, but does he know that?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Gabby. Friends don't walk you up to your apartment and stick around for another twenty minutes and keep making excuses not to leave."

"You had cookies," I remarked.

"Gabs! Don't be blind! I heard him saying something about a party."

"Yeah...he invited me to one this weekend."

"His party?"

"No. I'm not sure whose it is. I just know it's in Malibu at some enormous beach house where there's rooms for all of us to sleep over."

Her jaw dropping, Angie wiped her hands on a dishtowel and dropped it on the counter. "Uh huh."

"It doesn't mean anything," I rolled my eyes.

"Okie doke. If you say so."

My roommate gave me the side eye as I walked down the hall to my room. Shutting the door, I leaned against it, wondering if she was right. Had my instincts been correct? Was this more than friendship? Or was I overthinking it and setting myself up to be heartbroken?

I stood outside on the porch beside the wooden railing, overlooking the beach. It was really beautiful this time of day. While a warm breeze still whipped my hair around me, the sun was beginning to announce its descending on the horizon.

The party had turned out to be even more than I'd imagined. While just the house I was standing in was probably the biggest beach house I'd ever been to, the two on either side were also members of the party's location, each complete with their own bar on the veranda. I'd never been to anything so fancy in my life, and in my simple white sundress I felt a little out of place. I'd mentioned my concern to Harry shortly after we'd arrived, but he assured me it was fine, and I looked beautiful. I'd gotten chills when he told me that, and not from the breeze, but when he'd noticed me shivering, he offered to get a sweater from my suitcase to which I declined.

"There you are," I heard behind me.

I turned my neck to see Harry approaching, the look of delight on his face.

"Was wondering where you'd gone," he said, offering me the drink in his hand.

I shook my head. "I'm sticking with beer tonight, and I'm taking a break for now."

"Alright," his smile faltered. "You okay?"

"Mmm, I'm fine," I nodded. "Just, sometimes sunshine and alcohol don't mix well with me, so I'm taking it easy."

"I understand. Speaking of the sun..." he gestured toward the sky that was starting to turn a bright orange just above the waves.

"So pretty, isn't it?" I commented.

"Beautiful," I heard him say, although from my peripheral view, it didn't seem like he was looking at the beach. When I looked up at him, he grinned like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I mean, yeah," he said, stirring the tiny straw in his drink. "This is my favorite time of the day."

We stood side by side as the sun became a golden half orb behind the ocean, and the beach became all aglow with strings of lights from the houses.

"Wanna take a walk before it gets too dark?" Harry asked, holding out his hand.

I took it hesitantly, following him down the steps and onto the sand. When we reached the damp shore, I removed my sandals so they wouldn't get muddy, holding them by the strap with my finger. My dress, though not long enough to reach my ankles, still came past my knees, so I had to lift it with my other hand, giving me no free hand to hold Harry's.

"Here, Gabs," he said, offering to hold my shoes.

With a smile, I accepted, taking his other hand once again. We strolled down the beach leisurely, our arms swinging between us. I teased him a couple of times, threatening to kick water on him, but when he lifted me up and spun me around, I knew my tricks had come to an end.

"Okay, okay, Uncle!" I screamed.

When he finally set me back down, I gave him a playful punch in the arm.

"Meanie," I said, picking up the hem of my dress that had almost gotten soiled.

"You might as well let that down, babe, you know you're gonna get wet," Harry laughed.

"Only if you plan on pushing me into the ocean!" I protested.

"Is that a dare?" He grinned his Cheshire cat smile, and I ran for it.

I was almost to the house when he caught up with me, but I suspected he had given me a head start. I squealed when his arms trapped me and he spun me around again, aiming for the water.

"Harry Edward Styles, let me down!" I shouted.

I never felt so relieved to feel warm sand beneath my feet than I did in that moment. Breathing heavily, I glared up at him, his eyes dancing with laughter.

"You're an ass," I remarked with disdain.

"Aw Gabs. I wouldn't have actually done it. You know me."

I narrowed my eyes. "I thought I did."

I started to head for the house, but Harry stopped me, standing in front of me. "Gabriella. C'mon, I was joking. I thought I was just going along with your game. I'm sorry."

I took a deep breath. "Okay."

Stepping closer to me, he brushed his hand against my bare arm. "I would never do anything to deliberately hurt you, or embarrass you. You mean too much to me. I was just having fun. That's why we're here, right?"

My face softened and I nodded.

"Forgive me, love?"

"'kay," I said softly.

"Alright," he beamed, handing me my shoes. "Let's go have a drink."

Harry and I sat at the bar outside of the main house. We had a great time chatting with each other, reminiscing, talking to some of Harry's friends. About an hour into it, however, although the alcohol was keeping my blood warm, the chill of the breeze was starting to get to me, so Harry left to retrieve my sweater. When he returned, he surprised me by having one of his own, nearly the same color as mine. I giggled when I saw him, but I also felt touched. I wasn't exactly sure if he did it on purpose so I wouldn't feel out of place, or if he was chilly too and didn't mind that we matched. Either way, I found it adorable, and I couldn't help but notice the gentle way he held my sweater open so I could slip my arms through before he rubbed my shoulders with his hands.

"Thanks," I whispered.

"Any time," he leaned into my ear and whispered back.

The stool next to me ended up occupied while he was away, but being the generous guy he was, Harry didn't ask for it back and in fact insisted that the other woman sit there. So instead, he just stood next to me.

Something was apparent. I was completely confused. I had started to...feel things. More than friendship feelings. I was dizzy and not just because of the beer. I was seeing Harry in a different light, more than just the silly crush I'd had before. And I couldn't help but think he might feel the same. The problem was, I wasn't a hundred percent certain, and I didn't want to look like a fool if I just came out and asked. So I decided to take a different approach.

"So...confession time," I swallowed, setting my empty beer glass on the counter and swinging my legs underneath the bar to face him.

"Confession?" he teased with a smirk, his eyebrow raised in question.

"Yep," I nodded a little too eagerly.

"Alright," he grinned wider, leaning against the bar.

I had to contain my composure as he looked absolutely gorgeous, his hair windswept, his lips full and inviting, and I knew that one more sip of alcohol might possibly have caused me to leap from my barstool and give him more than the confession I had in mind.

"Remember when we met?" I asked.

"I do," Harry nodded.

"You had the long hair then," I commented, making hand gestures next to my face to imply long, cascading curls.

Harry chuckled, his shoulders shaking as I caught a glimpse of his cross necklace dancing in the middle of his chest. "Yeah."

"I used to have such a major crush on you," I blurted.

With a tilt of his head, Harry looked at me. I considered for a second that I'd made a horrible mistake by telling him. Surely he was confused that I'd made such a confession. We were friends in his eyes and always had been, nothing more. He was probably trying his best to think of a nice way to let me down, to tell me he'd never had similar feelings about me, or worse, that I shouldn't have such feelings for him, like a young schoolgirl with a crush on her older brother's friend. I suddenly wanted to take back my words, to pretend I hadn't said them, but Harry surprised me with his next question.

"Used to?" he asked.

"Well, yeah," I laughed nervously.

"Oh." Harry shifted on his feet and began to finger the napkin underneath his glass. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I made a sound and I shrugged. "You were...well, you were hot, and I couldn't believe you actually wanted to talk to me. But then we became close friends so..."

My words trailed off, but I figured Harry knew what I meant. Inspecting the contents of his glass, he swirled it around before lifting it to his lips and setting it back down. I watched him as my stomach flipped and he ran his free hand through his hair.

"I'm really glad we became so close," he said.

"Me too," I smiled.

"I like being your friend, Gabs," Harry added, turning to face me again, his grin mimicking mine for a second before it faltered and he shook his head. "I reckon I have a confession to make, too."

"You do?" I raised a brow, shifting on my stool.

"I've had a massive crush on you as well," he stated.

I gasped, nearly choking. "You did?"

His eyes blinking slowly, Harry stepped closer to me. Or at least, it seemed like he did, even though there was little space between us at it was.

"Did...still do," he confessed, his voice so low it was barely audible.

"What?"

My one word came out like my last breath, and I quickly felt like I needed oxygen. Harry was looking at me intently, standing so close, he was practically between my legs. The noise and chatter surrounding us was blatant, but time seemed to freeze as we stared at each other, Harry's confession whirling around us like clouds of smoke.

"I wasn't quite sure how to tell you," he finally said.

My eyes still wide, I glared at him incredulously. "For...how long?"

Harry shrugged just as the bartender returned with our drink refills. Suddenly realizing how thirsty I was, I eagerly picked up my glass and took a long chug of beer. I didn't miss the tiny smirk on Harry's face before he lifted his own glass and I wiped my apparent beer foam mustache from my lips with the back of my hand.

"Since...since we met?" I asked, urging Harry to continue as I set the glass back down.

"Oh, I dunno, Gabs," he shrugged again. "I mean, I fancied you then, definitely. But not in the way..."

"In the way...what?"

"In the...feelings kind of way," said Harry.

"There's a difference?" I asked, only half teasing.

"Well, of course," he grinned, his dimples reappearing on his cheeks. "I hadn't gotten to know you yet."

"Oh."

"Probably in the same way you fancied me," he added.

"Oh."

"Anyway, I..." he looked down, scratching his nose. "I kinda thought you knew. At least, at one time."

"When?" I asked, flabbergasted. Here I had been nervous about confessing my feelings for him, and I'd never even considered he'd had feelings for me all along, not just recently.

"Last year. Your birthday. And then New Year's."

My jaw dropped as I easily recalled both of those occasions, but had no memory of him giving me any idea he'd liked me as more than a friend. Sure, he'd given me an expensive gift, and we'd gotten pretty wasted on New Year's Eve and I'd let him crash at my place...

"I had no idea!" I exclaimed.

"Well..." Harry smirked, lifting his glass again. "I reckon I'm not very good at giving hints then. But it's...out in the open now."

"Harry..." I mouthed.

With another smile, he threw back the rest of his cocktail and set the empty glass on the bar.

"Kinda wish now I'd told you sooner," he said. "Seeing as you used to have a thing for me, too."

"Not used to," I admitted.

"Wha'?"

"I still do, too," I said. "Still have a thing for you, I mean. Or a crush, or whatever. No, not a crush, that seems so juvenile. Oh my God, Harry, I'm so stupid!"

Harry chuckled, his eyes squinting the way I liked that made him look so handsome and childlike at the same time.

"Slow down, love," he offered, placing his hand on my arm.

"I'm so dumb, Harry," I groaned. I could feel the effects from the alcohol now, but I knew my feelings were honest and not beer induced. "I've been making excuses. I was wondering why you were doing certain things, like calling me in the middle of the night or standing close to me. Playing me your song and inviting me to this party. I worried I was overthinking it all. Like there was no way you liked me in that way. We're just good friends. But now..."

"Now?" His eyes studied my face, waiting for my response as both of his hands took mine, bringing them to his chest.

"Now I know you do."

"Yes I do, Gabriella."

I wanted to grab him and kiss him right then and there, and I would have if the woman behind him hadn't bumped into him and reminded me where we were.

"C'mere," I urged, rising from my stool and taking his hand.

I pulled him to the steps that led to the beach and we walked until I found a dark enough spot where I knew we were out of earshot. Then I turned around and wrapped my arms around him. Without a word, Harry leaned down and kissed me softly, making the butterflies in my stomach flutter and my insides light up like dynamite. Then he deepened the kiss, our tongues dancing in rhythm with my heartbeat.

"Baby..." Harry groaned after our long kiss, his forehead pressed against mine.

"I...I heard you call me that earlier," I said as I traced his mouth with my fingertip. "I thought I was lying to myself."

"Not a lie, baby," he assured me. "I guess some of my hints did get through."

I smiled up at him and licked my lips.

"Kiss me again, Harry," I begged, "so I know I'm not dreaming."

"You're certainly not," Harry said low before pressing his lips to mine again.

We kissed like that on the beach for a long time, the noise of the party worlds away, the crash of the waves in the distance.

"Harry..." I whispered when we came up for air. "I know we're at a party and everything...but...I'd really like to be alone with you right now."

"I think that can be arranged," he agreed.

Not bothering to say goodnight to his friends at the main house, he took my hand and led me to the smaller house on the left, the one in which we were staying. With a quick wave to a handful of people on the porch, we made our way through the back doors and up the stairs. Stopping in the hallway, Harry grinned at me.

"Yours or mine?" he asked cheekily.

"Shut up and get in there," I quipped, pushing him towards our room.

When he opened the door, I eyed the two beds.

"Seems like such a waste," I commented as I followed him to the bed he chose, kicking off my shoes.

"Could have been worse," said Harry as he sat on the bed. "I could have asked for separate rooms."

"Oh, so you were expecting to get some tonight?" I teased as I sensually unbuttoned my cardigan and dropped it.

"No baby," he replied, pulling me to stand between his knees, his green eyes sincere. "Just hoping."

With a gentle smile, I leaned forward and took his face in my hands. I looked at him for a few moments, studying his gorgeous face before kissing his soft, warm lips. It was as though a fire had ignited within me, and I couldn't get enough. I felt his hands on my hips then, trying to pull up the sides of my dress. I heard a pout sound from his throat as I separated our mouths, but his face lit up when he realized what I was doing. Grabbing the hem of my dress, I pulled it up and over my head, letting it fall to the floor. Another sound vibrated from Harry's chest before he slid his hands up my sides and rose from the bed.

In one swift motion, he pulled both his sweater and shirt over his head, not bothering to separate the two. I had seen him shirtless before, but somehow this time was different. I wanted to trace every tattoo, kiss the little patch of hair on his chest and lick a long trail down his belly. My mouth began to water knowing I had the opportunity. I watched him unbutton his pants next, causing my heart to beat faster. I must have been biting my lip in anticipation because Harry chuckled low then, lifting his finger to pry my lip from my teeth.

"You're so sexy," he declared.

"Me?"

"Yeah," he nodded, his eyebrows raised in confirmation. "I've wanted to suck on that bottom lip for a long time."

"God, you're gonna drive me crazy, aren't you?"

Harry laughed harder. "That's the plan."

Unable to control myself, I crashed into his lips again, tangling my fingers in his hair. He moaned against my mouth while his hands found the clasp of my bra, letting the straps fall down my shoulders. I released my grip on his hair so that the bra could drop to the floor and within seconds, my naked breasts were covered by his hands.

This time it was my turn to moan. One thing about Harry that I was perfectly aware of, other than his talent and cheekiness, was that he had amazing hands. When we'd first gotten to know each other, I would sometimes stare at them. And after I started thinking of him in a new way recently, it was not uncommon for me to fantasize about them. Feeling them touch my tender, bare skin was like nothing I'd ever dreamed. I could already feel the wetness between my thighs, and I felt light-headed.

"Harry..." I heard the sound come from my lips before I opened my eyes to see his staring back at me.

"Let's go to the bed, love," he announced.

In my...somewhat mediocre...experience, I was never sure of the protocol for turning down the bed for sex. I was pleasantly surprised, however, when I saw Harry grab the quilt and pull it down to the foot of the bed.

"C'mere, baby," he beckoned as he laid down.

A tiny spark of nerves shivered down my spine as I slowly crawled onto the bed beside him. He reached for me, pulling me against his body and kissing me passionately.

"I don't want this to be awkward," he whispered. "So you let me know if it doesn't feel right and you wanna stop."

"No," I shook my head. "No, it's not awkward at all. I'm just a little nervous, I guess."

"Let me help you relax then," he said. "Tell me how I can help."

His hand slid down my hip as I stared into his eyes. His fingers slipped underneath the lace side of my panties and I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath.

"How's that feel?" I heard him ask, his calloused fingertips lightly stroking the skin across my hip.

"Very nice," I breathed.

His hand moved slightly underneath the lace and I suddenly felt his fingers approach the area I needed him most. Another breath hitched in my throat as he began to touch me. With each moan of response I gave him, he continued, moving in circles with his fingertip.

"How's that, baby?"

"Mmmnnn...yes..." was all I could manage to say before he chuckled again. Shifting onto my back, I opened my legs wider so he had better access. Harry, however, had other ideas. Pulling his hand from my panties, he crawled up on his knees, his face inches from mine.

"I wanna taste you, Gabriella," he declared.

I threw my head back and whispered to the headboard as Harry pulled down my lace underwear. "Fuck, yes."

While my insides were still shaking, I no longer felt nervous. I already knew what his hands could do in just a few minutes. Now I was eager to feel his mouth on me.

Harry was one to take his time, never in a rush for anything, and this was no exception. He left soft kisses on my stomach and pubic bone, then lifting my thighs, he left kisses there as well. I was nearly ready to explode by the time I finally felt his tongue on me, and even then, he took his time.

Harry seemed to catch my clues as well, knowing when to speed up or slow down, learning my body and how much I could take. As I could feel myself reaching my climax, he lifted my hips with his hands, and as I came, he slowed gently before lowering me back down and kissing my thighs once again. My body trembled slightly as he laid his head on my thigh and hummed, waiting patiently for me to come down.

"God, you're beautiful," I heard him murmur as he crawled up my body again, his hands on my breasts.

I tasted myself on his tongue as he kissed me before he shimmied down and took my nipples into his mouth. I moaned again at the sensation, unable to control my urge to feel him inside me.

"Still nervous?" he asked me with a smirk.

I laughed out loud. "Not at all."

"Good," he chuckled. "'Cause I wanna fuck you so bad."

I laughed again, throwing my arm over my eyes.

"Too much?" I heard him ask as I felt the bed shift.

"No," I replied, lowering my arm as I saw him remove his underwear and reach in his bag for a condom. "I have a feeling there's no such thing as too much with you."

He laughed then, returning to the bed. "I guess we'll find out."

I bit my lip at both his cheeky remark and the anticipation. Lifting my knees, I watched him scoot between them. The initial pressure and sting was immediately replaced with immense pleasure as he filled me and began to thrust. Perhaps the aftershock of his oral treatment hadn't completely worn off, because it didn't take long before I was moaning and gasping underneath him. And I certainly was not alone because Harry's moans soon began to mimic mine, and he whined my name.

"Holy shit, you feel so good," I cried.

"Yeah, baby, fuck," he growled. "I'm close already."

I'd always thought the concept of coming together ridiculous, if not impossible. But with Harry, I wanted it. I even begged for it.

"Come with me, Harry," I called out, my legs wrapped around his waist and my hands holding onto his back for dear life.

"Fuck, yes."

And with one more thrust, it happened.

Fireworks, bottle rockets, shooting stars...all the silly cliches I'd read in books...they weren't fiction. Mind-blowing sex is real.

We laid in bed staring at the ceiling while our breaths evened out, then took turns in the bathroom. When I returned, I was surprised to see Harry with the sheet and quilt pulled up to his butterfly tattoo, two votive candles lit on the nightstand.

"Oh nice," I commented. "Where'd the candles come from?"

"They were here," he answered, his voice lower than usual. "In the table. It had been my plan to light them when...I mean if...we came up here. But I forgot."

"God Harry..." I mused as I crawled into bed beside him.

"What?"

"You just..."

With a wide grin, he chuckled, his adorable dimples dipping in his cheeks as he pulled me to him once again. "What, baby?"

"We're not friends anymore," I remarked.

"We're not?"

"No. Friends don't...do this," I said, brushing my fingers through his curls. "And definitely not what we just did."

"We're still friends, Gabs," Harry replied. "Just...a different kind."

"A better kind...I hope."

"Definitely."

"Hmm," I nodded. "Just do me a favor and don't break my heart."

"That's not part of the plan," he shook his head.

"Good. 'Cause I already kinda love you."

Lifting himself up on his elbow, Harry raised a brow. "Just kinda?"

"Well...you know...because we were already so close..."

With a glorious smile, Harry lowered his head to kiss my nose, then my lips.

"I love you too, baby," he said.

Hope you enjoyed! Please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[feyhunter78]

Pink Pastels Pt 28

Description: It's time for the gala, and you meet two surprising figures there. Pt 29

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your gown, the soft material clinging to you like a second skin, emphasizing your curves perfectly, and giving you one hell of an ego boost.

“Y/N are you almost ready to go?” Miguel calls from your shared bedroom.

You give yourself a final look in the mirror. Makeup? Perfect. Hair? Gorgeous. Outfit? Stunning. You have to hand it to Miguel; he knows your style. You adjust the flower pendant around your neck, then step out of the bathroom, joining Miguel by the full-length mirror in the corner of the room.

“Ready.”

He looks at you in the mirror’s reflection, suddenly losing his grip on his tie. “Mi Vida…you look—”

“Like a princess! Mamá looks like a princess.” Gabi says, throwing her body onto you and Miguel’s bed before rolling over onto her stomach and admiring you, her head resting in her hands.

You turn and beam at her, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart, you look very pretty too.”

Gabi smiles and jumps up, twirling around in her dress. It’s a sparkly purple dress, the color matching your own, and Miguel’s tie. “What do you think, Papá?”

In an effort to make Alchemax seem more family friendly, they opened the gala up to family members, citing there would be entertainment for any kids that attended if their parents wanted for a break from them.

Miguel finishes tying his tie, then scoops Gabi up. “You look beautiful, mija.”

Gabi smiles and wraps her arms around his neck. “You look very handsome, Papá.”

“Like an emperor?” You suggest, giving Miguel a teasing smile over Gabi’s shoulder.

Miguel’s admitted he has a certain, and elaborate fantasy in which he is a superpowered emperor, and you are a princess that he whisks away and seduces. You haven’t yet given it a try, but even the mere mention of it nearly whips Miguel into a frenzy.

“No, that’s silly, he’s wearing clothes, Mamá.” Gabi giggles.

“Of course, I’m wearing—what?” Miguel’s brows furrow, and he looks to you for clarification.

“Oh, oh, we were talking about that story, The Emperor’s New Clothes, in class today.” You fill Miguel in, both proud of Gabi for remembering details about the story and glad she didn’t ask any other questions about why you referred to Miguel as an emperor.

“It’s a weird story, I like Beauty and the Beast better.” Gabi says, playing with the end of Miguel’s tie.

“It is a little silly, but the moral of the story is what’s important, remember?”

“Yes Mamá.” Gabi says.

“Why don’t we stop talking about people not wearing clothes and head to the party?” Miguel says, shooting you a look.

You smile mischievously at him, then head toward the door. “We’re waiting on you.”

You hold Gabi’s hand as you walk into the massive ballroom where Alchemax is hosting their gala. It’s in a nice hotel, one you’ve certainly never had the money to stay at before.

“It’s so pretty!” Gabi says, her eyes darting around the room as she takes in the finery before her.

“It really is.” You say, taken aback by how absolutely gorgeous the venue is.

“It was better last year, the CEO really slashed Monica’s budget, said she went too overboard last time.” Miguel comments, snagging two glasses of champagne from a nearby waiter.

You take it gratefully. “Well, I think it looks wonderful.”

“Miggy! Gabs! Y/N!” Monica’s voice rings out through the air.

“Speak of the devil.” Miguel jokes, turning to face his half-sister, who is rapidly approaching.

“Auntie Mon!” Gabi cries, rushing forward and throwing her arms around Monica.

“Hey kiddo!” Monica says, smiling down at Gabi. “You excited to see the petting zoo?”

“Yes, yes, yes, are there sheep?” Gabi asks, bouncing up and down on her toes in excitement.

“You bet there are.” Brett, Monica’s husband says, smiling widely, and he bends down to be face to face with Gabi. “You want to come with Uncle Brett and see them? If that’s okay with your dad?” He looks up at Miguel.

“Please Papá, please, I want to see the sheep.” Gabi begs, giving Miguel her best puppy dog eyes.

Your fiancé predictably folds and nods. “Okay, but be careful.”

Gabi promises to be careful and takes Brett’s hand, letting him lead her out the doors and into the garden area.

“Sheep?” Monica asks, raising one eyebrow.

Miguel shakes his head fondly. “I don’t know, they’re her newest obsession right now.”

Monica laughs. “Remember when we were back in school, and you were obsessed with that really specific pen brand? What were they, G-something?”

“Sharpie S-Gel.” Miguel says almost automatically.

A catlike grin spreads across her face. “Like father, like daughter, huh?”

You stifle a giggle, there are dozens of those pens scattered around Miguel’s apartment.

“Monica, darling, are you teasing Miguel?” A voice you don’t recognize asks.

Miguel stiffens slightly, and Monica turns, a playfully annoyed look on her face. “Mom, he’s a grown man, he’ll be fine.”

Standing before you are two women. One, a tall red-haired woman with piercing blue eyes and an elegant air to her, you assume she’s Monica’s mother, and the other a slightly shorter Mexican woman with curly dark hair and warm brown eyes. She’s wearing the same pantsuit as Monica’s mother but in powder blue instead of black.

“Yes, but he’s sensitive.” Monica’s mother says, smiling brightly at Miguel. “Miggy, darling, how are you?”

“I’m doing well, Nancy, and yourself?” Miguel asks, stiffly holding his hand out for her to shake.

“Mijo, don’t be so stiff, hug your Aunt Nancy.” Miguel’s mother says, taking a step forward and lightly swatting him on the arm.

“Oh Connie, please, don’t push the boy, I know he’s not the biggest hugger.” Nancy chides playfully, giving Miguel a quick hug.

You’re torn between freaking out, quietly cussing Miguel out for not telling you his mom was going to be here, or introducing yourself, but luckily Monica makes the choice for you.

“Mom, Aunt Connie, this is Y/N, Miguel’s fiancée.”

Nancy’s perfectly painted lips blossom into a brilliant smile, but Connie’s brow furrows.

“What about Ava?” She asks.

Your stomach drops.

“What about her, Mamá?” Miguel counters calmly.

“She’s Gabriella’s mother, you can’t just replace her like that.”

And now your stomach begins to churn uncomfortably.

“Can we have this discussion in private?” Miguel asks, his tone leaving no room for discussion.

Connie nods, and you look between Miguel and Monica.

“I’ll be right back, cariño, enjoy the party.” He reassures you, before he leads his mother away from the main crowd.

Nancy purses her lips, then pulls out a chair. “Never liked that Ava girl.”

Monica sits as well, motioning for you to do the same. “She’s a bitch.”

You bite your tongue.

Nancy seems to notice and places her hand over yours. “Oh, don’t worry, she’s long gone, ran off with some Californian.”

“Oh, yes, Miguel told me.” You say, praying they’ll believe that’s the real reason you look like you want to vomit.

“Not everyone can make an affair work in their favor, it’s hard work.”

You blink owlishly at her.

“I saw Miguel and Monica in school together, made the connection, went to Connie to ask woman to woman what was going on behind my back. Turns out she had tried to end the affair multiple times, but Tyler wouldn’t let her, until one day she finally gathered her strength and broke it off. Now, Tyler and I were never soulmates, but it hurt to know what he had done, and I wanted revenge.”

Monica grabs her drink and downs it.

“I’ll spare you the boring details but, rest assured, Connie and me and made sure Tyler could never negatively affect our lives ever again.” Nancy finishes, picking up a knife and cutting into the food set before her.

“That’s good…?” You say uncertainly, looking to Monica for help.

Monica just shrugs. “Hey, I didn’t pay for college, or my wedding, I really can’t complain.”

“Needless to say, I keep my husband on a short leash, and I have no patience for cheaters, so Ava was never my favorite.”

“I…yeah, no, she sounds awful.”

Maybe it’s better to keep your mouth shut, technically you were kind of cheating on Todd with Miguel, but it’s different, right? Todd treated you horribly, he didn’t care about you, and you broke up with him before you and Miguel actually ever had sex, hell you didn’t even know it was Miguel until the end.

Besides, Todd would’ve jumped at the chance to get his dick sucked by his favorite female superhero, and wouldn’t have even felt bad about it, at least you felt bad…

Speaking of Miguel, you wonder what’s taking him so long.

Tag list: @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @luvisaaxoxo, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @aesniri, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @act1839, @needsleep3000, @totally-not-georgia, @witchy-lizard, @cxmeiloorun7, @justrandomlolidk, @chimpkinnuggies, @alicefallsintotherabbithole, @loser-alert, @wwwellacom, @ryantryan6969, @lollipopin, @blakeaha, @youcantseem3, @a-cult-leader, @verexi, @purpleskiesandroses, @they2luv1naia, @sophiaj650, @idolautism, @rheannajrs, @merakiq, @rexs-wife, @sukaretto-n, @twilight-loveer, @f1shb0nez, @callsign-blue, @marcelineormars

[sgt-scottymoreau]

Belgian Meeting - COT

Summary: After their visit to the MacTavish clan, Scotty ponder a lot about how her own family would take the news. Deep, she knows it won't be well; some might take it better than others. She wants to keep it secret a little longer, but it also eat her from the inside to not be up front with her own family.

Warning: None

Words: 4.3k // AO3 // Masterlist

A/N: I'm struggling a little to write recently. I'm working on something but I used to be able to finish some work in like a few days. It has been weeks now. So I'm just going in my back log and will post this for now <3

After the almost fiasco with Soap's family, Scotty thought for a little while about how she should bring this up to her family. She did say that they should wait, let one side let all of this sink in. The MacTavish clan took it rather well. Even Soap's mother didn't seem to mind when they finally explained everything. Which in itself still surprised all of them, but in a good way. Mother. 

That was the one person Scotty wasn't too sure would be very pleased with her new boyfriend. However if there was one person who could pull up with her shenanigans, it was Gabrielle. That might be a start. Her fingers trembled as her thumb hovered the call icon. Scotty swore that every time she spent a long time without talking to her sister it would always be to bring some very big news. Either unexpected visit with the whole task force, introducing Ghost as her boyfriend on the day she visits for New Year. And now this. The last time she spoke with Gabrielle was only three months ago, if she didn't consider the few messages here and there, which wasn't that long. Still, today's call felt as stressful as if she had to stop a missile or bomb. Which was ridiculous. 

The buzzing from her phone took her by surprise, she almost dropped it. It was Gabrielle calling. Scotty answered quickly. "Talk about coincidence I was going to call you!"

"Were you really? Or you just pretend so I don't patronize you." Gabrielle frowned on the other side. 

"I swear I was. I had something to tell you."

"So did I. Who first?"

Scotty saw it as an opportunity to stretch the confession and she was actually curious as to what her sister had to say. Last time she did so, it was seven years ago to announce the twins. "Go first, age before beauty." Even without the video call, Scotty could feel the glare through the phone. 

"Very funny. Ok, I need a weekend away from Nathan and the boys. They are driving me insane! Do you think I could come by?" 

The sergeant wasn't really expecting this. Since she started to work for the 141 and moved to England, no one had visited her. Not that she had time nor the place to receive anyone, it was always easier for her to be the one visiting. Although it was only Gabrielle that could be arranged. "Sure! Well if you visit, then maybe we can talk about what I wanted to tell you in person. You will see when you are home." 

*****

True to her words, Gabrielle arrived the next day. Camille was waiting at the Central station when she found the woman through the crowd. The two sisters hugged each other and Camille walked her back to the car; they still had a long way to home. But before getting in, the eldest had a burning question. "So what is it that you wanted to tell me but then choose not to till I was here?" She had a mischievous smile on her face. 

This was matched by Cam's own mischievousness. "Nothing big… I just have a second boyfriend." She thought about how to bring this up. All possible ways and to be blunt and direct was the only one that felt right to her.

Gabrielle looked at her shocked. She closed the trunk stronger than she expected. That was hell of a bomb to drop so casually. "This is a joke? What are you talking about, you can’t have two boyfriends?"

"Watch me Gab." The sergeant grabbed her phone, showed her lockscreen. It had a picture of her in the middle with both Ghost and Soap kissing each cheek. "See? This is Soap." 

Gabrielle went from shocked to unimpressed. A soft groan escaped her throat and it took her a lot to not facepalm. She might not have seen him since that one time they crashed at her place, but she sure recognized the man. "Really? From all the people, your other colleagues. Seriously Camille? You have a lot to explain…"

"Good thing we have another two hours drive to get to my place."

Up to date with her sister's life, Gabrielle still couldn't believe the situation. It still felt surreal. It didn't help that when they arrived home, Camille admitted that Ghost and Soap were on a mission, so it would only be the two of them for the weekend. Not that the eldest minded, if anything it was nice to have a girl weekend, they hadn't done that since Camille joined the army. Which was ages ago. Despite the initial shock, the rest of the days went rather calm and nice. The sergeant showed around, Gabrielle having to not worry about a thing, even though she did send a message once in while to see how the kids were doing. They stayed up late watching movies like they used to do as teens. Overall, they both enjoyed that time and Camille really needed this if she was ever to eventually tell her parents about Soap. Having Gabrielle still acting the same around her despite this was a huge relief and stability. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad with her parents? Although both women agreed that their mother might be hard to convince. The eldest proposed that Camille give a quick call to try to bring the news. Give a hint. The sergeant wasn't too sure if it would work. How to even hint something as big as this? 

In the end, as Camille wished good travel back home to Gabrielle, she made her promise to keep it secret till she was ready to say anything. 

*****

Eventually, Ghost and Soap had a two week leave after this mission, while Scotty only had a week remaining of hers. Who knew when would be the next time they could have time together. She told them about the surprise visit and how… maybe she might want to take a few days to go see her parents. With them. Both. Ghost already knew the old folks and had no objection. Soap was rather glad to meet his in-laws, hoping everything would go smoother than with his family when their secret will be out. At least this time, they didn't go with the mindset of keeping it under the radar. Scotty wanted to be up front from the start to avoid any drama. With her sister already aware it should be only easier. 

"We don't have to force anything if you don't want to." Soap said once they exited the airplane and walked the long way to the arrival.

"No, it's alright." She assured him. Scotty had her own plan to bring the news slowly to everyone. Step one; her dad. The two of them had always been so close that she trusted the man to have a rather open mind. He did accept Ghost rather easily. Of course, he would approve of Soap too. The thing was how much he would approve of her relationship. "I didn't introduce Ghost to my family till we had been dating for six months… I'm on five with you. I suppose it's in the timestamp." 

"That's one way of putting it." Ghost smiled under his mask. He had traded the full-on balaclava for a surgical mask, exposing more than he wished, but it felt like the most tactical move to do on a commercial plane. He was itching to cover himself as soon as they passed the customs. Something he did a little too fast when they were clear, making the two sergeants laugh heartily. Hearing both send a strange feeling down to his stomach. He couldn't exactly pinpoint what, but it was a feeling that had been hanging for a long time now, but only now was he a little more aware of it. 

When they passed the door, they got some glances from everyone. Thanks to Ghost. He was hard to miss; tall and the mask. Very subtle. But Scotty didn't mind it. Her dad waved at the group and she ran into his arms, very happy to see him. "How was the flight?" He quickly gave a handshake to both men. "You must be Soap?"

"Aye, nice to meet you, sir." He replied. 

"So he is the friend you told us would be coming to visit?" 

Scotty rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah… about that." 

Henri raised an eyebrow. His daughter was so easy to read, even if she tried hard to hide it. "What is it, sweetie?" 

"He is not exactly a friend… Well he is.. I mean he has been my best friend since I joined the task force and…"

"Camille. Get to the point." He knew she would go on and on for a while.

"He is my boyfriend." Her dad looked at her with big eyes, unsure if he heard that well. "Surprise, I have two boyfriends now." She chuckled nervously. The old man looked at the other two, thinking this was some sort of joke, but the unfazed expression from Ghost and the genuine smile from Soap made him reconsider that it might in fact be true. 

"Excuse us, one second boys." He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away. Last time Camille felt his grip like this was back in high school after she got in trouble. "What are you playing at, Camille? Two boyfriends, what the hell is that?" He switched back to French as soon as they were away.

"Is that so bad? What's wrong with that?" She genuinely wanted to know.

"You… you can't seriously love two persons at the same time? This is crazy." 

Her heart pinched, the smile on her face vanished and she started to regret her choice. Maybe she should have kept it secret… But from all the people, she really thought her dad would be someone to understand. If not, at least support her in her decisions, but the sound of his answer didn't really reflect either. It hurted more than she thought. She felt a pressure build up behind her eyes. "I was expecting this kind of reaction from mom. But not from you." 

The old man realized how harsh he might have sounded. He held her by the shoulders. "I'm sorry, tulip. I didn't mean it. It's just a bit of a shock. I thought you were happy with Ghost, weren't you?"

"I am! I'm still very happy with him. But… I realized that I also had deeper feelings for Soap and Ghost was fine with this and…" Emotions were forcing themselves all at the same time. Henri pulled her in a tight hug. 

"No worry, sweetie. I understand. It feels strange, but as long as you are happy." He looked at the two men. "At least we see the face of one of them. Glad to see you also like your men unmasked." He teased her. Camille let out a soft laugh. Alright maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Awkward yes, but not bad. Anyway, this was but a trial to when it will come to face her mother about this.

They joined up with the other two and Henri walked them back to the car. They still drove an hour before being home. Scotty quickly reassured them that everything was fine, her father had just been a little shocked by the news but he was eventually ok with this. Still a strange concept to him, but he could handle it. They shouldn't worry too much. The drive was spent mostly by Henri asking questions to Soap. The casual ones to figure out who the man was. Ghost found himself rather amused how Soap was being interrogated more than he had been when he met the man for the first time. Scotty begged her dad to stop, she wasn't a teenager anymore and knew who she was dating. But even then, her dad will still be a dad. Anyway compared to Ghost, Soap seemed more open to chat. 

A few kilometers before they arrived, the tension in the car was suffocating. Ghost and Soap could feel how the two Moreaus were apprehending the arrival at home. Henri grabbed his daughter's hand and gave her a reassuring smile. Scotty returned it; the situation felt very familiar. This was just like the time she was about to tell her mom she joined the army.

Scotty let her dad go in first. Soap came behind her. "Are you sure everything will be alright?" 

She took a deep breath. "Let's just say that if it doesn't, please don't intervene." 

Ghost and Soap looked at each other frowning. What did she mean? "Why are you so scared to tell her?" Ghost asked without mincing his words. 

Her gaze met his, with a tired look. "Because she has a strong opinion when it comes to some aspects of my life. I don't align with her values." That gave them more questions than answers. Ghost didn't remember any animosity between the two when he first met her family years ago. Then again back then they were invited in a rush and during holiday, maybe there was some sort of truce? Scotty was the first to cross the entrance and she could already tell that it would be a thought conversation. The atmosphere felt tense, or it was her. To her surprise Gabrielle was also there. Alone. No kids or husband. Her sister got up to greet her with a kiss and hug. Gabrielle noticed the two men behind her. "Are you really going to do it?" She whispered in Camille's ear. The youngest simply nodded. 

Her mother got up to welcome her, but stopped in her tracks when she saw Ghost coming from the corner followed by an unknown face. "Who's that?" She asked, looking at Soap. 

Camille glanced at her sister and dad who stood on the side, silently supporting her. "This is John." Soap had allowed her to introduce him by his real name to make things easier. "My… my second boyfriend." 

Her mother's eyes went from Camille to Soap a few times, passing by Ghost. She looked at the three of them as she was trying to figure out what was going on. "Your second what?"

"You heard me mom. Boyfriend." Camille repeated calmly. 

The old woman shook her head, giving the sign to the non French speakers an idea that this was not going well. "I know you can't have kids but that's not a reason to whore yourself like this." 

"Suzanne!" Her husband cried out, shocked by the boldness of the statement. 

"Good god mom!" Gabrielle said at the same time. "You can't stay stuff like that!" 

"This is not how it works! You have one partner in your life and that's it! I'm fine if she had chosen a woman but I'll not tolerate that." She waved at Camille and the two men. The Englishman and Scotsman had a hard time following, but by the reaction of the others, the mom might have said something bad. Soap started to wonder how his family had been so open with the idea, but hers wasn't too keen. Why? 

Camille stood there still processing how her mother just called her a whore for daring to love two persons and bring back a fact that had no place in this conversation. She knew exactly why, and she had enough. "You are saying this just because it would look bad to your fucking Sunday friends!" She lashed out, taking everyone by surprise. "You don't fucking care about me all your care is about how it will looks like that your daughter is not living be 'normal' convention! I'm sure you already tell all your friends that I'm not in the army because oh no what I shame! When it's totally normal to have women in the army nowadays!"

"Camille Moreau! You change that tone immediately!"

"No I won't! Ashamed that the pastor will judge you when he will ask how's the family? Not everyone lives by your church bullshit!" 

"Camille, that-" The father tried to stop this argument which would only heat more, but was interrupted by his wife blaming him for taking his daughter's side again. Which he tried to say he wasn't, this prompted Camille to say he was again siding with his wife. Henri was completely torn between the two, if he kept going it would only be like throwing oil on the fire. The two women started to argue again, so he waved at Gabrielle and the two men to leave the living room with him. It was for the best. The patriarch took them to the backyard. Even with the door closed, you could still hear the shouting. Ghost and Soap, but mostly the latter, looked rather uncomfortable. 

"Don't worry, boys. Just need to let the storm pass." Henri said with a defeated groan. 

"Does it happen often?" Soap inquired.

"No, but when it does it's best to not intervene. Last time I was almost asked for a divorce. They are both very stubborn." 

Ghost looked over his shoulder. Hearing all that shouting gave him bad memories of his own father yelling at him. When he couldn't defend himself and wish he could have. His fist clenched as he held himself from going back in; he knew she was capable of defending herself. He simply hated to see her in such a situation. The four of them tried to make small talk. Gabrielle explained that she knew this was bound to happen hence why she was here. Provide a way to escape if the animosity was too high. Henri on his side explained that as much as Camille had respect for authority or her parents, she sometimes wouldn't mince her actions when something annoyed her. Ghost and Soap agreed on that point. The father also admitted that this clash was mostly due to one woman not caring about what others think while the other was worrying a little too much. Whenever they had a heated argument this was often the core of it. "I can assure you boys, it has nothing to do with you. Nothing personal." He tried to reassure them. 

The door opened suddenly, making everyone jump. "Sure go ahead, always bring this back to Gabrielle! Sorry for being such a fucking disappointment!" Camille screamed back, slamming the door shut. A miracle the window didn’t shatter. She turned to see the four of them looking at her. "No offense Gab."

"None taken." Gabrielle cleared her throat. 

This was a disaster. Henri gestured silently to Gabrielle to come back inside, leaving some time alone to the trio. Also, it was probably best to check on the mother. Scotty turned to Soap and Ghost, holding back so many tears. She knew this would have been a possible outcome, that they might witness this. She promised herself to handle it maturely. She was prepared for this or so she thought. But at this point Scotty wasn't sure if she wanted to cry because her mother was against that relationship or because they saw her in such a state of anger. She wasn't really proud of it. "Sorry about that." She eventually let out. Not without falling in Ghost's arms for a hug. 

The Brit held her close to her. Soap watched feeling like this might have been his fault. From his point of view, everything had always been fine till he showed. As he voiced his concern about this, Scotty was quick to remind him that she was the one who wanted him to be part of her life and this would have happened no matter who she had brought home. They will work this out. Scotty didn't need her mother's blessing to live her life. She let go of Ghost to wrap her arms around Soap and pecked a kiss on his lips. He smiled, pressing his forehead on hers. Ghost watched them, as a strange sensation fluttered in his inside. Yet familiar. 

The door opened slowly, Gabrielle stood there with a shy smile. "Our mother said she will go to her brother's to cool off. You are all welcome to come back inside." 

The rest of the evening went as well as it always went at the Moreau's after a fight. The atmosphere was calm and convivial around the table, some jokes here and there, but it was also walking on eggshells to not bring back what happened and sour the moment. Eventually the night rolled in and everyone was rather exhausted. Gabrielle thought she was driving back home, but agreed to also stay over and leave in the morning/afternoon. Another issue that rose was the fact that Scotty's old bed could welcome two people but three? It would be cramped. The lieutenant told them to take the bed, he would be fine with the floor. They both complained that it wouldn’t be fair, at worst they could take turns. But he insisted. 

"Despite that… intense show, I do like your family." Soap whispered as she cuddled up. 

"Really wish it went differently, I know it's a bit on my fault, but it is what it is. The MacTavish are better with guests." 

He laughed. "We’re not so different, don’t be fooled. I had my fair share of heated conversations too, no worry sweetheart."

******

The next morning, Ghost was the first one to open his eyes. Not that he had slept much anyway, he was used to short nights although he had improved in the last years. Maybe having someone around you could ease the mind. He silently stretched, pushed himself up. His gaze landed on the other two still sleeping like logs. Scotty's hairs were all over Soap's face who didn't seem to mind, still softly snoring. As he watched this peaceful display, the strange fluttering came back as his eyes lingered a little too long on the Scotsman. He shook his head to chase this feeling. The lieutenant wasn't sure where this came from, but the fact that it has been a recurring thing in the last days, made him worry. Because in retrospect he clearly remembers when he experienced it before…

Scotty moved in her sleep, slowly waking up and this took him out of his thoughts. 

"Morning sunshine." She smiled with a still sleepy voice. Soap mumbled something and rolled on his side making the other two chuckled. The sergeant carefully got out of bed and grabbed some clothes here and there. "What about we let sleeping beauty sleep a little longer?"

He nodded silently. Without a noise, they left the room and headed downstairs. No one was up yet, which surprised Scotty. Her father was often an early bird. It was almost 10 in the morning. She checked the outside; his car was gone. He was probably out for some reason. Ghost brought her a note he found on the kitchen table. Which was from Henri saying that he was going to pick up Suzanne. In the meantime they were welcome to have breakfast on their own. 

The two operatives made their usual routine. Halfway through their silent breakfast, Gabrielle joined in and eventually Soap showed up. The four of them chatted casually. 

The main entrance creaked all the way through the kitchen. Scotty went silent while Gabrielle and Soap kept talking. She bit her inside cheek; she had been wrong and shouldn't have yelled at her mom, she should have handled this better. 

Suzanne entered the room and saw the four young ones sitting at the table, very casual and relaxed, till they saw her. She had been wrong for insulting her daughter without even trying to understand why she had a second partner. It just felt so wrong, so out of place. She grew up with the idea that love was only for one person and having feelings for someone else meant infidelity. Add to the fact that she indeed always worries about what the others say, this whole situation felt like a slap to the face. 

"I'm sorry." They both said at the same time. 

"Gabrielle, note this down on the calendar!" Henri said, eyes wide open. He even used English so Soap and Ghost sort of followed what was going on. This reaction from him dragged a chuckle from his daughters and a nudge from his wife. In his defense, never did he expect both of them to apologize so easily and at the same time. Suzanne, by respect, switched also to the language the men would understand.

"My little tulip, I'm sorry for the reaction I had yesterday. I realize that what I said was insulting and I shouldn't have used these words." She turned her head to look at Ghost and Soap. "I'm sorry if I offended you and if we had a bad start." 

"And I'm sorry for yelling at you, mom. And for swearing a little too much, I know you don't like it when I do it."

"You swear like a sailor since you were a kid. I blame this on your dad." The laugh that followed from everyone made the atmosphere much less tense. Under the table, Ghost's hands relaxed around Scotty's once everything defused to a calmer state. Soap gave her a reassuring smile from across his side. The parents took a seat at the table and Suzanne tried to start over with Soap. She did pass the same comment Henri did yesterday at the airport that at least they could see his face. This was an improved move in her daughter's choice for man. Scotty was glad that all seemed to go the right way now. Very rough start but a good ending. She wondered if her uncle also talked some sense to her mother, but better not to reignite the fire. At least now they could spend the next two days without any problem or so she hoped. 

[truearchangel]

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

@adflictus / @oblivscere ; my new shy friend who writes Gabriel! A very unsure person who doesn’t want to throw themselves out there but absolutely deserves all the attention and adoration that they possibly can. They’re an absolutely incredible person who has put a lot of work into Gabriel, developing him with their original creator and deepening his plot in a truly fascinating way. They have beautiful writing and an even more beautiful personality to talk to. I am having a lot of fun with them and I truly hope everyone goes and gives them a follow! Their Gab deserves the torment!

@shiningxfates ; a shy little busy bean that has some trouble controlling their local radio demon, but a truly fantastic person to interact with! The plot that we have going has been incredible fun to work out! Throwing our two muses at each other has been the highlight of some of my days on here when we get the chance and I really do look forward to mashing the two muses together more! Seeing how much Michael can push Alastor’s buttons and develop despite the years of seperating between the two! Sora has so much personality to them and talking to them is fun!

@diistortion ; I know I there Luke on the last one but like—they deserve so much positivity and happiness and joy in their life and they’re literally the person I talk to the most on here and they’re just amazing. In general. Overall. All around. Amazing ✨✨✨. A talented writer, an amazing artist who has done commissions of Mike for me, who has literally absorbed me into the fandom and kept me from running off. I adore Luke so much and their Alastor, their creative design of him and the depthful backstory that they’ve developed for him. It’s so creative and so impressive. Seriously, they’re so fantastic.

@lightbringer-morningstar ; although we haven’t interacted much, I’ve been watching them closely whenever they’re on the dash and we’ve thrown a few back and forth insults between the boys. Although Lucifer makes Mike incredible uncertain of literally anything and everything, the way that they write Lucifer to me seems incredibly on point. I adore watching them and reading what they throw on the dash, as much as I actually enjoy the fact that Lucifer doesn’t intend on making it easy for Mike to talk to him. Although they have had a few cute moments with the asks I’ve sent, and it certainly shows that there is eventually potential to be found there! I am impressed and awed at how they interpret Lucifer.

@toxitrosia ; again, a blog I haven’t gotten to interact with, but that I have had the pleasure of talking to and answering a few asks for! I absolutely am enthralled by their interpretation of Valentino and the plot that they have going for him. The idea of him being a Hellborn and not a sinner is one I find incredibly fascinating and has so much potential. I peek at them whenever I spot them on the dash and honestly they have such a beautiful way of writing not to mention their interpretation is spot on to me! I really do enjoy reading what they write and I can’t wait for the chance to parry Mike against them at some point!

[suzdin]

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.

[fromafars]

( PRISCILLA QUINTANA. THIRTY TWO. CIS WOMAN. SHE / HER. ) since you aren’t aware of them yet… that’s ( GABRIELA LARREA ) wandering around in hollow creek! from what i know they’ve lived in hollow creek for ( TWELVE YEARS, ON AND OFF. ) i’m also aware of the fact that they work as a ( TRUST FUND BABY. ) in town! but if you were to ask me, what i see when i think about them are: ( RUST ON GOLD, A SONGBIRD TRAPPED IN A GOLDEN CAGE, TO BE LOVED IS TO BE SEEN, EVERY WORD COATED IN SARCASM, THE SOUND OF STILETTO HEELS ON MARBLE ) if anything, i feel like they could be ( PASSIONATE, ZEALOUS, VINDICTIVE & SELFISH. ) it’s really weird, though… because they seem to be hiding something that no one else knows. but i sure do! and that is ( CLOSED FILE … REDACTED. ). wild, huh? i know. they’re hoping no one will ever find out. and the very last thing that i’d say about them is that they’re mainly known to be ( THE FALLEN ANGEL. ) just keep a lookout! who knows if they’re putting on a facade!

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: verbal abuse mention

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒

full name: gabriela francesca larrea

nickname: gabby, gab, this bitch

date of birth: june 13, 1992

gender: cis woman

pronouns: she/her

occupation: trust fund baby

birthplace: manhattan, new york

sexuality: bisexual

height: 5'4″

fluent in: english, spanish

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

the family name larrea is so well-known because they're one of the richest families in new york city (has mostly to do with the entertainment industry & talent inquisition tbh but also because her mom's family is very much old money)

her family is all about one thing and one thing only: their image

they’re the picture perfect mix of old & new money kind of family that's like 'relatable' but still so out of reach but there’s so much that happens behind closed doors

she's the only child and her dad's a retired professional boxer and her mother was a professional ballerina who had to stop her career when she found out that she was pregnant with her

her mother does end up resenting gabby for 'ruining her life' but she'd never outwardly say it except in small backhanded compliments here and there

other than that, her mother forces her to be this picture perfect daughter, to make sure she gets to live vicariously through her daughter

growing up, gabby had to be the absolute best of the best at everything. she had to be the prettiest, the smartest, the most charming person in every room she found herself in. there were many times she's heard the saying "you're a larrea" as if that was the answer to everything

she was enrolled in every single class that you could think of, and while she enjoyed most of them, she didn't particularly care about any of them other than theater. she definitely wanted to be an actress

ballet was one of the first things she gave up on, mostly because she felt like her mother was absolutely smothering her. she would have enjoyed it if it wasn't for her mother tbh

she felt choked by all this pressure on her but there was nothing she could do while she was living under her mother's roof, the same mother who looks at her like her chance to live the life she wasn't able to get due to getting pregnant

ngl she does resent her mother quite a bit and her father is sometimes there, sometimes not like her family dynamic isn't the best tbh even with all their money

it doesn't help that her mother was so toxic too. calling gabby her 'pride and joy' one second and insulting her the next, making side comments about gabby's weight or her complexion. sometimes, it's not even side comments but full on verbal abuse, especially when her mother has been drinking

criticisms that were full on insults masked as backhanded compliments were a staple in that household ngl

as soon as she graduated high school, she basically ran away from her family home to get a business degree (as per her mother's request) and 'pursue acting' but in general, it was just her excuse to get away from her mother to do what she actually wanted to do -- which was basically everything her mom never allowed her to do

aka travel, going out, drinking, partying, sleeping around like of course, her reputation was still important to her, and she understands her family name holds a lot of importance, but she finally had her freedom and she's going to make the most of it

she doesn't even need to work like she's 10000% a trust fund baby

found herself in this small town which she actually oddly likes because it's weird and different and she's far away from her mother omg

she most definitely did rebel too, like once she eventually grew older, she was like ???? lol fuck you and became even more blatant about her actions, became more obvious with her resentment for her mother

she most definitely has mommy issues but we're not gonna talk about that

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒

+ passionate, adventurous, brave

- selfish, vengeful, overly blunt

𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒

y'all know that very mindful, very demure meme? yeah she's the complete opposite of that

she's so not demure like she has no filter because now that she feels like she's free from her mother, she doesn't really need to think about every little thing like if she wants to be bitchy, then she's gonna be bitchy, so what

she's actually so talented but you'd never know it because after YEARS of having all those expectations and all those burdens on her shoulders, she just wants to like do nothing but the things she loves (and lbr who wants to work)

is a scaredy cat when it comes to love like she cannot do it

she physically cannot do it like she's a runner, she's a track star like once it gets super duper serious because she's always like !!!!!!!!!!!! if you love someone, you're giving them the power to hurt you !!!!!!!!!! and who tf wants to get hurt !!!!!!!!!!!

very much a dog person and is looking to adopt

is now very very very very very very unapologetic about her actions like unless she hurt someone, she's like lol it is what it is if you don't like it, piss off

idk why she's walking around this small town in high heels but she always looks good and everyone knows it

like she's really rich and really hot and everyone should know it

extremely protective of the people she loves because she knows they're few

doesn't open up much and barely talks about her past

likes to do boxing !!

but if she has to fight, will 10000% fight dirty

god bless you if you try to talk to her before she's had coffee

incredibly stubborn tbh like you'd have better luck talking to a wall

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

ride or die

close friends (limiting this to like 3)

unexpected friends

friends with benefits

ex-flings

gym bros

hateship

good / bad influence

fellow dog lovers

people from nyc

enemies

drinking buddies

[acop88]

The Lazy Bird Speakeasy

Tuesdays aren’t exactly the best day to hit a club, but it was on a Tuesday night that Amelia went out with her English co-workers to celebrate their impending summer freedom. Her best friend and co-teacher Layla, the other sophomore English II teacher Zoe, Layla’s boyfriend and yearbook teacher Trent, and the very cool (and very gay) Brad, another co-teacher. They had heard about a speakeasy underneath the Hoxton hotel in Chicago’s West Loop and wanted to check it out.

Layla and Trent led the way through the ritzy lobby of the hotel, the other three trailing behind, gabbing as they went. “I think it’s this way,” Trent sighed. “I think…”

“I heard it’s in the basement, so surely there’s a staircase somewhere.” Amelia laughed and pointed toward the south side of the lobby. “Stairs to the basement.”

“Our little navigator,” Brad said, pinching her cheek as they walked along, arm-in-arm. “Let’s find it, I’m ready to get my flirt on.”

She giggled. “I wonder how many people will be here, it’s pretty early.” It had just passed 9:00. They were coming from a taco joint across the street, where the margaritas flowed freely. She didn’t usually drink but Amelia felt like celebrating.  It had been one of her toughest years in the classroom yet, year 6 in Chicago.

The group walked down the stairs, where there was an arrow pointing down and the logo for the Speakeasy on the wall. As they rounded the last landing, there was a row of books at the end of the long hallway and another group in front of them, looking confused. Three guys and two girls were searching amongst the books, the last girl turning around upon hearing footsteps behind her.

“Hey, finally, some reinforcements. We don’t get the riddle.” The girl was pretty and thin, dolled up in a skintight black dress and maybe a little younger than them in her late 20s. She had dark brown hair and a thankful smile. “Google let us down.”

Layla and Trent were first to come up to the frame in the center of the bookcase. It was a riddle that read “I am a symbol of beauty and grace, yet my choices leave a bitter trace. I long for love, but wealth I chase, In East Egg’s charm, I find my place.”

Amelia, Brad, and Zoe walked up next, reading it in their heads, and then looked at each other. “Daisy Buchanan.” The three laughed, looking around at the other books around them. 

The two guys to Amelia’s left smiled at her, one Hispanic looking guy and a taller, athletic African American guy. His eyes looked back to the frame, and to her. “Do you know who it is?”

“East Egg is a fictional island from the Great Gatsby, where the old money lived. Daisy Buchanan was Gatsby’s long-lost love.” She smiled back at him. “We’re high school English teachers.”

The taller one smiled brighter, taking a step closer to her. “So, we must have to find something with a daisy on it? What do y’all think?”

She nodded, not at all trying to find a book, but looking up at him. He was handsome, at least 6’3” and had the kindest light brown eyes. He was wearing a dark blue chambray button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his arms were huge. “Agreed.”

His friends to the far right, the pretty girl and her boyfriend with light bleached hair at the tips found the book. “This shelf has it!” She pulled it back, and the bookcase started to open from the middle, revealing a small doorway.

The group was relieved.

“We’re a bunch of detectives,” the man said, looking from the door back to her again. He smiled brightly, raising his left hand to her for a high-five. “Good teamwork.”

She bit her lip, dorkily raising her right to meet his. It looked very small in comparison to his, and she gently pulled away.

Both sets of friends seemed to pick up on the staring contest and walked into the room without the man or Amelia. It was louder now, the basement beyond the bookcase revealing a dimly lit bar, with 3-4 smaller areas with couches and booths, small tables adjoining.

“Do you detectives have anywhere to sit,” Amelia asked, breaking the staring contest. It seemed like they were looking at each other for a minute straight. “I mean, my group reserved that red couch area, and we should have some extra room.”

He smiled bigger. “That would be great. This was kind of a last-minute decision to come here….my partner Adam wanted to try it.” He held out his left hand, gesturing for her to walk in first, and they found both sets of friends talking in the far-left corner, where the red leather couch she’d reserved was situated.

Her friend Brad was eagerly talking to blonde girl from the man’s group. They both smiled brightly at their friends. “So, I invited them to sit with us,” Brad stated, eyeing Amelia and the man. “I think we need introductions.” He sat on the closest corner of the couch, with the blonde and Zoe next to him.

Trent and Layla were on chairs across from the leather couch, with the other couple and the Hispanic guy on the others 3, leaving the only space to sit down on the far corner of the couch. Amelia sat next to Zoe, with the man on the end. Her dotted green dress had a slit on her left side, and her bare knee grazed against his jeans.

“I’m Brad,” her friend stated, starting the conversation. “These are my favorite co-workers Layla and Trent. This is Zoe. Aaaand this lovely creature is Amelia,” he gestured to her, winking at the handsome man beside her.

“Amelia,” the man said, smiling at her. He chuckled at the wink and looked around to his friend. “So, I’m Kevin and this is my team, Hailey (the blonde), Dante (the Hispanic guy) and Adam and Kim.” Everyone started chatting to those around them, leaving Amelia and Kevin to turn closer together. “So can I buy you a drink, as a thank you? Ya’ll saved the day.”

Amelia smiled, nodding. “That’d be great. Want to head up to the bar?” She shot up and met Brad’s knowing smile as Kevin followed her ten feet north to the wrap-around bar. It looked like it had been there for 100 years, very art-deco, with bartenders dressed all in black. “Sorry for my friend,” she told him, grabbing an available stool on the left side. “He’s a bit of a drama king.”

He joined her, chuckling to himself. “They seem really cool.” The music coming from the corner was much louder up there, so he leaned into her right ear. “So do you.” He kept her gaze before sliding over a menu from the corner. “What’s your drink of choice?”

She looked it over, settling on her usual order of a Moscow mule, pointing at it. “This is looking good. What about you?”

He pointed to the old-fashioned. “Seems appropriate for the theme. Was that Gatsby’s drink?”

“He didn’t drink, funny enough. He just threw the parties to get Daisy’s attention.”

He nodded. “It’s been forever since I’ve read anything like that. Do you teach it?”

“I do,” she smiled. “Did. We’re celebrating our summer break starting.”

“Good way to start the summer,” Kevin smiled brighter, biting his lip again as he looked her over. She had a cropped black leather jacket that hit her at waist level, and her left leg was slightly exposed again from the slit in the dress.

 She felt sexy in his presence, shifting her posture closer to him, her wedges hitting the legs of the bar stool. “What brings you guys here?”

He looked down at the menu again, smile fading slightly. “We just got off a tough case, wanted to blow off some steam.” He looked back at her. “I don’t really do places like this, but I got talked into tagging along. Good team bonding, you know?” He started looking around the room as she nodded. “Plus I heard it was 90s night.”

“I don’t either,” she admitted. “And I’m sorry about your case…can I…ask about it?”

“I can’t get into a lot of details, but I was undercover. Got to know a young brother, he got into it with some patrol officers, and he ended up getting shot.” He looked down, rubbing his knees. “But it’s a long story…. I’d rather talk about you,” he said cheekily, bumping up against her right side.

She smiled. “Well, if you need to talk about it later, I’m here. I’m an excellent listener.” Was he flirting? Was she flirting back? It had been a while.

“I can tell. But I am too, lay it on me.”

Just as he said that the bartender headed their way, a smaller white guy with tattoos on his neck. “What’ll it be for you two?”

“Can we get an old-fashioned and a Moscow Mule?” He pulled out a black credit card from his left jeans pocket. “And two waters.”

The bartender rang them up and handed back the card.

“So where are you from?”

“I live in Roscoe Village,” she said, turning back toward him. “But I’m not from here, I’m from Cleveland.”

“I can tell.”

“How?”

“It’s going to sound weird, but you’re naturally pretty. Chicago girls wear ten pounds of makeup.” He grinned. “I’m from Chicago so I can say that.”

She blushed a little bit. “Where in Chicago?”

“Bronzeville, but I live here in the West Loop. That’s where I’m stationed.”

They got their drinks. “I’m so sorry about your case, though. We lost two of our students this year to violence, I don’t know how anyone can get used to that.”

“Not like Cleveland, huh?”

“I’ve been here for six years and it’s the only thing I don’t understand about this place, the violence is crazy.” She paused, playing with the rim of her gold cup. “But I’m glad there’s good people trying to protect it.”

He took a sip of his whiskey, smiling. “I’m not really ready to go back to our friends, are you?”

“I could stay here a bit.” She took a sip of her drink too. They talked for almost an hour, about everything and anything; her family, his family. Politics. Music. They were finishing up their drinks when her phone went off. “I’m being called to the ladies’ room, I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here,” he said, licking his lips as she stood.

Her legs were shaking as he did so, and she felt like doing a little sashay toward the bathroom, her wedges clicking in a rhythm against the dark hardwood floor. When she walked in, Zoe and Layla were right by the sinks. “Hi.”

“Heeeeey,” they said in unison.

She blushed. “What’s up?”

“He’s cute,” Zoe said. “We wanted to let you know that that’s the only reason we’re okay with you ditching us.”

“I did not ditch you guys, we just…..got into some good conversation at the bar.” Her smile widened as she checked the mirror. She was blushing hard, but it accentuated the minimal makeup she put on for tonight - just a bit of mascara and tinted ChapStick. “Are you guys having fun?”

“Not as much as you,” Layla said with a smirk, grabbing her arm. “We also wanted to let you know that the detectives are super nice, and they have nothing but good things to say about Kevin. He’s only a few months older than you, 33.”

“I know,” she said with a sarcastic haughty tone, smiling. “We talked about that. And his family, and them, and a lot of things. I didn’t realize it was almost 10:30.” She took out her tinted Chapstick from her purse and freshened up her lips.

“Aaaaaand Kim and I were talking,” Zoe said. “He’s dated a little bit but not seriously in the last year. She said they’ve worked together for nearly ten years and he’s a teddy bear. They have crazy work hours and it’s hard to meet people. That’s why she’s dating someone on her team.”

Amelia nodded. “Interesting.”

“Are you going to come back to us? You can get cozy on the couch with him,” Layla said with a smirk. “I’m a little jealous.”

“You’re dating someone,” Zoe replied, laughing and splashing her with some water as she washed her hands.

“We don’t flirt like that anymore,” She frowned. “I’m living vicariously.”

“Anyway,” Zoe said. “Brad and I think that you should come back to the couch area and dance.”

Amelia smiled, taking off her jacket, draping it around her arms. Her multi-colored Fossil bag stood out against her teal dress, showing off her decolletage even more. “Does this look slutty now? I’m burning up.”

“Yeah you are, girl,” Layla said, smacking her on her bottom. “Go see what Kevin thinks?”

Amelia nodded, taking a deep breath and headed back out to the bar. Kevin was in the same stool, checking his hair in the mirror at the back shelves. It was neat and twisted. He smiled as she sat back down, looking down at her bare arms.

“Welcome back. Everything okay?”

“They just wanted to check in. See if you were a creeper….” She took a sip of water. “I got hot.”

He smirked. “What did you tell them?”

“I did not say that you were a creeper, I promise.”

“I trust you.” He looked at her dress, then at her lips, now shinier from the Chapstick. “You look great.”

“Thanks.” She started fanning herself. “I told them that I lost track of time, that I’m having a really nice time, actually.”

“Me too.”

A slower song came over the loudspeakers than they’d heard all night, a 90s R&B song. “Man this is an old song.” She recognized it as “I Wanna Know” by Joe.

“Do you want to dance?” His soft expression was hopeful, as he looked from her to the handful of couples dancing closer to their friends by the red couch.

She nodded, following his lead and standing up. They walked over to the couch so she could drop off her jacket and her bag, leaving it in the capable hands of Zoe who gave her a big grin.

Kevin gently grabbed her hand, pulling her closer to him to the side of the band, and rested both of his hands on her lower back, just under her waist. There was a six-piece band and a male and female singer. “Don’t look now, but I think we’re being watched.”

She rested her hands on the back of his shoulders, not wanting to look away. They were wide and strong, and her stomach was doing flips. “Oh yeah, I love my crew but they’re nosy.”

He chuckled, “Mine is too.”

“I think this was the first song that I ever slow danced to,” she admitted, recognizing the chorus.

“Had to have been about middle school, right?”

Amelia nodded, looking deeper into his eyes. He was a good five inches taller than her, and she felt so small in his presence, yet so safe. He smoothed his fingers up and down her back, noticing her get the chills.

“Are you okay?” He inched his head down, closer to her left ear as the music got louder.

She smiled, feeling their bodies press closer, and nodded. He smelled so good, a little musky and a little sweet. Teakwood and tobacco. There was a hint of whiskey on his breath. “Just got a little cold.”

“I gotchu,” he said, taking a step closer so now that there was no room between them.

Amelia’s eyeline was at his lips. She swayed back and forth, their rhythm becoming one. Her heartbeat was quick, butterflies rushing around her stomach as his left hand grabbed her right, intertwining her arm into his and resting it against his chest, the only thing separating them. She noticed roman numerals on his hand. “Can I ask about your tattoo?”

“It’s for my brother and sister,” he replied softly, into her right ear, the chorus getting louder. “I was twelve when they were born, and I wanted something to keep me accountable to them.”

“I couldn’t imagine being a parent at that age.”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat. It’s one of the things I’m most proud of in my life, but with them in Texas I’m ready to take some time for me.” He licked his lips, looking down, into her eyes. “I mean, I’m ready to show someone else what I got to give.”

“Anyone in mind,” she asked, a flirtatious smile teasing her lips.

“As a matter of fact, there is someone...She’s got the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen.” He let go of her hand, moving both of his down further to the sides of her hips, closing all space between them.

She didn’t move her gaze from his for a moment, nearly freezing in her tracks. He tenderly dug his fingers into her sides, reassuring her. 

“I wanna know…how to keep these couples dancing.” The chorus was repeating over and over, nearing the end of the song. The male singer sang out, then the tempo leading into the next song quickened. “This one goes out to the lovers out there…I like the way you work it.”

Blackstreet’s “No Diggity” was being played, followed by some slightly faster songs.

Amelia and Kevin danced silently, closely, sometimes face to face and sometimes cuddling from her back. The band took a break at 11:30 and so they walked over to check on their friends, who were all still conversing on the red couch.

“You guys looked great out there,” Brad said, grinning at her, waving his phone. She sat down next to him in the middle of the couch and took the hint and opened her bag as Kevin rested a hand on the back of her bare shoulder.

“I’m going to get some more water, you want something?”

“Same, please,” she said, a thankful smile, watching him walk over to the bar.

“I like him,” Braid said, watching him too. “Smart guy.”

She smiled brighter. “You having fun?”

“I am, but mainly because you look happier than I’ve ever seen you. You two were practically fucking on the dance floor.”

Zoe overheard this tidbit and leaned over. “That’s what I said.”

Amelia blushed. “Do you think it would be weird if I asked him to take me home?” She saw their reactions, her eyes getting wider. “You know, drive me home. I carpooled with you guys but I’m getting kind of tired.”

“Not at all,” Hailey, the blonde chimed in. “Sorry, we’ve spent half of the night talking about you two.”

“I think you should,” Brad added. “Definitely. You look so happy.”

“We should go get a drink,” Zoe talked to the other two on the couch. “And give them a little privacy.”

“I agree, I could use another.” Hailey smiled at her.as she stood. “Nice to have met you, Amelia.”

Kevin came back just as the three left, handing her a glass.

“Thanks.” She took a gulp appreciatively.

“Did I miss more talk about me being a creep?” He sat down close to her, chuckling.

“Not at all, I was just getting some advice.”

He took a drink and put the glass down on the coffee table. “Advice, huh?”

She nodded, turning her body toward him. “I didn’t want to be too weird, but I was going to ask if you would mind driving me home? I’m getting a little tired.”

He stretched his right arm across the back of the red velvet and smiled. “You took the words right outta my mouth. Just let me tell my team we’re dipping.”

They said their goodbyes to each respective friend group and headed back out to the hallway. The blast of cool air was chilly, and the bright light took some getting used to at first. She stopped to put her jacket back on, and he gently took her hand in his and led her out to the hotel of the parking lot. They didn’t say anything to each other until they reached his car, enjoying the comfortable silence.

“This is me,” he said, leading her over to a blue Dodge. It was low and sleek. Kevin let go of her hand and opened the passenger’s side door for her.

She smiled up at him, not breaking the comfortable silence as he gingerly shut the door. She saw him do a little shuffle over to the driver’s side as he sat down himself. “I saw that.”

He gave a slight shrug, eyeing her up and down before putting in the key. “So Roscoe village?”

“Yep, Belmont and North Leavitt.”

“I think I know the way. Close to Hamlin Park?”

She nodded, smiling, settling back into the leather seat. The inside of the car was immaculate, which she wasn’t expecting. He’d said that he uses his car every day for work – she wondered if he was a neat freak. He was very well groomed. “I like the way you say ‘Park.;”

He put the Hellcat in reverse swiftly and pulled out of the lot. “How do I say it?”

“It’s very Chicago; very smooth.”

He smirked. “That’s just me, you know. The ride, the vibe. I’m cool like that.”

She chuckled. “I couldn’t agree more.”

They chatted more about the car and her neighborhood as they got closer to the condo. At one point a car sped out in front of them, and he reached his right arm out to her leg as he slammed on brakes. His hand rested on her bare knee for a moment, where the slit in her dress parted, and they made eye contact for a second. “Sorry, you, okay?”

“That was totally the mustang’s fault.” Her hand rested on him reassuringly, feeling his strong touch on her bare skin made her realize her stomach butterflies were moving south.

He squeezed her hand, before taking off again. “I had a lot of fun tonight,” he started, eyes on the road. “Do you think you’d want to get together again?”

“A proper date?”

He smiled brighter, looking at her as they approached another red light. “What do you consider a proper date?”

“One without an audience of judging friends,” she said with a laugh.

He agreed, nodding. “Yeah, that was a little weird. But I’m glad I was coerced to come out tonight.”

“Oh, this is my building up here,” she said, as he almost drove by. He pulled up to the tree on the corner and put his blue sedan in ‘park’. “Let me put my number in your phone.”

He handed her his Apple phone after unlocking it with his passcode, and she typed in her number and texted him her name. He replied. “Which one is yours?”

‘I’m the one in the middle.”

He got out and met her at the passenger door. “What do you think about dinner Friday night? Italian?”

“I love Italian food.” She opened the iron gate to her building. “It’s a date.”

He closed the gate behind him, following her up to the front door. It was set further back from the first-floor porch.

She got out her key from her purse and unlocked the bottom doorknob, leading him up one flight of stairs. There was a narrow landing for them to stand by her door, apartment #2. “Thanks for taking me home.”

He looked down at her, her back almost to the door. “It just adds to my smoothness.”

She giggled, reaching up on her wedge shoes to give him a hug. Her arms wrapped around the back of his neck, fingers brushing up against textured hair at the nape.

Kevin grazed her lower back, leaning his upper body backward for a moment to look into her eyes, silently searching for permission.

Amelia smiled, nodding a little, and leaned her chin up to the right to meet his lips. Her stomach did a little dance, and her heart beat the fastest it had all night.

He broke away for a split second, more of a smug look on his face, “Mmm mmm. I’m gonna need another one of those.”

She reached up again, hands now on his pecs, smiling into the kiss.

He moved his hands up to grab hers and interlaced their fingers by their sides. His tongue asked for entrance as he did so, and they held back and forth for about a minute before needing to come up for air. “Damn.”

She bit her lip shyly but held eye contact.

He smiled, swinging her left hand for a moment, then up to his lips. “I’ll call you tomorrow? With the plan.”

“Sounds good.” She grabbed her key from her bag again, unlocking the door at the sound of her Pittie mix, Rocco. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He watched her walk into her apartment and grinned, in disbelief of the last 4 hours.

Amelia smiled brightly to herself after she closed her door, rushing her dog in a hug. It was an eventful and amazing night.

[purplesurveys]

1896

20 random people... Don't look at the questions beforehand! :D

Nina

Celeste

Hans

Lui

Kaye

Angela

Mom

Reena

Gabie

Kuya

Pau

Jo

Lei

Andi

Leigh

Marie

Dad

Dev

Sam

Pia

Ok, here we go...

How did you meet #4?: College org. I was an applicant at the time, they were already a member, and they seemed very friendly to all the newbies so I stuck around them. In time we became close and even got in the same friend group, which we're both still part of today.

How much does #9 mean to you?: She's a co-worker so while I wouldn't, like, die for her per se or can say that she's 'everything' to me, I'd look out for her nonetheless.

Describe #14 in 2 words.: Extremely intelligent.

What is your best memory with #5?: I loved when she came over to watch YTC Busan live with us! That was also such a random mix of friends to end up happening, so I was anxious they'd all be opposites – but it got really fun.

Do you know all of #2's secrets?: I know none of them seeing as we're only workmates and I like my boundaries.

When is the next time you're going to see #7?: In an hour or two, I'm guessing. She went out for a bit for errands.

When's the last time you saw #17?: 2 AM, Friday – dropped him off at the airport. From there, I won't be seeing him again until November.

How do you think #13 feels about you?: After trying to teach me one of her party card games last Sunday, I bet she now thinks I can get ditzy as all hell hahaha. But apart from that I don't know what else she thinks of me! We rarely see each other and are always shy when we do, lol.

Are #11 and #12 anything like each other?: Quite the contrary; they're a good example of how two people cannot be any more different.

Describe the relationship between #14 and #19.: They have a nonexistent relationship, but if we're gonna be extremely loose about degrees of separation – Hans went to the same school as Andi (#14); they both also were schoolmates with Gab, who used to date Sam (#19).

Is #10 single?: No. Has been engaged for a while now, too.

If you could tell #8 one thing right now, what would it be?: Let's go out soon and maybe we can try a new hobby together, too.

What is the funniest thing you've ever seen #16 do?: I haven't had many funny encounters with her tbh as she's kind of shy and doesn't really want to put herself out there – that, and we've always worked from home.

Can I name coolest instead? There was a time when my teammates and I each needed to make 10-slider decks about any topic (meant to be an exercise on public speaking); and she had what I thought was the most unique and personally relatable presentation – she covered her favorite lesbian media. Music, movies...and there's a bunch in there that I was able to relate to...just cause of my past, I guess. Haha. It felt pretty bittersweet, and I gave her some of my recs too.

How did you meet #15?: School. I can't remember when we got close, though. Maybe in high school if I had to guess – we stay friends these days, too, as she's with Andi.

What would you do if #4 died?: I'd be shocked to say the least. I'm imagining that'd bring the college friend group back together again.

What's the weirdest thing you've ever seen #3 do?: He had a brief stint as a camp...something (guide? counselor? idk terms) in the US a few years ago, so when he came back the first thing he did to me was share a bunch of camp songs he picked up from his time there. After he taught me, he proceeded to sing them all to entire time hahaha.

Are you friends with any of #19's friends?: Not with most of them. We only have a few mutual friends, all linked to Angela/Hans.

Who is #7 to you?: My mom.

What is one thing #13 is really good at?: I'm gonna go with biology and chemistry as she's literally a licensed pharmacist.

What would happen if #1 and #3 hated each other?: That would crush me, tbh. Hans is family at this point, and it'd be sad if he and my sister actively disliked one another.

Is #11 anything like #18?: I guess. Very surface-level similarities, but yeah. They're both leaders, their personalities are both pretty nonchalant...that's what I can think of now.

How much trust do you have in #12?: Lots, in the grand scheme of things. Jo is reliable and trustworthy.

If you fell off a bridge, who would you trust to catch you, #4 or #6? Why?: Angela, 100%. We're exponentially so much closer.

Who do you like the most?: It's a tie between my dad and Angela.

Who do you hate the most?: I didn't put in anyone I dislike.

How did you meet #1?: I would guess she was introduced as my little sister when I was 2.

What would you do if you never met #14?: I probably never would've gotten back into wrestling.

Would you date #20?: Hypothetically, in another universe – sure, why not? She's pretty and so so so SO ridiculously kind and has just such a warm personality.

Have you ever seen #8 cry?: Just once. We cried together at the time, but they were happy tears.

Would #5 and #13 make a good couple?: I've never thought of that. But I don't think so.

Describe #9.: I don't know her much outside of work, but from what I've seen she's hardworking; has a sensitive side in that she doesn't really like getting scolded; and she's a million times friendlier than I am – she gets along with everyone which makes her such an important part of the team. You gotta have an extrovert in PR, and she's that.

Do you like #16?: Yes.

Do you think #4 is attractive?: Personally not my type.

When's the last time you talked to #19?: Around two weeks ago.

Would you date #10?: Hard pass, that's my cousin.

What's the best thing about #15?: She has this innocent and pure aura around her that I adore very much. Like she can never get mad at anything and anyone.

Best thing about #7?: She's very resilient.

Have you ever kissed #11?: Nope.

Have you ever slapped #18?: I've never slapped any one person on the list.

When's the next time you're going to see #12?: I have no idea, our group rarely makes plans to see each other anymore. The last time I saw her was mid-2023 and we didn't even get to meet up after to talk about our Yoongi concert experiences like we planned.

Is #16 pretty?: Yes!

What was your first impression of #4?: Kind, approachable, helpful, reliable, older than me.

Is #13 your BFF?: No.

Have you seen #15 in the last month?: I haven't seen her in years actually lol. Andi and I hang out all the time and I always check in if Leigh will be tagging along...and she just doesn't.

Have you been to #20's house?: I have not. We're not that close.

Last time you saw #14?: April! We watched a wrestling gig. I'll be seeing them again later this month for trivia night – they added me to their team because two of the topics will be Friends and BTS, haha.

Next time you'll see #10?: Tomorrow, I'm guessing! We'll be coming over tomorrow and I think he'll by home.

Are you really close to #1?: Not heart-to-heart talk levels because we're a dysfunctional family and can't bear baring our souls to one another LOL – but it's a close-friend type of close for sure.

Would you give #20 a hug?: Sure. I'm sure I hugged her a few times when we saw each other 2 weeks ago at our surprise engagement party for Angela and Hans.

Tell me a secret about #5.: I don't know her enough to know her secrets.

Describe the relationship between #14 and #3: They were schoolmates in grade school until Andi moved.

What's your relationship with #5?: She's one of the school friendships I've been able to retain all these years. We're not best friends but we check in on one another from time to time.

Have you ever danced with #18?: I have not.

How do you know #13?: She's my closest cousin on my dad's side.

Does #2 have a boyfriend/girlfriend?: I don't think so. She had a dating phase early in the year, but I haven't heard much updates from her since.

Have you ever wanted to punch #6 in the face?: Maybe just once, heh.

Has #11 ever met your mother?: Nope.

Have you traveled anywhere with #12?: Nah. We could've, for Yoongi's tour! But I ended up in Thailand, she in Singapore.

If you gave #7 $100, what would they spend it on?: Probably on groceries.

Best memory of #2?: One of our events where we both ended up fairly tipsy.

What is one thing you most want #14 to know?: That I always feel bad for being the occasional terrible replier, but I hope they know that I always love it when they message and send me the most random questions or rants.

What's the last thing you did with #15?: I honestly have no clue. She's the one I've seen the least often.

When did you meet #8?: We first met around six years ago, when Angela brought us together for some drinks. We never talked again until 2021 when it was Angela (again) who put the three of us in the same chat since we all liked BTS. We got super close from there.

What do you wish for #17?: Good health is #1. It's something I find myself thinking about more often now; and for him not to feel lonely and sad when he's away.

[sage-nebula]

when it comes to you, the one i remember most fondly is that one oneshot you did of future jou and his job as a radio broadcaster! it's such a fun snapshot into a lively future where jou really is making a name for himself and carving out his niche!!!

Sorry I'm replying to this so late! And oooh, thank you!!

I will admit: I was partially inspired to give Jounouchi the future career as a radio host because I was really into Welcome to Night Vale at the time, and the way Cecil both delivered news while also rambling on air about his personal life was something that I both enjoyed and something I could see Jounouchi doing. Let's be honest: the boy has the gift of gab. He is 100% the type who can talk, and talk, and talk, and if ever taken hostage by someone who couldn't put him under mind control (even if that mind control ultimately didn't last) would annoy his captor to death by never shutting up. Putting him in a career path where he then needs to be comfortable talking endlessly seems like a natural fit, then, at least in my opinion. Plus, radio hosts get plenty of opportunity to meet musicians, get news first about up and coming things (which in the world of YGO is very game-centric), et cetera, which also fits into Jounouchi's sphere of interest since he loves being on the central pulse of what's hot and new so that he can share it with everyone and also know about it himself.

In addition to all of that, I've always disliked the idea that he'd be a "professional duelist" for a few reasons. First, maybe it's just me being a killjoy adult, but I just don't see "professional Duel Monsters player" being something someone could make a career out of, especially in the world of the manga where it's not something that takes over the entire world the way it does in the anime. There are a grand total of two tournaments in the manga, each spanning two days. That does not a career make.

In addition, for Jounouchi specifically, it amounts to gambling. And while I understand that his deck does have a gambling theme because he's a lucky boy, remember that his abusive alcoholic father put their family into untold debt because of gambling. Now, gambling is an addiction (much like alcoholism), and a disposition for addiction can be genetic. So I'm not saying that it's impossible for Jounouchi to develop addictions. But what I am saying is that I personally think that Jounouchi, because of the trauma that he has from growing up as an abused child who had to work while in school (something typically illegal in Japan) to pay his father's gambling debts, wouldn't want to become a professional gambler himself. You could say, well, there's more strategy to Duel Monsters than there is slots! But we don't know that Jounouchi's father was gambling with slots. In fact, he very well could have been playing mahjong, as many mahjong parlors in Japan have ties to the yakuza (who own and operate illegal casinos since most forms of gambling are illegal in Japan). Mahjong requires just as much strategy as Duel Monsters does, and just as much luck as well. So I just feel like, for Jounouchi, becoming a professional Duel Monsters player isn't something that he would want to do. He would still like to play Duel Monsters, of course, but to stake his livelihood on it? No. It would remind him too much of his father. It was another reason why I really disliked that movie that came out a couple years ago.

So anyway, those were my thoughts going into picking that career for Jounouchi! And then of course I added in that, for the radio station, he also ends up making Let's Play videos and things like that as technology progresses (which, let's be honest, despite taking place in the 90s, technology in the YGO world progressed at an alarmingly fast rate, so they had Let's Play tech ready to go long before we did in our world, LOL). He becomes like a local celebrity in Domino, and as much as the station manager wants him to stop insulting Kaiba on air, the listeners actually love the beef he and Kaiba have with each other, so ratings always go up whenever he goes on a tangent about how much Kaiba sucks, and so the station manager can't fire him over it. It's great.

(Not that he'd fire Jounouchi anyway, since on top of Jounouchi being damn good at his job he also has personal connections to the Mutou Yuugi and Bakura Ryou and can have them in the station for interviews at literally any time so it's like . . . where else are you going to find a host like that. Nowhere. The man is literally too valuable to fire. So if he says on air that Kaiba Seto has his head shoved so far up his own ass that he can smell his own stomach lining and that Kaiba Mokuba is literally the only reason why KaibaCorp hasn't been swallowed into the depths of Hell so the underworld can reclaim its king, station management is just going to have to let him. Especially since Mokuba said that his brother doesn't even listen to Jounouchi's show, and that he (Mokuba) is cool with it since the implication here is that he doesn't belong in Hell and he understands why Jounouchi feels that his brother does. When Jounouchi heard this reply, he said, "Of course Kaiba doesn't listen to the show. It's hard to listen when your ears are in your stomach 'cause your head's shoved up your ass."

His station manager popped four ibuprofen after that.)

(Tell me which fic of mine you most associate with me, and I'll tell you something about it!)

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

➖ Mature content, 18+ ➖ check the trigger tags each time ➖

Chapter 43b - She will never let go when she has you.

Episode 2.

The living room fell quiet for a moment, while everyone tried to process and figure what to do next

James: I'll go have a chat with him he spoke in a warm uplifting tone, as he finally broke the silence

Malou: It's quite slippery outside

Raven: I'll go with him just in case he smiled softly at her

James: Nonsense! I think it's best I talk with him alone, that would leave you standing alone in the snow for God knows how long. You'd be freezing blue in no time.

Raven: He shook his head lightly and walked to the door I rarely ever freeze he winked at Malou and Adrian beside, I'm not going to change my mind, so I'll follow whether you like it or not.

James: He chuckled amused Alright alright, best get it overwhith then, shall we?

As the others left, Una was quick to get the last two back to the couch with her

Malou: Does anyone want a beer or some wine?

Una: She nodded confirming I think we could all 3 need a beer!

Dalton: He sighed heavy as he sat down on his white couch in his studio, elbows planted solid on his thighs, head burried in his hands

James: Son he sat down next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders Why don't you tell me what's going on?

Dalton: She called again. She wants me back.

James: Well… you've already been down that road… too many times, if you ask me. I doubt this time the outcome will be any different.

Dalton: I know, dad.

James: I know you love her, but

Dalton: A soft grunt escaped him …. I'm not so sure anymore.

James: …. do YOU want her back?

Dalton: He sighed heavily I used to think I wanted…. but now I realise it's love and closeness I need…. and she can't give me that… at least not the way I need it…. that kind of love isn't found between her and I. I wonder if it ever was?

James: Years ago, when you started dating, I'm sure it was… but it's been clear that it hasn't been there for a long time.

Dalton: Clear to anyone but me…

James: Dalton he sighed soft I think it has been plenty clear to you, you just haven't wanted to admit it to yourself. Your heart hasn't wanted to let go. But I think you have to. Now more than ever. There's love all around you, waiting to be let in. He nodded at the ceiling I know she…. they…. might seem far away right now, but they aren't. All you have to do is open your heart, and allow them in… fully.

Dalton: I'm scared, dad… He sighed soft and lifted his head, looking up at his father I'm terrified of letting someone new in.

James: I know. But you have to. In order to heal. To move on. To get the love you deserve.

Dalton: He sighed deep and heavy No one should have to take me on, dad… it's a lot. All the work, I'm never home. I don't clean up after myself, I'm not the most romantic person, I'm quite frankly a slob, I sometimes don't shower for days, I barely bother to fix my hair, I forget things because I'm always distracted or I'm getting old

Raven: He snorted lightly from the chair he had taken seat on few meters away

Dalton: He looked at Raven with a soft frown What?

Raven: You're certainly not getting old, and even if you were, it doesn't have to be a negative thing. Many people like "old people". And I'm fairly sure Malou or anyone else for that matter doesn't find you old.

James: Is it the age gab you have a problem with? he looked at his son questioning

Dalton: No…. yes… I don't know?… No I don't… at all… but he sighed softly, his eyebrows lifing into a worried wrinkle I guess I'm worried she would have a problem with it… if not now, then down the line…

James: She seems like a wonderful girl, Dalton… and intelligent…. I'm sure she has already made more than plenty thoughts into the matter, and if she had an issue, I don't think she would be trying to reach out to you the way she does.

Dalton: He sighed softly

James: Could it be that you are simply grasping at straws, trying to come up with excuses not to start something new?

Dalton: ….. He sighed again

James: … you know I'm right, son. She's smart, beautiful, she seems to have a good sense of humor, you two actually seem a lot alike, she's quite obviously into you, though she seems to be scared too, at least she tries to be open about it, without forcing it onto you, letting it be up to you, she seems to get you, she seems willing to compromise, and shows interest in your wellbeing… she seems kind, considerate and creative… and willing to give up a lot for you… what more do you want?

Dalton: He weighed his dads words carefully, knowing he was all too right. She was "perfect"… which probably scared him even more What if she turns me down… or give up on me over time… I'm a lot of work… maintenance.

James: Not to the right person. And I think she very well could be. So what does stuff like age or brushed hair really matter?

Dalton: It matters to many people, dad.

James: …. perhaps… but to the right person YOU matter, the rest is secondary. And Malou seems to me, like a person who can handle unbrushed hair and what ever trail of mess you create.

Dalton: He sighed again but what if she can't… what if she leave as well?

James: Then you'll turn it into beautiful songs he smiled encouraging and padded his sons back but I have a very strong feeling she would never. I think this girl knows your soul, Dalton, and she knows very well your worth. If you place gold in her palms she would never let go… she will never let go when she has you. He paused a moment You have been starved for love for so long, Dalton, it's time to let someone new in, someone more like you. Someone with a similar energy…. vibe…. magic. And as far as I can read, from the very little access I have to her, she seems to be exactly that. He paused again, choosing his words carefully …. And to my understanding, she needs love as much as you do. I think you would compliment each other beautifully. You just gotta let the fear out, and let her in.

Una: She smiled a bit hesitating, yet warm He will be alright… he just needs a bit of time. I know he's not always the easiest, and he can be a bit thick-headed, but he's she sighed soft, her eyes sparkling lightly he's

Malou: Magical

Una: Her smile grew wider and proud as she nodded agreeing

It was a couple minutes later when Raven and James joined the others in the living room

Una: She looked hopeful at her husband How is he?

James: He forced a soft smile He just needs a bit of time alone. He has a lot of thinking to do. He smiled somewhat apologizing at everyone I think it's time for us to head home Una

Malou: Nonsense she stood up fast Let me help you to Dalton's room, there's a comfortable bed waiting for you guys, there's absolutely no reason for the two of you to head back into the cold. She quickly guided James towards the second floor staircase, nodding encouraging at Una Please, it's Christmas, and there's more than plenty room.

Raven: I think I will be heading home as well he smiled a bit out of place, and looked somewhat questioning at Adrian

Adrian: He frowned soft, understanding the hint, but also wanting to be there for Dalton in case

Raven: He waited a couple of seconds, then turned to face Malou and Dalton's parents, nodding politely It was nice to meet the two of you, I see where Dalton gets his charm from. He nodded once again Good night then he quickly headed to the front door, and out into the cold night

Adrian: He frowned deeper, hesitating a bit, then quickly stood up Malou… uh… a word please?

Malou: She nodded quick Go on she spoke soft to Dalton's parents I'll be with you in a couple minutes to help you get some towels and such. She turned to Adrian as the parents headed upstairs and looked at him with a soft frown What was that about?

Adrian: I don't know? he frowned softly and I can't decide if I should stay here for Dalton, or follow…

Malou: … well… James said he wants to be alone. I mean I will definitely check on him at some point, simply cause I worry… but… if both of us check on him, it might be a bit of a mouthful, if he doesn't really want company to begin with? She sighed softly I hate to push you aside Adrian cause I think you have just as much right to be there for him as I have, but right now I really need to-

Adrian: It's fine. I mean it he forced a soft smile right now I feel like I really have to go after Raven, so you simply made it less difficult to do so. Thank you. He looked at the stairs a bit contemplating, then back at her And you'll be okay here with he pointed upstairs

Malou: …. awkward, but okay, yes she snorted it's fine, don't worry about me, I'll be alright… get out of here!

Adrian: He nodded thankfully and quickly grabbed his jacket and got his boots on, quickly heading out the front door. He took a last peek at the studio door, before he ran out the gate. He looked down the street, empty. He looked in the other direction, instantly spotting Raven turning around a corner. He took a deep breath and quickly ran in the direction, catching up with Raven before he turned down another street Hey! He stopped next to the dark haired one, breathing a bit heavy in the cold air Why did you leave like that?

Raven: Like what? he stuck his hands in his pocket, looking at Adrian with a soft frown I said good night…. I said I was going home… what strikes you as odd about that exit?

Adrian: … your behavior right now strikes me as odd.

Raven: He sighed deep

Adrian: Tell me… please.

Raven: It's nothing… just silly thoughts. I thought it was best going home, rather than dwelling on it.

Adrian: He stepped a bit closer, slow and gentle grabbing onto Raven's wrists, lifting his hands out of his pockets, slipping his fingers between Raven's Well.. I'm here now… he smiled lightly IF you wanna talk about it, I will listen… and if not, that's fine too… but may I go home with you?

Raven: You don't want to stay with Dalton instead?

Adrian: No he shook his head light and short no… I think I'm needed here more at the moment.

Raven: And how about what YOU need?

Adrian: He contemplated a short moment, then answered in a lowered voice I need the people I love to be alright. Dalton will have Malou to take care of him… that doesn't mean I am only here because of

Raven: I know he nodded lightly, and gently dragged Adrian down the street Let's go home.

[devinescribe]

You?

Ch. 20 of ‘100 Promises’

Previous Ch. | Next Ch.

Warnings: Swearing and I think that is it?

You turned to see Last Boss standing there, clearing his throat awkwardly at the very sentimental display he just witnessed. Niragi immediately stood up, wiping his eyes, acting like something got in them.

You had no shame in crying. Not anymore.

"Thank you. Lead the way?" You said, offering a kind smile to the man. He returned it slightly. Only slightly.

He lead you down the stairs, past the people into the meeting room.

In the meeting room, there was a group of people surrounding a chair. It was almost like how they had brought in Arisu and Usagi.

You walked over to Chishiya, and Last Boss followed closely behind you.

"He was caught sneaking around the premises. Nothing too exciting," Chishiya muttered to you, getting you all caught up. You whispered what Chishiya had told you to Last Boss, who nodded.

The person groaned, and tried to move from their spot. This indicated for someone to remove the bag from their head. Niragi decided to do the honors.

He walked up, pulling the bag from the person's head. You gasped quietly seeing who it was. You looked around frantically trying to find an exit. You were not dealing with this not now not ever you could not look at this person without you wanting to scratch at your skin till red showed. To peel your skin layer by layer until there was nothing left of you.

You felt someone grab your hand and panicked, pulling away from them.

"Where the hell am I?" The person questioned.

Your breathing got even more shallow. The walls felt to close, your lungs weren't getting enough oxygen, your neck felt like a rope was tightening around it...

After all these years. After staying far far from him, here is where he decided to show up.

The person who caused you so much pain and suffering in high school.

"You know them?" Chishiya whispered to you. You nodded in response. "Kaito... Went to high school with him. He's an asshole. He was the "leader" of the guys that bullied us," you said back. You were astonished at the fact you got all your words out.

"Who the hell are you people?! Why am I tied up?!" He yelled.

"Aww, I'm hurt you don't remember us," Niragi taunted, pulling you forward with him. You quickly put up your confident psycho act. Internally, you were nothing but the bruised girl screaming on the forest floor. Nothing hut the abused girl screaming in her head. Internally, you were a mess of emotions. But you were not going to let this bastard have the satisfaction of knowing that you were scared of him. Not again.

"Who are you?" He questioned once more, the anger still in his tone.

You scoffed, "Maybe this will jog your memory. You get three guesses."

"And who says I'll play your game?"

The click from Niragi's gun was all he needed.

"Kiko from work?"

"Strike one."

"Yumi?"

"Strike two."

"Damn it i don't know!"

"Strike three, you're out! Oh, maybe this is a better reminder for you, did that scar on your hand heal?"

His face went from anger, to fear, to panic, to fear once more.

"(L-l/n)? Niragi?" He whispered.

You smirked, "I guess you do remember."

You went straight back to Last Boss and Chishiya's side. You would be damned if he was going to make you cry.

You looked over at Niragi. He was smiling psychoticaly. And you just wanted to leave.

"I'm sorry, I have to g-"

"Come on (N/N), let's have some fun with him," Niragi said, gabbing your arm and spinning you towards him.

"Niragi. No. I'm not doing this. I am not stooping to his level," you hissed, pulling your arm away. He looked hurt for a second, before putting up his front once more.

"Seems (N/N) here takes pity on you. To bad I don't," he laughed. "Come on, isn't this the guy that caused us so much pain in highschool? They guy that made you hurt? Made you cry? Stole something precious from you?"

You looked down.

He was right.

But you didn't want to be like him.

"Deep down, you're greatful for me. Admit that we're alike," he taunted. "I am not. I hate you. And i will never. Ever. Be anything like you. I would shoot myself before I became anything like you," you hissed.

"I am not him. I am not you. I will not take direct revenge Suguru. Talk to me later, but for now, grow the hell up," you spat, anger taking over your features. You stormed out, grabbing your riffle by the door.

You ran out to the field where the militals did their target practice. You loaded up your rifle, aimed, and started shooting at the targets.

Perfect shots. On still targets. Moving targets would be so different.

"I can't believe him. One minute he's my Suguru, the sweetheart. Next he's Niragi, number 4 and resident asshole of the Beach," you scoffed, reloading your riffle quickly. You aimed and began shooting once more. "The game master is some twisted sick bitch. I... I want to go home," you muttered, a wave of sadness taking over you.

You fell to your knees. You hadn't realized how much you missed the real world.

Tears filled your eyes. "I was never a horrible person. So why me. I want to go home. I want my Suguru  back..." you whimpered, wiping your tears away.

Niragi had followed after you after a couple of minutes. Most people in the meeting room ignored your conversation anyways. Except for 2 people. Chishiya and Samura. 

"I'm giving up for now. You hurt her, and she runs straight to my arms. And the next time you do, I am not letting go," Chishiya threatened in a hushed whisper. Never would he have ever thought he would say something like that about anyone.

Last Boss nodded, following after Chishiya.

Niragi ran through the halls, out to the shooting range they had set up. He saw you grab your gun, so he'd knew you'd be there.

He saw you on your knees, and heard you crying.

He ran, sliding onto his knees when he got to you. He grabbed you, pulling you into him. "Are you my Suguru or are you Niragi the asshole?" You questioned softly, pressing your face into his chest. His heart was beating quickly.

"Your Suguru. I'm always your Suguru with you," he whispered, wrapping an arm around your head. "You're not though," you said, tears flowing down your face. "You're not always my Suguru with me. I wish that we never came here. I wish you had never come here, I wish we were still in our apartment lying to your boss about being engaged." He laughed quietly at that. "Maybe... maybe we can stop lying to him then,"he whispered into your ear, his breath made made goosebumps rise on your skin.

"What are you suggesting?"

"When we get out of this fucking place, be mine."

"Who says that it has to be only when we get out of here?"

He thought about it. Why did he only want your relationship out of the borderlands?

''It's dangerous for us to be together here. People will use you against me, me against you. I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want to loose you," he mumbled against your neck.

"(N/N), I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want to loose you. You're my best friend, I need you," he whispered, his hands interlocking with your own.

"Now you're starting to sound a lot more like my Suguru."

Yay a new chapter!!! In case you're wondering, yes I've been inspired by the new season coming out, and my creative juices are flowing. I'm sorry its been so long. I'm hoping this book brings you all joy for the next... chapter. Because after that it is mainly angst. Also, after the ten of hearts game is written in to this book beware of manga and season 2 spoilers! Also, I'm writing a Chishiya × Reader on the side. Because in this season, Chishiya was my absolute favorite, along with Kuina and Tatta.

Sooo... yey

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

A Sense of Closure

December 17, 2022

Prompt - Home

Notes - Part two, baby! This part was originally something I planned on using as either the third part or a one-shot, but I changed the plot around to fit as a middle piece and it worked out pretty well. If you'd like to see the original plot, I would love to write it out after I'm done with my next project.

Despite the many flights that Miles had been on going to and from New Hampshire where his nerves stayed minimal and he could get by with listening to music or watching a movie, the nearly three-hour flight to his hometown of Myrtle Beach had Miles worrying that he’d be scrubbing his lunch out of the expensively upholstered seats. Carrie’s words or reassurance did little to quell the rollercoaster of emotions inside of him, but the grip she had on his hand and the gentle circles she pressed into his skin distracted him at least a little. Every now and then, he would spare a glance at his siblings and their friend, watching the trio gab on and on about something he couldn’t hear over the plane’s engines and the thumping of his heart in his ears. As soon as the pilot announced they were landing in Myrtle Beach, time seemed to slow down for Miles. Why had he agreed to join them? Why did he think he would be able to do this? He wasn’t ready for this!

Autopilot kicked in and Miles followed everyone off the plane, taking his bag of things he didn’t even remember packing and making sure his brothers were following him before stepping out of the plane and onto the tarmac. The ride from the airport was spent listening to everyone else talk as Miles looked out the window, trying to pinpoint where they were in relation to their old house. The city he knew had changed drastically in the sixty years since he had last been there, but certain buildings looked familiar. As they pulled to a stop at a red light, Miles felt a tug on his hoodie that roused him from his thoughtless ride.

Royce released Miles’ shirt once his older brother turned to face him, a small smile appearing on the teenager’s face as he pointed at the small store on their left and said, “Look, it’s the Circle K you used to work at.”

Miles raised an eyebrow as he turned to look out the window next to Carrie, but sure enough, the little gas station was still there. It had certainly changed a bit - the building had gotten larger, the pumps had gone from two to four, and the price of gas per gallon had gone from thirty-one cents to almost three dollars, but Miles still remembered the days of him and his brothers hanging out behind the counter, getting their homework done and playing blackjack between customers. They would walk home with barely enough money to buy food for the night only to have it confiscated once they walked in the door. If they didn’t hand over the money, chances were Miles would have a black eye the next morning at work, telling the kind old man who ran the shop that he’d been roughed up by people on the way home.

“Can we stop for drinks?” Bentley asked, oblivious to Miles’ thought process.

“Sure,” Mack said with a smile, flicking on her blinker and pulling into the parking lot of the gas station once the line began moving. As soon as the car was parked and people began piling out, Miles slowly slid his way out of the car and sighed. They weren’t even a ten minute walk from their old house.

Vivien huffed as she leaned against the side of the car, pulling her hoodie off over her head and tying it around her waist. “This must be cool for you guys,” she said, turning to Miles with a grin. 

“How so?” he asked in return, faintly hoping he didn’t sound nearly as cold as he thought he did.

Vivien shrugged, “It must be nice to go back to a place you used to live and see how much has changed.”

Miles scanned the intersection as cars flew by in all directions, “Yeah, well, I don’t exactly remember this place all that fondly.” 

“Why not?” the girl asked. “I mean, it’s so close to the beach.”

Miles stilled, looking at the girl with an eyebrow raised. “Did the boys never tell you why we left?”

“Royce hardly ever talks about anything that happened before you guys moved,” Vivien replied with a small chuckle as she turned toward Miles. “I’ve always wondered, though. Why? What happened?”

Vivien’s cheerful gaze dropped as Miles said, “Our dad happened. He was a drunken asshole and we ran away to escape him.”

“Oh,” Vivien muttered, all semblance of curiosity withering away like the petals of a dying flower.

“We used to live just down the road,” Miles continued. “I worked here just to have money for food and lunch money and our dad would take it as soon as he knew I had money. He’d get wasted and throw punches like he was down at the bar.”

Vivien’s eyes widened as she softly asked, “He hit you guys?” 

Miles' nonchalant shrug told Vivien that it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, “Mostly me. I know RJ said it happened to him after I left, but I doubt he ever hit Ben more than once if he ever did in the first place.”

As Vivien slouched against the car, her usually bright eyes glued to the ground, Miles was sure the conversation was over, but as soon as Royce came back to the car and was wrapped in a hug by his girlfriend, he asked his older brother, “What happened?”

With yet another nonchalant shrug, Miles said “We were talking about Dad, that’s all.”

Royce nodded and allowed Vivien to hold him close before whispering to her, “It’s alright.”

Vivien leaned back, taking Royce’s face in her hands before pressing her forehead to his, “He hit you guys. That’s not okay.”

“We’re not there anymore and he’s not around to bother us,” Royce replied. “We’re safe now.”

“He probably doesn’t even exist in this world,” Miles added with a shrug.

“Probably not,” Bentley said as he joined them. “I wonder if our old house is in this world.”

“One way to find out,” Vivien mentioned, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her jeans and unlocking it before opening her map. “What’s the address?” Pulling their old, Duffy Street address out of the deep recesses of their brains, the three Murphy brothers recited it in unison, allowing Vivien to type it in as everyone else came out to the car with snacks and drinks in hand. “This says that the address exists, but it doesn’t show what it looks like.”

“Really?” Bentley asked.

“What are you looking for?” Mick questioned.

“Our old place,” Royce answered. “Viv’s phone says that it’s still there.”

To Miles’ dismay, Brady suggested, “Why don’t we drive by and see if anything has changed? Hotel check-in isn’t until three and Vivien doesn’t have to meet her family at the rink for another hour or so.”

Bentley was quick to agree, making his two older brothers reluctantly agree to keep his excitement at bay. Once everyone was piled into the car, Miles gave the instructions as to how to get to their old house and, within a few minutes, they were stopped across the street from their old house. However, it looked different than any of them expected. Grass and weeds cracked through the walkway leading up to the front door, the numbers above the porch that used to showcase their address were long gone, and the once pristine, olive green paint that colored the house was faded and peeling away. Overall, it looked… abandoned.

Brady threw the car in park, allowing the brothers to file out of the car, staring at their old home in shock. Their parents, especially their mother, had designed the house and had it built before Miles was born and took care of it as though it was another one of their children up until their mom’s death. Even though they hadn’t had too many pleasant memories in the house after their dad’s personality did a one-eighty, it still hurt to see the building their mom loved so much looking so decrepit.

As a few of the others followed the brothers out of the car, they took in the crumbling foundation and the overall look of the house with worry. While it was true that the Murphy brothers hadn’t actually grown up in that specific house, the three pairs of eyes filled with sorrow were enough to make the others present feel just as remorseful. Oddly enough, Miles was the first to break away from the group, venturing across the empty street to the house he used to call home. Bentley latched onto Royce’s hand before dragging him across the street, Royce’s free hand taking hold of Vivien's sleeve as they walked.

While some of the others followed them to the house, Vivien’s gaze flickered over the dusty windows and weathered brickwork that formed the front porch. “It’s definitely abandoned,” she spoke as she stepped onto the porch behind the brothers.

Miles sighed, “I never thought I’d see it like this.”

Bentley attempted to peek into the house through the picture window next to the door, but the dust that had settled on the window mingled with the fact that the curtains were blocking any prospective peepers, he couldn’t see much of anything. “I can’t tell what it looks like inside.”

With a hum, Royce tapped a thoughtful finger to his lips, “I wonder if any of the windows are open. Maybe one of us could climb inside and unlock the door.”

As the three brothers began devising a plan to break into their family home, Vivien took one look at the front door and snickered, rolling her eyes as she tapped the flimsy, plastic, doggy door with the toe of her sneaker. “Rookies,” she sighed under her breath. Vivien pulled her hoodie away from her waist and knelt on the porch, placing her hoodie on the wooden floor just beyond the heavy, oak door before climbing inside the house through the significantly smaller, plastic door. Once Vivien was inside the house, she dusted herself off with a sigh, grabbing her hoodie from the floor and wrapping it around her waist once more before sparing a look around the house. 

Looking around the house was like stepping back in time. Vivien had only experienced the sixties over the last summer, but the furniture and overall aesthetic of the house made the brunette feel as though she had somehow stepped through a portal and ended up back in the beach-side, Florida town. Bright colors accented the otherwise cream-colored room, mid-century style decorations made the room feel dated but also welcoming, and hand-painted artwork still clinging to the walls by little pieces of tape and thumbtacks gave the house a lived-in feel, but the colder temperature and almost damp smell were an obvious tell that nobody had lived in the house in years, perhaps even decades.

Vivien’s nose crinkled as she looked around, but a thump on the door dragged her out of her thoughts. Twisting the deadbolt and unlocking the handle, Vivien pulled open the door and sent the three awaiting men a hesitant look. “This place was abandoned ages ago. Are you sure you want to come in?”

Bentley turned to Royce who, in turn, glanced at Miles. The oldest of the brothers took in a deep breath and nodded, “Let’s do it.”

With a small nod, Vivien held the door open and stepped aside, allowing the brothers into the old abode. Once everyone was inside, Vivien closed the door, watching as everyone seemed to linger in the living room. Bentley was the first to truly begin examining the house, pointing out how the house looked in comparison to how he’d last seen it. While Miles and Royce seemed more hesitant to explore the place that looked so similar to the house they had run away from, they eventually split off to look around. Vivien wandered the house in wonder, looking around the closest thing to her boyfriend’s old home that she would ever get to see. The house’s style was certainly outdated, but it suited the time period they were from. 

Upon exploring the kitchen, Vivien was mildly surprised to find lines of old, glass, alcohol bottles had been placed across the counter with a thick layer of dust settled on them. Perhaps whoever had lived in the house suffered from the same addiction the Murphy brothers' father had. The refrigerator still had childlike artwork clinging to it by little magnets, the signature in the bottom corners too faded for Vivien to read, but the art itself still vibrantly present. As Vivien circled the dining table, emerald eyes caught a glimpse of a thick envelope tucked underneath a piece of folded leather. The seventeen-year-old’s experience investigating abandoned buildings told her to leave well enough alone and to ignore the items, but her curiosity over where they were and the connection her friends had to the building won over as she picked up the peeling leather wallet.

Vivien only intended to check for any information as to who the wallet belonged to, but the thickness of the back fold led her to discover a thick stack of cash in varying amounts. The brunette glanced around, making sure nobody else could see the wallet as she closed it and set it back down on the table, taking the envelope instead. After wiping the front of the envelope against her jeans to rid it of the dust, Vivien’s eyes widened at what was scrawled across the white paper faded, rigid letters. It couldn’t possibly be right. She pulled her glasses off and swiped the lenses across her shirt before placing them back on the bridge of her nose. Nope, it was still there. It didn’t make sense! How on earth was it possible? By all accounts, it shouldn’t have been possible, yet there it was, staring her in the face. Seven words in faded pencil that, if they were real, had probably been written long before she was even born. 

‘To my sons, Miles, Royce, and Bentley.’

Vivien debated on what to do, but eventually came to the conclusion that she had to tell her boyfriend and his brothers. Vivien tapped the envelope against her fingertips before taking a deep breath and heading toward the living room. The only person there was Butchy who was busy examining the books on the shelves. Glancing past the couch to where the boys had gathered in another room that must have been one of their bedrooms, Vivien crossed the living room and tapped on Butch’s arm. Butchy smiled at the younger girl, “There’s the little criminal. You know, breaking and entering is a jailable offense.”

“Maybe,” Vivien agreed, “but just entering isn’t.”

“I’ll give you that,” Butchy chuckled. Glancing at the envelope grasped in the girl’s trembling fingers, Butchy sent Vivien a quizzical look, “What’s that?”

Vivien glanced over her shoulder before lowering her voice and holding out the old envelope, “I found it on the kitchen table with a wallet, but I didn’t want to open it.”

Taking the white package from the teenager, Butchy opened it to find a thick stack of paper. At the bottom of the last page was a signature he doubted the Murphy brothers wanted to see. “Did you tell them yet?”

With a shake of her head, Vivien said, “I just found it. Do you think we should give it to them?”

Folding the papers back up and putting them back into the envelope, Butchy peered over Vivien’s shoulder at where Miles was sitting on the end of a bed, an old notebook in hand as he showed Carrie and Mick what was in it. Bentley and Royce were too busy showing Lela things they had found to notice the stare directed their way, but Miles was quick to sense the pair of eyes focused on him. As soon as Miles’ confused gaze met Butchy’s, the older biker gestured for him to come out to the living room.

“We don’t have much of a choice now,” Butchy muttered, bringing an arm around Vivien’s shoulders as Miles approached them, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“What’s going on?” Miles asked the pair, the small smile on his face disappearing as he took in their expressions. “Is everything okay?”

Butchy held the envelope out for Miles to take as Vivien said, “I found this on the kitchen table. It says it’s for you, Royce, and Bentley.”

Icy blue eyes flickered between the envelope and the other two people in the room before Miles accepted the papers. On the front was a style of writing Miles knew all too well after years of forging the signature for field trips and checks he had to send out in the mail so the gas company wouldn’t shut off their hot water. “It’s our father’s handwriting.”

Seeing the hesitant, almost wary look in Miles’ eyes, Butchy asked, “Are you sure you want to read it?”

Miles shook his head, “No, but I should.”

“I can read it for you, if you want,” Butchy offered, placing a hand on Miles’ arm. Miles contemplated the idea for a while before handing the envelope back to Butchy. Butchy nodded slowly, nudging Miles toward the couch as he said, “Alright. Do you want the boys to hear it too?” Miles was quick to shake his head. He didn’t want them to know what their father had written until he knew there was nothing in the letters that he should keep from them. “Okay. Go sit down. I’ll be over in a minute.”

As Miles wordlessly headed toward the kitchen, making his way through the living room with practiced ease, Butchy turned his attention to Vivien who watched Miles with concern. “Is he going to be okay?” she asked in a whisper.

“He'll be fine.”

Although Vivien desperately wanted to believe the older man’s words, she wasn’t even sure if he believed them himself. Green eyes met brown as Vivien crossed an arm around herself, the other playing with the chain of her necklace. “I should’ve hidden that letter and left everything alone.”

Butchy sighed, placing his hands on the girl’s shoulders as he moved in front of her, “Don’t beat yourself up, Vivien. This might be something he needs to hear.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“We’ll be there for him and the boys.” Butchy watched Vivien’s gaze flicker toward the room everyone else had congregated in. “For now, go keep them occupied. I’ll handle this with Miles and then I’ll let you know when the coast is clear, alright?”

Reluctantly, Vivien nodded, her eyes flicking between Butchy, the kitchen, and the other room as Butchy stepped aside. Butchy watched Vivien disappear into the other room, hearing her instantly get pulled into a conversation as he took a deep breath and headed for the kitchen. Miles was already sitting at the dining table, presumably in the same spot he always took growing up and, as Butchy dropped into the chair next to him, the younger biker met his friend’s gaze. “Thanks for doing this, Butch.”

“I told you from the beginning that I’m here for you no matter what,” Butchy replied. “You need me, I’m there.”

Miles nodded, more to himself than to Butchy. “What if I want to stop at some point?”

“Then we stop, simple as that.”

Taking in a deep, prolonged breath, Miles glanced at the letter before muttering, “Let’s start before I change my mind, then.”

Butchy grinned, placing a hand on Miles’ back for a moment before pulling out the letters and beginning to read, “‘Boys, in the off-chance that you’ve come back home, I wanted to leave you this letter so you know everything I never got the chance to say.’”

“He didn’t say much at all when he was hammered,” Miles scoffed.

Ignoring Miles’ statement, Butchy continued, “‘I wasn’t the father you three deserved, especially after what happened with your Mama. You three lost a mother that day and I lost the love of my life, but you three handled it with the grace only she could’ve given you. I broke and turned into a beast.’” Another scoff from Miles interrupted Butchy’s reading, but it didn’t stop him from continuing, “‘Your mother gave me the best gifts in the world and I treated you all so horribly. I didn’t deserve you boys and you didn’t deserve me as a father. I know I should have let you stay with your grandparents or with Thomas when they asked, but I had already lost your mother and I couldn’t imagine losing you three too.’”

Butchy spared Miles a glance, watching the brunette drive his hands into his hair as he breathed, “We could’ve lived with our mom’s family and he didn’t let us?”

“I know you don’t want to, but try to think of it from his perspective,” Butchy attempted as he placed the first page down on the table. “His wife had passed away and you three were all he had. It was probably something they offered early on and he was scared of losing you three.”

Miles’ gaze followed the faded scuff marks on the kitchen table as he thought over Butchy’s words. Instead of commenting further, he closed his eyes, shook his head, and said, “Let’s just keep going.”

Butchy shook his head and sighed, “Alright.” After clearing his throat, he read, “'I know this won’t mean much to you now, but I’ve been seeking advice on my drinking since just after Miles left home. It worked a little at first, but I was so far down the path that it was hard to turn back. Even though it didn’t look like it, I started getting serious about quitting. I was at a meeting the day Royce and Bentley took off. I came home to their note on the coffee table the same day I came back with my five-month sobriety chip.’”

“Oh, yeah?” Miles scoffed rhetorically. “Wonder where he was hiding those.”

Butchy’s eyes scanned the paper he was holding before he set the few papers down and reached for the wallet on the table, opening the flap in the front and dumping the coins out. There weren’t many, but the furthest along was two years. As Miles examined the cheaply made coins, Butchy scanned over the rest of the papers that had been left in the envelope. He skimmed a few pages and set some aside before getting to the more personal messages that had been left. 

“‘Bentley, I hope that you become an artist of some kind. You certainly don’t get that talent from me, but I know how great you are, even though you’re so young. You’ll far exceed everyone’s expectations. As for Royce, I’m sure you’ll be a famous novelist someday. You boys got a lot from your mother’s side of the family and your way with words is definitely not from me, so take pride in it. I have no doubt you boys will be great regardless of what you do in life. Like your mother used to say: if you follow your heart, you’ll fly further than the moon.’”

Miles eyed the paper, a barely noticeable grin appearing on his face as he said, “I still tell the boys that.”

“I’m sure they appreciate that,” Butchy said.

“I know they do,” Miles replied with a nod, the tension in his shoulders releasing as he took in a deep breath. “You can keep going.”

Butchy smiled and began reading again, glad that Miles was more open to the words now that he knew how positive they had been, “‘Miles, I hope you’re taking good care of yourself and the boys. Show them the love that I wish I had. I will forever be proud of you for stepping up and taking charge when I failed to do so. You would have made a great soldier, but I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone, especially one of my boys. Take a different path than I did. Find someone who makes you as happy as your mother made me, pop out a few kids or get a couple dogs, and love them more than anything. Just make sure that you’re happy. You deserve it after all the shit I put you through.’”

Miles took in a long breath, his eyes locked on the paper in Butchy’s hands, following every word on the page as it was said. Butchy paused in his reading, keeping an eye on Miles as the younger man slowly sat straighter and asked, “Is there anything else?”

Butchy placed the paper down, only one page remaining in his hands. “This is it. You want me to read it?”

Miles shrugged, “We’ve come this far.”

“Alright,” Butchy said softly, returning his gaze to the paper. “‘You three always had each other’s backs, even when I didn’t. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish you three would walk back through the front door, but that day will probably only come when I’m no longer here. I’ve come to terms with that. I’ve come to terms with my death. It’s inevitable at this point. Even though I stopped drinking a long time ago, that doesn’t cure every other illness that comes along. Liver failure is a bitch, but I’ll go on my own terms. I left money for you in my wallet. It’s all of the money I would have spent on alcohol since I quit. You were the reason I quit, so it only makes sense for me to give it to you now. Maybe someday I’ll be able to see you again, watch over you just like your mother does. I’ll be with her soon enough. Your mom and I will be proud of you three no matter what happens. Take care of yourselves and remember to never let anything drive you apart. I love you, boys. Always.'”

Once Butchy set the papers down and restacked them, Miles pulled them to him and slid them back into the envelope they had been in. For a while, they sat in silence, Miles staring off into space while Butchy tried to gauge his friend’s reaction. Then, to break the silence they had created, Butchy put a hand on Miles’ shoulder and asked, “Are you alright?”

Instead of answering immediately, a lie rolling off his tongue with relative ease, Miles seemed to genuinely think before answering, “No, but I will be.” Finally meeting Butchy’s gaze, Miles smiled, “It’s nice to hear even though it’s not coming from my dad. I mean, I guess it is, in a way, but it just doesn’t feel like it is... I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

Butchy chuckled, “It does.”

As the pair rose from their chairs and Miles tucked the envelope into the pocket of his jean jacket, a head of blonde hair poked around the corner. Bentley’s smile beamed brighter than any lightbulb as he declared, “RJ and I found Mama’s art set!”

“That’s great, Ben,” Miles claimed with a smile. “Are you keeping it?”

“I was just going to ask if I could,” Bentley laughed. “Does that mean I can?”

“If you can fit it in the van.”

A mischievous giggle was the only response Miles got as Bentley took off for the other room. Butchy shook his head, “I think you’ve enabled a monster.”

“I think you’re right.”

Leaning against the kitchen counters as Miles pocketed the wallet from the table, Butchy asked, “Are you sure you’re alright, Miles?”

“I think I just need time to register it all,” Miles decided with a shrug, turning to Butchy and tucking his hands in his pockets. “Then, when the time comes, I’ll tell the boys and let them read it for themselves.”

“And if you need help-”

“You’ll be there like you always are,” Miles interrupted with a grin. 

Butchy hummed in agreement as Carrie entered the kitchen with a sigh, “You guys might want to stop them before they shove the whole house into the back end of the car.”

“That bad, huh?” Butchy chuckled.

Carrie glanced over her shoulder before turning back to the men with a hesitant chuckle, “Let’s just say that, if they bring out much more, we’re gonna have to walk to the hotel.”

Mick, one of the supposed “adults” in the house, cackled maniacally in the other room, “Take all of the photo albums! We can use them as blackmail!”

Miles turned to Butchy with a grin, “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Butchy agreed, allowing Miles to lead the way out of the kitchen.

Later rather than sooner, they managed to get everyone out of the house and into the van. Things they didn’t really need, yet wanted to take home had been piled into the trunk and shoved into the gaps between seats, forming a problem they would have to solve when they met up with Vivien’s parents at the sports center. Miles slid the door shut after making sure everyone had their belongings, staring out the window at the house across the street that had, at one point been his home. Although he wouldn’t be returning to it for a long time in any world, he was almost glad to have seen it one last time. It was a sense of closure he didn’t know he was missing. All too soon, the van’s engine roared to life and, within moments, they were leaving Duffy Street and Miles watched his old home fade into the distance for the last time.

[xydexxunicorn]

I suppose I should write something so I can start getting used to long form entries again instead of multi-tweet threads, so here's a general status update:

I've pretty much migrated off of Twitter at this point. I still have an account there and peek in to check messages, but my main social media will probably end up being here and Cohost. Sentient piece of shit Elon Musk seems determined to run Twitter into the ground by turning it into the next Gab or Parler. So yeah, it was time to go.

The reason haven't been posting much is because over Thanksgiving, I got sucked into playing Eco. It's like Minecraft with better graphics, a cooperative game where you try to save the planet from the impending meteor strike without destroying the planet in the process. Lots of grinding for resources and I am gaining XP at a glacial pace. There's also a new DLC for American Truck Simulator that I have yet to explore.

I got my big pink Puffypaws inflatable sea dragon last week. There will be pictures of that here eventually because of course there will.

Biking is done for the season. I should sit down and calculate out mileage for the year.

Edit: Total mileage for this year: 433.69 miles. (Longest trip was 31.33 miles.) I need to get back to my goal of biking 1000 miles/year.

Edit: Technically, my longest trip was 48.22 miles for Bike To Work Day, which was recorded as two separate trips, out and back.

[amandacanwrite]

So, I'm Rewriting Something I Just Published

This post has two acts. First, a confession of sorts. Then, an update, a little peer behind the veil, please pay attention to the woman behind the curtain.

So, here’s the confession.

I was going to just secretly, quietly, unnoticed-ly re-release a recent short story I published in the form of a tiny book on amazon. I was just going to finish rewriting it and update the original file I uploaded and pretend that nothing ever changed. Do the ole-one-two-switcheroo.

But then I remembered that I’ve just been wanting to be overall more transparent and honest in my newsletters. And that I actually want to tell you guys about the process of writing it and what I’m learning in the process.

So here I am, telling you about how impulsive and goofy I am. I hope you enjoy it.

Here’s the thing. My idea in publishing it on a whim was to claim my amazon author profile so that I could start promoting it, encouraging people to follow it, so that when my debut novel comes out next year people actually get notified about it. Seems like a clever idea, right? Or at least it did to me. Honestly, marketing is at best a hobby I do poorly at this point, but I’m trying to figure it out.

I figured I would just put something out that I was decently confident about and focus on just linking to the profile itself and forgetting about the specific work.

The problem being I actually really like the story and have wanted to expand it for months. After receiving a proof copy of the physical book and reading it, I found myself stuck on the potential it had and I shifted my focus to writing more of the story.

In classic “me” fashion, what started as the intention to add maybe two thousand words to flesh it out a bit more has now evolved into a narrative that will probably require another ten or eleven thousand words. It’s becoming a novella. Because I have approximately zero chill.

(By the way, this is not new, The Hallowed Wilds was only supposed to be forty-thousand words and now with another twenty-thousand to go it’s already clocking in at a whopping sixty-thousand words. So yes, I routinely have to double the size of my projects because they take off without me.)

And also due to my inability to harness any chill, I also just want to scream at you guys about the whole thing. I wanna talk about the drafting, the editing, the visuals, the inspirations. I want to just gab about all of it.

So that’s the backstory, let me get into the stuff that I actually want to tell you about now, a little peer behind the curtain for my simultaneous WIP mixed with an already published novlette called A Waltz with the Bone King.

This idea came to be years ago, collaboratively, with my best friend Eden, who I have mentioned before in this newsletter. We are big fans of text-based role playing, and before you get awkward, it’s not the sexy thing. It’s the nerdy thing.

This was a story we came up with together about a woman obsessed with the macabre literally being courted by death. It was one I always loved and, with her blessing, I’ve been playing with writing it as a narrative for a while now—several times over the last year, honestly. The idea first came to us after seeing this lovely image by Illustrator Abigail Larson.

The story follows a sickly, frail woman named Lorelai Hunt. She’s the sole daughter of a wealthy widower that lives in the country, away from society. He purchased his estate there after his wife, Lorelai’s mother, fell ill and they have lived there ever since.

Oddly enough, this looks almost exactly how I envision her.

Lorelai’s mother, Hanne, died when Lorelai was only six or seven and it shook her deeply.

Not long after her mother’s death, Lorelai started to be visited by spirits. She was doted upon by ghostly nannies while her father processed his grief, in many ways she was reared by these paranormal experiences until she started to get too old to peer past the veil quite so easily.

She found comfort in reading about theories on what happens after death, reading dark poetry, and as she aged, even reading about what happens to the body after a soul had left it.

As a result, many people thought she was odd and, at the time of the story, tend to avoid her and ridicule her behind their gloved hands. Much to her father’s dismay, she has had no gentleman callers or prospective suitors, but Lorelai herself isn’t bothered. She would rather die a spinster than consign herself to a life with a husband who doesn’t understand her, especially with the example her parents set as a perfect love match.

But matters get complicated when Westley Harper, a young man from the city, takes a curious interest in her despite his clear distaste for the things she is interested in. Honestly, one of my favorite parts to write was Lorelai and Westley’s first conversation and I hope you enjoy it as well:

“Do you like history, Mr. Harper?” I asked.   “Please, Westley is fine,” he said. “And of course, a young man must be well versed on such subjects.”   “I’ve been reading about the French Revolution and Marie Antoinette,” I said. “It really is a tragedy what happened to them, don’t you think? Coming to power when they were no more than children—only to fall in love and have their romance cut short by their untimely deaths.”   “I suppose it would take a tender heart such as yours to extend such compassion to monarchs who were so unliked,” he said.   “I heard that Marie Antoinette collapsed in the courtroom when the bells tolled signaling King Louis’s death—” I said before adding as an aside. “Did you know that some doctors theorize that the head continues perceiving up to several minutes after being removed from the body?”   Westley’s face tightened, only slightly with how well he managed his own reactions, but I saw it nonetheless.   “Don’t you think that’s fascinating?” I pressed on. “What do you suppose he thought of in those final moments?”   “I imagine he thought only of pain,” he responded.   “Why ever would he think on pain when he was no longer connected to any of the anatomy that could cause the sensation of it?” I challenged.   “Maybe he marveled at the fact that he was still thinking at all—”   “Is that what you would do? Think ‘Ah, I’m still sentient. Fascinating,’ and then die?”   Westley sighed and smoothed a hand through his perfect hair again, his irritation apparent and growing. “I imagine that I would be thinking of vengeance against those who had wronged me.”   Finally, an honest answer!   “I see—” I said, tapping my lace fan to my lacquered lips. “So, you’d continue to the next phase of existence as a vengeful spirit.” 

I hope this gives you an idea of why Lorelai is so fun to write. She’s strange and a little hard headed. I love the dichotomy of her stubborn qualities offset by her openness to the unexplained; her intelligence paired with her oddness and superstitions.

By no surprise, shortly after this meeting Lorelai meets The Bone King during one of her visits to the graveyard and that’s where our story really starts to unfold.

“Who are you?” I asked him.   “Well, you already know exactly who I am, don’t you?” he asked me as he carefully picked up the shattered teacup, the crimson liquid staining his satin gloves like blood. “Or you at least have an inkling.”  His tone wasn’t the same condescending indulgence that Westley had used with me when I’d attended that social with Papa. It was conversational, light, and a little playful. If he’d had any flesh on the bones of his face, I could almost see the little dimpled smile he’d have when he said it.   “So…you’re…the king of death?” I finally made myself say.   “I am,” he said. “I’ve had many names over the millennia—Hades, The Grim Reaper, The Angel of Death, Thanatos, Hel… the list continues, and the faces and genders change based on region.”  “What do you call yourself?” I asked.   “I do not call myself anything,” he stated as he finished picking up the last of the teacup and vanishing it before my eyes, along with the red stains on his gloves. “I simply am.”  “That’s a very enigmatic thing to say,” I said, a little put out. “What should I call you?”  “Call me whatever you like, Little Flower,” he said.  

And this is basically where I’m left off in the drafting process.

The story right now sits at about 13,000 words and I anticipate it finishing up around 20,000 words. I’m writing it as quickly as my brain will let me after finishing my daily freelancing writing, and I’m hoping to have it finished in the next couple of weeks. However, if you’d like to read the current iteration, it’s available on Kindle Unlimited or for just a dollar for the e-book version.

It isn’t bad in its current form, but it definitely will benefit from being fleshed out, I think you’ll see that.

In the meanwhile, I’m going to try to keep you guys in the loop on the whole process and the lead up to an Actual Proper Launch TM.

In the meanwhile, do you guys like updates like this? Or is this too much of an info dump? Comment below and let me know!

[thundergrace]

sabina Happy Birthday you bad ass b*^%h @GabUnion ! We’ve been acquaintances in the same circles for years, then had close mutual friends that brought us a little closer, and thennnnn I was lucky enough to get cast as your lil side piece on @lasfinesttv 🚓 and lemme tell you I have enjoyed that THOROUGHLY 🤭 Jokes aside. I admire you. Your work ethic. What you stand for. And how you make no apologies for being you. Thank you for treating me like fam, it’s a nice place to be.

From Gabrielle’s birthday party last year and I desperately need to find more pictures of her in this outfit.

[mooncakesofpan]

Chapter 1

The life of a top designer is stressful in itself how much will change when you find 2 glowing eyes peering back at you from your yard.  

Poly!Skz x Tall!Nonbinary!Reader

Series Warnings: mention of abuse, hybrid au, omegaverse themes, strong language, suggestive topics, and themes (see individual chapters for specific warnings)

Chapter warnings: mentions of stress, anxiety, slight angst, mentions of possible neglect, Reader uses they/them 

Word count: 3.2k

| Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter |

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK

Err— Err— Err—

I turn my head to look at the clock

6:30

God it's too early

Yesterday was so tiring I wish I could sleep in but it's 6:30 and I would prefer to not mess up my current sleep schedule. I get up and shuffle my way to the bathroom to freshen up and get ready.

I know that I really should go shopping but as I look out the window I can see the rain coming down pretty hard outside. I put on jeans and a warm sweater, almost forgetting about the events that happened last night.

The sun still rises as I scroll through my phone listening to the sound of brewing coffee. The emails from the marketing team came flooding in

‘Thank you, Y/n for contacting us on the events of yesterday's unveiling of the Colra x Script fashion line. You have our hope and sympathy. We however only have a month and a half until we have to release to the public. There is enough in the budget for more fabrics, and as the project manager, it will be your job to finish up the project in a way that is deemed fit to Colra’s standards. Please ensure that at the end of the week you email the creative directors of Colra your design,

Thank you,

Theo Mclaughlin from marketing ‘

That's just great I can probably get the designs finished but getting the entire line done? that's going to be a lot. I can maybe ask two or three people to help me sew the pieces. The line was supposed to include 13 pieces.

I sigh, this was going to be a mess to try and clean up.

“uh hi—” A deep voice makes me jump slightly and turn around.im greeted with dark down eyes and longish hair and a similar height to Chan

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you,” The male with bat ears apologizes, a smile so contagious I can't help but smile back. The dark bat years sitting on the top of his head were familiar to that of who I help to bed last night.

“Oh sorry, you caught me off guard— uh how are you feeling,” I say remembering how cold and out of it he seemed last night. On top of his head lies dark bat ears and his eyes are also very dark but warm deep and inviting. As I take in his face I see, freckles scattered across his face. Much like his eyes, I find myself getting lost in them..

“A Lot better, thank you for letting us stay here.”

“Of course, you're welcome to say as long as you want. Would you like coffee?” I offer.

He nods, sitting down at the island as I grab a mug.

“ I'm Felix by the way.” he says

 ”nice to meet you, Felix, I’m Y/n,” I say handing him the mug of coffee.

I move toward the fridge open the door and look over the contents, I pull the drawer to the fruit crisper open. the idea of fruit and eggs pops into my head. I gab the ingredient to make a fruit salad out and the eggs from a higher shelf.  I crack the eggs, mixing them up in with seasoning before pouring them into a skillet.

“So how long have you lived out here?” Felix says during our conversation.

“Oh, I think this marks almost 3 years since I bought the house I remodeled some of it though.”

“That's cool, it looks very nice,” Felix looks around the kitchen area.

“Breakfast will be finished in 15, but feel free to explore.”

Felix lights up at the opportunity to look around as I’m putting the eggs on a plate and fruit on the side.

“Chan they made breakfast,” Felix says as the other hybrid walks through the entrance

I push the plates toward the two young men.

“I was telling Felix that after he eats he can explore the house feel free to do the same,” I say smiling.

“Oh—Thank you,” Chan says with a warm smile.

I see the time, getting close to 9:30

“Oh shit— I need to work on some stuff, I'll be in my office,” I say moving around to rush in my office. I just wanted to finish doing stuff before this afternoon.

hours into redesigns I found myself wishing to slam my face into the wall. 

I've redesigned 3 of these outfits and I still have so many left to go, truly I feel like Colra is the bane of my existence.

Hoping I can sort through some of the designs I get up and move to the island in the middle of the room I typically use to lay out patterns and cut on. I hear soft knocks on the door leading me to jump for a second forgetting that two other people are staying in my house.

“Come in,” I say as I mark the designs littered on the table-like top.

I turn my head to face the door to see the wolf hybrid peeking his head in.

“Hey Chan what’s up,” I say slightly concerned, worried that something bad could have happened.”

“Sorry this was the last room,” he trails off looking in still standing near the door, looking around for me 

 “So what do you do?” his arms cross as he walks closer to the table in the middle of the room currently covered in papers and binders. His crossed arms seem tense, as if he was trying to avoid touching things.

“Oh– I'm a designer. Sometimes I put pieces together at home or make my pieces here. It's useful when I'm working from home.”

“Do you work from home? “ his voice raised a bit with surprise at the end of his statement

“Yeah kinda, sometimes I have to go in For things I’d rather not do over the phone like meetings or interviews. But I typically go in 3 days out of the week and from home,” As I let out a sigh I notice his shoulders relax.

“If you’re supposed to be off why are you working?” he asked eyebrows furrowed.

I let out a sad sigh.

“Admittedly, it's my fault. We were working with a company and I, along with my team of designers, we're supposed to do a collaboration project but when it came to the unveiling it kinda flopped,” I tap the pencil in my hand against my tabletop. “I have a little time before the line is supposed to publicly drop so I'm working to fix it and I have around a month and a half?”

“That sounds stressful, yeah?”

I chuckle at the response from the wolf hybrid.

“Yeah, but I can't let my team down. All of them tried so hard and did so well with their designs so I feel a bit guilty I guess,” I say looking up from the papers.

Chan hums softly in response to my statement and wanders around the room looking at the different cubbies and shelves. I quickly remember the idea I had a few hours ago.

“Oh— Chan I was gonna ask for some help trying to order clothes for you and Felix,” I say as I continue to mark the sketches with parts I want to keep.

“Oh you don't have to do that,” Chan says, looking back the different threads sitting on shelves. 

“I may not have to but I want to. those are two very different things, plus you guys are staying here you should feel comfortable while you do.” I looked up offering a soft smile to him.

“Uh thanks,” there's a twitch to his ears

The silence in the room is suffocating.

Did I say something wrong?

“So you live here by yourself?” he breaks the silence.

“Yeah, it's just me.”

“This is kinda a big house for just one person.” 

”Yeah sometimes it gets lonely I guess��� but I like the space and I like living out here it's so different from what the environment of my job and line of work is like. Sometimes I find myself in the public eye and its nice to be able to retreat to my house all the way out here.” I ramble off as I continue to sketch up a new design.

a design that I'm finally happy with and think will get approved, I finish a design im finally happy with I place it down and reach for my laptop, Once I gather my things I start to head toward the door. I see Chan perk up a bit his fluffy ears angling towards me before his head turns to me as I go to leave the room motioning him to follow me. We walk to the living room, finding Felix seated crossed-legged on the couch watching the TV. His ears twitch slightly to follow the noise of me and Chan entering the room.

“Hey Felix,” he turns smiling.

“We're gonna order some clothes, wanna join us?” I say, patting the spot on the other side of me on the couch.

We spent next hour looking at clothes and other things they liked. Felix has a more diverse color pallet choosing things in other colors, I can tell he has a love for sweaters and hoodies. On the other hand, There’s Chan who almost exclusively chooses black a good mixture of sleeveless shirts and hoodies. 

I decided that it wouldn't be a bad idea to spend the rest of the afternoon preparing soup for dinner and relaxing. The three of us sit in comfortable silence watching a cooking show that Felix was previously engrossed with.

The night is peaceful and I can tell we're going to get along great, and I've voiced that if they ever feel uncomfortable they don't have to feel forced to stay but they are welcome to as long as they want.

And they do at least for the rest of the week. I don't exactly want them to leave, but I don't want them to think that they're stuck here. I like having them in the house, they both make me laugh especially during days that are especially painful at work. It's been a long time since I've had friends who could do that.

Making Chan smile warms my heart, he wears his emotions on his sleeve he doesn't do a good job at hiding them, and while I haven't asked about their past and I don't think it’s my place, I can tell somethings bothering Chan, 

Despite the way he laughs things off when faced with questions about how he's doing and feeling. When the clothes finally came He didn't seem displeased but his fidgeting and uneasiness made it clear something was wrong. Felix on the other hand, he's a little more open and very affectionate. He likes to hug me when I get home and lay against me if I'm reading on the couch. Which I gladly welcome with open arms. He can be hesitant to accept things or join me in activities, for example, The other day I invited him to come bake with me since I see how interested he is in baking, it took some reassurance to finally get him to come make some cookies.

I hear my alarm go off, I rush to get ready for work almost slipping down the stairs shoes in hand. I sit at the dining table crossing my legs in an attempt to quickly tie my shoe when a groggy voice comes from around the corner. 

“Oh Y/n before you go, do you mind if I try to bake something today?” Felix asks, rubbing his eyes still filled with sleep. 

“Oh yeah go for it there’s some cookbooks in the living room on the bookshelf near the window,” I respond quickly grabbing my bag to head out the door. I respond quickly grabbing my bag to head out the garage door “See you later Felix, I'll be back by 7:00.” 

When I woke up this morning I had the plan to get Chan and Felix phones, that way they would have a little more freedom and I'd feel better about leaving them at the house in case they needed something or an emergency happened. Waiting out the long day till my lunch I quickly pack my stuff and move out the door heading to my cell provider store. 

I look at the models deciding to get them the same model as mine, reliable and durable. “Uh– i'll go with 2 of these,” I point at the phone in front of me. 

As the lady rings me up I can't help but be worried they won't like the phones, or that they’ll be offended cause they don't plan to stay. I leave the store with the small bag in my hands as I go back to my car to finish my day at work.

The welcoming warmth of walking through my garage door never fails to relax me. I take off the hat I had been wearing for the day and make an attempt to slide my shoes off. Felix mixed something in the kitchen and Chan crouched near the floor looking in a cabinet tail brushing up against the floor and ears pinned back. 

”Hey guys,” I say, struggling to get my shoes off, leaning against the wall to get a better grip at my boots. “whatcha making?”

“ We found a cookie recipe in this cookbook,” Felix says motioning to the book in front of him.

I was gonna put the pair of shoes back in my room before I came back, but Chan Seems to be looking for something and can't find it,

I walk over with my shoes in hand.

“whatcha lookin’ for?” Chan jumps a little at the sound of my voice.

“Oh do you have some cookie sheets?” he says turning to me.

“ Yeah! they're in this cabinet,” I put down my shoes to look thew the cabinets and stick my hand in the back finding the sheet. 

“I don't use them very much. I'm not great with cookies but I make a good lemon cake,” I say, handing him the sheet and giving him a smile.

I pick up my shoes and head to my room to change. The warm F/c knit sweater I grab hugs me comfortingly and the grey sweats were thick and loose. I walk down the stairs to join the boys back in the Kitchen to go into the garden in hopes of finding a few vegetables harvest with it being the end of the harvesting season approaches. 

“I'm gonna head into the garden and pick some stuff,” I announce before going on the porch slipping on the boots I keep outside.

I kneel in the dirt between the slightly raised garden beds. Picking up a beet with a bite taken out of it.

Weird something must have gnawed at it.

I pick the beet regardless and put it to the side while I pick some more beets. throughout the garden looking at what all the rain has brought for me to harvest, it seems the lettuce and kale are ready for me to pick. The more I look throughout the garden the more I find bite marks and paw prints littering the moist soil, which means I probably have something eating my plants. While it's a bit inconvenient, they must be hungry, and maybe if I put down something to eat leave the rest of the garden alone. I grab a lettuce leaf and the beet I had set aside earlier, which I was originally going to put in compost. Together I place the leaf and beet on the floor in hopes that whatever is eating my garden will accept the offer as it's placed closer to the tree line. I went inside and put the basket full of vegetables on the edge of the counter. Chan and Felix put the cookies in the oven.

“Hey have you guys seen anything in the garden?”

The sound of water rushing as I turn the sink on to wash the produce

“Uh no not really why?” Chan's eyebrows furrowed.

 ”I just found some bite marks in some of the stuff out in the garden” 

” Yeah, no sorry. Do you want us to keep an eye out?” Felix asks, taking the oven mitts off and standing up straight.

 ”Sure if you guys want, I'm sure whatever's munching on the garden is just hungry.” I shrug my shoulders “Oh that's right I got you guys something” I say rushing to my bag still sitting in the hall near the garage and laundry room.

and pulling out the phones and sitting them on the table. ”oh wow,” surprise evident on Chan’s face

“Are these for us?” Felix questions. A big smile on his face.

“Yeah I wanted to get you guys something to one, contact me if anything happens and two, just to give you guys some type of freedom you're staying here but I don't want you guys to feel trapped ya know?”

I hand them the phones “I already set up your numbers with my provider and put my phone in there,”

“No one ever done something like that for us,” Chan says looking down at the phone.

“Well hopefully you guys will put them to good use,” I say smiling and moving through the entryway to the living room.

With the food ordered and eaten and the cookies on a plate in the kitchen, I for once found myself alone in the living room.

The tv plays in the background as I Scroll thru my phone. when I hear footsteps of someone coming into the living room.

I turn my head to see who the footsteps belong to, I'm surprised a bit to see Felix typically Chan is up late.

“Hey Felix, What's up?”

 ”I just want to ask you something,” He says with a shrug,

I scoot over on the couch moving to the side to give the bat hybrid more room. He sits down crossing his legs under him.

“You've been so nice since we've been here, and I guess I'm worried that you’ll ask us to leave,” his eyes are glassy, staring at his hands.

“Felix you guys can stay here forever, don't feel like you have to leave. I would love it if you guys stayed to live here with me. I enjoy your guys' company and I want you to feel like you're welcome, okay? I'm not asking you to leave and there's no plans in the future if you want to leave, that's gonna be your decision ok?” I say taking his hands into mine, ducking my head to try to look into his brown eyes.

“I don't know what the homes or centers have been like and I may never really understand but I want you to feel safe and welcome here,” tears quickly fell down the boy's freckled face as he moves to hug me, mumbling a thank you into the knit sweater that's being soaked by his tears.

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