#do not perceive the hair curling attempt

[tisinoodle]

She’s serving Contessa

So this Halloween I realized I owned or could borrow all of the things to make a passable Contessa cosplay, except the hat. Finally had an opportunity to take pictures.

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part ii)

summary: Joel Miller never expected much out of Jackson—just a quiet place to live out the days he had left. But when a baby’s cries lead him to a mother unravelling under the pressure of nursing her child she never asked for, he finds himself tangled in something he can’t walk away from—no matter how much he tells himself he should.

a/n: on today's episode of 'angry idiots and sad assholes', introducing the one and only Joel Miller! I let out a few tears writing this one, too, it's really painful when you think about how Joel probably perceives himself, or how I think he does. onto other happier news, I simply cannot believe the kind of response the first part garnered, and I'm shook! rise up, depression girlies!!! To everyone who responded in the comments and reblogs, I've read them all twice over and giggled and twirled my hair and threw up butterflies. Thank you, and I hope you like this one! :)

Joel settled into his routine like a man settling into an old wound. Patrols, clearing trails, the stables, the repair shop, the bar, dinner in silence, rinse and repeat. It was easier that way—easier than thinking too much about a vain attempt. He ignored his neighbour’s existence completely. At least, that’s what he told himself.

But ignoring something didn’t make it disappear.

Every morning, he still ended up at the dining table—the one he never used—sipping his coffee too slow for his patience, gaze drawn to the big white house across the street like a goddamn magnet. Watching for movement. Watching for them.

And he fucking hated it.

Hated the part of him that waited, that noticed, that took account of the smallest details like they meant anything to him. Like he still had a reason to care.

Sometimes, Maya fussed too much, and Leela would come outside, her hair a little unkempt, gait all botched, but her hands steady as she cradled her baby against her chest. He saw her murmuring softly to the baby girl, pointing to the sky, the trees, the shifting clouds, the falling snow. A little trick from Maria, he figured. It worked well enough. Maya would quiet, those big brown eyes so curious, distracted by the vastness of the world she barely understood.

And Leela—she still looked tired. Still looked like she was moving through a fog, unseeing, carrying more than just the baby in her arms. But she took to Maya differently now, touched her calmly, like she was no longer afraid she might break her.

That was good. That meant she was doing fine. That meant she didn’t need him. And that meant Joel could stop worrying about the things that weren’t his to worry about.

Joel was outside, tightening the hinges on his porch gate, bracing against the cold, when he heard her steps crunching in the snow. Still quiet. Still waiting. He didn’t look up right away, just kept his focus on the task in front of him. If she needed something, she’d say it.

"Good morning, Joel," Leela greeted warmly.

Joel gave a short nod, adjusting the grip on his screwdriver. "Mornin’."

She lingered there. Honestly, he just wished she’d just go back inside. So, he kept working, unbothered, and didn't look up.

"Loose hinges?" she asked.

Courtesies. He wasn't falling for it. "Mhm."

He knew when he wasn't wanted. She was finding her feet now, somewhat starting to take care of herself, carefully taking care of Maya. She didn’t need him checking in, didn’t need him hovering. And maybe—maybe that should’ve felt like a relief. It didn’t.

"You need anything else?" he asked, voice gruffer than he meant it to be.

"No, I just..." Leela wavered, softly, like she already knew he was about to shut her down. "I wanted to say thank you. For helping me out these few weeks. I couldn't have done it without you."

Joel finally glanced up at that. Just a flicker.

Leela shifted in her puffy pants, adjusting Maya against her shoulder. The baby girl was bundled up tight, small fists curled into her mouth, watching him with that blank, childlike wonder in big eyes. It took every bit of strength he had to not fall for that, and just forget everything that happened.

Joel hung his head, nodding again, keeping his focus downward on the screw.

She was being friendly. Trying to meet him halfway. And he hated that this was what it had come to—that she felt like she had to say something, to extend some kind of olive branch, when all he’d done was build a wall between them. For no fucking reason.

He straightened up with a muffled grunt, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Nothin’ to thank me for. It was all you."

She half-laughed, something wry and knowing. "I know that's not true."

Joel glanced up, stiffening, but she wasn’t looking at him, just rubbing slow circles into Maya’s back, pressing a slow kiss to the top of her head, consoling herself.

He knew what she was doing. He wasn’t stupid.

She was trying to make things normal again. Like they hadn’t spent nights under the same roof. Like he hadn’t seen her fall apart. Like she wasn’t still here, right now, offering him something—a small, careful thing—and he was too much of a coward to take it.

So he didn’t.

Joel scratched the back of his neck with the screwdriver, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. "You oughta get inside," he said instead. "It’s too cold for the kid."

Leela’s expression flickered. Not hurt. Just resigned. He felt like he'd ripped the bandaid off a baby.

"Okay. Yes." She slowly nodded but hesitated a step back. Then—too quietly, almost like an afterthought—"It’s nice to see you around, Joel."

And with that, she started back down the road, holding Maya closer by her head, and Joel let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. That was better. Cleaner.

He grabbed his tools and turned back to his door, locking his jaw. He hadn’t meant to come off short, but it was better this way. Best to stay in his own lane. Best not to make something out of nothing. That’s what he told himself.

But later that night, when he was eating that damn delicious soup she’d left for him by his door—still warm, still considerate—he felt like a grade-A asshole.

From then on, it was Tommy who had taken over fixing the nursery, finishing what Joel had started. He figured that was for the best. It kept things clean. Tied up loose ends. He had no business stepping into that house anymore, no reason to.

And yet, his eyes always caught the details—the way the curtains in the nursery window shifted, the way light flickered between the slats, the way the wood he had sanded and painted was still unfinished, the way Tommy started bringing someone else along.

Mal.

Joel had seen him before, a younger guy with an afro that Tommy had taken under his wing. Handy with repairs, and good with his hands. Nothing special.

At first, Mal actually worked. Brought his toolbox, put up a few shelves, and nodded along to whatever Tommy said. Kept to himself. But then—things started changing. Mal started staying longer. Talking... to her. Right on the front stoop until the sun went down.

It was fine at first. Two steps between them. Then one. Then none at all. Soon, he was leaning close on the porch railing, shoulders nearly brushing hers, speaking in low, easy tones that Joel couldn’t quite make out from across the street. And then—laughter. Leela’s laughter. Soft, hesitant, but real.

More than Joel had ever gotten out of her. Not that he’d ever tried.

Tommy and Maria stopped coming around entirely. It was just Mal now. Every goddamn day. He’d stroll up, toolbox in hand, tap on the door, and then—nothing. No sounds of work being done. No hammering, no shifting furniture. Just conversation.

Joel told himself it didn’t matter. Repeated it like a prayer, like a lesson he should’ve learned by now. That whatever Leela did, whoever she let into her home, was none of his business. That was the whole point of leaving, wasn’t it? Cutting ties, walking away.

He didn’t care about the way Mal lingered on that porch, didn’t care about the way Leela had started looking at him—not quite wary, not quite inviting. Like she was still learning how to trust people but was willing to try. Didn’t care about the way Maya reached for Mal, the tiny fingers curling into his beard, the easy way Mal let her.

And yet, he always saw it.

The way Mal leaned just a little closer, the way Leela’s shoulders, once so tight and drawn, started to loosen. The way her fingers twisted in the fabric of her sleeves when she spoke to him, soft and hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to enjoy the conversation.

Joel hated how much he noticed. It was worse when he overheard them.

He'd been out all damn day. Sun up to sundown, rifle slung over his shoulder, dealing with raiders, clickers, and everything in between. The kind of day that made his bones ache, that made his back scream when he so much as breathed wrong. The kind of day where all he wanted was to go home, put his feet up, and maybe—just maybe—close his eyes for longer than ten damn minutes.

But no. Because just as he was rounding the corner to his place, the world ready to lay even more shit on him, he heard them.

"You mean to tell me no one's ever spun you around before?" Mal was saying.

Joel's step faltered. He should’ve kept walking. Should’ve ignored it. But of course, he didn’t. Joel adjusted his grip on the sack slung over his shoulder, slowing his pace, letting their voices drift through the cold evening air.

Leela snorted, light and dismissive. "Like dancing?"

"Exactly like," Mal confirmed, smooth as you please. "Having a little fun, letting go, feeling the music. Bet you don’t do much of that."

Joel’s fingers curled around the strap of his bag, grip tightening.

"There's more pressing matters than romance," Leela muttered, but she was laughing.

Joel didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t like the way she said it. Playful. Entertained. That was the first thing that rubbed Joel the wrong way. The second was the way the kid kept talking.

"Well, I bet Maya’s never even seen her mama all dolled up before, huh? Imagine that, baby girl," Mal cooed, and Maya's sweet crool followed like a melody.

Fuck this.

Joel didn’t hear Leela’s response, didn’t hear whatever she said next, because he was already moving—boots heavy, hands fisted, the strap of his bag biting into his palm.

The frozen dirt beneath his boots crunched as he made his way there, shoulders squared, hackles raised, barely restraining the urge to grab that kid by the collar and shake some goddamn sense into him.

Because who the hell did this punk think he was?

Talking like that, acting like Leela was some blushing girl to be sweet-talked. Like she hadn’t spent the last few weeks barely holding herself together. Like she hadn’t bled for that kid in her arms. Like Joel hadn’t been the one who—

He stopped himself there. Tamped it down. Shoved it deep into the pit of his stomach where all the other shit lived.

Instead, he turned away, kept his head down and walked straight home, fists tight around anything. By the time he kicked the door shut behind him, his jaw ached from how hard he’d been clenching it. Fucking Mal.

Joel dumped the sack of supplies on the table and went straight for the bottle. Pulled the cork out with his teeth, and poured himself a glass with a hand that was damn near steady.

He took a sip. Let it burn. Let it settle. Then he muttered, "Goddamn kid."

He wasn’t mad. Not really. Because why should he be?

She liked him. Sure, he wanted her to be happy. If that happened, he'd finally get a good night's sleep. And yet, it wouldn't mean a fucking thing to him if Mal was the reason. One day when he's going to see her and Mal inside her home, silver rings glinting off their hands, little Maya nestled between them, the picture of a perfect family...

Joel knocked back the rest of the whiskey and swallowed hard. Good. That was good. Good for her. She didn't need him. Maya wouldn't need him. He'd butt out and live alone, in peace.

He set the glass down a little harder than he meant to. Stared at it. Then, just to be sure, he muttered it out loud.

"Ain't my problem."

But the facts remained.

She still wasn’t eating much or sleeping well. The dark circles under her eyes hadn’t faded. She still rubbed at her temples when she thought no one was looking, still blinked a little too long, like she was fighting off exhaustion every second of the day. Food was out of compulsion, not hunger, for the sake of staying healthy for Maya.

And then, one night, he saw her asleep on the porch swing. Curled in on herself, arms tucked tight, shivering slightly against the cold, exhaustion dragging her under where she sat.

It took everything in him not to walk over and wake her. To shake her by the shoulder, drag her inside, make sure she was warm. It took everything in him not to care.

Because this wasn’t his anymore. He had no claim over them.

Didn’t change the fact that every time he saw Mal leaning against that railing, looking like he belonged there like he’d always belonged there—that knot in his chest twisted tighter.

And he hated that, too.

X

Joel had truly been looking forward to dinner. It was the same thing every week. He’d go over to Tommy's, have a decent meal, shoot the shit with his brother, and let Ellie fill in the gaps of conversation. It was comfortable. Familiar. Nice. A welcome change from the silence of his own home, from days spent running the same damn circuit—patrol, repairs, the bar, then back to a house that wasn’t a home, not really.

But tonight, something was off. Joel could feel it from the moment he sat down.

Maybe it was the way Maria and Ellie kept glancing at him like they were waiting for something. Or maybe it was just Tommy—sitting across from him, chewing through a mouthful of steak, his expression too nonchalant like he had something up his sleeve.

Joel didn’t think much of it at first. He focused on his food, carving through the meat, grounding himself in the scrape of his fork against the plate.

Then Tommy opened his big hole of a mouth.

"Mal’s been spending a lot of time over at Leela’s place."

Joel’s hand tensed around his knife. And just like that, his appetite was gone. He kept his face neutral and didn’t look up. Just kept chewing, lagging and deliberate motions, like he hadn’t heard a damn thing.

Tommy, either oblivious or just plain cruel, kept going. "Helpin’ out with the nursery. Putting some time in with the baby girl." He ripped a piece of bread in half, completely unaware of the way Joel’s grip had turned his fork into a weapon. "Good guy. He and Leela get along well. It's nice to see."

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose. Focused on his plate. Flattened a piece of potato with the back of his fork. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his problem. That was the whole goddamn point, wasn’t it?

He’d helped Leela out. Gave her time. Took care of her baby. That was it. She was somebody else’s problem now. And yet, the idea of some guy stepping into his place, rocking Maya to sleep, working on the nursery, fixing things, being there—his mouth flattened into a hard line. It stung.

No. It wasn’t his place to care. He'd told himself so many times, it felt like one of those daily affirmations bullshit. Thou shall not think of thy neighbour's handyman and his fuckeries.

Though, still, before he could stop himself, the words were already out of his mouth. "Nursery ain’t even done yet."

The second it left him, he regretted it. A beat of silence.

Then, slowly, too slowly, Joel looked up—and immediately hated what he saw. Maria and Ellie were smirking. That stupid, all-too-knowing, ready-to-annoy-the-shit-out-of-him-smirk. He had the greatest urge to leave the room.

Maria lifted an eyebrow. "And how exactly would you know that, Joel?"

Joel pursed his lips casually, setting his fork down with a little too much care. "They live right across the damn street. Hard to miss."

Ellie leaned forward, propping her chin on her fist. "Right. And how much time do you spend looking across the damn street?"

He massaged the bridge of his nose. "Don’t start, Ellie."

Tommy tilted his head, giving him a look that made Joel want to knock his damn teeth out. "You’ve been actin’ real funny ever since you left that house, y’know."

"Ain’t nothin’ to act on," Joel muttered, shifting in his seat. "I helped her out. End of story. Moving on."

Tommy wasn't letting go, damn him. "Uh-huh. Then why you sittin’ here lookin’ like you just bit into a bad lemon the second her name came up?"

Joel’s jaw ticked.

"Yeah," Ellie added, grinning. "Why’s your face doing that thing?"

Joel frowned. "What thing?"

She pointed with her fork to the furrows above his eyebrows. "The thing where you pretend you don’t care, but your forehead says otherwise."

Maria hid a knowing smile behind her glass while Joel rubbed at his face consciously, glaring over at Ellie. "You could just go over there, you know."

Joel let out a short, humourless chuckle. "Oh, c'mon. For what?"

"Dinner," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Just a meal with friends. Tommy, me, you, Ellie—Leela and Maya. Nothing big."

Joel stared down at his plate. His food had gone cold.

"We don’t need to be doin’ all that," he muttered, shaking his head. Getting familiar and cosy. It'd only invite more trouble.

Maria ignored him. "She’s got that nice, big dining room. French windows. Good view of the lawn. It’d be like a little party."

Joel didn’t respond.

"Come on, man," Tommy pressed. "What’s stopping you?"

That was the question, wasn’t it? Joel wasn’t sure he had an answer. Or maybe he did—and just didn’t want to say it.

Because the truth was, he had no business going back. He’d done what he came to do. He’d helped. That was it.

But then there was Maya—her featherlight body in his arms, the way she’d reached for his shirt in her sleep. There was Leela—standing in the doorway that last morning, silent, watching him go. There was the stillness in his own house, the way he’d catch himself in the middle of the night, listening for a cry that never came. What the hell was wrong with him?

Instead, he just stabbed his fork into his potato and muttered, "Pass."

Maria and Ellie exchanged another conspiratorial glance. And Joel had the distinct feeling this wasn’t over.

Once dinner had progressed into a chore, Ellie and Joel, ever the gentleman, helped Tommy dry the dishes. Well—Joel did. Ellie, on the other hand, was just sitting on the counter, swinging her legs and cracking jokes about Tommy’s new manbun. The kitchen was warm, the soft clatter of dishes filling the space and laughter, the steak dinner still settling in Joel’s stomach.

“You’re really doing the whole ponytail thing now, huh?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, flicking on the tap. “Jesus, you sound like Joel.”

“Hey, you take that back! I am way cooler than Joel,” Ellie corrected. “And I'm a thousand times funnier. Pun-nier.”

“Debatable,” Joel muttered.

“Did Maria do this to you?” she asked, flicking a sudsy fork in Joel’s direction. “Blink twice if you need help. I've got emergency scissors.”

Tommy snorted, stacking the last plate in the cabinet. “It’s practical. And I'm starting to like it.”

Ellie tilted her head, unimpressed. “It's lazy. Tragic.”

Joel smirked but said nothing, wiping down a plate before handing it over. Tommy shot him a glare like he was expecting some backup, but Joel just shrugged. Not his fight.

Maria walked in from behind them, and Joel noticed that infuriating look on her face. Oh, nothing good would come out of this. She set a small box on the counter with a dull thud, right beside Joel. He barely glanced at it before she plopped another paper box on top—leftovers from tonight. Steak and potatoes just for a special someone.

“Could you pass this on to Leela on your way back?” she said casually, drying her hands. “It's one dose a day, each.”

Joel looked down, his hands bracing against the counter. Vitamins. Of course.

Maria tapped the food box. “And dinner.”

Joel eyed them both, then her. The way she said it, like it was no big deal. Like she hadn’t just put him in a position he couldn’t easily wiggle out of.

He sighed, already seeing where this was going. He set down the dish towel, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tommy can pass it to her tomorrow.”

Maria simply raised an eyebrow. “Meat’s gonna go bad.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “Oh, so this is how you’re gonna play it?” He glanced at Tommy, then Ellie, both of whom were very pointedly looking elsewhere. “Really?”

Ellie grinned. “It’s a neighbourly thing to do, Joel. Don't you call yourself a gentleman?”

“I’m with her on that one,” Tommy added, crossing his arms.

Joel let out a slow, irritated breath. Family? No, just a bunch of annoying, traitorous little shits.

Maria only smiled, sliding the box closer to him. “Wouldn’t want her going without. She's already skin and bones. And you know... you live right across the damn street.”

Ellie burst out laughing, raising her fist to Maria, who bumped with her own knowing smile. “Respect.”

Joel clenched his jaw. She'd got him right where she wanted. Because now, if he didn’t take the stupid thing, he’d look like an asshole. And Maria knew that. She was being fucking shameless about it.

His gaze flickered down to the box. Then, before he could stop himself and leave them standing, an image surfaced—Leela, sitting on that damn porch swing, curled up against the cold. Maya’s tiny fingers tugging at her collar, red-cheeked, catching swirling snow in her dark curls.

Joel closed his eyes briefly. He couldn't shake it off. And he admitted it to himself, despite all his grievances against this, he missed them. He missed Leela's soft footsteps in the nursery past midnight, he missed Maya entirely. He missed the sense of normalcy once the blood and gore of patrol ended, to head to a warm home and lay down, exhausted, knowing he hadn't had a drink to fall asleep.

Then, wordlessly, he grabbed the boxes off the counter.

Ellie elbowed Tommy in the ribs, giggling. “See? Look at him. Good ol’ Joel, real man of the people.”

Joel shot her a warning look while heading over to grab his jacket, the delivery under his arm. “Don’t push it, kid.” Then pointed a threatening finger at Tommy as he yanked the front door open. “Can't believe we're related.”

Tommy only puckered his lips at him, miming a kiss. “Mensch Miller.”

X

The house across the street was unlocked again.

Joel stood at the threshold, jaw clenched, boots planted firm against the porch floorboards. The door was cracked open, swaying slightly from the evening breeze, the light from inside spilling out onto the steps. Did she even care about safety? It should’ve been locked. It should’ve been bolted shut, curtains drawn, an armoury stacked by the doorway. But Leela still acted like the world wasn’t what it was. Like Jackson was different.

It had been a whole two months since Leela brought Maya into this world, a month of struggling, of barely eating, barely sleeping, barely breathing. And now she had the nerve to leave her door wide open like she was inviting trouble? Like Jackson was some safe little haven where nothing bad could ever happen? A dangerous thing, that kind of trust. He’d seen what happened to people who had it.

His jaw ticked. He took the porch steps two at a time and pushed the door open without knocking.

Inside, the air was warm, thick with the scent of woodsmoke and something faintly sweet—baby powder, maybe, or that lavender soap Maria kept handing out. The fire crackled low in the hearth, throwing restless shadows across the room, licking at the edges of the high-backed armchair and the mathematics-riddled books and papers neatly stacked up in scatters.

And there she was, standing in front of it. Leela was running a brush through her hair, violently. Dragging it down, tangling it further, hissing under her breath when it snagged. Frustrated, impatient. Needed a haircut.

The same damn nightgown again. White, sleeveless, falling in soft folds just past her knees. But this time, his eyes caught the details—the way a single pearl button at her collar had been left open carelessly, the way the thin cotton made the dark silhouette of her body visible beneath, and the odd little cherries sewn sparsely into the fabric. Small, stitched by hand.

He had no idea why all that stood out to him. It just did. And boy, did it leave nothing to the imagination.

Leela stilled, catching sight of him in the doorway. The brush hung mid-stroke in her hand.

“Oh,” she said, like he hadn’t just barged into her house uninvited. “Hello.”

Her eyes and voice were warm. Soft, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary, as if she wasn’t standing there in nothing but a slip of a dress while the light of the fire turned her edge golden.

Joel forced his gaze away. His eyes flicked over the living room instead, to the couch against the far wall—his couch, as much as he hated to admit it. The blankets were still there, folded neatly, stacked with the pillows like she’d been expecting him to come back. His grip tightened around the boxes in his hands.

“I—” He cleared his throat, stepping forward, extending the boxes toward her. “Maria sent you some stuff.”

Leela blinked again before setting the hairbrush down, padding toward him on bare feet. She took the boxes gently, fingers barely brushing his. “Thank you, Joel,” she murmured, flashing a little smile.

“Just vitamins,” he played off.

She pried the lid off the larger box and inhaled deeply. He caught the way her nose twitched, her fingers tightening just a fraction around the edges.

“Her famous steak dinner,” he offered her.

And then, like clockwork, her stomach betrayed her, the low grumble cutting through the quiet between them. She stiffened, laughing, breathless and sheepish.

“Sorry.”

“You should eat—”

A sharp cry cut through the air, calling for her. Both their heads swung toward the staircase.

Leela sighed first, setting the boxes away. “Napkin,” she murmured, as if reciting from a schedule. “Please help yourself to anything. I’ll be right back.”

But Joel stepped forward, one arm extended, the box acting as a barrier between her and the stairs. He despised the unfamiliarity.

"Eat," he said, firm.

She hesitated. Her gaze flickered between him and the staircase, like she was weighing her options, debating whether to argue or just go along with it.

Another cry echoed from upstairs—short, needy. Joel could tell. It wasn’t hunger, wasn’t pain. Little Maya was lonely already.

“I got this,” he assured.

Leela chewed her lip. “But—”

“I know the drill.” He jerked his chin toward the kitchen. “Just eat.”

A long moment passed, heavy with hesitation. Then, finally, she relented, her shoulders sagging as she breathed in surrender. She took the box from him.

“I’ll grab a fork, I guess,” she muttered, turning toward the kitchen.

Joel smothered a grin while watching her go, and took the stairs two at a time, powerless to his anticipation. Two weeks since he held the baby girl. He'd missed the shit out of her, not that he would admit that to anybody. Of course, he wasn't about to pass up this chance for anything.

From the landing, the nursery's door cracked open, light from the hallway bleeding into the dim room. Joel frowned as he leaned in to inspect.

The first thing he noticed was that the crib had moved. His boots made no sound over the wooden floor as he stepped inside, scanning the space. The wooden shelves were up, already home to Maya's folded clothes, towels and napkins. The light installation dangled halfway, unfixed. No one had even begun work on painting the walls. No armchair. No rug.

This Mal guy was a complete jackass. Maya's nursery was a mess.

"Good with his hands, my ass," Joel muttered. "What a fuckin' tool."

Joel angrily followed the hallway light, stepping through the open doorway into the furthest bedroom, a room bigger than any he’d ever seen in Jackson.

Massive was an understatement. This was the kind of bedroom you’d see in a damn commercial—the kind of thing he would’ve scoffed at, once upon a time. The bed alone was ridiculous. Olympic-sized, sunken into a floor for itself, with plush, overstuffed pillows and thick sheets, barely disturbed. A sliding-door closet stood at the far end, pristine, untouched. A plasma-screen TV mounted to the opposite wall, thick with dust.

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line. There was something unnatural about it. The way it felt more like a untouched display than her bedroom.

Maya’s cries pulled him from his thoughts. Joel crossed the room, approaching the crib—the one he’d worked on. All pink and polished for the spoiled little girl.

The moment she saw him, her cries hitched. Big, teary brown eyes blinked up at him, wide and glistening, like she was struggling to focus. She sniffled, tiny fists flexing against the mattress, mouth wobbling around her jutting tongue, as if trying to place him.

Joel couldn't resist a grin, brushing a coarse knuckle at her soft cheek.

“Hi, baby girl.” Then leaned closer to whisper, “Traitor.”

Maya sniffled, blinking again, then reached for him—small fingers curling, grasping blindly before finding his much larger one, tugging it toward her mouth. She gummed at his gnarled knuckles with a fussy little noise, her brows furrowing in concentration.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “That ain't fair. That's your apology?”

Maya made another small whimper of a sound. And a real smile. A big, toothless, gummy grin, full of warmth and recognition. Something nearly uncoiled at his ribs.

He pulled a so-so face. “Hm, I'll bite.”

It was muscle memory, really. The way his hands moved—effortless, practised. He'd done it more than fifty times in two weeks. He made quick work of the napkin, wiping her clean, then slid his hands beneath her arms, lifting her up in one smooth motion.

He grunted as he did, “C'mere, sweetheart. You beautiful, beautiful girl. Did you miss me, huh?”

She squealed, legs kicking excitedly as he cradled her against his chest, supporting her head the way he always did. And just like that, he eased into the old rhythm without thinking. That familiar weight against him, that warmth—gentle, swaying, murmuring under his breath. It was easy. Too easy. Like breathing. Like falling asleep.

She nestled into his shoulder, tiny fist pressing against his neck, seeking his warmth. She’d gotten bigger. Not by much, but enough. Still delicate, still small—but stronger now. More aware. Smart, like her mother.

"Yeah, you missed me," he murmured when she nuzzled against his neck.

And then—pure, infallible instinct—he dipped his nose into her hair and breathed her in deep. Soft linen and old cotton, warm and faint.

Sarah used to smell like this once. For just a little while. That same invisible claw tore at his memories. Joel closed his eyes, just for a second. He remembered how, when she outgrew it, he'd missed it terribly. How he’d sometimes let her sleep curled up in his arms all night long, his back against the headboard, just to hold onto that smell. Just to keep that small, fleeting moment of innocence before the world could take it away.

That nostalgia settled deep in his ribs, quiet and whole. This seemed like the only place in the world where suffering didn’t exist. Like his hands weren’t stained with all the things he’d done, all the lives he’d taken.

Because here, right now, with Maya, he wasn’t the man who had lost and lost and lost again. He wasn’t the man who’d left behind nothing but bodies and broken promises. No, she didn’t know any of that. She didn’t care.

She only knew his warmth. She knew the steady beat of his heart, the scratch of his beard against her soft skin, and the way he said her name. She only knew him as someone safe. And fuck, he wasn’t, he wasn’t, but—

God help him, he wanted to be.

Maya sighed, a tiny, content sound, pressing closer. And Joel—he let himself believe, just for a moment, that he was clean.

A soft gasp behind him made him turn to reality and toward the door. “Oh, Maya.”

Joel turned to find Leela standing in the doorway, hand to her mouth, eyes wide in amusement. She had changed—finally—into one of those oversized sweaters he’d seen her wear on colder nights, sleeves swallowing her hands. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at his chest.

Joel frowned. “What?”

Leela bit her lip, trying—failing—to smother a smile. She motioned vaguely toward him. Joel tracked her finger and glanced to the side. And felt it. Hot, damp.

Damned baby spit-up.

Maya’s little betrayal soaked through the fabric of his shirt, spreading down from his collar and shoulder to his chest in an uneven, milky stain. She smacked her lips contentedly against his collarbone, completely unaware of the mess she’d just made.

He sighed, shifting her to the other arm. He levelled her with a playful glare. “You gonna warn me next time you ruin my shirt, darlin'?”

Maya only gurgled in response, a soft, pleased little sound.

And then, following her daughter—Leela laughed.

Not the quiet, polite kind that he'd managed out of her once. Not the forced kind, either. A real laugh. Breathless, unexpected, warm. Like it had slipped out before she could stop it.

Joel felt it like a slow-moving punch to the gut. He didn’t hear that sound often. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard it before on his account. He'd finally done it.

It changed something about her, softening her face in a way that caught him off guard. Her eyes creased at the corners, the tightness in her shoulders eased, the exhaustion in her expression smoothed over—just for a moment.

It did something strange to him. Something he didn’t have the time to name. So he just exhaled sharply, muttering a curse under his breath as he adjusted Maya over to the other arm, rubbing a hand over his damp shirt.

“Yeah, real funny. Your girl just aired her paunch all over me,” he grumbled.

Leela tried to sober up, apologizing, but another chuckle slipped out in between, and Joel caught the way she bit her lip, fighting to suppress it.

She was enjoying this. And he was in big fucking trouble.

"Don't move. I'll get you a spare shirt," she said, laughing, before walking to the adjacent closet doors.

Joel didn’t even get the chance to protest before Leela slid one side of the closet doors open, revealing—sweet Jesus.

His eyes landed on the neat rows of men’s clothing hanging inside. Not just a few misplaced items, not something left behind by chance. An entire collection.

Button-downs, slacks, henleys—clothes meant for daily wear. Added into the mix, were pressed suits, the kind that cost more than a month’s worth of supplies, the kind men used to wear to skyscrapers and boardrooms, back when the world was still upright. And golf shirts. For fuck’s sake, golf shirts.

Joel’s jaw hinged back up. Golf was a rich man’s game. He’d worked jobs near country clubs in his past life, and seen the kind of people who played. Men with money. Her father, perhaps.

Leela had definitely grown up rich. And looking at this—this untouched wealth, just sitting here, long past its time—it became clear. She probably still was.

Joel’s grip on Maya shifted slightly, the warmth of the baby pressing into his chest the only real thing anchoring him as his eyes dragged over the closet once more.

For all that Leela lived like a ghost, for all that she barely let anyone near her, this place still held echoes of what she came from. A past life that didn’t match the woman he’d seen standing at her front door, exhausted and hollow-eyed, desperate for her baby to stop crying.

Leela flipped through the hangers without hesitation, fingers brushing past labels he recognized—Armani, Burberry, Hollister. Eventually, she pulled out a green pullover. Soft, fine material. A little small for him, but it’d do.

She turned, offering it wordlessly.

Joel didn’t move to take it right away.

He was still staring at the closet. Not because he gave a damn about how much a fucking sweater cost, or whether she had a trust fund hidden away somewhere, but because it told him something. Something he hadn’t really thought about before.

Leela had come from comfort. Stability. A world where things were taken care of. And yet she’d buried herself in this big, empty house, alone, fighting tooth and nail to survive—like everyone else. And she never asked for help.

Leela cleared her throat. "It should fit. My father was a tall man."

Joel managed a sigh, shifting Maya in his arms. He took the pullover with one hand, already halfway through plucking open the buttons of his flannel.

While he worked, Leela stepped closer, ready to take Maya. She was quick about it, but Joel caught the way her fingers lingered, just for a second, as she scooped the baby up from his arms. Not on Maya.

On him.

Joel really tried to push it out of his head, write it off as an illusion, already plucking open the buttons of his shirt. His fingers brushed the fabric, and he paused when he caught the tag inside. Ralph Lauren, for fuck's sake.

Leela noticed with a small smile. "I didn’t take you for a man with fancy taste," she mused.

Joel let out a dry snort. "Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it."

He pulled off his flannel, the sleeves catching briefly on his wrists before he tossed it aside. The room wasn’t cold, but the air bit at his skin anyway. The scars felt it first—every healed cut, every old wound stretched over knotted muscle, each one a reminder of what his body had been through.

"Oh, man," he couldn't help but grunt, stretching his arms.

He worked the pullover over his head in one smooth motion, the fabric soft, snug across his shoulders. Felt like something he would’ve bought for Sarah back in the day, something she’d pull from a Macy’s rack, nodding in approval before insisting, "Dad, just try it on."

It fit better than he expected, but Joel barely registered that. His body had begun to ache. Not in one place—everywhere. It was late at night, it was cold, he missed his daily dose of whiskey, and he needed sleep for tomorrow.

The exhaustion sat in his bones now, permanent and familiar. His bad knee throbbed, aggravated from the cold, from the weight he put on it patrolling for hours at a time. His back had never been the same after that one fall, a long time ago. Some mornings, he woke up and could barely stand straight, feeling every single one of his years sink into him.

And yet, his body still held. Still worked. It wasn’t much to look at anymore. Not that it ever had been.

He had no delusions about himself—he wasn’t built for admiration. Never had been. Picking up girls and fooling around; was Tommy's thing. He wasn’t the kind of man people looked at twice, not in the way that mattered. His body told a story, but not the sort anyone wanted to read or had a happy ending,

His hands were ruined things, thick with callouses from years of exertion, from gripping rifle stocks, from skinning game, from chopping wood in the dead of winter. His knuckles were perpetually split, healing just enough before the next fight, the next job, the next reason to curl his fists. Scars mapped his skin, uneven and jagged, old bullet wounds and knife cuts, hard edges, marks of a life spent fighting for something—for anything.

He wasn’t young anymore. He wasn’t some smooth-talking son of a bitch with a face that turned heads. He was always angry at something, thinking about something, readying his next step, even if it was a complete waste of his time.

But he was still formidable. He could protect. He could endure the rough-hewn demands of survival, even now. He could fight like hell. That had to count for something.

But Leela—she wasn’t staring, exactly. Wasn’t not staring, either. It was subtle. Barely there. A flicker of something implicit, something fleeting, the way her gaze traced along his arms, his shoulders, abdomen, the sharp cut of his collarbone before snapping away. As if she hadn’t meant to look, and she’d caught herself a second too late.

Joel had been around long enough to recognize when a woman was checking him out. And hell—he wasn’t gonna lie to himself. It made him feel good. Fucking fantastic, really. Like he could wake up tomorrow feeling twenty years younger. Like he could leap right out of bed and his back wouldn’t stiffen before noon. Like he still had something left in him worth looking at.

He wasn’t an idiot, though. He wasn't going to let it go to his head.

Leela adjusted Maya in her arms, moving her weight as if giving herself something to do, something to focus on that wasn’t him.

And Joel—he pretended not to notice. Didn’t say a damn word about it. Didn’t shift under her gaze, didn’t smirk at her, didn’t let her see that she’d gotten under his skin in a way he hadn’t expected.

Just muttered a quiet, "Thanks," and left it at that.

Leela hummed in response, turning away to lay Maya down, who was already dozing her little head off, into the crib with practised care. Then, just as easily, she pivoted back to her bedside dresser, fingers moving over a stack of neatly folded quadrille paper.

"Can you pass something to Tommy for me?" she asked, voice soft, controlled. "It’s really important he gets this as soon as possible."

Joel might not have paid it much mind, might’ve brushed it off as just another errand he wasn’t keen on running—but then he saw it. The way her posture stiffened, the way her hands smoothed over the edges of the papers like they were something fragile, something vital. But whatever this was—it mattered.

She flipped through the pages, and for the first time since he’d met her, he saw something rare. Excitement. A flicker of life.

"It’s a wonderful breakthrough, Joel," she said, and there was a rare enough lightness in her voice, bordering on unguarded enthusiasm.

Joel just blinked. Leela wasn’t the type to get excited. Or maybe he's just never seen it in her before.

"So, I’ve been working on…" then she went into something technical for his dense mind, talking fast in words that blurred together. It all went miles over his head. Circuits, electrical theory, conduction points—half of it might as well have been a foreign language.

Joel just stared when she finished with a deep breath.

Leela instantly caught the look and pursed her lips. "Okay, um. Let me put it this way."

She shifted toward him, gesturing as she spoke, putting it into Layman's terms. "You know how the dam stops producing enough energy in winter? When the river freezes over?"

Joel gave a slow nod.

"So we rely on fuel, but fuel’s very limited. We've got the town expanding, and people coming in. So our batteries drain. If we had an alternative energy source, something reliable—" She held up the paper, tapping a rough sketch. "And that’s where this comes in."

Her hands moved as she spoke, cutting through the air with sharp, purposeful gestures. Not just passion, not just expertise. Conviction.

"Lightning is erratic, but it’s raw power. Joules of energy. Think about it. If we can direct a strike into a controlled medium—like a graphene capacitor—we can store it."

Joel narrowed his eyes, the concept clicking into his lagging brain. "So what, you think you can catch a goddamn thunderstorm and turn it into a battery?"

Leela wheezed a quiet laugh. "More or less."

He thought about it. "Seems like a hell of a thing to gamble on."

"It’s not a gamble. It’s math. Physics. It will work, Joel, I know it."

Joel didn’t argue. He didn’t understand it, not really, but he’d seen Leela work before. He trusted her genius. The nights she couldn't sleep—he’d sometimes blink awake to the sound of chalk scraping against a blackboard, catching sight of her standing there in the dim glow of the bulb, mapping something out with surgical precision. Or hunched over a notebook, scribbling feverishly, lost in calculations that only made sense to her.

It wasn’t just her passion—it was her outlet. A relief. A tether to something greater than herself, something she could control before she lost herself completely in the demands of motherhood. And if this was what she was holding onto, then perhaps it was more than just an idea.

She tucked the paper back into the stack, leveling him with a quiet look. "I also have a prototype," she said simply.

Joel raised a brow.

Leela nodded toward the hallway. "It’s in the basement if you want to see."

Joel wasn’t big on machines. Or gear. The finer technical details weren’t for him. But—he glanced at her, at the way she stood, weight shifting from foot to foot, something unreadable behind her eyes.

She wasn’t pushing him. She was waiting.

After a beat, he sighed, tilting his head toward the door. "Lead the way, ma'am."

X

The stairs were steep, the kind that creaked under their weight, but Joel kept a firm hold on Leela’s elbow, steadying her as they made their way down. She was still weak. Too breakable. As far as his knowledge went, she should've gotten better by now. And how the hell was she supposed to do that when she barely ate without cringing?

Joel had half a mind to tell her that, to point out how unsteady she was, how she winced when she put too much pressure on her feet—but she’d just brush him off with a shaky smile. So instead, he let out a quiet breath through his nose and adjusted his grip, keeping her close until they reached the bottom.

"There you go. Watch that last step," he guided as gently as he could.

She glanced up at him from the fringes of a smile, letting his hands go. "Thank you."

He expected damp walls, waterlogged corners, mould creeping up the corners, and a basement that smelled like rot and rust. As what he had been always used to when he went scouring towns nearby for supplies. What he got instead stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Well, I’ll be damned," he blew out.

It was a workshop. A big-ass one. Tools lined up on the magnetic walls, neatly arranged, half-finished projects sitting on a worktable, schematics pinned up in careful rows. More of Leela's notes and markers, taped-up designs. Funny how there was life only around all this machinery. Off to the side, an old wine cellar, the glass cases still intact, though the bottles inside were coated in dust.

And then—the cars.

Joel let out a low whistle. Two of them. Just sitting there like some abandoned luxury showroom. One was a Dodge Aspen, a classic in its own right. All violet and under repair. But the other...—his eyes caught the silver emblem glinting under the dim basement light. A prancing horse on the red steel.

"Come on," he muttered in disbelief, stepping forward, barely resisting the urge to run his hand over the hood. "Is that a… Maranello?"

Leela took a deep breath, still recovering from the stairs. "Yes. Custom made. Not sure if there's any left out there anymore."

"Holy shit." His fingers flexed at his sides. He didn’t want to seem desperate, but fuck, when was the last time he’d seen something like this? Much less, been this close?

"Can I, uh…" He gestured indistinctly at the car.

Leela flashed him a small grin. "Knock yourself out. The door's unlocked."

He didn’t need to be told twice. Joel reached out, fingers brushing over cool, crimson steel before yanking the door open. The new car smell hit him right in the face—leather, polish, something untouched by time. His chest tensed at the familiarity of it.

He slid into the driver’s seat, running his hands over the wheel, the knitting around the stick shift, and the soft beige leather of the custom interior. And just for a second—he let himself imagine it. Top down. Gliding down the I-10, no speed limits, no patrols, just him and the open road, wind in his hair, sun on his face, Raybans on. That dream all felt like a lifetime ago.

A soft knock on the passenger side window startled him back to reality.

Leela’s face appeared through the glass, her lips quirked in amusement. "Should I leave you two alone?"

Joel huffed, turning slightly to mask the grin tugging at his mouth. She opened the door and drudged her way inside, moving slowly. The descent had taken more out of her than she was willing to admit.

When she shut the door, he immediately rolled down his window, straining his ears toward the stairs. The one time he wished his hearing wouldn't betray him. Had he locked the door upstairs? Could he hear Maya if she cried? What if he couldn’t? How come Leela didn't seem to think about this? God, this girl really had no clue.

Her voice broke into his thoughts. "I wish I knew how to drive it." She ran her hand absentmindedly over the dashboard, voice softer now, almost wistful. "I believe the last great invention of man was the automobile."

"You said it," he mumbled.

Joel glanced at her and did a little mental math. She must’ve been nine, maybe ten when the outbreak hit. No middle school. No high school. No road trips, no late-night drives with her friends, music blasting. No first kiss. Just one world ending, and another one starting—a crueler one.

Leela exhaled, long and slow, sinking deeper into the leather seat like she could melt into it. Her fingers drummed idly on the handlebars, tracing invisible patterns, slipping into an old rhythm—one she didn’t even seem aware of.

Then, soft as a whisper, she started humming.

It was unhurried, quiet, like something she’d sung to herself a thousand times before. But it was enough to make Joel pause, something about the tune pulling at him. A half-buried memory, something from before. He knew that song. Hadn’t heard it in years, but it was still there, lodged somewhere deep in the creases of his mind.

"That’s—" He frowned, tilting his head, listening closer. "That Patsy Cline?"

Leela glanced up, surprise flickering across her face before something warmer took its place. "Walkin’ After Midnight. Yeah."

Joel hid a grin. "That is way before your time."

"So?" She smirked, tipping her head back against the seat, fingers still tapping, moving. "I had old parents. Rubbed off on me."

A layer beneath her words made Joel tread carefully. He, of all people, knew how age could sit heavy on a person, how some things weren’t worth prying open.

"Can’t have been that old," he muttered, though he wasn’t sure why he said it.

"My mom was seventy-eight when she passed."

Joel blinked. "W-o-w." The syllables came out slow, one after the other before he could stop himself.

Leela let out a quiet laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes this time. She glanced down, her fingers still moving, trailing over the leather, the stitching, following some old path only she could see.

"I miss them every day," she said, voice softer now, more distant. "I’m grateful they singled me out of those photographs. Brought me here." She gestured vaguely to the house above her, her home, before exhaling, like she was letting something go. "I just hope I’m doing them proud."

Joel felt something shift, and he realized: too much sharing. It had to go both ways. And he was never going to be ready for that. So he did what he did best, avoided and threw her off the scent.

"Man," he said abruptly, with a cluck of his tongue, "if I had the keys and some fuel, I’d ride the hell outta this beauty." The words came out before he could stop them. "And die a happy old man."

Leela laughed. A loud laugh, sounding much like her daughter just then, deep in her chest, like she hadn't done it in a long time.

"It’s got fuel," she said, still grinning. "You can still ride it."

"Just sitting here like it's nothing." He shook his head, a small laugh rolling out. "Christ. This is amazing."

He glanced down at the stick shift, thumb absently tracing the edge of the gear knob, but something else caught his eye.

Her nightgown. Hitched up, ruffled around the tops of her thighs, loose fabric pooling where she sat. Bare skin. Soft, smooth, taut over lean bone—too much of it. The way she shifted, unthinking, rubbing one knee over the other, restless. He felt a rock dislodge in his throat.

Fuck. For all that he could be—a guardian, a protector—he had to be a man.

His fingers curled against his palm, an old instinct, something long-trained. Look away, don’t think about it. He turned back to the wheel, forcing his eyes forward. Dashboard. Windshield. Glove compartment. The thin layer of dust coating the steering column. Anything but the way one more inch of movement would have left too much for his mind to comprehend.

But the problem was—she hadn’t bothered to fix it. She didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care. So why should he?

He swallowed, jaw flexing tight. Because that was the kind of man he was. Greying, frustrated, scarce on love.

His fingers twitched, itching for something to do, something to grab. Instead, he moved without thinking, across the partition—one finger. Just a light tug, barely a breath of a touch, dragging the hem of her gown down, covering her knees. A simple thing. A quiet thing. A mistake.

Her whole body jerked, a sharp intake of breath—like she’d been touched by fire. Really, Joel felt it more than he saw it. The way her muscles tensed, a shudder raced, the quick clutch of her fingers as she held the fabric in place now, suddenly conscious of it.

Shit.

He withdrew instantly, fingers curling into a fist on the steering wheel. Should’ve just minded his goddamn business. Stupid, stupid man.

For a second, the air between them felt too tight. Even with the windows rolled down and winter winds howling outside, he broke into a sweat.

"Didn't see it," she mumbled.

He just shook his head, a small, dismissive grunt, keeping his eyes straight ahead. And that was that.

But the silence that settled over them after wasn’t comfortable. Not one either of them knew how to break.

Joel exhaled through his nose, fixing his stare on the windshield., fingers tapping slowly against the wheel, like he could smooth out the moment just by waiting it out. Jesus, he should’ve never touched her. Should’ve let it be.

“So, that prototype of yours,” he attempted to distract, voice rough. “You got it nearby?”

No response.

He frowned, risked a glance at her—and stopped cold.

Leela sat stiff in the passenger seat, her posture folded in on itself. One slender hand curled at her side, gripping the hem of her nightgown tight until her knuckles went white, the other was pressed to her face, knuckles braced against her nose. Her eyes filled with tears in seconds.

A long, slow breath in, too shaky.

Joel’s stomach sank. He knew that sound. He had seen a lot of it in his time. Had seen grief in all its forms—loud, violent, shattering. But this—this was different. This was quiet, heavy, desperate.

Her shoulders hitched, her breath sucking in too sharp like she was holding something back—something about to give.

And then, just like that, as if a thread had been cut, she sucked in another sharp breath, her whole body curling forward, hands coming up to cover her face—and it hit.

That same soft, keening sound he’d heard from her room almost every night. The one that came through thin walls, muffled by pillows, engulfed by fatigue.

But this time, she wasn’t hiding.

And Joel—he didn’t know what to do. His hands flexed against the wheel, confused and useless.

She wasn’t supposed to be crying. Not because of his pathetic self. Whichever way he saw it, this was his fault. He’d crossed a line, broken through a wall he’d meant to keep standing, and now she was here—crying. Because he couldn't keep his hands to himself.

His mouth opened, and his throat worked, but nothing happened. Fuck. What the hell was he even supposed to say? Everything seemed inappropriate. There was no justification for what he'd done.

His fingers curled tighter, nails digging into his palm. He had to fix it. Before it got worse.

His voice came out too rough, uncertain. “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Just go.”

It hit like a crack of thunder. A faint, clear command, strangled between a cry. His stomach twisted.

He hesitated for half a second, long enough to hear the way her breath hitched, how her fingers curled deeper into her hair, how she looked like she wanted to fold in on herself, disappear into the goddamn leather seat.

He swallowed, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

He'd had seen women cry before. Ellie, Tess, hell even Maria. He’d occasionally held them while they did. But not this. Not her. And he hated—hated—that it was because of him.

His fingers flexed against his sides, fighting the instinct to reach out, to fix something he wasn’t sure could be fixed. But she’d made herself perfectly clear. To leave her alone.

So he did.

He wrenched the door open, barely registering the way it swung shut behind him. Didn’t look back, didn’t breathe until he was back up the stairs and out the door.

As he jogged down the porch stairs, the cold biting sharper now, cutting straight through the thick weave of his sweater, Joel tried to breathe. Snowflakes clung to the expensive fabric, melting fast, sinking in. He barely noticed. His inhales came long, exhales too short, not quite ragged, but uneven—like he couldn’t get enough air, like something in his chest was pressing down too hard, and no matter how deep he pulled, it wasn’t letting up.

It wasn’t panic. He knew what that felt like all too well.

This was different. A slow, creeping wrongness. A feeling that something had already slipped through his fingers, something he hadn’t even realized he was holding onto. And now it was gone, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to fix it.

He pressed a hand to his mouth, and wiped it down the scruff on his jaw, trying to steady himself, trying to shove it all back where it belonged. It wasn’t working.

His fingers curled into an aching fist. His breath fogged in the air in clouds.

He needed that fucking drink now.

X

The cold still lingered in the morning air, settling deep in Joel’s bones, but that wasn’t the only thing weighing him down. He hadn’t slept worth a damn. Tossed and turned all night, drifting in and out of restless half-dreams—images he didn’t want, memories he didn’t need. He woke up cold, despite the blankets, with a dull ache in his joints, and a scratch in his throat. Maybe from the weather. Maybe from something else.

Didn’t matter.

What mattered was getting out of that house. Getting up, getting moving. Keeping his hands busy, keeping his mind from straying where it wanted to go—back to last night, back to the way she had curled in on herself, hands to her face, shaking with something he couldn’t fix. He despised being around something unfixable. Made him feel incompetent.

He gripped the stack of papers tighter, the edges digging into his fingers as he stepped into the stables. Tommy was there, adjusting the saddle on one of the mares, humming some old tune under his breath. The familiar smell of hay, leather, and horse filled the space, grounding Joel in the moment. He clung to that.

“Tommy,” Joel called, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

Tommy glanced up, brow lifting in mild curiosity. “Mornin’, brother. No hard feelings from last night,” he said, giving the straps one last tug before stepping back. His gaze flickered to the papers in Joel’s hand. “What’s all this?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just extended them out. Tommy brushed his palms off before taking them, flipping through the pages absentmindedly—until he wasn’t. His fingers slowed, putting together the pieces, his brows knitting together, his mouth parting just slightly.

"What in the... I mean—I talked to her about this,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Told her we'd be having trouble. That was last week.” He let out a low breath, rubbing at his mouth as he stared at the pages like they had just appeared out of thin air. "She really did all this?"

Joel exhaled with a slight grin, feeling like someone had just handed him a gold star. An odd feeling settled in his chest—one he didn’t quite know what to do with. It wasn’t his place to feel this way, no right to. But still, pride curled warm and solid in his ribs.

“She stayed up workin’ on ‘em,” Joel muttered, not quite looking at him.

Tommy let out a short whistle, shaking his head. “Christ. This little genius just saved our asses out of the red.” He waved the papers at him. “Takin' this straight to Maria.”

Joel rolled his shoulders, clearing his throat. “Not just yet. There's a page is missing.”

Tommy paused and frowned, flipping through again. “The hell you talkin’ about?”

Joel crossed his arms, tilting his head. “I’ll give it to you if you let me fix that nursery instead of that goddamn kid.”

Tommy looked up at that, blinking. Then, realization dawned, slow and amused. His mouth curved into a smirk.

“For real, Joel?”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “Can’t even fix shelves right.”

Tommy cocked a brow. “He's just doing his job.”

“Little shit damn near had it fallin’ apart the last time I was there,” he argued. “Look, do you want the page or not? I'll just feed it to the horse.”

Tommy let out a sharp laugh, tipping his head back slightly. “You really got a bone to pick with this poor guy, huh?”

Joel’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer. Just kept his arms crossed, eyes unwavering. He wasn't backing down just yet.

Tommy shook his head, flipping the last page with a chuckle. “Fine, fine. You can fix whatever you want.” Then, without missing a beat, he held out his hand. “Now gimme the damn page.”

Joel handed it over without another word. But the way Tommy was still looking at him—grinning like he had something to say but was letting Joel walk away with his dignity intact—had him turning on his heel before his brother could get the last word in.

X

[ wow you read this far! now, if you're still reading, I'd just like to know - what song crept into your mind, about Joel or Leela, as you read this chapter? For Joel, definitely: Pain and Misery by The Teskey Brothers and as for Leela, ooooh: Wasteland by Royal & the Serpent! what about you? ]

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And to those in the reblogs, I have no idea how to respond to your sweet, sweet, wondrous words, but after reading them all, I have the most fulfilling, full eight-hour sleep I've ever had in three whole months! I love all the effort you put into commenting, and sharing your thoughts, I know it doesn't seem big, but really, you've made such a difference in my life :) Thank you all so much, and I'd love to keep hearing more!!

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[the-monkeies-girl]

I SO badly need a part 2 to Customary with Noa x reader 😭 pretty please!!!

I'M ON THE WAY DEARIE. I am so sorry it's so long but pls enjoy! Reblogs/Likes always appreciated. Maybe I make part three if anyone is interested! Thanks!

Title: Gone Hunting. Fandom: ( Kingdom of the ) Planet of the Apes. Rating: T. ( Mentions of blood, hunting game animals, animal mating. ) Words: 5.9K+ Pairing: Implied - Noa x Human! Reader. Summary: A week has subsided since you told Noa about the nature of romantic love. You wanted to avoid it, avoid him, but you had previously promised to go with him on a hunting trip. Was it a rouse for him to get you alone? READ THE SERIES HERE.

** Does Contain Mild Spoilers for Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes.

-- -- --

It had been a week since your last in-depth conversation and you still found that you were unable to look him in the eye. Noa seemed to not notice, or maybe he did and just didn't care enough to do anything about it. After all, the seriousness of the conversation, the floating vibration that still cramped your fingertips when you thought about touching him, the hardness that found its way to your throat when you attempted any sort of conversation with him… It was disheartening to think, but you figured he just didn't care enough personally to pressure.

-- -- --

“Love doesn’t need to be understood,” You were talking to him in such a hushed tone of voice, something that wasn’t frequent with you and Noa turned his head to the side ever so slightly at the sound of it. Breathy, he would say it was… And very, very different from the self-assurance you often carried yourself with. Wavering around the corner of words as if you were unsure of what you were saying. You were avoiding eye contact again, Noa mused, half tempted to look over his shoulder at what you had locked your gaze on. Probably something off in the distance, a tree fluttering with the slight breeze that shuffled the fur on his body and the hair on your head. An Eagle maybe? Noa was consciously aware that his own feathery friend was sitting behind the two of you, unwavering in their loyalty to him. He wanted to be jealous of something you were looking at, but Noa found himself locked on to you, baited anticipation to hear that voice again, the way it was speaking to him. So soft, so gentle, so… so… Personal.

“Love just needs to be embraced.”

Noa had his hand up to sign but you had turned to the side already, shuffling as quietly as you could. Quiet, but it was deafening to Noa. Every fall of your foot, every breath you were taking deep into your lungs and releasing quickly, tucking your hair behind your ear, the mere friction of that… All sounds were beating down on him like the fists of another Ape. Had he… Done something wrong? Asked something wrong? It was now very obvious that you were done talking, pushed against the wall metaphorically and had nothing else to say to him.

He’d encountered this countless times in the few months that you had been here. But, your inability to go on and explain further left Noa understandably frustrated this time around. Not at you, never at you… He curled his fingers at his side and sat back on his legs, almost burning a hole into the back of your head with his eyes. You were now moving to get the horse you came on prepped for the small journey back to the village. Not that you needed to, it was just something to keep yourself occupied, away from the thought that he was perceiving your words in the way he wanted to. You left it vague enough to leave it up to interpretation, by all means.

Turning his head to the side, he looked at his Eagle and pressed a curled pointer finger to their beak. It was not too far of a trek back, you didn't need to adjust anything with the horse…But it was far enough away that you felt comfortable to talk to him openly. It wasn’t that you wouldn’t with others around, he figured that Echo’s arrogance would run wild and you would want to boast to the Apes about how things were. How things were better for Echo’s than Apes but you never did that. He also heard another concept about Echo’s and that was privacy. And out of all things, Noa knew that privacy in conversations was important. He never understood why; Apes were social creatures and most likely knew everything ( or close to everything ) about their neighbors without plight.

Maybe that was why Noa was so drawn to… He stopped his thought process there and shook his head. He was quick to rationalize. No, there was no reason to be drawn to any of this, but he didn't want it to stop. Noa was even quicker to give into selfish ideology. He was holding his hand out there in the deep dark, hoping to the highest heavens that your hand would reach his.

-- -- --

Tilting your head to the side, a deep sigh left your parted lips. That wasn’t like Noa, though… He wouldn’t adversely reach out to you unless you were willing to reach out first. That’s how it’s been since the beginning and that’s how it remained, you never wanted to change it because it made you feel wanted… Wanted by him…

Your legs felt like they were going to fall off and that derailed your train of previous melancholy. There was a nice river he knew about, about three clicks away and Noa used the excuse of going hunting to drag you with him. You didn't necessarily want to go, you feared being alone with him for prolonged periods of time but surprisingly… It was a pleasant enough ride there on the back of your loaned horse. You believed it to be Soona’s, and you were fortunate that she let you use it occasionally. Not much was spoken, a few phrases here and there spotted between actually talking and Noa signing at you one handed as he kept another hand on the reins of his horse.

The sun was high in the sky, almost midday you figured, peering up at it through the thick branches of the trees. There was a thick smell of condensation clinging to the leaves of said trees; it had rained the night before and deliciously drenched everything. Ironically though, as that thought escaped your brain, your mouth went slightly dry as you looked ahead, only a few feet away from the rider in front of you. He seemed to enjoy the wistful silence that fell around the two of you, his eyes shutting for a brief second as he enjoyed the sensation of the sun peaking through the trees, blotching his body. You noted that his fur seemingly changed color at that. From a dark brown to an almost honey brown. What you would have given in that moment to see him fully bathe in the sun.

Grasping the reins tightly, you beckoned your horse a bit faster. There was a subconscious desire to be near him despite what happened. Hell, you thought to yourself and let a small blush take over your cheeks, you’d have ridden on the back of his horse if he had asked you. Of course, if he turned to face you and noticed your expression, you had a quick response. It was chillier than most days, and that was the smoking gun. You’d blame it on the cold hitting your cheeks. Simple.

But, with yourself already tangled in the thoughts, you proceeded on. You imagined that idea… Sitting so close to him, your chest to his back, heart beating quicker than you cared to admit. Your face resting against his shoulder to look forward, almost the same perspective as Noa himself… You desperately found yourself clinging to that aspect. To see what he saw, to know what he knew, to… To feel what he felt. Now, as you had gotten closer, you could see the evident water droplets lining along his broad shoulders. He must have bumped into a low sitting tree, maybe a bush, that distributed its lovely rain water against him. You could smell in your vivid imagination, how he must smell… Deeply ingrained dirt under fingernails, the Earth below your feet, toes curling into the sand, the brisk whisk of a hazy morning standing in a field of wheat by yourself, the allotment of sun brushing against delicate skin… That prospect alone left you feeling incredibly heady.

‘Here,’ He signed quickly, simultaneously slipping off his horse as he communicated. You were jealous of his ability to multitask like that, it was never your forte. But, Noa must have been doing it his entire life. He was taught to do that, taught from those around him… Observation was a good thing, you learned that from him. You knew that he liked to fidget things in his hands, but he was seamlessly able to sign in between that and not lose track of what his hands were doing before. You swallowed softly, being snapped viciously out of your fantasy.

Giving him a slight nod, you intently watched as he rounded his own horse and glanced up at you with those soft green eyes. Your interest was raised surely, but it was haltered when you got a full glance at him. He had his usual garb on; the cross-body sack, a few empty walnut shells tied near his shoulder with twine that would tickle his cheek if he looked over that twine encasing what appeared to be a leather band, worn from frequent use. He had it just in case he found something of interest to take back to the village, the band on his arm, yellow and orange in nature with a soft accent of tan, with adjacent and colorfully complementing feathers to show his status. They were strikingly blue and vibrant against the brown fur on his bicep, tightening anytime he would move his arm.

The band alone caused you to pause. Noa was large, larger than you by far. Not necessarily taller than any other Ape, but broad and encapsulating, and you found your eyes following him if you were in the company of others. He was the leader, and that band on his arm was more than a slap in the face at times. You remembered in most Ape clans it would be considered a luxury that he was the one personally taking you to go hunt. From the throes of hierarchy itself it was a privilege.

Noa’s eyes momentarily caught the sunlight, appearing more gold around his pupil before shifting back to their regular green as he pushed himself up to stand bi-pedal. They were gorgeous, even without the light hitting them.

‘Been here many times, with Soona and Anaya.’ Noa smiled fondly at that, letting his eyes shift away from yours to take in his surroundings. Wishing to do the same, you found yourself staring at him a moment too long before catching on that you needed to dismount your horse, needed to get your things together from the sack on the back of your horse. There was an assortment of berry bushes to your side, some appearing much more ripe than others. Black berries were sorely abundant and your eyes traced the light shapes of them against the green leaves that they were almost camouflage in. It was just now the beginning of spring, it made sense that some were ready and some were not. But, by your powers of deduction, you gathered that you were not berry hunting. ‘Easy hunting for an Echo.’

His silent words made you feel a swell in your chest. He was being… You didn't dare say considerate, but that’s what it felt like. Perhaps, more accommodating than anything else. After all, you were just a human to him, and he had nothing to gain from being considerate, but had much to gain by gaining your trust so he was more accommodating by nature. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you rested your hands on the base of the horse's shoulders, giving a sharp breath in as you hiked your legs over the side. If you were paying any attention to your surroundings instead of intensely focusing on not slipping, on not looking like a fool, you would feel a set of burning eyes watching. Observing… Obsessing…

Noa tilted his head with a gruff sound, too deep in his throat for it to be caught by your ears from the distance he held himself. Specked, almost amber-like gaze caught hold of your hands, how dainty they appeared to be compared to his own, your legs, how agile you were being, surprising for an Echo, he chuffed to himself. You were usually not like this, not balanced. He had once seen you slip on ice, which replaying inside of his mind was mildly amusing. He didn't help you up that time, and simply watched as you stumbled, trying to sign in between your slips. You could have asked for help, but you didn't. He wondered why from time to time until you explained to him embarrassment. Then it made more sense.

And ever since, he tried to keep a more mindful eye on you, on your movements; Of course, to make sure you didn't fall. He heard that Echo’s were not durable, not strong like Apes and a fall in the wrong way could cause intense problems. That’s just what he told himself though. If he were being more transparent, which he was not being, he’d have to succumb to the act that he needed to keep you protected out of his selfishness.

“Need help?” He verbalized, your feet dangling for a split second before you finally landed on the ground. A grunt left your lips with the action, your knees burning ever so slightly as weight was put back on them. Brushing your fingers along the side of the horse to calm them, you glanced over your shoulder at Noa, triumphant enough to gloat that you didn't need any assistance. “Just like Ape.” His signing was languid as if he were truly unsure if he was okay to make a comment like that towards you.

You grinned to yourself as you turned back towards the horse, shuffling to the side to get to your bag which was easy enough. Trying to ignore that sufficient pride that hit you like a moving horse due to Noa’s simple words, you dallied for a second longer than you really needed to, painting your fingers along the rough sew of your bag. He was just trying to get you to feel comfortable, it was nothing more than that. I mean… You thought to yourself with a snide chuckle. Was… Was flirting even a concept he was familiar with? Surely, they had to have some sort of form. You knew that grooming had to be a heavy part, it was a personal and intimate detail that often got overlooked when human’s thought about Apes and their threshold to be incredibly social with each other. You had seen it first hand, along with those tender moments of foreheads touching one another. Brow to brow, usually hands on the heads to keep each other near as possible, eyes closing as two slowly became one and---

You tucked your shoulders into your bag, more aggressive than you needed to and allowed the added weight to anchor you as you twisted to follow whichever way Noa deemed worthy. You also knew that they were quite sarcastic when they wanted to be, and you found it endearing at times. Especially when it was Anaya. In your head, you had dubbed him as the sarcastic one, Soona as the caring one, Dar as the motherly one, and Noa… was just Noa. No immediate words came to your mind when you tried to think about it. Maybe that was a good thing! Maybe, what was happening, what had been said, was just a crush and you were finally trying to blow past it.

He was staying on his legs for you, not wanting to move onto all fours as his pace would be too fast. Another accommodation, not a consideration. There was his heavy spear splayed across his back, being held by the strap of his bag. It swayed with his movement. Subtle, his shoulders would move ever so slightly as he walked. Following suit, it felt like you were playing a game as you grasped your own spear from your horse. It was smaller than Noa’s but just as effective and hunched it over your shoulder, holding it loosely as you took pace to match his speed. Noa was only a meter or two in front of you, leading, but you wanted to be right by his side. He looked back at you and you found your feet coming to a small stop before picking back up, a silent agreement being made there at that moment. You wouldn’t use words. You would only sign as to not scare away any potential kills.

-- -- --

“I don’t understand,” You muttered to him, your shoulders fraught with confusion. Noa’s green eyes swept from his hands over to you and longed to have it reciprocated. There was nothing though, you were pretty focused on the kill. He was holding a small rabbit who had no idea their demise had come at the hands of the Ape in front of you. It was roughly tied at the feet, binding it so he could keep it stored properly for the ride back to the Village. It was ignorant bliss that the rabbit truly lived in and now it was gone. You were envious of that - the ignorant part. Swallowing softly, you shifted your gaze to the side and pretended to be amused by the fire. He had been studying you, trying to gauge what your words were going to be. Hard, mean? Assuming something you shouldn’t have? You liked to do that and Noa liked to prove you wrong just as much. But, without any eye contact, Noa could not read you. Could not see your face, and could not make any judgments towards you as you asked him, “You--- you hunt?”

Noa knew you knew the answer to that but he obliged it anyway, “Small prey. Rabbit, usually.”

Simple enough answer, and you left it at that. And deep down, Noa’s accusation was correct. You’ve eaten fish frequently enough with the Clan. And as the sun began setting and dinner time rose, you sat quietly perched between Anaya and Soona, both talking over each other about mindless chatter and watched Noa eating a fish, dissecting it almost like he were a scientist of some sort, navigating around the small bones with ease and some sickening form of elegance. He had caught eyes with you then, a piece of fish sliding between his lips as he chewed it tentatively. The beam of the firelight in front of you was able to mask the disappointed look on your face as you realized that he was only looking at you because he sat across from you. Nothing more. Looking away quickly, you put much focus on your own fish, roasted to a tender crisp. Suddenly, Noa’s eyes were watching your moves instead of sinking into your gaze.

The way your fingers swept along the length of the fish, the way you muttered under your breath trying to get a mouthful of fish instead of bone, you felt too self-conscious to eat. You sat it down on a leaf in front of you. Another set of eyes were on you and before you could open your mouth to say something to the Ape leader in front of you, Anaya was signing, asking if he could have your remaining fish. You said yes, hastily looking away from Anaya after the confirmation but Noa was not looking at you anymore, preoccupying himself in conversation with his mother.

That same night as everyone was preparing to return to their own nests, Noa had found you. If he was seeking, you often left yourself open like a book if he wanted to come see you. It was very rarely at night though, and you took it in. Eyes glazed from the sky above, littered with all its tiny self-sufficient lights, boasted tonight by the moonlight, into green eyes that were almost too dark for their own good. You could have sworn there was something mischievous there but-- You pinned it on it being almost pitch black, a trick of the eyes. Of course, his pupils were dilated, there was no denying yours weren’t as well but you weren’t sure if you could justify yours being from the lack of light. He was on all fours as he approached you, your hands setting down the soft pelt that you had dubbed your favorite to use in your make-shift nest.

Nothing to write home about, a tanglement of tightly sprung together branches, padded by a few animal pelts. Off to the side,and tucked away safely, were your clothes. Only enough sets to keep you going. Two pairs of pants, three shirts, some undergarments… You could hear Noa and Anaya in your head at that thought. The day you were caught washing your clothes in the river, the curiosity they both had at that as Noa observed you wringing out the cloth between your hands. ‘Echo weird.’ Anaya signed to Noa as they let you be, turning to go down the river and fish. If you were observant enough, you’d have seen Noa turn back towards you, only for a split second before deciding to leave you to your duty. Which, Noa still didn't understand.

It was enough of a bed that it was comfortable and didn't leave you feeling like a wilted flower the next day. You wondered for a brief time what Noa’s must have been like and felt your shoulders dip in. You were ashamed of how yours must have looked compared to what was the norm. Was Noa’s nest comfortable? Was it warm? Could he look out and see the sky when he wanted to? You knew vaguely that his nest was perched above the rest, a right of passage that was torn between his mother and himself at the moment of his fathers death, at least until he found a mate and then it would ultimately become just theirs. You didn't even realize you were clenching your fists so tightly that your knuckles were turning mildly white.

“You want to go?” He asked, not putting in any context. He must have realized that, picking the conversation apart from earlier, before dinner. “Hunting with me.” He gestured towards himself with a hand in the natural form of a ‘C’. It pressed against his chest gently. He was gesturing to himself which made sense as he continued, “Usually go with Anaya and Soona but can take you alone. The season change, rabbits are more---”

He was murmuring which came to a slow stop, deep in his chest, it faded to the sound of an animalistic growl when you finally turned fully towards him. He was coming up with some way to get you to go with him, to be alone with him, you hadn’t given him barely the light of day since your conversation only a few days ago. Some pathetic attempt it was, Noa shouted in his head and dipped his head when you looked away from him. You knew how to hunt--- You wondered if Noa knew that. There were many times, especially recently as you had gotten disconnected from your fellow group of Humans, that you were forced to hunt. It was needed but not really your favorite thing. You learned quickly though with the Apes that often Females were left to forage for berries, vegetables, seeds and roots and Males were left to hunt actual game. Fishing was done communally, including the young as it was often their introduction to the world and concepts of hunting.

‘I’d just be in the way.’ You signed to him quietly, not wanting to wake anyone up with your tone. Noa huffed at that and tilted his head upwards towards you again. He was still on all fours, it looked like an almost defensive position like he wasn’t opening up to you completely. Bringing you bottom lip in, Noa once again as he so often enjoyed doing, watched. You nibbled once, then again this time harder than before. ‘Not very good.’

‘Better than Anaya, got scared of butterflies once.’ Noa joked, shifting towards you slightly. He looked at the pelt you had so delicately placed in front of you and for less than a split second, he lost control. Pull you towards him, push you down on that pelt and absolutely---

‘Maybe,’ You finally caved, snapping Noa back into reality with your hand moving. Hard. He kept himself grounded, hands resting roughly into the dirt below him. ‘When?’

He had just been hunting today. There was no logical way for him to explain that he wanted to go again to anyone around him. ‘Few days from now.’ He signed slowly.

-- -- --

A few days ended up being closer to eight, and you were left stuck. You had already promised to go hunting, but then the dreaded conversation seven days ago left you dispelled and not as eager to go. Crouched rather uncomfortably next to Noa, you watched him idly tie a knot around his spear. You could tell it got much use and that it was his favorite, though there were many other weapons the Clan could provide. As if he were controlled by another, he raised his arm without looking up. The eagle appeared without a sound, looking at Noa with small beady eyes that you couldn’t read anything from. But, from his reaction as he nodded to himself, raising his arm once again to dispatch his eagle brethren, he must have gotten information. It never ceased to cause you amazement that he was able to do that.

‘Close.’ He signed, drawing you back out of your almost hypnotic state. ‘Den nearby. Finished mating season,’ Noa didn't look at you with that sign, but it was different than his usual language. He was mildly stiff, shoulders drawing in together. You dared to say it was rigid, like he was unsure that it was the phrase he wanted to use. ‘Now many rabbits.’

Lips parting at that, you moved your feet to sort them away from turning numb. The crouching position was more comfortable for Noa, you decided. His spine was curved to sit like this for more extended periods of time, eyes gently grazing over his posture at that moment. He was surely comfortable as could be, shoulders hunching inwards ever so gently. There was a meager temptation from your part to move so you could be face to face with him but you doubted that he wanted that. You were fine next to him, you reassured yourself and swallowed hard. It was a sound that Noa noticed but didn't turn his attention to. Unwanted attention on you, in the past, has caused you to only run or flee from him. He figured he’d bid his time, patiently waiting for you. Your knees felt like they were on fire, calves were absolutely going to cause problems for you tomorrow. from sitting in the squat position for too long. You only lingered on that for a second though as his words finally hit you. ‘Babies?’

‘No,’ He was quick to respond, somehow knowing that his answer was going to calm you down. ‘Mature now, born few months ago. Fast development. Best age to hunt for them. Good meat.’

You nodded and processed what he was telling you. He was incredibly knowledgeable about this, showing off his skills at hunting with just words. How else would he know these things without actively doing it on a habitual basis? You swelled at that thought. That Noa was indeed a provider, a show off at times, but a provider none-the-less. Whomever he ended up with was going to be lucky to have that unwavering dedication which spurred your next inquiry. ‘Mate for life?’

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him when you signed that. Last time the conversation about mating happened, you ended up not speaking to each other for seven days. He was piqued in it regardless. Were you asking just to converse with him, or did you truly not know the answer? Either way, he considered himself invested and shut his eyes in thought. Tilting his head to the side, he sat his spear in front of him quietly, only cluttering as it shifted against the rock you two were perched on. You were just making a light conversation piece, Noa decided and he wanted to provide an honest answer.

‘No, many partners over time.’ He was using both hands to sign before he dropped his green orbs to rest on you. Not just on you, but it felt like he was crawling inside of your skin with his next set of words. ‘Not like Ape or Echo.’ Obviously, he meant it in the broadened terms. All Apes and all Echo’s. Not just the two of you. Shaking that idea out of your head, you nodded your head in understanding.

‘Mating is fast for them,’ Noa went on, just desperate at this point to continue on the path of conversing. He knew it was making you nervous, he could hear your heart beating, he could smell the sweat build up on your forehead, on your palms. One part of him deceivingly liked it, the knowledge that he could get you like this, but then there was the other oblivious side of him that didn't counteract his thoughts and he found himself continuing. ‘Have seen it. Only seconds. Female…’ Noa only spared you a slight glance.

Just as quickly as his eyes met yours, they were gone and he was looking out into the dense forest. Not at anything in particular, but he was surely searching. If you didn't know Noa already, know the nature of his personality, you would almost wager that he finally picked up on the validity of the conversation and he was turning back into his usually reserved self. This was not a topic he’d have chosen to talk about with you. The mating rituals of a… rabbit. He couldn’t stop himself though. He wanted this, wanted you to know this. Maybe if he kept going, you’d ask another question and he’d give you another answer. It was rare when the conversations took a turn and Noa got to tell you about his own knowledge, he thoroughly enjoyed listening to you. But… This moment you found yourself in, you were carefully processing what he was telling you like you life depended on it. Like… You depended on him.

‘Female will sit and take it. Many times to ensure conception.’ You nodded again and felt a tingle run down your spine. You attributed it to being crouched still. ‘Male will fall off after. Anaya thinks from being tired.’

Biting your tongue to keep yourself from snorting, you found it comfortable enough to joke around a bit, ‘Male humans are the same way. One, two maybe three good thrusts then,’ You paused and weren’t sure how to conclude. ‘We don’t mate for life anymore.’

‘For what then?’

It was a legitimate question and it left you wondering if Noa would understand the reason, if he would be accepting of the reason. As a whole, he was still incredibly on the fence about humans and you knew that. You were careful in your answers when he wanted to know something, a meager fear that saying something too outlandish would cause him to go quiet without understanding the human element and he never pressed your answers when they were not something he wanted to hear. He’d sit, reflect and come back if he had any remaining questions. He deserved your honesty though, he would brashly give you the same without any hesitation. You sighed and flexed your back, trying to figure out a delicate way to put your answer.

‘Pleasure?’ Noa’s fingers moved fast. Your mouth popped open at his absolute audacity. You had to remind yourself that he had no clue that this was a very deeply private thing to talk about. You had explained to him privacy here and there, and while he accommodated it in most aspects like giving you your own small nest, giving you space to bathe, giving you space with him to talk, there were just some things that pushed the boundaries of what you wanted to tell him. And surely sex, mating like that, like he was implying, was pushing that and you were right up against it. Noa must have recognized that he fumbled asking you that, or at least, phrasing it so… so primally. He raised his hand to sign an apology, but you were faster than him.

‘Hardly,’ You signed that hastily, hands now resting on your kneecaps. You rubbed there, almost relishing in the way it felt. ‘Not many can have children. We do it out of survival.’

Noa’s face dropped at that, eyes flicking between the side of your face and your body language, trying to read the expression you had but he was having a hard time. Has he… Has he seen you make this face before? He racked his brain but nothing came immediately to mind. You looked like someone just told you terrible news. Your face was long with something Noa didn't understand. Your eyes were hooded, looking at the ground. Pressing your arms around your body, Noa recognized that as a defensive tactic. He pushed it. Foolishly. You weren’t going to talk to him anymore about it, about how it was for you before he found you, if you had… Had ever mated.

But, maybe that was for the best! Quash it before he knew the answer, before his curiosity got the best of him. It was for the best, he kept repeating inside of his head, that he didn't know. That you didn't tell him someone else laid claim to you already. Running his teeth along his sharp canines, Noa turned with thought. He had done it without care. Asking you such a stupid, pointless, meaningless question as if he himself knew pleasure like that. He didn't even know what he was talking about when he asked! He didn't…Even…. Know… Would he ever? He had to wonder. Know what he was talking about, the implications of what he suggested?

His stare rested on you, the side of your face as you were trying to process everything that just transpired. You were avoiding eye contact, a tell-tale sign to the Ape that you were done chatting. A soft breeze hit the air around you, Noa diving almost face first into the smell that wafted off you, the bouncing of the small baby hairs on the top of your head, not as long as the rest but trying to get there and the picking of your fingers at the fabric that had bunched around your knees. It was asinine to think that he would ever know with you. And he was even more so to think about asking let alone actually doing it.

What was he expecting? An answer? You so flatteringly telling him you had never been with anyone, that you opened your arms to him to lay claim? An Ape of all creatures. He chuffed at that and broadened his shoulders. But, the thought of you with another, any other, made him feel a surge of aggression, resting too uncomfortably at the back of his head like he had been crouching his head down to look at something for too long. Quicker than lightning, Noa bared his teeth and picked up his spear. With a free hand, he gave you only one command.

‘Let’s go hunting.’

[screamingcrows]

Between Desires

Notes: This was supposed to be a fic about massaging Ratio. This fic is not about massaging Ratio. Steal for AI or anything else and I'll make sure your bathwater is forever infected with Legionella spp. Tags: Dr. Ratio x fem reader, irresponsible bath behaviour, mostly fluff, oral f receiving, established relationship, nsft end, 1.7k Minors DNI

"-came to the conclusion that while each perceivable object was, on a grander scale, made from incomprehensibly small pieces, all of them identical, order had been imposed on the system to-"

A little twitch and the following motions of the warm bathwater had Veritas diverting his attention from the pages down to where you rested between his legs. Only then did he notice the soft snores accompanying your breathing. To say the sound and sight of you so relaxed made his heart soar would be an understatement.

As long as you weren't swallowing bathwater again.

Although Veritas would've preferred for you to stay awake, somewhere down the line, he had become quite accustomed to your small interruptions. Huffs, chuckles, sighs, questions, corrections. Your curious mind was something to be treasured, some of your commentary insightful in ways that had Veritas questioning the value of all his titles and diplomas.

The foam had all but dissipated and your scented candles almost fully burned down, the intermingling fragrances heavy and comforting in the air. A trip past the artisan who made both would be due soon. He set the book down onto the small bench beside the tub, finding himself no longer in the right frame of mind to read.

Veritas had long since had to accept that between savoring how perfectly your curves slotted against him and enjoying a book by himself, the first would always come out on top. It was an entirely different matter when you were listening as well, of course.

If the old theories of a cosmic mind and the nature of all material had been true, then Veritas had no doubt he was made of the same as you, his being constantly drawn in by yours. Just as how both of his hands had unconsciously sought the softness of your stomach, thumbs tracing the wet skin with the reverence of an artist touching a masterpiece.

Not his masterpiece. No, you did not belong to anyone but yourself, and Veritas considered himself blessed to have you so close. Blessed in far more important ways than an Aeon's gaze could ever grant.

Vanilla invaded his senses after pressing a tender kiss to your wet hair, unfortunately, the taste of soap that followed had him tensing with effort to suppress a cough.

"Mmm… I'm listening…" Your words were a little slurred, your sleepy mind probably thinking he'd cleared his throat to get your attention.

A small smile tugged at his lips, arms fully encircling your waist to maneuver you properly onto his lap, "Of course, so what do you think?"

"What I think?" Veritas couldn't help but smile at the uncertainty in your sleepy voice. He guided your head back, carefully bringing a handful of water up to rinse the remaining soap from your wet strands. "I think someone is trying poke fun at me."

"Do you now?" Warmth bloomed in his chest at the sight of your hand reaching behind your head, the familiar playful tug of his hair making it impossible to keep from smiling into your hair, "by preemptively assuming the intentions of others, we become less inclined to recognize non-verbal cues, subsequently hindering genuine interactions."

Barely had Veritas processed your unimpressed hum before a splash of lukewarm water doused him. "And childish attempts at deception are rewarded with equally immature retaliations, plaster-head."

After wiping his eyes, Veritas could no longer resist the urge to curl around you, letting his lips trail gently along the curvature of your shoulder and licking up a few droplets of water. Only when your breath came out shaky did he pull away, taking a moment to appreciate how perfectly his palms cupped your chest.

There were numerous reasons to despise how easily blood pooled in his lower half, the simple pressure of your thighs enough to have his skin burning and mind buzzing. Countless unfortunate situations had arisen and been narrowly avoided due to how easily you affected him. A fleeting kiss, a teasing whisper, a light brush of hands. All of which had caused him to throb with desire in the past, just as he did now, burying his head back into the crook of your neck.

But no inconvenience mattered in the face of your content hums, not even the knowledge that continuing to rut against your thighs while submerged in water would leave his skin irritated for at least a day. Under normal circumstances, Veritas would be the one holding his desires back until both your comfort was guaranteed, even as need seared every nerve in his body.

Which was exactly why feeling you pull away had his eyes widening. Water sloshed against the sides as you stood, leaving Veritas to frown despite the tantalizing view of shadows dancing across your backside as you stretched. "Better get out before I fall properly asleep, or you turn into a raisin, whichever comes first."

A raisin. He huffed in (mostly) faux indignation, running pruney fingers through his hair before hoisting himself up as well, "Some would argue the heavy snoring earlier was indicative of already being 'properly asleep' as you say," he carefully stepped onto the fuzzy bathmat - acquired to combat your complaints about cold feet despite being a breeding ground for microorganisms - reaching for a pair of towels and pressing one into your outstretched arms.

He went rigid with anticipation at the light press of your body against his back, mind readily abandoning the jars lined up on the counter and letting the years of practiced movements take over. If there had been awards given out for restraint alone, Veritas deserved it for getting through the deep breaths it took to have his half hard member not jump at the first sign of attention. "Hurry," your breath danced along his skin, "or I truly will be asleep before you can join me."

Had he been a simpler creature, Veritas would not have hesitated to abandon rime and reason to follow at your heel. The vision reflected in the mirror was not one of myth, not an elven girl dancing and laughing in a marsh, shrouded by mist just waiting for someone to ensnare in their madness. Your back was turned, no gaping hollow anywhere to be seen.

Still, based on ability alone, the accusation wasn't entirely without merit - you had at least captured and ensnared him without any trouble. Three of four applied, cleanse, toner, serum, moisturizer. The eye cream wouldn't be necessary today. Hadn't been for a few weeks.

Veritas couldn't help but snort quietly to himself at the sight meeting his eye upon stepping out from the bathroom. Fae creature his foot. There was nothing graceful or even remotely elegant about your current predicament. Face down on the bed and spread out like a sea star. And somehow, it was all the more appealing to him. What need was there to drape your body in silks and jewels when nothing could be as beautiful as the story told by every mark life had left.

If sayings were to be taken literally, Veritas' heart would have collapsed in on itself long ago with how tightly it squeezed. Knowing exactly what was needed to resuscitate him, little time was wasted lingering further. Observation constitutes a sound first step in most investigations, but Veritas had already taken six with determination to cross the room, knees swiftly making contact and sinking into the mattress.

"So slow…." You whined, the sound regrettably going directly to Veritas' groin.

He couldn't help but smile at the string of content sighs that followed his lips' featherlight path along the back of your thigh. So delicate beneath him, Veritas kissed the raised lines adorning your legs, the ones that always had you fretting, before moving further up the bed. It was all he could do to not immediately cage you in as he leaned down to whisper in your ear, "Memento vivere."

Despite your proclaimed exhaustion, your hips raised with both speed and precision, drawing a soft gasp from Veritas' lips at the teasing press. "Mm, yes well.. To the late are left the bones.."

Oh Aeons above, your sleepy voice was driving him mad.

As soon as his hands had found their home on your hips, it was impossible not to give a tentative thrust forward, just enough to have him shuddering at your inviting heat. It treaded the narrow path of his desire, not the scalding heat of coffee nor the faint whisp from a candle. Before you had time to complain, for he knew you would at his withdrawal, Veritas had moved to kneel behind you, inhaling the heady scent of your arousal.

No matter the choice of fragrance you chose to rub into your skin, honey, almond, roses, berries, vanilla, you'd gone through a plethora of variants over the years, nothing could rival what met him upon gingerly parting your slick folds. One arm had already wrapped securely around your thighs, knowing how you always squirmed at first.

Veritas couldn't help but groan at the first languid pass of his tongue, gathering up your essence to taste. It always stroked his ego how you shivered, even more so when your hole clenched to eagerly ask for more. So much practice and observation had gone into knowing precisely the pressure and angle at which to nose your clit to keep those exquisite sounds from pouring forth.

Clearly, your exhaustion had been quite honest, not even bothering to put up a display of embarrassment as you usually did.

Instead, he felt an amused grin tug at his lips when your hips rocked back to chase the tip of his tongue. The only thing to lament as Veritas continued to work you open on his tongue was how the position wouldn't allow for observing your expressions.

"Veri-," your whine barely pierced his concentration, fingers moving to properly grasp your thighs, peeling back one work of art to better perceive another. "…more"

Usually, a 'please' should have found its way into your request (which would at this time have been denied regardless, for Veritas was far from satiated) but the picturesque arch of your body had him keen on heeding your desires. Just for today.

"Mm," his fingers tightened their grip, his heart fluttering at the contentment hanging in the air, "patience, remember?"

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Death

Yandere!Kidnapper x f!Reader

warnings: fanatic behaviour, kidnapping, unreliable narrator—split perspectives—contradictions, mentions of self-harm, suicidal tendencies, mentions of sexual topics, touching without consent, heavy religious themes, yandere has taken somewhat the role of a caretaker, forced infantilization

Note: Read at your own risk tbh, I perceive this story as pretty disturbing, however if you can handle heavy topics, then enjoy. :)

©Copyright -2024-thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

He was righteous, has been all his life, or well, had been until he met you.

There just wasn't a way to stop himself, no, to stop the demons haunting him from taking you in his grasp, imprisoning you in his humble home.

Perhaps he was doing you a favour? Chaining you to the bed placed in his basement just for you, white ruffles decorating the sides of the countless pillows and the duvet cover. Everything pristinely white—linen, handpicked for you.

He even dusted it and cleaned it, installed an old-school TV and even got you coloured pencils and endless amounts of paper of all kind!

And it all was just for you. How romantic, don't you think?

Your captor was nice—he was soft, even his edges didn't hurt you. He never raised his voice, couldn't even imagine hurting you, even if it was just a hair on your precious head.

You were his entire life. His gift from God himself.

However he quickly realised that you didn't quite share his opinion. You weren't horribly hostile, tried to appease him in fear of his sometimes rash and almost fanatic behaviour, fearing one day he might just flip the switch and obsess over breaking a bone in your body, yet you never were overly soft. There was this wall between you two that bugged him greatly, but he just didn't know how to destroy it.

To top it off, you feared death at his hands, at first. However as days faded into weeks and then into months—and before you knew it a year had passed with no one succeeding in rescuing you from the obsessive stalker clinging to you—you started fearing a life with this man.

It started off with small things, like you eating less, your leftovers slowly increasing in size or you would leave the paper completely blank instead of scribbling something onto it.

Until it started affecting other areas of your very limited life like you starting to lose interest in watching TV, the only luxury that connected you to the outer world. Until that penetrating dark cloud hanging over your head affected you more severely, so much so, that it worried him.

You his sacred bride losing your excitement for life was terrifying. He couldn't imagine a life without you—he refused to even think about it, the sheer thought was too painful.

You refused to eat, laid around all day, didn't even fidget when he would not so subtly try to seduce you. Well he was a kidnapper, but he would never force you to spread your legs for him! So he was still waiting for your heart to warm up to him, however instead of warming up, you started fading away from his grasp.

It was so petrifying, so much so that he started asking his pastor for help, then his colleagues—he even searched through the internet at the computer of his local library!

Depression.

in big bold letters was what popped up first, a page dedicated to mental health. He was mortified reading through everything, the symptoms and what it could possibly lead to. Death. The word daunted him and haunted him.

He rushed home, your captor breaking out in a cold sweat, only experiencing sweet relief seeing you curled up beneath the covers, pale in the face as always.

Days have passed and now he clung to you like glue. “Sweetheart—Sweetheart you have to eat!” he whined, the spoon once more missing your mouth as you twisted your head away. He bound you to the chair to keep you still and yet you kept on avoiding his attempts at feeding you.

“Say Ahh love! C’mon for me! Be good? Please, sweetheart!” he pleaded and begged to no avail, you gazed at him empty-eyed and shook your head. That was when he finally caught sight of the red streaks down your neck and collarbone.

At first he thought it was an allergic reaction, then he remembered you hadn't consumed anything but water in the last few days. Then with a glance down at your shaking fingers, feeling over the broken and bloodied nails he realised.

Your own nails. You hurt yourself with your own nails.

He lost it. The bowl of boiling hot soup landed on the ground, porcelain shattering as he lunged forward, grasping your hair and tilting your head back to gauge the damage to your holy skin.

“How could you?—” he spat in revulsion, face mirroring the rage that was consuming him inside, yet he never could be mad at you for long.

“Sweetie—Sweetheart—” your kidnapper's voice faltered, face pulled into a grimace, he let go of your hair, easing the sting of your scalp, sinking to his knees in front of you, pleading with his eyes.

“Please talk to me baby, please tell me what's wrong. Is it the TV? I can buy you a new one. Do you want new pencils? Do you want crayons? Maybe watercolour? I can get you new clothes if that is the problem!— Sweetheart please, please talk to me.” he broke down, fat tears running down his cheeks, pathetically clinging to one of your calves, licking a strip up your knee.

“Baby—baby.” he whimpered, crying into your two knees, fingers now grasping your lap in such desperation that if it wasn't the man that kept you captive you might have felt more sympathy for him. It wasn't as if you hadn't considered just carving in by now and accepting him as the person that would be beside you till death, yet the thought hurt. It dug a hole in your heart and left you wanting to pluck each individual hair follicle out of your scalp.

You just couldn't bear stand his constant whining and begging, humping you dry from behind like a dog when he thought you were deep asleep, preaching that he was a devoted believer to god, when he had kidnapped you, forced you down here, kept you still chained up, with only limited times when you could use the restroom and then always with the door a split open to ensure you didn't flee from the narrow window placed over the toilet. Showering was even worse, he would insist on staying, waiting behind the shower curtain, eyeing your shadow. When you would step out he would be bright red, averting his eyes and adjusting himself before finally draping a towel over you that always managed to smell like his musk. It was disgusting.

Even though he claimed that he would never hurt you, he had overly violent episodes, where he would just throw things around, rip up the extensive pages upon pages of your emotional rant, threaten you with a broken glass bottle, before always falling to his knees, crawling on the floor begging and pleading for forgiveness.

All in all he was a walking contradiction and never could be trusted. So wasn't it clear why you would prefer death over being stuck with the constant fear of what's to come?

“Baby” he whined incessantly, clinging to you like a lifeline. Bastard. You kept on ignoring him. It wasn't just this day, but all the following days, opting to just leave yourself to rot away.

However it seems you didn't calculate that he was so transfixed with you, that he would protect you from anything and anyone, even if that someone was yourself.

“Sweetie” he whispered oh-so sweetly into the shell of your ear, still weary from your restlessness the night prior, you didn't even want to turn in your bed to face him. Big mistake.

Before you could see it, you felt it. Fingers grasped your jaw, some sort of fabric draped over the lower half of your face, a strong scent engulfing you all while he rocked your head back and forth, stroking your hair lovingly.

When you woke up, unbeknownst to you, you succeeded in losing all your privileges.

“Sweetheart! How are you feeling?” he chirped, the basement now completely padded, decorated in pink, filled with toys and plushies. That wasn't all—because you regretted looking down.

A diaper. You were wearing a diaper. You breath staggered, horror written across your features.

He snickered, stepping closer to you, kneeling down to your level on the floor. “Sorry Sweetheart, but— you just wouldn't listen to me. You were starving yourself! It was obvious that no one ever taught you properly. You didn't receive proper parental care—they didn't care for you enough, they didn't love you as I do. So I am just going to start from zero and reteach you everything! How does that sound? Good right? You will love it!” he cupped your wet cheeks, the real nightmare starting just now, with the prospect of being saved already having slipped from your mind, understanding that this hell was your new reality.

He leaned forward, lips brushing against your scalp as he whispered something so gut-wrenching you hoped that he would swallow his own tongue and choke on it.

“Cuz’ Sweetheart I gotta teach you real good, so when we get our own baby you will be a good mother, yeah? A great mother! The best mother!”

he laughed.

[goldenempyrean]

Late-Night Revelations

〚 Notes - Wow havent done one of these in a while, hopefully this makes up for it :D let me know what you think, my reqs are still open too so I'm gonna try get some done :) 〛

〚 Pairing -Natasha Romanoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Night is usually the time when you had free rein of the compound - little did you expect to be interrupted on your journey to get midnight snacks and certainly not by her. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 2655 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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The kitchen. A place of spills, messes and laughter. The home of both gourmet delicacies and microwave meals. Everyone loved the kitchen. Especially when it came to midnight snacks. 

You’d always been a night owl; it was just the way you were. Staying up gaming, reading or simply just listening to the sounds of the city during the twilight hours was how you’d spend your time, and there was no better thing to snack on then Oreos. 

And where did Oreos live? The kitchen. 

Thats why you found yourself happily humming along to the music playing in your headphones as your feet padded on the tiled floor heading towards the kitchen. The main light was turned off, giving you the privacy to do a funky sort of hip dance as you shuffled towards the cupboards in search of your biscuits. 

You found them easily, although you did have to stand up on your tippy toes to reach them. You grabbed the pack of Oreos triumphantly and twirled around on your heels, intending to head back up to the comfort of your room but something else caught your eye. 

A small, involuntary yelp left your lips as your eyes finally acclimatised to the dark room and you were able to make sight of the slim figure sitting on one of the island stools, quietly nursing a whiskey glass in one hand. 

“Jesus Romanoff.” You breathed heavily, sighing as the hot rush of adrenaline slowly died down, “The hell are you doing?” 

“Why are you awake? It’s late and you have training in the morning.” She ignored your question, but there was something off about her voice. It was different, rougher somehow. You guessed the correct word would’ve been scratchy. 

As you stood there in the dimly lit kitchen, you felt stupid squinting into the darkness, so you headed to turn the overhead light on. You’d just flicked it on when the assassin began to object, “Don’t-“ 

But it was too late. The two of you closed your eyes instinctively as the bright, white LEDs bore into your eyes. You opened yours first however, and you could now see Natasha, the enigmatic Black Widow, hunched over the counter.  

She looked awful. 

Her pale skin was sickly white in pallor, her usually composed and stoic demeanour replaced by a hint of vulnerability while her red hair hung is messy curls at her shoulders. When she finally opened her eyes, the sharpness they usually held seemed dull and void. Not to mention the faint flush sitting on her cheeks. It was clear she was not okay. 

You gulped nervously, your heart pounding in your chest. Natasha was not someone to be taken lightly, and your crush on her only made things more complicated. You were still new to the Avengers, and her intimidating presence had kept you from approaching her in the past. But sitting there, with her red nose and tired expression, she somehow looked more human and not the emotionless, assassin she was often perceived to be - she seemed almost vulnerable now. 

You watched Natasha in concern as she slowly sipped her whiskey, her slender fingers trembling ever so slightly. Her raspy cough interrupted the silence that had settled in the kitchen, and you couldn't help but wince at the harsh sound. 

“That sounds awful.” You commented, nervously fidgeting with the packet of Oreos in your hand, unsure of what to do. You wanted to help, but just didn’t know how. Your attempts at getting her to open up in the past just about as well as microwaving a tin can. Once she’d even yelled at you to mind your own buisness and well, you hadn’t tried much to engage with her after that. 

Her eyes flicked up to your own briefly before she looked away again, staring into the contents of her glass as she raspily mumbled, “It’s nothing.” You weren’t sure if she was going to say something else, but she wasn’t given the chance nonetheless as you heard the subtle hitch of her breath leading to her muffling a harsh, albeit obviously restricted, sounding sneeze into her hoodie sleeve. 

“Bless you.” You offered, turning around to look in the cupboard under the sink to find a box of tissues, “Y’know if you’d actually let yourself sneeze normally, they probably wouldn’t hurt so much.” You commented, sliding the box towards her. 

Her reaction was not what you expected. She gave you a dirty look as she pushed the box away before she snapped, her voice laced with irritation. "I don't need your sympathy. Just leave me alone." 

You sighed deeply, putting down the Oreos on the countertop with a little more force than intended - seriously, it took all you had not to shed a tear as you heard the sound of breaking biscuits.  

“I’m not here to give you sympathy Natasha.” Oh, you were you were 100% hand in heart sympathetic towards her. But admitting that in the moment probably wouldn’t help, “I’m just concerned that If I go back to my room and leave you down here, you’ll wither away or something and when the team find you shrivelled up in the morning, who’s gonna get the blame? Me.” You raised your eyebrows and pointed to yourself before continuing. 

“Plus, we all need you Romanoff, we can’t have the Black Widow taken out by a cold, now, can we?” Your tone softened, as you inched closer, standing at the opposite side of where she was sat before slowly sliding her almost empty glass of whiskey away. 

Natasha but she didn't respond but expression softened ever so slightly, Instead, she took a sip of her whiskey, and she turned her attention away from you, gazing out the window into the quiet night. 

You sat up on the countertop, letting silence fill the room. The pair of you sat like that for a few minutes, neither wanting to break it. But ultimately you did, and the crinkling rustle of your packet echoed through the room. 

“Oh crap-“ You swore as the crushed Oreo dust flooded out from the packet, sending a scatter of black crumbs into your lap. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Natasha look up and give a sort of half-smile at your clumsiness. Testing your luck, you looked up and asked, “What’s up Romanoff, is my Oreo disaster amusing you?” 

To your surprise, her gaze met your eyes, “Something like that.” She almost managed a smile but was interrupted as her face contorted in discomfort, giving in a harsh, chesty sounding cough. 

“Jeez, you really don’t do things by half do you?” You commented, abandoning your Oreos as you slid off the worktop and leant over to the counter to where the redhead was sitting, reaching out and pressed your hand to the back of her clammy forehead. 

She froze. If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve presumed the Widow had petrified to stone beneath your touch. You’d never seen her go so still. 

“Relax Romanoff, I’m just checking your brains aren’t going to melt.” You whispered, it coming out more softly than intended but nevertheless hearing your words Natasha seemed to be able to relax ever so slightly. Her tough exterior walls finally beginning to crack. 

As the foundation of her distrust began to crumble, that wall she’d built so high seemed to crumple snd fall. Even she couldn’t deny the comforting contrast of cooling your hand had brought against the sharp heat of her fever and you couldn’t help but smile softly as she sank into your touch a litter, bringing her own hand over your own to keep it in place. 

“You hand is cold. It’s nice.” She mumbled, as she kept it in place for another minute. After a minute you could feel your hand acclimatising to your heat and you pulled it out from beneath her hold, “No-“ 

She began to protest but stopped when you only shook your head sweetly and brought your opposite one back up to her forehead, providing her with the cooling sensation all over again. You would’ve stayed like that for as long as you could, ignoring the fluttering in your stomach in favour of her comfort. But Nat’s body objected first, she barely had time to curl in on herself as her lungs protested in a rough set of coughing that just seemed to keep coming, leaving her breathless by the end. 

Natasha somehow managed to turn redder as she shuffled in her seat, her eyes refusing to meet your own, “Sorry.”  

“God, you sound like death Natasha, you don’t need to apologise for that. Tea. That’s what you need.” You decided not leaving her the chance to refuse. 

Turning on your heels, you reached up into the cupboard taking a large mug before getting to work. A few minutes later and the kettle had boiled allowing you to quickly pour out a steaming mug of tea, making sure to add a generous spoonful of honey and a slice of lemon. 

With a small smile you handed it to her, unable to help but notice the way her hands trembled as she took it. 

“Thanks Y/N.” 

"Careful, it's hot," you cautioned, your concern evident. Natasha gave you a faint nod of acknowledgment before taking a cautious sip. She winced slightly at the heat but seemed to appreciate the gesture. 

While she sipped her tea, you decided to change the subject to something lighter. "So, what brought you to the kitchen at this ungodly hour, Natasha. By the sounds of it you should’ve really been in bed in some sort of fever-induced coma whilst your body fights off this crap. You couldn’t sleep?" 

She sighed softly, setting the tea down for a moment. "Something like that. Just... couldn't get settled, and the whiskey usually helps numb the discomfort," she admitted, her voice still hoarse, “I didn’t think anyone else would be awake.” 

“I’m always up around this time,” You shrugged but looked over to the clock hung on the other the wall as you yawned, “It is getting late though, aren’t you tired?” 

fingers brushing against her red curls as she leaned back against the counter. "Yeah, I am," she admitted, her voice a bit softer now, "But every time I try to sleep it doesn’t work, I’ll just end up tossing and turning the whole time.” 

You couldn't help but sympathize with her. Colds could be incredibly frustrating, especially when they interfered with your ability to sleep. 

 "I get it," you said with a nod. "Well, since you're up, how about we make the most of it? I can keep you company for a while." 

She raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise in her eyes. It was clear that she wasn't used to someone offering their company during moments of vulnerability. "You don't have to," she started, “You’ve got training tomorrow. You’ll be too tired-” 

“Respectfully,” You interrupted her with a playful grin. "It’s too late, Romanoff. You're stuck with me now." 

“Okay, fine.” She gave you a small, appreciative smile, and it warmed your heart to see her let her guard down just a bit. "Thanks for not making fun of me," she murmured, “I hate getting sick like this.” 

“You don’t need to thank me for that.” 

As the pair of you continued to chat in the dimly lit kitchen, you couldn't help but notice that she was slowly warming up to you. Her initial resistance and sharpness had softened, and she seemed more willing to engage in conversation. It was nice. 

But it was just as you were explaining the concept of your latest video game you’d been playing when Natasha suddenly stiffened, her breath hitching slightly as she let out a soft, "Hihh... hihh..." Her face scrunched up, and you could see the telltale signs of an impending sneeze, “Hh’iishoo!” 

“Bless you.” You couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Looks like this cold isn't letting you off the hook, huh?" 

She sniffled; her voice even huskier now. "Guess not." 

You noticed her shivering slightly and realised that the room had indeed gotten quite chilly as the night air got cooler. "You know, Natasha, if you're cold, you should really get some rest in a warm bed. It’ll do you some good. You’re not going to feel better if you get a chill.” 

She hesitated for a moment, her green eyes darting away from yours. "I don't like sleeping alone when I'm sick," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. 

You could hear the vulnerability in Natasha's admission, and it tugged at your heartstrings. You knew that her tough exterior was a mask she wore to protect herself, but right now, she was letting it slip in front of you. 

A warm smile crossed your face as you stood up from the kitchen stool. "Well, lucky for you, you're not alone tonight." You extended your hand to her. "Come on, let's get you settled on the couch. It's more comfortable than this kitchen stool, and we can keep each other warm that way. No-one has to be alone.” 

Natasha hesitated for a moment, then placed her delicate hand in yours, allowing you to help her off the stool. You led her to the living room, where there was a cosy sofa waiting, perfect for a night of shared warmth and comfort. 

As you both settled onto the sofa, you couldn't help but notice how Natasha's body seemed to relax further, her shivers subsiding as she nestled closer to you. You wrapped your arms around her, creating a cocoon of warmth before taking the large blanket that was draped over the back of the sofa and pulled it over the two of you. Her head rested on your shoulder, and your fingers lightly traced soothing patterns on her back as the two of you settled down into the soft leather. 

“Goodnight Y/N.” She murmured sleepily, as she closed her eyes and finally gave into exhaustion. 

“Goodnight Nat.” you pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, then closed your eyes, allowing exhaustion to catch up with you as well. The two of you drifted off into a deep, comfortable sleep, wrapped in each other's arms. 

Unbeknownst to you both, the rest of the Avengers had been awakened by various disturbances throughout the night. Tony Stark, ever the insomniac, had been tinkering with one of his suits when he heard hushed voices coming from the living room. Curiosity piqued, he had quietly crept closer and couldn't believe his eyes when he saw you and Natasha on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms. 

Thor had been awakened by the faint scent of tea and the clinking of a teacup in the kitchen. He had assumed it was one of his Asgardian friends, but when he entered the kitchen, he was met with the sight of crushed Oreos and an empty tea mug. Perplexed, he followed the trail of crumbs to the living room, where he too found you and Natasha peacefully sleeping together. 

Even Bruce, who was often a sound sleeper, had been stirred from his slumber by the unusual activity in the Avengers' common area. His initial concern turned to fond amusement when he discovered the unlikely duo of you and her snuggled together like this. It was adorable  

The hazy morning light began to filter into the room, casting a soft orange glow on your intertwined forms. It was then that the rest of the Avengers gathered in the living room, their astonishment evident on their faces as they took in the sight before them. 

Steve quirked his eyebrow and wearing a bemused smile, leaned down to whisper to Tony, "Looks like we've got our own little love story unfolding right here." 

The engineer couldn’t quite resist a teasing grin. "Who would've thought? Our resident spy and the midnight snacker." 

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[anika-ann]

made-up fic title: ever so softly

Hello dear 🥰 Thank you so much for participating in the game 😍

Since my brain does refuse to acknolwdge the concept so far, you too get a little drabble-ish thing 🥹 This time only with 600 words, Bucky, and a flavour of angst with hurt/comfort 😇

ever so softly

warnings: mentions of blood and violence, anxiety, sensory issues and hypersensitivity and PTSD A/N: divider by @firefly-graphics

Sometimes, your hands shake.

You’ve got a tender heart, people would say; a codename for those who get overwhelmed with the world, with people, with the noise and smells and strange textures and tastes, with emotions; with anxiety.

Your own body, your own damn brain was often your worst enemy. You were your worst enemy and you hated it with passion, especially on days when you somehow had no energy left but for that and spiralling down the void of terror made of your own synapses.

On days like these, like on every other, Bucky holds you, whispering soft words of solace and encouragement into your hair, tender lips and gentle voice, creating a protective bubble of silence and peace, tucked safe and far away from the world.

On days like these, he embraces you closely – unless you cannot bear his love for the moment, despising yourself for it all the more – and helps you put together the pieces of your tender soul you feel have imploded inside of you and suffocate you with every attempt of breath.

He sooths you and promises – begs, in truth – to keep you. Loving you,

ever so softly,

reminding you that you can choose and do the same and until you do, he will. For both of you.

And on some days, you do too.

Sometimes, Bucky’s hands shake.

It is a funny little glitch, he supposes, once he has the capacity to be sardonic with himself, which is always; his metal hand, science perfected, precious chunk of vibranium crafted to faultless functionality on engineerism, and it trembles as much as his flesh hand.

Bucky Barnes is an old man; a reborn man, haunted by an army of ghosts and undead. Doctors in his old days called it shellshock; the fancy modern name for it is PTSD.

Some days, images of blood, violence and death run on the silver screen of his mind like the most messed-up horror flick, following him through day and seeping into his nights, sleepless; or worst, consumed by nightmares than never end, because they are memories of his own actions.

His soul weighs too much to bear, drenched with blood and guilt that no penance can wash away.

Sometimes, you help with the cleanse despite it.

You take his shaking hands – sometimes his very own, sometimes the glorified invention attached to his body – and lead him to the living room where on the shelves stand his little treasures; one supposedly beautiful thing next to another, small wooden statues he had carved himself, rough around the edges but otherwise delicate, a reflection of his gentle torn soul. You do not speak a word, you do no point, letting him see what you see. To make him see that what he only perceives as a pair of hands soaked in blood and wrongdoings, had made good and beautiful too.

And even in the dead of night, you walk him to the most special room of the house, of your home, his steps hesitant, but his heart too weak to resist. Helpless and already yearning, he can never say no.

In those no longer trembling hands, you gently place the most precious thing he has had a generous hand in creating, with utmost love.

Tears burning in his eyes, he cradles your baby, his baby, to his chest with one arm, his other curling around you, pressing you to his side, lips attached to your temple. You linger in your embrace until his tears of grief and guilt turn into ones of acceptance and happiness.

Because he loves and he is loved,

ever so softly

and every beat of his heart, your heart and his child’s, promise him that despite all the pain, everything will be okay.

I hope you enjoyed the little angst but with a sweet note in the end for a change🥰

Thank you for reading and @murdock-and-the-sea for sending 💕

[moonstruckme]

Hi darling I hope you’re well! I have this really noticeable scar on my forehead (much like Harry Potter’s) from me being clumsy as a kid and it’s really been bothering me lately and making me self conscious along with other things and I was wondering if you’d just do something where Sirius is being comforting after a rough week of insecurities. No worries if not😊 Thanks love!

Hi sweetheart, I'm good thanks! Thank you for requesting <3

modern au

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 845 words

You’re washing your face, and every pass of your fingers over the divot in your forehead feels like a physical pain. Which is silly, because the scar hasn’t hurt for years. 

It’s been a part of your face for so long that usually you hardly remember it. You look past it, the same way your eyes don’t see your nose because it’s always there. Lately, though, you can’t stop yourself from perceiving it constantly. You find yourself trying to cover it with makeup, tilting your head in conversation in attempt to hide it with your hair, staring into the mirror with a freakish intensity. It’s inescapable. 

You force yourself to tear your gaze from the blemish now, turning from the mirror towards where Sirius is waiting for you in bed. 

He sets down his phone at your approach, spreading his arms extravagantly. “Come here, my darling.” 

You go to them with a sharp ache in your chest, curling up against his side. 

There’s a pause and then Sirius hums, confusion teetering on the edge of concern. “What, not even a little laugh?” 

“You’re not very funny,” you tease halfheartedly. 

“You’re not usually a very particular audience.” 

He slides his palm on top of yours where it rests on the mattress. You intertwine your fingers with his. “Sorry,” you sigh. “Long week. I’m glad tomorrow’s Saturday.” 

You want to languish in your pajamas for the entire weekend. Tune into some mindless show and leave this prickling discomfort behind until you have to go back to work on Monday. 

Sirius brings your joined hands to your stomach, sliding them under your top familiarly. You try not to shiver. Sirius’ hands are always cold. You’d asked once if he thought he might be anemic, but he’d only given you a dry look and a jab from one of his insanely sharp elbows. 

He kisses the soft skin below your ear. “You gonna tell me about it, or do you enjoy keeping me in suspense?” 

“I do,” you say, grinning when he nips at your earlobe admonishingly. You do want to tell him, you find. “No, it’s just my scar. It’s been bothering me lately.” 

Sirius' thumb strokes over your navel, already warmer from your skin. “Bothering you how?” 

“Just bothering me.” You’re glad you’re facing away from him. You’re not sure you could take the intensity of his stare as you divulge your insecurities. “I don’t know, for some reason I all of a sudden feel kind of self-conscious about it. It’s not like it’s tiny or inconspicuous or anything.” 

He hums in silent understanding. For few moments the only sound is his thumb sighing over your skin. “Whenever I notice your scar,” he says, “it makes me think of how you told me you got it.” 

You make a quiet scoffing sound. You’d fallen after climbing too high in an old tree by your house when you were little. The branch had broken right out from under you, and you’d fallen all the way into the road, tearing a big gash in your head on the way down. Luckily there’d been no cars coming towards you, but your mom had nearly had a heart attack and it had made for a late night in A&E. 

Sirius’ hand moves up to your shoulder, pushing down so that you’re lying on your back. You try not to squirm under his gaze, knowing your scar has to be stark and shining in the moonlight coming in from your window. He traces the line with a slender finger. 

“It’s a cute story,” he says, and you can find no teasing spark in his watercolor eyes. “It’s fun to imagine little you, trying to get as high up as you could.”

“Before I took a dive onto a roadway,” you add dryly. He mirrors your grin.

“Technicalities. The scar’s adorable, because you were being adorable while you got it.” 

You feel your smile fade. “I think you’re the only one who thinks that, babe,” you say, trying to maintain some lightness in your tone. You’re not sure if you quite manage it. “I’m pretty sure to everyone else it’s just ugly.” 

“Whoa, excuse me.” Sirius frowns, taking your face firmly in hand. “Nothing about you could ever be ugly. That’s scientifically impossible. It defies the laws of nature. What goes up must come down, beer is homophobic, and you,” he kisses you, warm and pillowy soft, “are a fucking stunner. Every bit of you.” 

You kiss him back, smiling. “You’re such a flirt.” 

“Do you want me to prove it?” He quirks a brow. “Give me a minute to look at you, sweet thing, and I’ll get hard right now.” 

You gag, to his delight, and Sirius rolls on top of you, pinning your hips with his. “Fucking,” he plants a kiss on your jaw, “talk about my girlfriend like that,” he lands one on your lips, “one more time.” 

He works his way up your face, smooching your flushed skin until you’re spit-slick and cackling. He does your scar last. 

[noemilivv]

Heyy! I loved the request you wrote about reader finding Hazbin Hotel characters crying and then comforting them, I was thinking, could you write a pt. 2 adding some other characters? maybe Charlie, Husk, Sir Pentious and Adam, or anyone else you’d like 💓💕💞💖

OMG TYSM!! honestly, that is one of my works that i am EXTREMELY proud of and hearing people enjoying that one is just 😭😭

but yes i can certainly do that haha hope you enjoy!!

also side note, since i got two requests that are pretty similar, i’m doing a two-in-one sorta thing!! so i hope this makes it to the anon who requested it :)

Warnings: Swear Words, S1 Spoilers, Mentions of Battles/War, Mentions of Possible Death, Mentions of Deals, Mentions of Degradation, Not Proofread

Adam, Charlie, Husk, Sir Pentious x Reader

Reader finds them crying HCs

Adam

Adam was never one for tears, he was a man, the first one at that! His pride would never let himslef ever be perceived as weak.

But once he got sent to Hell, after his death during the extermination, while that damn snake was in his place — the only feeling he felt was weakness.

Adam had stayed in his room in the hotel ever since he came, begrudgingly that is, he didn’t want to be here. He shouldn’t be here.

But somehow, Charlie somehow let him come, much to his surprise, as well as dismay, but let’s be real here, he’d he pissed either way.

He curled up against the pillow, sighing, shakily, as hot tears slipped down his cheeks. “Damnit.”

Unbeknownst to him, a knock came from the other side of the door, Charlie made you drop off Adam’s ‘Welcome Package’ — When you didn’t get a response you creaked open the door.

“Adam?” You called from the other side of the room. He didn’t look at you, he couldn’t look at you.

“Leave.” He said, his voice cracking, despite the fact that he was attempted to hold back his sobs.

You set down his basket from Charlie on his nightstand. He felt his bed dip as you sat next to him. “It’s cause you’re here right?”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Adam sniffled. “Why you’re upset. It’s cause your here, right?” You elaborate.

He doesn’t say anything. You rub his knee, in attempts to comfort him. “I promise, it’s not as bad here as you think.”

You sigh. “I didn’t think it’d be great here when I first came here either, but this became my home - my family. You’ll get used to it, with time.”

Adam didn’t say anything. But deep down, his heart felt just a tad bit warmer from your words.

Charlie

Due to the upcoming extermination, Charlie was more stressed than ever, she was upset with herself. Upset that her and Heaven couldn’t band together. Upset that it had to end in this way.

Apart of herself grew to worry that maybe if she had been different, more normally, less singy-songy, Adam would’ve agreed.

Then no second meeting would’ve been necessary, no war would be needed.

The night before the battle was a tough one for Charlie, she loved and appreciated everyone she had met throughout her time, and within the blink of an eye, there was a 50/50 chance it’ll all be gone this time tomorrow.

“Charlie?” You called out to your girlfriend, who was crying infront of Angel’s door, “Sorry…” She mumbled, “I’m just so scared…” Her voice cracked, you’ve never seen her so… out of sorts, before.

“What if we lose?” She asked, rhetorically. “You’ve already done so much, Charlie.” You start, pulling her close, cupping her face.

“You’ve touched the hearts every soul here… Regardless of whether or not they admit it.” You run you fingers through her hair, you were scared to, scared shitless, but you put on a brave face. A brave face for her.

“So if it turns out that we don’t make it, there’s something that I’ve been dying to say.” You pull her into a hug, before mumbling in her ear, “You need to know I love you more than anything.”

Husk

You had caught Husk in his vulnerability at a private time. You knew about his deal with Alastor, but never knew the extent of it.

“Good talk, my good man, always nice to catch up!” Alastor said, leaving Husker defenseless, shaking on the floor, as you hid on the other side of the hall.

Husk got up, slowly, and then leaned against the wall, muttering a small ‘Damnit…’

You approached him, “Are you okay?” You ask, very hesitantly, you know Husk is more of a listener then someone to vent, but there was no harm in trying.

Husk sighs, low and gruff, but so hurt, it hurt you. “Made a shitty deal I regret, and I can’t take it back, y’know.” Husk answered, using his claw to wipe a few tears from under his eyes.

You’re unsure of what to do, you’ve never seen him like this, you smile at him softly, and open your arms for him, “Hug?”

Husk chuckles at your innocent antics, “Seriously?” He asks with a smirk, “Totally seriously!”

He sighs jokingly, clambering over to you, accepting your embrace. “This is so stupid.”

“You know you love it!” And you’re right, he did.

Sir Pentious

It was no secret that Pentious wanted to be an equal to the Vee’s, at least, before he officially started staying at the hotel.

And when Vox called him a ‘miserable failure’, it hit hard.

When Sir Pentious entered his room for the night, he shooed his eggs away, left with a sour taste in his mouth from Vox’s words.

A knock comes from Pentious’ door, he goes to answer it, trying to sniffle away his tears, he opened the door to see you.

“I just wanted to say you did a good thing, you’re willing to change even after you fucked up, and honestly I admire tha— Pentious, are you okay?” You rambled on, before getting a good look at his face.

He sniffled. “Y-Yes, I just.. don’t appreciate what Vox said about me.” He said, holding back his sobs, although not very well.

Your heart ached for the poor snake, you pulled him into a hug and patted him on the back, “If he can’t see the amazing Pentious I see, then he’s not worth it, we only met today, but I can already see what a wonderful person you are.”

[moontyun]

XdH: The type....

☆ xdinary heroes masterlist ☆ ...when you fall asleep on them ☆ warning(s): mentions of urination, drooling, long/short haired you ☆ word count: 768 ☆ genre: attempted humor, fluff ☆ requested: Hey! I Hope you’re good. I have see that your request are open, and I wanted to know if it is possible to make a reaction of xdinary heroes members when you fall asleep on their lap or shoulders? - @la-grenouilles-posts

៚Gunil

semi-prideful when you do because you trust him that much

adores your cute snoring noises

The very first time you had fallen asleep on his lap, he was so happy and a bit prideful when you did. You were being vulnerable with him and he appreciated it. When you had woken up, he was there beaming at you, like a puppy. You had been taken aback with, what you perceived as, a mischievous smile on his face. "What did you do? Did you draw something on my face?" You asked, whipping out your phone and looking at your camera to be sure. "No, you were just adorable and I'm just smitten with you, that's all." he laughed a little as you continued to accuse him of causing trouble, playfully.

៚Jungsu

absolutely adores it when you accidently do it one time

internally squealing at how cute you were

This week had been particularly hard for you. You had pulled 4 all night-ers in a row. Balancing work, school, and everything in between was proving to be more difficult than you anticipated. Today, you had made plans to spend some time with Jungsu before you had to head into work. However, your body had different plans. Jungsu knew you had been over working yourself lately, so, when you inevitably fell asleep on his shoulder while watching a movie, he let you and couldn't help but coo at how cute you looked dribbling drool on his shoulder as you slept. When you had woken up, you were so confused as to where you were but once you had oriented yourself, you wiped your face and profusely apologized for drooling on him, your face burning from embarrassment.

៚Gaon

most of the time it's him falling asleep on you

loves it when you do it though

He dared not move, you were too at peace for him to even want to move but the problem was that he needed to pee. Really badly, he had been sitting like this with you for about an hour. He was practically ripping at the seams to go. But you were too cute for him to want to move! He didn't want to wake you up! But he absolutely has to...he taps you on the shoulder, "[name]...[name]...!" you slowly woke up, "sorry to wake you, but I really have to pee. You can go back to sleep on my lap when I come back." you nodded and he took off to do what he needed to, following through with his promise afterward.

៚O.de

thinks its cute when you talk in your sleep

protects you from being woken up

You were at the studio, enjoying your time with the whole group. But your social battery was running low. So, naturally, you wound up crashing out as the boys started to filter out, leaving you and Seungmin alone. you were fast asleep on his shoulder. "Forgot my chapstick." Jooyeon said as he slammed the door open. Seungmin pressed a finger to his mouth shushing the younger with an angry expression on his face. "Sorry." The younger answered, slowly leaving and closing the door softly.

៚Junhan

doesn't mind it, barely notices it

absent mindedly plays with your hair

The gentleness in which he was playing with your hair as you curled up on his lap, was heaven to you. It was just so calming and relaxing, often times, you fell asleep on him. He didn't mind it, it was just something you guys did regularly without even thinking about it. No, he wasn't one for physical affection but this wasn't something that bothered him all that much. He liked it, in fact. He got to put cute hair styles in your hair without waking you up. You had woken up a number of times with a whole different look than what you had fallen asleep with. Today was no different, when he had cute little pigtails.

៚Jooyeon

absolutely lives for it when you do

teases you when you wake up for making his shoulder sore

He would scorch the whole earth for you. He would do absolutely anything for you and was proven time and time again every time you laid your cute head on his shoulder nearly everyday when you needed your post lunch nap. His shoulders killed every time afterward but he let it happen. "You have a heavy head." He'd tell you. "And you love it, suck it up." you replied in a half awake state. He'd ruffle your hair and give you a forehead kiss before starting something in the house that needed to be done.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Piece of Cake

Luke Hemmings x reader x Calum Hood

Summary Luke doesn’t think you like him, but oh does Calum know you do, and so he decides to interfere for both of your sakes

warnings = MDNI! includes smut, use of weed, blowjob, facial, slight angst, clitoral stimulation, exhibitionism

The last thing that you had ever expected whilst opening for 5sos during their post covid tour was for anything romantic or sexual to happen between you and one of the five members, of course that hadn't stopped you from dreaming lustful images, but never had you thought the opportunity would arise. That was until one evening when you were sat on the tour bus, Michael and Ashton had ventured off to spend time with their significant others, leaving you with the bassist and lead singer. You were sat on your bed, Luke and Calum were in the living space, you were rolling a blunt, licking the paper so that the contents would remain inside without quarrel without spilling out.

They were talking about music and other nonsense, whilse you were planning to get high, and you were rather glad that you hadn't even lit the blunt or taken the puff from it when you became the topic of their converse. Perhaps it was rude to listen in on their private conversation, especially when they had gifted you with a ride along on their tour to expand your own fan base, but it was impossible to help yourself. You were curious, that was all, and very intrigued.

“So about y/n?” There wasn’t much to the question that Calum was asking Luke, you could only imagine that the blond’s head perked up in as much confusion as your own was. “Are you going to make a move man, every time she’s up on that stage or she simply walks through the room you’re drooling more than your dog does.” Your head tilted in pivoted hope, however you weren’t going to make assumptions without a word being directly said to you… right? That would be absurd, especially considering within the spotlight that your career granted it was easy for rumours to be misinterpreted or spread throughout the media. However, this was the source that you were listening in on, and subjectively you chewed your own bottom lip as you awaited the response of the man whom was undergoing a friendly interrogation.

A long and drawn out sigh elevated from Luke’s lungs as he leant his curl rooted hair back, burning his eyes as he stared up at the ceiling lights that were built into the tour bus. “It’s not that I don’t want to man,” at least that was a comforting statement to feed your awaiting nerves, “but I feel like I have to remain professional. Not to mention, she probably isn’t interested in me anyways, have you seen how well her and Ash get along? If she were to want one of us, it definitely wouldn’t be me…” There was a seasoning of self sympathy behind his subjective words, of which formed a crack within your heart from hearing them. His undirected accusations were a harm to his own mind, inflicting his own doubts, and you could see how he could perceive your friendship with his band mate that way.

You and Ashton got along insanely well, he was the first one that calmed your nerves the first time that you were scheduled to perform before them. But the two of you were just friends and that was all. The entire conversation that you were intruding on with your hearing distracted you from the task that you were currently attempting to perform, and thus the joint that you had just glued together with the stick of your saliva escaped your grip as you fumbled and tumbled out of your bunk and onto the floor between the set of stacked beds. “Shit.” The curse spewed from your mouth as you instinctively reacted to the accidental slip of your fingers, and then your heart froze. You hadn’t wanted to make a noise, however now it was too late, and all you could do was hope that Calum and Luke had been oblivious to the sound of your voice.

“Y/n?” Calum cautiously enquired on your presence, the sound of his foot falls nearing closer and closer to your solitary destination, and instinctively you held your breath, not wanting to give your accidental agenda away to the bassist or the lead singer that had been discussing you and your status quo with each member. Softly the doll grey curtain of your bunk was pulled aside to reveal your embarrassed expression, Calum inquisitively staring down at you from the height of which he stood. A rosey warmth bruised the high points of your face as there was no doubt that your deposited hearing had been noticed, and so had the joint that you had configured. Cal plucked it up off the carpeted ground as he smirked at the circumstances that you were under, and thus with his sweet brown eyes he convinced you to crawl out of your bed, his large and tanned hand guiding you from the placement of your lower back.

He lead you into the entrance living space of the bus, where Luke was nervously planted, rubbing his painted fingernails gently along his bottom lip and diffusing his instinct to chew on them. With his cobalt eyes he sent harmless daggers towards you, his long legs taking up a length of space on the floor, the opposing limb folded over the knee of his other, his ankle tapping the air as he awaited for the tension to break. “Oh Luke, calm down mate, y/n overheard everything but don’t worry, I could see when she slipped down from her bed ho wet her pretty pink panties were. Isn’t that right sweetie?” Cal squeezed your ass which was facing him, the flirtatious notion making you jump in the oversized shirt you wore; he was embarrassing you in front of Luke, but the other man seemed shy to the appeal that was ongoing before his eyes. “Come on girl, tell Lukey that it was all for him. Tell him that he made you all wet, you could even show him how soaking your pussy is underneath that layer of cotton.”

A whine slithered out from your submissive throat, you felt vulnerable and the butt of the joke that Calum was telling, without the intention of a pun, but admittedly you were loving every second of it. But it wasn’t just Luke that had caused a sweet and slick river to flow between your legs, which was strange considering that he was the one that you liked. The way in which Calum degraded you before him though had you riled up, needy and desperate for someone to touch you, and it didn’t matter which one of them did it. “Y/n…” Luke spoke your name so delicately, there being a a quiet innocence behind his tone. Immediately your head snapped up to ogle at the man, an alert and doe eyed detriment reflecting in your hungry expression. You were all too focused on the blond so that you were late to notice how Cal veered closer to your sexually appealing form, his hand slipping upwards on the back of your thigh, rising up to the centre of all of your desires over the thin cotton that protected your vulnerability from seething eyes that intended to pry at your most intimate parts.

He continued his sly yet indiscreet movements until the pads of his thick fingers were callously prompting across your lightly clothed bundle of nerves, causing staggered breaths from leaving your mouth. It was difficult to focus on only the pleasurable feeling that Calum was making you feel, as Luke’s wide eyes were ogling at your glowing form, his pupils flickering from between your blushing face and where Calum was attending to tease the both of you. He was provoking his band mate, luring him into finally make a move, however he had yet to grow the courage to do so. Luke was in a conflict with his own mind and what his pants desired, he chewed stagnantly on his lip awaiting for the impulse to do something kick in. “Aw Y/N, did you hear him say your name sweetie?” The bassist teased you, withdrawing his hand from toying with you which made you whine from the extraction. He leant his mouth right by your ear, and whispered into it, “wouldn’t it sound better if he moaned it?” And you believed it, and you were even wetter from simply imagining it.

It was as though Calum were hypnotising you, and without your own will to do so, your feet fell in footsteps closer to where Luke was seated, and you succumbed to the cushions of your knees, staring up at the man that you lusted after as Calum stood as your shadow and brushed his fingers through your hair. The notion was a gentle one, until he gave it a harsh tug which hitched your throat back so that you were looking into his dark eyes. “I’ve made you feel good Y/N/N, now why don’t you do the same for our friend?” He was pushing you, convincing you to pleasure the god like adonis whose knees were resting against your collarbones, and you were easily sold. And thus you unbuckled his belt and loosened the tightness until you could slip the leather material out from the loops, feeding the teeth of his flyer to your hands. Without any haste you pulled the zip down, and tugged the tight denim from his upper legs, only to discover that he had opted to go commando that morning.

And by gosh you were enamoured with the sight that was in your face; he was erect and wantonly weeping from his tip for attention, and you weren’t going to deny his famine. And thus you engulfed the head of Luke’s large and veined cock into your mouth, greedily humming from the warmth of skin that filled your mouth. “Oh fuck Y/N!” Luke gasped, his mouth gaping open as he tried to ground his pleasure, and he tousled your hair in his hand. “Fuck, your mouth feels so good.” Each word that he spoke only gaged you to attempt to bring more of his length into your mouth, choking from your efforts. And you only choked more as you felt another pressure again on the back of your head, enforcing you to take more down your throat even though your survival instincts tried to reject the intrusion. “Such a good girl, making our Luke feel good. And you can always make him feel good now you know how he feels about you Y/N/N. This cock is yours to suck, this big fat cock that’s making your eyes water.”

Luke moaned simultaneously alongside you from Calum’s dirty words, the sound of your gagging and Luke’s light and vocalised moans being the distinct sound that filled the room in the tour bus. There was a tight feeling that was pulling from the insides of Luke’s balls, he was getting extremely close and he shocked the both of you when you unexpectedly pulled your lips away from his cock to get air, as ropes and ropes of his white seed decorated your face, the warmth of the liquid bringing you a sense of fulfilment and gratified euphoria. For a moment it felt like it was only you and Luke, taking turns to exhale heavily as you came to grips that this wasn’t just a dream, it was a reality. A hot, dirty and sweaty reality. However everything hit you when Calum released his hand from your head, his voice filling your ears intermittently. “Looking good Y/N. And my work here is done…’ Calum joked, metaphorically dusting off his hands from the gruel that he had to cause to finally bring both you an Luke together.

He slowly vacated the room with little words more to say, leaving you and Luke in your own comforting isolation. “So…?” Luke laughed with the emission from his lungs, stroking your hair away from his cum that still covered your face. “So…” He repeated back to you, a content and calm smile endorsing his features. “Do you want to maybe be my girlfriend? I’ve liked you for a long time, and I never had the guts to say something until, well, this.” You reciprocated his smile, tentatively nodding and forgetting all about the joint that you had been rolling, maybe you wouldn’t need it to feel at peace tonight, because Calum with his sexual interference had helped you come to it. “Okay, we can discuss the details of our first date after we get cleaned up. Fancy a shower?” He teased yet endorsed your interest, and soon the pair of you were off to the small and confined bathroom to get ‘cleaned up’ as boyfriend and girlfriend.

[holy-puckslibrary]

sid to a furry friend's rescue!

florist!reader gets flustered during sid's calendar shoot

parents mentors for the day

chief crosby's got a date... and its not with florist!reader

... was in a bit of a silly goofy mood, forgive me (and be sure to read the endnotes!)

gif from @littlemessyjessi

This is the last thing Sidney Crosby imagined he'd come home to: another man settled in his chair.

His cat is curled in the intruder's lap, and said intruder's hand is curled over your knee. And Sidney's soup—homemade and hand-delivered—split in bowls between you.

"Thought you didn't need a babysitter?"

Sidney watches the gleeful expression wilt on your pretty face—color drained like his bank account succeeding the egregious bid he matched to make bail—with equal measures of self-satisfaction and self-contempt.

"I-I didn't, I just—"

"Settle down, Chief," the ranger laughs. "I knew our little lady here was feeling under the weather, so I thought I'd stop by after my patrol shift and keep her company while you were indisposed."

Sidney glares into the bright cerulean eyes of one Anthony Beauvillier, a park ranger in the Atlantic Coast Uplands region.

If memory serves, he was recently transferred from Waverley to Blue Mountain but resides in Peggy's Cove. This is a 50-minute detour.

In the opposite direction.

The Fire Chief's jaw is painfully tight, his blood scalding. If it were't for his, albeit dwindling, sense of self preservation, Sidney would've marched up those two steps—recently refurbished at his hand, might he add—to forcefully remove the park narc's grubby paw from your body.

Mercifully—for all involved parties, you do so shortly and of your own volition before joining Sid in your driveway.

Guilt smeared over your sickly features, your mouth parts, an explanation hot on your tongue, but all that comes is a grizzly cough that stings Sid's chest just hearing it. Despite his vexation, he's patient with you; he owes it to you both to wait it out. He hopes this is just one big misunderstanding somehow.

But, before you're able, the absolute last person Sidney wants to hear from pipes up.

"Resting, ma biche. You're meant to be resting," Tito attempts to coax you back onto the porch—back to his side—with an outstretched, up-turned hand.

(my doe / my darling — reminder: see end for important notes!)

Not as quick with his French as he'd like to be, he growls at the perceived insult. However, rather than running his fist through the opposition's teeth in your honor, Sidney defiles it.

The park ranger, and everyone else who happens to be out and about tonight, are treated to an unexpected eyeful of their Fire Chief's innermost feelings rushing to the surface. They pour into your mouth with reckless abandon, unconcerned with his public image or the utter lack of privacy; this kiss could be broadcast on the Nightly News for all he cares.

All that matters to Sidney Crosby is making his intentions known, and crystal fucking clear. Staking his claim is just a bonus.

"Well, it looks like my work here is done."

At your dazed expression and Sid's bewilderment, Tito stands from the rocking chair with a genuine smile fixed on his face. As he deposits evergreen Stetson atop his wind-swept hair, he pauses.

"Y'all have a nice night," he winks with a tip of the brim, bidding you farewell before slipping into his government-issued Ram.

As gravel crunches under the vehicle's wheels, gears click into place behind Sidney's burnt umber eyes, now gleaming with clarity.

"Nate and Emmy." — Statement, not a question.

"Please, don't be angry. They just wanted to help because... because I didn't believe that... y'know." You gesture to the sliver of space that still separates you, a bashful little smile pushing up your feverish cheeks.

He couldn't find it in himself to be ticked off about your best friends' not-so-harebrained scheme—which, honestly, deserved more credit than he would ever be willing to give it—if he wanted to. Not while standing so close he can smell the PEI tulips you've been elbow-deep in all month, and definitely not having tasted the whisper of herbal tea lingering on your tongue.

Smirking, he closes the gap with a gentle tug.

"Oh, I know." Voice dropping to a thick hush, his lips hovering a lick above your skin, "D'you believe it now?"

The pinkish skin crinkles around his warm eyes as you pretend to think.

"I could do with a little more... convincing," you ultimately quip. "But, only if you're up for the t—"

The remainder of your cajoling is overtaken by a fit of giggles as he corrals you up and across the porch. The front door slams shut with a satisfying air of finality. Though, not before little Ember slips in with you.

Chief Crosby was thorough by nature, and he'd be damned if he didn't dedicate the evening to dispelling any and all doubts threatening to take root. Feigned, or not.

—

gotcha! teehee 😋 sid really said sick germs?? no match for my LOVE!!! ALSO! tito anon, this ones for you bbyyyyy 💓💓💓💓

***** 'ma biche' was chosen because its typically humorous and rarely intended seriously, + can be considered majorly outdated (even by 60s sitcom standards)—and its not always romantic! ... it also sounds a lot like an english insult, hence sid's reaction lol (at least, according to my french-canadian grandmother who remains very confused by my random call for a french lesson on infrequently used terms of endearment lol) *****

as always, i would really appreciate if you reblogged my work, left a comment or dropped by my inbox w some feedback :) fandom runs on engagement, and so do writers!! thx a mil in advance!

[edutainer2022]

To amuse myself amidst the bleak bombings I did a little fun(ish) thing within the general context of Timey-Wimey, the Future!Tracies crossover, but it could be perceived independently. It may be not the best idea to hack family video archives, while situated in a time paradox.

For more references of the Tracy future ever after in this continuity, see Piano Lessons and Worries. Indefinite thanks go to @janetm74 for inspiration and support.

WIBLY-WOBLY

The holovideo was shaky at first, someone with the camera was, probably, adjusting the hold. There was also a bit of a squabble going on in the background. The holocam tilted, recording a familiar side hallway in the villa. The walls were decorated anew, though, with pictures and paintings they never saw. There was also soft carpeting where previously they were used to hardwood. The frame was finally rectified and an unseen hand pushed the touchpanel of a door. A voice off screen, too jovial to be serious, declared:

"Tracy TV! Would you be amenable to take part in a poll?"

The brothers let out a collective gasp as a tall slim figure turned around to face the camera. Grinning at them against the backdrop of a summer afternoon was Scott. A twenty years old Scott. Upon closer look they could see the shade of meticulously styled hair was darker, so was the blue of the gaze. But the dimples were there, the posture, the bone structure, and the fond smile that could power a sun.

"Shoot, Squidletts!"

There were appalled noises from behind the camera, but a voice pressed on. A girl's, that time.

"Do you believe in love?"

"Oh... that's a good question! I believe..."

The young man stretched and squeezed his eyes dreamily. When they opened back up, the deep blue was brimming with mischief.

"I believe... I'd LOOOOVE a sandwich right about now!"

The young man burst into a hearty laugh and the Tracies hitched a breath in unison again. The resemblance was striking.

The holofeed shimmered in and out of focus some more through the turns and passages of the upper level of the villa. At some point it paused in view of a lanky freckled teen, curled up in a window niche, engrossed in some diagrams on a tablet. Despite the tropical heat, the boy was clad in layers of oversized sweatshirt and a truly hideous cardigan. The attempt of the "Tracy TV crew" to engage him in their poll resulted in a well-aimed trainer gliding their way at an alarming speed. The kid barely even got distracted from reading and the hapless reporters made a hasty retreat, before the canon shoe landed with a thud.

That brought them sprinting to the balcony, overlooking the lounge. The video on screen skipped up and down in time with the running. First only the sound was audible, then the holopicture stabilized. The spacious area was filled with viscous rue of Puccini's "O mio babbino caro" in a velvet female voice, swirling all the way up to the glass ceiling. The pianist concealed by the raised top, but for a streak of red and black flanel, the camera focused on the singer. Thick black curls in a French braid, soft brown eyes, full forms, a green sundress. The girl looked remarkably the way Virgil did when he lost a bet to Gordon that one time. Or rather, if Thunderbird Two were a girl come alive. The voice seemed to reach through the gossamer veil of the holovid and envelope them all in their current strange surroundings. Nobody dared speak, lost for breath with awe.

When the aria ended there was a low whistle off screen. Then followed enthusiastic applause and a resounding "Bravo!", in a voice they knew all too well that time. The camera jumped again and recorded a startled shriek:

"Uncle Scott!!!"

The Tracies exchanged anxious looks. The frame shifted to accomodate a newcomer - too tall to fit he bent slightly to be eyelevel with the 'reporters'. Slim figure as fit as ever, the grey suit made the blue of the eyes stand out. The right shade, this time. But the hair was all steel and silver, much like Dad's. The smile was also different. The brothers hadn't seen that one since when Mom was still alive.

"Now, what are you two up to?"

There were more dimensions of levity in the grin and the lines that flanked bright blue eyes.

"Solemnly up to no good, sir!"

The twin chorus off screen declared eagerly, with audible delight. That was obviously a well practiced routine between them. The Double Trouble scrambled to remember the purpose of their noble endeavor.

"Uncle Scott, do you believe in love?"

The smile deepened the dimples on the man's face, he reached one arm to hug someone, the other lifted up to ruffle some hair, eliciting a universally recognizable sqauck.

"Of course I do! I love your parents and all you lot. More than anything in the world! I love the way your cousin Lucy sings. I love how you're always up to mischief. I love to see how smart and talented you all are. I love to see you grow up happy. And I'd love to make the world safer and kinder for you all!"

The camera dropped the frame again in favor of a brief fierce hug, before the transmission skedaddled to the elevator and down to the hangars.

It was hard to discern the details as the camera was facing the concrete floor for some time. Much as the brothers wouldn't mind a peek into the inevitable changes of the Thunderbirds' roost, the cracks and bumps remained as they remembered. They managed to see a red sign "Restricted Area", usually deployed by Brains, when experiment muse struck. But it definitely didn't deter the intrepid investigators. The video picked up a young ginger woman in lab coveralls, manipulating screenfuls of holodata.

"Hey, Sisi! Do you believe in love?"

Green eyes looked up from shifting datastreams, as the girl seemed to give the question some actual thought.

"Belief presupposes reliance on unverified and uncorroborated data points. Since I am aware of sufficient amount of proof that my synthetic biometrical makeup is not designed to produce chemicals usually associated with emotional affection in mammals, then no, I do not BELIEVE in love. But the complex neural connections I have elaborated over time allow me to experience strong cognitive affinity and preference for the select members of the Tracy family over all other representatives of the same species. And don't call me "Sisi", I am the Dawn!"

The sniggers off screen were drowned in a gasp their side of the holofeed, just as it was shut down forcefully. John was frozen in place, mesmerizing the same red-headed girl, looking not a day older, now frowning at them. Alan  jumped to his feet, indignant.

"You're not Dawn! You're Eos!!!!"

"That is an optimal deduction, yes."

Gordon snorted. John's brow furrowed in return. From behind Eos, the twins, Grant and Sally, were entering back into the room.

"Yo, you hacked our old reels! Neat! Tracy TV was a hoot! Ouch! Hey!"

A cuff up the head stopped the trip down the memory lane, as Kip caught up with the duo.

"You weren't supposed to get exposed to background data. That complicates the time loop, makes it harder to break without consequence."

"Well, duh, Carpenter! No kidding! What do we do now?"

It was time for another dramatic baited breath, as several pairs of eyes trained on the young man, shocked for a different reason their unexpected hosts might have assumed.

[punkassfrance]

Sierra Nevada - Chapter VII - Ellie/Abby

Chapter VII: Bite Back (Work length ~2.7k) This work is rated M for canon-typical violence and gore. Please look here for a full list of warnings for the series, specific warnings will be provided at the start of each chapter. This chapter contains: heated argument, discussions of violence in Part II, and perceived bigotry. Previous Chapter - Full Series - Next Chapter

Ellie

The snow falls before the end of the week.

Oddly, the temperature outside doesn’t drop all that much. If anything, it’s more bearable than the frigid cold leaning up to snowfall. Inside the house is a different story. Abby and Lev can huddle up for warmth at least—Ellie is alone in her bedroom down the hall, with nothing but a space heater to keep her company. The chill always gets to her as she goes outside to clear off the solar panels, keeping the house running even as the winter conspires against them. At least Abby is there to share the burden. Sometimes.

It’s almost ten when Ellie rolls out of bed, later than she typically would. She shuffles downstairs in her fleece pajamas, coaxes the fire back to life, and rubs her face as the wood crackles. The house is still silent. Not that she expected any different—Abby isn’t brave enough to poke around uninvited, and Lev is still too injured to move. He seems to be healing well, but there’s still plenty of time for things to go south. Their stay would have to be extended if that happened. Not the worst-case scenario, but still one Ellie would prefer to avoid. Abby’s presence in the house itches at her, demanding to be corrected every time she remembers who’s down the hallway. She’s become the gristle in Ellie’s teeth, something to worry at until it drives her mad.

She can almost forget about everything when she and Abby interact. For a second or two, she’s just a girl, just another member of the house she expects to see. Ellie can even let herself notice details, freckles, cracks in her lips, healed scars, strands of hair pulled free. The intimidation isn’t there. For a short while, she’s just a person.

Then she remembers.

Seattle returns to her, so suddenly. Or the aquarium. The theater. The blood across Abby’s face—her knife up to Dina’s neck, like she’s preparing to mercy kill a deer. The shake of her hands, the curl in her lip as she stares Ellie down. Ellie wonders if she always looks like that when she takes a life.

But she’d be a hypocrite to judge Abby for being a killer.

She shakes her head and stands, pushing her fingers up through her hair in a half-hearted attempt to settle it. It’s getting longer than she’d prefer it, but she hasn’t cared much for vanity in the last year and a half.

Absently, she eyes the scissors in the kitchen before huffing and making her way upstairs.

-

“…Ellie?” Lev starts hesitantly, shifting as Ellie puts the last wraps over his bandages. “Can I ask you something…?”

She pauses and looks up from her work, nodding. “Shoot.”

“What happened to the girl in the theater? Are her and the baby alright?”

Abby opens her mouth as if to stop him before she reconsiders, glancing at Ellie and pressing her lips together. Ellie looks down again, swallowing. If she lingers on the thought for too long, she’ll do something she regrets. Nothing she’s had to resist yet. Tears.

Cleaning her throat, Ellie stands and nods. “They’re fine. He just turned two. I haven’t seen them in a while.”

Lev tilts his head, but doesn’t ask. “I’m glad they’re okay.”

Abby’s looked up at her too. She’s in even less of a position to ask, but she clearly wonders. Ellie shrugs.

“We’re not, uh—together anymore.”

Lev looks down and nods, sullen at the confession. Abby, however, looks perplexed. Her brow is furrowed, lips parted as she stares at Ellie. She opens her mouth like she has something to say, but nothing comes out.

“…what?” Ellie asks, searching Abby’s face for any tell she can find.

“Nothing.” She shakes her head.

“No, you obviously have something to say.” Ellie can feel herself tensing, more aggressive than the situation calls for. She’s tried so hard to avoid escalating, to not start a fight that’ll end bloody.

“No, I just—I didn’t realize you were together.” She looks vaguely uncomfortable, pressing her lips together and looking back down to Lev.

Ellie reels, forcing herself to suppress any knee-jerk reaction. She didn’t think Abby would be a bigot—but she’d surprised Ellie before. Ellie’s experiences with homophobia have been admittedly limited, but the way she avoids eye contact is telling.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter. The kid matters.

She makes for the door, grip tightening on the bag of medical supplies. “…we’re running low on bandages. There’s more in the garage, I’m gonna need help finding them.”

Abby nods, still looking down at Lev’s wound. “Be there in a few.”

Ellie huffs and walks out, shutting the door behind her a little harder than she should.

-

“Are you sure there’s more down here? I can check some other houses…” Abby grunts as she lifts another storage tub, setting it aside on the growing pile.

“No, there’s more, I’m sure. Should probably catalog this shit at some point…” Ellie eyes the bins they’ve dug out, ominously unlabelled. Another project to add to the list. “…but not fucking today.”

Abby twists her mouth up as she finishes searching the bin, frustrated as she sifts through cans and expired MREs. As many bins as they’ve searched, they’ve barely made a dent in the garage full of storage, let alone the shop it extends into. She tosses around bins full of books and food like they’re nothing—Ellie’s no weakling, but Abby’s another specimen entirely. She doesn’t even break a sweat as she works, flexing and gritting her teeth as she hauls things around. The way her waist twists, the way her arms tense as she pulls off the lid of a bin…Ellie grimaces at the thought that she’s showing off.

With how hard she’s glowering at Abby, Ellie doesn’t notice when she pauses, half bent over a box to look behind it.

“Oh, shit—” she reaches for something, lifting it out from the spot where it rested. It’s a guitar. Acoustic, visibly intact, strings loose over time. “…look.”

Ellie stares, face null. She’d found it some time ago, maybe a week after she moved in, only to quickly shove it back where she’d pulled it from. She has no use for those memories anymore, no need to drag up the emotions of having it around. Several times now, the thought of destroying it has crossed her mind, a pyre to the hands that taught her to play. Maybe she’d been saving it, somewhere in the back of her mind. The perfect end to a long night of tears and moonshine, a special occasion. Maybe her birthday. Maybe his.

Abby looks over it, brushing dust off the surface and running her thick fingers over the strings. “This yours?”

Ellie shakes her head, crossing her arms. “No. I saw it, but didn’t bother with it.”

“You play?”

“Used to.”

Abby opens her mouth to ask, but thinks better of it. It’s too late—Ellie is glowering at her, raising her left hand to wriggle the remains of her fingers. Before she can resist, she folds two of her remaining fingers down, leaving one standing tall.

Abby lowers the guitar, tilting her head down to give Ellie an admonishing glare. “…a guilt trip isn’t gonna help anything,” she mutters before looking back down at the guitar. Ellie lets the comment go without argument—she’s not wrong, after all. Ellie could probably stand to be a little more mature about the situation, but she doesn’t want to. Even if Lev stops her from being outwardly violent, she still has her favorite weapon. Being petty.

“…always wanted to learn,” Abby muses aloud, fingers tracing over the dusty frets. “Used to like Tracy Chapman.”

Ellie can’t help the scoff when she hears that. Abby looks up at her and raises an eyebrow, glancing around the room. “…what?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what?” Her tone is firm as she sets the guitar down, crossing her brawny arms. “You obviously have something to say.”

Ellie sneers at having her own words thrown back at her, straightening her posture as she looks down at the boxes in front of her. “Nothing. Guess you’re just fine with lesbians if they can sing.”

Abby reels back, lips parting as her eyes widen. She scoffs, readjusting her posture. “Excuse me? The fuck does that mean?”

“Fucking—I saw your face when Lev asked about my ex. You’re not subtle.” She can’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. For whatever reason, she expected better of Abby. She certainly has no reason to expect better from her. Just because one kid likes her doesn’t mean she’s a good person.

Abby seems almost bewildered, taking a few steps forward and narrowing her eyes. “I didn’t fucking say anything.”

“You didn’t fucking need to.”

They stare each other down for a moment before Abby reaches up to rub at her eyes, free hand resting on her hip. “No, I didn’t—I don’t care about that. I just didn’t realize…I thought she was just your friend.” She grimaces, looking down to the concrete.

“Why does it matter?” Ellie snaps.

“It doesn’t! I just didn’t—” Abby cuts herself off, turning to face the wall and raising a hand to dismiss the conversation. “…it doesn’t matter.”

Ellie looks back down to her beaten Converse, tension stubborn in her chest. Abby’s denied her too many times now, diffused fights Ellie doesn’t even know she’s trying to start. It’s probably for the best, but she can feel herself starting to boil over.

“…I’m glad she’s okay.” Abby mutters after a long silence, shuffling uncomfortably as her fingers trail over the tuning keys.

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Abby narrows her eyes, looking back up at Ellie with a poisonous stare.

“Fucking excuse me?”

Bingo.

Abby crosses the room until she’s less than two feet from Ellie. As terrifying as she is, Ellie doesn’t back down, unconsciously trying to make herself look bigger. Abby’s got maybe four inches on her, but it’s four inches too many.

“I’m sure you’re happy she’s okay. You seemed real concerned about her last time you met.” Ellie can hear her voice raising, but she doesn’t bother to rein herself in—taking her anger out on Abby sounds like exactly what she needs. The memory of Dina was going to devastate her anyway, drive her to drink, have her falling asleep to whatever cassette she fumbled into her walkman. That’s all still on the table, but she won’t pass up the chance to make Abby hurt. “Or maybe you forgot about what you said when I told you she was pregnant.” Abby shakes her head, going to open her mouth before Ellie takes a step closer. “Remember? Cause I fucking remember. You said good.”

“Shut up, Ellie.”

“Why? I’m just reminding you of shit you did.”

Abby’s nearly baring her teeth as she closes the distance between them yet again. “You’re one to fucking talk though, right?”

Ellie narrows her eyes—as hard as she’s tried to forget, she knows where Abby’s going with this. She’s gone down this same road at least a dozen times, beating herself up for blood that can’t be unspilled. There’s nothing Abby could say that Ellie hasn’t already told herself.

“Because If I remember right, you crossed that line first.”

Ellie shakes her head and turns away, retreating through the kitchen door. Heavy footsteps follow close behind.

“No, come on, you started this. We can talk about it all fucking day, I bet you love remembering this just as much as I do.”

Ellie grits her teeth and whips back around, less than a foot between them. “Fuck off, Abby!”

“You ripped her fucking throat out, Ellie. Didn’t even give her a fucking chance.”

Ellie’s hands tremble at her sides, barely resisting the urge to take a swing at her. Abby’s all but snarling down at her, flushed and huffing. She’s even more intimidating when she’s using her height to her advantage, shoulders squared back as she towers over Ellie. She looks so broad like this, solid and unyielding.

“I wasn’t fucking happy about it, Abby. I didn’t kill her out of spite. I just wanted you.”

“And fuck everyone who was in your way, right?”

“You’re the last fucking person who can give me shit for wanting revenge. You started that whole fucking mess.”

“I started-” Abby cuts herself off, raising her hands like she’s about to abandon the argument before she clenches her fists. They could go in circles blaming each other for hours, blaming Joel, blaming Marlene, blaming God. It wouldn’t help anything, they wouldn’t get anywhere, Ellie knows. She’s played this game with herself too many times.

“He was minding his own business, living his fucking life, when you decided to come fuck everything up.”

“Jesus, you’re such a fucking cunt.” Abby turns away, one hand settling on her hip as she rubs her face. It’s like she’s not even talking to Ellie, absently venting frustration to herself as she tries to cool off.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so fucking hard for you.”

Abby turns back around and raises her hands, eyes closed. “I’m done with this conversation.”

“Oh yeah, take the high ground. Be the bigger man like you’re not a fucking killer. Go to hell.”

Hand on the railing, before she ascends the stairs, Abby looks back with gritted teeth. “I’ll see you there.”

Abby

Abby slams the door shut as she storms into the room, immediately covering her face with her hands. If Lev wasn’t right in front of her, she’d probably scream, say things she’d regret, break something she wouldn’t miss. How else is she expected to cope with this? It would be bad enough if Ellie was only acting like a child, only picking fights for the hell of it. It’s worse that Abby knows she’s at least partially right.

There’s no denying Abby was…a different person, three years ago. Someone she’s come to regret being. She wasn’t “Issac’s Top Scar Killer” for nothing—titles like that are earned. And Abby spent years earning it. Regret is one of her most frequent emotions these days, even if she can’t quite pinpoint exactly what she regrets. Threatening the pregnant girl? Maybe—but it’s hard to say it wasn’t justified just hours after finding Mel’s body. Kicking Ellie’s ass in the theater? Absolutely not. Biting her fingers off? She’s come to regret it more in the last few weeks.

Killing Joel?

She draws out a frustrated ugh before lifting her head from her hands, pacing to the other side of the room to look out the window. Snow is falling in big, fluffy flakes, hard enough that she can’t see past the house across the street. Frost creeps at the edges of the window panes, the glass fogging up as she huffs and tries to calm down.

“…what was that about?”

Lev sounds hesitant. She’s never yelled at him, and she never intends to, but he likely knows something about the state she’s in. He’s not stupid by any means. He’s lived through so much, survived a cult, survived their travels, killed to protect them both. Even if he’s an adult by most measures, Abby knows better than to dump their argument on his shoulders. When she can, she’ll do him the favor of treating him like any other kid. He deserves that much.

“…it’s not something you have to worry about.” She turns around and tries to give him a reassuring smile, but she knows she’s likely too stressed for it to land as intended. “Just a dumb fight, I won’t let it become your problem.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods. He’s smart enough to at least partially see through her attempt at comfort. Still, there’s something in his eyes that she can’t identify.

“It’s fine. I promise.” She walks over to his bedside and takes a seat at the foot of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

Lev gives her that look for another moment before shrugging. “Okay. It’s warm in here.”

“I know—the heater still works really well. We’re lucky.”

Lev nods. “I know. How are you feeling?”

Abby looks away, staring absently at the ground. She doesn’t know how she’s going to pull through the next few months, but she doesn’t have a choice. She can’t let her problems come before Lev. He deserves a guardian who’s going to put him first.

“I’ll be fine.”

I know it's been a second- I promise I'm still fired up about this project, just burned myself out a bit and got a little discouraged. Thank you everyone who's stuck around, I'm determined to see this story through one way or another!

I wonder if anyone caught the foreshadowing...

Thank you to @plum98 for the forest divider! Feel free to say hi or drop your thoughts in my askbox, check out my AO3 or my about me if you're interested!

Series Taglist: @a-little-bit-of-everybody

[soulessjourney]

Ashes of Panem

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Paring: (young) Coriolanus x Reader

Word count: 2.9k

Summary: Coriolanus Snow and Y/N Ashcroft had trained together since their entry into the academy. However, when their names were drawn, they found themselves pitted against each other and twenty other children in these games. As Y/N became a symbol of rebellion akin to her great grandmother, who vanished shortly after Panem's liberation, the looming threats of war and the approaching games forced Coriolanus and Y/N to forge an alliance. Amidst these challenges, they had to learn to trust and support one another in order to break free from Coin's oppressive regime.

Warnings: None

A/N: Eat up kids, this is girl dinner and my best friend helped me deicde what course of action to take at the end. She's a long one but I hope this feeds you until I can plot how the next couple of drafts will go.

Selection day—the one day of the year that turned into everyone’s personal hell. With the recent changes, you found yourself wearing a knee-length red velvet dress that stopped just below your knees, its collar reaching midway up your neck. One perk was that it had pockets, one of the best inventions for a dress. Your hair cascaded in soft curls, its length falling over your shoulders, stopping just below your shoulder blades.

Navigating through the dense crowd, you moved towards the outskirts, finding solace just off to the side. The conversations with the various district representatives had grown tiresome, feeling more like you were selling yourself rather than seeking aid to stay alive. It left you feeling sick, as if you were begging these people to save you, a sensation that made you feel as pathetic as you appeared.

Startled, you jumped when a glass came into view right in front of your face. Following the hand holding it, you relaxed at the sight of Coriolanus. Despite your indifference for him, you were relieved it was him and not another district official. “You look like you’re about to pass out, drink some water,” he urged, offering the glass again, smiling as you took it. “You look beautiful, by the way. I haven’t had the chance to tell you that tonight.”

“You ditched me the moment we walked in here, Snow. Also, you’re not one for giving out compliments, so what do you want?” you questioned, raising a brow. It was a fact—he didn't usually dole out compliments unless there was something he wanted or someone he wanted to involve in some scheme, and you suspected it wasn’t the latter.

“I don’t want anything. I just enjoy being right. Red is definitely your color, Snowflake. It brings out those eyes of yours,” he shrugged, taking a sip from his glass. “I saw how you were earlier, looking as if you wanted to tear their heads off their shoulders when they tried to touch you,” he continued, drawing your attention back to him. “I won’t let them hurt you, Snowflake. They’d be foolish to even try,” he said, smiling down at you. A blush dusted your cheeks, prompting you to awkwardly turn away from him in an attempt to hide it.

Before you could respond, the Capital anthem started playing through the speakers, signaling the arrival of Cassius Coin, President Coin’s grandson. He walked forward, reaching the end of the balcony that overlooked the room. Soft claps welcomed him, though your classmates appeared mildly annoyed, preferring to be fighting in the arena than standing here in that moment. Raising his hands, Cassius silenced the room, commencing the same speech he gave every year.

“Good evening, students and representatives from the districts. I hope you've been enjoying your evening thus far. As we all know, this is an important evening marking the seventieth year of the Capital Games. Selection night holds historical significance. Many may perceive it as a punishment when, in fact, it is quite the opposite. This is an opportunity for all of you to display your loyalty to New Panem by entering the arena, striving to emerge victorious. In this new world, we've learned that only the strong can survive,” Cassius declared.

Beside you, Coriolanus scoffed. “This has to be the most morbid thing I've ever heard,” he muttered, keeping his gaze forward. Sensing your confusion, he continued, “Saying we should be happy to meet our deaths, I mean. We’ve proven our loyalty throughout our time in this academy, so why do only the games matter?” he grumbled, shifting his gaze down to you. “Some of us don’t deserve this fate,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on yours.

"Now, it is time to announce our selected students for this year's games," Cassius announced loudly. "I would like to start by unveiling a new change. As of this year, we will not be drawing names," he declared, as the screens on either side of him illuminated with a list of twenty-two names. Your heart skipped a beat, and Coriolanus drew in a deep breath. Somewhere off to the side, a cry echoed through the room. It was your class rankings, precisely in the order displayed after your evaluations. "Congratulations to those of you who fought for these spots and demonstrated your loyalty to the Capital!" Cassius shouted enthusiastically.

The glass you held slipped from your grasp and crashed to the ground, the shards pooling around your feet and cutting into your ankles. Stumbling back, the world began to spin, and bile surged up your throat. Coriolanus reached out, but you brushed him off, staggering out of the room and down the hall. Flinging the doors open at the hall's entrance, you fell to your knees, retching into the nearby bushes. Footsteps hurried toward you, but you ignored them. Your breathing became rapid, struggling to draw air into your lungs. It felt like you were suffocating, an inability to fill your lungs.

Someone attempted to speak to you, but the words sounded muffled, lost amidst the ringing in your ears. Clutching at your chest, you felt your heart racing. Tears streamed down your face, unnoticed in your frenzy. Cool hands cupped your cheeks, forcing your gaze upward to meet Coriolanus's blue eyes, ones you usually avoided. His lips moved, but the words eluded you, drowned out by ringing in your head. Covering your mouth, you retched again, feeling his hands soothingly pat your back and brush your hair away.

Sitting up, you found Coriolanus gently holding your face, his touch a stark contrast to his usual impatience. "Focus on me, Y/N. Just focus on me," he urged softly, locking eyes with yours.

Coriolanus was hardly known for his patience, but his demeanor now surprised you. In the academy, he exhibited a short temper, particularly when things didn't align with his desires. But this was different. He wasn't berating you for crying or falling apart. Seeking answers in his gaze, he enveloped you in a tight embrace, anchoring you in his arms. "You're going to be okay, Snowflake. Everything's going to be okay," he whispered. As your sobs gradually eased, he pulled away and peered at you, a faint smile gracing his lips. "There you are."

Wiping away your tears and streaked eyeliner, he cupped your cheeks. "Here's the plan, Snowflake. We'll go back in there and present ourselves to the districts," he said, anticipating your disagreement. "No, listen. We'll act as they expect us to—like the puppets they want us to be. We'll interact with the representatives together and aim for District One or Two. They have more resources. Fix your makeup, and meet me back in the hall. Understood?" He pressed, his thumb tracing your jawline, awaiting your response. When you hesitated, he shook you gently and repeated, "Understood?"

Unable to trust your voice, you nodded in agreement, observing the relieved smile that graced his face. "Good, that's good. Freshen up, and I'll be waiting inside for you," Coriolanus said before making his way back into the building, leaving you sitting there, feeling the cool air nip at your nose and cheeks.

---

It took you less than twenty minutes to freshen up your appearance before returning to the hall. Students conversed among themselves, their attention fixed on the screens displaying your class ranks. The sight itself made you queasy. In the frenzy of those destined for the games fighting for representatives' attention, the crowd parted, in a way that reminded you of those novels you read when you were younger, revealing Coriolanus making his way toward you, his gaze unwaveringly locked on you.

Coriolanus halted in front of you, his blue eyes briefly scanning the area behind you. Extending his arm, he looked at you, pressing his lips into a thin line. "Follow my lead, Snowflake. You'll need to act that little heart out," he said, wearing a broad smile as he approached two figures. "Mr. Larue, this is my girlfriend Y/N, whom I mentioned earlier," he announced. Girlfriend? You weren't sure if he was joking, delusional, or both, because clearly, you missed something between the time he left you outside and your return to the hall.

"Ah, Y/N, you're just as beautiful as he described. What are the odds that you're both paired together for this year's games?" the older gentleman remarked, appearing no older than 70. His frail skin and patchy white hair gave him a delicate appearance. "Mr. Snow mentioned your admiration for District One, and I must say, it's refreshing to hear someone who knows her stuff," he continued, flashing overly white teeth.

Chewing on your lip, you glanced up at Coriolanus, who waited for you to falter in the act he had imposed on you. "Well, Mr. Larue, I didn’t know my boyfriend decided to boast about my interests, but he's right. I do admire what your district stands for. It would be an honor to have your sponsorship, demonstrating not only my loyalty to the capital but also my appreciation for your work," you responded, eliciting a proud smile from Mr. Larue.

He let out a laugh and gently patted Coriolanus' arm. "You have quite the charmer here, Mr. Snow. She's a keeper. It's almost a shame that I have to watch such a lovely couple fight in the arena," he said, frowning, just as Coriolanus chuckled, a sound you'd do anything to hear again.

"I suppose we'll have to show you just how powerful our alliance is," Coriolanus said, reaching over with his free hand to squeeze your hand resting on his arm. He looked down at you, his gaze soft along with his smile. Anyone who didn't know him would think that he was in love with you, and honestly? He almost had you convinced. "I'll give you time to think it over, Mr. Larue. Meanwhile, how about a dance, Y/N? Why not enjoy what time we may have left together with something so intimate?" he asked.

You felt your brow twitch at his words. He was overdoing it with that final phrase, but it seemed like the older gentleman was utterly captivated by Coriolanus' words. "A dance sounds amazing. If you'll excuse us," you said, turning to give Mr. Larue a respectful nod before walking off with Coriolanus in tow. "Out of all the things to make me do, you went for the idea of having me be your girlfriend?" you snapped your head to look at him.

Coriolanus shrugged, a smug smile on his face. "I want to do the most if we're going to our deaths," he said simply, causing your jaw to drop. Pulling you onto the dance floor, he placed a hand on the small of your back and gently held your hand. "Close your mouth, Snowflake. It's unbecoming for a lady to stand with her mouth open," he teased, earning him a scoff in response. Placing your hand on his shoulder, the two of you began to move around the dance floor with the other pairs.

"I won't let you die in there, Y/N. I will do everything in my power to make sure that we make it out alive. I heard rumors that they'll let two of us live as long as it's two individuals of the same pair," he murmured, lowering his head to speak near your ear. "I won't be letting you out of my sight for a second anymore."

Rolling your eyes, you caught sight of other district officials watching both of you. Now you knew why he wanted you to wear red so badly. You two stuck out like a sore thumb against the other students who wore black or white. Coriolanus knew how to play the game, and he would ensure that both of you won.

---

After what felt like hours, the gala came to an end, leaving you utterly exhausted. You and Coriolanus managed to secure a sponsor from District One after winning over Mr. Larue with your act. Rolling back your shoulders, you turned your head to gaze out the window. Snow had begun to fall, lining the sidewalks in a soft sheet of flakes. You turned when the material of a jacket rested on your shoulders, and Coriolanus looked down at you with tired eyes.

"Coryo, it's cold out, you need your jacket." You hadn't even noticed the nickname that slipped from your lips, but he did. He was well aware of what you called him, and he loved it.

"You're going to need it more, that dress will do nothing to protect you from the cold," he remarked, moving to lean against the wall next to you, watching the snow fall outside. "Things are going to be hard from here on out. We have to learn how to trust one another, especially if we're paired to keep one another alive for as long as possible."

"You haven't necessarily given me a reason to trust you, Snow. You don't exactly make it easy," you said, tensing when he looked at you, his gaze piercing your soul. He raised his brows in question, prompting you to continue. "You're not exactly the talkative type, and if you are, it's only because you want something from me. So, how can I trust someone who only sees me when they want something from me?" You pulled his coat tighter around you, seeking some solace from his penetrating stare.

"I've always seen you, Y/N. Don't think for a second that I haven't seen you because I have. In fact, it's almost annoying how much I see you," he replied. It was your turn to raise your brows. "It doesn't matter. Why don't we head back? It's getting late, and I doubt that your parents want you out too late. Come on, I'll walk you home."

The both of you walked out of the building, with you trailing slightly behind him. Coriolanus Snow was a mystery to you. From his words to his actions, you couldn't make sense of him. You wanted to demand that he make up his mind about how he treated you, but you knew it wouldn't lead anywhere.

Quickening your pace, you moved to catch up with him. "If you want me to learn how to trust you, then tell me about you. What makes you Coriolanus Snow?" you asked. You could see his jaw clench as he contemplated how to respond. Coriolanus was always one to talk, except when it was about himself. He often reminded you of a captivating but complex book that was hard to read. You refused to put down his book; you wanted to learn about him, to understand his character, and establishing trust was the first step. "In return, I'll tell you my deepest, darkest secret," you teased, nudging his shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Is there something that defines who I am?" he asked, though it sounded more like a question directed at himself. "Sometimes, I find myself pretending to be someone I'm not," he began. "At the academy and even when I'm with you, I feel compelled to embody this controlled and calculated persona. I refrain from revealing my true self because I fear you might flee. This facade I wear keeps me in good standing at the academy and in proximity to you. It keeps me close enough so that I never have to worry." His words sent a chill through you. They carried an air of possession.

"Snow, you won't scare me away. It takes more than a facade to scare me off. We're being trained to fight to the death against twenty other children; I believe I can handle occasional outbursts from you." You attempted a reassuring smile, but he abruptly halted, turning to gaze at you.

"You don't get it, Snowflake. I don't wish to share you with anyone else. You kept yourself distant from others out of fear of loss. Knowing that made me content, content in the knowledge that no one else stood by your side to snatch you away," he whispered, leaning in until his breath nearly met yours. "I want to shield you from the world, from the games where no one can have you." His confession widened your eyes, prompting a step back as you struggled to comprehend his words.

Clearing your throat, you shook your head, observing your breath forming mist in the cold air. "That's not what you want, Snow. Trust me. You won't find happiness with me. In fact, if you knew the concealed parts of me, you'd be the one fleeing." You noticed a spark in his eyes, perhaps a reflection of the shared darkness within both of you, fighting to break free.

Just as you near the gate leading to your home, Coriolanus seized your wrist, halting your movement. "Why do you hide from me, Snowflake? You want me to see you, so why keep yourself hidden? I can't see you if you won't let me." He drew you closer, his hand caressing your cheek, the warmth contrasting with his cold touch. He exuded warmth, emitting a scent of roses that intoxicated. Interpreting your silence as an answer, he leaned down, lightly brushing his lips against your forehead before retracting, his thumb grazing your lips.

Stepping away, you retreated and closed the gate behind you. Turning to glance at him from the other side, you noticed how he stood taller, his curls framing his eyes. Snowflakes fell on his eyelashes, accentuating the rosy hue on his cheeks due to the wintry air. "I hide because I'm nothing but poison, Coriolanus. Poison you shouldn't get entangled with. I'd do more harm than good, so don't be greedy and try a taste. You'll only end up hurting yourself in the end," you stated, casting one final glance before pivoting on your heel and entering your home.

Tags:@notyourwildestdream

[ecco2ecco]

These aren't really headcanons but I owed you this 💝 @glittersgloom

Lamar & Derrick headcanons

- Lamar and what beauty means to him. I just think as a dark skinned black man it's so difficult for people to perceive you as pretty or even beautiful apart from like purely sexual context and also general anti blackness. Anti blackness in the fact that Lamar is unambiguously black, he doesn't have a loose curl pattern or like green eyes; he isn't mixed or even light skinned and that it of itself is unattractive to people because they think that black people are ugly etc. and you should see the shit that people comment under videos of Lamar all the time, they call him ugly, they call him a monkey, they talk about his skin being bad etc and I'm not even doing how bad it gets justice because it's all over the place with him and it's so blatantly anti black. Anyways, I wanted to write about how that would affect him- existing in the public eye as someone who is seen as unattractive etc and what it looks like and means to grapple with that. It's difficult to see that because I think Lamar is so beautiful, I love the way he looks and I hate that people talk about him like that.

- Lamar and Derrick and the expectations put on them and how they've defined themselves despite that. Lamar coming into the league wasn't seen as a viable quarterback option and was asked to switch to wide receiver or running back and Derrick Henry was seen as a running back that had too many carries to last long in a league at all plus when he first came into the league he saw minimum usage and was seen as a bust for the first three years before breaking out in his fourth year. But here they are despite all that, Lamar is a top three (at worst) quarterback in the league- I think he's number 2 and a 2 time MVP and Derrick Henry at 31 years old is still one of the best running backs in the NFL and the best running back of his generation. I'm interested in the journey to where they are now, and what they had to give up to get here

- Lamar chronic illness. Lamar is very sickly, like to the point that it's a running joke that he'll miss a few practices every season and preseason because of the flu or a stomach bug. I think that's interesting when juxtaposed to his position as a pro athlete and how health is such a key part of that. It's something I think about whenever it comes up so I think it would be good to write about it

- Derrick after cutting his locs off... Lamar's reaction. Derrick cutting off his locs was such a shock to me like omg 😭 his hair! But he looks beautiful with his new hair so idrc but it was such a suprise so I imagine like him cutting off his locs and planning on surprising Lamar with his new hairstyle. Something cute and light

- Lamar's relationship to his body. I think that a weird part of being a professional athlete in a team sport is the feeling that your body doesn't really belong to you per say and that it belongs to the team and to the organisation at large. As in your body exists to serve a particular function and is treated as almost an instrument. Like professional athletes will gain weight, lose weight- gain muscle, lose muscle depending on what function the team needs them to perform. In the case of Lamar, he came into the league at around 200-205 pounds and then got up to 235 pounds in a attempt to avoid season ending injuries by making himself more 'durable' with increased muscle mass and then he dropped all that over the passed 2 season to sit at 200-205 pounds again in an effort to be more elusive and get back to running at his usual speed. Both of these changes were not borne out of personal wants but rather to optimize his body to serve whatever function was needed by the team and by the organisation at that time. I wonder how that leaves someone looking at their body and how that can easily warp a person's relationship to their body. What does ownership over your body look like in this situation? All questions that are particularly interesting to me and relevant

CeeDee, Trevon & Micah headcanons

- CeeDee feels like people only like him because he's beautiful, that he's seen as a ‘dumb blonde’ and nothing else. The ways in which beauty opens the world up to you but also isolates you. What’s the point of being beautiful if you are only seen as that and nothing else?

- Origin story; how CeeDee, Micah and Trevon got together.

- CeeDee as the dom, Micah and Trevon as his subs. That's it really, I just think this would be really good fic.

- Micah learning disorder. I was thinking about the way that people view black athletes in particular as ‘slow’ or unintelligent and how that shapes the way the fans view and interact with these players. I see a lot of people calling Micah an idiot or just people calling his stupid and that shit makes me so mad. Because he isn't, and it's like this weird dissonance I see between who Micah is to the wider public and who he actually is. I thought that writing about Micah having a learning disorder would be an interesting way to look at the nature of ‘intelligence’ and what that actually means, what that actually looks like.

- Trevon compares himself to Stef and feels like he’ll never be as good as him; as beautiful, as interesting, as talented, as brave and as open. He’s jealous of Stef’s openness and the way he refuses to compromise who he is for anything or anyone. Exploring the way he carries that insecurity into his relationship

- Micah feeling out of place, in his life outside of football and in his relationship with CeeDee and Trevon. Essentially growing pains and feeling uncertain of what he wants his partners to do for him and being open enough to express these needs to them…

‘I just want to be someone you wanna take care of’

- Trevon feeling unworthy of being on the team or being with them, not being as essential to the team's success after coming back from the ACL tear and now with the knee injury that’ll keep him out eight months ... ‘I think after the rehab and all, if they don't cut me that I should ask for a trade…He could go anywhere in the league and this would still be gone. Anywhere in the world and it would still be these two. No one else, ever.’

Stef headcanons

- After the ACL tear- the process of getting back to were he was health-wise and the feelings that come with seeing the struggle and do well at times, without him. Watching the world pass him by etc

- Mental health crisis that last season in Buffalo. I remember him saying that it was the lowest he'd ever been mentally and I'm interested in exploring why that it. There's a story that came out about him breaking dress code for a team meeting and the coach yelling at him for a really extended period of time, to the point where the other coaching staff felt that he had overdone it and I feel like this is representative of what I feel was the issue; him being a different personality and kind of person in that lockeroom. And how that led to him feeling like his time was up there. Basically exploring how you can go from insider to outsider in a heartbeat and how being misunderstood is a kind of violence. I don't think that someone like Stef could ever be happy in the long-term in a place like Buffalo or Minnesota so I'm trying to explore why that is. So basically from the crumbling of his relationships in Buffalo and the off-season that follows

- His relationship with Tank Nico CJ...his babies. Just looking at these new relationships that Stef is building in Houston and what that looks like. I find his relationship with all three of them really compelling and meaningful.

- The eroding of his relationship with Josh. The relationship innit itself doesn't interest me as much as it does other people but I'm interested in Stef and he loved (loves?) that man so I want to write about how and why it ended. And why I feel like it was for the better.

Davante & Aaron

- Davante and Aaron connecting for Davante’s 100th career touchdown. A career and relationship retrospective, how Aaron irrevocably changed Davante’s life and is the reason why he is who is. Basically Davante on how and why he’s loved Aaron for this long…

- Garrett and Davante…Davante’s first month as a Jet and just Garrett’s hero worship of him, Davante being his favourite receiver and someone he looked up to. Garrett hangs onto every word he says, watching him get ready for practice and games and being as close to him as he can be at all times. Davante sitting in the middle of Aaron and him during team meetings >3. He doesn't have the words for it and he already knows about Aaron and Davante, something that's unsaid but not secret. That doesn't make him want Davante any less, finally giving in and kissing Davante in the receiver room when they're looking over film after one of their (many) losses. Davante kisses him back, just as hard with a shy smile on his lips. ‘You know that we have to tell Aaron, right?’

- Garrett gets really drunk on a night out with the team and instead of sending him home in an uber, Davante and Aaron take him back to Aaron's house. He’s out immediately but wakes up to the sound of them fucking Walks to outside their door etc feelings realization..not as much realize but crystallize, materialising in the physical proof of his hard on

- Those early days in Green Bay, Davante having to work himself to death to avoid being cut after underperforming during his rookie contract and Aaron choosing him as his number one target despite that.

- There's a clip from receiver where Davante talks about meeting up with Aaron before the game they had against the Jets in Vegas and them being in the backroom of a restaurant talking for hours and then them meeting center field with Davante telling Aaron 'This is what needed that, just having you around this past couple of days it did a lot for me'. That really struck me and so it's just them in the backroom of a restaurant talking about anything and everything, trying not to think about how both their seasons have gone to shit. Just an exploration of intimacy and closeness even when separated.

Miscellaneous

- Micah and CJ in Japan during their little world tour they went on after the draft show they did together last year. They’re in a hotel room in Japan late one night and they've both been drinking, Micah more than C and he cant hold his tongue anymore. All Micah’s feelings suddenly come rushing out and he can't bring himself to care about the fact that CJ might not feel the same way. He just needs to say it out loud, just needs CJ to know if nothing else. CJ kisses him before he can finish, drunk but sweet makeout ensues + the morning after.

- Lamar and Odell, pre season 2023 in Miami. It's set in a club and whatever attraction or tension they're developing for each other escalates very quickly. It's basically just tasteful smut with a lot of characterization etc Lamar and Odell are very dear to me and their one season together means a lot to me so I feel that this is part of a larger overall universe

- Lamar and Michael Vick...hero worship and kinda underage? Lamar feels like Vick is the only one who could ever understand him and Micahel takes advantage of that. An exploration of the way that black quarterbacks are forced to maintain a fraternity even within the fraternity that already exists between all quarterbacks, and the ways in which Lamar was drawn to Vick because he's the only other modern quarterback that he feels reflects him. From the year before Lamar’s Heisman campaign all the way through the unanimous MVP season and his contract negotiations. Looks at with how Vick feels seeing Lamar excel in ways that he could never quite manage and how that manifests in their personal relationship.

- Jayden and Malik through the ups and downs of their respective rookie campaigns, Jayden being given the keys to a franchise and Malik’s need to prove that the Giants don't waste the 6th overall draft pick on him. An exploration of what it means and looks like, feels like to come of age- with a particular focus on Malik since he just turned 21 (he’s a baby). Thinking of what it means to grow up together even while you're apart, evolving over the course of the draft to rookie mini camp/training camp and throughout the season.

- Kyler and Marvin... falling short of expectations and Marvin asking kyler if he's letting him down because he feels like he's letting his dad and everyone else down as well

- CJ and Bryce...the inequality in their relationship in college...seen as better prospect, class (as in economic class) etc… they are forever tied because of the draft and their relationship before that and I want to look at the way that those strings specifically intertwine them.

- Caleb and DJ Moore...older wideout and their rookie quarterback...power dynamics etc there's a certain tension that I feel exists between Caleb and DJ that I don't feel in negative in nature but it's interesting that it's there, just floating between the two of them. I want to examine that.

- Caleb Williams and the weight of expectations. Just about him being the first overall pick and everything surrounding that, people were expecting a great year for the bear and that didn't happen. Not even close, so I'm interested in the emotional toll of that, the mental toll of falling short of expectations. Especially when looking at what Jaden was able to accomplish this year.