#but there will be a little bit of exploring in the coming chapters

[hwaslayer]

the space between us three (jyh) | five.

⇢series masterlist | series playlist

⇢summary: while juggling the demands of life, yunho continues to do his best to raise his independent 11 yr old daughter, seora. throughout the years, they've built a strong foundation, an unbreakable bond— one that consists of late night talks and food runs, father/daughter dates, and sideline cheerleading at her basketball games. so when you unexpectedly come into their world, things shift. despite the uncertainty and the fear of stepping outside of their comfort zone, yunho and seora eventually learn how to open their hearts and learn how to rebuild a home where three can thrive together.

⇢pairing: single dad!yunho x f. reader

⇢genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, single dad au | fluff, angst, eventual smut

⇢word count: 6.6k

⇢chapter content/warnings: cussing, mature language/sexually implied content, more progress between oc x yunho 🥰, everyone is playing cupid because they feel it in the airrrr lol, a lil tiny, casual family meet and greet, oc talks to yunho a bit about her parents, yunho is absolutely smitten but he's def still struggling with his own feelings and thoughts

yunho: what kind of coffee do you like?

you: that's random. lol but anything sweet? i usually go for coffee with extra cream and sugar. or a vanilla latte!

yunho: gotcha. lol

you: why? what about you?

yunho: i usually just stick to an iced americano.

you: mud water.

yunho: don't say that. ☹️

you: you know we're supposed to be meeting in like 3 mins right? lol

yunho: sorry, gonna be a few mins late? 😅 got a coffee order to take care of!

you: yunho!

You playfully roll your eyes and smile when Yunho doesn't respond on Slack afterwards. It had been a few weeks since you and Yunho began meeting on a weekly basis, all meetings considered productive yet easy-going and laid back. Some had turned to lunch meetings, killing two birds with one stone whenever you or Yunho had to reschedule. You had grown comfortable with Yunho quickly, and to your surprise, Yunho was reciprocating the same energy. You would talk about the most random things in between going through the to-do list of items you needed to check in about. You were slowly getting to know him, and him, you. You couldn't help but feel like your crush on him was growing by minute, though you tried to tell yourself to take it slow and not act too obvious about it since:

One, you didn't wanna look like a fool.

Two, you don't even know if he feels the same.

Three, what if he's not even thinking about dating in general? 

Then, you'd look stupid.

You're not gonna lie, though; a part of you felt like he was also interested in exploring this idea. He was just taking his time, too. Probably checking off the boxes on his own list before saying or doing anything.

The Instagram likes were one thing.

Then, it was reacting to your stories. The likes, the messages. The subtle flirting in between the lines.

Yunho was over here in disbelief because he didn't think he'd be shaking off the dust on his instagram page just to keep up with you. He'd even post a few times on his story just to see if you'd do the same— which, you did.

Had him bothering his own daughter to make sure his posts were up to par.

⇢FLASHBACK

"Ace." Yunho calls for Seora as they sit at a café, indulging in drinks and pastries before getting their day started together.

"Huh?" She says, sipping on her iced peach tea.

"How do you add music to your Instagram story?" He furrows his brows.

"The music note at the top right corner .. ?" She lets out a breath. "Wait, hold on. Hand it over." Yunho cocks a brow up before handing his phone to his daughter. "Why are you posting this?"

"It's a nice picture, isn't it? The sun is hitting the drink and the pastry perfectly."

"It's good, but why don't we get some candids? I can take it."

"What, no—"

"Dad, please. It's impressive, but you need to put a little more umph. You've got a face, like jeez .. put it to use." She raises his phone. "Here, just sit and act natural."

"Seora, you don't have to."

"Sit and act natural!" She repeats. "Act like I'm not taking pictures." Yunho chuckles before shaking his head and acting as naturally as possible while sipping his drink. "Amazing." Seora aggressively clicks away before setting his phone back down. "Hm." She goes through the photos she took. "I'll post the best one and add a song to it, okay?"

"Go for it."

"Just so you know, since you are my dad, it'll be free of charge and you don't have to give me credit." He laughs. 

"Noted." She pauses and squints at him, trying to read her father while resting her chin on the palm of her hand.

"Who are you trying to impress?"

"No one! I can't just post?"

"All of a sudden." She continues to give him a look before resuming her work. "Your Instagram has been sitting in the historical section of the library for years."

"Hey, now. That's an exaggeration. What did I tell you about exaggerating?"

"Yeah huh. You didn't even know how to add music. That's how ancient it is to you." Seora laughs. "Dad, just admit it. It's fine. It won't make me love you any less."

"Are you done?" Yunho cocks his head to the side and playfully squints his eyes at her.

"Actually, yup! Just about." She slides over his phone. "Look at your story. In case you didn't know, you press your profile pic—"

"Ace, I know, okay."

"Sure about that?" She giggles, watching as her dad goes through his story— eyes widening in the process.

"Since when did you get good at taking photos?"

"Since ever, duh."

"Thanks, babygirl. Think you might've saved me there."

"You're welcome. Next time, there might be a service fee. Depending on the day."

"Service fee, huh?"

"Payment accepted are stickers, shopping dates and new Nikes."

"We'll talk."

"Great." Seora smiles just as Yunho ruffles her hair.

⇢END

It's the tiny chase. The pre-chase before the actual chase. Surveying the waters before going out to sea.

Yunho likes that part, and so do you.

You smile a bit to yourself thinking about the tiny moments, typing away and taking care of other items on your list until Yunho's figure appears in the hallway. He's talking to someone across the way, two cups of coffee in his hand. He laughs and bids his farewell before walking into the conference room.

"I'm only 7 minutes late."

"Only?" You snort as he puts your cup of coffee down. "Yunho, you didn't have to." You slightly pout and he smiles.

"Did you have coffee already?"

"No.."

"Then, yeah." Yunho chuckles. "Vanilla latte."

"Thank you." You smile at him before taking a sip. It does hit the spot, and you're not sure if it tastes extra good today because Yunho's the one that brought it. "Hey, is this from the coffee shop on the corner of the hospital wing?" You recognize the name as you've made the trek over a few times if you were truly craving their coffee.

"Mhm."

"They give stickers out with every purchase. Did they give you one?"

"Yeah." He digs into his pocket and slides you a cute cartoon drawing of a capybara holding a cup of coffee. You squeal as you take it into your hands, looking up at him with the cutest look he's ever seen.

"It's different every time! Can I take this off of your hands?"

"Go for it." He chuckles. "Glad you like it. I would've probably tossed it."

"I'll give it a good home." You tuck it into your pencil case.

"I know you will." Cute, is what he's trying to say.

"So, how is your morning so far?"

"Kinda hectic. Seora and I stayed up a little too late watching our show. She got up a few minutes later than usual and she was tired. Woops."

"Yunho." He laughs.

"What? We just get too into it without realizing."

"That's cute."

"Anyway, finally shuffled her out the door, then she realized she forgot a folder she needed for class so we had to turn back and .. yeah." 

"Eventful morning."

"To say the least." He chuckles. "What about you?"

"Hm, it's been pretty quiet on my end. But, it is Monday so I'm anticipating the chaos as the week goes on." 

"I feel that. Did you have a good weekend at least? You looked like you had fun at the vintage pop-up." Yunho types away on his laptop, the never-ending notification sounds of Slack going off.

"I did! Sian and I grabbed a few gems."

"The mirror pic was cute." You giggle.

"Thanks. How was yours?"

"Good. Seora and I did a little staycation downtown."

"Aw. Do you guys always do that?"

"The staycation kinda thing? Not really. But, we always spend time together doing different things. She wanted to hit a couple of spots down there so I figured we could just make a stay out of it. I think we'll camp next."

"That's so cute." You chuckle. "Glad you enjoyed yourself." He smiles.

"Yeah." He's doing that thing again. His eyes linger on you for a second and you aren't really sure how to respond or react. You break first, shifting your attention to the notes on your laptop before clearing the small tension in the air.

"So, how are things going with the team?"

"Good. I think we're ready to schedule a bigger meeting sooner than later to showcase what we've built so far. The majority is finished and they can just let us know what tweaks they want before we finalize and deploy."

"Oh, really? That's amazing, Yunho!"

"Don't thank me, I barely lifted a finger. It was the clinical informatics team."

"Shut up." You laugh. "You helped push it through with your guidance, regardless." You take a few notes. "How about the network and everything in the peds unit?"

"Should be good to go, too."

"Okay. I'll send out a poll later to the wider group to find a good time for us to meet."

"Sounds good, boss lady." You chuckle to yourself as you set your own reminders before meeting his eyes again. "How's everything else going on your end?"

"Hm, good. We're just waiting on a few approvals regarding patient transfers and all these other clinical roadblocks."

"Keeping you busy, I see."

"Kinda, yeah. But, I like it."

"That's all that matters." He gives you a toothless smile. 

"Is there anything else I should include in the meeting agenda for the wider group?"

"I think that's it. It'll be key for them to see the build and watch us play around with it. It'll probably take up most of the meeting."

"Should we aim for an hour?"

"Are you gonna stay for the hour?" You cock a brow up.

"What if I leave?"

"30 mins then." You snort.

"Kidding. I have to, silly."

"1 hour's good then."

"Why does it matter if I'm there or not?"

"I like having you around? You .. have a calming presence. It makes me feel comfortable." You giggle.

"Uh huh." 

"Swear. These people can be ruthless."

"I'm sure. I don't doubt that. I'll be there, I have to be. And you'll all do fine, I'm sure they'll be really pleased about the progress no matter what." You sip on your coffee. "Anything else? Going once, going twice?"

"Mm, yeah. Actually. Not to pivot or anything, but they're having food trucks at the hospital courtyard later for lunch. Wanna come?"

"What time?"

"I think they'll start around 11:30am, but we'll probably head down closer to lunch or a bit after."

"Cool. Let me know when you guys are there? I'll try to drag Noeul with me. I'm sure Sian will be there."

"I'll slack you." You shake your head, immediately feeling bold enough to slack him your number.

"My number. So you don't have to Slack me. I don't always check it." He smiles and calls the number before hanging up.

"That's me." He smirks. "Coulda just asked, you know?"

"You're full of it." He laughs as you both stand, gathering your things to head out of the room. "Guess I'll see you for lunch?"

"Mhm. I'm sticking around on this floor to take care of something else. I'll text you where we're at later." He presses the elevator button for you, watching as you safely get inside.

"Sounds good." He gives you a nod of acknowledgement just as the doors slide and close in on you. 

Lunch comes quicker than you can even grasp, the sudden wave of emails and little, never-ending tasks taking up your morning hours. It isn't until Noeul pops into your space that it triggers you to check the time again.

11:58am.

"Um, what are you doing?" She knits her brows at you, watching as you furiously type away. "I was waiting for you to come, but you never came."

"Sorry, time literally flew by with all this stuff coming up. But, I'm almost done." 

"Okay, let me go pee then. I rushed over thinking you might have left without me."

"What, no?" You laugh just as she scurries off to the bathroom, giving you time to type up the last bits of your email before sending it off and crossing it off on your to-do list. 

yunho: we're out here! coming soon? 

you: mhm, just waiting for noeul!

yunho: we'll stick around the fountain until you ladies come!

you: [likes message]

"Ready?" Noeul has her wallet in hand, a big smile on her face as she approaches your cubicle once more.

"Are you ready?" You chuckle as you stand and push your chair in. 

"Definitely. Starving." She sighs. "So, Yunho invited you, hm? Literally can't get enough of you—"

"Stop it right now. Don't go there." You press the elevator button. "We're just cool. He's chill. It doesn't have to be anything." You give her a look.

"Doesn't have to be anything when he could have just left it at your weekly Monday morning meetings. But, no." She smirks and turns to you as you head inside the elevator. "We got lunch dates and now, food truck dates."

"Okay, you know the lunch meetings were because either of us had to reschedule. And this food truck thing happened on a whim."

"Why are you trying so hard to deny all of it? Girl, it's right in front of your face. The man wants you and I know you do, too." She gently nudges you. "Atta girl." You feel the heat rise to your cheeks as you scroll senselessly on your phone just to distract yourself.

"Anyway." You let out a breath. 

"Uh huh." She giggles. 

"Sian's there. Any idea what you're craving?"

"You know, I've been craving a good pad thai." You nod.

"That's sounds right now, actually. With some vietnamese coffee."

"Hope they have a truck for it." The both of you swiftly exit the elevator and start making your trek down the path to the main hospital. There are a bunch of trucks parked around and near the courtyard area, with expectedly a ton of people in attendance from both hospitals. You spot the fountain in the middle, tippy-toeing to see if you can catch a glimpse of Yunho from where you're at.

"Oh, you're here!" Sian says, already with a to-go container in hand. "Where's your guy at?" Noeul laughs loudly.

"Shut up!" You glare at her. "They're by the fountain." You start heading towards the fountain with the two in tow.

"There's so many trucks, I'm overwhelmed."

"All so good, though!" Sian starts talking about what she bought and the other trucks she managed to pass by. When you finally approach the fountain, you find Yunho, Taehyun, Jihoon and a couple of their other team members hanging around— laughing and joking in their usual fashion. His eyes immediately land on you, and his lips turn upward into a big smile. He waves, Taehyun, Jihoon and the others turning your way to greet you with smiles or their own waves.

"Aw, she's here." Taehyun pokes fun at Yunho. "His ears are turning red." Jihoon laughs.

"Never seen that before. Must be a good thing." Yunho squints his eyes at them before you and the girls finally approach the group.

"Hey!" You greet them, along with Noeul and Sian.

"Glad you made it through the sea of people."

"Yeah, there's definitely a lot of people around." You chuckle.

"Hungry? Wanna go find something to eat?" You nod, letting Yunho lead the way. Before you even realize it, You and Yunho end up walking away from the group unintentionally— everyone splitting ways to grab food of their liking without coming up with a plan to meet somewhere in the middle afterwards.

Unless, this was their plan all along.

You can't even spot any of them in the surrounding crowd.

"Anything you're craving?"

"Me and Noeul were just talking about this." You chuckle. "We've been thinking about good pad thai."

"Mm." Yunho hums. "I think they have a truck over there for it. Line is kinda long though, if you're okay with that."

"It's fine. I have time." You look up at him. "What're you gonna eat?"

"Whatever you're eating?" He laughs. "I'm not gonna leave you alone in this line."

"Yunho. I'll be good, you can go find something you like."

"Nah, it's okay. I'm good with whatever. Besides, their garlic noodles sound good." You giggle.

"Okay then! If you say so." You pout a bit and he lets out a tiny laugh.

"How have the past few hours been?"

"The usual. A few emails did wash in and keep me busy. Had two quick check-in meetings over Zoom, too." He nods. "What about you and the team?"

"Yeah, it got kinda chaotic for a second. Lots of things were breaking at once, but we've got a handle on it. Systems are recovering." He checks his phone to make sure nothing else urgent has popped up.

"You guys are always running around."

"We are. Between both hospitals. Gives me a good workout to be running around like crazy." You laugh. "How's your brother doing, by the way? He seems cool. It was nice to see you guys together that one weekend."

"Cool? Please." You playfully roll your eyes. "But, he's good. Living life as he usually does." You chuckle. "We'll probably be back in the next weekend or so. Be prepared to get sick of us. Or, me. I guess." 

"Nah, never." Yunho laughs. "I'm glad you'll be around more often. I'm sure your parents are happy about it."

⇢FLASHBACK

"Your favorite child is here—" You smack Wonwoo upside the head as you two head in through the gate of your parents' house. You and Wonwoo decided to spend the night as an attempt to genuinely give them more time and be around them. "Ah-ow." He squints and looks at you.

"I don't recall you helping pick out their new couch last week."

"Oh, because the one weekend I'm away and can't come, you automatically think you're the favorite? Get a grip." You roll your eyes and gently push him to the side before entering the house. 

Yunho's car isn't in sight next door.

The both of you greet your parents loudly before going to your old, respective rooms and dropping off your things. Your parents waste no time shuffling you two back out of the house, dragging you along on their usual routine— Costco, other grocery stores and a bit of shopping at the mall. Wonwoo and your father start geeking out over golf clubs, fishing and coffee, while you and your mom are too busy shopping for makeup, bags, perfumes and skincare.

It's nice to see your family like this.

Calm, peaceful and enjoying each other without any side commentary and remarks.

Your family decides to grab a pretty early dinner at the food court— you and your brother opting for some rice bowls, while your mom and dad share some cold noodles. You and Wonwoo start updating your parents about where things are at work, with your mom happily praising Yunho when you mention how often you have to meet with him to push things forward on the IT side. Wonwoo talks a bit about how work has been keeping him busy and how him and the boys are planning more trips in the future. Luckily, your parents don't say much about how you both have been spending your downtime— the two of them too busy fighting over the kind of boba drink they wanna share before leaving the mall.

When you get back, you and Wonwoo clean up and get settled, already feeling hungry again after the small, early dinner you had.

"Hey." You lean against Wonwoo's door frame as he stands from shuffling through his duffle bag.

"Yeah?"

"Kinda want a snack. Ice cream. Something we can take and sit by the pit in the backyard."

"Convenience store trip?" You nod, already dressed in your oversized crewneck and sweats. Wonwoo throws on his hoodie over his shirt, sporting his basketball shorts and slippers. You let your parents know you're trekking down to the store, your dad calling out for you to bring back bottles of soju just as you head out the door.

You let out a breath when the crisp night air touches your skin; breath visible in the cold. As you exit through the gate, you notice Yunho's car is parked now, and you suddenly wonder what he's up to.

"It's a little nostalgic making this walk and sleeping in my room again." Wonwoo cuts in.

"Yeah, I know. I kinda miss those times. When we'd get home from school or head down to the convenience store with our friends before walking deeper into town."

"The simple days."

"Tell me about it." You chuckle, head pointed down as you continue the quiet walk with your brother. The door to the convenience store dings when it swings open, causing you to turn your attention back upwards.

You stop, and Wonwoo knits his brows at you when he sees you've stopped moving forward.

"Oh— Yunho." You pause in your steps when you see Yunho and his daughter come out of the same convenience store. A small smile tugs on the corner of your lips when you get a good look at how much she looks like her dad. She's got height to her, too. Makes sense she's an athlete. She's got dark brown hair, long. Eyes are brown, lashes are long. Her eyes and her nose are exactly her father's. She's dressed in a cute puffer jacket and flare leggings, Ugg slippers. Her dad is in a thick Essentials grey hoodie, jeans and brown Nikes. 

"Y/N, hey." He smiles. "Nice to see you."

"Grabbing ice cream after dinner?" You look at the ice cream in their hands.

"Before, actually." He shyly says before chuckling. "Haven't gotten to making dinner yet, we just got home not too long ago."

"Touché. All good. Can't go wrong with that, sometimes." You laugh a bit before turning to Wonwoo. "This is Wonwoo, my younger brother." 

"Hey." Wonwoo does a curt bow, which Yunho reciprocates. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too. This is my daughter, Seora."

"Hi." She smiles toothlessly as she sways from side to side, hand in a pocket while the other holds her ice cream cone.

"Hi Seora." You look at her with a soft smile while Wonwoo waves.

"They're Auntie Love and Uncle Po's kids."

"Cool. It's nice to finally put a face to it. Your parents talk about you alot. Like a lot! But we never see you around." She says.

"We just get busy, is all. But, you'll be seeing more of us from now on." Seora nods.

"Are you guys picking up some ice cream, too?"

"Yeah, and other snacks. Drinks for my dad." You chuckle.

"We're about to hang out in the backyard with our parents if you wanna join. Sure they wouldn't mind." Wonwoo adds with a shrug.

"Thanks, that's really nice of you guys. Don't wanna intrude, though. You should definitely take this time with your parents." Yunho responds.

"Well, I'm sure one of us will be knocking at your door with food tonight."

"I can look forward to that." Yunho laughs. "Anyway, we'll get going. Thanks again, and enjoy your goodies." His eyes land on you, and you can't help but feel the heat instantly rise to the surface of your cheeks. He doesn't break contact for awhile, which doesn't make it any easier for you. It isn't until Seora and Wonwoo start walking off that he finally breaks and gives you a tiny smile before following his daughter home.

"Aye." Wonwoo says when you reappear next to him again. "He seems nice. Is that the guy you were talking about? Mom and dad's neighbor that you work with?"

"Yeah, we're working together for the new department. It's also the same guy I almost spilled my coffee on."

"Damn. No wonder you were crying about it." He laughs. "I saw you two."

"Saw .. what?" Wonwoo clicks his teeth and gives you a look.

"Just looking at each other. That's what. Don't play dumb." He grabs the soju bottles for your dad and slips it into the basket.

"Oh. Jeez, that wasn't anything."

"Uh huh. Cause I stare people down on a daily basis the same way you two do."

"Wonwoo." You roll your eyes. "We barely know each other."

"And? Doesn't mean you won't, especially having to work so closely with him." He throws some of his favorite snacks into the basket, along with your favorite chips.

"Well, you know what, whatever happens, happens. Either way, I'm good. You know this."

"I feel that."

"Besides, I know Yunho is worried about his daughter more than anything. Wouldn't that be kinda weird to step into their life and disrupt their whole flow?" You head towards the ice cream. "I can imagine mom having a lot of shit to say about it."

"Dude, mom and dad love him and his daughter. He wouldn't have to do a damn thing to impress them." You laugh.

"Wishful thinking." You shake your head. "Anyway, let's not get ahead of ourselves." You look at him with both your favorite ice cream in hand. "Ready?"

"Yup." You and Wonwoo head to the counter, allowing your brother to [happily] pay for the snacks and drinks. He carries the bag in one hand while you both joke around in your usual sibling fashion until you head your mom's voice echoing in the street.

"My kids! They finally make an appearance! You met them, right? Seora, you've met my kids?! They finally took time to see us—" You watch as Yunho and Seora turn towards you, tupperwares already sitting in Yunho's hands.

"Mom, jeez. You're the loudest thing in this street." Your brother teases, making you laugh. "Airing out our business to the whole damn neighborhood."

⇢END

"I guess so. Even then, our parents will still find ways to rub it in our faces." You let out a small breath, pushing upwards as the line moves.

"Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want to. Call me nosey if you want." You cock a brow up as you meet his eyes again.

"Try me."

"Do you and your parents get along well?"

"I guess so. For the most part. We're just like any other family who fights every now and then. Why do you ask?"

"I— I just heard it in your voice that first Monday meeting we had. It just seemed a little deeper, is all. Wanted to see if you were okay."

"Wow, you remember that far back?"

"Well, to be fair, it wasn't that far back. But, yeah. I don't know. I picked up on the shift." You look down at your feet.

"It's really nothing deep. We just argue like any kids do with their parents. They set a lot of their expectations and wishes on us, even if it's not what me and Wonwoo want right now. Or, I guess to put it plainly, they've been putting a lot of pressure on us."

"Which is?"

"Well, you know. The usual settling down and having a family of our own. We have each other, but they still worry that no one else will help take care of us or support us in the long run."

"I know it can get frustrating, but I'm sure the underlying message is that they just wanna see you both happy and taken care of."

"Right, but we're happy with where we're at. We aren't are rushing, but they keep acting like time is running out."

"Hm." He hums again." I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I think we've gotten used to it, and we're both just trying to remember the more positive side of it like you mentioned."

"They care about you two deeply, that's all it is. Nothing about you two doing anything wrong."

"Yeah. I know." You give him a subtle toothless smile before shifting your attention to the front. You finally get to place your order, with Yunho suddenly jumping in right before you get a chance to whip out your card. He relays his order and taps his card against the reader to pay for both meals, walking away with a shit-eating smirk on his face as you follow him in disbelief. "Yunho!"

"What?" He laughs.

"Why'd you do that! You already got me coffee! Let me send you some money."

"No, I wanted to." You pout.

"Are you sure? I mean, the food was kinda pricey, I wanna send—"

"Y/N." He looks at you. "I promise it's fine. I wanted to, so let me, yeah?"

"Okay. Fine. But, I'll get you next time."

"Sure." You whine a bit to protest. The food is whipped up quick, with you and Yunho only waiting another 5 minutes until it's being handed over in a thick plastic bag. You spot your friends and his team members huddled at a table, waving you over to join them while they eat. You plop down next to Sian and Noeul, who have already started eating— to your surprise, Noeul opted for something different than what she was originally craving. The group is engaging in lively conversation, the boys asking a lot about how the pediatrics unit usually is or picking Noeul's brain with HR cases [sparing any sensitive details]. 

Its nice that you, Sian and Noeul are blending in easily.

Conversation comes easy, even when Yunho is looking at you the way he is from across the table.

In the next 45-mins, both Sian and Noeul run off to a meeting, with a few of Yunho's team members heading back up to tend to service tickets. Taehyun and Jihoon are the last few to bid their farewells before they're leaving you and Yunho alone.

"Let me walk you back."

"You don't have to."

"Y/N, what can I do? I can't pay for you, I can't buy you coffee, I can't walk you. God forbid." You laugh at his teasing and playfully push him aside.

"I just don't want you to do extra work when you'll probably have a shit ton of work to get back to."

"No biggie. I can handle it." You nod. "Did you enjoy your food?"

"Oh my god, yeah. It was so good. How about you?"

"Yeah, it was good. Anything else on your plate for today?"

"We shall see." You look down at the ground. Yunho is literally battling with himself right now, trying to figure out if he should keep asking you to lunch or if he should take the leap and ask if you wanna hang out outside of work hours. You don't break the silence for a good while either; it makes Yunho wonder if you were thinking about similar things, too. "You okay?"

"Oh, yeah. Just kinda spaced out. Maybe the food coma is hitting me." You giggle, stopping at the side entrance of the pediatric hospital.

"Try to take it easy then, okay?" You look up at him and the sun hits you perfectly from where you're standing. You're having to shield your eyes and squint at him, and Yunho thinks it's adorable. He steps to the side to help block the sun rays, making you giggle even more at the use of his tall figure. "I guess I'll see you later?" You smile. "Thank you for walking me, Yunho. I feel kinda bad you have to trek back."

"Ah, can get my steps in." He shifts his weight and rocks back and forth on his feet while looking at you. "Lunch again tomorrow?"

"Sure, yeah."

"I'll text you." He smiles, watching as you nod and wave— shuffling over to the elevator. You give him one last goodbye before the elevator doors swallow you whole, leaving Yunho to his lonely trek back to his headquarters.

Should he have asked?

Would he lose anything by asking?

Is he being too much?

Do you even like him like that? What if it's just your personality to be that kind and sweet?

What if you're like that to everyone and he isn't any—

"Hey." His head turns upwards to see Ara coming out of the hospital. 

"Oh, hey." 

"Coming back from lunch?"

"Yeah." She nods quietly.

"I see you've been hanging out." Yunho furrows his brows at Ara. She nods towards the pediatrics hospital and he follows her gaze before returning his attention to her.

"Oh. We're working together on the new unit and she's the bridge from the pediatric end. We just meet weekly about updates." She nods slowly, silently.

"Over lunch, too?" Yunho tilts his head to the side. "You seem like you get along well with her."

"Yeah." Yunho pauses a bit. "We're chill."

"That was fast."

"Ara." He calls her name with slight disappointment in his tone. One, he's a little appalled she'd jump to conclusions so quickly. But two, most importantly, he understands why she would be frustrated but who was he to force feelings? He simply didn't feel the same way she did and he's genuinely sorry about it. He tried to bring her down gently and he still stands by what he said— he doesn't think he'd be ready to take on a super serious relationship right away if anything were to evolve.

He'd need to take his time and build his trust, his comfort.

And he just couldn't see that with her.

"All good!" She laughs it off. "Glad you're happy." She nods before brushing him off completely. "Anyway, I gotta run to eat before I do my rounds. See you around!" She flies right on by without giving Yunho any more time. He sighs heavily to himself, mumbling a low 'shit' as he turns on his heel.

"What was that about?" Seonghwa has his hands dug into his pockets as he points his lips behind Yunho.

"A whole misunderstanding."

"That, or she's just hurt." Seonghwa chuckles a bit. "Was it the whole lunch thing? Lunches, I guess. Lunches, meetings, coffee dates, whatever." Seonghwa corrects himself.

"Sure, yeah. Guess you could say that."

"She'll be okay."

"Where the hell were you, anyway? I tried texting you but you didn't respond."

"I went to go see Yoori." Yunho slowly nods.

"Ah. Got it." Seonghwa chuckles and shakes his head.

"Then I got caught up with some people in the lobby. How was the food truck event?"

"Good, they actually had some really good trucks posted there today."

"Damn. It's okay. Next time."

"Yeah, I'm sure your time with Yoori was eventful, anyway."

"Fuck off. Y/N came?" It's no secret that Yunho had already mentioned you to Seonghwa and Mingi at this point. Not only because you two were meeting frequently, but because he started to open up to his bestfriends about how comfortable you made him feel and how he had been interested in possibly exploring things further. They know what Yunho is like when he genuinely has feelings for someone and is deeply interested, and this is it. The constant messaging, down to meet up during the work day without question, dusting off the Instagram page to catch each other's attention— it feels like forever since they've seen Yunho gush over someone the way he had been doing with you.

They're glad, though.

They hope this takes off properly.

They hope it all works out well.

"Sure did."

"How was that?"

"Good." Yunho smiles a bit to himself.

"When am I gonna meet her?"

"Well you could've if you weren't so busy tending to your needs." Seonghwa clicks his teeth.

"She looked cute."

"She is cute."

"Okay, maybe you do move on fast." He jokes. 

"Correction." Yunho looks at him. "I put myself out there and gave it a shot with Ara just like all you assholes told me to and it didn't work out. Sorry." He shrugs. "I don't know what you want me to say." Seonghwa laughs.

"I'm just teasing. I know, I know. And that's fair. I can't blame you." There's a small silence before Seonghwa breaks the air again. "Well, it seems like you and Y/N are getting along more and more every day. It's nice to see."

"Yeah, we are. It's nice having her around and working with her on all these things."

"When are you gonna ask her out?"

"That's a good question." Yunho kicks at the ground below his feet before shrugging. "Am I?"

"Yeah? Absolutely."

"I don't know. I'm kinda shy to after the whole Ara thing."

"Well again, to be fair, that was you testing the waters. This is slightly different since you both are genuinely interested in each other."

"I dunno if she is."

"Quit that shit, okay? If she wasn't, she wouldn't be wasting time on your ass." Yunho sighs. 

"I should've asked her while she was with me earlier."

"You can always text her if you can't wait."

"I don't wanna be lame, though."

"You're not! It's all in the beginning stages, you're not gonna have everything down perfectly no matter how hard you try."

"I guess so. I'll think about it tonight."

"Don't lose out on it." Yunho licks his lips, interrupted by the notifications blaring through his phone. He sees a few urgent issues coming up, causing him to rub at the back of his neck before groaning and tucking his phone back into his pocket.

"Anyway, gotta run. Got some shit to take care of. I'll talk to you later."

"Don't text or call me unless you have good news to share."

"Fuck you." Yunho mouths out before doing a light jog towards the old hospital to take care of business with Taehyun.

"I mean it!" Seonghwa says loudly before walking towards the café for more coffee.

As the day goes on, both you and Yunho end up getting swamped with tasks here and there— the both of you leaving work a little later than your end times. You swing by the store to grab a few more groceries needed for dinner, while Yunho gets home and quickly showers to prep dinner for him and Seora. Although you had been busy, you had been wondering what Yunho was up to and vice versa.

Yunho, especially.

He manages to whip up some spaghetti, having a good, hearty conversation with his daughter about how school and practice went today. Yunho listens attentively when she complains about her teacher assigning a report due at the end of the week, listens attentively when she talks about a new play their coach pulled out during practice. He listens attentively to all the little quirks and details of her day, exchanging his own when she asks how work was and if he enjoyed the food trucks that came by.

Even throughout all of that, a part of him is still stuck on you.

You.

Torn and getting pulled in all different directions.

Bedtime comes and .. he still hasn't decided. All this internal back and forth is starting to make Yunho feel frustrated because of Ara, because of Eunha— because he thinks he just can't get past losing someone else, or not finding someone who could be a fit for him, his daughter.

He's scared.

He's scared he'll never get to experience that ever again, and if he does, it'll probably just get taken away from him.

Again.

That's why he hesitates. He's not sure if he has it in him, but at the same time, he knows he has to get past this. He has to try, and he has to stop assuming they'll all end badly in one way or another.

"Fuck." He mumbles to himself as he slightly sits back up, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. 

Should he wait? It's getting late.

He watches the minutes pass him by before he pulls up your number and begins to type away, thinking of some kinda excuse to pull himself outta this shit before it's too late.

But, he can't help it. He wants to text you.

Fuck it.

yunho: hey! sorry for the late text. hope i'm not bothering you.

Your eyes dart to your phone sitting on the edge of the bathroom counter while you continue to massage your night cream into your face, slowing your motions and smiling to yourself when you see who has finally put your number to use outside of work hours. You massage the remaining cream down to your neck before picking up your phone to respond.

you: hey you! you're not a bother. ☺️

yunho: oh, you're awake?!

you: i don't sleep that early! haha.

yunho: idk you said you fall asleep at like 8pm. lol

you: i said sometimes i'm in bed by 8pm but i don't fall asleep until later! i just get lazy and don't wanna do anything at the end of the day. lol

yunho: okay fine, fair enough! i'll let it pass.

you: please, hahaha

yunho: soooo .. this is kinda lame and i should've done it earlier but i was shy about it 😭 

yunho: but, by any chance, do you wanna grab dinner and kick it at the end of the week? no pressure or anything.

you: not lame! lol. i'd love to, yunho. ☺️ sounds fun!

yunho: really? 😀 cooooool. let me plan and think of a few things we could do.

you: sounds good w/ me!

yunho: i'll let you get to bed. see you tomorrow? 

you: mhm, mhm! goodnight. 😌

yunho: goodnight y/n, sweet dreams.

You bite onto your bottom lip as you giggle to yourself and grab your lip mask before happily waddling to bed. You let out a squeal against your pillow, instantly texting Sian and Noeul about what just transpired.

The end of the week couldn't come any quicker.

⇢taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @nopension @curse-of-art @thechaotictheoryy @likexaxdaydream @dalsuwaha @enha-stars @yasuraokaa @professormingisglasses @yunyunrin @pommelex @astral-trashcan @laura1399 @domfikeluva @tournesol155 @hwaskookies @yusalterego @hwa-stars @hyukssunflower @chngbnwf @jaytheatiny @lucid-galaxys-world @chaotic-floral @sofkloster @honeyrecommends @hwashua-luv @luvv4bby @spicxbnny @pandyandy71 @sanniesaurus

[d0rianw1lde]

Sometimes I wonder if Eddie had ever found another maternal figure.

He’d always been such a mama’s boy. Wayne had the photos (and stories) to prove it. Endless nights of curling up in his mama’s lap while her nails gently scratched at his scalp- She’d always known the quickest way to get him to fall asleep- and endless days of watching her blues records spinning on the player while she took in the cool breeze drifting through their trailer’s screen door on those hot, Tennessee summer days.

But when he’d finally comprehended it all- that she would never come back, that he would never feel her fingers in his hair or smell her fruity perfume waft through the house,- I think he’d held that hole in his heart for so long.

But for a short while, there was someone who filled it- Melissa Buckley, the local librarian.

In such a small town, it’s easy to spot the newbies. It was no different when she’d seen a wild head of curls approaching the desk, peeking up over the tall stack of books with with eyes as wide as saucers and as dark as night that flickered to and fro as it explored the brand new environment.

“‘Scuse me miss?” A quiet voice beckoned, words drenched in a sweet, southern twang. “I’s just- uhm- wonderin’ if you had any Lord’a the rings.”

“Big books for a little kid, dontcha think?” She’d asked after she moved the stack of books to lock eyes with the new boy, all scraped knees and elbows, freckles and twinkly eyes, swimming in an old tee-shirt and held together only by the overalls slung over his slim shoulders. And he cracks a smile- a crooked little gapped-tooth grin.

“Maybe,” He begins, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels. “Maybe, but I ain’t ever gonna let that stop me from explorin’ the shire. Uhm- I ain’t got a library card though.” He says quietly. “On account ‘a I just moved here. Can I still read em here?”

And Melissa knows she should tell him the truth- ‘Yes, but remember, people will want to check those books out too’ is the phrase that bumps around in her head. But his earnest grin, and his little accent, and the shy, freckled grin does nothing but kick on that maternal instinct of hers. “Well..” she mutters quietly. “Tell you what..You can read them, and I’ll keep them aside. And when you can, you bring your mom or dad in, and we can get you started.

“..Mighty kind of you, miss, but my mom n’ dad ain’t able to come in. Mama’s passed, and Dad ain’t been home the last few days. Dunno when he’ll be back. ‘Big job’.” He explains.

And that sentence alone breaks her heart- makes her think of her own little girl, who must’ve been the same age as he was, alone. It twists in her chest, it makes her feel a bit sick. And from that moment, even if Eddie didn’t know, she’d vowed to herself to keep an eye on him.

And she did- she’d turn a blind eye when he would curl up on the peeling leather chair in the corner of the fiction section and fall asleep with another thick fantasy book on his lap. She’d set him up in the break-room with a juicebox and graham crackers she’d packed when making Robin’s lunch and listen intently as he whispered about the chapter he’d just finished, and the characters he’d grown to love.

And she wonders how anybody could leave him be. He reminds her so much of her little girl- how he rambles excitedly, how his eyes light up a the mention of a brand new book to read. She wonders how anybody could see this little boy and somehow have nothing but love in their hearts. How anybody could possibly leave him alone.

And Eddie?

Eddie loves the smell of incense, and flowers, and old books on Melissa. He loves giving her a big hug before he leaves for the day. He loves being able to sneak behind the desk and watch her take inventory of the returned books. He loves when she brings him snacks, or reads him the big words he can’t quite figure out. How she encourages him to read to her to pass the time. It ignites his love of storytelling. It ignites his excitement for life.

It’s not his mama. But nothing will ever be his mama. And maybe he won’t be able to put his head in his mama’s lap and let her blues records lull him to sleep.

But resting his head against Melissa’s shoulder and listening to the quiet flipping of pages or her hushed narration was a new kind of comfort. A comfort he’d needed. A comfort he always wonders if his mama sent down just for him.

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s ficrec frenzy

Hi everyone, after a little bit of a break I'm back for 2025 with a new rec post of fic that I've read and loved over the last month! Delighting in the hiatus spec fic, thank you to all the authors for making winter hibernation so much fun. As always you can find previous rec lists here.

25 January 2025

like a lonely seabird by organyx is a 55k one shot that picks up directly from the buddie realtor scene, with Buck spiralling and Eddie trying to follow his heart and find joy, just with a bit of a push to get there. It's beautifully characterised, and a rollercoaster spanning to El Paso and back again, with vital conversations. With excellent teenage Chris characterisation and inclusion. There's a call mishap that had me gasping, and an amazing coming together with mutual understanding. Gorgeous, romantic and satisfying!

if you like it weird, i like it strange by @pairofraggedclaws I am definitely a greedy reader of everything Lou writes! These stories have such a fun indulgent and sexy writing style and the way Buck and Eddie get hot under the collar is incredibly enticing. Here we see them have some fun with orgasm control and a dream inspired fantasy of Buck's set at work. And in the equally gorgeous TRUST! we have Eddie who is particularly sensitive and insecure about it, however Buck has a fantastic time showing him just how they can work with it in their favour. It's a lovely fic that shows partnership and play in a both heartwarming and hot dynamic that suits them so well.

The Whale Fall Principle by @fastcardotmp3 another author whose work I've been delighting in, The Whale Fall Principle is an alternate timeline fic in which Daniel Buckley survives childhood, and it shifts the dynamics of the Buckley siblings forever. Daniel takes on some of the Buck we know and loves escapism needs, he's the one who travels to find himself, whilst Buck is left behind with the sense of responsibility and pressure of being the saviour baby, meanwhile Maddie is trying to keep her brothers together in her life. Eddie is simply trying to understand Buck and where he fits in to their lives. This is such a beautiful, thoughtful, heartbreaking and uplifting fic. I could talk about it for hours. And I also loved:

carefully, I was going to live by fastcardotmp3 - in which Buck finds out about Eddie's will after the shooting....but not from Eddie. Thrust into guardianship, he finds his way with Chris, whilst grieving for his best friend who is in a coma....but after two years, Eddie is waking up, and for him, no time has passed at all. Told in dual POV, each alternate chapter explores Eddie's perspective from two years on and pairs it with Buck's from the time Eddie slips away from him, and eventually, they meet in the middle. It's complicated and full of love, hurt and healing.

paving hell with energy by Elgney ahhhh an 8b spec fic that fits with MY 8b spec re the serial killer based on that trailer...'Buck is having a hard time dealing with Eddie's impending move to El Paso and resorts to some Buck 1.0-style coping mechanisms. Unfortunately for everybody, this backfires in spectacular fashion. Especially for Eddie, who waited until now to realize he was in love with his best friend.' Heed trigger warnings, but I love the sibling dynamics with Buck and Maddie here, and the way the author has nailed the character voices in the 118 banter. Dark and twisty!

Where the Light Enters by @beecauseevan is SUCH a beautifully written and heartfelt story dealing with Eddie's religious trauma. 'Chris is 800 miles away, and Eddie's house feels emptier than ever. As always, Buck is right there, ready to have his back, to catch him without hesitation if he falls...This is fine, until it isn't. Until Eddie finds himself drawn to Buck in ways he never expected—ways that might not be so new at all.' I'm in awe of the way the narrative threads weave together and peel back the layers to let the light into Eddie's story. This one has so much vulnerability, it was healing to read.

and longingly i long by @effervescentwolf explores established relationship Buddie and a touch starved Buck, who craves being held and touching and revelling in the physicality of their love. And Eddie, who he learns feels similarly. I love how the craving and need is written here, it's powerful and sympathetic, and the eventual communication and asking for what you want unfolds so well.

Death Becomes Him by @kungfunurse was such a cool way of examining the 118 (and Buck specifically's) many brushes with death! 'Each time Buck dies, something in him changes. After all, every change is a sort of death, and death is the ultimate change. Or, what does the supernatural look like in the "real world"?' Such a clever character examination, like Buck's lightning math superpowers on acid! And how it affects those closest to him, and his developing relationship with Eddie, with some questions answered and some left to linger enticingly.

A Life For A Life by icewhisper RAVIIIIIII! 'The first time Ravi met Evan Buckley, he never got his name. He only knew him as the man who pulled him onto a firetruck during a tsunami before he jumped back into the water after his son. Five years later, in a collapsed building, it’s Buck who needs saving and Ravi gets a chance to return the favor.' An excellent team based call gone wrong fic, this is Buddie in the background with Ravi and Buck friendship at heart, and it's fantastic hurt/comfort fic. Ravi beloved.

Next to your heartbeat, where I should be by @rainbow-nerdss in which Buck sends Eddie an accidental dick pic, and then through their resulting texts Eddie realises the power of exchanging photos as a means of self love and self esteem boosting to reclaim and celebrate his body...so pic exchanges ensue...totally platonically of course. This is sexy and silly and so much fun, the oneupmanship is hilarious and hot, and as their inhibitions drop...so do their pants.

the sweetest apparition by @hyruling in which 'Eddie moves to Texas. Buck keeps accidentally telling people Eddie's dead. It goes about as well as you'd expect.' I died laughing and then swooned and then cackled, and then cried, and it was all so wonderful. Crack treated seriously, this is one for anyone who is a fan of Buck's perpetual foot in mouth syndrome.

I'll be back next month with my next round of recs, happy reading everyone! 40 days until 8b!

[thyras]

→ of marital pleasures

PAIRING → annatar | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 6.5k words

SERIES→ of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → 18+ MDNI - unprotected p in v, semi-public sex

SUMMARY → you share in marital bliss with your husband, but all good things have to come to an end when work has to be done.

AUTHORS NOTE → so this chapter was kinda a teeny bit inspired by make you mine by madison beer, idk it has their energy and i was just vibing to it when i was writing this. there will probably be no upload next week (sorry bout that) as i am going on a little vacay with my hubby. i need a drink and a beach rn cause life has been crazy over here.

PARTS → masterlist

You didn’t know how long it had been since you had returned to your chambers. The days and nights had blurred together, lost in an endless tangle of limbs and bliss. Each moment was consumed by the intoxicating sensation of his touch, the feeling of him beneath your fingertips as he brought you to heights you hadn’t dared to dream of again.

Even now, as his fingers traced lazy patterns across your bare back and his lips moved in perfect harmony with yours, you couldn’t tell which way was up or down. Where you began and he ended was a mystery, your minds and fëar intertwined so completely it was as if time itself had ceased to matter. Your thoughts were a tangle of disbelief and elation, overwhelmed by the undeniable truth that he was here—truly here—and finally yours once more. 

You playfully nibbled on his bottom lip, sucking it gently between your teeth before breaking away with a mischievous smile. A deep, guttural chuckle rumbled from his chest as he gazed down at you with eyes still filled with desire and longing. You could sense the struggle within him to resist taking you again, but the heat between you was undeniable. Your thumb traced along his lower lip, matching the movements of his fingers as they trailed across your skin in an effort to hold back their own desires.

"Meleth nín," he murmured, his voice husky with need. "We should rest. It's been days..."

But even as he spoke, his hands betrayed his words, sliding lower to cup your hips and draw you closer. You arched into him, relishing the way his breath hitched at the contact.

"Rest?" you teased, trailing kisses along his jaw. "I've rested for centuries without you. I won't waste another moment."

His resolve crumbled, and with a growl, he rolled you beneath him, pinning your hands above your head. His eyes, darkened with lust, bore into yours.

"You'll be the death of me," he breathed before capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

As he began to move against you, your world narrowed to the exquisite friction between your bodies. Every touch, every caress, felt both familiar and thrillingly new. Your fingers tangled in his silken hair, tugging gently as he trailed hot kisses down your neck. A soft moan escaped your lips, and you felt him smile against your skin.

"My insatiable love," he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. "How I've missed the sounds you make."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a fresh wave of desire. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. The feeling of skin on skin was intoxicating, and you reveled in the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

As he entered you once more, the world seemed to fall away. There was only this—only him. The steady rhythm of his movements, the taste of his lips, the reverent way his hands explored your body, worshiping you like the goddess he always said you were. You lost yourself in the sensation, your bodies moving together in perfect synchronicity. The pleasure built slowly, inexorably, like waves crashing against a shore. You clung to him, nails raking down his back as you approached the precipice.

"Look at me," he commanded softly, his voice strained with effort. You opened your eyes, meeting his intense gaze.

"I love you," you breathed, the words falling from your lips like a prayer. "I love you, I love you, I—"

Your words dissolved into a cry of ecstasy as your release washed over you. He followed moments later, your name a reverent whisper on his lips as he shuddered above you.

For a long while, you lay tangled together, hearts racing and breath mingling. His fingers traced idle patterns on your skin, and you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent. A contented sigh escaped your lips as you basked in the afterglow, your body humming with satisfaction.

"I never thought I'd have this again," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. "To hold you, to love you... I feared it was lost forever."

He pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. His eyes, usually so guarded, now shone with vulnerability and tenderness.

"My love," he said softly, "I would have crossed oceans of time to find my way back to you. Nothing could keep us apart—not war, not death, not the very foundations of Arda itself."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. When you parted, a mischievous glint had returned to his eye.

"Speaking of time," he mused, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I believe we've probably made our dear friend quite horrified by our prolonged activities. How long do you suppose it's been since we've emerged from this room?"

You laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Days, at least. I'm certain he won’t be able to look at us straight."

His fingers trailed along your collarbone, igniting sparks with each touch. "Let him," he growled softly. "I've waited an age to have you in my arms again."

The possessive tone in his voice sent a shiver of delight through you. You arched an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "And what of my duties, my lord? Surely, I've been terribly remiss in my duties with Lord Celebrimbor.”

His eyes darkened at the mention of Celebrimbor's name, and a flash of jealousy crossed his features before he schooled them into a neutral expression. “Lord Celebrimbor will have to manage without you for a while longer,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I’m not quite finished with you yet."

You couldn't help but smile at his possessiveness, a warmth spreading through your chest. "Oh? And what else did you have in mind, my love?"

In response, he rolled you onto your back once more, hovering above you with a predatory gleam in his eye. "I think," he murmured, trailing kisses along your neck, "that I'd like to remind you exactly why you chose me over all others."

Your breath hitched as his lips found that sensitive spot just below your ear. "As if I could ever forget," you moaned, and for the second time this morning, he brought you to another toe-curling crescendo.

When you finally emerged from your cocoon of marital bliss, you struggled to keep your composure as you made your way into the forge. Your legs were unsteady, and your mind was still hazy from the countless days of bliss. Celebrimbor stood off to the side, holding a piece of parchment, while your husband gazed at it from beside him. The two locked in a gentle conversation.

As you approached, Celebrimbor looked up, his eyes widening slightly. A faint blush crept across his cheeks, and he quickly averted his gaze, suddenly finding the parchment in his hands intensely fascinating.

Your husband, on the other hand, made no effort to hide the smugness in his expression. His eyes raked over you appreciatively, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks, remembering the passionate moments you'd shared mere hours ago.

"My lady," Celebrimbor greeted, his voice slightly strained as he struggled to maintain his composure. "We... we were beginning to wonder if you'd fallen ill."

You cleared your throat, trying to sound nonchalant. "No, no illness. I was simply... indisposed."

Your husband's smirk widened at your words, and you shot him a warning glance. Celebrimbor, still avoiding direct eye contact, nodded stiffly.

"Of course," he said, his voice a touch higher than usual. "Well, we're glad to see you've... recovered. We were discussing the Dwarves’ reply. They should be here in a couple of days."

Grateful for the change of subject, you stepped closer to examine the parchment. As you leaned in, you caught a whiff of your husband's scent still clinging to your skin, and memories of your recent activities flooded your mind. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on the words on the page. Your mind was still caught on cloud nine, and all you wanted to do was fall into another bed of lust and passion with him again.

Damn him for doing these things to you. 

You could tell he had read your mind when you briefly glanced back up to meet his gaze. Those icy blue eyes spoke wonders to you. You quickly averted your gaze from your husband’s knowing look, trying to focus on the task at hand. But as Celebrimbor explained the details of the Dwarves’ impending visit, your mind wandered. His voice faded into the background as you recalled the feeling of your husband’s hands on your skin, his lips trailing fire across your body.

"My lady?" Celebrimbor's voice cut through your reverie, concern evident in his tone. "Are you certain you're well? Perhaps you should rest a while longer."

Embarrassment flooded through you as you realized you'd been caught daydreaming. "No, no, I'm fine," you insisted, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Please, continue."

As Celebrimbor resumed his explanation, you felt your husband's shadowy presence behind you, radiating with the same heat as the forge before you. His shadowy finger ghosted circles around the small of your back. You shot him a dark look, and he reciprocated with a dark smile back at you. 

He knew what he was doing and knew you would break eventually. Mairon had always known your limits and control and respected them, but Annatar seemed to love testing them or pushing them beyond their limits.

So you pushed him out of your mind and shut the door with one final look, locking it so he could no longer test you. You and Celebrimbor had to work to prepare, and none of his playful teasing would stop you.

As you focused on Celebrimbor's words, you felt a subtle shift in the air. Your husband's presence, though still palpable, retreated slightly. You could sense his amusement at your attempts to resist his charms and grudging respect for your determination.

Celebrimbor, oblivious to the silent battle of wills occurring beside him, continued outlining the plans for the Dwarves' arrival. You forced yourself to concentrate, asking pertinent questions and offering suggestions. As you immersed yourself in the work, you felt a familiar thrill of excitement. This was why you had come to Eregion, after all—to create, learn, push the boundaries of what was possible, and heal the hurt caused by the love you bore for the being standing across from Celebrimbor.

As the day wore on, you fell into a comfortable rhythm. Your husband's teasing touches became less frequent, though his gaze remained heavy upon you. You worked side by side with Celebrimbor, and your minds were in perfect sync as you discussed the intricacies of the craft. The familiar dance of creation—exchanging ideas and building upon each other's thoughts—was invigorating. For a moment, you almost forgot the tension simmering beneath the surface all day.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the forge, Celebrimbor finally set down his tools with a satisfied sigh. "I believe we've made excellent progress," he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

You nodded in agreement, stretching your arms above your head to work out the kinks from hours of focused work. As you did so, you caught your husband's eye, and the heat in his gaze made your breath catch. The intensity of his stare reminded you of the passion you had shared earlier, and you felt a familiar warmth pooling in your belly. You quickly looked away, trying to maintain your composure.

"Indeed we have," you replied to Celebrimbor, slightly breathless.

Celebrimbor beamed at your praise, oblivious to the tension between you and your husband. "I believe that's enough for today," he said, gathering the parchments scattered across the workbench. "We should all get some rest before tomorrow's final preparations."

You nodded, grateful for the excuse to retreat. As Celebrimbor bid you both goodnight and left the forge, you found yourself alone with your husband for the first time since the morning. The air between you crackled with unspoken desire.

"Well, my love," he purred, stepping closer to you, his voice low and seductive. "It seems we've managed to behave ourselves for an entire day. How... commendable of us."

You tried to maintain your composure, but the heat radiating from his body and the intensity of his gaze made your knees weak. "Indeed," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "Though I believe you tested the limits of my self-control more than once."

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Did I?" he asked innocently, though his eyes gleamed with mischief. "I was merely admiring my wife as she worked. Is that such a crime?"

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore how your body responded to his proximity. "Admiring is one thing. What you were doing was outright provocation."

His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the skin. "I've been thinking about you all day," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "About the sounds you make when I touch you, the way your body responds to mine..."

You shivered at his words, your resolve crumbling. “Mairon,” you breathed, your voice a mix of warning and desire. "We can't... not here."

His lips curved into a wicked smile. "Can't we?" he murmured, his hand sliding down to rest at the small of your back. "I seem to recall you being quite amenable to such things in the past."

Memories of stolen moments in Laureandor, especially the ones attached to his forge, flooded your mind, flushing your cheeks. You bit your lip, torn between propriety and the overwhelming desire to give in to his touch.

"That was different," you protested weakly. "We weren't... we didn't..."

Your words trailed off as his lips touched the sensitive spot below your ear. "Didn't what, divine?" he whispered.

Before you could protest, he had you pressed against the workbench, his lips crashing against yours in a searing kiss. You melted into him, all thoughts of propriety fleeing your mind as his hands roamed your body. The forge’s heat paled compared to the fire he ignited within you.

His lips trailed down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You bit back a moan, your fingers tangling in his hair. "We shouldn't," you gasped, even as your body arched into his touch.

He chuckled darkly against your skin. "And yet, here we are," he murmured, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. With one fluid motion, he lifted you onto the workbench, stepping between your legs.

You gasped at the sudden movement, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The cool wood of the bench contrasted sharply with the heat of your skin, sending a shiver through your body. Your husband's eyes darkened with desire as he gazed down at you, his hands slowly pushing up the fabric of your dress.

"My beautiful, brilliant wife," he purred, fingers tracing patterns on your bare thighs. "Do you have any idea what you do to me when you're working? The way your brow furrows in concentration, the elegant movements of your hands..."

His words trailed off as he leaned in to capture your lips again, his kiss deep and passionate. You surrendered to the sensations, your hands roaming over his broad shoulders and down his chest. The familiar scent of forge fire and spices that clung to his skin intoxicated you, drawing you deeper into his embrace.

His fingers deftly worked at the laces of your bodice, loosening them just enough to expose the swell of your breasts. His lips traced a burning path down your neck, pausing to lavish attention on the sensitive spot at the base of your throat. You bit back a moan, your head falling back to grant him better access.

"Mairon," you breathed, your voice husky with desire. "We can't... someone could..."

He silenced your protests with another searing kiss, his hand sliding up to cup your breast. "Let them," he growled against your lips. "Let them see how thoroughly you fall apart for me.”

His possessive words sent a shiver of excitement through you. You knew you should resist, that this was dangerous and improper, but the heat of his touch and the intensity of his gaze made it impossible to think clearly. Your fingers fumbled with the fastenings of his robes, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

As your hands slipped beneath the fabric, tracing the familiar planes of his chest, he let out a low groan. His lips crashed against yours once more, hungry and demanding. You responded with equal fervor, your tongue dancing with his as your hands explored his body.

He pushed your skirts higher, his fingers trailing teasingly along your inner thighs. You gasped into his mouth as he swiped his fingers through your wet folds, your hips bucking involuntarily against his hand, the sensation almost too much. He smirked against your lips, clearly pleased with your response.

"So eager," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "Tell me what you want, Mori."

You whimpered as his fingers continued their teasing caresses. "You," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want you. Always you."

His eyes darkened at your words, a primal hunger flashing across his features. With a growl, he captured your lips once more, his kiss fierce and possessive. You felt him shift, freeing himself. He pressed against you, the heat of him evident even through the delicate layers of fabric still between you.

"Mine," he growled against your lips, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Say it."

"Yours," you gasped, arching into him. "Always yours, Mairon."

With a fluid motion, he pushed into you, swallowing your cry of pleasure with another searing kiss.

The forge echoed with your muffled cries and gasps as Annatar passionately claimed you. His movements were urgent, almost frantic as if he couldn't get enough of you. You clung to him desperately, your nails raking down his back as waves of pleasure washed over you.

"Mairon," you moaned, your head falling back as he trailed hot kisses down your neck. "Oh, Valar..."

He chuckled darkly against your skin. "The Valar have nothing to do with this, my love," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "This is all us."

Your reply was lost in another gasp as he shifted, hitting a spot deep inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids. The workbench creaked beneath you, tools and parchments scattering to the floor, but neither of you paid them any mind. The world had narrowed to this moment, this connection between you.

Annatar's pace quickened, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his release. You could feel your own pleasure building, a familiar tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you arched against him.

"Mori," he breathed, his voice strained with effort. You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. The love and desire you saw there, mixed with something darker and possessive, pushed you over the edge.

You cried out his name as your release washed over you, your body shuddering with the intensity of it. Annatar followed moments later, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he found his own release.

For a long moment, you stayed like that, bodies intertwined, breath mingling as you both came down from your shared high. Annatar’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed as he savored the closeness. You ran your fingers through his hair, marveling at the silken texture, so at odds with his usual carefully controlled appearance.

As your breathing steadied, reality began to seep back in. The chill of the forge air on your heated skin, the uncomfortable press of the workbench beneath you, the scattered tools and parchments on the floor. A blush crept up your cheeks as you realized the full extent of what you'd just done.

"Mairon," you murmured, gently pushing at his shoulders. "We should... we need to clean up before someone comes in."

He chuckled softly and kissed you tenderly before pulling away. Annatar slowly withdrew from you, helping you off the workbench with surprising gentleness. He gathered the scattered tools and parchments from the floor as you straightened your clothes and smoothed your hair.

"Well, my love," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I believe we've thoroughly surpassed ourselves with this one."

You felt your cheeks flush even deeper at his words. "Mairon," you chided, though there was no real reproach in your tone. "What if someone had walked in?"

He shrugged, an infuriatingly smug smile playing on his lips. "Then they would have received quite an education, I imagine."

Despite your embarrassment, you couldn't help but laugh. "You're incorrigible," you said, shaking your head fondly.

"And yet you love me," he replied, pulling you close. 

You smiled up at him, unable to deny the truth of his words. "I do," you murmured, reaching up to trace his jawline. "More than I ever thought possible."

His expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by a tender warmth. He leaned down and gently kissed your forehead. “And I, you, divine,” he whispered against your skin. “More than all the stars in Arda."

For a moment, you simply stood in each other's arms, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. The forge around you faded away, and you were transported back to those early days in Laureandor when your love was new and untainted by the shadows that would later define it.

But reality couldn't be held at bay forever. With a soft sigh, you reluctantly pulled away, smoothing down your dress once more. "We really should go," you murmured, though you made no move to leave the circle of his arms. "It's late, and we have much to prepare for tomorrow."

Annatar nodded, his fingers trailing lightly down your arm as he stepped back. "Of course," he agreed, his voice low and intimate. "Though I must admit, I'm rather tempted to whisk you away to your chambers and continue where we left off."

A shiver of desire ran through you at his words, and you had to force yourself to resist the temptation. "Behave yourself," you chided gently, though your smile betrayed your amusement. "We have responsibilities, remember?"

He sighed dramatically, a playful glint in his eye. "Ah yes, responsibilities. How terribly inconvenient they can be." He smirked, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "Very well, my love. Let us return to your chambers and attempt to get some rest before dawn breaks."

You nodded, grateful for his acquiescence even as a part of you longed to take him up on his earlier offer. As you made your way towards the door, Annatar's hand came to rest at the small of your back, a possessive gesture that sent warmth through your body.

The streets of Eregion were quiet as you walked, most of its inhabitants long since retired for the night. Your footsteps echoed softly off the stone street, a rhythmic counterpoint to the beating of your heart. Despite the late hour, you felt invigorated, your body still humming with residual pleasure from your encounter in the forge.

As you approached your chambers, a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over you. The events of the past few days—the endless hours of passion, followed by the intense focus of your work in the forge—had finally caught up with you. You leaned against Annatar, grateful for his steady presence at your side.

He seemed to sense your fatigue, his arm tightening around your waist to support you. "Come, my love," he murmured, his voice gentle. "Let's get you to bed."

You nodded, too tired to argue. As soon as you entered your chambers, Annatar guided you to sit on the edge of the bed. He began to help you undress with tender care, his movements efficient yet loving. You watched him through half-lidded eyes, marveling at the contrast between this gentle attentiveness and the passionate intensity he had displayed earlier in the forge.

Once you were undressed, Annatar helped you slip into a soft nightgown before tucking you into bed. He gently kissed your forehead, his fingers caressing your cheek. "Rest now, divine," he murmured. "I'll be here when you wake."

As your eyes fluttered closed, you felt the bed dip as he settled beside you. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close against his chest. The familiar scent of him enveloped you, and you nestled deeper into his embrace with a contented sigh.

Just before sleep claimed you, you felt his lips brush against your ear. "I love you," he whispered, his voice soft and reverent. "More than you could ever know."

A smile tugged at your lips as you drifted off, feeling safe and cherished in the arms of your beloved. Tomorrow would bring a new day, and with that, your eyes closed before you slipped into the sweet land of your dreams where the golden light of Laureandor and your fiery-haired husband waited.

As dawn broke over Eregion, you stirred slowly from your slumber. The warm weight of Annatar's arm draped across your waist, his steady breathing brushing against the back of your neck. For a moment, you lay still, savoring the intimacy of the moment—the kind of peace you hadn’t dared to imagine could exist again.

But as consciousness fully returned, so did the previous day’s memories. A blush crept up your cheeks as flashes of your passionate reunion danced in your mind. The tangled limbs, whispered promises, and overwhelming closeness were still fresh, leaving you simultaneously elated and awed by the depth of what had passed between you.

Carefully, not wanting to wake him, you turned in his arms to face him. His sleeping form, so serene and vulnerable, tugged at your heart. There was an ache in your chest as you gazed at him. Though you loved him deeply in any form he took, this visage—beautiful and ethereal as it was—felt bittersweet. It wasn’t the face you had fallen in love with all those centuries ago in the glades of Beleriand.

Your fingers twitched with the urge to trace the contours of his face, to map the differences, and cherish the similarities. But you resisted, not wanting to disturb the rare tranquility of his slumber. Instead, your thoughts drifted back to those early days when Annatar had been a being of pure light and fire, his presence radiant and untainted by shadow.

You remembered the first time you had seen him, his copper hair shimmering like molten metal under the sun, his emerald eyes alive with passion and a hunger to create. Back then, the darkness within him had been faint, a distant whisper buried beneath his brilliance—a shadow no match for your light.

As if sensing your thoughts, Annatar’s eyes fluttered open. For a moment, they were unfocused, clouded with sleep, but then his gaze sharpened, locking onto yours with a depth of intensity that made your breath hitch.

“Good morning, divine,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently along your cheekbone. “What thoughts trouble you so early?”

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes briefly as you allowed his warmth to ground you. “Just… remembering,” you admitted softly. “Thinking about how things used to be.”

A shadow flickered across his face—there and gone so quickly you almost missed it. “Ah,” he said, his tone carefully neutral. “And do you find the present lacking in comparison?”

You shook your head, reaching up to cover his hand with yours. “No, not lacking,” you said firmly. “Just… different. I love you in any form you take, Mairon. You know that.”

His eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing at your words. “I do know,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss your forehead tenderly. “And I am grateful for it every day.”

A small smile touched your lips as you nestled closer to him. “I was just thinking about the first time I saw you,” you confessed. “In that glade outside the city when it was smaller and much younger. You were so radiant, so otherworldly. I thought you were an illusion.”

His expression turned wistful, his fingers trailing idle patterns along your skin. “I remember that day as well,” he said quietly, his voice low and filled with reminiscence. His eyes grew distant, lost in the memory. “You were like nothing I had ever seen before,” he murmured. “A vision of pure light and grace. I thought perhaps Varda herself had descended to walk among us.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks at his words. Even after all this time, his praise had the power to fluster you. “I was just a simple maiden,” you said, attempting to brush off his compliment. “Nothing special.”

He shook his head, a faint, affectionate smile tugging at his lips. “You were everything, Mori. From the moment I saw you, I knew my life would never be the same.”

His hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw with tender reverence. “Do you remember what you said to me that day?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” you replied, your thumb brushing against his bottom lip as you bit down softly on your own. “I told you that your silvery tongue seemed to get you into trouble.”

His lips quirked into a smirk, and he nipped playfully at the tip of your thumb. “A trait I seem to have not lost,” he teased, his voice laced with mischief.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t suppress a fond smile. “It’s true. I seem to recall it landing you in quite a bit of trouble over the years.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, the vulnerability beneath his mask of confidence shone through. “Perhaps,” he conceded quietly. “But it also brought me you. And that, my love, is worth any amount of trouble.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned in to gently kiss his lips. When you pulled back, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—a mix of love, longing, and a shadow of sorrow.

“What is it?” you asked softly, your brows knitting with concern.

Annatar’s expression grew pensive, a shadow passing over his features. He hesitated, his fingers still tracing lazy patterns against your skin as if searching for the right words.

“Sometimes,” he began, his voice low and uncertain, “I wonder if you would have loved me still had you known from the beginning what I would become.”

The vulnerability in his tone made your chest tighten. You reached up, cupping his face and forcing him to meet your gaze. “Mairon,” you said softly but with firm conviction. “I fell in love with you—all of you. The light and the shadow, the creator and the destroyer. I’ve seen you at your best and at your worst, and I love you still.”

His eyes searched yours, doubt and hope swirling in their icy depths. “Even after everything?” he whispered. “After all the pain I’ve caused? The darkness I’ve brought into your life?”

You held his gaze, your thumbs gently brushing along his cheeks. “Even then,” you affirmed. “Our path hasn’t been easy, Mairon. There have been moments of great joy and moments of deep sorrow. But through it all, my love for you has never wavered.”

You paused, allowing your words to settle. “Do I wish things had been different? That we could have avoided the pain and darkness? Of course. But the challenges we’ve faced have shaped us and strengthened our bond. Even if I tried to distance myself from said bond, I always found my way back.”

His eyes softened further, a mixture of relief and awe washing over his face. “You are far too good for me,” he murmured, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm.

You shook your head, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. “Not too good,” you said softly. “Just right. We balance each other, Mairon. My light to your shadow, your fire to my water.”

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin as he whispered, “I don’t deserve you… but I am selfish enough to keep you anyway.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, savoring the silken feel. “It’s not about deserving,” you said softly. “Love isn’t something earned or lost. It simply is.”

Weeks later, after Durin and Disa had come and gone, the long-awaited correspondence finally arrived, setting the wheels in motion. The production of the Dwarven rings began, their creation requiring the perfect balance of craftsmanship and magic. With your abundant knowledge of the art that went into ring-making, you took your place as their designer alongside Celebrimbor. Your role was essential, ensuring each ring was perfectly woven to let the subtle nuances of power be woven seamlessly into their creation.

But you would never dare lift a hammer to mold the precious metals yourself. That task belonged to the skilled smiths, whose hands were steady and sure as they coaxed molten metal into shape. As you stood in the forge, watching them at work, the heat of the fire casting a warm glow across the room, you couldn’t help but marvel. Something was mesmerizing about the process—each strike of the hammer, each careful adjustment, a testament to their craft.

Though you had been involved in many such projects, their sheer artistry still captivated you. You found yourself drawn to the rhythmic clang of metal against metal, to the way the raw elements transformed under the skillful hands of the smiths. Even now, after all this time, the creation of something so intricate and powerful filled you with a quiet awe.

You lingered, your gaze fixed on the glowing forge, the swirling heat shimmering in the air. The energy in the room was palpable, the merging of mastery creating an almost tangible hum that resonated through your very being. It reminded you of why you had dedicated yourself to this work, of the beauty that could be born from creation rather than destruction. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Celebrimbor’s voice came softly from behind you, breaking your reverie. You turned to face him, offering a warm and inviting smile.

“You should be proud of yourself,” he continued, his tone filled with quiet admiration.

“I hardly deserve the credit,” you replied modestly. “You’re the one who has brought them to life.”

Celebrimbor chuckled, his expression kind as he touched your shoulder. “You are too modest. These are your designs, your visions coming to life, just as yours did when we created it.” His gaze shifted meaningfully to your hand, where Nenya sat gleaming faintly in the light. Its faint, melodic chime resonated in response to his words, a sound that felt both soothing and weighty.

For weeks, you had scarcely thought of the ring. You’d been too caught up in the blissful reconciliation with your husband to consider the delicate ring on your finger. Now, as its soft hum reminded you of its presence, you felt a twinge of surprise. Somehow, you’d almost forgotten it was still there.

You knew Annatar could have taken it at any time. The thought wasn’t lost on you. Yet, with the knowledge of its healing abilities and its bond to you, he had likely decided against removing it—perhaps for now, perhaps entirely. You suspected he was lying in wait, ever patient, as only one of his nature could be.

You were no fool, nor were you blind to the subtle machinations that still stirred in the depths of his mind. Your elven eyes, sharp and discerning, could see past the mask of peace he wore around you. Though subdued by the bond you shared and the love you’d rekindled, the shadowy wheels of his plans still turned. Quietly, carefully, they rolled forward, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Still, you said nothing of it to Celebrimbor, letting none of your thoughts show on your face. Instead, you glanced down at Nenya, its faint glow a reminder of both its power and the responsibility it placed upon you. Whatever Mairon’s plans, you would remain vigilant. For now, you allowed yourself to focus on the beauty of the moment and the rings taking shape before you—each one a testament to the union of craft, magic, and creation.

“Thank you,” you said softly to the elven smith, a warm smile gracing your lips.

“For what?” he asked, his brow arching slightly curious.

“For bringing me along on this journey,” you replied, your tone sincere. “It has healed a part of me I thought might always ache—the part that yearned to help rebuild. I am utterly grateful.” You reached out, taking his hand in yours and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Of course, my lady,” he said, his voice filled with quiet humility. “It has truly been a pleasure working with you all these centuries.” He hesitated momentarily, his expression shifting slightly as a faint blush crept across his cheeks. “Though… I am not one to pry into your personal affairs, but—”

You laughed softly, the sound light and knowing as your smile widened. You could see where this was going even before he finished his thought. “Does he take away that pain?” Celebrimbor asked carefully, his voice gentle but laden with unspoken questions.

You knew immediately what he was referring to. Of course, he didn’t know the full truth—that the being who had graced his forge was none other than the man he had admired in those lighter days, the very man you had pledged yourself to beneath Varda’s stars.

“He does,” you said honestly, your voice steady but tinged with a quiet emotion. “I know it’s incredibly rare for elves to choose another, but… in some ways, he reminds me of him. And that helps.”

Celebrimbor nodded slowly, his expression flickering with a momentary sadness that he quickly masked. It was fleeting, but you saw it in his eyes—a glimpse of old wounds and long-buried grief. Yet, his face softened when he looked back at you, and he gave your hand a comforting squeeze.

“I am happy for you,” he said earnestly, his words carrying a weight of sincerity. Then, releasing your hand, he inclined his head in a respectful bow before turning to make his way toward Durin, leaving you with your thoughts.

You watched him go, a faint warmth in your chest at his blessing, though the subtle sorrow in his gaze lingered in your mind. Still, you knew that even if Celebrimbor did not fully understand your choices, his kindness and respect for you had never wavered—and for that, you were deeply grateful.

[crabsnpersimmons]

things i'm doing instead of writing my fic:

take a map, take a map

Note: nothing is to scale because i value my sanity

[jamiesfootball]

🌹🌹🌹 to have on hand if you want to share or brag on anything while in your reaching 100k push <3

I have been staring at this one curiously, trying to seize on the perfect thing to share.

Then I stared at it mournfully during the time I was waiting for my new charger to arrive.

Now my charger is here, I can pick back up on my word count, and I am a mere 2200 words away so I will hit 100k this weekend or so help me.

That said, I've realized what I want to share isn't a snippet -- it's some brain goo.

For Oh God You're Gonna Get It (You Have Not Been Given Love), I want to talk about the chapter without Jamie.

This chapter is midway through the fic, and it's current working title is 'Six Rounds' (also known in my head as 'Six Round Roy.') The conceit of this chapter is that while Jamie is away in Manchester for the weekend, Roy has a series of conversations (again, this is Talking: The Fic) with six different characters. Storylines are progressed, he gets to stretch some of his new therapy muscles, and he also gets to run headlong into that common 'I'm fixing my life' pitfall of rushing to try to fix too much at once.

To me, I enjoy the concept of a chapter like this - not only for the narrative break, but because I enjoy it when characters have many people (I will find the Vonnegut quote, the 'you are not enough people' quote, and post it later). So we get to see a bit of how Roy is fitting in with everything- with his new position as manager, his relationship with the players as both a coach and a mentor/friend, his relationship with Keeley and how that's changed. And one more bit that I'll get into.

However it's been digging into the back of my head- are people going to enjoy a whole chapter without Jamie? And a very very long chapter at that. Most of my chapters have an average of 3-5 scenes at inception, with smaller bits that grow in between to connect them. This chapter is 6 almost completely non-related scenes, and I can already feel the need for glue to hold them all together.

So it's been worrying me - a whole freaking chapter without Jamie? Someone's going to skip it, or skim it, because it doesn't have their favorite guy in it.

But then I had the realization as I was making my notes on it that actually despite not being physically there Jamie's in every scene. I don't mean in a he-crossed-Roy's-mind way either. All the conversations he has, Jamie is in them somewhere. That's just how baked into Roy's life he is at that point. That's how baked in he is to Richmond at this point. He's just there, a presence in everyone's life, and especially Roy's life, so of course he comes up.

Which is why it's telling that the one conversation that he doesn't come up in, that 1 time out of 6 conversations in this very long chapter, is when Roy is trying to have a conversation with the people who aren't really in his life at all. His parents.

[caifanes]

we’re done. it’s finally over (kinda)

[divinesangel]

— random details about your future spouse [PAC]

pm me for an affordable, in-depth personal reading! — 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞!

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏

they've been through some stuff and came out the other side with a calm, steady mindset. they're the type who doesn't get easily shaken or overwhelmed by life’s challenges.

when things get hectic or stressful, they stay chill and don’t panic. they can handle chaos without losing their cool, making them someone you can rely on in tough situations.

they’re not the type to rush into things. they like to take things slow, think things through, and make sure they’re making the right moves, whether it’s in relationships, work, or life decisions.

they probably have a strong sense of family and respect for long-held values. they believe in things like loyalty, commitment, and honoring what came before, whether that’s family traditions or their own personal principles.

they’re either spiritual or have a strong personal philosophy that guides their life. they probably reflect on the bigger picture and have a deep understanding of their own purpose or place in the world.

they're not afraid to step out of their comfort zone. they love exploring new places, trying new things, and keeping life exciting. they can be spontaneous and enjoy breaking out of routines.

always thinking outside the box. they might have a knack for coming up with new ideas or solutions, whether it’s in their work, hobbies, or just life in general. they love expressing themselves in unique ways.

they don’t take shortcuts. they put in the effort and grind steadily toward their goals, even if it takes time. they understand that success is built on consistent work and dedication.

you can count on them, no questions asked. they keep their promises and show up when they say they will, whether it’s for something big or small. they’re the kind of person you can trust with anything.

they’ve got their finances together. they don’t live paycheck to paycheck, and they know how to manage money responsibly. they’ve probably built a secure foundation for themselves and are smart about financial decisions.

once they’re in, they’re in for the long haul. they’re fiercely loyal and protective of the people they love. they’ll stand by your side through thick and thin, and you’ll always know they’ve got your back no matter what.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐

they’ve been through some tough stuff before (like heartbreak or betrayal), and they’re still working on getting over it. they’re in a process of healing, so they might be a bit cautious when it comes to love, but they’re definitely growing through it.

at times, they might feel a little lost or unsure about where they’re headed. they’re working on figuring things out, but they can get stuck in their head, trying to make the right choices. they may need a bit of time to get their confidence back before moving forward with big decisions.

they used to hold onto things too tightly, whether it was their money, their emotions, or their need to control everything. but now, they’re realizing they need to loosen up a bit and trust the process. they’re getting better at letting go of the things they can’t control.

they care a lot about building something real and secure for the future. they’re the kind of person who’s thinking about their career, their finances, and how to make sure they’ve got a strong foundation. they’re not into quick fixes; they’re focused on what lasts.

they can get caught up in the “what ifs” and feel like there are too many options to choose from. they might struggle with indecision or fantasizing about all the possibilities instead of making moves. they’re learning to focus and stop overthinking everything.

they’re someone who’s always looking for fresh starts. they might be starting a new chapter in their life—whether it’s career, relationships, or just personal growth. they’re focused on making things better and are always willing to work toward something new and more secure.

they’re ambitious and want more for themselves. they’re standing at a crossroads, thinking about what the next step looks like. they’re starting to plan ahead, but they’re also trying to figure out what path is the right one for them.

they’re soft-hearted and sensitive, not afraid to show their feelings. they’re the type to express their emotions and be vulnerable with the people they trust. they’re also really intuitive and can pick up on how others are feeling, offering emotional support when needed.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑

they’re someone who’s got their life together and doesn’t rely on others to feel secure. they’re proud of what they’ve built and enjoy the rewards of their hard work. they’re confident in their own abilities and don’t need validation from anyone else.

they know that good things take time. they’re not into rushing through life but are all about putting in the work and letting things grow naturally. they’re all about steady progress and building something real and long-lasting.

sometimes they feel unsure of themselves, especially when things aren’t going as planned. they may have moments of questioning their strength or abilities. they’re still figuring out how to trust themselves fully, but they’re working through it.

they can be a little guarded, especially when it comes to their emotions or what they’ve worked hard for. they like to keep control, but they’re learning to let go and trust more. it’s a process, but they’re getting there.

they’re the type of person who handles life with a lot of maturity. they take responsibility seriously and know how to manage their finances, their career, and their relationships in a practical way. they don’t take shortcuts.

they can be hard to read sometimes, and their emotions are deeper than they let on. they’re intuitive and sensitive, but they often keep their feelings under wraps. they might struggle to fully express what they’re going through, but they’re working on understanding themselves better.

they don’t like rushing into decisions. they’ll spend a lot of time weighing out their options and might even avoid making tough choices altogether. they want to make sure they’re doing the right thing, but they can get stuck in overthinking.

when they finally make up their mind, they’re sharp, direct, and won’t hesitate to go after what they want. they’re all about clarity and truth, and once they’re sure about something, they’re confident in their actions.

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 !

hi! it's daphne here.

i'm currently offering personal readings for €8 and soulmate readings for €15 so don't hesitate to send me a private message if you're interested!

thank you for being here!

[comicaurora]

A bit of a strange question, but if there were any of your videos you were to "remake" today for any reason (ex: you feel like you misrepresented the original text or spread misinformation), which would it be and why? None of them is a perfectly valid answer

Again: bit of a strange question, but I've been thinking about my own creations and how I could have done so much better with some of them, but I also know that is a sign of my growth and constantly chasing "what if I did this instead" isn't always healthy for nurturing a creative mindset, and I was wondering what your opinion might be as a Creator of Things with a bit more experience than I

There's been a few trope talks where I've thought later of other angles I could've explored that might warrant sequels or part 2s, but I don't dislike any of the summaries enough to justify a rework.

I always find "I could've done this better if I made it now" to be a bit of a fallacy. I'm only better at making things now because I made all those earlier things. If I knew everything I'd learn from making a project before I started the project, it wouldn't come out the same.

I think when it comes to the "rework remake perfect" instinct, it helps to zero in on what the impulse is really grounded in. In my experience, more often than not, it's not actually about making the art better, except incidentally. It's usually about showing that you are better. It's demonstrating your competence and your higher standards and your skills, and more importantly it's overwriting the proof that you were once less than perfect. If people look at your old work and think that's all you're capable of, they'll be judging you poorly!

If that's the motivator, it's a very unhelpful one. You can't control for being harshly or incorrectly judged. It's a fruitless effort to stave off potentially upsetting outdated criticism, and it's not even going to work. Fear of critique is an unreliable and untrustworthy motivator.

If it really is about making the art itself better, perfecting your magnum opus with your newly leveled-up skills, that's a little more solid. But from where I'm standing, it's always better to use those skills to make something new instead of polishing something old. The older, unpolished work has already acquired its audience that finds it appealing for reasons that might never occur to you. Trying to bury or overwrite it just deprives that audience of the thing they like, and maybe makes them feel bad for having liked it in the first place. Also, usually when you look back on the older work, you'll conclude that the problem is everything and it'll need to be torn down and started from scratch. I know when I revisited the first three chapters of the comic, when I let my critic brain spin up, it wasn't shading or lineart I wanted to fix - it was panel composition, overall pacing, the entire structure of the chapters as a whole. I would've had to make them all over again to be happy with them, and they wouldn't be the same story by the end.

I've been thinking a lot about the Discworld through this lens lately. It ended up over 40 books long, but everyone agrees that the first two are not what you should start with, because they're the worst ones. They're entirely parodic, purely referential of at-the-time major fantasy series, and borderline mean-spirited in places. If you haven't read Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser and Dragonriders of Pern, you're not gonna understand like a full 50% of The Colour Of Magic.

It's clear that when he started in on them, Pratchett was entirely focused on taking the piss out of a genre he found mostly shallow and unimpressive. But the Discworld wouldn't leave his head, and everything he made fun of he clearly eventually found himself overthinking. He'd make little one-off jokes in the early books about Dwarves having no women and a hundred words for gold, and then twenty books later he'd have a Dwarf gender revolution make waves across the Disc, and then he'd write Thud!, a book that delves deeper into the nuances of Dwarf societal structure than Tolkien ever did.

If you look for them, there are continuity errors everywhere in Discworld. In his introductory book, Carrot defused a dwarf bar full of rowdy brawlers by guilting them all into writing to their poor lonely mothers back home. Shortly thereafter, Carrot will be outraged at the mere concept of an openly female dwarf. Pratchett even eventually wrote Thief of Time, a book that loosely explains that the Disc makes no sense because history has been broken and put back together incorrectly twice, and therefore any continuity errors are because of that.

He's the writer. He could've gone back and fixed it, edited the reprints to be less disruptively discontinuous with the later books. Instead he continuously moved forward and allowed the world he made to grow without cutting it off from its roots. And because he didn't bury his older, far worse work, we have the privilege of following the Disc's evolution from the very start, and seeing how this shallow, stock fantasy world parody became something incredibly rich and complex without ever pretending like its early installments never happened.

Anyway, that's why I think it's better to move forward. You make more good stuff that way.

[punkshort]

i know who you are | 5. the dinner

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Everything seems perfect until it all unravels. Emotions come to a head and the big lie is revealed.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, pining, alcohol use, eating, flirting, sad!Joel, amnesia, slow burn, minor infidelity, one use of 'daddy', big ol' emotional argument (lots of mean and hurtful things get said)

WC: 9.5K

Series Masterlist

By some miracle, you didn't end up getting sick, although it took most people in town a full week to recover from the flu. The infirmary was packed every day and Nick regularly expressed his endless gratitude that you chose to work for him. Maria and Tommy isolated as best they could in their home out of fear their daughter would get sick. When the townspeople slowly began to recover, they were itching to do something, so they decided to host a dinner.

One thing you hadn't done in ages was bake. You used to do it often, something you found rather soothing and rewarding long before the world went to shit, so you decided to make something to bring to dinner. After exploring your pantry, you discovered you had the right ingredients to make a simple pie crust, so you got to work mixing and rolling out the dough, getting so lost in your thoughts that you didn't even hear Joel walk through the front door.

When he heard you working away in the kitchen, he walked softly towards the entryway and leaned against the frame to admire you. He crossed his arms and smiled to himself when he saw the bits of flour smeared across your cheeks and your hair a little disheveled, your appearance not a concern to you as you worked.

It was the sweetest thing he had seen in a long time. He almost felt bad when you suddenly sensed his presence and looked up, disrupting your flow.

"Don't mind me," he said with a smirk before strolling over to the table to sit. "Whatcha up to?"

"Making a pie," you told him as you pinched some flour between your fingers and scattered it over the counter. You picked up the sticky ball of dough and sprinkled that with a bit of flour, as well, before grabbing the rolling pin. "Thought it would be nice to bring something with us tonight."

Joel nodded and picked up an apple from the bowl on the table. "That's nice of you," he said before taking a bite, "I'm sure they don't expect us to bring anythin'. They're just bored outta their minds and lookin' for someone to play with their kid for a while."

"Hey! I need those!" you scolded when you heard the crunch. He paused his chewing and looked down at the apple in his hand before stretching his arm out to you with a grin.

"Here you go," he said, mouth full. You laughed and shook your head before focusing on the dough once again.

"Keep it," you said, "I'll still have enough."

He leaned back in his chair and watched you diligently roll the dough out until you achieved the level of thickness you desired and then laid it gently in a buttered pie pan.

"Can you help me peel?" you asked when you came over to grab the bowl from the table, and he couldn't resist reaching out to dust away the flour from your cheek. You looked at him in surprise and he gave you a small smile.

"'Course I'll help," he said, standing up to grab two knives from the drawer. After giving yourself a moment to recover from his unexpected touch, you joined him at the counter, placing the bowl between you both as you began to peel in a comfortable silence. It had been almost two weeks since you saw Ben outside the tailor, and although you always looked for him whenever you walked to and from work, you never crossed paths with him again. You had been hoping to corner him to try to get more information before confronting Joel, but you had no such luck. So, with a deep breath, you cleared your throat and focused on your apple before speaking.

"Joel?"

"Hm?" he replied, his brows pinching together as he carefully worked his knife around the apple in the palm of his hand.

"Can I ask you a question?" you asked as your pulse began to thrum faster in your throat.

"Sure," he said, still laser focused on his task.

"Who are the Fireflies?"

His hand slipped and he dropped the apple and knife, pulling the pad of his thumb into his mouth with a hiss. You gasped when you saw a few drops of dark red blood on the cutting board and put your knife down before grabbing a somewhat clean towel and handing it to him.

"Is it bad?" you asked, taking a step forward to try and see his injury before he wrapped it in the towel. He shook his head.

"Nah, I'll live," he said, studying the cut for a second before applying pressure again.

Still, you rushed to the linen closet to grab the first aid kit and brought it downstairs. "Rinse it under the water," you instructed him before opening the bag and rifling around. He did as he was told and watched you pluck out a bandage and a small bottle of antiseptic. "Show me," you said, and he held his hand out to you so you could examine the cut. He studied you up close while your attention was focused on his thumb, taking in every feature on your perfect face and inhaling your familiar, comforting scent while you bandaged him up. If this was what it took to get you close to him, then he was ready to injure himself every damn day.

"You're good at that," he murmured, flexing his thumb when you were all done. "Learnin' a lot from Nick?"

You packed up the first aid kit, avoiding his heated gaze. "Yeah, I guess so," you said, turning back to your apples. Ever since Joel caught the flu and you helped nurse him back to health, it felt like there was a shift in the air between you. He was more brazen with his touch, like when he wiped the flour from your cheek, and while you never asked him not to touch you, your feelings for him were complicated. Until you could figure it out, you had been trying your best to not allow yourself to get caught in his orbit.

It was proving to be more difficult than you expected.

"Why don't you go sit down, I can finish these up," you said, your eyes cast down on the apples. You felt him regard you silently for a moment before he pushed off the counter and went back to his spot at the kitchen table. It was obvious what he was doing. It was the exact opposite of what you were doing. He was trying to create a charged moment, and you were trying to avoid them.

"You didn't answer my question," you said, and his energy immediately shifted.

"Where'd you hear 'bout the Fireflies? From Ellie?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. You looked up at him, confused.

"Ellie? No," you replied, shaking your head. "I ran into Ben a few days after our visit. He thought you had already told me about them and seemed a little skittish when I didn't know who they were."

You watched him closely, refusing to look away as he tried to mask his anger, but you could still see it. His jaw tensed and his uninjured hand clenched into a fist in his lap while you waited for an answer.

"So?" you prodded, cocking your head to the side. His nostrils flared for a second before he took a deep breath and turned his head away.

"The Fireflies were the group the three of you had joined before comin' to Jackson," he began. You tried to focus on peeling your apples but you were working incredibly slow, not wanting to miss a single word. "You were with 'em for a couple years. They had a decent setup, kept you all safe. Better than the QZ."

"Okay," you said slowly, picking up another apple. "So it was a community like this one?"

He huffed and shook his head, "Not exactly. More like an army. They're a revolutionary group. They rose up against the military and took over QZs with the promise of givin' control back to the people, but..." he trailed off and scratched his beard. "Wasn't all that simple. They killed alotta people in the process, and in the end, civilians still suffered. Didn't end up matterin' who was in control when both sides were just as violent."

"Oh," you said softly, setting your knife down, "so I joined because of what happened to my family? Because the military killed them? And then I ended up killing innocent people, anyway?"

Joel shrugged and stood up. "Like I said, we all made decisions the best we could with what we knew at the time. You didn't know any better. Nobody did."

"Did you join them, too?" you asked.

"No," he said, pressing both palms flat against the counter as he looked at you.

"So why did Ben seem to think telling me about the Fireflies would cause a problem with us?"

His mouth pressed into a thin line and you saw the suppressed rage flicker across his eyes again. "Fireflies ain't exactly well received by most people," he said, "lotta people here had family that was hurt or killed. Innocent bystanders caught in the middle of a war they didn't start."

You swallowed nervously, apples long forgotten as you braced yourself for your next question. "Did the Fireflies hurt someone you loved?"

Joel's gaze dropped to his hands and he clenched his jaw. He wanted to tell you. He should have just fucking spit it out and told you everything, but at the last second, he chickened out.

"No."

And you may not have known him as well as you did before the accident, but you knew him well enough now to be able to tell when he was lying. You tried to hide your disappointment by picking your knife back up and getting to work.

"Are there others?" you asked him, and he lifted his head up, "other former Fireflies who live here?"

"Aside from you three? Just Tommy."

Your jaw dropped in surprise and your eyes snapped up to him once again. "Tommy?"

"Mhmm, just for a little while. You didn't know each other before Jackson," he said, anticipating your next question. "Fireflies are a big group. Spread out all over the country."

"Oh," you said softly, looking back down at your half peeled apples which were slowly becoming brown on the edges. You began peeling again, faster now, as you thought about everything he just said while he watched you carefully from the other side of the counter. You weren't sure what else to say. It felt like he was telling you the truth, but you still had a hunch he was leaving something out.

"Y'know, it's a miracle I didn't eat half that damn pie before we got here," Joel said teasingly as you walked up the porch steps to Tommy and Maria's house. "Whole house smells like Christmas now. Drove me crazy all afternoon."

You smiled and smoothed down the blue blouse you found tucked away in your closet. It wasn't a top you could envision yourself working in, it looked a bit too nice for that, so you thought dinner would be a perfect time to wear it, combined with a dark pair of jeans that were relatively clean and only slightly frayed on the bottom. At the time, you thought it was cute when Joel came downstairs with his hair slicked back and his flannel tucked into his jeans for once, but when you walked into Tommy and Maria's and found the house to be filled with four married couples from around town, you suddenly felt uncomfortable.

"I didn't realize anyone else would be here," you murmured quietly next to Joel as you slid off your coats.

"He mentioned they may invite a few others but I didn't think this many," he told you, taking your coat and hanging it up before looking around. They had two tables covered in linen pushed together in their dining room which was alight with candles and sprigs of pine and holly spread around the middle, giving the room with a warm and romantic atmosphere. You swallowed nervously and all of the sudden, the evening felt too much like a date.

"Hey, you two!" Tommy's voice rang out from the kitchen, startling you out of your reverie. "Glad you could make it," he said, tugging Joel into a hug before giving you a chaste peck on the cheek.

"Um, here," you said, holding out the pie, "didn't want to come empty handed," you explained with a little smile. Tommy's eyes lit up when he took the pan from you and gave the pie a quick sniff.

"Damn, smells good, Sugar," he told you, his cheeks already rosy from the liquor he had been working on before you arrived. He shot Joel a playful look as he headed into the kitchen, handing Maria the dessert. "Your girl can bake, Joel. Lucky man."

The tips of your ears went hot and you looked away uncomfortably before Joel could catch your eye.

"I'll get us a couple drinks," Joel said, ignoring Tommy's comment, much to your relief. "What'dya want?"

You glanced around the room and what the other women were drinking before shrugging and suggesting wine. He followed Tommy over to the living room where they kept their liquor locked up and away from their toddler, who was gleefully playing with another woman you didn't recognize. Popping your head into the kitchen, you spotted Maria all by herself working on dinner.

"Maria," you said with a smile, and she turned around with a sigh of relief.

"Hey, I'm dying here, can you help me?"

"Of course," you said, rolling up your sleeves. "What do you need?"

She put you to work right away, chopping up vegetables and dumping them into boiling water before helping her thicken a sauce she was making for some pasta. You were just about to taste test the product when Joel and Tommy joined you in the kitchen with the drink that he promised.

"Smells so fuckin' good in here," Tommy said loudly before taking a generous sip of whiskey and giving Maria a quick peck on the lips. Joel put your wine glass near you on the counter and you shot him a thankful smile before bringing a spoon up to your lips to taste the sauce. You winced and scrunched up your nose and Joel chuckled.

"It's missing something," you explained, putting the spoon back down as you examined the spices available to you while Maria was instructing Tommy on doling out the appetizers.

"Lemme try," he said, rounding the corner to stand next to you. You handed him the spoon and he held up his whiskey. "Hands are full," he told you teasingly, and you rolled your eyes with a grin before dipping the spoon back into the sauce and lifting it to his mouth. He leaned in and wrapped his lips around the spoon, closing his eyes and making a soft noise at the taste. Your knees suddenly felt weak and your face felt hot as you struggled to compose yourself before he caught you.

He opened his eyes slowly and ran his tongue over his upper lip to capture the remnants of the sauce and you had to resist the urge to swipe your thumb over his mustache to gather the rest. It made your breath hitch in your throat and you forced yourself to look away, mentally cursing your body's reaction to him.

"Lemon," he said huskily, then took a sip from his glass while still staring down at you. Your eyes drifted up to his and you saw that look again. The one that made you feel too many things at once: nervousness, excitement, pressure, confusion. So you took a deep breath and squeezed past him, having no choice but to brush up against his chest.

"You're right. It needs lemon," you said, finding one in the mess on Maria's counter and slicing it in half before squeezing it generously over the sauce. Joel leaned against the counter, one arm caging you in from behind as you worked. You tried to ignore how close he was but you could feel his breath on your skin and it was causing your pulse to race. Fortunately, Maria came to your rescue.

"How's it going?" she asked, and Joel pushed off the counter, stepping back to give you both some room.

"Good, I think the sauce is done," you told her, and after she gave it a little taste, her eyes lit up.

"So good!" she said, clearly pleased. You felt your cheeks heat up before gesturing towards Joel.

"Thank Joel. He thought of the lemon."

Maria shot Joel a smile and thanked him as he tipped his glass in her direction before taking another sip. "Happy to help, ladies," he said.

"Go enjoy the party, I got it from here," Maria told you, shooing you away.

"Are you sure? I really don't mind-"

"Yes, I'm sure! I'm just going to plate everything and we're good to go. Help yourself to some appetizers before they're all gone," she said, turning her back on you as she started pulling down serving platters.

You picked up your wine and took a sip, hoping to quell some of your nerves as you let Joel lead you into the living room where the party was in full swing. Tommy had his daughter balancing on his shoulders as he talked to a couple men, their wives at the other end of the room in the middle of a lively conversation. You chewed your lip, glancing back and forth before you took another sip and looked up at Joel.

"Guess I'll go see what's got them all worked up," you told him, nodding your head in the direction of the other women.

"You sure?" he asked with a frown. "Don't want you feelin' uncomfortable. We can stick together if y'want."

You shook your head and stepped away. "I'm fine," you told him before forcing yourself to join the other women. As you approached, you gave the women a friendly wave to catch their attention and they beckoned you towards them with open arms. They all seemed to be around your age range, give or take, and very friendly as they took the time to re-introduce themselves to you. You politely listened to them talk about their kids or jobs while you sipped your wine and nodded along. When three of the women became engrossed in a story about their children and school, you felt yourself begin to zone out. The girl standing next to you, Hannah, caught your eye and smiled.

"Do you have any kids?" you asked her, and she shook her head.

"Not yet. I don't think we're ready, you know?" she said, glancing over your shoulder at her husband. "But one day I think we will. How about you and Joel? What are your plans?" she asked, then her eyes went wide with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry. That was a dumb question, you probably don't... ah, I'm such an idiot," she said, and you laughed.

"No, you're not, it's fine," you assured her as her cheeks began to flush.

"I guess I just keep forgetting about your accident. That was so rude of me," she said, "I see you guys together all the time and it seems so normal."

You glanced over your shoulder at Joel, watching for a moment as he laughed heartily at something one of the other men said. "Yeah," you told her, turning back around, "I can see why you'd think that."

Her gaze drifted between you and Joel for a moment before she lowered her voice and took a step further away from the other women. "So you still don't remember anything, huh?"

You shook your head sadly. "Nothing. At this point, I'm not expecting anything to come back. I'm just trying to start over."

She nodded solemnly and took a sip from her wine. "How's it going with you two?" she asked, tilting her chin in Joel's direction. You sighed and rubbed your eyes. Same old questions, different person.

"Okay, I guess. He's been incredibly patient," you said, "but I think he is still holding out hope that my memory might come back and we'll just pick up right where we left off."

Hannah gave you a sympathetic look right as Maria approached with a big smile stretched across her face. "Dinner is served!" she announced to the room before bending down and stretching her arms out for her daughter.

Everyone began to scatter as couples rejoined and headed towards the dimly lit dining room. Joel appeared by your side, his hand hovering over your lower back as you waited for the other couples to take their seats.

"Havin' a good time?" he murmured, and you gave him a tight smile before nodding. Joel pulled out one of the two remaining chairs for you and you whispered your thanks when you sat down, then he pushed it back in before taking his own seat. He relaxed and stretched his arm across the back of your chair while he listened with amusement to Tommy drunkenly telling a story that had carried over from the living room.

"The table is beautiful, Maria," you told her, leaning away from Joel a bit. "It's so cozy and warm, you really outdid yourself."

She smiled as she bounced her little girl on her knee. "Thanks. We were just itching to do something, you know? We got a little cabin fever, I think."

You felt Joel's thumb brush lightly against your spine, making you shiver. But when you glanced over at him, he was still caught up in listening to Tommy and you wondered if those little gestures were intentional or if it was muscle memory.

Once everyone began to eat, Joel dropped his arm from your chair and you found yourself missing the warmth that radiated from him, confusing yourself even more. Sometimes you just wanted to hit your head against the wall and rattle your memories loose so you could stop feeling so conflicted. If you were this confused, you couldn't imagine what Joel was feeling. Although, at that moment, he seemed to be perfectly content as he stood up with Tommy to get another drink.

"Y'want any more?" Joel asked, nodding to your glass but you shook your head.

"Maybe later," you said, and when he caught your eye he gave you a quick wink before following Tommy back into the living room.

"So, how's it going at the infirmary? Still like it?" Maria asked, drawing your attention back to her.

"Yeah, I do, actually. That was a good idea, I've been meaning to thank you," you said, wiping the corners of your mouth with a napkin. "It feels good to stay busy and I'm learning a lot."

"Well, Nick always speaks so highly of you. Especially after that nasty flu worked its way through town. He said you were a godsend," Maria told you while simultaneously handing her daughter a steamed carrot.

"She was. Worked her tail off all week then had to deal with me when she got home," Joel said as he sat back down with a soft grunt. You smiled at him, grateful for the compliment.

"If he's anything like his brother when he's sick then I'm sure you've earned sainthood status," Maria said to you, making everyone laugh.

"Hey, what're you sayin' 'bout me down there?" Tommy slurred with a grin from the other end of the table. You were fairly certain Maria answered him with some sharp remark which made the table laugh again, but you couldn't exactly remember because Joel dropped his hand to rest on your knee and you suddenly couldn't think straight. Your skin felt hot under his touch, even through your jeans, and you could have sworn the whole room could hear how loudly your heart was pounding in your chest, so you anxiously grabbed your wine glass and finished the rest in one gulp, hoping it would steady your nerves.

You could have asked him to move his hand. You could have made an excuse, gotten up and used the bathroom, but you didn't. You remained perfectly still, allowing his hand to rest on your leg as you tried to focus on the conversation at the table. Because although your mind was saying one thing, your body was always reacting differently.

If you had known what would have ended up happening that night, you would have done something in that moment. Maybe if you had, it would have changed everything.

Instead, you sat there and didn't say a word. You just politely listened to everyone talk with Joel's hand still on your leg while your body and mind waged a war nobody could see.

When Maria stood to hand off her daughter to Tommy and clear the table, you joined her, finally ending Joel's grip on you. The other women stood while the men attempted to help but got shooed into the living room. When all the ladies were alone in the kitchen, Maria pulled out a jar of apple flavored moonshine that she told you all quietly she was hiding from Tommy because it was her favorite before passing it around for everyone to have a taste.

It was strong. Each of you had to stifle your coughs into your hands, which erupted into giggles and eventually caught the attention of the men, so you all did your best to distract them after they curiously poked their heads into the kitchen so Maria could hide the jar once again.

In retrospect, the alcohol didn't do you any favors. Your head was swimming a little by the time dessert was served and you found yourself inadvertently leaning into Joel's shoulder as everyone complimented your pie and he watched you adoringly while you waved off the praise.

The food was amazing, but combined with the drinks, you found your eyelids growing heavy as the party moved back into the living room and Maria took her daughter to bed.

"I think I'm going to get some air," you told Joel while everyone else got comfortable.

"You alright?" he asked, examining your face closely. You nodded.

"Just getting tired," you explained as you took a step towards the door, but he immediately put his glass down.

"Why didn't you say so? We can go home."

"No, it's okay-"

"You've been workin' so hard lately. You need your rest. Go get your things and I'll tell Tommy we're headin' out," he said, refusing to hear another word. And as much as you didn't want to tear him away from the party, you had to agree with him. The past couple weeks were physically draining and it definitely seemed like the exhaustion was catching up with you.

Once Joel announced your departure and everybody bid you good night, you each grabbed your coats and slid on your boots before heading outside. The brisk night air was a shock to the system and it helped wake you up a bit on the walk home. Joel wrapped his arm around your waist as you walked, holding you close to him, enveloping you with his warmth and when you inevitably reflected on that night, you would remember that moment as one on a long list of ways you were sending him mixed signals because you didn't pull away. Because as confused as you were about your feelings for him, you couldn't deny the attraction you harbored. And maybe it was partially your fault for not being stronger because you knew, you fucking knew Joel's feelings for you were far deeper than yours that night, and yet you still didn't step away.

When you arrived home and Joel fumbled clumsily with the door, you giggled, making him grin and his eyes light up at the sound before finally shoving the door open and flicking on a light. You shrugged off your coat and kicked off your boots with a sigh, the faint smell of apple pie still lingering in the air. You were happy to be in the comfort of your own home and eager to throw on your pajamas, but Joel led you into the kitchen first and poured you some water. You couldn't help but smile at how reminiscent it was from when he was sick and you did the same thing for him, so you took it and made sure to drink the whole thing while he watched with a pleased expression on his face.

"Did I tell you how beautiful you looked tonight?"

The glass was still pressed against your mouth, the last drops of water just swallowed, and you froze. Slowly, you lowered the glass to the counter and shook your head, unable to look away from his heated stare.

"Well, you did. Lit up the whole place. Prettier than all the other women," he said, fighting to remain still and not pull you into his arms. But he was losing that battle.

"Thank you," you said softly, forcing yourself to look away. It didn't deter him.

"I mean it. Couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout you. Talkin' 'bout you," he said, watching your face heat up as he blinked slowly. "Lookin' at you," he added after a quiet moment, and you laughed softly while you crossed your arms protectively over your chest.

"Joel..." you began, not even sure what you planned to say so you opted for staring blankly out the window just so you wouldn't have to look him in the eye.

"What, baby?" he murmured, taking a bold step forward and pinching your chin with his fingers. You dragged your gaze back up to him just to find his dark brown eyes all wide and filled with hope and tenderness as he stared down at you, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips, clearly displaying his intention but you still didn't step away. Your body wouldn't let you move.

"We're both drunk," you told him, trying to remain rational. Trying to stay clear-headed.

"Not that drunk," he quickly countered, his eyes still roaming your face, his fingers still pressing into your chin and you could feel your heart flutter wildly. Why on earth couldn't your mind catch up with your body?

You sighed, partially from the exhaustion, partially from the inability to properly express yourself but he took it to mean something else. He heard your sigh and thought you were finally giving in. That you were finally going to let him kiss you. Because why else wouldn't you have pulled away?

He leaned forward, his eyes slid shut, and although you should have known it was coming, it still surprised you. Your eyes stayed open wide as he inched towards you and finally at the very last second, you tilted your face to the side, causing him to press his lips against your cheek instead.

You felt his reaction before you could see it. His lips immediately tensed against your skin and his breathing stalled. Then his hand dropped from your chin and he leaned back, eyes no longer warm and inviting.

You tightly pressed your lips together in shame. "Joel, I'm sorry-"

"Don't be," he said quickly, cutting you off and backing away.

The hurt was evident across his face, although he tried to hide it by averting his gaze.

"I just don't think I'm there yet," you said after a long, tense moment. "I'm trying-"

"Yeah, I know," he replied harshly, turning on his heel and marching out of the kitchen. "I know you're tryin' to force yourself to love me. It's gotta be real hard, I get it," he spat, his voice so cold it made you shudder as he shoved his boots back on.

You choked back a sob as you watched him grab his coat.

"Where are you going?"

"Don't know," was all he said before flinging the door open and storming out, leaving you all alone in the entryway with tears slowly streaking down your cheeks.

What an absolute fucking idiot he was.

What was he thinking? That you would magically find him attractive again? Love him again? That he was worthy of your time and care and attention? After everything he did?

You didn't know, of course, but what else could it be, other than fate? Or karma? Or whatever it was, coming back and erasing all your memories of him to set things right? Because did he ever really deserve you in the first place?

No, definitely not. Not after everything he did.

His legs carried him blindly to the Tipsy Bison. It was a quiet night, and maybe had he been in the right frame of mind, he would have been surprised. Most of the town was cooped up the past couple weeks, under normal circumstances he would have thought it would be busier, but at that moment in time, he didn't care. He only cared about one thing: he needed to forget.

He motioned for Seth and he nodded in acknowledgment before pouring him his usual whiskey and setting it down. Joel snatched it up and immediately downed it with a wince before pushing the empty glass towards Seth.

"Another, please," he muttered before burying his face in his hands with a groan. Seth eyed him suspiciously before pouring his second drink and setting it back down on the bar.

Joel let the glass sit there a few minutes while he stewed in his anger. He wanted to blame you, but he couldn't. Not really. He knew it wasn't your fault but, fuck, he just wanted you back. He was so goddamn lonely that it made his chest hurt. He rubbed it absentmindedly before picking up his glass and forcing himself to take a slow sip. He had already drank too much at Tommy's and if he didn't want to wake up with a massive hangover, he had to slow down.

"Hey, cowboy," a familiar, flirty voice suddenly said from beside him. He tilted his head to the side and had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

"Angie."

She smirked and pulled up a tall barstool, scooting her way up with a little grunt that made his stomach clench as he watched her maneuver in her tight jeans.

"What's got you so blue?" she purred as she took a sip from her drink and crossed her legs, her foot coming dangerously close to touching his calf.

"Who said I was blue?" he asked gruffly before taking another swig of whiskey.

She laughed softly and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Kind of hard to miss," she said, resting her chin in her palm as she looked at him expectantly.

His eyebrows furrowed at her but she noticed the way the corner of his mouth twitched and she bit her lip playfully.

"C'mon, what's the matter? You can tell me, baby," she cooed, and he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

"Don't call me that."

Angie pouted and leaned closer, her breath tickling his ear when she whispered, "Oh, that's right. How could I forget? You prefer daddy."

"Knock it off," he growled, turning away from her and ignoring the stirring below his waist, but it wouldn't be that easy. It never was.

She rested her delicate hand on his forearm and his muscles twitched, but he didn't move. As much as he hated to admit it, he missed being touched. And in that moment, any touch would do. She smiled and slid her hand up his arm slowly, and he let her, his eyes fixed somewhere in the opposite direction as he tried with all his might to ignore it, to fight it, to stand up and fucking leave, but he couldn't do it.

"So tense," she murmured in his ear, and his eyes fluttered shut. "I can help with that, y'know." Her hand dropped from his shoulder to his lap and had Joel's eyes been open, he would have seen Seth's eyes widen in surprise before looking away. "We're real good at it, remember?" she continued, her fingers inching towards the seam of his jeans. But before she could reach between his legs, his hand grabbed her wrist.

"Stop it," he said weakly, forcing his eyes open to glare at her, but she just smiled sweetly at him and pulled her hand back.

"I need to use the restroom," she said, her voice sultry. "You remember where the ladies' room is, right?" she asked with a wink before sliding off the stool and swinging her hips as she strolled down the hall towards the bathroom. He groaned and rubbed his face roughly.

He wasn't sure how it happened. He wanted to blame the whiskey, he wanted to blame you, but at the end of the day it was all on him when he found himself shoving open the door to the women's room and crowding Angie against the sink, his mouth crashing down on hers hungrily.

It was only one tiny minute of weakness. When he realized his mistake, when he remembered her lips weren't anything compared to yours, when her noises were not the noises he wanted to hear, her touch not the touch he craved, he immediately stopped kissing her, pulling back and cursing under his breath.

Angie looked at him, her eyes dark and her cheeks flushed, then took a step forward but he held up his hand.

"No," he said a bit too loudly, the whiskey making his head swim as he stumbled backwards towards the door. She rolled her eyes and grinned.

"C'mon, Joel. When are you going to realize she's not coming back? You need to move on," Angie said sweetly. Too sweetly. "You deserve to be happy," she added, and he frowned when the enormity of what he had done dawned on him through his drunken haze.

"Stay away from me," he warned her, reaching for the door and yanking it open.

"Fine. But just remember: you followed me in here!" she shouted after him as he disappeared down the hall. He snatched his coat from his barstool and jogged towards the exit.

He had to get home.

The carpet should have been worn to the floorboards by the time Joel finally came back. You had been pacing around the living room, chewing on your fingernails nervously as you replayed the entire evening in your head. The guilt was fucking suffocating you. You couldn't help but feel like you were partially to blame, but you would have broken his heart if you let him kiss you without fully understanding how you felt first, and he didn't deserve that. Maybe once he cooled down, he would understand.

When you heard his slow, heavy footsteps walking up the porch stairs, your heart leapt into your throat. The door creaked open slowly, as if he expected you to be asleep and he was trying to be quiet, but when he closed the door and saw you standing in the middle of the living room, your arms wrapped around yourself, his face contorted into a grimace.

"You're still up," he said, voice a little raspy as he hung up his coat.

"Joel, I'm so sorry," you began, "I'm just so confused. I'm still trying to work out my feelings but I don't want to rush into something and risk hurting you."

He swallowed and hung his head in shame, unable to look at you.

"Please don't apologize," he whispered, but you kept going.

"Of course I'm going to apologize. I sent you mixed signals and I ended up hurting you anyway."

"I did somethin'," he blurted out, and you froze mid-sentence, waiting for him to elaborate. Silence filled the room, your eyes drifted around aimlessly before you sunk down onto the edge of the couch and tucked your hands under your thighs.

"What did you do?" you asked, your voice wavering when you realized he still hadn't looked you in the eye.

He took a steadying breath and propped his hands on his hips, his face still angled shamefully towards the floor. "I kissed someone else."

His words hung heavy in the air, your deep, ragged breaths the only sound filling the room as your tired mind tried to make sense of what he just said.

"What?" you finally asked, voice deathly quiet. He forced himself to look at you now, his dark eyes brimming with tears.

"It was a mistake-" he began, voice thick with emotion, tongue heavy and clumsy between his teeth, but you stopped him.

"Just now?" you asked incredulously, your stomach turning sour. Fighting the nausea back down with a harsh swallow, you spoke again. "You tried to kiss me, I shot you down and you just... went out and found someone else?"

"That's not what I left to do, it just happened-"

"Who?" you asked, your gaze stony as you continued to stare at him, anguish and regret flickering across his face.

"Does it matter?" he tried weakly, softly, but it just pissed you off even more.

"Yes," you hissed, slowly standing back up on now shaky legs. "Who, Joel?"

His throat bobbed and he shifted his weight and when he mumbled Angie's name, you saw red.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you whispered, quickly closing the gap between you and shoving him hard against the chest, causing him to stumble back in shock. When he looked you in the eyes, all glassy and cold and distraught, his blood felt like ice in his veins.

He was losing you.

"Please, lemme just explain-"

"What could you possibly have to say?!" you exclaimed, your body growing hot with rage. Hands shaking so badly you had to cross your arms to hide the tremor. "I was taking too long to fuck you so you went out and found a sure thing?"

"I didn't fuck her, but I could've!" he yelled back, an angry vein popping out of his neck at his sudden outburst. Your eyes went wide and you took a step back in surprise. He didn't know why he was yelling. He knew it wouldn't help, but he just snapped. "I never once pressured you to sleep with me! I gave you your space an-and respected your boundaries," he was flailing now, his thoughts scattered as he desperately tried to make sense. "But I'm a human fuckin' being and I got drunk and I was lonely and I made a fuckin' mistake! And I'm sorry, alright?!"

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. "You're lonely," you repeated, the words like poison on your tongue, and he frowned. "What about me? I'm lonely, too! You know what the first question is out of everyone's mouth ever since my accident?" you asked, glaring up at him, anger rolling off both your bodies. "They ask me how you're doing. You! Like this was some tragedy that only happened to you! But I lost fucking everything in the blink of an eye!" Tears began to burn the backs of your eyes now but you pushed on. "My world literally turned upside down in an instant and everyone just kept waiting for me to get with the program, including you!"

"That's not true," he said, shaking his head angrily, "I never pressured you to do anythin'!"

"It's the way you look at me!" you cried, wiping the tears from your cheeks. "You don't even realize you're doing it but you keep looking at me, expecting to find the woman you fell in love with but she's gone, Joel!"

You both fell silent, staring at one another, shoulders heaving as you each sat with the weight of your words.

"I don't care," he finally said, lowering his voice. "I still love you. I told you that first day. What we got is rare and special and I'm not givin' up on us."

"Then how could you go kiss someone else the first time there's a bump in the road?" you asked, tone hurt and dejected, then you turned and headed up the stairs.

"I told you, it was a mistake," he pleaded, following you. "I'm so sorry... wait, what're you doin'?" he asked when he realized he had followed you into your room. You were snatching clothes from the drawers and tossing them onto your bed, and that's when he really began to panic.

"I can't stay here," you said, disappearing into the bathroom. His vision narrowed and his legs became weak as fear flooded his veins.

"No," he whispered, but you didn't hear him. You were busy gathering a few toiletries from the bathroom and tossing them on the bed along with your clothes, but when you walked past him to get a bag, he grabbed your arm.

"Don't do this," he begged. You yanked your arm out of his grip and stepped back, glaring at him and he realized in that moment he would rather have you there screaming at him for the rest of the night than not have you there at all, so he kept talking. He kept pushing.

"Y'know, for someone who says she doesn't have feelin's for me, you sure seem to be pretty pissed off," he glowered, and your eyes widened. That's it, he thought, let me have it. "If you don't want me, if you don't give a shit 'bout me, then what the hell does it matter if someone else does?"

You gasped, his words like a punch to the gut. Like a blade to your heart. Without thinking, your arm swung back and your palm cracked loudly against his cheek, stunning you both into silence.

He wanted to rub the spot, to help soothe the pain with the tips of his fingers, but he resisted. Instead, he let his cheek redden so you were forced to see what you did.

"You think I don't give a shit about you?" you seethed once you found your voice, palm stinging at your side, eyes flickering between his eyes and his cheek.

"Sure seems that way," he countered, and your jaw clenched angrily as the next round of tears began to well up.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you yelled, your hands balling into fists at your sides. "How dare you. You made me give a shit about you, you asshole!"

You shoved past him and headed down the hall to the spare room in search of a duffel bag, but Joel was hot on your trail. If he let you leave, he would never get you back.

"The hell does that even mean?"

You whipped around, making him stumble backwards, your eyes wild and bloodshot. "You told me you would make me fall in love with you again! This whole time we've been getting to know each other, building up our relationship and you think after all that, after everything we've shared, that I don't give a shit about you?"

"Well-" he began, but you cut him off.

"I took care of you when you were sick. I sat next to your bed for a full week, waiting for you to fall asleep, making sure you had everything you needed," you said, your voice growing quiet as hot tears spilled down your cheeks. "You told me about your daughter. I told you about my brother," you whimpered, your voice cracking on the last word. Joel's face fell when he finally realized how broken you were, the full weight of his actions realized. "How could you say that to me?" you sobbed, burying your face in your hands, your cheeks hot and wet in your palms. Your head ached. Your heart ached. You needed this to end.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it," he told you, stepping forward and pulling you into his arms. You only let yourself melt against his broad chest for a moment before you sniffled and pushed him away. Turning around, you snatched the bag from the ground and stormed past him.

"Tell me how to fix it," he pleaded as he followed you back into your room.

"You can't."

His head was pounding, throat scratchy and dry as he watched you pack from the doorway, his chest tightening with each article of clothing that passed through your hands.

"Please. Stay. I-I-I won't even talk to you if that's what you want, just please stay."

You paused, your eyes squeezing shut as you silently cried over your bag. "You want me to stay, Joel?" you asked, voice trembling, and even though weren't looking, he nodded.

"I'll do anythin'," he said earnestly, and you opened your eyes. Reaching for your journal, you flipped it open to a well worn page and tossed it on the bed. He frowned at it, confused, but stepped forward and picked it up.

"Then tell me what you lied about."

His eyes scanned the page, reading the four words over and over. Joel lied to me. No context, but he didn't need any. He knew.

You could see the conflict in his face as he tried to figure out a way around it.

"The truth. Or I'm gone," you said firmly, and when his eyes flicked up to yours, you saw fear.

He slowly turned around, the journal held delicately in his massive hands, as he sat down onto the edge of your mattress.

"Okay."

The shock made your tears slow to a stop.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," he repeated, his tone somber as he stared down at your journal in his lap. "What's the difference now, anyway? You already hate me."

I don't hate you, you thought, but you remained silent.

"If I tell you, you promise not to leave?" he clarified, and you thought about it for a moment. What if it was something really bad? But you knew you wouldn't get the truth out of him any other way, so you nodded. You figured if you still left and ended up becoming a liar, then at least you would be even.

"I told you 'bout the Fireflies," he began, and you got the feeling the story was going to be long so you sat down on the bed.

"Yes."

"You, Ben 'n Lisa were all part of a group out in Salt Lake City," he said, his gaze pinned on the journal. "In a hospital. Doin' research."

"Research? I don't know anything about-"

"You weren't doin' the research. The three of you were just guards. Patrolmen. There were doctors there, and they were lookin' for a cure," he continued, then took a deep breath before lifting his chin and staring at a fixed point on your wall.

"Did they find one?" you asked, remembering that first day when Joel told you about the outbreak. You had asked him at the time if there was cure and he said no. That couldn't be the lie, could it?

"Well, they were close," he said, his brow pinching together. "This next part is somethin' that's gotta stay in this house, y'hear me?" he asked, finally turning to look at you. "Y'gotta promise me that no matter what you end up thinkin' of me, you can't tell anyone 'bout this part."

You didn't want to make that promise. Why would you, after everything he had put you through? But, still, you found yourself nodding slowly, then his next sentence knocked all the air from your lungs.

"Ellie's immune."

Your lips slowly parted as the shock coursed through you, your eyes slowly drifting down to the comforter. Your mind was blank except for Ellie's immune, Ellie's immune playing on a constant loop.

"It's why you didn't write anythin' else, I reckon," he explained, holding up your journal. "Didn't want anyone to find it."

You slowly began to put the pieces together. A research hospital. Ellie's immunity. They were close to a cure.

"The Fireflies thought they could use Ellie to create a vaccine," he said after a long pause. "And I took her to 'em. Took her right into the lion's den," he said with a dry chuckle. "Didn't realize til after they took her that they would've had to... kill her to get what they needed."

Your eyes darted up to meet his again as you listened, entranced.

"Nobody knows, okay?" he said, his voice wavering a bit. "Only Tommy. No one else can know. Her life depends on it, d'you understand?"

You nodded, still unable to find your voice, so he continued.

"When I realized what they were doin', that they would have to kill her, I just..." he trailed off and scratched his chin, looking away, eyes distant. "I lost it. It's the only way to describe it."

"W-what do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"I killed alotta people," he said, voice cold and detatched, "alotta fuckin' people. Whoever got in my way, I just... didn't think twice. 'Til you."

You inhaled sharply, almost forgetting you were somewhere in that hospital.

"Me?" you squeaked.

"You didn't see my face," he said, his voice beginning to shake. "None of you did. The three of you were together. You surrendered. Had you face down on the ground with your hands behind your head. Told me you were plannin' on ditchin' the Fireflies anyway. That you wouldn't come after me." His hand trembled in his lap and he made a fist.

"You weren't the first ones to say that to me, but you were the first ones I let live."

You pressed your palms into your face, trying to quell the ache behind your eyes as you rocked gently back and forth on the bed, heart thundering in your chest, blooding pumping too fast. The exhaustion was too much. You could hardly make sense of what he was saying.

"You almost killed me," you said, more of a statement than a question, your voice muffled through your hands.

"Yeah." He watched you carefully, trying to read you, desperately searching for some small glimmer of hope underneath all your rage and confusion.

"Then what?" you forced yourself to ask, pinching the bridge of your nose.

He ticked his jaw to the side and looked away.

"Then... Ellie 'n me came here. Started over. Tried to forget," he sniffed, pulling at a loose string on his shirt. "Then the three of you showed up couple months later. Scared the fuckin' shit outta me, but none of you seemed to recognize me."

"Because we never saw you," you said, and he nodded.

"I didn't speak to you for over a month. I was so scared you'd recognize my voice or somethin', but I just couldn't stay away from you," he said, his eyes softening now. "Then that night at the bar happened. When you came up to me and-"

"Yeah, I remember what you told me," you replied, not eager to relive that story at the moment.

"Then the rest is history. We started messin' around. You didn't know who I was for a few months, then I finally told you."

"After you were already fucking me," you said coldly, and he winced.

"After I fell in love with you."

You sat back and rubbed your eyes. You had so many questions. What was your reaction when you first learned who he was? If you stuck around, you must have seen something in Joel that made you feel safe. Why did he spare you? Was it only because you couldn't identify him? And how much did Ellie know?

"Please say somethin'," he begged after a few tense, quiet minutes.

"What do you want me to say?" you asked him, your shoulders sagging forward, limbs too heavy. "You want me to forgive you? You want me to say I understand?" He shook his head but you kept talking.

"You spared my life just to break my heart."

He turned away from you as his face crumpled. "I'm gonna fix it," he said, his throat tight and voice thick as he fought off the tears that were threatening to spill down his face. "I'm gonna make it right, if you just-"

"Can you go, please?" you asked quietly, "I have nothing else to say and I'm fucking tired."

He looked over at you but you refused to look up, your puffy eyes fixed blankly on the floor. His gaze drifted to the bag and clothes littering your bed and he asked, "Are you stayin'?"

You didn't answer. You just slowly stood up and flung your comforter back, some of your clothes falling into a heap on the floor but you didn't care as you crawled into bed and turned your back to him.

Begrudgingly, he stood. His eyes flicked around your room nervously, his fingers fidgeting at his sides while he chewed on the inside of his cheek, struggling to come up with the right words to say.

"Go!" you sobbed from underneath your blankets, hiding from him the tears that were soaking your sheets.

So, he left. Not because he wanted to, but because he caused you enough agony for one night, and as much as he wanted to stay and beg on his knees for forgiveness, it would be the selfish thing to do. Instead, he went to his bed and stared at the ceiling, barely sleeping the entire night because his body jerked awake at every little creak the old house made, wondering when he woke up, if you would be gone for good.

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A/N: Yes, there will be a happy ending 😘

[mariasont]

Okay , so a smutty Spencer x reader fic where is very alternative with tattoos and piercings. Maybe she works with the team as an entomologist or something idk BUT she always wears her contacts and one day she comes in thick black frame glasses. Spencer goes feral, he's never seen her in glasses before and he just kinda drags her into a hall closet and just "keep the glasses on" there's a lot of fanfics about the reader going feral seeing Spencer in glasses for the first time but what if it was reversed.

Framed Fascination

A/N: omggggg i loved writing this, you just know spencer would sooo be a sucker for a woman with tats and piercings, so canon

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING xoxo

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x alt!fem!reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni, glasses kink, praise, p in v, dirty talk, degrading sort of, office sex

wc: 2k

When you began dating Spencer, it raised a few eyebrows. Spencer Reid--reserved, a bit awkward, and endlessly knowledgeable--had ended up with someone who they thought was his complete opposite. And to that he would always say, "while the prevailing research suggests similarity is more common in relationships, there's an interesting phenomenon where sometimes, the very things that differ between two people can create a complementary dynamic, much like how two puzzle pieces with different notches fit."

At times, you would point out your differences solely to prompt this response. But, in truth, aside from your outward styles, you shared more similarities than not. Your tattoos and piercings were the first details Spencer noticed and quickly became his favorite as you strode into the morgue on a particularly demanding case. You were immersed in explaining how arsenic disrupted the body's functions, but Spencer was lost in the visual narrative of your ink, his gaze lingering on every etched symbol and shaded figure. From that moment, he was wholly engrossed, and vowed to eventually explore all the unseen tattoos that your clothes kept from view.

Spencer may have had the whole 'nerdy boy-next-door' aesthetic down to a science, but you? You took pride in being called 'intimidating', knowing it was just a first impression. You knew that beneath that surface lay as Spencer would say, 'a cinnamon roll'. Spencer seemed to see through it from the beginning, which is why he didn't hesitate to ask you out as soon as the case closed.

In the span of eight months, your life had been transformed into its healthiest chapter with Spencer as the culprit. He filled every day with thoughtful gesture--surprise art museum dates, breakfast in bed, flowers that would mysteriously find their way to your desk, notes you'd find tucked inside your coat pockets. In fact, if you had seen it in a cheesy rom-com, he probably had done it. You had been tackling each day with a little spring in your step.

Just like today--you bounded into your office humming—you were humming as you went over paperwork. Tasked with consulting for the consumer safety department, your focus was zeroed in on the pervasive issue of phthalates creeping into beauty products. You adjusted the unfamiliar weight of the thick black frames perched on your nose--an odd sensation since you habitually opted for contacts--as your eyes dragged over the papers.

The hum of the fax machine broke the silence, and you swiveled in your chair, a smile dawning as you recognized the documents from last week's BAU case--giving you a chance to steal a moment with your boyfriend.

Paperwork in hand, you made your way to the BAU office, the click of your heels on marble floors keeping time with your quickening pulse. The bullpen was a whirlwind of activity as you greeted Morgan and Prentiss with a nod and smile, your gaze sweeping through the room until it landed on him. 

"Hi there, handsome," you greeted with a playful lilt in your voice, your fingers rapping gently against the wood of his desk.

"Hi, sweetheart--," he began, but his words trailed off as his eyes met yours. There was a pause, a momentary lapse in his ever-flowing stream of thoughts, as he took in the sight of you.

Glasses? He couldn't recall you ever wearing glasses, yet there they were, and the effect was undeniable. The sight sent a wave of unexpected thrill through him--a visceral reaction that left him speechless, his lips parting in awe. 

Spencer's throat cleared, a subtle sound amid the bullpen's activity. His gaze flickered around the room, a silent plea that his colleagues were too engrossed in their work to notice the way he practically undressed you with his eyes. "Since when do you wear glasses?"

"Since I nearly scratched my eye out trying to get my contacts in this morning," you said with a laugh, though the action of straightening your glasses was more of a nervous tic.

His stare was unyielding--intense and almost piercing. It unsettled you slightly as you studied his expression, your head tilting inquisitively as he said nothing else. 

"Well, uh, anyway I have to drop this off to Hotch," you murmured, your voice trailing off as you felt the weight of Spencer's penetrating gaze. 

You lingered for a heartbeat too long, hoping for a word, a smile--anything. But nothing came. With a shaky breath, you turned away, hands trembling ever so slightly as you handed the paperwork to Hotch. You whisked yourself back to the comfort of your office. The was weird, right? I mean, sure, Spencer had never been one for being overly affectionate in public, but he at least had more to say than that.

You pushed the nagging doubts to the back of your mind, focusing on the monotony data and figures that sprawled across your reports. He was probably just having a bad day, too maybe theoretical thoughts brewing in the beautiful mind of his.

The hours crawled by, each minute punctuated by the drone of the office--uninteresting reports, pesky coworkers, and the persistent buzz of thoughts circling back to Spencer. When it was an appropriate time to take your lunch, you pushed your laptop aside with a little too much eagerness, hands diving into your bag for your food. 

But before you could do that, a soft interruption at the door caught your attention. Your head snapped up, meeting Spencer's gaze as he leaned causally against the frame of the door.

He stood there, watching as you glanced up at him, the rims of your glasses framing your eyes in a way that made an involuntary shiver down his spine, his gaze lingering on your face. You appeared tired, yes, but the image of you like this had been imprinted on his mind all day, rendering his work secondary to the thought of seeing you again. 

"Spence, hi," you greeted, a sweet smile blooming on your lips as you peered up at him. Your brows knit together slightly; his visits were rare unless case-related. "I was just about to take my lunch, wanna join?"

"No," he replied with a swift shake of his head, the corners of his mouth twitching into a knowing smirk. "Could I borrow you for a second?"

Your gaze returned to the lunch that lay before you, untouched and suddenly unappealing. Letting out a small sigh, you nodded. "Sure," you replied, still trying to piece together Spencer's odd behavior today.

He tilted his head back subtly, a silent cue for you to follow him. You obliged without hesitation, following after him, your steps echoing his through the hallway. Your confusion mounted, etched into the deepening furrow of your brows with each corner turned. 

"Spencer," you said, a giggle escaping your lips. "I trust you're not taking me down some ominous hallway to meet my untimely end?"

"Actually, it is an interesting fact that the majority people meet their 'untimely end' at the hands of someone they love." 

"Great, thank you for that, I think that's my cue," you joked, pivoting away in an attempt to make a dramatic exit. But Spencer's reflexes were quick, his grasp secure on your wrist as he steered you into the nearest supply closet. The small space muffled your surprised oomph as you nearly collided with a stack of supplies.

You stumbled into the warmth of his chest, your glasses skewing comically as you steadied them with a fingertip. "Spencer! What has gotten into you?"

"You," came his growl, rough and urgent, while his hands frantically sought your legs, pinning you against the wall.

A soft moan slipped through the surprise of parted lips as his lips found yours. Your fingers tangled in the soft locks of his hair, pulling him closer, your mouth meeting his with the same intensity. 

Your laughter mingles with the kiss as you pull back, lips brushing. "Not that I'm complaining, Agent Reid, but someone is definitely going to catch us."

His eyes meet yours, equally amused as he pins your hands over your head. He makes quick work of open-mouthed kisses on your neck, your body instantly melting into his as his teeth scrape along your sweet spot. "Don't care."

His lips trailed back to yours, his fingers fumbling to push your skirt up to your stomach. You let out a surprised gasp into his mouth, finding the sudden intensity of him incredibly hot. He pressed his thumb into your clit as you dug your fingers into the nape of his neck, your head lolling back as you all but thrusted into his hand. The room swirled with heat, your glasses misting up. You reached for the pesky frames, but his fingers intercepted, pining them against your chest.

"Those stay on, sweetheart." The words tickled your ear, intimate and close, as his fingers traced through your slick folds, coaxing a contented pant from you.

"That's what's got you all worked up, Spence?" You moaned out as his fingers glided over your skin, now slick, drawing a line of warmth up your body. 

He settled his thumb on your tongue, shutting you up as he grabbed a handful of your ass. You wrapped your lips around it, savoring the taste as your eyes locked with his over the foggy veil of your glasses. His gaze held a quiet pride as he smirked. 

"Drove me crazy seeing you like that this morning." He said as he ground his body into yours, his erection settling on your stomach. "Makes you look so fuckable. Couldn't focus on anything else."

Your mouth vibrated softly around his thumb, muffled as he drew it away with pop. He makes quick work of undoing his belt, shoving down his pants and boxers just enough to release his length.

Your mouth watered at the sight, your body instinctively lowering to your knees, but his hand was there stopping you with a firm, "No time."

He pinned your shoulders to the wall with his body, his mouth crashing with yours with desperate need. Your mouth fell open into his as you felt his length press into your opening, his fingers holding your panties aside.

"You feel so good, sweetheart."

You don't think you would ever get over the feeling of him inside you, the way he stretched you out just right. You let out an unrestrained moan as he proceeded to pump inside you, his movements ruthless.

His palm sealed over your lips, a sudden barrier that sent warmth spreading across your face, glasses clouding rapidly, obscuring your view. "Quiet, baby. You want everyone to know how much of a slut you are for me? Letting me fuck you in the office?"

You all but sobbed against his palm, your hands fisting the material of his sweater as he continued to abuse your pussy with deep strokes.

"Sp-Spence, please baby," you managed to breathe out as he released his hold on your mouth, grinding against him in an attempt at friction with your sensitive clit.

"What do you need, sweetheart?" He questioned, almost condescendingly as his fingers traced your cheek gently, a stark contrast to the way he pounded into you. "Need me to take care of you?"

"Please," you choked out.

"You're so good for me, baby." He said, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier as he pressed his thumb to the part of you that ached most. You let out a sob of relief as you ground against his movements, the familiar coil in your stomach beginning to wind up as you clutched at Spencer's face.

"Spencer, shit, 'm so close," you babbled, tears welling in your eyes as each of his thrusts seemed to urge the ache.

"Go ahead, baby." He moaned as his you felt his thighs twitch against you. "Come on my cock, sweet girl."

His words were all you needed to push you off the edge, your back arching against the wall as your legs shook, threatening to collapse as a wave of pleasure washed over you. He came shortly after you, his form yielding to gravity as his head nestled into the crook of your shoulder, both of you panting softly as you tried to catch your breath.

After savoring a few heartbeats of content, he gently disentangled himself from you. His fingers deftly rearranging your skirt, with a touch so soft, so different from his demeanor two minutes ago. 

"Guess I need to wear the glasses more often, huh?"

A soft laughter bubbled up from him, his fingers lightly grazing under your eyes, brushing away the stray smudges of makeup. "Please do."

[kamiversee]

˗ˏˋ My Love Note ´ˎ˗

8 | for you to say

❧ Synopsis | In which Choso Kamo, your asshole of a best friend, starts to change after you get involved with a rather cheeky cashier, Gojo Satoru.

❧ Content | language, fluff, tension, lesbo vibes (heh), etc.

❧ Word Count | 5k

❧ Pairings | Choso Kamo x f!reader & Gojo Satoru x f!reader.

| Chapters mlist |

——Here’s the thing, you can go a decently long time without even laying a finger on Choso. Yet when it comes to the man in question touching you or feeling the need to, things are quite different.

Speaking of different, everything is different after that night you spent with Choso.

For starters, you do everything in your power to avoid Gojo at all costs. It’s not that you didn’t want to see the guy or anything but, every time you ran into him, his hands would be all over you and he’s such an attentive man that when your body is covered with hickeys your best friend left on you– it’s hard to manage properly without being caught and questioned.

As such, things become a bit of a battle between who gets your attention more. At home, you’d run into Choso and he was all over you within seconds, snaking his arms around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like it’s the only thing keeping him sane, and planting these needy little kisses against your skin.

Then there was Gojo who was basically the same except you had to deal with him whenever you were out. You couldn’t really avoid him on campus because he seemed to be everywhere and whenever he saw you, he’d drag you off to the nearest secluded place, and then his lips were on yours before you even realized. And with Gojo, it’s hard because it almost feels right to kiss and make out with him.

Gojo is truly indescribable for you. Being around him just gives you this entirely different feeling in your chest in comparison to other people you’ve been around. And although deep down you kinda disliked how whenever you were around him things started to always lead to the same thing– his lips on yours, his hands exploring your body, etc… you can’t say you hated it.

It was rather excessive though. Whether it be in that cafe storage room, his car, his apartment, your place (when Choso wasn’t home), or anywhere else, things with Gojo always resulted in him touching and kissing you.

Then, the thing with Choso is that it all felt so wrong in contrast to things feeling ‘right’ with Gojo– and in the weirdest way, it was like a good kinda wrong. You didn’t hate his touches or his kisses either but it made your body burn with guilt. Even so, it’s not like you ever pushed either of the men off of you. 

And on top of that, only Choso was aware of the fact that you were basically switching back and forth between him and Gojo but, he didn’t seem to care.

Sure, he said slick shit like, “Think he would be mad if he knew you let me do this?” while having you pinned to the living room couch, grinding his semi-hard cock down against you instead of finishing the movie you two were supposed to be watching but, what can you say? Choso has a weird way of seducing you.

It’s all in the way he teases and taunts you, the way he’ll piss you off just to ‘make up’ for it with a sensual hug and an ‘apologetic’ kiss– all of which always leads to something more. Never sex though.

You took that one morning with Gojo as a warning. Perhaps the universe had been trying to tell you something at the time and whatever it was, you weren’t going to ignore that sign and go and sleep with Choso again. Yeah, you and Choso make out and you let him dry hump you every now and then but you always find some sort of excuse to make him stop (or just tell him to stop and he does).

Choso doesn’t question it either. It’s like he was satisfied with the fact that he could even get you to the point where you had to tell him you couldn’t sleep with him. He seemed content with his privilege of kissing you alone, knowing that every time you go out to hang with Gojo, you’re probably still thinking of him since it all makes you feel guilty.

It’s a bit fucked up, sure, but Choso doesn’t care one bit. Whatever the two of you had going on, he liked it and didn’t want it to end. You could go out and do the same with anyone else but it didn’t matter, Choso knows you’ll still come home to him at the end of the day.

A real problem only came about when the relationship between you and Gojo finally progressed. 

· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·

October had rolled around and whatever you had going on between the two guys was still happening. Somedays you let Choso be all over you and other days you let Gojo be the lucky guy. Then there were days where you just didn’t want either of them all over you but still, you were switching from guy to guy and you couldn’t really escape that fact.

Now, the month of October is a particularly important month to this story because that’s the month when you finally decide to start putting your foot down with Choso. No, you didn’t completely stop letting him flirt with you and touch on you but things would only go so far.

To put things in perspective, you hadn’t had sex since that night with Choso. It was almost like you couldn’t. You had opportunities to do so with either of the guys at any point but with Gojo, there was always a hickey on you that you didn’t want him to see, and with Choso, you didn’t want your guilt of it all to consume you even more than it already was.

You juggled all this rather well up until the end of that fall month, or, more specifically, up until the day before Halloween.

It was yet another Friday afternoon and you and Gojo were currently seated inside that lovely cafe he works at. The establishment was rather lively but Gojo was taking his break and in doing so, he decided to sit with you while you study on your laptop for some test you have.

There wasn’t much talking between the two of you at the moment but neither of you minded the lack of speech, it was comforting to simply be in one another’s presence. Given that, Gojo was pretty occupied on his phone since the last time he’d said something to you, tapping away at his screen just as you were on your laptop up until he glanced up at you with that little glint in his eyes.

You barely get the chance to acknowledge his gaze on you before his mouth was opening, “Hey, are you busy tomorrow?” Gojo questions as he clicks his phone off and places it down, leaning in a bit to really gain your attention.

You’re slow to lift your eyes from your laptop and to his face but when you’re finally looking at him, he smiles at you. “Uhm, I don’t think so, no. Why? You wanna do something?” You reply and quiz in return before sitting back in your seat.

The sudden conversation was a perfect distraction from the draining schoolwork in front of you so you were silently thanking Gojo for talking again, even though his rambling does get on your nerves from time to time. “Yeah, actually. There’s this party tomorrow, wanna go with me?” He offers.

Brows lifting in curiosity, you reach for your nearby latte and question the man further, “Isn’t tomorrow Halloween?”

“It is,” Gojo nods as he moves to rest his cheek against his knuckles.

You’re quick to put two and two together, “So, is it a Halloween party?”

“Yeah, a costume party,” A smile spreads across his face and you can tell he’s clearly excited about this.

“Ohh, sounds fun!” You exclaim. Gojo watches the way your eyes light up whilst you begin to ramble on a bit from there, “I can’t really remember the last time I went to a party buuut dressing up and dancing for a few hours with you doesn’t sound so bad.”

Almost in awe, his smile deepens and those dimples of his begin to present themself, “Yeah?”

You nod, “Mhm, what’re you gonna go as?”

“Not sure yet,” Gojo shrugs and his eyes fall on your lips wrapping around your straw as you take a sip of your drink, “I was gonna go shoppin’ tomorrow for somethin’.” He hums casually with little to no attempt to avert his gaze.

Nodding again, you swallow your small sip and swipe your tongue across your lips, “The chances of you finding anything good on Halloween night is really slim, y’know that right?”

He can’t help but smirk before lifting his gaze to your eyes, “Nahh, I have my ways.”

“Uhuh…” You muse skeptically, “Well, I don’t know if I’ll be able to find anything decent so-”

“We can go costume shopping together, silly girl.” He interrupts.

A smirk plays against your lips, “Y’know Satoru, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a thing for spoiling me…”

Gojo is quick to laugh at that, “Huuuh?” He breathes out dramatically, “What on earth makes you say that?”

“When you invited me to that gala, you offered to buy me something to wear then too,” You remind him, narrowing your eyes ever so slightly as you both smile at one another.

“Okay, perhaps I like buyin’ you things,” As he says that, he goes to elaborate a little more– explaining how he likes seeing the way a woman’s eyes light up whenever they’re given the opportunity to having things purchased for them. And when it comes to you specifically, Gojo is more than happy to buy you anything you could ever think of. 

You steadily move to shut your laptop and focus yourself on the small talk with Gojo, happily listening to him go on about how much he’d love to watch you try on different outfits for him. 

As the conversation carries on, you soon begin to think back to the start of the talk– the Halloween party. “Okay so, who’s party even is this?” You ask once the laughter from whatever Gojo’s last silly comment was dies down.

His brows raise a bit, “Uhhh, that’s a good question actually.”

You scoff, “You don’t even know who’s hosting the party you planned on attending?”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal and glances away in thought, “Nono, I know whose party it is, I jus’ forgot her name.” Gojo explains, his eyes steadily landing on something somewhere behind you, “I think it was-”

“Hori!” Some voice shouts not too far behind where you and Gojo are seated, “Please, shut up about the guy for just one second.”

Naturally, given Gojo’s lack of finishing his statement and the way his eyes are locked on something behind you, your first instinct is to turn back to the source of the voice and person in question– Hori.

Once your eyes land on what he’d been looking at, you spot two women walking toward the rather long line at the register, your eyes quickly moving to study the faces of the two individuals.

Blonde hair is the first thing you notice, accompanied by the prettiest doe-brown eyes (second to Choso’s when he’s pleading for something from you) you think you’ve ever seen. You almost couldn’t take your eyes off the woman despite her looks being rather generic. Perhaps it was the amount of pink she was wearing or the picture-perfect smile plastered across her face but either way, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away just yet.

Next to her was a, noticeably short, woman with deep violet-shaded long hair, bangs, and a large unique scar running across her face. Now she was gorgeous. She had this pretty bow accessorizing the back of her hair, was noticeably stylish, and-, well, despite the frown on her face, she was quite the sight for sore eyes.

Your heart practically thumps out of your chest when you and her meet eyes from across the cafe for a mere moment.

“Utahime please, jus’ hear me out for a second longerrr,” The blonde exclaims in an attempt to gain her friend’s attention once more, “He hasn’t texted me back in like, three days but-, I’m telling you he’s interested in me!”

The darker-haired woman, who you now mentally note as Utahime, shakes her head in disapproval, “Guys are really simple, y’know. If he hasn’t texted you in three days, he’s probably not as interested in you as you think he is.”

“But he is,” Hori whines, “I was even with him the other day trying to get him to come to my party, and he-”

“That’s her,” Gojo suddenly says to you, breaking you away from your eavesdropping and earning a turn of your head. The rest of that bubbly blonde’s sentence goes unheard as your attention is set back on the man in front of you.

You blink, “Which one?”

Gojo’s expression seems dimmer than it was moments before, “The loud blonde one, Hori,” He explains with a nod of his chin toward her.

“Oh,” You hum in response.

Something about that name seemed familiar but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it just yet. Hori. Where had you heard that name before? It feels like you should know who she is but you’ve never even seen the girl ‘til now so-

All at once, it hits you. Hori, the name of the woman who’d texted Choso that one morning. She’s the same person you think Choso’s been hanging out with a couple of times lately. 

You spend a moment longer thinking about her and how small of a world you seem to live in with the way everyone’s connected up until the sound of your name slips from someone’s lips. Blinking out of your thoughts, you’re quick to glance back yet again and listen in on the person who’d just uttered your name.

“That’s her name right? That one girl he’s always walking around with??” Hori asks Utahime blindly, having not noticed you sitting not that far away from where they’re standing in line.

Utahime groans, “Could you be any louder,” She huffs before nudging her ignorant friend on the arm.

Hori blinks, “Wha-” She’s cut off by Utahime nodding her head in your direction, “Ohhh!” 

“Idiot,” Utahime sighs and then glances at you, meeting your gaze for yet a second time and making you swallow thickly.

Her stare is unwavering, as if making eye contact with you doesn’t bother her in the slightest. Meanwhile, you’re quick to revert your eyes back to Gojo and whatever he’s saying to you.

Despite your eyes on him, your ears can’t help but twitch as you continue listening in on the conversation taking place between Hori and Utahime, “Damnit, she’s even prettier than I thought she was,” Hori mumbles to herself.

Utahime shrugs, “Bit of an understatement but, alright.”

Looking to her friend, Hori tilts her head, “Huh? What do you mean ‘understatement’?”

“I mean,” Utahime clicks her tongue, “She’s kinda h-”

“Oh my God, wait, is that Gojo with her?!” Hori interrupts rather loudly as her feet move seconds later and she begins to approach the two of you.

Left alone, Utahime groans while she keeps her place in line and watches her friend skip over to you and Gojo.

“Gojo! Hi!” Hori greets as she stands to your right and Gojo’s left, smiling brightly at the man.

You move to quietly sip on your latte as your eyes travel back and forth between the two– noticing that the normal sparkle in Gojo’s eyes is gone completely.

“Hey,” He hums, his voice filled with a clear disinterest in wherever the conversation was going.

Hori is so clearly oblivious to his soured mood due to her presence because her smile only widens, “You never answered my text,” She says casually before tilting her head, “Are you coming to my party tomorrow or not?”

“Uh,” Gojo breathes out, glancing at you, “That depends.”

The woman raises a brow and slowly follows his gaze to you, making you stiffen as all the attention lands on you. You gulp, “D-Depends on what?” You ask, confused as to why he’s staring at you like he needs your permission or something.

He doesn’t move his eyes from yours for even a second, “Are you gonna come with me?”

You never really answered him earlier, although it was implied so, you just shrug, “I dunno,” Your eyes flicker over to Hori, “Am I invited?”

Hori just stares at you for a moment, her eyes all over your face and the way you’re staring up at her. You can’t really tell what she’s thinking since she has this airhead look on her face so your brows furrow after a moment of no response.

To which you lean a bit closer and blink a few times, making her snap out of her little daze, “Y-Yeah, of course! Anyone can come-, sorry. I just-,” She smiles and looks down for a moment, “You’re really pretty.”

Your heart warms in your chest at the sudden compliment and you’re quick to return a smile, “Aw, thank you.”

She lifts her gaze from the floor and then brings her hand up a bit to fidget with her nails, “No problem. And uh, are you friends with Choso Kamo?”

You arch a brow at the mention of your best friend, “Yeah, why?”

“Well… I was actually wondering if you could uhh..” She trails off as if she’s nervous to ask her question.

“She wants you to convince Choso to come to her party,” The sound of Utahime’s voice startles you a bit and your eyes are quick to snap over to the woman who now has two drinks in her hand. Even up close, it’s like she only got more attractive, a waft of her floral perfume simmering into your nose as she stands beside her friend, “You’re the one he’s always with, right?” Utahime asks you.

All you can do is hum, “Mhm..”

She openly allows her eyes to trail up and down your seated figure, “I can see why he won’t shut up about you.”

Alarms go off in your head at the sound of that and your brows twist up, your lips parting to say something, only to be cut off by Hori turning to her friend, “Wait what? You talk to him?!”

Utahime shrugs like it’s no big deal and hands the blonde one of the drinks in her hand, “Uhuh, I have like three classes with the guy.”

Dropping her jaw dramatically, Hori gasps, “You never told me that.”

“You never asked,” Utahime chuckles.

“But-”

“Anyway though,” Dark brown eyes focus on you once again and Utahime grins kindly, “Think you can do her a favor and convince him to come?”

You smile, “Mind if I ask why?”

Utahime sighs and her explanation sounds almost as if she were pleading with you, “Cause’ this girl won’t shut up about him ‘nd I’m so tired of hearing her complain.”

At that, you chuckle. In the strangest way, she and Hori remind you of you and Choso. “Then yeah, I’ll try. But, fair warning, he doesn’t like listening to me so…”

She shrugs, “Trying is good enough for me, thanks.”

You nod and the two of you hold eye contact for a moment longer than normal, to which Gojo clears his throat obnoxiously and earns the attention of the three of you, “Ahem, if you two don’t mind,” He huffs, sizing Hori up and down and then glancing to Utahime, “We were in the middle of talking before you guys came over here.”

He’s so clearly bothered by their presence but his distaste toward them goes entirely over Hori’s head as she opens her mouth to say something to keep the conversation going.

Luckily for Gojo, Utahime hooks an arm around her friend and speaks before she gets the chance to, “Sorry for interrupting you two. We’ll see you guys tomorrow,” She dismisses, moving to drag Hori away from you guys.

Hori tries to pull away but it’s no use, “H-Hey! I still wanted to-”

“Read the room,” Utahime huffs as she drags her away and toward the exit of the cafe.

You laugh softly at their dynamic as you watch them walk off, your eyes lingering on the two for way longer than they should’ve been. Up until Gojo groaning catches your attention once more…

“She’s so fucking annoying,” He breathes out, folding his arms over the table and dropping his head down.

You turn your head to him, “Which one?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He mumbles, his voice muffled by his hoodie, “Hori.”

His antics make you giggle, “Then why’re you goin’ to her party?”

Gojo sighs, “”Cause, unfortunately, she throws the best parties.”

“Does she now?”

“Yeah, me ‘nd Suguru have been to a few.”

You nod, “Oh…”

Gojo shifts the way he has his head so that he can look up at you, “Mhm.”

Only his eyes are peeking out from his folded arms and he does nothing more than gaze at you for a while. At the angle he’s looking at you from, it reminds you of when he was in between your legs with his mouth latched to your cunt. Gojo’s so pretty it’s almost unfair. He just stares at you with those diamond-blue eyes of his, the little twinkle in his irises returning as he admires you.

You can’t help but smile after a minute or two, tilting your head and trying to ignore the way his unwavering gaze makes you self-conscious, “What?”

It’s slow but, Gojo lifts his head from his arms and raises a hand up to your face, taking your chin in between his thumb and index and pulling your face a bit closer to his. Then, his eyes slip down to your mouth and he slides his thumb up to trace the outline of your lower lip.

Your eyes wander elsewhere to see if anyone is paying attention to his sudden public display of affection– he doesn’t usually act like this when there’s people around so it was kinda strange for him to-

“I wanna kiss you,” Gojo voices out to you.

Your gaze is quick to return to him and you smile against his thumb, “Something stopping you?”

He lifts your chin slightly and then weighs his thumb on your lower lip, dragging it down and revealing your bottom row of teeth. “Yeah,” He whispers, “If I kiss you now I’ll only want more of you.”

Gojo lets his thumb slide off of your lip completely just to watch the way it falls back into place perfectly. 

You then smile, “And what’s wrong with that?”

“I gotta get back to work in a few minutes,” He reminds you as he draws his hand away from your face entirely.

“Riiight-”

“Plus, you’ve been cockblocking me lately so uh,” Gojo shrugs before slumping back into his seat and lifting his arms up into the air to stretch.

You scoff, “I have not.”

He laughs, “You have. Jus’ last week when we were in my room, your excuse was that you had to get home to finish some paper…”

“It was due in an hour!” You exclaim, smiling at the man.

Gojo tilts his head, “Coulda’ finished it while I ate you out or something.”

You roll your eyes, “I wouldn’t have been able to focus, Satoru.”

“Yeah you would’ve,” He argues.

“No, I wouldn’t have,” You refute in return.

“I mean,” His shoulders lift into a casual shrug, “We can always test that theory tonight.”

Your voice falls flat, “No.”

Gojo tosses his head back and groans dramatically, “Seeee? Cockblocking me again.”

“You’re being dramatic, no I’m not.”

“Y’know what, you’re right,” He huffs.

“I know I’m right-”

“I can jus’ go find someone else to satisfy my needs.”

You choke, a cough escaping your throat as your words fall from your lips in a stammer, “W-What?”

Gojo raises a brow and looks at you, “You heard me. I’ll go find someone else to sleep with,” He repeats, biting back a smirk, “There are plenty of women I’ve been rejecting for you.”

Those words give you this weird feeling in your chest. You couldn’t help but feel some type of way at the mere thought of Gojo being with someone else. And yes, you are well aware of how hypocritical that is but, in that moment you couldn’t care less.

“I mean, hey, if you go sleep with someone else, I’ll jus’ go fuck Choso,” You blurt out faster than you had time to think.

Tension fills the air in an instant and you probably shouldn't have said that but by the time you realize, the words were already floating in the air and echoing in Gojo’s mind.

The male noticeably freezes, “What?” He asks as his face shifts to a scowl.

You swallow but try to stand your ground, “...I said what I said.”

It’s quiet for a second until Gojo laughs, clearly annoyed, “You won’t.” He hums lowly, eyes darkening as they settle on yours.

Matching his energy completely, you fold your arms, “Are you testing me?”

Gojo glares at you, “No, sweetheart. I dare you to.”

Your lips part to say the words ‘I already did’ but you’re thankfully cut off by someone chiming in.

“You could always sleep with me, sweet thing,” Shoko suddenly chimes in, attempting to lighten the mood and revealing the fact that she’s been listening in on your conversation.

Both you and Gojo look over at her and she smiles innocently at you, “No? Hah, alright then, my bad..”

With a sigh, you shake your head and then move to grab your laptop and bag on the nearby floor. Gojo returns his attention to you and your sudden movements. He eyes your facial expression down, noticing the pinch of your brows and the clear annoyance etched onto your face.

He can’t help but smirk at the realization you’d grown jealous of something he hadn’t even done yet. “You mad?” He hums almost provokingly.

You pause in your movements and send him a blank look, “No.”

Gojo tilts his head, “You look mad.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You groan, “I’m going to be if you keep saying stupid shit,” You huff as you swipe your bag up and slip your laptop inside, moving to stand to your feet and zip your bag closed.

Then, you’re quick to toss the bag over your shoulder and turn. Gojo stands when you do, quickly stepping to your side of the table and planting himself right in front of you before you even get the chance to walk away.

All you can do is sigh and look past him, “Move.”

“Why’re you upset?” Gojo asks.

“I’m not.”

He rolls his eyes, “You’re a terrible liar, sweets. Talk to me, what’s wrong?”

Slowly, your eyes trail up to his face, “Nothing.”

He puts this little pout on his face and leans closer to you, “I was just jokin’, y’know…” Then, Gojo reaches for one of your hands and brings it up to his face, planting a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “I only want you.”

The combination of his soft-spoken words, the intimate eye contact, and his gestures make your heart throb.

“I’m serious,” Gojo continues, “I know we’re not dating or anything but, I’m not interested in anyone else aside from you. I only said that to mess with ya’.”

“Prove it,” Leaves your lips faster than a thought forms and it makes Gojo halt.

He blinks, “Prove it how?”

You shrug, “I dunno, jus’ prove it.”

At that, he lets out a little hum before dropping your hand. Then, he moves to place his hand on the back of your neck, pulling you in close and leaning in to kiss you. Your lashes flutter shut as his lips soon press into yours.

Gojo’s lips are gentle against yours and you slowly realize this is his first time kissing you in public like this. Normally, he pulls you off to the side where barely anyone can see you two but right now he was kissing you in the middle of the cafe he works at like it was nothing.

His lips steadily detach from yours and his voice is quiet in a whisper, “I only want you,” Gojo repeats.

You can’t help but bat your lashes at the man for a moment, relishing in the feeling of his lips having been on yours in public. Oh, you felt like you could dissipate into thin air with the way that just made you feel.

Grinning, you shrug, “I’m sorry about what I said.”

Gojo shakes his head, “Don’t be, I was the one tryin’ to provoke you anyway.”

All at once, you’re reminded why your feelings for the man began to develop in the first place. Everything in the way he touches you, looks at you, understands where and when he’s wrong, every interaction, and literally his entire being gave you butterflies and throbs in your heart you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Gojo leans in to give you one more peck and when he pulls away, he smirks, “Plus, you wouldn’t do that anyway, right?”

You give him a dumbfounded look.

“…Sleep with him, I mean,” Gojo clarifies.

To which you clear your throat, “Oh… No, I’m uh, I’m not interested in Choso so…” You shrug, “And he’s an asshole who gets on my nerves.”

Those blue eyes linger on you for a moment longer than necessary and you almost feel like he’s studying you closely…

But, after a second he nods and pulls away from you.You really shouldn’t have ever mentioned sleeping with Choso, even if it were only to get back at what he said to you. It only led to you lying to him and that made your chest burn with guilt all over again. You hated lying like that but the truth would’ve only ruined whatever it is you had going for you thus far so… for now, you’ll avoid telling him about it.

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[pedgito]

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐘 — one: beginnings | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

chapter summary | You're dead weight, a burden on Joel's shoulders after the death of his daughter and the collapse of the world. But, if there's one person to challenge him, it was you.

author's note | this spurred from jo (@undercoverpena) and i, a conversation over kinks and wanting to explore them in separate chapters but somehow create a cohesive story and here we are. she spun for me and gave me a collection of beautiful kinks to try out. this is going to be BIG one for me, so if you plan on staying along for this ride, i love you so much.

chapter warnings | 18+, early outbreak, age gap (early 20s, mid 30s), canon character de*th, canon typical violence, m*rder tw, morally grey!joel with trust issues, tommy is buffer, use of weapons, weapon training, unjust decision making, reader is such a nuisance to joel, sex as a distraction, joel is so emotionally stunted he can't help it, awkward aftercare

word count —6k

SERIES MASTERLIST, PLAYLIST, AO3

You’ve never seen so much blood.

His shirt was soaked to his neck, expression blank and void as Tommy rounded the truck to open the door—it wasn’t the same one you’ve seen pull into their driveway for years now. It was new, unfamiliar. Joel’s weighed down, his arms straining as he heaves whatever he’s holding up in his arms, finally coming from around the door and into view. Her curls fell first, body limp in Joel’s arm as he held her close–it was Sarah. Little Sarah who you would babysit in high school for extra cash when the Miller brothers had to work a few extra jobs to pay the bills, little Sarah who always had the biggest smile on her face. Not so little anymore, years gone and passed as you graduated and went off to work some dead-end job to stay afloat in hopes that you could attempt to pay a college tuition.

But, that all seemed futile now. 

It was late September when the world ended—Joel’s birthday, you’d know that from the fact Sarah had mentioned it to you that morning as she checked the mail that Joel had forgotten from the day before. A normal day for you, for everyone else. But, for Sarah and many others, it was their last.

The neighborhood was quiet now, the hoard of freshly turned infected heading for the inner city and toward the noise, like one singular hivemind following a predetermined path. 

And your parents—they weren’t even here. They had left for vacation a week prior, spending the next two weeks out of the country, celebrating their anniversary far away from responsibility and the barrage of news from all over the world. But, they would come back to nothing. You couldn’t stay, you couldn’t wait around—it would get you killed; starvation, lack of resources, it would only get you so far. 

The infection was worldwide, incurable—it was the last thing you heard before the satellite on your television cut out, snuffing out any last bit of hope you had left.

In the midst of Joel’s mindless walk to the front door of his home, Tommy glances over his shoulder to survey, likely for more infected. But, he spots you.

His eyes squint slightly, like he’s seeing a vision of you. They widen as he realizes you’re real, you here—you were shaking, arms crossed over your chest and your fingers digging into your biceps as you hid by the shadow of your door.

Tommy knows that look, your eyes go wide but soften as he approaches. 

You can’t say you’ve held a conversation longer than five minutes with either of them, even after living next to them most of your life, but his hands are held up as he approaches and carefully, almost as if you were going to scurry away like a feral cat.

“You alright, honey?” His voice is quiet, a hushed whisper as he comes closer and stops a few inches, peering inside of your house and finding it empty, “Are they—did they—”

He looks over at you wearily and your fingers dig into your skin, peering over his shoulder and staring at the open door, Joel no longer in sight, “They left on a trip and I—I don’t,” You sigh through your nose, closing your eyes to blink away the stinging tears, “They’re dead either way, aren’t they?”

He doesn’t answer, but his hand reaches around to rub at your back and you fall into him easily.

“Sarah–” Tommy tenses up, pulling away slowly to look at you as you peer up at him, noticing the near permanent frown on your face, your expression unchanging as you attempt to process and fail—it wasn’t fair, none of it made sense, “is she dead?”

The sound of something fragile falling and breaking in Joel’s house startles you both, sending you both apart and rushing toward the house without thinking. The idea of being alone now was more fearful than anything else—no survival instinct, no plan or method to stay alive. You’d be dead by next nightfall if you stuck around though, that much you knew.

The sight sends your heart into your stomach. Joel was hunched over Sarah’s lifeless body, his arms sticky with blood—some of it dried and some of it not. There were a few broken picture frames on the floor at Sarah’s feet and you felt your breath catching in your throat, watching as Joel brushed her hair from her face and cried, silently.

“Joel,” Tommy begins, slow and careful, “we’ve gotta figure out a plan.”

“We’re buryin’ her first,” Joel tells him, “not leavin’ her like this.”

Tommy nods in understanding, looking over at you briefly.

“Listen, Joel…”

“She ain’t our problem, Tommy.” He bites harshly, resting Sarah down gently as he rose from his knees, “Kid’s got her own family.”

“Joel,” Tommy stresses, motioning toward you subtly—Joel looks reluctantly and he can see the fear, practically smelling it on you—it’s the last thing he needs right now, “they’re gone—can’t leave her here.”

“We can.”

“We won’t.”

You take a few careful steps back, quiet and timid, away from the brothers.

“Jesus, Joel,” Tommy moves in, blocking his brother’s face from view as you lingered near the open front door, staring out toward the street as you couldn’t bare the sight of Sarah’s body laying a few feet to your right, “she used to babysit Sarah—helped you out in a pinch a hundred times. I understand this—”

“This is my daughter—”

“She’s my niece too, goddammit—don’t try and spin this, Joel.” Tommy rocks on his heels, hands hugging his hips as his shoulders stretch out, broad and wide, “We bury her, we get our shit and we go–I’m not losing you, too. I will drag your ass out of here if I have to.”

There’s a sliver of Joel’s face that comes into view as he peers over Tommy’s shoulder at you, eyes dragging over you carefully before he returns to Tommy, “She’s ain’t worth the trouble.”

He’s completely tossing aside the fact that you were an adult, young but still—you sigh shakily, “I can carry my own weight, you know?”

He’s stoic, a long stretch of silence as Tommy stares him down, lingering and waiting for Joel to come to his senses, but even when he does—it’s forced.

“Then start loading the truck,” Joel tells you, “anything—food, water—”

“Yeah, I got it.” You respond in a pinched tone, trying to stifle your own emotions.

Joel doesn’t argue further, picking up Sarah with a sudden gentleness that returns at the sight of his daughter while Tommy disappears to the attached garage and you linger for a brief moment as Joel admires her, knowing that this was all he had. Knowing that eventually even this memory would fade over time.

His guard softens as he looks at her and you find that was the right time to speak more candidly.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” You tell him, your voice quiet as you approach and he looks at you briefly, acknowledging with a nod as you move beyond him and toward the kitchen, “she’s a sweet kid.”

His voice breaks but barely wavers, a subtle sign of emotion that he was suppressing deep down.

“She was.”

His departure after that is quiet, meeting Tommy at the backdoor as he reentered from the garage with the shovels and blanket in hand, a sorrowful look on his face that furrowed his brow.

They both worked silently in the backyard while you loaded up what you could. Their house was mostly scarce, knowing Joel was probably creeping up on a shopping day that would never come. There’s a few canned goods you manage to scavenge along with a decently untouched pack of water bottles and while you couldn’t brave the other houses in fear that something else might be lingering, you gather what you can from your own. 

By the time you’re closing up the truck bed they’re both walking toward you, a gun tucked away in both of their waistbands and a rifle in Joel’s free hand—his arms were cleaner, albeit still dirty.

He’d changed, rid himself of the bloody clothes and brushed past you silently, his eyes dark and empty. 

Tommy stops at your feet, offering up a knife sheathed in a leather casing that you could attach to your jeans, “Ain’t got another gun, but it’s somethin’.”

You nod slightly and take it from his grip, “Thank you,” You tell him, turning to find Joel waiting with the door open, expecting that you would climb into the middle as there was nowhere for you to go, unless the truck bed seemed like the better option—it didn’t.

It was blind trust, putting your life in the hands of both brothers. 

But, you had no choice. All that mattered was living.

—

And for Joel, the cost didn’t matter.

It’s jarring, frightening. His emotions are like a light switch—when on, he’s calm and able to hold small talk, but even that was forced and uneasy. But, when your supply dwindles down after a week or so of driving and camping in the deep brush of forest, you find what the light switch is like when it’s off.

It was a stranger, a helpless guy alone and clearly on the verge of death. All of you were on edge, the dwindling September heat still lingered into October and you had blew through your last bottle of water the night before, sweat dampening your clothes as you sifted through the aisles of the convenience store that was bare bones and empty by now but you were hoping, praying—but then you hear it and to Joel, it was prey. 

He yanks your knife from where it’s secured at your waist, so quick you barely even feel the tug as he carefully steps around the corner toward the counter, finding an older gentleman with feeble hands and energy that was dying out by the second. He was starving, dehydrated. But, so were you. And so was Joel.

“Joel, don’t.” You speak from behind him, “There’s another store in town. It’s bigger.”

“Hand it over,” Joel demands, the knife tucked away in his right hand behind his back as he held out his left, beckoning with his fingers as the man stared on, bottom lip trembling in fear as he squeezed at the plastic bottle, “now.”

There’s a moment of hesitation where the man begins to speak, shaking his head, but Joel is on him before he gets the chance, shoving the knife through the center of his throat—quick, quiet, efficient. You sigh deeply, knowing it was already coming. Joel wipes the blood away on the now dead man’s pants and snatches up the water bottle before he’s shoving it into your chest and sliding the knife back into the holster.

“You killed him,” Joel looks at you torsely, eyes half-lidded as he waits for you to continue, “you—you didn’t have to kill him, Joel.”

“You’re welcome,” He answers with finality, “Tommy’s waiting’, let’s go.”

You glance at the dead body with a grimace, the weight of it pulling down as the man slumped to the floor and his blood pooled closer and closer toward you. You step back quickly and follow after Joel who’s already ringing the bells on the door above the entrance.

“That was quick—no trouble?” Tommy asks when you return to the truck, climbing over Joel’s lap as he refuses to move, digging your knee into his thigh out of annoyance.

He takes it in stride, though. Doesn’t even react.

“No,” You lie easily, “Last one, though.”

You’ve learned to not speak on it—Joel’s quick tendencies for anger and bruteness. Hell, most of the time you could just ignore it, like now. Arguing never worked, Joel didn’t care enough.

Besides, you were just a waste of resources. Joel said it so often that it echoed in the back of your mind every time he slashed, stabbed, or gutted someone for something you needed, or wanted.

It started in small glimpses, you or Tommy could say a word, make a noise, and Joel’s brow would pinch together and the scowl on his face would deepen. 

And Tommy was objectively selfless, which bothered Joel more than it should—but given how things were, it made sense. Good karma wasn’t going to do anything for your conscience in a world that was based on self-preservation. In Joel’s mind, it was kill or be killed. And he always killed first. He learned not to take chances, hold out on good faith. It didn’t exist anymore.

And he didn’t just attack on his own behalf—he’s done it for you on a few occasions. You’ve never killed an infected, Joel always got the first hit in. Your knife would be at the ready, shaky in your grip and he would look over at you with dismay, knowing that if you did manage to have a shot you would ultimately miss. So, instead of coaching, he yanks the knife from your grip and plunges it into the skull of the infected. 

He hides his tendencies from Tommy well for a while—you always sensed Joel’s underlying itch for conflict after Sarah’s ultimate death and the few weeks you spend together on the road. You didn’t stay anywhere longer than a couple days, different cities throughout Texas as you made your way upstate. Utah, Boston, Pittsburg. Anywhere but here.

The early mornings in the forest after an uncomfortable sleeping arrangement—no rain meant sleeping in the bed of the truck or setting up camp in the one tent you had to share. But, when it did, the three of you would be forced to hunker down inside the four feet of truck cabin with nowhere to angle yourself but one of the brothers. Joel almost always shrugged you away, so by default, Tommy was the one you always chose. He didn’t seem to mind, thankfully.

Regardless, early mornings usually meant that Tommy would take his time teaching you a few things while Joel slept heavy in the truck, the low rumble of his snore heard as you both paused and Tommy readjusted the position of the knife in your grip.

“If you’re gonna hold it the way you gotta keep the dull side close to your arm,” He tightens your fist around the handle, “that way you ain’t accidentally cutting yourself with your own blade.”

You nod, squeezing down on your grip until it feels comfortable and Tommy leads your hand back toward you before guiding it through and back towards him slowly, “Always aim for the head on infected—right to the brain, kills ‘em instantly.”

You already knew that, but the reiterating is a nice reminder. 

Everything had a weakness.

“People,” Tommy starts hesitantly, “I mean, they’re livin’ and breathin’—if you let them close enough anywhere is gonna hurt them, but try to aim for the neck or the face.”

The stark image of Joel forcing the knife through the center of the man’s throat is heavy on your mind and Tommy pats on your arm as you lower it, but your eyes focus on his waist.

“Can you teach me how to shoot?”

Tommy looks at you wearily—not because he doesn’t trust you, but there’s something there.

“What happens if one of you is in trouble?” You ask him, pressing on the issue. “And I’m the only one who can do anything? I don’t even know how to shoot a gun. I’m not asking for everything, just enough to know. Tommy, come on.”

Tommy sighs, scratching at his slightly grown-out facial hair. It wasn’t nearly as thick as Joel’s, but it was clear you had all been deprived of basic hygiene over the last several weeks.

“Alright,” He relents, but holds up a finger at you, “Just the basics, for now.”

“I mean, Joel’s planning to drop me off at the nearest QZ anyways,” You joke, shoving your knife into the casing at your waist as Tommy pulls the gun out of where it’s tucked into the back of his jeans, “might as well learn as much as I can before then.”

“He won’t,” Tommy assures you, “we’re not abandoning you like that.”

You didn’t agree, but you push the words back down and take the gun that Tommy is offering as he comes to your side, arms coming around your back and around you. He’s positioning your fingers alongside his own and speaking over your shoulder and neither of you hear the car door that opens over your shoulder.

Within seconds the gun is being yanked from your grip and into Joel’s, his fingers dangling through the loop of the trigger and his eyes locked on his brother, “You lost your damn mind?”

Tommy snatches the gun back from his brother, tucking it away into his waistband.

“She’s got just as much reason to learn,” Tommy argues, “—I don’t see you makin’ an effort to teach her anything.”

“It’s not my problem,” Joel says dismissively, “we’re better off just doing the work ourselves. Kid can’t even kill an infected, she’s not gonna save your ass in a gunfight, either.”

The frustration in you boils, simmering over the edge as you push through both of them and toward the truck, closing the door with a slam as their angered voices muffle into the cabin of the truck.

“She’s not our problem, Tommy,” Joel tells him, “the sooner you realize that the better.”

“That why you plan on droppin’ her off on the doorstep of the first QZ we stumble into?”

There’s a long beat of silence before Joel speaks, “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Tommy answers, his voice laced with smugness that even you could hear, “she’s already got it set in her mind that you will and you know what—don’t blame her, either.”

Eventually, the argument settles. It’s abrupt and both of them sandwich next to you in silence as Tommy follows the path back to the road, his fingers drumming quietly against the steering wheel. But, you can feel the charge of Joel’s frustration as his fingers twist around each other. You tune it out eventually, the silence drowned out by the low hum of a cassette tape that was playing a song you had heard a thousand times by now.

You knew your own weakness was hope and it was dwindling every day.

-

By Denver, you’re all irritable. Eleven hours cramped in a truck on days of very little sleep and small scraps of meals you’ve made stretch for weeks. All the tension, arguing, and frustrations comes to a head when you stumble upon an abandoned cabin on the outskirts of town, close to the mountains and secluded. It was perfect. 

There was a large, brushy forest to hunt and it was right beside a stream. You knew it was better than nothing and that the three of you could make it work for a time—the only problem, it was already occupied.

“Stay in the truck,” Joel orders to you, cocking his gun in his lap before he’s stuffing it back into his jeans and nodding at Tommy to follow. You almost expect him to argue, but he doesn’t. He follows, like a dutiful little brother as they both stalk toward the cabin calmly.

It was one car, clearly hot-wired and stolen alongside its broken windows.

It was clear that whoever was in the cabin wasn’t the original owners either, spotting the pile of dead infected burned to a crisp beside a stack of logs that you assumed were to keep the fire burning inside the house, watching as the black smoke creeped out of the chimney.

The minutes that pass feel like an hour and you begin to wander if they both decided to keep going, abandon you and try their chances down the stretch of highway without you.

You scoot into the driver’s seat and open the door, stepping out carefully as they muddy ground causes you to slip until you regain traction and as you close the door you hear it—a loud crash, a scuffle, and then Tommy’s voice alongside Joel’s.

You run in without thinking, crashing through the slightly open door to find them both with their arms around the neck of two other men, the strangers your eyes set on are already fading. They claw, scramble for air but they’re losing. Joel slams the butt of his gun into the back of the head of the guy he’s holding before they’re both twisting at their necks in unison, the signifying crack louder than the bodies as they hit the ground.

It isn’t shocking as it should be, having seen so many people on the other end of Joel’s violence—but for Tommy, the guilt of you having to witness that is immediate.

“Kiddo, I’m sorry,” He approaches, his hands out in front of him—he was approaching you the same way he had on outbreak day, timid and careful, “you shouldn’t have had to see that.”

You glance at Joel briefly who’s gun drops to the floor behind him as he heaves the dead man up in his arms and drags him out the back door of the cabin, there’s a subtle shake to his head at Tommy’s words that makes your ears ring, drowning out his profuse apologies.

“It’s us or them, right?”

It cuts off his line of speech and his eyebrows raise slightly, “What?”

“Us or them—I’m always going to choose us, for as long as that is. Joel would too.”

Suddenly he realizes that his justifying is naut as Joel rounds the corner and continues to drag the other body out before he’s joining you both in silence as he rubs his hands against his jacket.

“Alright, uh—I want you both to settle in here, try and make it more homey for the time being. I’m gonna drive into town and see what supplies I can scavenge, should be back by nightfall.”

“I’ll come with you,” Joel adds, but Tommy stops him.

“No,” He tells his brother, a quick shake of his head, “stay here with her, get another fire going.”

And for once, Joel listens to his younger brother. His tongue is poking at his cheek as he looks away with a begrudging annoyance as he stalks toward the fireplace.

“Keep an eye on him,” Tommy whispers to you, “alright?”

You nod and smile at the gentle squeeze to your bicep that Tommy offers as he departs.

When he’s gone, the silence is deafening. Joel’s gun was still on the floor, somehow forgotten by the man who never let anything slip past him, always on guard, always ready to attack.

His back is turned when you pick up the gun, the deafening click making his head turn on a swivel.

-

He’s on you in seconds, standing from his crouched position but you were quicker, stuffing the gun behind your back with a faint smile, taking a few steps away.

“Give it to me,” Joel commands, palm extended in waiting.

“Not like you to leave stuff layin’ around,” you comment jestingly, “I think I’ll keep it for a bit.”

He stalks, heavy footsteps against the hardwood floor as you retreat further and further until you’ve ultimately cornered yourself and Joel lunges for it behind your back but you take the opportunity to sweep under his arm and slip from his grip, dangling the gun from the grip of it with two fingers.

“What? You don’t trust me with it?” you taunt, “Think I’m gonna shoot you, don’t you?”

“I’m not askin’ again,” He charges and despite your quick reflex his hand is on your wrist first, the other coming around your neck as he presses you against the back of an old, dusty couch. It creaks under your weight and sends a cloud of dust up with the movement, “drop it.”

“Say it to my face,” you retort behind a strangled tone, feeling the heavy pressure of his thick fingers around your throat, tilting your chin up at his face where he towers over you, “say it and I’ll go—you won’t see me again, hear from me. I won’t be your responsibility anymore.”

Joel shakes your wrist and squeezes and the gun drops, clattering against the floor but he doesn’t let go, not yet.

“You’ll die out there.”

You squint your eyes in disbelief, a soft laugh bubbling from your chest.

“Yeah, I’ve heard you repeat that to Tommy a million times over the last few months.”

You pull at his grip but find that it only tightens, your fingers clawing at the hand around your throat, his fingers tucked under your jaw as it pulls your chin up and up, nearly touching his chest with how close he is to you now, your feet scrambling slightly underneath your for proper footing as you leaned against the couch. 

You speak again, hoping to crawl under his skin and make him uneasy, bothered.

“What? Sudden change of heart?” you ask, “Suddenly I’m worth protecting? Tommy would love to know about the handful of men you’ve killed in my honor, you know?”

Joel’s face twitches at that, his eyes dragging toward the gun on the floor—that was your window.

You force your knees up and into his stomach, shoving him away as he stumbles but the feeling of his arm coming around your abdomen has you squirming, turning and hitting him with weak, balled up fists that didn’t amount to half the strength he encompassed. It was barely a struggle for him.

Eventually you give up, waiting and waiting for him to let you go. His gaze is heavy, almost curious in the way he watches you go through the stages of resistance to acceptance and then finally giving up before your eyes are peering up at him, pressed against him at every point of contact, the cold metal of his belt buckle digging into your stomach.

“You’re stuck with me and I’m sorry,” you tell him out of desperation, “I just want to learn and you could teach—”

It takes you a second to process when his lips press against yours, a biting kiss that is forceful and startling, gasping into his mouth at the action but your body reacts instinctively, arms wrapping around his neck and hands fisting into his hair, the subtle essence of salt and pepper that was only noticeable this close. Joel groans softly, the first true and honest sound that has come from him all evening.

“Irritating,” Joel speaks against your lips, mumbled as he leads you, bumping your legs against the arm of the couch before you’re both tumbling over, “—do you ever fuckin’ shut up?”

He’s coined you vexatious in his own mind, not realizing how impossible he was to be around either—stubborn, impossible. An unmoving force of rigidness, but here he was—pliable to the fingers that slip under his shirt as he settles between your open legs, his own pulling at the button of your jeans.

You don’t need words, knowing that you both have communicated off eye contact at a level that was never spoken about but just worked. It clicked and when he pushed, you gave into the blow.

Silently you work alongside his own hands, pushing your jeans down and off. You kick them to the floor, working at your underwear while he undoes his own jeans, feeling like you were both working against the clock with your heart hammering in your chest. He was eager, impatient—still Joel, but it was a new look. It was the dynamic that, for you, felt like the missing piece.

Weeks of constant bickering and side-eyed glances all boiling down to one break in his mulish personality, this was the resolve.

The warm touch of his palm against your upper thighs pull your attention to him and he breathes out harshly through his nostrils, his jeans shoved down his thighs and his free hand palming himself over his underwear, squeezing at your skin as he offers only one word in acknowledgement. A question.

“Yeah?”

You nod shakily, answering with a soft, “Yes.”

-

There is no build-up, no gentle touching that leads to soft caresses as Joel presses himself inside of you. His hand is gripping the arm of the couch above your head as he grips himself at the base of his cock before he’s pushing in with one solid jerk of his hips, a hurried and desperate movement to bury himself inside of you. Your fingers pull at the hair by his nape and he grunts, head pulling back as he snapped his hips back and pushed into you again, sharp and angered. His jaw was tense, the subtle peek of teeth bared behind his lips

It’s a harsh disjunction; a man you would watch from your window on weekends as he spent mornings chasing Sarah out in the lawn—softer, happier. Her protector.

With reluctance, he’s become your own. Whether he would admit it aloud or not, he knows. But, it isn’t the same—you were extra baggage, a burden, but one he felt chained too. And more importantly, distraction.

You could see his humanity slipping week by week, a dull shell of himself most days. He won’t even look at you now, his eyes squeezed shut as he thrusts into you, your eyes dragging from his face to his cock, your hand traveling down to fist at his shirt, dragging it up his stomach. 

The dark, coarse hair at the base of his cock traveled up his stomach, across his thighs. Big, strong thighs that held your legs apart and the thickness of him ached, stretched you open after months of unintentional celibacy forcing you to grip him tight, wincing with every continuous snap of his hips, feeling a hand come around to cup the back of your head, cradling it as his forehead drops and presses against your own, blocking your line of sight and forcing your eyes closed. Just feel, he’s trying to convey. Don’t think.

And it works, lingering thoughts fading away as pleasure bleeds in. His top lip grazing against the round part of your nose, his hot breath fanning over your mouth as he huffs and you moan against him, a soft and broken noise that only forces his grip to tighten against the back of your head and the other hand at your thigh, finger digging into the flesh so harshly that the ache would linger for days.

You feel the crest creeping up on you but it isn’t enough, slipping your fingers between your body silently, but the fingers around your wrist startle you, dragging you back to the surface and opening your eyes to his, his expression earnest but stoic.

“Don’t,” He shakes his head, “—just close your eyes, I got it.”

You can’t find the energy inside to argue, feeling the hand cradling your head circle around to the crown of your scalp, fingers digging into the hair and pulling taut, forcing your head back and then he’s touching you, two thick fingers circling your clit in time with his harsh, hurried thrusts.

You do close your eyes, feeling the soft tuft of his hair against the side of your face as buries himself there, his movements jerkier as his fingers work quickly, squeezing around him as your fingers dig into his forearm, hips working against his fingers instinctively to search out more and more until you’re tipping over the cliff and free-falling, coming with a soft gasp as he pulls away suddenly, fisting his cock tightly as he came over your stomach, hastily shoving your shirt out of the way as he grunts quietly, his face pinched and completely unreadable when you do finally find the energy to look at him, eyes dragging toward the ceiling as you breathe and try to process what the fuck just happened.

There’s a distant rip of fabric somewhere to the right of you and far away, noticing that Joel’s already redressed when he approaches and wipes gently at the mess of cum dressed across your stomach, shoving your jeans back into your hand in the same movement. 

You look at him oddly, shuffling the jeans and underwear in your grip as you rise, eyes following as he moved around, started building the fire Tommy had told him about a half hour ago and is so glaringly ignoring what had transpired just now—you move quickly, redressing to avoid the judgment if he looked back and you were still staring.

And you notice the itch, the unavoidable twitch in his shoulders as he can’t settle with his movements, occupying himself to keep running on the clear adrenaline high he was on—he’d killed a man and immediately directed his frustration at you and used it as a means to stall, distract, satiate that monster dwelling inside him that always came out around you.

“So, can I leave now?” You ask him, his eyes peeking over his shoulder as he shoved a new pile of wood into the fireplace, “Are we finished?”

“You’re not leaving,” Joel tells you—you weren’t moving, weren’t planning to, but you wanted to see where the conversation would go, whether Joel would admit that he cared more than he let on, his emotions so stunted since Sarah that they came out in bouts of violence and rage, “I’d never hear the end of it.”

You offer a smug chuckle in response, “So, I was right. You don’t want me around.”

Joel turns on his knee, allowing you to see the remnants of flush in his cheeks, his messy hair and his response that rips a hole straight through your chest, “I’m stuck with you because Tommy wants you around.”

It wasn’t a direct answer, but you could read into it enough.

You glance over the back of the couch, wondering if the gun was still laying on the floor where Joel had squeezed it out of your grip, but the click to your right has you turning in an instant, staring down the barrel of Joel’s gun.

“You got a lot to learn,” Your glare is less than impressed as it lands on him, petulant and annoyed, “Don’t ever touch my gun again, alright?”

“Oh,” you respond airily, an impish smile creeping onto your face as you tilted your head slightly, “so—you fucked me as punishment or because of some silly little fantasy you've always had of fucking your neighbors daughter?”

And to your surprise, Joel's response is less angered.

“You could do with a little punishment,” He rises on his knees, pocketing the gun back in his jeans, and smirking at your dumb-founded expression, “—couldn’t you?”

Joel approaches closer, motioning with his fingers for you to stand and without thinking, you follow. His subtle smirk grows wider and he’s reaching for the forgotten knife on the floor, having fallen off your pants in the midst of your hurried undressing.

“I ain’t here to teach—I’m keepin’ us alive. The sooner you learn to shut up and follow, the better,” He reaches for your hand, placing the knife into your open palm, “and you kissed back, so that look on your face, that regret—”

“Who said there was regret?”

Joel’s eyes stick to you, meeting yours fiercely for a moment as you take the knife from him and reattach it to the loop on your jeans. His tongue licks at his bottom lip briefly, watching the subtle grin spread across your face.

Your words were a challenge. 

And for you, that meant game on. 

-

dividers creds: @/saradika-graphics

[penname-tbd]

most useful piece of novel-writing advice i've heard recently: if you're ever stuck on what comes next, just ask yourself what you haven't brought up in a while. is there a character who hasn't been seen in a few chapters? did you offhandedly mention some piece of backstory that could resurface as a subplot? what's going on in your characters' lives that could become relevant again?

i'm drafting with these questions in mind, and now every time i get stuck, i can just be like, "oh, well i guess i didn't resolve that implication from a few chapters ago, let's explore that for a little bit," and usually that gets the ball rolling again.

[latin5mamii]

Angel- Jude Bellingham

|WARNINGS: lightly smut |SUMMARY: How could you know that a stupid nickname could change everything? |AUTHOR'S NOTE: i know, i made you wait and i was cruel but now here's the other chapter 😌

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. You stirred, the warmth of Jude's embrace anchoring you to a reality that felt almost dreamlike. His steady heartbeat beneath your ear was a comforting rhythm, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions that had swept through you the night before.

As you opened your eyes, you found Jude already awake, his gaze soft and contemplative as he watched you. A lazy smile curved on his lips, and he brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

"Morning, Angel," he murmured, his voice still husky with sleep.

"Morning," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The blush creeping up your neck reminded you of the previous night’s events.

“Why were you watching me?” You chuckled, unable to hide your curiosity.

“Why? I can't watch my Angel sleeping?” Jude's playful tone made you roll your eyes, but you couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips.

"You'll make me self-conscious," you retorted, your voice still groggy from sleep.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. "Self-conscious? I don't see how that's possible. You look adorable."

"Adorable?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't that a little... childlike?"

He shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, if you prefer 'stunning' or 'breathtaking,' I can work with that too."

You laughed, swatting at his chest. "Oh, stop it. You're just trying to butter me up."

"And what if I am?" He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Is it working?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned your head to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. "Maybe," you admitted softly. "But you should know, I don't give in that easily."

"Oh, really?" He arched an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his gaze. "I'll just have to try harder then."

He moved to prop himself up on one elbow, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your arm. "So, what are your plans for today, Angel?"

"Not much," you replied, enjoying the warmth of his touch. "I thought maybe I'd lounge around, relax a bit... unless you have something more exciting in mind?"

"Actually," he said, a teasing smile playing on his lips, "I was thinking we could go for breakfast. There's this great little café I've been dying to take you to."

Your interest piqued, you nodded. "Breakfast sounds nice. But only if you promise not to embarrass me with your constant teasing."

"I can't make any promises," he said, his grin widening. "But I'll try to behave."

As you were dressing up for breakfast, he started talking about the match. “So, about my match, you’ll be there, right?” You soon remembered the offer from last night.

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world,” you said, making him smile.

He looked at you from top to bottom, admiring you. You felt a warmth on your cheeks and laughed, asking, "What? Are you looking at me again?"

He lowered his head and laughed. “I was just admiring how good you look in everything.”

"I don't know if you're just a gentleman or you want something from me," you teased.

He stood up, coming towards you; you felt your heartbeat speed up. Every look from him made you feel butterflies in your stomach.

"Maybe I want something from you," he said.

"Oh? What?" you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He leaned closer to your lips and whispered, "Maybe this."

He closed the distance with a kiss that became hungrier with every passing second. Your hands sank into his hair and his hands began to explore. You broke away to catch your breath, and he whispered against your lips, "How long have I been waiting for this, God." His words made you jump, and in an instant, you were kissing again. Now you were sitting on his lap, your legs feeling weak, your whole body tingling with sensation.

A ring from Jude's phone interrupted you, but he didn't care. "Fuck it," he muttered, kissing you passionately again. But the ringtone was insistent.

"It's okay, answer it," you said breathlessly.

He leaned over to the nightstand to pick up the phone, and you saw Jobe's name on the screen. Jude answered and started talking.

"Jude, is everything okay?" Jobe's voice came through the line.

In a hoarse voice, Jude responded, "Oh yes, don't worry."

"You didn't forget about the family lunch today, right?" Jobe asked, a hint of worry in his tone.

A worried look appeared on Jude's face; he had totally forgotten. You couldn’t hear the conversation, but you laughed lightly at him, and he put his hand over your mouth so Jobe wouldn't hear you.

"No no, I'll be home soon," he assured his brother.

A displeased look appeared on your face, and you buried your head on his shoulder. You didn’t want him to go, but maybe you needed time to process what had happened. Were you really making out with your childhood best friend? The one you had had a crush on since you were a child?

The call continued, and you could now slightly hear Jobe's voice. "Jude, just one thing."

"Yes, tell me," Jude said.

"Don't hurt her," Jobe said.

"What are you talking about?" Jude asked, confused.

"Nothing, don't worry," Jobe replied.

The phone call ended, but you couldn’t help but think about Jobe's words. Why would he say that to Jude? Why would Jude ever hurt you? And most importantly, was there something you didn’t know? You slowly came out of your thoughts and looked at Jude with a sweet smile. He caressed your cheek, and as he was about to kiss you again, you asked, “Do you really have to go?”

“I’m sorry, Angel. But I’ll text you, alright?” he said softly.

You nodded as your dream seemed to vanish right in front of you. You wanted him to stay, and he wanted to stay too.

As he reached the door, he leaned over and kissed you quickly and delicately. You giggled slightly and closed the door. This had always been your dream, and everything seemed to be going well, but there was something, something wrong that you felt deep down. So,let me be honest with you, this dream might be more difficult than you had ever expected.

[notjustjavierpena]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter I

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Here it is. I have been working hard on this chapter for you, plotting out the little details that will hopefully connect beautifully with the coming chapters. I hope you like my take on Marcus Acacius, and I hope you will be patient and follow along ❤️💖 I hope you enjoy the effort I’ve put into making this somewhat historically accurate! 

Chapter Summary: In which you meet your future husband, get a warning from an old friend and explore pleasure on your own - all the while tension grows in Rome. 

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, reference to marital SA but no actual SA, religion in the form of Roman Gods, talk about virginity, intense kissing, f!masturbation involving shame and guilt.

Word count: 7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/146141770

Chapter I: In these tumultuous times

You step through the atrium with a pulse that might break your ribs, too nervous to enjoy the marvel of the glorious marble construction that envelops you in near gold-speckled white. Neither can you fascinate yourself in the grandeur of the peristyle garden that you eventually find yourself in, green and luscious with well-tended plants that have no other purpose other than being beautiful - much like you. 

The afternoon sun will come soon, casting a shadow over the rose bushes and the fountains which slow trickles of water are supposed to bring you peace but somehow just makes you dread this meeting even more. Any girl back home would deem the location romantic from the blooming red flowers but you feel no affection for the man you are to greet in less than an hour. Even if your mother claims that you eventually will.

You thank the Gods that your mother isn’t here with you, knowing that you would have had to suffer through hearing her complain about Sol moving just a bit too far across the sky in his golden chariot to let your gown shine the way it is supposed to. She has already spent several hours doing your hair since dawn, decorating each strand with violets from the grass patch close to the river that runs through your village. Symbolizing modesty and faithfulness, she had said. 

It’s not like you are here alone though. Instead of being here with your mother, you are here with your father; a senator who, despite his well-earned respect in the confusing web of Roman politics, still finds ways to satisfy his greed for more power. In this case, it is giving away his daughter to General Marcus Acacius. 

“This is good for us,” your father had said during your silent crying as he talked about your new life with importance, “It will secure our family's position in these tumultuous times.”

Times are indeed tumultuous and they are changing right before your eyes in the form of angry shouts in the streets, rotting fruit and vegetables at the town square market, and fewer outings amongst commoners. Rome, once a beacon of hope and stability, now teeters on the edge of a type of chaos that not even the previous emperor Commodus could imagine putting his empire through. The co-emperors’ insanity, greed, and vanity drain the empire’s coffers as they engage in petty conflicts that lead to war left and right. As a result, the population is left impoverished, the youngest of men are dying in battle and the women cry for their families all the while the very top - your family included - luxuriates in growing wealth. Such is war, your father has stressed. 

“General Acacius is a man of influence,” your father had continued, his voice laced with conviction that you did not understand, “His alliance will protect us from the whims of those who oppose the emperors and their righteous campaigns.”

General Acacius is a man of great renown, co-emperors Geta and Caracella’s right-hand man, and with a sea of stories about his admirable exploits on the battlefield. Your father has somehow made the political move of his life by settling this deal, promising the great warrior a wife of exceptional beauty who he can do with as he pleases. Women never have a say in these things, so you simply smiled during dinners where your future was discussed in the same manner as when a farmer plans the sale of one of his cattle, listing the animal’s qualities like he would say them later to the buyer. 

Whenever he finally let you in on the conversation, he would give you a stern smile and emphasize the importance of this arrangement because of the honor and security it would bring to your family to have such a man as your ally. However, where your father wanted you to think about your future husband’s victories, all you do think about is the fact that your future husband is a man in his fifties and you have barely surpassed your twentieth Summer in the mortal realm. 

When the minutes tick by with excruciating slowness, you find a bench made of stone in the shade. You dust off your dress, tuck it close to your thighs, and sit down to steady your nervous breathing. The sun has made you unsteady, having beaten down on you - contrary to your mother’s worries - despite it being the last burning rays of the afternoon. You blame it on your overactive mind, the racing thoughts having gone straight to your heart and made your blood flow hot through you. 

You lay a hand against your forehead, fighting off a sob as the nerves finally get the better of you. There’s no way you can ever see your reflection in the cold river again, smell the hyacinths that brush your ankles as you walk through them, or hear the laughter of children in the building next door unless the giggles are those of your own little ones. 

You have been groomed for this, trained by your eager mother to be the perfect wife to a man you have never met. Your mother’s meticulous preparation is meant to ensure that you make a flawless first impression and are a suitable wife, but right now it does little to calm you because you know that this arrangement’s ultimate goal is for you to bear children that will be even more powerful than you and the General’s respective families. 

Barely an adult and never been kissed, forced to be intimate by the General’s command that will surely come. You know well enough that there’s more to it than that, Cassius, a boy from the market, once having revealed in great detail what goes on between a man and his wife or even just a man and a woman. The future wedding night feels like an impending disaster, embarrassing for you with the way your mother has also dragged you aside to tell you horror stories of men taking what they want from their wives with little regard for their pain. 

You gasp as a twig snaps close by, pulling you out of your trance to assess the situation. In front of you, you see him. General Marcus Acacius is standing no less than ten feet from you, his armor, a white plate body adorned with the design of two golden griffins, gleaming in the sunlight. He stands tall and imposing, his presence radiating with authority but when you spot him, his eyes make him seem incapable of the horrors that people attribute to married men. His hair, streaked with gray, frames a face marked by the years and experiences of a seasoned soldier. His eyes, sharp and assessing, bore into you as he waits for you to move. 

You stare up at him for a second only to be seized by panic as you remember the routine you had been forced to practice with your mother. Quickly, you rise from your seat, dust off your dress, and lower your gaze respectfully. 

“General Acacius, forgive me,” you say without finding his gaze. 

You hear your name on his lips, surprised to hear that his voice is firm yet not unkind. It’s hard to suppress the shiver that wants to run down your spine, a tingling sensation at the small of your back as he speaks because you know what he will be doing to your body soon, “I’m pleased to finally meet you.”

You nod, letting out the rehearsed lines expertly, “The honor is mine and mine alone, General.”

“Look at me, my child,” you hear him command softly, getting a glimpse of what led him to become the man of power and grace that he is today because you follow through without thinking. You only imagine what he must be able to accomplish when his voice is rough and demanding. However, his eyes are softer still, a striking contrast to his profession where he has to consider each of his steps with deliberate and measured precision. 

Marcus steps closer. You automatically take a step back, afraid that he might try and touch you already against your will. Nobody would know if he ravished you right here. He presses his mouth together in a thin line but he still somehow doesn’t look angry, instead just looks like he is analyzing the situation that he is in. 

“Your father thought it best that I introduced myself without him or the servants’ eyes watching. I was surprised at his immediate confidence in me to be alone with his youngest daughter,” he says while you hug yourself to soothe your aching chest, holding on tightly as you beg someone to help you escape. He examines you long enough for you to believe he won’t strike to take what he might want. You feel guilty for thinking that he might have, knowing that it’s not the actions of an honorable leader. 

“You are much younger than I expected,” he admits after a moment, a hint of weariness in his tone. 

A tear slides down your stinging cheeks but you quickly brush it away and regain your composure enough to not start sobbing. The embarrassment of your single teardrop is evident on your face as warmth creeps up through the intricate twists and bends of your bloodstream, a dull pounding sounding in your ears. 

“And you are a great man,” you reply in the most steady voice you can muster, “I hope to be a worthy wife to you.”

Marcus smiles, a small but genuine expression while he ignores your obvious distress. After all, this is not a matter in which women have a say. He sounds ever so confident in you, encouraging even, in a way you guess is to soothe your impending tears, “You will do well, I am sure.”

When you do not respond, he tries again. You must look like a scared little girl, desperately in need of being approached like a frightened animal and your heartbeat certainly imitates the one of a rabbit.

“I see you wear flowers in your hair,” he notes, finding the least threatening subject to discuss.

“Yes?” You furrow your brow, arms already falling down your sides. You link your fingers together in front of you. 

“I made sure to have the gardener do extra work on each of the flowers in case you were interested in flora and fauna,” he elaborates, “Does the garden please you, Carissima?” 

Carissima. The Latin word for dearest. He seems to be trying it out, collecting information from how you react to it, and making a move based on it. Your brows knit even further together but you use the opportunity to seem less scared and more relaxed after hearing it.

“It’s very beautiful, General. I shall be very fond of it in the future,” you say genuinely because, despite your ignorance of its charm right now, a rational part of you knows that it is gorgeous and enchanting. You will come to love it wholeheartedly.

“The birds that land in the trees here sing you awake in the early hours of the day,” he continues and mirrors you by also softening a little, looking around with a surprising fondness toward the gentle coos of the doves sitting on the rooftops, “If you are very lucky, you might hear a nightingale amongst the doves’ coos.”

“Nightingales are common back home,” you tell him with longing in your heart, closing your eyes for the briefest second but being able to see your backyard so clearly in that fleeting moment. Marcus senses it, shifting a bit on the spot with a concerned expression so you force a smile to let him know there’s no reason to worry about getting a sorrowful wife. You will cry tonight but you will be ready when he needs you to.

“So you know their song well,” he answers thoughtfully, “Good. I’m glad. It will remind you of home in these new surroundings. Will you let me show you the rest of the garden? Perhaps we can get to know each other a little before the weekend’s ceremony.”

He holds out his arm for you and you hesitate for just a moment before taking it, swallowing thickly at the feeling of how strong he is. His muscles flex gently underneath his bare skin, nicely soft wrapped around the muscles of his bicep when you expect everything about him to be rough and worn out by years of service to the empire. His smell envelops you, near-dizzying to you because you’ve never been in such close proximity to a man before and you don’t think you can imagine being any closer than this even though you have to soon. To think that you were nervous about him stepping close just minutes ago and now he is touching you and it feels… fine, not scary at all.

As he walks beside you, you can see the lines on his forehead when he speaks in concentration. He still looks good for his age, you find yourself thinking, blessed by the deities Venus and Apollo for his well-aged beauty and the golden radiance of his skin that reminds you of the sun. You notice his nose now that you see his profile, it curving in the way of Jupiter’s and making you swallow thickly at the power his mere appearance gives him. 

Some things speak to the young girl in you too; his beard has patches, one formed in a heart shape that you would tell the girls in your village back home about if you could. To this, they would giggle delightedly like they were still the age of getting tutored. 

Then there are his brown eyes, deep as the darkest of amber you have collected on the shorelines in your youth. They shine with sincerity, more than once filling yours with their honey glow as you walk together. You begin to see beyond the fearsome reputation and the sternness that he first approached you with. He speaks of the flowers surrounding you with surprising tenderness, admitting to the jasmine being his favorite, and of how he had the garden designed to remind him of his childhood home in the countryside.

You think that your responses seem trivial compared to the anecdotes that he is able to share but he seems to enjoy hearing tales about your childhood home. He nods in understanding and adds the words of someone well-reflected even if he is known for brutality when at war. You let down your guard, “We must have more in common than I initially thought, Gene—“ 

“Marcus,” he corrects when you come to a stop, “You may call me Marcus when we are alone.” 

“Marcus,” you repeat. You look down briefly as warmth settles in your cheeks, your heartbeat speeding up in your chest because you realize he has led you to a small, secluded area of the grand peristyle garden. The sun is lower now, casting a warm, golden hue over the marble fountain before you. It is small yet majestic in its simplicity, surrounded by vines of ivy and jasmine. It seems to be his favorite spot on all of his owned property.

“What are we doing here? Are we supposed to be this hidden from everyone else?” Your grip loosens on his arm.

“Never mind that, Carissima…”

There’s that name again. 

“Look, I know this isn’t the Trevi Fountain of Rome but I thought we could wish for Fortuna to bring us good luck and happiness together,” he reaches for his belt where a pouch hangs in a string that pulls it closed. He digs his thumb and index finger into it and digs out a coin, its front decorated with an engraved picture of a peacock’s feather; a symbol of Juno, the Goddess of marriage and childbirth. 

He holds the coin between his fingers, the sunlight catching its glimmering surface, and offers it to you with a gentle expression that’s not quite a smile in case it might scare you off. You take it, feeling the weight of the moment settle in your palm. This is your future husband and he is trying, doing everything in his power not to unsettle you but invite you to give yourself to him in the next coming days.

The coin is mostly cool against your skin but still holds the tiniest amount of warmth from Marcus’ fingers, its edges smooth and worn from years of handling. 

“This is a tradition,” Marcus explains, his voice carrying reverence, “We make a wish and toss the coin into the fountain. It is said that Fortuna, the Goddess of luck, grants blessings to those who seek her favor.”

You nod. This moment feels intimate, a quiet ritual shared between the two of you amidst the grandeur of the garden yet still hidden away from everyone else. This is a ritual of lovers, of people whose fates are closely entwined. You look at Marcus, meeting his warm brown eyes, and find reassurance in his steady gaze and slow secure breaths. You find it shameful that you believed him to be violent with you, that he would do anything with anger because he is, you realize, the type of man who doesn’t have to take anything by force when it comes to women. In that moment, it makes total sense to follow his wishes, but even more, it makes sense to wed him and go to bed with him. 

“What should I wish for?” You ask softly. 

Marcus dares a smile, “Whatever your heart desires. A wish for happiness, perhaps. Or for our future together to be filled with understanding and respect. Perhaps, in our own way, companionship and love.”

Together, you approach the edge of the fountain and you lean over it to gaze at the many glinting coins on the bottom. A violet falls from your hair and lands on the surface of the water, floating effortlessly with such strong symbolism that your stomach does a flip.

Marcus steps closer behind you and you turn to face him, the rim of the marble fountain digging into the back of your thighs until you nearly fall backward in an embarrassingly young fashion. Marcus takes you by the wrist to steady you but the touch doesn’t last long since you’re supposed to throw the coin over your shoulder. 

With a flick of your wrist, you send the coin into the water behind you. The only thing you feel is the coldness on your skin where Marcus’ fingers were a moment ago, the slight breeze cooling down his leftover body heat quickly. 

The coin hits the water with a splash. You swallow your nervousness to say something for the first time that isn’t the answer to a question from him, “May Fortuna smile upon us.”

“May she indeed,” Marcus agrees, pleased. He motions to a bench close by, “Shall we sit for a moment? Your feet must be tired.” 

You agree, and he helps you to sit. Your hands touching sends a spike of energy through you before you are disappointed by him taking a seat beside you but maintaining a respectful distance. He takes his sword out of its place in his belt and rests it against the bench, getting comfortable with you. 

“Marcus,” you say his name before you even realize what you want to ask of him.

“Yes?” He waits patiently for you to continue, nodding his head in acknowledgment. 

When your request comes to mind, you are struck by the fear of ridicule but you shove it down in favor of letting yourself have this.

“I know this is most unusual to ask of you, but would you give me a kiss?” The second you have said it, panic makes you babble in his presence, “I know my duties as a wife, my mother has told me plenty, but I cannot bear the idea of the first show of affection between us to be in our chambers and with… with more to come.” 

If you are not to burst into tears at the festivities after your union or even worse, when he takes you to bed, you need to get this out of the way. You only hope to be successful in your attempt, knowing it is not customary to follow through on such an ask. It hangs in the air for a moment, the garden seeming to hold its breath along with you. It all comes down to your future husband’s view of modesty. 

Marcus watches you carefully with an expression that is a mixture of surprise and contemplation. He looks like he might say no at first, afraid that someone from his staff might spot you and start a rumor that deems you unworthy of this arrangement. It might be the sincerity and vulnerability in your request that convinces him and lets him take the risk.  

“Very well, I understand your concern,” he nods with determination. 

He shifts closer on the stone bench, his movements slow as if trying to put you at ease, as if approaching a deer in the forest and not wanting it to run. You can feel the warmth of his body next to yours as your thighs nearly touch, the scent of his skin filling your senses. It is leather, sandalwood… and something that is his own distinctive smell. Your heart races, your skin prickles underneath your gown, and heat spreads across your thighs. 

It feels like you only blink for a second but when you open your eyes again, Marcus is closer, his face inches from yours. You can feel his uneven breaths mix with yours, 

“Are you ready?” He asks in a whisper, his breath warm against your face and his eyes roaming over your features in case you want to stop.

Your voice has died in your throat, so you simply nod your head. Marcus swallows thickly while you are lost in the fact that you can count his eyelashes right now. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours with care and apprehension that takes you by surprise. The kiss is soft and restrained as if he is giving you the chance to pull away if you want to.

But you don’t. Instead, you lean into the kiss when you’ve gotten used to the scratch of his beard, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders and moving inwards towards his neck, sliding under the collar of his cape. His lips are warm and you feel a shiver run down your spine at a sort of contact you have never felt before. You wonder what he thinks of you, if your passion even in your inexperience is worth his time to broaden your horizon… but any doubt vanishes as the kiss deepens slightly, Marcus’ hand coming up from where it rests on the stone to lay on the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A tiny noise leaves you and something stirs in the pit of your stomach. You can feel the strength in his arm as he has it wrapped around you but there is no force or demand in his touch. Instead, there is a sense of him handing control over to you. 

An instinct tells you to get even closer, straddle him, do something, anything even if you are not sure what. One of your hands falls down to Marcus’ chest plate, his uneven breath evident in how it pushes against your palm like raging waves. Your hand travels further down until the tips of your fingers brush his belt.

It is only then that the General reacts, pulling back firmly but without hurting you. He creates some distance between you by pushing you gently away by the shoulders. The both of you are breathless. He shakes his head, “Carissima. That was not part of the deal.”

You are embarrassed by your actions, not sure if Cupid is playing tricks on you by blowing to the fires of forbidden desire that you were not even aware burned in your lower belly. Your body hums but you are mortified, “S-sorry, my legatus. I don’t know what came over me.”

You go back to general. It feels appropriate to use his proper title now. You have brought shame on yourself, might as well have let him take your maidenhead right here on the stone-cold bench and the worst part is that you are not sure if the fire in your loins would have fogged your brain enough to not stop him from doing it. 

“Please, do not apologize,” he says to reassure, holding up a hand to stop you from protesting, “There is nothing wrong with what you feel. It is natural. But I want to honor my promise to your father, no matter the impulses that you give me. You are as beautiful as Venus herself. I shall enjoy our time together very much when it comes.”

“Thank you,” you say with a still trembling voice. The lump in your throat feels impossible to swallow. 

“Now. Shall we continue our walk?” He suggests while getting up from his seat, his tone light as if to ease the tension. He offers you a gentle smile as he ties his sword to his belt again then reaches to take your hand.

You get up with a simple nod. He acts like nothing for the rest of the day. 

—

You return home by carriage after dinner at Marcus’ estate. After a day with such complex emotions being explored, with how your new life seems less and less like a dream, and with how the sun hangs so low in the sky, you have already started to feel tiredness taking over your body. 

You excuse yourself to your room not long after you return to the comfortable familiarity of your home, brattishly avoiding conversation with your mother about how everything went when she starts asking a million questions. 

“I thought you might like to talk,” she says after you have gotten up from your seat in the living room, a few paces behind you as you make your way down the halls. 

“Mother, I just want some rest,” you stress, bare feet patting across the floor. You hold your skirt up to walk faster, nearing your destination but not wanting to slam the door in her face, “I do not wish to talk about anything with anyone. Ask Father. I bet he’ll be eager.”

“Dearest,” she tries, “Don’t be cruel.”

“Please,” you beg as you turn around in the doorway, “It was fine. I’ll be fine, it’s just a huge transition from this life.”

“That’s why I wanted to—“

“No,” you say more firmly than intended but your overwhelmed state leaves you with little patience. You hope she understands, know that she might because her marriage to your father started the very same way, “I promise we can talk in the morning but I really need some time for myself right now.”

Your mother looks slightly hurt like she is watching her child slip through her fingers during her last night at home. You swallow thickly but hold your ground. 

“Very well,” she says finally, eyes closing briefly to breathe through her nose. She forces a small smile and leans in to kiss your forehead, “Get some rest. We can talk tomorrow with this conversation forgotten.”

You offer the very same smile in return, then close the door behind you with a relieved sigh. You cross the room to the window, pushing open the shudders to overlook the buzzing garden. 

Carefully, you start detangling the flowers from your hair and laying them on the window sill. A few of them are taken by the wind, some landing on the ground while others delicately fly through the air. You watch them until a gasp leaves you, two eyes belonging to a man staring at you from across the garden but you don’t feel frightened. 

You sigh with annoyance as he steps out of the bushes and closer to the window, picking up one of the violets on his way, “You should not be here, Cassius.”

“I wanted to see you before tomorrow,” he admits with a little smile, boyish and inexperienced compared to the ones you have received from Marcus today. He places his hands on the window frame, about to crawl inside.

“Are you trying to get killed?” You whisper loudly and barricade the window, “You cannot be in here, don’t come in.”

“What if I never see you again?” Cassius huffs but doesn’t push it, “I just wanted to say congratulations on your union tomorrow.”

“We’ve known each other for years, Cass. Of course, I’ll see you again; you’re my oldest friend,” you say with exasperation but you know that it is naive of you to assume this is the way things work. Cassius grew up with a farmer for a father, living far away in the countryside where the houses are surrounded by fields of vegetables that they eat at the palace and a long way from the neighborhood that you have grown up in.

“Well, you can say it from outside my window,” you continue and tense up at a few footsteps outside your door. You hold your index finger in front of your lips, listening intently to see if they pass or stop in suspicion of who you are talking to.

A moment passes and the footsteps fade. You turn back to Cassius who now wears a troubled expression, eyebrows knitted together. You go a little softer, a little more quiet, “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Cassius hesitates just a second before speaking, “Your dear old dad has probably told you about this but things are changing around the outskirts of Rome. It’s growing more dangerous by the day to live out where I am. Geta and Caracalla’s combined ruling. They are not in their right mind and it is tearing the backbone of the empire apart. We’re angry and starving.”

You nod, narrowing your eyes at him. Your father has indeed talked about this during dinners in the past but always with no air of real concern and more with a scoff when mentioning the ungrateful people of Rome, their greed, their arrogance but mostly their lack of trust in their emperors who are right under the Gods.

“Why are you saying this?” You inquire impatiently.

“To ensure your safety in all of this when things break loose. You know how I feel about you,” Cassius looks down briefly. Yes, you know how he feels about you and while you have never reciprocated his love, you feel a tug in your heart about how he has waited for you for years with knowledge of how impossible your life together would be. A farm boy and the daughter of a senator? It is doomed from the very beginning.

“If things are as dangerous as you say then the General will be able to protect me, will he not?” You ask to push him away, make him let go of you. 

“Marcus Acacius is a powerful man, but even he may not be able to navigate the storm that’s coming to the citadel,” Cassius places a hand on the window sill, the violets flying to all sides from the force. It’s his way of trying to get closer. 

“And your solution is what? That I run away with you? Please,” you look down at his hand. This is not one of those moments where you realize your feelings after all this time, after years of childhood friendship, and run off together with the boy next door, so you let your hands fall down to your sides. 

“Don’t marry him,” he suggests with pleading eyes, “I don’t want you with those people.”

You laugh in disbelief and turn your head away, “Cassius, by the Gods, you know that I have no say in that whatsoever. Besides, who says that I don’t want to be there with him?”

Cassius ignores the last part of your sentence bitterly, “Then just be careful, my friend. I know your father has power but I know he favors the emperors which will not benefit him in the coming future. Those caught in the middle often pay the highest price and you’ll soon be at the very top, exposed.”

You shake your head to brush him off but something is looming underneath Cassius’ words. They don’t sound as delusional as your father might think them and you poke fun to maybe earn a confession, “You sound like you’re going to storm the palace tomorrow.”

It is Cassius’ turn to laugh but the sound is hollow, “Tomorrow is your wedding day. I would never be so bold as to make you hate me. No, I have no plans to go so far.”

“What are you planning?” You narrow your eyes at him. 

“Nothing right at this moment,” he replies quickly but unconvincingly. You can feel the tension in his voice and the strain on his jaw as he clenches it, “But I will do what I must if it comes to a point where I need to fight back.” 

“You make it sound like I have the power to fix everything. I do not,” you say with frustration.

“Then at least change your heart,” he tries one last time, holding his hand out for you like he wants you to take it and crawl out the window, never to show your face here again. 

You shake your head, “Cassius, you know our lives were never meant to intertwine like that. We come from different worlds.”

“But our hearts,” he whispers sorrowfully, “They’re from the same world. At least, mine has always belonged to you.”

“Cassius…”

“I understand,” he admits in defeat, “Marry him, have his children but stay out of the palace. I can’t stress that enough. Stay out of the palace.”

“You are speaking in tongues again, what does this mean? What do you know?” You stare at him.

Cassius steps back from the window, the distance between you growing both physically and emotionally. With a sad smile, he looks at you one last time. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Cassius,” you reply with furrowed brows. 

With that, he turns back into the night, leaving you with a mind filled with questions. You watch as he disappears into the shadows of the garden. 

You lean against the wall with a deep breath, heart heavy with uncertainty about who you thought you knew so well but you decide to ignore it completely to get some relief by rest. You will rather try to focus on the events of tomorrow as you start to undress down to your tunic, your thoughts swarming around Marcus instead of Cassius. The way that things are supposed to be.

Not long after, you lie down to sleep in your bedroom for the last time before moving into Marcus Acacius’ villa the next day. You should be feeling upset about leaving everything and everyone behind, nostalgic and melancholic even about Cassius, but all your mind does is replay the events that took place on the bench in the peristyle courtyard just half a day beforehand. It is so vivid that you cannot seem to rest, the images of Marcus’ beautiful, God-given eyes and mouth flashing on the inside of your eyelids whenever you try to fall asleep. The pictures are in such vibrant colors too, so intense that you resort to pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. The colors smear and blur together until they look like painting instead but you have to stop due to the ache. 

It doesn't matter anyway because it isn’t enough. Your vision isn’t the only one of your senses that he has taken as his own. The feel of his mouth lingers on yours, enough for you to let your fingertips trace over your bottom lip. It feels the same but then again, it doesn’t. Maybe he has left a mark on you that no one has dared to point out? 

As well lingers a feeling of a spark that cannot be extinguished once it has been ignited. The sensation has you restless under the covers, the woven fabric scratching uncomfortably against your arms and legs until you have to throw them off. 

It is a warm night tonight. The window shutters are still open to let in a night breeze that feels nice on your bare, burning, and untouched skin. You try to find sleep by listening to the usual chirping sound of the crickets but it is of no comfort this time. Marcus is still right there with you, his strong hand on your back and his eyes flickering down to your lips. In your head, he wants you and he lifts up your tunic to touch you where your pulse throbs and— By Jupiter, you need to calm yourself. 

You open your eyes to stare up at the ceiling. Everyone has gone to bed, your parents, despite your protests, having come in and kissed you on the forehead while expressing how proud you have made them feel. Yet in the familiar surroundings of your childhood bedroom, everything feels foreign now that you’ve stepped into new territory of desire, unlocking something that separates you from what belongs to the mind of someone’s child. You don’t belong anymore in this room with walls that contain all of your childhood memories. You are grown now.

You should feel sorrow about this, about never coming back here but instead, your body buzzes like a hive of bees, tiny shivers of lust provided by Cupid flowing through you as teasingly as the softest butterfly wings flapping around inside you. It’s a forbidden feeling that stirs guilt in you but also a strange anticipation that has your hand slipping down your belly. Has your skin always been this soft?

You wonder if Marcus feels the same turmoil inside of himself, if he is lying awake just as you are right now and replaying the way your fingertips danced around his waistband but never got any further. The thought makes your hand slide down between your legs, reaching up under the hem of your tunic until your fingers slide over the wet skin there. You breathe deeply in through your nose.

You have done this a few times before but you’ve always gotten to a point where you have to stop yourself, afraid of what might happen when you feel yourself start to reach some sort of pinnacle that you are at a loss for words to describe. It’s natural, you remember Marcus saying about your body’s response. But doing it alone? Isn’t what you are feeling as you touch yourself reserved for your future husband? What would he say if he saw you explore yourself like this? Would he be disappointed in you? Or does he do it himself? Naked in his bed with his thigh muscles flexing as he feels what you are feeling right now? No, don’t think about him like that. 

Your thighs fall out to the sides on their own accord. You find the spot that makes you gasp softly, the night way too quiet for you to be making such a noise when others are sleeping soundly. You tip your head back to open your throat, hoping it will make you quieter as you play with the sensation between your legs. Are the Gods watching you? Are they the only ones who can understand the complexities of your mortal longings? Can they tell you what will happen on the other side of this tightening in your gut? 

Your breath quickens, shallow puffs of air coming out as you near the pinnacle quicker than ever. A noise close to the sound of a hurt animal escapes your lips and your fingers start to move in earnest, quickly back and forth over the little nub that you think is far too small to have such an effect on the rest of your body. How are you so soon covered in a sheen of sweat? How is your soul already teetering on ripping from your body, a mere vessel?

“Ah,” you moan a little louder, catching it in your throat by biting down on your lip. You feel the pleasurable buildup gradually increase in intensity and suddenly you’ve rolled around onto your front to grind your pelvis up and down on your fist. 

Marcus. Marcusmarcusmarcusmar—

No. Clarity comes to you right before you lose it, fear too as it feels like your spirit might leave your body completely. You force yourself to stop your hips’ rapid movements against your hand, surprised at how quickly the sensation of something so unfathomable can ebb away from your grasp. It leaves both a physical and emotional ache. You pant against the bed, nearly creating a damp spot where your mouth rests against the linen. 

You roll onto your back once more, wiping your slick fingertips on the sheets before pulling your tunic back into place around your thighs. You suddenly start to freeze, the air from outside your window starting to cool down the sweat on your skin. 

It takes a few minutes for your heart rate to drop again. Tomorrow, you will marry Marcus Acacius and a new chapter will begin - a chapter where the tingling ache between your legs will belong to him - but for now, you let the fatigue of managing to hold off lull you to sleep. 

You pull the covers up to your chin, feeling smaller like this but it doesn’t comfort you like it did when you were a mere child. You cannot stop the tears that spring to your eyes, starting as a tightening in your chest, a thick swallowing, only to come out in quiet sobs. 

You feel the drops slide down your face, running freely down to the sides of your cheekbones and over your ears. Your hair dampens slightly, your nose grows stuffy and sensitive but despite all the telltale signs of your distress, there’s mainly relief as you let go to cry harder about your new life.

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