#everyone is dead and he is holding himself by a thread by trying to help Batman

[auroralwriting]

𝓊𝓈.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

summary: does he regret the secret of you?

warnings: no warnings for this story

: ̗̀➛ masterlist

gracie abrams songfic challenge

You meet Finnick by the shore, always.

The sun's barely peeking over the horizon, the waves hush against the sand, and the air still smells like salt and promise. It’s early enough that the rest of the district is asleep or pretending to be, which gives you these precious minutes alone, just you and Finnick. Just the two of you, before the world wakes up and remembers who he is.

You’re sitting on the rocks, legs pulled up to your chest, when he comes up behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder. A comforting feeling, something you only trusted him to do.

“You’re late,” you tease.

“I brought breakfast.” He holds up a paper bag with two flaky pastries, slightly squished from his run over. “Peace offering?”

You turn your head slightly so your nose brushes his. “Depends. Did you get the sweet one?”

He kisses your cheek. “Always.”

You take the bag and tug him down beside you. The world is still golden and quiet and yours.

Everyone in the district knows Finnick Odair. Of course they do. He’s the Capitol’s golden boy, the youngest victor in history, a name whispered with awe and fear and a tinge of envy. But you know him differently. You know him when he’s not trying to be charming, when he forgets the way he’s supposed to carry himself like a weapon. You know him when he’s barefoot and laughing, when he cries in your arms, when he dreams out loud about a future that might never come. When you’re swimming in the sea and running barefoot down the stony pathways of four.

And somehow, against all odds, you’re his. In secret. Not because you’re ashamed. Because it’s safer that way.

If the Capitol knew—if Snow knew—he would destroy you just to remind Finnick who he belonged to. So instead, your love lives in the spaces between. Glances across the square. Notes tucked into fishing nets. A second pair of footsteps behind the cliffs. And mornings like this one, where time bends just enough to make room for you both.

“You’re staring,” Finnick says, and when you look over, he’s grinning at you with one brow raised.

“Can’t help it,” you say, leaning into him. “You’re prettier in the morning light.”

He laughs, the sound warm and real. “You’re the only person alive who says that to me like it means something.”

You thread your fingers through his, fitting together with practiced ease. “That’s ‘cause when I say it, it does.”

The waves crash louder, a seagull swoops above, and Finnick watches you like you’re the only constant in a life full of chaos. “You ever think about running away?” he asks quietly, like he’s not supposed to even speak the thought out loud.

“All the time,” you reply. “But I don’t think we’d make it past the district border.”

He nods. “I know. I just… I think about it more now. About you and me and a little boat and no one knowing our names.”

You bump your shoulder into his. “I like the sound of that.”

He turns to face you, suddenly serious. “If I ever get the chance to go, I’ll take it. And I’ll come back for you. I swear it.”

You blink at him, stunned. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” he says. “I don’t want this life forever. I don’t want to keep pretending. I want us.”

Your heart pounds so loud you’re scared he’ll hear it. You squeeze his hand tighter.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “Then I’ll wait for you. I’ll always wait.”

The months go by like pages turning too fast.

Your love is all little things. Late-night walks on the pier. Pressed flowers in your pockets. Hidden kisses behind nets and market stalls. He braids tiny shells into your hair and says you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and you tell him he talks too much, but you kiss him like you believe it.

And then.. everything changed.

When they announced the Quarter Quell, your heart dropped before his name was even drawn. You knew. You knew Snow would never let him go. Not after all he’d endured. Not when Finnick’s smile was still the Capitol’s favorite currency.

You had braced yourself for goodbye. But instead, miraculously, inexplicably, they came for you. District 13.

President Coin said it was for your safety. Someone had told them of Finnick Odair's secret lover and how he needed her--you. But you weren’t stupid. You knew the truth: it was to keep him tethered. To keep him sane. To remind him what he was still fighting for.

Finnick didn’t know you’d been brought to District 13, not at first. You were underground, in hiding, protected and silenced and surrounded by strangers in gray. But when he stumbled out of the hovercraft after being rescued from the arena, bleeding and trembling and half-alive, they let him see you.

They didn’t expect him to fall to his knees when he did.

He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you like you were a ghost, hands trembling as they hovered inches from your face. Like he was scared you’d disappear again. That he’d imagined you like he had so many nights in the Capitol, when loneliness felt like it would kill him before Snow ever could.

You took his hands and pressed them to your cheeks, kneeling in front of him slowly, like he was some wounded animal. “I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m here.”

He sobbed into your neck. And from that moment on, you didn’t hide anymore.

In District 13, you sleep in the same bed. It’s not like before, no ocean breeze or tangled nets or kisses by moonlight, but it’s real. It’s a borrowed bunk in a metal room, and still, somehow, it feels like a palace. Because it’s yours. Because he’s yours.

He wakes up in the middle of the night sometimes, breathing hard, sweat soaking the collar of his shirt. You don’t ask what he’s dreaming of. You already know. So you curl around him, press your lips to the side of his neck, and hold him until his shaking stops.

He always says the same thing: “You’re my only safe place.”

Sometimes, he says it with tears still drying on his cheeks. Sometimes, it’s whispered against your shoulder like a prayer. And you believe him. Because you feel the same way.

In District 13, people glance sideways at you in the beginning. You don’t care. Let them stare. Let them wonder if you’re scared out of your minds. Let them wonder who had possibly caught Finnick Odair's attention. It didn't matter, because it was finally real to you.

But there’s nothing fake about the way Finnick pulls you into him during the middle of strategy meetings, resting his chin on your shoulder like he’s bored out of his mind but perfectly content as long as you’re there. There’s nothing fabricated about the way he holds your hand in the cafeteria line, like you’ll disappear if he lets go. You could be grabbing bread and water and he’s still brushing his thumb over your knuckles like you’re made of something divine.

You catch people smiling sometimes. Not the cold, calculating kind. The soft kind. The kind that says: oh, this is real.

He kisses you in the hallways. He steals kisses like he used to, quick and sly, like you’re both teenagers again, but now it’s in full view. You’ll be talking to Gale or Katniss, and Finnick will just walk by, press a kiss to the side of your mouth like it’s the most casual thing in the world, and keep walking like it didn’t leave you flushed and dazed.

“You’re insufferable,” you tell him once, when he does it in front of a crowded room.

“You love it,” he grins, hands already slipping around your waist.

“I do,” you admit, letting him press his forehead to yours. “God help me.”

He kisses you like the world has already been saved.

When the war ends, and the world opens back up, Finnick refuses to go anywhere without you. It’s not a protective thing, it’s a need thing. A love thing.

You rebuild a life together near the coast, in a village that smells like freedom. You sleep tangled up like driftwood, limbs always brushing. You wake up to his lips on your cheek, his voice murmuring some half-sung melody he’s writing in his head. And when you leave the house, together, always together, people don’t bat an eye when he threads your fingers together like it's second nature.

Because it is.

You go to markets and he picks out your favorite fruit without asking. You read on the beach and he lies with his head in your lap, humming under his breath. You take walks along the shoreline, and he insists on skipping rocks even though he’s absolutely terrible at it. He’ll pretend to pout until you kiss him. It works every time.

He kisses you so often it becomes a rhythm. A punctuation. A language.

And he loves being yours publicly. After years of being forced to wear a mask in the Capitol, after years of fake smiles and someone else’s hands, you are his truth. You are the thing he never had to fake.

He tells people stories about you, often unsolicited.

“She makes the best tea,” he says to a wide-eyed kid in town. “Once she brewed a cup that knocked me out for eight hours straight. Slept like a baby. Woke up drooling on her shoulder.”

He grins at you like you hung the stars.

You roll your eyes. “It was chamomile, Finnick.”

He shrugs. “Magic.”

Sometimes you find yourselves just watching each other.

You’ll glance across the room and find his eyes already on you. Like he’s always checking, just to make sure this is still real. You’re sitting on the dock one evening, feet in the water, his arm wrapped lazily around your shoulders.

“Remember how we used to hide behind that net stall?” he murmurs, pointing down the shoreline.

You smile. “We got caught so many times.”

He laughs, tipping his head back. “That one time your braid got tangled in the ropes—”

“—and you tried to play it off like we were just admiring the craftsmanship.”

“Hey,” he says, mock offended. “It was a fine net.”

You laugh until your sides hurt. And then you lean into him, quiet, hearts beating in sync. “We don’t have to hide anymore,” you say softly.

He kisses the side of your head. “We never will again.”

“Do you regret it? The secret of us?” You asked.

Finnick shook his head, “I never regret any of our moments together.”

You’re the kind of couple people talk about in stories now. Not because of the war. Not because of the Capitol. But because of how good your love is. How whole. How loud and soft and lasting. They see the way Finnick looks at you like you’re his whole world. The way he tucks flowers behind your ear and doesn’t care who’s watching. The way you press kisses to the corner of his mouth every time you say goodbye—even if it’s only for a five-minute errand.

They say love in Panem never lasts. But you and Finnick? You’re the exception. You’re always touching. Always close. Always choosing each other. Not just in secret. Not just in private. But in every room. Every day. Every lifetime you’re lucky enough to share. And gods, are you lucky.

[multific]

Through Smoke and Shadows

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary: Thomas Shelby’s nights are haunted by ghosts of the war, his past clawing at his throat like smoke from a battlefield. You are the only one who can soothe him.

The first time you hear him scream, it’s a sound that shatters the night.

Your eyes snap open in the darkness of the bedroom, heart hammering as you turn toward him. 

Thomas is tangled in the sheets, sweat beading at his brow despite the chill in the air. His face is twisted, teeth bared in a silent war with the demons that have followed him home from France.

“Tommy,” you whisper, touching his arm. He flinches violently, eyes snapping open, wide and unfocused. 

For a moment, he’s not here. He’s in the trenches. He’s surrounded by mud and blood, the stench of death thick in the air. 

And then, his gaze lands on you.

His breath becomes irregular like he’s just surfaced from drowning. 

You reach out again, softer this time, letting your fingers brush his cheek.

“It’s me,” you murmur. “You’re home.”

Thomas exhales sharply, his body collapsing into itself. He runs a trembling hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes as though trying to scrub away the images that linger. 

You don’t ask what he saw. He never tells you anyway. 

Instead, you pull him into your arms, feeling his heartbeat racing beneath his ribs. His body is tense, always bracing for another attack, another fight.

He doesn’t cry. He never cries. But in the quiet of the night, wrapped in your arms, you feel the weight of his silence like a stone pressed against your chest.

The nightmares never stop.

They come like clockwork, leaving him breathless and shaking. 

And when the morning sun rises, Thomas drowns it all in whiskey.

“You’re drinking earlier now,” you remark one morning, watching him pour a glass before he’s even touched his breakfast.

He doesn’t look at you. “It helps.”

“With what?”

His jaw tenses, his fingers tightening around the glass. “With everything.”

You cross the room, placing a gentle hand over his. “You don’t have to do this alone, Tommy.”

He pulls away as if your touch burns him. “I already do.”

The words sting, but you refuse to let them cut too deep. 

You know him. You know his sharp edges and the way he keeps everyone at arm’s length, even those he loves. 

Especially those he loves.

“You think I don’t see it?” you ask, voice steady. “The way you wake up gasping for air, the way you bury yourself in work so you don’t have to think? The way you drink yourself numb so you don’t feel anything at all?”

Thomas exhales slowly, staring down into the amber liquid in his glass. “And what would you have me do, eh?” he says, voice quiet, almost broken. “Tell you every bloody thing I saw? Every man I buried? Every scream I still hear when I close my eyes?”

“No,” you whisper. “I just want you to let me in.”

His shoulders slump, the weight of his ghosts pressing down on him. For a long moment, he says nothing. Then, in a movement so small you almost miss it, he reaches out. His fingers brush against yours, hesitant, uncertain. 

A silent offering. 

A plea for something he doesn’t know how to ask for.

You take his hand.

It doesn’t happen overnight.

Thomas is not a man who heals easily. He still drinks too much, still buries himself in business and cigarettes, and still wakes up in the dead of night with shadows clawing at his throat. 

But slowly, something shifts.

One night, when the nightmares come, he doesn’t pull away. He lets you hold him, lets your fingers thread through his hair, grounding him.

One morning, he reaches for coffee instead of whiskey.

One evening, as the fire crackles in the home, he takes your hand in his and holds it without saying a word.

And one day, when the ghosts come whispering, he turns to you instead of the bottle.

It’s not a perfect love. 

It’s messy, tangled with pain and fear and too many unspoken words. But it’s real. 

And for the first time in a long time, Thomas Shelby lets himself believe that maybe, just maybe, the war inside him doesn’t have to be fought alone.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[absurdthirst]

Words Unspoken {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 17.4k

Warnings: Barter/trading, flirting, sexual tension, fingering, unprotected sex, cumming too quickly, oral sex (female and male receiving), soft moments, friends with benefits, cock riding, pregnancy scare, panic attacks, Joel is a little stubborn, suggestions of homophobia but Joel is just being stupid, estrangement, worry, comfort, canon events, heartbreak

Comments: The newcomer in town comes to your shop, hearing that you have coffee. Leading to trade and a years long relationship where so many words are left unspoken.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You look up from your needle and thread, the bell ringing above your tiny shop on Main Street. That’s when you see him walk in. You’ve heard about the newcomer. The man who is Tommy’s long lost brother who turned up with a teenage girl in tow. “Hey, can I help you?” You ask, setting the needle and thread down on the table. He’s handsome, you’ve heard he’s a little standoffish but you’ve found that most people who have been traveling on the road for years struggle to settle into the world that most thought was dead and buried.

The shop is neat, clean. Sometimes the contrast between the squalor of Boston and Jackson is stark. Everyone here craves normalcy, the life before, so badly it makes you feel like you’re in a dream. Except his dream never involved communism, like he loved to tease Tommy about. It really grates on his nerves when he ribs him about that. He shifts slightly, looking towards you. Reminding himself that he needs to be nice, not try to glower his way into getting what he wants. “Hi, uh, you’re the seamstress, right?” He asks, even though he’s in right store. “Sorry, stupid question.” He huffs in amusement to himself. “I heard you had coffee.”

You tilt your head in amusement. He seems nervous and you have no idea why. “Yeah. You have no idea how many clothes I’ve had to sew to get it. There was an empty grocery store one state over and this group would come and trade with us. Turns out needlework isn’t that great in the end of times so my hands have come in pretty handy. My mom taught me everything and - sorry, I’m rambling. Coffee. What, uh, what have you got to trade?” You ask, knowing how this works. Nothing is free, even in these times.

Joel winces, unsure if you would accept his trade, but he wants to try. “Uh, myself.” He admits, realizing his mistake when your eyes widen. “My work, I mean.” He clarifies, glancing around the shop. “I’m a - was - a contractor, before.” He bobbles his head. No one is really anything now, beyond a survivalist. Although you are still a seamstress, it appears. “Tommy said you needed some shelves, racks for your thread and sewing stuff.” He shrugs. “Figured I could build it for you, for some coffee beans.”

You snort, “you must be really desperate for coffee, huh?” You tease and he chuckles awkwardly, “used to have a cup every morning before the world went to shit.” You nod in understanding, stepping closer to him. You hold your hand out, “you have a deal, Mr. Miller. When would you like to start?” You ask and he squeezes your hand, his fingers are calloused and you can feel how strong he is. “Now, if you want.” He offers and you smile, “better get to it. Half now. Half when you’re done.” You promise, stepping away from him and you turn to make your way into the little kitchen at the back of your shop. You come back a few moments later with a small bag of coffee beans. “First payment.”

He takes the bag and he can’t resist lifting it to his nose and inhaling deeply, groaning at the heavy, rich aroma of coffee beans. They are whole, so the richness will only get better once they are ground. “Best smell in the world.” He huffs when he notices you watching him with an amused smile.

“You’re a man of simple pleasure, Mr. Miller.” You chuckle and he shakes his head, “call me Joel.” You repeat his first name and insist he calls you by yours. “If you need anything fixed, just let me know.” You gesture to his clothes.

He nods, finding you pretty and charming, which makes him both relaxed and nervous at the same time. He sets the bag of coffee beans down and pulls out a little notebook and stubby pencil out of his jacket pocket, along with a measuring tape. “Do you have anything in particular in mind?” He asks, nodding towards the wall where fabric is haphazardly stacked.

You hum, walking over to the fabric. “Mostly display purposes. I can find all my shit when I need to but I want people to be able to come in and pick fabric and thread and buttons, you know.” You smile, “anything you can make would be better than what I have now.”

He nods seriously. “You need a thread display.” His brow furrows slightly as he bites his lip. “Boxes for the buttons.” He steps over and starts to measure as he talks. “Do you want cubbies for the fabric?” He asks. “Or shelves to stand them up?”

You bite your lip, watching him make some notes, “shelves. Nothing too fancy. Fabric is usually used or repurposed anyway.” You confess, “not like I have access to Michael’s or Joann’s.” You snort, “but I usually will find some fabrics when I do patrols.”

“You make quilts?” Joel asks, his back turned towards you. “Ellie, my- my Ellie, her birthday is coming up.” He tells you. “She’s got a bunch of old band t-shirts. A lot of them are falling apart, but she loves them.” He turns towards you. “Maybe you could turn them into a quilt?”

Your eyes widen and your heart melts at the request. He wants to get her a birthday present and you nod, unable to say no. “Absolutely. Sneak them out to me and I can get it done. When’s her birthday?” You ask and he tells you, “I’ll get it done by then.” You promise, knowing you want to see that soft look on his face again.

He smiles, happy to have secured a present that will thrill her. “She’s turning 14 this year.” He tells you. “So far, only teenage rebellion is that mouth of hers.” He snorts. “Cusses like a damn sailor.”

You snort, “oh yeah. I’ve heard. You’ve got your hands full there.” You pat his shoulder, “but everyone says you’re a good father.” You offer, making him soften a little more. “It’ll get worse. Teenage years are only just beginning. She’ll be screaming that she hates you but you shouldn’t take it to heart. You haven’t done anything, it’s just a rite of passage.”

He chuckles, knowing that it’s coming but he’s still looking forward to spending more time with Ellie. All he wants is for her to be happy. He’s done things, horrible things, so she can have this time, this life. The last thing he wants is for her to hate him. “I’ll get them to you.” He promises.

You smile, looking forward to seeing more of Joel as he builds your shelves and displays. He measures the wall and spends his time being exact. “I’ll, uh, let you know when I can come back and get everything up.” He promises and you nod, “of course. Coffee will be waiting.” You promise, “thanks for this, Joel. I’ll see you round.” He nods and puts his book away, “thanks for the coffee.” He murmurs, picking up the small bag and leaving your shop while you watch him go, already wondering when he will come back.

****

It takes Joel three days to build the display for the thread that he had envisioned. Traded for the supplies and spent hours in the garage to make sure that the spindles were right. The shelves are going to be built on site, but he wanted these already done so you could organize them, along with the button boxes he had built. Borrowing a wagon to cart everything over to your shop when he’s ready to install them.

You bite your lip as you watch Joel install the shelves. His muscles flexing under his t-shirt and you try to not act as hot and bothered as you are. He’s a handsome man, capable, and clearly a survivor. All traits that have had you daydreaming about him since he first came into your shop. “How’s that?” Joel asks, brushing his hands together as he steps back to admire the shelving. “It’s perfect.” You gasp, excited to put the fabric on display. “Thank you so much.” You surge forward to wrap your arms around his neck.

He stumbles back only a step, hands automatically finding your waist to steady both of you. “You’re welcome.” He murmurs softly, letting you hug him and leaning into it slightly. He’s better about being more approachable, and he’s not going to turn down a hug from a woman as pretty as you are. “Definitely worth the coffee, huh?” He jokes.

You pull back for a moment, looking at him and you grin, “I don’t know, Miller. I think there’s one more thing you gotta do for the coffee.” You murmur, sliding your hands down his chest and he frowns, “are the shelves not good enough or-?” He asks and you shake your head. “The shelves are perfect. If you want more coffee…you can fuck me.” You say, biting your lip and praying he doesn’t reject you.

“You don’t have to-“ he starts to refuse you, to tell you that you don’t have to barter your body, until he sees the hopeful look in your eyes. Vulnerability and attraction warring in their depths and he realizes that you want him. The coffee is just a handy excuse to open up the possibility. “Anyone would be fuckin’ privileged to be in your bed.” He huffs quietly. “Are you sure you want me? It’s been a few years for me, and I’m not sure how good I’ll be.” His knees and back kill him on most days but he’ll go down swinging.

You chuckle, sliding your hand up to caress his neck. “Me too. I haven’t - no one has caught my eye here until you came along. You’re handsome, Joel. Shit, you’re really, uh, really hot, and I really want you to fuck me. Coffee or no coffee.” You promise, gaze flicking down to his lips. He swallows like he can’t believe what he’s hearing and you decide to make the next move, leaning in slowly to brush your lips against his.

The kiss is soft, intimate. He doesn’t deepen it right away. Absorbing the moment and letting you press closer. Learning how you fit against him as his arms slowly slide around your back. His cock twitches in his jeans when your tongue touches his lips, immediately opening and letting his own explore as the natural progression of the kiss happens.

He’s hesitant, which isn’t unexpected, but you know there’s a dominant lover beneath the surface. He likes to be in control. You cup his cheek, sliding your tongue against his, and you can’t stop the moan that you breathe into his mouth, pressing your chest into him while his hands tentatively slide down to your ass, dragging you even closer.

Your little moan is sexy, and he grunts as your breasts push against his chest. Tasting you, you had coffee earlier, as his tongue slowly slides against yours before he breaks away to kiss along your jaw. “Where’s your bedroom, honey?” He growls softly. “Woman like you deserves to be spread out.”

You reluctantly pull back, taking his hand in yours to guide him to the stairs. Up to your bedroom. The little apartment upstairs is small enough for you and he barely has a second to look at your couch before you pull him into your bedroom. You waste no time spinning around to press your lips to his again, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt to drag it over his head. He lets it drop to the floor and you work on his belt. In your rush, you accidentally rip one of the loops. “I’ll fix that for you.” You promise between kisses to his lips as you pull the belt free and toss it to the floor.

He chuckles against your lips. “Good thing I know a seamstress.” His own fingers start to work. Pulling your own shirt over your head and fumbling with the clasp of your bra. Still kissing you breathlessly as his own eagerness leads to a little haste.

He’s clumsy and fumbles but you don’t care. You’re out of practice too. You let your bra drop to the floor and he groans when your tits are exposed. His calloused hands immediately cupping them, and you tilt your head back, “God, Joel. Your hands. Watching you work - I’m so wet from just watching you.”

He smirks in pride, fingers twisting the hard tips of your nipples and pulls a sexy little whine out of you. Obviously enjoying a touch of roughness in your sex life. “Imagined my hands on you, honey?” He coos, pinching and tugging as he steers you back towards the bed. “How do they feel?”

“So goddamn good.” You moan and shift to lay down on your bed. You watch him as he reluctantly releases you, bending down to untie his boots and he stumbles as he pulls them off. You giggle, sliding your hand up to squeeze your own breast, and you look at him, “I want your hands on every inch of my body.”

That won’t be a problem for him. Joel loves to touch a lover. It’s been a long time, Tess was the last woman he had been with. His heart aches for a moment but he pushes that away, concentrating on you as he kicks away the jeans and underwear he was wearing and kneels on the bed to slide his hands up your spread legs. “Pretty body.” He hums, cock twitching. “What do you want first?” He asks, hand trailing over your thighs to brush through the curls covering your pussy.

Your eyes trail down to his cock, hardening and you lick your palm before wrapping your fingers around him. You slowly jerk him and he grunts, his fingers sliding through your folds. You whimper at the sensation. It’s been too long since you were touched. “I want your fingers inside me. Imagined it so many times when you were building the shelves. Wanna cum on them.”

He lays down beside you, letting you touch him while he learns how to make you gasp in pleasure as his fingers slide through your folds and press against your clit. He’s not a stranger to his needs, he doesn’t ignore them, but it’s been a long time since a hand other than his own has been wrapped around his cock. “Then I better make it good, right?” He teases as he slowly starts to press a finger inside you while he leans down to kiss along your shoulder up to your lips.

You moan when his finger pushes into you, another joining it on the next pump to stretch you out. "Fuck, Joel." You sigh when he kisses along your neck. Your lips meet his as you squeeze his cock, loving the way he hardens in your grip. "Knew those fingers would feel good." You murmur, flicking your tongue against his lips, licking his lower lip until his tongue meets yours in a combined groan.

He doesn’t rush this, slowly pumping his finger in and out of your tight pussy. Loving how wet you are, getting wetter every time his finger curls up inside you. Another finger is added a few minutes later, pulling another moan out of you and you squeeze his cock roughly.

You spread your legs a little wider, chest heaving as you moan into his mouth when he curls his fingers. His wrist twisting so he can press his thumb to your clit. “Shit. Feel so good. Can’t imagine what this is gonna feel like inside me.” You murmur, pumping his cock and his lips kiss down your neck until he’s taking your nipple into his mouth.

Joel groans, not pulling away to answer you. You’ll find out soon enough, and he’ll be feeling your tight, hot walls around him. Hopefully he won’t embarrass himself by giving you a poor performance. His tongue flicks over your nipple and his teeth scrap over the sensitive bud, making you gasp again. He smirks and looks up at your face as he sucks.

Your eyes meet his, a lust filled, playful stare that has you clenching around his digits. “Fuck. You’re so - yes. Just like that.” You pant when he puts more pressure on your clit. “Yes, baby. Shit. Gonna make me cum like this.” You choke when he presses his fingers against the spongy spot inside you. “Shit. Yessss.” You hiss, walls squeezing his fingers as you cum for him.

Joel groans, pulling off your tit to watch you cum. “That’s it, that’s it honey, ride it out.” He coos, his voice gruff but soothing as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of your pulsing pussy. “So fuckin’ pretty when you’re cummin’.” Your grip on his cock is loose, but he twitches against your palm, loving how your entire body shakes in pleasure for him.

You love his voice, love how he twitches in your palm, so you reach out to push his hand away. He grunts in protest but you push on his chest, "lay down. I wanna-" You cut yourself off when he lays on his back and you shift to kneel between his legs. Gripping his cock, you lean in to run your tongue along the underside of it. "You're thicker than I imagined, Miller...and I imagined this a lot." You confess, flicking your tongue over the slit where a bead of pre-cum threatens to slide down his reddened skin.

“Fuck.” He hisses, lifting his head to look down at where you are kneeling between his thighs. Your eyes fixed on him. “Fuck.” His head falls back, hitting your pillow as you take the head of his cock into your mouth. Blow jobs have always been rare, but this is overwhelming and your mouth has barely touched him. “You don’t- fuck, honey.” He groans, reaching down and cupping your cheek as you hum, his eyes closed in pleasure. “Goddamn.”

You smile as you pull off of him, wrapping your fingers around him, and you let your spit dribble down onto the head, aiding you as you start to pump him. "You really need to stop." He warns you in a growl, and you huff. "Fine. Next time I want you to cum in my mouth." You order, letting go of his cock to straddle him. You moan as his cock presses between your folds, the head leaking onto his belly. "Fuck. You're so hot." You murmur, starting to rock your hips to grind onto his cock.

Joel chokes out a laugh, a quiet, disbelieving thing as he grabs your hips. “Don’t know ‘bout that, but I know you want to ride my cock.” He pulls you forward, making you tip over towards him and his lips press against yours. “So ride me, and then I’ll fuck you.” He needs to be on top so he can pull out, but there’s no harm in letting you start out how you want.

You moan into his mouth, reaching back to grip his cock so you can position him at your entrance. You slowly sink down onto him, lips smothering his groan as he stretches you out. "Fuck me." You mutter in disbelief of how good he feels. "I think that's what you're gonna do to me first." He chuckles and you nod, bracing your palms on his chest as you start to grind your hips.

Joel groans your name, slightly breathless as you roll your lips and your liquid hot walls squeeze him tight. “Fuck, honey.” His fingers dig into your hips, but he doesn’t try to guide you or change your slow grind. He loves it, needs you to keep it just this slow because his control is already slipping.

You whimper, loving how he feels like he’s in your guts right now. His calloused fingers squeezing your flesh, and you shift onto your knees, starting to bounce on his cock. “Oh fuck.” You throw your head back, “you feel so good.”

You look so beautiful, head tossed back and so unapologetically taking what you want. One hand slides up to cup your breast as you bounce on his cock. “Goddamn.” He hisses when your walls clench down around him. “Take what you want.” He encourages you, squeezing your tit.

You love it, love how those dark eyes watch you before flicking down to watch his cock disappear inside of you. "Fuck baby." You pant, switching back to grinding so you can rub your clit on the coarse hair at the base of his cock. "It's so good." You pant, "want you to take over. Fuck me like you want."

Joel hisses in pleasure and nods once. Lunging up as he wraps his arm around your body to flip you over onto your back. He doesn’t manage to stay inside you, but before you can even whine about it, he’s pushing back inside you and grinding deep with a moan.

You wrap your legs around his hips, crossing your ankles as he starts to push into you. "Feel so fucking good, baby. That's it." You pant, reaching up to squeeze his shoulders.

He braces his hands and sets his knees as he starts to rock into you. The sharp snaps of his hips are a little harder than he might have once wanted, but the way your legs press him urges him on. “Fuck.”

You caress his back, trying to touch every inch of skin you can. You moan when his lips find your neck, hot puffs of air on your skin between kisses and bites. "Fuck. I- shit." He curses and you can feel him twitch inside you. You lower your legs from his waist, "it's okay. It's okay." You promise, "cum for me. Wanna see it."

He had been trying to hold off, to last longer than the pitiful few minutes he had been inside you. “Fuck.” He groans, the buildup coming and not even thinking about something boring will stop it. His hips rock forward halfway before he’s scrambling back, pulling out of you and wrapping his hand around his cock to pump it. Holding onto your knee as he spurts ropes of his seed across your belly as he groans in frustration and pleasure.

You watch him with lust swirling in your eyes. "Fuck that's hot." You murmur, batting his hand away so you can slowly pump him through his orgasm. "So-sorry." He gasps out a moment later and you click your tongue. "Don't worry about it, Miller. You'll make it up to me." You know he will, he's not an asshole who's gonna be selfish every time.

He chuckles, aware that is true and he looks down at your cum covered body. “True.” He tilts his head to the side and glances down at your pussy, the curls damp and glistening with arousal and his seed. “Gonna make it up right now.”

You gasp when his tongue slides through your folds after he shifts to lay down on his belly. "Fuck!" You cry, tangling your fingers in his hair, "oh God that feels good." You lift your leg onto his shoulder as he sucks on your clit. "Won't take me long." You promise, already worked up from him fucking you.

He hums, not caring if you take a long time to cum. He has never minded eating a woman out, he loves it. Groaning as he tastes you, flicking his tongue against your clit before he takes it back into his mouth. Trying to devour you whole as he holds onto your thighs as they frame his head.

His jaw seems to engulf you and you pant, tilting your head back as he devours you. “Oh shit.” You pant, tugging on his hair as if he can get any closer. “Goddamn baby. You’d have every woman in Jackson lining up if they knew how good you ate pussy.” You confess breathlessly.

He chuckles into your folds, dark eyes watching your face as he sucks on your clit again, fingers digging the flesh of your thighs. He might leave bruises under your skin but he’s not even aware of how tight he’s holding onto you. Obsessed with hearing your breathless cry as he makes you cum again. You deserve it for even letting him in your bed. “Cum for me, honey.” He orders roughly before he dives back in with a frenzied desire to see you cum. 

His command is too good to deny. Your back arching as your thighs squeeze his head. His name is a garbled scream that escapes your lips as you soak his face. "Oh ohhh." You choke, stomach clenching as your orgasm rocks through you.

Joel laps up every drop, groaning into your pussy as he takes you through it. His tongue flicking against your clit just to have you shake and whimper more as you start to slowly drift back to reality after seeing the stars. He’s smug, proud that he could make you cum, even if he didn’t last as long as he wanted. If there’s a next time, he’ll make sure you cum all over his cock. One last kiss to your clit, he pulls back and rests his cheek on your thigh as he looks at you. “Make up for it?”

You giggle, nodding your head as you try to catch your breath. You run your fingers through his hair and smile softly, "more than made up for it." You promise and you lower your thighs from his shoulders. He shifts to lay down next to you, his cum now dry on your skin, and you turn your head to look at him. "my shower won't stay hot for more than a few minutes...any chance you can come over tomorrow and check it out?"

He smirks, his hand sliding up and down your side as he leans over you. “Think I can do that.” He agrees, tilting his head playfully. “Gotta earn that next batch of coffee.” He knows that this can’t be more than a passing fancy for you, he’s damaged and often sullen. Even his own brother calls him a grump on the best of days. Still, he will enjoy this while it lasts.

You hum, shifting off the bed after pecking his lips. "Flick one bean to get another." You joke and as you grab your panties and pull them up, walking into your bathroom to wash his cum from your skin. "You wanna get me those shirts and I'll start on Ellie's quilt?" You ask and he grunts as he sits on the edge of your bed. "Sure thing." You step back into your bedroom, robe wrapped around you, "and give me those jeans so I can fix your belt loop before you go." You smirk and he nods, "yes ma'am." You chuckle, "I have a feeling this is going to be the start of something very satisfying." You wink, picking his pants up and you don't redress as you take them to your sewing table. Joel watches you go, wondering when you'll be tired of him, but for now, he's going to enjoy every second.

****

Two Years Later:

Stepping into the shop, Joel flips the sign on the door to ‘Closed’ before twisting the lock. You aren’t in the front, making him frown as he looks around. The sewing shop has changed a lot in the past year, he had even managed to bring back a few mannequins from a deserted clothing store he had found on patrol. They are displaying some of the clothing you had repaired and were offering for trade. Calling your name, he shifts slightly and wonders if you are busy. “Where you at?”

You poke your head out from the kitchen, a grin appearing on your face as you walk towards your lover. You immediately wrap your arms around his neck, dragging him towards your face so you can kiss him. "Mmm, perfect timing. I just finished Ellie's present." You hum against his chin.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Joel hadn’t asked if you would make Ellie something, you had volunteered. “Uh, what are you making?” You had kept it a secret and he sniffs the air. “Cake?”

You nod, "yeah. Since Seth fucked up last year, I figured I'd take it into my own hands." You smile, "made sure I spelled her name right." You giggle, "was that - was that okay?" You ask, wanting to make sure you didn't overstep.

“That’s….great.” He smiles at you, hands squeezing your waist. “Not only do you have perfect hands for sewing, you bake.” He groans at the thought of a slice. “And it smells like it’s gonna be amazing.” He chuckles. “Maybe I’ll get a piece this year if Ellie doesn’t dive in headfirst.”

You chuckle, remembering the story of her digging straight in. "I also have perfect hands for something else." You murmur, smirking as you kiss his jaw, your fingers playing with the longer curls at the base of his head.

You haven’t gotten tired of him, much to his everlasting surprise. This thing between you is uncomplicated. Both of you use the other, for comfort, companionship, sex. You are friends, and had the end of the world not happened, it would have been labeled a friends with benefits thing, but Joel just calls it spending time together. “Yeah?” He hums as his already hardening cock grinds against your belly. “Needing a little distraction, huh?”

You nod, "to stop myself from licking the frosting bowl clean." You confess, bringing your fingers to his lips. "Still tastes so sweet." You hum when he immediately takes your digits into his mouth, swirling his tongue to sample the sweet taste. "Sweet but I know of something else that tastes sweeter." You smirk and cup his cheek with your damp fingers, "better come upstairs and eat it then."

He chuckles and slaps your ass when you turn around. “Good thing I already locked the door.” He tells you as you guide him towards the stairs again. The path is familiar, well known. He can't count the number of times he’s climbed these stairs to your bedroom. Now, he’s already pulling his flannel shirt out of his jeans, flicking open his belt. Watching your ass as you shake it in front of him playfully. “Goddamn, you look good in those jeans.”

You smirk, “thanks. Tailored them from a pair I found on patrol, left in a drawer.” You reveal, already pulling your shirt over your head. You’re hungry for Joel, and he does such a good job of making sure he never leaves your bed without satisfying you. Sure, others have asked you out - those who don’t see the way Joel looks at you - but you never say yes. You’re happy with what you have with Joel…even if it will never become anything more.

He grunts. “Next patrol, you should go with me.” He makes it sound casual, but he has talked to Tommy about limiting your runs and putting you with better people than you’ve been riding with. Worry starting to creep into his thoughts every time you go out. “Spend some time together outside the walls.” He adds, sweetening the offer.

You’re surprised by the offer, nodding your agreement. “Sure. I’d like that.” You murmur, turning to face him when you enter your bedroom. You pull him closer, working on unbuttoning his shirt. You huff in frustration when his lips press against your neck, ripping it open and buttons go flying. “I’ll put those back on before you go.” You promise.l, caressing his chest.

He laughs, body relaxing slightly at the way you are so eager. “You always do.” He teases, pushing your hands away and nodding to the bed. “Undress yourself and lay down.” He orders. “Need to have to wear something home today and can’t have you rippin’ all my clothes.”

You giggle, watching him as he pulls his belt free. “I just like giving you an excuse to come back here.” You confess, pulling your shirt over your head while he strips down. You toss your bra to the floor and unbutton your jeans just as he pushes his briefs down. “Never get tired of that.” You confess, eying his hardening cock.

He rolls his eyes, wrapping his hand around his cock and pumping it a few times, his grip loose. “Show me that pussy, honey.” He demands, eyes darkening as they roam over your body. “Want to see heaven.”

You shiver at his words, sweetened with that ghost of an accent, and you do as he says. Spreading your legs while your eyes watch him. Your cunt exposed to the cool air of the room, already wet with need for him. “Please Joel.” You whimper, sliding your hand down to rub your finger through your folds.

“Shiiiiit.” He twitches in his hand and lets go to kneel on the bed. “You want to ride?” He always asks, but you shake your head. “Good.” He winks at you as he grabs an ankle and drags you towards him. “I wanna be on top today.” He teases, using the same voice you use when you bounce on his cock.

“Fuck.” You pant, loving how he takes control, and you watch him as he positions his cock on your mound, the tip of him on your belly button. “Shit. Looks so big like that.” You confess, reaching down to rub your fingertip over the slit, gathering up the drop of pre-cum. He groans and slips back, slapping the head against your clit. “Joel. Don’t tease.” You whine, rocking your hips to try and push him inside you.

“Hush.” He chides, giving you a look that makes you pout at him. “You know I’m gonna take care of you.” He always does, even if he cums before you do. In his defense, it’s only happened a couple of times. “Somethin’s got you riled up and needy today.” He lifts your leg to his shoulder and lines up, sinking in slowly as he presses your leg back. “You good?”

Your mouth falls open, a silent nod as you take every inch he feeds into your pussy. “So fucking good.” You promise, sliding your hands up to cup your breasts. “Can feel you in my guts.” You tell him, eyes closing at the stretch.

He grunts as he bottoms out inside you, feeling your walls flutter around him. “Good thing you like that.” He pants, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours as he moves down to his elbows. “You’re still as tight as the first time I slid inside you.”

You moan as he pushes against a spot inside you only he can ever seem to find when he presses your knee into your chest. “Do kegels for you.” You tease and he snorts, “the fuck are those?” You smirk, “this.” You clench down around him, “and this.” You clench down in successive squeezes.

“Fuck…” Joel closes his eyes, biting his lip as he tries to control himself. “Yeah- those- keep fuckin’ doin’ those.” He pants out, nodding his head as you giggle. “Goddamn.”

You pull him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck to press your lips to his. He shifts, bracing his weight on his hand next to your head as your tongues meet. You never get tired of sex with him. It always feels good no matter how many times you do it.

Joel kisses you passionately, conveying things that he never says. Needs he never voices. He’s never really been a big word kind of man, he’s always believed actions are the measure of a man, so he shows you. Groaning into your mouth as he starts a steady and proven pace. One that makes you come apart for him, but lets him draw out his own end.

“Oh God.” You pant against his chin, “I love it. You always - shit - look after me.” You ramble a little as he works you up. His cock pushes deep as his weight presses your leg into your chest. He grunts, reaching for your other leg, mirroring the position, and you cry out at the new angle. “Oh shit. Yeah. Just like that baby. Shit. That’s - uh, that’s gonna make me cum. Don’t stop.”

Joel pants as he pushes deep. “Not gonna.” He huffs. “Cum for me and then I’m gonna cum on your ass.” He still pulls out, not trusting the chance of staying inside you. “Fuck, honey, cum for me.” Your pussy is pulsing around him and he can feel the way your legs are tensing. “Soak me, wanna feel it.”

You can’t deny him anything when he asks you like that. You pant, nodding frantically as you grip the pillow behind your head. “Oh fuckkkk.” You squeal, thighs shaking as you clamp down on his cock. Your eyes squeeze shut and you soak him while your toes curl behind his head.

He growls out your name, loving how wet you get. The gushing and squelching sound amplifying as he fucks you through it. Thrusting half a dozen more times until he’s pulling out of you and dropping your legs down to flip you over onto your stomach. You moan, pushing your ass up and he slides back into you with a rough thrust that has both of you groaning.

You’re still shaking from your orgasm as his hips hit your ass. Joel groans, looking down at the shaking flesh and his hand grabs your cheek. He slaps it and you moan, burying your face in the sheets. “Yes, baby. Do that again.” You plead and he chuckles, slapping your ass again. Your walls squeeze his cock when he does it and he smirks, “oh you like that.” You huff, “you know I do, asshole.”

He smirks as he slaps the other cheek again. You love when he’s a little rougher and he sometimes gives you that, although he prefers to be gentle with you. This is about giving each of you want you need from each other and right now, his hand connects with your ass again and again as he fucks you harder. “Cum again.”

You moan when he pushes deep, and you know his back must be hurting, but he is fucking you like it’s the last thing he will ever do. “Shit, baby. I’m gonna - you’re gonna - fuck fuck fuck.” You rush out until you choke, clamping down on his cock again.

Joel groans, feeling his own orgasm rush over him and he’s pulling back quickly, hating that he couldn’t get another thrust in. Quickly jerking his cock as he grabs your ass and squeezes it. “Fuuuuuuuuuck.” He growls, painting your ass and lower back with his spend. “Fuck.” He huffs when the waves slow down and he languidly pumps out the last spurts before he’s done. “Goddamn, it’s always so good.”

You hum, looking over your shoulder at him, “it’s why I keep you around.” You tease breathlessly. You flop your head onto the sheets, unable to move because of how hard he fucked you. He shuffles off your bed, reaching for the rag you keep for cleaning up and he wets it in the bathroom before gently wiping you clean. “Thanks babe.” You murmur, “I better get to work fixing your shirt.” You smirk, shifting to lay on your back and he lays down next to you so you swing your leg over his hips, caressing his chest.

“Gotta patrol tomorrow.” Joel tucks an arm behind his head and his other hand caresses your leg idly. “Wanna see if I can find a tool store within a hundred miles.” Construction has been booming in Jackson, fortification being made to the walls. All of it requires tools. “Want me to see if I can find any fabric stores?”

You hum, caressing his chest, "only if you see something. Don't go out of your way." You murmur, "oh and I made Ellie a new strap for her guitar." You smile, "and the cake of course."

“That’s perfect.” He promises, amazed that you had gone so far as to make something else for the girl he thought of like a daughter. “I hope she likes it. Spent a lot of time workin’ on it.”

"I still haven't heard you play. I know you're teaching her." You remember him telling you how he's teaching her the chords. He snorts, "you don't wanna hear me. I'm rusty." You roll your eyes, "humble as he is hot." You shift to sit up and look down at him. "One day?" You ask, hoping he will play for you. He stares at you for a moment, "one day." You nod, satisfied with that answer. You won't ever push Joel for more, that would push him away forever.

**** 

“You okay?” Joel glances behind him, watching as you settle in on your horse. The temperature is perfect so the jackets are already stowed and the sun is shining down on the two of you. It’s the first trip outside the walls together and he is a little worried that something will happen.

You look up at the sky, closing your eyes as the sun warms your face. “I’m good.” You open your eyes and look at him with a soft smile on your face. “You look good on a horse.” You tell him and he chuckles, “you think I look good in anything.” You hum, “because it’s true and I’m always right.” You tease and he opens his mouth to protest. “Nah ah ah, baby. Happy life, happy…end of the world lover slash friend not wife or even girlfriend.” You giggle, shifting on top of the horse.

He nearly chokes on his words, grunting as he turns back towards the road to look around. He doesn’t know if you want something like a label on this thing between you. It’s never seemed to be a priority. Something he had appreciated for awhile, now it just left him confused. “Whatever you say.” He settles on that for his answer and he can hear you roll your eyes behind him. “How far out have you gone on patrol?” He asks.

You nudge your horse to catch up with him, “relax, Miller. I’m just joking. We are - we are us.” You decide and he nods, “whatever you say.” He repeats and you snort, glancing at him before you focus on the road. “I’ve been pretty far. I, uh, I actually found something that you might want to show Ellie. I wanted to wait until we were out here and her birthday is next week.” You murmur, hoping he likes your idea.

He tilts his head, interested in what it could be. “Yeah?” He asks, smiling when you nod eagerly. “Show me.” He motions for you to take the lead. It’s pretty incredible how thoughtful you are to think of Ellie. You’re generous and kind, things that he tries to be. Especially now. He is slowly starting to heal. “Maria wanted to know if you wanted to come over for dinner.” She had basically demanded that Joel bring you or she would drag you there herself. “Next Friday.”

Your eyes widen and you turn to look at him but he’s staring ahead. “She’s thinkin’ about getting a new wardrobe.” He jokes and you snort, “yeah. We can go on a girl’s day to Sears.” You chuckle and he shakes his head, taking a moment until he asks, “well? You wanna come?” You nod, looking at him, “yeah. I do.” You respond, heart fluttering in your chest. “Come on. Keep up.” You nudge your horse and start to ride faster, showing him the place you’d found for Ellie. “Wait up.” He huffs, following you until you come to a stop. “What do you think?” You ask, grinning excitedly at him.

“Holy shit.” Joel is stunned, eyes wide as he stares up at the statue. “It’s-“ he looks over at you and then back at the sight in front of him. The giant t-Rex is honestly amazing to see still standing as the foliage hasn’t completely reclaimed the area. “It’s amazing. She’s gonna lose her shit.” He predicts with a grin.

“Oh there’s more.” You grin, “we made sure it was cleared out.” You nudge your horse and make your way through the brush until you’re outside the museum. “Come on. I’ll show you what’s really gonna blow her mind.” You grin, swinging off your horse to tie her up.

“Holy shit.” Even though Boston had plenty of museums, all of them were outside the quarantine zone. Any of them inside had long been stripped of any historical value, most often for personal gain. This looks untouched. His eyes are wide and he knows that she will lose her mind if she gets to spend a day here. “It’s clear?” He asks, wanting to be certain before you go in.

You nod, “we checked it last week.” You confirm, “so should still be clear unless any found their way in.” You doubt it but you always need to double check. You take his hand, guiding him to the door which is pulled open and you watch his expression as he takes in the sight of the museum. A glimpse into a place long deserted but preserved.

“I used to take Sarah to museums.” He tells you as he walks through the abandoned halls. Dusty, dirty glass still showcasing odes to history almost forgotten. Only talked about by those who still remember it or are learning about it. “There were some good ones. She loved the natural science sections.” He chuckles as he looks back at you. “Wished she lived in the time of the dinosaurs when she was younger.”

You smile, seeing his eyes glaze over like they always do when he talks about his daughter. “I wish I could’ve met her.” You murmur, reaching out to squeeze his hand and he squeezes back, brought back to you from memories of Sarah. “Ellie is obsessed with space which is perfect because-” You guide him into a hall where a planetarium is displayed above. “It works but it needs some WD40.” You smile and he nods, letting you guide him, “and this. I think she’s gonna lose her mind.” You gesture to the Apollo capsule.

“She’s gonna lose her mind?” He snorts as he steps closer, in awe of the capsule and the ingenuity it took to put man in outer space. “Yeah, this blows away the recording of the mission that I managed to find her.” He looks over at the displays of the suits and chuckles. “She’s gonna want to pretend she’s being launched into space.” He predicts, pulling you close and kissing your lips. “Thank you for this.” He hums. “She’s gonna love it. I love it.”

You grin, loving his praise and the thought of Ellie loving her present. "she can listen to the mission and be inside the capsule. I checked it out. Oh and there's a helmet in the display but I didn't want to break the glass. I wanted you both to see it as it would've been." You confess, "you wanna see inside? It's awesome." You open the capsule and crawl inside, "come on, baby." You gesture for him to come inside.

Joel drops his backpack and follows you inside, closing the door of the capsule and dropping down into one of the seats. “Surprisingly big.” He hums, although it would be considered cramped with more than two people inside. The sunlight streams in from the small window as he looks over at you. “She’s gonna need half a day to press all the buttons.” He grins at you. “Just like I know you did.” He knows you had to play around when you were in here and he flicks one of the switches just to say that he had.

You giggle, leaning back into the seat as you look up at the buttons. "It's insane to think people went to space in this. They must've been shitting themselves." You ponder and he snorts, "of course." You look at him, admiring the soft smile on his face and that look in his eyes that tells you how he feels even if he can't say it. "You reckon the astronauts that went to space fucked in these?" You ask, tilting your head.

“Women weren’t on missions until later.” He reminds you with a smirk. “Although I guess anything’s possible.” He looks up as if he was looking into the sky. “There was probably definitely fucking on the International Space Station.” He jokes. “Called it foreign relations.”

You snort, “well…we could have Jackson relations.” You tease, shifting out of the seat and you move fast to straddle him. “A different kind of blast off.” You smirk, caressing his chest as you lean in to kiss his jaw.

His furrowed brow quickly changes to one of surprise and then amusement as his lips curve and his hands find your ass. “Is that right?” He asks, grunting when your teeth nip his skin. His cock is already responding to you pressing against him, the subtle grind of your hips always getting him going. “It’s gonna have to be you doing the work.” He reminds you softly.

You nod in understanding, “I know, baby.” You murmur, kissing along to his ear and you bite down on his ear lobe, making him moan. You love how he groans and his fingers dig into your ass. “That’s it, baby.” You murmur, reaching down to unbutton his jeans, reaching in to pull his hardening cock from his pants.

You always know what to do, how to touch him. He loves that you are always so eager. There’s not been one time that he’s needed you that you have turned him away and he’s done the same. Neither of you starting now. “Take your pants off and sit on my cock, honey.” He coos gruffly.

You let go of his cock, shuffling back to unbutton your jeans and you curse as you hit your head on the top of the capsule as you try to shimmy your jeans down your thighs. When they are below your knees, you straddle him again and reach down to grip his cock. He grunts and slips his hand down to pull your panties aside. You position him at your entrance and slowly sink down onto him.

“Fuck.” Joel hisses quietly, twitching as you lower yourself down until your ass is pressed to his thighs. “So tight, so hot.” He praises softly, as if he was afraid someone would hear him. Not that it was possible with being so isolated. He grips your hips as rocks up into you slightly.

You whimper, rocking your hips down onto his cock. You love how he stretches you out, your head dropping to press your forehead to his. “Always feel so good. Never get tired of this.” You murmur, closing your eyes in bliss. “Wish you could stay inside me forever.”

Joel groans in agreement. “Shoulda gotten that snip done before the end of the world.” He hadn’t really thought about it before, but he lives in a world now where condoms are a rare luxury.

You hum in agreement, “how could you know condoms weren’t gonna be around because a - a fucking fungus took over the world?” You ask breathlessly, rocking down onto his cock. “But I do think about you. You cumming inside me.”

Joel groans, twitching inside of you violently, “me too.” He pants out. “I think about it when I’m jerking off. I can’t- I can’t think about it when I’m inside you.” He confesses. “I’ll cum too quickly.”

You nod in understanding, “I know baby. Fuck.” You murmur, still imagining how it would feel but you start to rock on his cock, “feel so good, baby. So damn good. No one has ever felt like this.”

You are the longest relationship he’s had, besides Tess. His heart aches for a moment and it makes his kiss a little more demanding, desperate. Reminding himself that he can’t change the past, he can’t bring anyone back, but he can show you how he appreciates you. His tongue slides into your mouth when you open up with a groan.

You slide your tongue against his, cupping his cheeks as you devour him while you ride his cock. Your pants and moans fill the tiny space and you slide your hands down to grip his shoulders. “Shit. Gonna make me cum already.” You pant, knowing he can hit just right inside of you to push you over the edge.

Joel groans, planting his feet at the bottom of the space capsule and rocks up into you. Taking over for a moment and swallowing your whine of pleasure when he hits that spot inside you that drives you crazy.

You whimper, “fuck, baby. I- shit. I’m gonna - oh fuck.” You pant, walls fluttering until you clamp down on him. “Shittt.” You hiss out as you shake above him. “Fuck.” You pant, collapsing against him.

You’ve stopped moving, but Joel just holds you. Panting with you as you shake on top of him. “You amaze me.” He murmurs softly, stroking your back.

His words make your heart clench with love but you daren’t utter those three words. You caress his cheeks, softly kissing him. “Lemme take care of you.” You murmur, shifting off his cock, and you awkwardly maneuver until you’re kneeling so you can take his cock into your mouth. You taste yourself on his skin and moan, your eyes meeting his.

He closes his eyes and groans out your name, hand reaching down and caressing your cheek. You know you don’t have to do this, but the fact that you want to always makes him light up. He loves that you want him so badly that you love to have him fall apart in your mouth. “Fuck.” He hisses, stomach clenching. “I can’t - I don’t deserve you.”

You pull off his cock, smirking as you pump him, "you definitely do." You argue and take him back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you pump the base, pressing your tongue to the underside. You want him to cum down your throat. You want to see him fall apart.

You’re fucking good at sucking his cock. Sitting in the most surreal place he could ever be, with your lips wrapped around his dick like you are gonna suck him dry. “Fuck.” He hisses again, wondering again why him. Why had you chosen him? He’s so fucking lucky you haven’t realized you deserve better, so much more than he could ever give you. “Goddamn, gonna cum.” He growls out, fingers tightening on your jaw.

You hum around him, used to swallowing down all he has to offer, and your eyes water but you blink rapidly to watch him as he spills down your throat. His moan echoes off the metal walls of the capsule and you work him through it until his chest heaves. You pull off of him, wiping your chin with the back of your hand, and you offer him a smug smile, "Houston, we have liftoff." You tease, watching him try to catch his breath.

He chuckles breathlessly as he pulls you up and kisses you. Letting you settle onto his lap again for another moment. Both of you are quiet, breathing starting to return to normal as he closes his eyes. “You’re so good to me.” He murmurs after a moment. “You’ve made Ellie’s birthday perfect.” He hesitates for a moment. “Do you want to come with us?”

You nudge your nose against his, arms around his neck as you lean into him. You pull back for a moment, surprised at the request, and you caress the hair at the base of his neck. “I don’t want to invade on your time with her.” You murmur, “enjoy her birthday. She’ll be a moody teenager screaming at you before you know it.” You lean in to kiss his nose.

He appreciates that you would give him this time with her alone. Smiling softly as he wrinkles his nose. “Oh goody.” He huffs dryly. “Just what every dad wants.”

“Rite of passage, baby. Teenage girls have gotta have a ‘I hate my daddy’ phase. Next will be smoking and/or drinking along with the, uh, the sex.” You can feel him flinch beneath you. “She’s gotta grow up.” You remind him, “the best thing to can do is be there for her when she fucks up because she will.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to hope she just jumps into bed with the first boy to smile at her.” Joel grumbles, knowing that you’re right. You would know more about what teenage girls go through than he would. “Jesse keeps eyeing her. I think there might be something there.”

You chuckle, caressing his chest, “I think it’s more, uh, that she’s eying the ladies.” You reveal and he frowns, “she’s still figuring it all out.” He counters and you pat his chest, “I know you are from Texas and it wasn’t - but it’s okay. Just support her. No matter what.” You tell him and he nods, “shit. I’m so out of my depth.” He confesses and you cup his cheek, “I’m here for you. Both of you. However you want me.” You promise, “it’ll be okay.”

He hums softly, unable to vocalize how much that means to him. Instead, he holds you closer, leaning in and giving you several soft kisses. “I can’t tell her we had sex here.” He tells you dryly, making you laugh as he starts to chuckle. “She would be completely grossed out. She makes gagging noises whenever I come home smellin’ like you.”

You giggle, "is that when you've spent all day with your tongue inside my-?" He cuts you off with a groan of "don't" and you caress his cheek, "we can air it out." You promise, "cool place to check off the list of places we have had sex." You tease, "and she's gonna love this place for her birthday. You're a good father." You murmur, nudging your nose against his. "

He snorts, doubtful, but the pain of losing Sarah has been helped so much by having Ellie. The guilt he has carried isn’t gone, but he feels like he has been given a second chance. “Hopefully she likes it, I’m gonna walk here.” It’s not too far from the town, relatively speaking. “Give us time to talk and connect.”

You nod, caressing his chest until you pat it. "We better get moving." You groan as you shift to stand, awkwardly shimmying your jeans and panties back up your legs while he tucks his cock away. You inhale deeply once you're outside the space capsule and Joel rolls his neck. He glances around for a moment and takes your hand, guiding you back to your horses. Your heart flutters and you feel the words sitting on the tip of your tongue but you don't want to ruin a perfect day. You swallow the words back down and squeeze his hand, letting him guide you back home.

**** 

“Answer the door, answer the fuckin’ door.” Joel growls, banging on your door again. He would just walk in, but your shop is closed today, the front door locked to give you some privacy. Needing to talk to you, he grabs the door knobs and twists it again as if it would magically open for him.

You swing the door open, eyes wide as you see Joel standing there, his chest heaving. "What the fuck is going on? I was just taking a shower." Your skin is still wet, towel wrapped around you, and you can see he's upset. "Come in." You order, ushering him inside and off the street.

It’s pouring outside and he’s probably just as soaking wet as you are, maybe more. He had walked out of the house without a jacket, without anything. Furious and hurt, confused and needing to talk to you. “Ellie.” He spits out as he storms inside. “She’s lost her damn mind.” He growls as he starts to pace around the shop before you take his hand and drag him towards the stairs.

You guide him to your living room, letting go of his hand to grab him a towel to dry off. "Here baby. Sit. Talk to me. What happened? It's her birthday." You frown, reaching out to push his wet hair back from his face.

“I was bringing her her cake.” He huffs, rubbing his face and then his hair, but he’s more preoccupied by the argument he just had with Ellie. “She was- there was this girl. Says she’s 19, oldest fucking 19 year old I’ve ever seen.” He shakes his head. “She got a tattoo.” He stresses and says your name as he looks at you with horrified eyes. “Smoking pot too. All of it, all of it today.”

You snort, shaking your head, "she really went from zero to a hundred with teenage angst, huh?" You sigh, seeing the sadness and anger in his eyes. "She's growing up and I know that's hard to handle because she's not gonna need you as much, but it proves that you have been a good father to her. She is gonna act out and you freaking out will make her go even harder. I'm not saying you gotta understand it, baby, but you can't freak out. You gotta let her make her own mistakes." You caress his ear lobe, brushing his hair back, and you watch him clench his jaw.

“A tattoo?” He huffs and you nod when he looks at you, “goddamn.” He flings himself back on the sofa and covers his eyes. “Girls? I just- I thought-“ he doesn’t know what he was thinking, it had just caught him off guard. Even after you had hinted about it before. You had seen what he hadn’t or been unwilling to see. He sighs heavily, knowing he fucked up. “I was hoping she was gonna meet some guy, fall in love, get married….have babies.” His voice is soft, almost yearning. All the things that he never got to see Sarah do.

You reach for his hands, tangling your fingers with his, "she can still get married and you can walk her down the-" you wrinkle your nose, "nah. I can't see Ellie walking down the aisle." Joel chuckles in agreement and you continue, "she could adopt a kid like you have or hell, you never know what will happen, but she knows who she is and I certainly didn't know that at her age. She's - she's a strong girl, a fighter, and she likes girls. That's who she is and you love her no matter what because you are her father." You remind him, "and she loves you because you've been there for her since you met."

“Fuck.” Joel closes his eyes. “I fucked it up.” He admits. “I need to apologize to her. But I can’t now, she will just make a smart ass comment and completely ignore me.” She blows hot, so different from his own quiet, deep rage. Joel doesn’t shout until he has to, and Ellie’s first line of defense is shouting. “I hope she doesn’t fucking hate me.”

“It’ll be okay.” You promise, “let her cool down and I have her present ready. I found a pair of Converse. Cleaned them up and restitched them. You can take them for her, tell her it’s from you.” You offer, sliding your hand down to caress his neck.

“No, I can’t do that.” You always give Ellie such thoughtful gifts, he could never take that away from you. Even if she didn’t have any interest in learning to sew. She still slept under that quilt every night. “I just-“ he needed to talk, to have your reassurance or your slap upside the head, whatever was appropriate. “I needed you.” He admits softly.

You smile, “you have me. Always.” You promise, “whenever you need me, baby.” You reassure him, shifting to straddle him and you let the towel you have wrapped around you pool to the floor. “You can take what you need.”

That wasn’t what he meant, but he wants to be close to you. He grabs the back of your neck and drags you down for a desperate kiss. Groaning into your mouth as you immediately reach for his belt buckle.

You slide your tongue against his and reach in to pull his hard cock out. He’s always eager, even for a man of his age, and you squeeze him. “I’m yours. However you want me.” You promise as you start to pump him, wanting him to throb in your hand before you ride him.

“Fuck.” He hisses, hardening even more under your expert touch. “Bed.” He growls, wanting to touch all of you. His hand slaps your ass while the other cups your breast.

You huff but concede, letting go of his cock to shift off his lap. You make your way over to the bed, laying down to watch him as he pulls his shirt over his head. “Always so sexy.” You murmur, watching him as he stalks towards the bed.

He snorts softly and shakes his head. He’s old, getting older every year. Every morning he’s stiff and aching, wishing for some of those hydros he used to take to forget the sounds of his daughter dying. It’s strange….since saving Ellie, he hasn’t had them. Like he had completed the task he had failed at nearly twenty-five years ago. “You’re the one I should be saying that to.” He smirks as you wink at him. “Brazen.”

You snort and spread your legs for him to kneel between them. “Come here, baby.” You murmur, pulling him down towards you and he shifts his weight to his elbow before he reaches down to squeeze his cock in his hand. He slides it through your folds and you whimper when he starts to push into you.

He needs you, right now as a distraction, a comfort. You are always so goddamn good at giving him an outlet for his emotions. Even when he rarely shares them. He settles down on you, giving you his full weight as he pushes his arms under your back to gather you close. “Fuck.”

You caress his shoulders, sliding your hands down to his ass, "fuck me. Joel. I want you to forget all the bullshit and fuck me." You order, pushing him deeper with your palms on his skin.

He’s good at following your orders, smirking slowly as he rocks deeper into you. Right now, his mind is blank to everything but the way your pussy feels clenching around him. “Hard?” He asks, feeling like you want it rougher, but he wants to just make sure.

You nod, “harder.” You order, “want to feel you tomorrow.” You demand and he groans, grabbing your thigh to push it back towards your stomach. “That’s it. Shit.” You moan in pleasure, “always get so deep like this. Yes baby. Keep - keep fucking going.” You plead, moaning his name again when he grunts.

Joel’s dark eyes watch you, even as he starts to give you exactly what you are begging for. You once told him that he looked like a predator, like he was about to destroy you, but he’s watching to make sure he doesn’t hurt you. Even when he’s rough, he never wants you to have true pain. Not by him, not from this. Joel hisses when you clench down around him after a sharp snap of his hips. “That’s it.” He growls.

You moan, loving how he pushes deep, his balls hitting your ass as he fucks you hard like you wanted. He always gives you what you want, “lemme - tell me if your back hurts.” You inform him, “I can - I can take over.” You offer, wanting him to enjoy himself.

He huffs, almost offended by the comment if it weren’t so true most of the time. “Back always hurts.” He grunts out, speeding up the pace as if he is proving a point to both of you.

You gasp as he pushes even deeper, wanting to show you that he can still fuck you hard and fast. “Oh shit, Miller. You’re - shit - you’re gonna make me - already. How?” You moan in surprise at how he’s worked you up and you know it’s just him. Your feelings for him that you keep to yourself.

He chuckles breathlessly, watching your eyes glaze over in pleasure as you take every thrust. Squealing out his name again and your nails dig into his arms. “Fuck.” He hisses, enjoying the flash of pain and focusing on making you cum. “Do it. Do it for me.”

You nod, mouth open as your walls clamp down on his cock. You cum within moments, his name mouthed instead of moaned, and you shake beneath him. “Oh fuckkkk” finally escapes your lips as he fucks you through your orgasm.

Joel groans your name, gritting his teeth and rocking his hips a little deeper as he works you through it. You’re soaking him, making his eyes slip closed in pleasure. “Fuck honey, you’re doing so good. So good to me.”

You grip his shoulders, nails leaving a trail of scratches, and you whimper, “wanna - wanna feel it. Just once. I tracked - it’s safe. Please. Wanna feel you cum inside me just one time.” You beg, wanting to feel the heat of his cum painting your walls. “Just this once. Please Joel. Fill me up.”

He shouldn’t, he fucking shouldn’t. Joel groans and rocks his hips even faster. The thrusts are harsh and sharp. Giving into your begging without even thinking about how wrong it is. “Fuuuuuuuuuuck.” His growl is low, almost feral as he feels himself start to cum. Pushing deep, he buries his cock and and floods your walls with his cum. “Fuck, honey.” Your name falls from his lips in a low groan, unable to even try to pull out because it feels so good.

The feeling of him twitching inside you, painting your walls, and the way he groans your name has another smaller orgasm rippling through you. You try to catch your breath, lost in the sensations, and your chest heaves while he presses kisses to your neck. “That was - yeah.” You finish lamely, biting back the words that are always on the tip of your tongue but you don’t want to scare him away from you.

Joel collapses on top of you, forehead pressed against yours as he tries to catch his breath. He can’t even explain how he feels right now, what is racing through his mind and heart. “Yeah.” He huffs finally, rolling off of you and pulling you against him.

All the unspoken words seem to hang heavy in the air but you don’t drag them down. You simply curl around Joel, breathing him in as you relax, and you feel him finally relax. You don’t need words, you can just be. 

**** 

You groan, resting your head on your toilet as you try to quell the nausea that seems to creep up your throat. You’ve been throwing up for a couple of days, exhausted, and you wonder if you have some kind of flu. It’s Ellie’s birthday today and you’re certain Joel will be doing something with her. It’s her 18th after all. They have been at odds and you hope today is the day they talk it out and put it aside. “Fuck.” You wipe your mouth, stumbling as you stand up from the toilet and when you flush it, you see the box of tampons. “Shit.” You murmur, trying to think back to when your period was. Usually you’re like clockwork but Joel has been finishing inside you more often than not since Ellie’s last birthday. “Shit.” You repeat, sitting down on the toilet seat. “I’m pregnant.” You groan, rubbing your eyes.

Joel sighs softly as he walks towards town, his hands shoved in his pockets. Ellie didn’t want to spend the day with him. Just awkwardly stared at him until he left her garage domain. He’s upset and he doesn’t know what to do. He sees your shop in the distance and there’s a little bit of brightness to his day. It takes him a few minutes and he opens the door. “Honey? You here?” He asks as he closes it behind him. He brought you some buttons and thread he had found, hoping that you would like them.

You wipe your eyes and set your toothbrush down before you go downstairs to see Joel standing in your shop. “Hey baby“ You offer shakily, “you doing okay?” You ask, noticing the way he looks tense and frustrated.

“No.” Joel sets the bag that he had hooked on his arm down on the counter. “But what’s new?” He had been in a mood, withdrawn, as it got closer to Ellie’s birthday and now today, it is just a bad day. Almost as bad as his own birthday.

You stare at him, unable to keep it to yourself when it’s such a shock and he’s already in a bad mood. “I’m pregnant.” You choke out, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I think - I haven’t had my period. I’m late and I’ve been throwing up.”

Joel freezes, eyes wide as he stares at you. “No.” He shakes his head. “No, you can’t be pregnant.” He tells you, as if that will make it true. He thinks back to when Sarah’s mother told him that she was pregnant, the fear, the uncertainty that had festered with the undeniable hope that he could do better. “No!” He shouts, shoving the bag and contents off the counter as he sweeps his hands across the surface. He can’t be a father again. Not at his age. He's at the end of his life. Hell, Ellie isn’t even talking to him and Sarah….. His chest tightens and his vision starts to swim as he stumbles towards the door, needing to get air and not able to breathe.

Your heart pounds as you watch him panic. “It’s not like I did this on purpose.” You choke, “and last time I checked, you were just as eager to cum inside me, Miller.” You hiss, “and I know you are having issues with Ellie but don’t you - fuck.” You sob, curling your arms around yourself.

He hears you, but it sounds like you are underwater. Your voice is garbled and he can’t understand what you are saying but he hears the hurt in your tone. “I can’t-“ he struggles out, heart racing in his chest. He presses a hand to his heart as he tries to reach the door. “I can’t-“

Your eyes widen when you see the way his chest heaves. You step forward, reaching out to cup his cheeks, “it’s okay. You’re okay, baby. Just breathe.” You order, “you’re okay, baby.” You murmur, “breathe with me. Breathe. It’s okay.”

He sinks to his knees with you, gasping for air. “It- I’m almost fucking 60.” He chokes out, closing his eyes and hating how weak he is. “I- you- a baby?” He makes a sound of sorrow. “I’m sorry.” He opens his eyes and there is nothing but anguish in their depths as he looks at you, his hand reaching out to cover yours. “I’m sorry.”

You shush him, “it’s okay, baby. It’s okay baby.” You murmur, “just breathe. It’s okay baby.” You promise, “we will figure it out. I don’t know for sure. We don’t know.” You murmur, caressing his cheeks.

It takes him a few minutes before he can breathe normally. He takes a deep breath and sighs, his shoulders sagging. “I won’t live to see them grow up.” Hw whispers. “I won’t be able to protect you, and our baby.” He’s never shirked his responsibility. He didn’t when he was a young, single father to a baby girl and he won’t do it now that he’s old enough to know better. His eyes meet yours and he swallows harshly. “I’m sorry, honey.” He murmurs.

“I can protect us. I am capable. I just - I didn’t think- we’ve gone so many years without it happening and - shit. This is my fault. I told you to cum inside me.” You choke, kissing his cheeks, “I’m sorry. This is - shit.”

“No.” He frowns, shaking his head and pulls back to look at you seriously. “I’m a grown man, I knew the risks.” He admits, sighing softly as he pulls your hands into his. “I’m not mad at you.” He promises. “I’m mad at myself. All I ever do is the wrong thing.”

You shake your head, “no you don’t. You’re a good man. You’re a good father and I- I know this isn’t what we planned but we can do it. I can do it.” You promise, “I have to do it.” You choke, “it’s my responsibility.”

“It shouldn’t be.” Joel pulls you close and presses his forehead against yours. “I’m so sorry honey.” He murmurs again, thinking about the trouble Maria had when she had Benji. “I’m gonna find a doctor. The best doctor I can.” He promises. “One that was a doctor before all this shit.” He will drag the doctor here by force if necessary.

You sigh, “it’s okay, baby. We will figure it out.” You promise, “we have a long way to go before the baby is here.” You murmur, “I - it’s okay. We will figure it out.” You promise, pecking his cheek.

You should be pissed off at him, kicking him out of your house and life, not comforting him. Not reassuring him. He moves to pull you into his arms. “I don’t deserve you.” He knows he owes you the truth about how he feels, but he can’t right now. It’s not the right time. Not after he had essentially blamed you for getting pregnant in your mind. It would ruin it. So he doesn’t say those little words that seem to come so goddamn hard for him. “Not at all.”

You sigh, caressing his cheek, “you do. You just don’t know it. Come on, lay down with me.” You take his hand, helping him stand and you guide him to your bedroom. “Rest. It’s been a long day for you.”

Joel sighs, his feet heavy, but he follows you dutifully. “You should come stay at the house sometimes.” He mentions. “There’s more room, you could have some space from the shop.”

You are surprised at his offer, nodding as you shift to lay down and he pulls you into his chest. You sniff, trying to calm your racing heart, and you wonder how you’re going to handle having a baby with a man who can’t even say he loves you. 

**** 

You don’t know how long you lay there for but you shift to kiss him, waking him up from your nap. “I gotta use the bathroom.” You shift off him, making your way into the bathroom to pee. Your eyes widen when you pull your pants down and see red. No cramping or sudden issues so you must’ve gotten your period. You come out to see Joel sitting on the edge of the bed and you bite your lip, “crisis averted. I got my period.”

Joel frowns as he looks at you, unsure if he’s relieved or disappointed to hear that. He nods, knowing that it’s for the best. He might have ten, fifteen years left in him. If he’s lucky. He doesn’t need to be having a baby, even if he wondered what a kid with you would look like. “That’s….” He pauses. “Good. Right?”

You nod, a little sad but it’s for the best. “Yeah. Looks like Ellie won’t be a big sister. Probably for the best.” You snort, sitting down next to him. You reach for his hand, squeezing it, “it’s for the best.” You reassure him, “so back to pulling out?” You tease.

He snorts, shaking his head in amusement that you can bounce back so quickly. “That’s if you let me back in your bed.” He tells you. “You might kick my ass out.”

“Never.” You promise, “no one has ever made me feel like you do.” You smirk, “I’d be an idiot to kick you out because of one pregnancy scare. We have been pretty lucky considering.” You sigh, turning your body to look at him. “I don’t want to step backwards because this scare happened. Let’s go back to how we were before today.”

He looks down at your hands, fingers threaded together and he squeezes softly. The trust you give him is overwhelming. “Back to how things were.” He agrees as he looks up at you again. Thinking about how the child you could have had together would have had your eyes.

**** 

Another year passes with you and Joel spending time together, the pregnancy scare buried away. “She’s still not talking to you?” You ask Joel, “why don’t you take her on patrol today?” You ask, knowing you’re supposed to go with him but you’ll give up your place if it makes Ellie happy.

“You think?” He takes a sip of his coffee, looking over at you, and contemplating. “She is 19.” He admits. “Most start patrolling at 18 but….” He had pulled strings and put his foot down with the council, a lot of them afraid he would slow down construction because he was pulling more patrols to protect her. “Yeah.” He nods. “I guess that could be good.”

You watch him sip his coffee, “she will be excited. You know all she wants is to be capable.” You tell him and he nods, “yeah. Maybe - maybe we can talk. It should be quiet out there today.” You smile, “exactly. Go with her. Oh and when you’re back, I repaired her band shirts.” You look over at the box that contains shirts she has ripped and worn to pieces but you’ve managed to rescue them.

“She will like that.” Joel smiles at you as he reaches out to caress your back. “Let me go talk to her about it. What are you going to do if she wants to go? Have a day to yourself where I’m not bothering you?” He knows there is a group of newcomers that just arrived and those first few days are hectic for you with trading and repairing clothes.

You chuckle, “I’ll probably have a nap. Touch myself thinking about this old guy who fucks me.” You tease, leaning in to softly kiss his jaw, “and have some snacks. You know, girl time.”

Joel snorts softly and shakes his head. Turning his head as he presses his lips to your briefly. “Girl time, huh?” He smirks slightly. “Sounds fun.”

You chuckle, “oh yeah. Gonna be real fun.” You joke and caress his cheek, “she’s gonna come around.” You murmur, “don’t sorry baby.” You want him to relax a little even if Ellie is giving him a hard time.

He sighs softly, leaning against you as he hopes that you are right. “Too good to me.” He murmurs again, believing that to be true. “I should go.” He huffs after a moment.

“Go. I’ll see you later.” You murmur, kissing him again and you watch him as he steps back, grabbing his jacket, and you sigh when he’s gone. You hope he and Ellie can find some middle ground during the patrol.

**** 

He knows you’ve heard. Everyone in Jackson has heard. The only thing that spreads faster than good news is bad news. And the death of a town member is bad news. His footsteps are heavy, not even able to go to your house, he’s dragged himself back to his own house. Slow steps up the porch, running a hand through his hair as he swallows harshly.

You make your way up the steps to his front door, knowing he must be beating himself up. You open the door that was left unlocked after he rushed inside. You close it behind you, making your way upstairs to find Joel sitting on the end of his bed, head hanging low. You walk towards him, standing in between his spread legs and you waste no time pulling him into your stomach so you can comfort him.

The sorrow he hides from everyone. The feelings that he bottles up, buries deep, it comes out. His hands slide around your body, pulling you closer as he gives into the pain. He hadn’t wanted to kill Eugene, he didn’t. But the risk was too great. Bringing someone infected too close to Jackson endangered every single person in that town. Ellie didn’t see that, wouldn’t see that. “I had to.” He chokes out.

You stroke your fingers through his hair, “I know, baby. I know.” You coo, needing to comfort him as he sobs into your shirt. “You did what you thought was best.” You murmur, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “She will understand with time. She has to.” You promise, “and you did the right thing.”

He tightens his grip on you, letting himself have this moment before he stuffs it down again. Shows an unconcerned face to the rest of the town. He knows you won’t even ask him for the details but you believe in him. You believe that he wouldn’t do anything just to be cruel. There was a reason, a good reason for why he hadn’t granted that last request.

You let him bury his face in your shirt, “it’s okay. Baby, it’s okay.” You murmur, waiting until he lifts his head to look at you and you lean down, cupping his cheeks to softly kiss him. “It’ll be okay.” You promise, “it’s gonna be okay.” You know why he did it and you know why Ellie is mad but you understand him.

“I don’t think it will be.” Joel admits softly, pulling back and looking up at you. “If you- could you stay tonight?” It’s been rare that you’ve spent the night together, even after all these years, but he doesn’t want to be alone.

You can’t deny him, stroking his cheek, “of course.” You murmur, rubbing his lower lip with your thumb. You have rarely spent a night in his arms and right now, it’s what you both need. “Lemme get you a cup of coffee.” You reach for his hand to squeeze it. “Maybe a splash of whiskey in it.”

“A lot of whiskey.” He murmurs after a second. He smiles softly to reassure you, knowing that you are trying to help. “I’m gonna take a shower.” He sighs. “Need one.”

You nod, “whiskey with a splash of coffee.” You chuckle, “got it. Now, go shower and I’ll make you something to eat. Knowing you, you didn’t eat before patrol today.” You huff, caressing his cheek. You step away from him and glance back for a moment. Making your way downstairs, your heart aches for the man who is just trying his best and Ellie can’t seem to see that. You prepare his coffee, whiskey, and a sandwich, setting them down on the kitchen table where his glasses lay next to a book on rescuing foundations. You snort and look up when he enters the kitchen, hair wet and wearing sweats. He looks soft and vulnerable. Things you would never normally associate with him.

He pauses in the doorway, a little unsure and hesitant. Not because you are here, but because of how well you just fit here. You have taken over and taken care of him. He rubs his hands on his sweats and steps forward, his feet bare on the kitchen floor. “Thanks.” He murmurs softly. “Did you fix yourself something to eat?”

You nod, your own sandwich in front of you. “I didn’t get to eat anything either.” You don’t practice what you preach. You watch him sit down and he looks at the food. “Thank you, honey.” You smile, pushing a napkin towards him. “Eat, Miller.” You order, “and there’s extra whiskey in the coffee.”

“Thanks.” He reaches for it, grateful that you understand that he’s not talkative right now. You pick up your sandwich and start to eat, letting him savor the burn of the liquor as it slides down his throat. You deserve so much praise, so much more than silence right now. But Joel doesn’t have the heart, or the words to talk. He can put on a front when he’s in town, but right now, he’s just weary.

You let him eat, seeing the tiredness in his eyes, and when he’s done, you take his plate and yours to wash them up. It’s early but you see he’s exhausted. “Go up to bed. I’ll be in there soon. I’ll borrow your shirt.” You murmur, rubbing his back, and he nods, making his way upstairs. You secure the house after cleaning the kitchen, and make your way upstairs. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed again and you pull one of his shirts from his drawer, a half finished wood work on top of the dresser. You know he had to move everything into his bedroom after Ellie took up residence in the garage so his bedroom has become his workshop. You take his shirt into the bathroom to clean up and change, coming back out to find him under the sheets. He holds them open and you eagerly slide under them, shifting closer to him until you’re snuggled into his chest. “Get some sleep.” You order, kissing the space above his heart.

He’s more appreciative than he could ever articulate. His arms wrapping around you while you hold him. Closing his eyes and letting the weight of the day settle. It’s not oppressive, like it should be. He’s not wallowing in despair and recriminations. Tommy understood, he could see it in his brother’s eyes. Even if he had always been the one to be a little more tenderhearted. Joel had been the protector, the one who had made the choices and sacrifices, taken the blame. He had understood it then too, he was tougher, meant to take that role. He wouldn’t change anything, he wouldn’t have let Eugene come back to Jackson. Just like he wouldn’t let the Fireflies kill Ellie. He kissed the top of your head and lets himself drift off to sleep.

**** 

You watch Joel push Seth down after he insulted Ellie and Dina, a sigh escaping your lips when Ellie tells him she doesn’t need his help, and you look at Maria. She raises her eyebrows and you stand up after Joel stumbles outside, “I better go after him.” You murmur and she nods, “see you next year.” You smile and rush into the cold air to follow Joel home. You know he’s spiraling. You find him standing out in the snow, chest tight as he struggles to breathe and you rush over to him, “breathe baby. It’s okay. It’s okay.” You murmur, stroking your fingers through his hair. “You’re okay.”

“It’s never gonna get better.” Joel gasps out, closing his eyes and wishing that he had said something, anything. Made her listen to reason, but he had just walked out. Embarrassed that she had told him in front of everyone that she didn’t need him.

You let him squeeze you, trying to ground himself, and you murmur to him, “she will come around. She will. She will forgive you at some point. She’s young. She doesn’t understand.” You reason, rubbing the back of his neck, “she will. Soon.”

He doubts it, but it helps him open his eyes again. “I’m gonna go home.” He murmurs softly. “You can stay, if you want.” He would never ask you to come with him if you wanted to socialize, but he squeezes you just a little tighter, hoping you do come with him.

“Let’s go, baby.” You murmur, taking his hand to guide him back to his home. “You’ll be okay. It will be okay, baby.” You grip his hand tight and shiver as the cold air hits you. The snow is starting to fall again and you are shaking when you step onto his porch.

“I’m gonna- sit out here.” Joel tells you quietly, wanting to make sure that Ellie comes home safely. He sees you shivering and he immediately pulls his hand away from yours to rub your arms. “I’ll get the heater,” he offers, knowing that you would want to stay with him. You have so far.

“Can you- can you play me something?” You ask, knowing the guitar offers him an escape from the chaos that seizes his mind. He nods and you smile, reaching out to kiss the back of his hand. You squeeze it before you let it go. “Lemme go make you a coffee and I’ll be out in a sec.” You promise after he opens his door to grab the heater and his guitar.

Joel sets up the heater, angling it towards the seat you will be sitting in. Sitting down and plucking a few chords on the guitar to start tuning it more after replacing the broken strings.

You prepare the coffee, waiting for the water to boil for the french press after you grind up the beans and soon enough, you’re stepping outside to hand the coffee to Joel. “I gotta get mine.” You caress his cheek when he takes it, rocking on the porch, and you head back inside. When you come back towards the front door, you hear voices and look outside to see Ellie standing next to Joel. Deciding to give them some privacy, you step back into the kitchen.

You don’t come back outside, but Joel knows that you should have seen Ellie. He listens to her as she talks, obviously having come to the correct conclusions about what happened in St. Louis with the Fireflies. He doesn’t say a word, just nods when he is asked questions. Until it comes to the why. “Because I love you.” Joel choked out gruffly, tears streaming down his cheeks. “In a way you can’t understand.

You wait until you hear the garage door shut and you quietly close the front door behind you, finding Joel leaning against the railing. Your hand comes up to rub his back, “are you - is everything okay?” You ask, seeing the tears on his cheeks.

Joel licks his lips and nods. “Eventually.” He admits quietly, looking over at you and then back out at the front lawn. “She knows what I’ve done and I- I have to accept that.” He hasn’t told you about St. Louis, but he thinks you know already.

You had never heard him tell you the story but you’ve guessed that he saved her and killed a lot of people to do it. You understand why he did it. Ellie saved him from himself and he was selfish but any parent would’ve done the same thing. “She will come around.” You promise, “she loves you and she will forgive you. Just give her time.” You reach for his hand that’s resting on the ledge of the porch and you squeeze it in yours.

“Yeah.” He looks down at your hand on top of his and wishes tonight had gone like he had expected it to. He had hoped to dance with you, to show you how much you mean to him tonight. Finally putting into words what he has felt for years. Now, that moment has been ruined. Changed into this. Where Joel can’t verbalize what he thinks. “You’re gonna stay, right?” He asks. “Still gotta finish paying for the coffee.”

You snort, turning to wrap your arms around him, the heat from the porch keeping the chill off you and Joel’s body heat is even better. “Nearly paid it off, Miller.” You tease, tilting your head to kiss his jaw. “Come on, let’s get ready for bed. You have patrol in the morning.” You sigh and he nods, squeezing your waist. You smile, leaning back to look at him, “happy new year, baby.” He smiles, leaning in to softly kiss you, “happy new year, honey.”

**** 

The fire still burns, the blood that is covering the side of your face isn’t yours, but it’s dried and crusty as you work to clear the bodies and bring them to the fire burning in front of the fences. You have to concentrate on that, on the task at hand, because you are worried. Before the storm hit, they lost contact with Joel and Dina. Then the hoard attacked. Jackson had been fighting for its very lift and your shop had barely missed being burned down. Now, you keep looking towards the north, where Joel was supposed to be scouting, hoping to see him riding in, worried about what had happened and who had been lost while he was gone.

You look up when you hear the horses neigh, heart pounding with the need to see Joel and you frown when you only see Jesse, Dina, and Ellie. You run towards them, only to freeze when you see the bloodied sheet covered body being dragged. “No. No. Don’t tell me - Joel? He’s - no. He can’t be.” You choke before a wail escapes your lips when you see the look on Ellie’s face and you collapse to the ground, your sobs echoing off the buildings of Main Street.

Ellie chokes out your name, nearly falling off her horse and her eyes roll back in her head as she faints. Making Jesse shout for help as he scoops her up and Tommy rushes forward to see what is happening. Choking up and freezing when he sees the shroud covered body and he slowly kneels down beside you. “Joel.” He murmurs softly, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you against him to let you cry.

"El-Ellie. Need to - to help - he- her." You can hardly breathe, gripping onto Tommy to keep grounded but he is choking on his tears until Maria arrives and takes his place. Her hands pull you close as Tommy lifts Ellie, stumbling as he takes her to the hospital. You push Maria away, crawling over to the shrouded body, your tears dropping onto the blood stained cloth as you touch it, knowing it's him underneath the material and your sobs are soul crushing.

Maria hates watching you mourn, her own sorrow softer, but she hadn’t been in love with Joel. She kneels next to you, her hand on your back while you untie the rope and pull the sheet away from his face. Sobs getting louder when you see the battered face of the man you love. “Don’t.” She murmurs softly. “He wouldn’t want you to remember him this way.” She draws the sheet back up.

You nod, heart breaking at how he’s been killed. Tortured and why? Who did this to him? Eventually you’re dragged away so they can untie Joel and carry his body to the ever growing morgue. “Come here.” Maria pulls you into her arms again, “let’s go. You need to sit down.” She says, taking you back to hers and Tommy’s house. 

**** 

You’re numb as you stare at the glass of whiskey, a blanket wrapped around you, and you’re still covered in blood. You can’t process what’s happened today. Your body seems to have shut down and you don’t even look up when Tommy appears in front of you.

Tommy looks up at Maria, his eyes expressive and he sighs as he kneels down in front of you. “Honey…” you wince when he uses Joel’s nickname for you, so he switches to your name. “Joel loved you. So fuckin’ much.”

You continue to stare at the glass, “he never - he didn’t tell me. He never said it. Neither did I.” You choke, regret threatening to drown you. “I should’ve told him. Just once. I had years to tell him.”

“You know how Joel is….was.” Tommy had told the stubborn son of a bitch to tell you, but he had been so insistent on making it right. Making it perfect for you. “He wasn’t a words guy, but he-“ his younger brother fights back tears of his own as he hands you a small box he had taken from Joel’s pocket. “He was waiting for the right time to give you this.”

Your watery eyes widen and you stare at the box, “what’s - he - I don’t-” Tommy gestures for you to open it and your shaking hands open the tiny box. “Oh my God.” You choke, seeing the diamond ring. It’s beautiful and you are shocked by it. You never imagined it. Never imagined that he’d want that. “He never - I knew he cared for me but I didn’t - when did he-?”

“He talked to me about it last summer.” Tommy admits softly. “Asked me if I thought he was crazy.” He snorts, smirking slightly as he recalls the conversation. “Told him he was insane not to marry you.” He pauses for a moment. “He was gonna ask you at the dance last night, but….” He had left to put Benji to sleep, but he had heard what happened. Figured he had put it off.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you shakily take your ring out of the box. Twisting it in your fingers, you watch the diamond catch the light until you notice the engraving. “He, uh, engraved it himself.” Tommy confesses and you choke when you see “I love you” engraved into the metal. “Oh God.” You sob, struggling but finally you manage to slide the ring onto your finger. “I would’ve said yes. To him. A thousand times.” You murmur, “yes.”

“I know you would have.” Tommy murmurs softly, reaching out to take your right hand as you stare at the ring Joel had picked out for you, the symbol of the feeling that he could never find the words to express. “He was happy with you. Loved you with everything he had.” He reminds you. “Had loved you from the first bag of coffee he traded you for.”

You chuckle at the memory, “he really wanted coffee.” You joke softly and Tommy snorts, “he might have come to you for coffee but he kept coming back for you.” You squeeze his hand, “I don’t know how to live without him.” You confess softly and Tommy chokes, “neither do I. He’s always - he was always there to protect me. To take the blame whenever I fucked up and our dad wanted to beat me. He took the belt. He took it to protect me.” Tommy whispers like he’s a 13 year old boy.

Joel Miller didn’t talk about his feelings a lot. He could be chatty about thing, mostly related to his love of building things or fixing things. He loved his community, protected it. He loved Ellie, and wanted the best for her. He died protecting the girl that Ellie loved, keeping her from being hurt up in that lodge. It’s why he didn’t try to fight them. And he loved you, the evidence is on your finger, the inscription etched by hand, with love.

**** 

Years later, you lay in bed, chest heaving as you take your last breaths. Dina, Ellie, and JJ by your side and you close your eyes as you pass away. You open them to bright light, a familiar hand outstretched, and your eyes widen when your body moves smoothly, just like it did when you were younger. “Hey, honey.” His dark eyes come into focus and you smile, surging forward to wrap your arms around him, “Joel.” You choke, pressing your lips to his until a throat clears. Joel pulls back, turning his head, and he smiles when he says “this is Sarah.” The young girl smiles at you and says “Dad has told me so much about. I’m so happy to finally meet you.” Joel rubs your back as you say “I’m sorry I took so long.” He shakes his head, “you’re here now and that’s all that matters. Come, we’ll show you around.” You take his hand and let him guide you through the light, his ring sparking on your finger as you finally get to enjoy forever with the man you love.

​​

​​

[yandere-wishes]

Hi! Hoping you’re doing well I wanted to make a request. We’ll… I don’t know if this is a request or suggestion buuut can you write something with Ifa and his s/o. Like, maybe a jealous Ifa? When someone is flirting with his darling! Thanksss

💜: Wow, didn't think Jealous Ifa would be such a popular prompt!! Oh well I'll bite into the "Ifa's a jealouse type" agenda.

˚₊‧꒰ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꒱ ‧₊˚

"Are you sure? It's a big responsibility."

Ifa still remembers the day he spoke those exact words to you.

Voice stiff leaking with doubt, cadence demurral. It was Doctor Ifa speaking to you that day, trying to convince you not to go through with such a big commitment while also memorizing the adorable scintillate when the sun's rays reflected through your eyes just so.

"I'm sure" you reply, juvenile saurian tucked between your arms as you awkwardly shift from one foot to the other. There's commendation in such an act, Ifa would know, he's taken on a similar responsibility. But still, he couldn't help the uncertainty pricking at his bones.

The little runt was born sick. It likely wouldn't make it to teenhood let alone adulthood. Nevertheless, you seemed all so adamant about this. So determined that this broken little ill thing would be your companion.

Your responsibility.

"Alrighty then, let's take a look at 'em..."

That had been several years ago.

And yet Ifa still clings to the memory, replaying your words and savoring your resolve upon his tongue.

"Lucky lil guy"

he murmurs with all the acrimony of a curse.

Funny he can't quite remember when this disdain took root.

When the way you'd hug and cuddle your Saurian would send bullets through his heart.

There's a painful throbbing in Ifa's veins whenever you're around. A dull needle jabbed awkwardly into his heart. It's all so hard to see you walking around the tribe grounds, smiling and waving at everyone you see. It's custom he should know this, he's been raised amongst these people much like yourself, and yet...

He can't help wishing everyone was dead.

It's a bitter thought, one that shouldn't grant him as much ease as it does. But he can't help picturing you threading through the corpses, in desperate search of someone to quench your loneliness.

He wants to hold you close, cradle you in his arms, and feel your smooth skin squish against his cheek. Fingers entwined as you snake your legs around his. Together forever, only his forever.

But then you leave and the throbbing turns into a lacerations gouged bone deep. Too painful to abide. He can't see you, nor can he see who you talk to. The worries start to seep out, overflowing until he drowns. What if the smiles aren't so friendly anymore, flirtish, lustbound, loving even. What if you return such sentiments? What if you slip out from between his fingers?

Like sand in the wind.

Ifa still remembers the day you got a vision. Remembers how the blood in his veins felt hot and his heart beat in envy.

How dare an archon get to lay claim to you.

Be with you wherever you went.

How dare someone who wasn't him always remain by your side.

Ifa had never thought himself religious, never thought himself irreverent either. But in that moment, sacrilege claws at his throat as he watched your new powers bloom from your fingertips. Smiling at him with all the beauty in the world. He should feel happy for you, proud even. Crack a joke at how you and your saurian "match now" make you laugh, and reveal in the melodious chime.

But Ifa's voice cracks when he mutters a "congratulation" his body filled to the brim with emerald rage. Under his breath, he swears war upon Celestia.

"Ifa?"

You come to him in the dead of night. When he's doing his rounds in the infirmary making sure his inpatients are still asleep. Ifa can't help the dreamy sign that escapes his lips. It's as if the stars and the moon and the low muggy fog all pitched together to create this sort of fragile beauty. Something a little too hard to explain and a little too overwhelming to love.

"I was wondering if you'd like to come to Fontaine with me?" You step closer letting the door swing close behind you. The gentle thump making a little Tatankasaurus stir in its sleep. Ifa breathes in a sharp intake. Filling himself with your sweet perfume. His mouth is dry trying to find a way to differ. "Why Fontaine?" is all that comes out.

Why water? Why not Mondstadt, why not somewhere where the breeze runs free? Far away from everyone but him?

You shrug rigidly, kicking at the floorboards. "There's a film festival I've heard of and well...it's different you know? Something so unlike..." you wave your hands and Ifa can't help but wince at the message.

"All this?" he finishes. Are you trying to tell him something? Are you trying to say you're tired of home? Of the battles that never really seem to end? Of the victories that have grown practically hollow?

"Yeah," You chirp a hint of lassitude tainting your voice "Just a change of pace you know? It'll be good for you and Cacucu too."

The sentiment is there, Ifa's sure of it. But he can't shake the nervous tremors that sprout across his body. He's tried all so long to keep you to himself, to gently pry you away from everyone else. And now? Now you want to escape entirely, leave Natlan, and explore the world. But what choice does he have? He knows he has to go with you, maybe there'll be some merit to it, maybe you'll start to see things from his point of view...

Ifa doesn't like Fontaine.

There's something so mechanical about it all. Like the entire nation has been scrubbed of life and replaced with perfect porcelain. Like they've forgotten how to breathe. But maybe the worst of it all is the way you seem to be enjoying yourself. The radiant smile you give the curious natives who flock around you. The little tales you tell about Natlan as the journalists all scribble down notes.

But the most insufferable has got to be that man.

That man.

The tall duke-wardon that invites you for tea in the afternoons and walks you around the court, laughing at your mundane misadventures in Natlan. Ifa can't stand it, the way that man - No Wriothesley as he insists to be called- always has a hand on your body. The way he beams at you and rushes to your side. Heck, Ifa can't even stand when Wriothesley plays with your little saurian. The little runt that had plagued him up until now has suddenly become yet another point of envy. After all these years that saurian is practically an extension of you. So why should Ifa love it any less?

He imagines his ameno bullets piercing Wriothesley's skull. Imagine Cacucu pecking out his eyeballs. Anything to make him stay away from you.

His heart can't take it anymore. Ifa's blocking the door of your shared hotel room. Bags packed insisting you head back now. You're stubborn adamant about staying and he knows it won't be easy. His fingers wring the syringe hidden behind his back. Pads of his fingers scraping against the fine tip as he listens to your tantrum, screaming about how he's being so unreasonable.

Funny, Ifa thinks he's actually doing the logical thing for once.

He can't let anyone else have you. Can't let anyone keep you away from him any longer.

He waits until you're closer before pushing himself off the door and wrapping his arms around you in a sheathlike embrace. You calm in his touch hugging back. That's when he gently pushes the needle into your skin. Pushing the tranquilizing liquid into your bloodstream.

Drastic? Maybe.

But he's really had enough.

Ifa's lips peck at your temples, slowly trailing longer hungrier kisses down your neck and shoulders. There's a ship heading for Natlan soon, you'll be home safe once more. Your saurian walks over nuzzling between you and Ifa. And the doctor can't help but smile, his eyes dart up to Cacucu, lips breaking into a serene smile. He finally has everyone he loves in his embrace, tucked away safe from the cruel world.

Finally, he's happy after all so long.

And once you're home, Ifa has plans of keeping you locked away with him. Forever his, and only his.

Enjoy this rushed little thing that took me 1700 years to write😭😭

[noxcheshire]

Taking it with Phantom now turned Robin, let’s assume he had been de-aged and was wandering different universes, cause I have a VISION. He’s around Tim’s age physically now, but mentally? He’s less human than he is ghost now a days.

So the questions is: just how long Danny stays.

Angsty route is that Danny never intended to stay longer than to just help Batman, and when he sees him healing — perhaps to a human it’s been so much longer, long enough for people to have become comfortable seeing this new Robin, long enough for years to pass, but so short for Danny because time is almost nothing even to a half ghost — and he vanished.

Just up and vanished, because he looked at Batman — he looked at Bruce Wayne — and saw a man who has healed since Jason’s passing. And if this is BEFORE Jason’s return, then I do believe even Red Hood would be confused as to how his replacement is just? Not? There? Not anywhere, what will he think?

Does he believe, in his own burdened mind that maybe Bruce had done it again, he caused another Robin to die because what else could have caused a prominent figure both in the vigilante night life and in the civilian one to suddenly disappear?

Jason’s no longer angry that he had been replaced, now he is angry that even that new Robin had died and Bruce is keeping it hidden.

And the rest of the Batfam?

Bruce who had become dependent on his third child, who could trust and rely on his capabilities and warmth, being the very glue that kept him together — and Dick, whose second brother is now missing, the one he would crack silly little jokes with, and who loved to bother him with that cocky smile and affectionate shove of his shoulder when he would visit — and Cass who felt seen because Danny just knew even when she didn’t speak, like he could hear the voice kept tightly in her chest, and had made her feel like she was just as normal as anyone else — and Damien, who had been righteously upset from the get go, who ran his sword straight through Danny who simply laughed, his blue eyes lighting up with expectation and joy, and who never scolded Damien for his differences and more violent tinged upbringing — all these soul touched people?

He was their brother/son/friend and they wanted him back.

On the other hand, the non angsty Danny side, this boy is just chilling with a smoothie and patting himself on the back for helping out a fellow hero(s).

As for Tim, I’m not sure.

If there is no reason to become Robin, then is there anything truly to integrate himself into the Wayne household?

But he is a kid, a tiny wisp of a child and maybe Danny saw him some nights when he would burst across rooftops and cock his ears to listen for crimes.

He would stop for a moment, and maybe he wanted to help the kid too. Because he was so tiny and pale, and there are bruises clinging to his eyes from lack of sleep.

He begins to act as Tim’s little shadow, a companion, and when finding out Tim is all on his own?

Well, Danny had never really thought too hard about his actions and simply dropped the child right in front of Alfred so that Tim could be feed.

Bruce doesn’t even notice the kid, at first. After all, Tim doesn’t need to be a Robin, Danny has this role filled, so what does Tim do? He stays away, hiding dem sight and trying not to bother because he has nothing to offer the Batman.

Bruce doesn’t notice until Dick visits and finds Danny with a kid not even younger than himself, obviously taking care of the kid and is demanding why Bruce hasn’t introduced them to Timothy Drake.

Tim in this way becomes Timothy Drake-Wayne, but he still isn’t a Robin. But what if he wants to be included? What if he wants to help? What if there’s a moment in all this where Danny get’s hurt, or Bruce, or maybe even both, and Tim decided that he would be the tech support. He would be the mini Oracle of that time, without ever taking the name.

In the future Bab’s and Tim are a fearsome duo.

And maybe that’s what causes them the most pain, because even together, they are not capable of finding Danny.

At least, not until John Constantine gives an unexpected clue: “You never even knew, did you?” Perhaps he’s sympathetic, or maybe he’s just curious because surely they must have noticed how very not human Danny is. “That kid was already dead.”

After Jason's death, Bruce spiraled hard. Tim decided something needed to be done and went to Dick for help. However when the man refused to go back to being Robin, Tim resolved to become Robin instead. It turns out he didn't need to though as by time he makes his way back to Gotham, there's already a new Robin swinging through the streets.

[audliminal]

It's Just a Game, Right? Pt 6

Masterpost

"I'm telling you, Fenton!" Wes announces. "I'm onto you." A few of the kids walking past snicker at them, as Danny does his best to look confused. The startled part is easy; Wes is turning out to be a surprisingly good actor. He's been gradually leaning even harder to the image of a conspiracy nut, and the result is impressive. Danny, on the other hand, is simply trying to keep up with the insanity.

"I have literally no clue what you're talking about, dude." Danny says, attempting to push past Wes, so he can enter their classroom. Wes doesn't seem inclined to let this confrontation end, though.

"You may have everybody else fooled, but I know the truth. You made a pact with the so-called ghosts and their efforts to take over our world. You're just manipulating your parents' tech in order to convince everyone that they actually are ghosts, and not the invading fae army they really are!"

"Dude, what?" Danny responds, not quite able to hold back the laugh.

"Honestly, Wes, don't you have any common sense?" Star asks, as she walks up. "Rumor has it that Fenton's failing like half his classes, and you think a bunch of fae lords, or whatever would trust him to help their scheme? Surely they'd choose someone more competent." She flips her hair, and then walks past the both of them, as a couple of the kids nearest to them start snickering.

Outwardly, Danny winces and hunches in on himself a little more, as he takes the opening Star just created and ducks into the classroom after her.

In hallway outside, Danny catches Wes muttering to himself before following them in. No one says anything for a minute, but the moment the bell rings and Mr Lancer shuts the door, Star turns to Wes.

"I think you should be a writer or something after we get out of here." Star tells him. "That theory was honestly inspired."

"It gets even better. I have so much evidence to force on you guys, it'll be great." Wes answers, then turns to Danny. "You good? I know we don't mean any of it, but it's still gotta suck to have us acting like assholes all the time."

"I mean," Danny hums. "I'm not gonna say it's fun? But like honestly compared to everything else, dissing my work kinda seems..."

"Banal?" Sam offers.

"Yeah, sure, that." Danny nods. "Like, compared to people wanting me dead, who cares, I guess."

"Yikes," Kwan mutters. "Your life is a fucking mess, dude."

"Well, i do have some good news about that." Tucker announces, turning his computer to face everyone else. "Looks like the fanbase is making some progress towards finding the real stuff.

Danny stares at the reddit thread Tucker is on. He's honestly been only loosely paying attention to the actual stuff Tucker and Wes have been posting. He's happy to offer his knowledge of space stuff, or engineering, but the intricacies of secret code aren't really something he ever pursued. Well, except for the secret language he and Tucker had made as kids. Wes, on the other hand, peers at the screen and lets out a soft whoop.

"Hell yeah! They found the second layer!"

"Yeah. Which means they've found our first plea for help."

"Oh, wow," Sam says sardonically. "A plea for help that's so great. Why are they gonna think it's anything other than another part of the damn story."

"Chill out, Sam," Tucker responds. "The point is to encourage them to look harder. And once they find the next level, they'll start finding our info on the infinite realms."

"Whatever," Sam says, frowning. "I just... Don't like how much waiting this involves."

"Yeah it would be a lot easier if we could just, like, beat them up and call it good," Dash agrees. "But, like, jail would probably suck."

"At least they're making progress," Danny points out. "I don't really get how you guys are making these layers, but. It's more progress than anything else we've tried."

"Yeah, but like, what does this mean for us?"

"Why not interact directly with that post?"

"Maybe. We'd have to be extra careful about what and how we say it, so they don't write us off as a copycat or anything, but it could serve to reinforce, uh-" Wes leans in, to read the username. "BenBlues379's theory."

"Okay then, let's draft a reply." Danny zones out as they start to discuss the specifics. He hadn't actually had to go deal with any ghosts last night, but his parents had been working on some new invention, and the noise of their trials had made sure he didn't get much sleep despite the supposed reprieve. Luckily, nobody in this class is going to complain if he takes the opportunity to catch up on the missed shut-eye now, so with one last deep breath, Danny folds himself down onto his and relaxes into sleep, as the sounds of his classmates debating echoes around him.

[cha-melodius]

23 23 23!!!!! (Hug prompt)

(This was a popular one! Also requested by @dot524 and @libbygrl, so I made it extra long. Just kidding, it got that long anyway, but we're pretending it's because of that. hug ficlet prompts; read all the hug ficlets)

23. The hug they pull you into when they’re about to kiss you.

This has been the shittiest birthday Alex can remember in a long time.

They’d been slammed all evening, like everyone in the surrounding area decided that they all had to visit the restaurant on the same day. Normally, Alex wouldn’t complain—he likes staying busy, and the buzz of a well-running kitchen is almost soothing to him. Tonight, though, the kitchen had been running far from well.

First, one of his line cooks was out sick and no one else could come in. Then, one of the new kids he’s been training accidentally upended an entire tub of prepped artichokes. Artichokes. Alex’s hands are still raw from the frantic all-hands-on-deck rush to get enough replacements cleaned. His normally extremely capable sous chef had just broken up with her girlfriend and was hanging on by a thread all night, occasionally disappearing to go cry in the walk-in. More than one sauce had been forgotten and burned on the stove. And of course there’d been your usual picky diners, people unable to be satisfied by anything, and while usually he’s pretty good at letting that stuff roll off his back, tonight Alex was seconds away from melting down and turning into one of those chefs he swore he’d never become.

He might have spent the last twenty minutes, after the last diners had finally gone and the rest of the kitchen staff have followed, collapsed in a booth with a bottle of Maker’s. He’s gonna go home, promise. He just needs to get up the energy to move.

Except—

There’s a clattering from the kitchen, and a soft, unexpectedly posh fuck audible in the dead silence of the restaurant. Alex levers himself out of the booth and pushes his way into the kitchen, following the sounds of movement to the pastry chef’s station, which is tucked away in an alcove. There, bent incongruously over a single dessert plate holding some kind of small cake, is his sommelier.

“Henry?”

Henry, who apparently did not hear Alex come in, jolts upright, his face going red like he’s been caught. Caught at what, Alex can’t begin to imagine.

“Oh, Alex,” he breathes. Then he glances down at the dessert in front of him, and his face falls. “Christ, this was supposed to be a surprise.”

“I mean, it definitely is,” Alex offers. As far as he knows, Henry doesn’t cook much. He’s got an exceptional palate, but is fairly hopeless in the kitchen, by his own accounts. And yet, no one else is here. Just Henry, and a cake. There’s a singular candle stuck into the top of it. It’s not hard to draw a conclusion, unlikely though it may seem. “Is that for me?”

“Well,” Henry says uncertainly. He sighs. “Yes, I suppose.”

Alex can’t help the smile playing on his lips as he slowly walks closer. “You suppose?”

“If it’s not any good, then it definitely wasn’t for you,” Henry hedges, but he’s smiling now too—a little, hesitant thing that makes Alex’s heart beat an erratic rhythm in his chest.

Alex stops next to the counter where the cake sits, which also happens to be right in front of Henry. He looks up into sparkling blue eyes under brows still knit together in the middle and wants to smooth out the wrinkle between them with his thumb.

Instead, he picks up the fork sitting next to the plate. “Can I try it?”

“Now hold on, the candle’s meant to be lit—” Henry tries, but Alex laughs at him and cuts a neat corner off the little square cake. It’s a rich, deep brown with a dark filling that oozes out between two layers, and when he sticks the fork in his mouth, a rich interplay of chocolate and the sweet-tart notes of port-soaked cherries bursts across his tongue.

Alex finishes his bite slowly, savoring both the flavors and the nervous fidgeting of the man standing so very close to him. He’s been more than half in love with Henry for a while now, but he could never be sure if his feelings were returned. They work so well together here. It seemed stupid to risk it.

Fuck that.

“Well?” Henry finally asks, unable to help himself, as Alex slowly sets the fork down on the plate. “You don’t have to spare my feelings if it was awful. June tried to help me with the cake recipe, but I fear I might be unteachable—oh.”

The words cut off because Alex has grabbed both of his wrists and is pulling him a step closer, even as he closes the remaining gap between them. He arranges Henry’s compliant arms around his waist, then loops his own over Henry’s shoulders, drawing him in until their bodies are pressed together and mere inches separate their faces.

“It’s incredible,” he murmurs. Yeah, the cake’s a little dry and his ganache isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t matter. Henry made it for him, for his birthday, and for that, it’s better than every Michelin-starred cake he’s ever eaten. “Thank you, H. It means a lot.”

“You deserve it,” Henry murmurs back. His eyes keep flitting down to Alex’s lips, and Alex’s smile grows.

“You know what I really want, though?”

“What?” Henry asks breathlessly as his arms tighten around Alex’s waist. The tips of their noses bump together.

“This,” Alex says, and kisses him.

Clearly, Henry’s been sampling as he constructed the dessert, because he tastes like chocolate and port-soaked cherries, and Alex can’t get enough. Henry kisses him like he’s been aching for it just as long as Alex has, holding onto him like he’s never going to let go, and frankly, Alex isn’t going anywhere.

Maybe this wasn’t such a shitty birthday, after all.

[ruhjkie]

Nobody truly understood just how unhinged Aemond Targaryen could be, because all his fury and madness had always been channeled in one direction—toward Lucerys Velaryon. The Greens, embroiled in the intricate power struggles of war and ambition, were willing to overlook the rage that often boiled over Aemond’s actions.

As long as Lucerys was alive, Aemond’s obsession with him gave his madness purpose. They dismissed the outbursts, the cold fury that glinted in his eye whenever Lucerys’s name was mentioned, as nothing more than the natural consequence of personal vendetta. They saw it as calculated, as an instrument, a sword sharpened by hatred that, while dangerous, could still be wielded in service of their cause, so long as it remained contained, directed at the boy who had cost Aemond his eye. It was understandable. He had been wronged, humiliated, and scarred. His relentless pursuit of vengeance, though violent, was something the Greens could wrap their heads around.

But now— now that Lucerys is dead, that single thread which binds Aemond's madness to a specific purpose has been severed. What was once cold, calculating rage has become something far more erratic and dangerous. With Lucerys gone, there is no longer a singular target to absorb the violence within him. So then, The Greens are beginning to notice what they had been too blind, or too complicit, to see before: Aemond’s obsession was never just about vengeance—it was about control, and now that control is slipping.

At first, they try to rationalize it. Perhaps he simply needs time to adjust, to let go of his hatred now that its source has been erased. But as time passes, it becomes clear that Lucerys's death has not quelled the storm in Aemond's heart; it has only unleashed it in new, unpredictable directions. His temper flares at the slightest provocation, his cruelty grows strong, more indiscriminate. He's lashing out at everyone, even the people closest to him, the ones who used to see him as a valuable ally. He needs to get control back, or maybe he’s going to lose himself completely, maybe he’s just trying to satisfy his thirst for violence, and that’s what’s got the Greens so scared.

Is he really sorry about business with Luke, or is he lost because he’s no longer holding on to the one thing that made him feel in control?

It’s funny how they really thought they could treat him like they wanted to treat Aegon. Now they see him for what he truly is—a liability. His instability is no longer something they can overlook. They begin to whisper among themselves, questioning if they made a terrible mistake. Maybe they did. Aemond is untethered, and they are left to face the consequences of a monster they helped create but cannot longer control.

[bluelavendre]

Title: "Surviving Together"

Fandom: BTS

Pairing BTS ot7 x Reader

Zombie Au inspired a bit by All of us are dead series

Chapter 20: "The Road to Uncertainty"

The tension is palpable as the police car remains parked just outside the cabin. The distant sound of the siren has stopped, but the heavy weight of uncertainty still presses down on everyone.

You can feel the adrenaline in your veins, your heart thumping in your chest as the figure standing next to the vehicle becomes clearer in the light. The officer is tall, dressed in a standard police uniform, and carries himself with the kind of authority you haven’t seen in days. His face is stoic, unreadable, as he surveys the area, seemingly waiting for something—someone.

“Is there anyone here?” the officer calls out, his voice carrying over the silence. His tone is firm, commanding. “If there are any survivors, please respond. We’re here to help. More rescuers will be coming soon.”

The words almost feel like a dream—more rescuers?

The group exchanges tentative glances, not sure whether to trust this officer or to remain cautious. After everything they’ve been through, trusting anyone feels like a risk.

But the officer’s words, so promising, so hopeful, seem like a thread of light at the end of a very dark tunnel.

“More rescuers?” Namjoon asks, his voice low, almost in disbelief. "How do we know we can trust you?"

The officer nods slowly, as though he understands the skepticism in the air. “I know it’s hard to trust strangers these days. But I’ve seen the way you’ve been living. We’re not the only ones out here trying to survive. We have a convoy coming. You’re not alone.”

Namjoon, ever the cautious leader, holds the officer’s gaze for a long moment. Finally, he seems to come to some sort of decision, giving a slow nod.

“Alright, we’ll come with you,” he says. “But we’re not leaving the others behind. You’ll bring them too, right?”

The officer’s expression remains neutral. “Yes. They’ll be safe. We just need to get to the base as quickly as possible.”

The decision is made. With the promise of safety, of a future beyond the virus, the group decides to send the smallest group of people to follow the officer first. After a brief discussion, it’s decided that Taehyung, Namjoon, Jimin, and you will go in the police car, while the rest of the group—Jungkook, Jin, Yoongi, and Hoseok—stay behind, keeping a low profile until more rescuers arrive.

The drive is quiet, the car’s engine humming steadily as it makes its way down the dirt road, cutting through the wilderness. The sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the landscape. As the evening grows darker, the tiredness from the past few days begins to settle in, and one by one, the boys start to nod off.

Taehyung leans his head against the window, his eyes half-closed, struggling to stay awake. Jimin, who’s seated in the backseat next to you, has already fallen asleep, his head resting against your shoulder. Namjoon is still awake, his hands gripping the edge of the seat, but even he seems to be growing tired, his eyelids fluttering every now and then.

You shift in your seat, trying to stay alert, but the steady rhythm of the road and the soothing hum of the engine make it hard to resist the pull of sleep. You fight it for as long as you can, but soon, your eyes flutter closed as well, the exhaustion from the past few days finally taking its toll.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep when the car suddenly comes to a jolting halt, jerking you awake with a start. The others stir around you, the abrupt stop pulling everyone from their light slumbers.

“What’s going on?” Jimin mumbles, rubbing his eyes. Taehyung, too, lifts his head from the window, looking confused. Namjoon shifts in his seat, leaning forward to ask the officer what’s happening, but before anyone can speak, the officer cuts in.

“Stay here,” he orders sharply, his voice cold and commanding. Without another word, he opens the car door and steps out, leaving the four of you in stunned silence.

You glance at the boys, who exchange uneasy looks. Something doesn’t feel right. The officer had been quiet on the road, his stoic expression hiding whatever was going through his mind. The promise of safety, of help, now feels hollow.

Then, through the rearview mirror, you see the officer walking away from the car. He’s far enough now, standing under a tree, but you can still see his form clearly. For a brief second, his posture changes—there’s something almost predatory in the way he stands.

"Stay in the car," Taehyung mutters, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

But before anyone can react, the officer suddenly turns around, striding back toward the car with alarming speed.

Jimin’s eyes widen, a sense of unease spreading among the group. “What’s he doing?”

Before anyone can answer, the officer opens the door again—but this time, there’s no semblance of the calm, collected figure you met earlier. His eyes are wild, a predatory glint flashing in them as he grabs the door with both hands, pulling it open so abruptly that it nearly falls off its hinges.

“Get out,” he orders harshly, his grip tightening. “Get out, now.”

You freeze in place, heart racing. Something’s wrong. This isn’t right.

“W-What are you doing?” Namjoon stammers, his voice shaking with confusion and fear.

But the officer doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches for you, grabbing you by the arm roughly and pulling you out of the car with force.

“No!” Taehyung shouts, his eyes wide with alarm. He tries to grab the officer’s arm, but the man shoves him back violently.

“What the hell is going on?” Jimin says, his voice trembling. He tries to step forward but is halted by the officer’s violent movement.

The officer, now entirely unhinged, holds you tightly, his breath coming in short bursts. “You’re coming with me,” he growls. “No one can stop me.”

Everything happens in an instant.

You kick your leg out, trying to break free, but the officer is too strong. The sound of your feet slamming against the gravel echoes in the night. Panic rises in your chest as you realize that no one can reach you in time.

Just as you’re about to cry out for help, a voice cuts through the tension like a razor.

“Let go of her!”

It’s Jungkook.

You look up, your heart sinking as you see him running toward you from the distance, his face set in an expression of fury and desperation. The officer’s grip on you tightens, but it’s too late. Jungkook is already charging forward, his strength and speed surprising even you. In an instant, he reaches the officer, shoving him away from you with a force that makes the officer stumble back.

“You touch her again, and I’ll make sure you don’t walk away from this,” Jungkook says, his voice low and lethal. The officer stumbles back, his face twisted in rage.

For a moment, everything stops. The air is thick with tension, and you can’t breathe.

But then—CRASH! The sound of a car engine revs to life from behind them. You turn just in time to see headlights blinding you. The officer looks up, his eyes flickering with a mixture of panic and frustration. The car is coming fast, too fast, and the officer doesn’t have time to react.

The car swerves to the side, and everything goes black.

To be continued...

[ksbbb]

Light Up the Sky

Josh coughs up dirt, his nose and mouth filled with the scent of a metallic substance, pulling him out of the darkness and freeing him from his shallow grave.

There’s other chimeras‘ around him and he forces himself to stand, still feeling the pain of the wound on his chest, wondering if he’s dead or dreaming.

“What’s going on, who are you?” Hayden asks, bringing to light the confusion they’re all feeling and Josh sees the smile on the other chimera’s face.

The one the dread doctors were so proud and eager to work on. Josh remembers his name as Theo but he never bothered to worry about anyone else.

“I’m your Alpha and you all belong to me.” Theo smiles, walking away and the rest of them follow along, because there’s nothing else to do.

—————-

Josh is going out of his mind. He can’t get a fix like he used to. Whatever those doctors did to him made him immune from any kind of disease, or any response to brain altering substances.

What a damn shame. He’s so bored and the rest of the chimeras’ don’t care or seem to question this ”alpha” thing.

Theo comes up behind him, the same arrogant and hard headed smile on, that he loves to flaunt.

“You shouldn’t have brought me back! I can’t feel anything anymore.” Josh seethingly says, the electricity running through his veins and he wants to use it, needs to use it, and take this guy down a peg.

He just isn’t sure how.

“What? Can’t get your fix?” Theo laughs, a cruel and unusual way to show his power and the way he feels about Josh’s struggles.

Josh growls, feeding off the power of the electric current thrumming through him, but failing to grasp his own power and use it effectively.

“I got an idea.” Theo says, grabbing a hold of two jumper cables and handing them to him.

He doesn’t like this guy or trust his attempts at giving them a thread of his friendship, the cynical attitude of Josh and his horrible upbringing making it too difficult to keep a positive outlook on anything.

What reason would this chimera have to be honest with them? He’s too into his appearance and his personal vendetta against this McCall person.

“Ready?” Theo turns on the engine to his truck, waiting for Josh to experience the awe and excitement of realizing what he’s capable of.

It’s a rush, a thrilling feeling of unbridled confidence, and it’s a whole lot better than anything else he’s done or experienced.

Josh laughs, the electric coursing through his body, and the pull of it in his fingers, of what he can do, is just the taste he needed to bring him back to life.

He’s soaring and ready for any chaos or disaster Theo wants to bring.

——————

This was a stupid plan and now Corey is burnt to a crisp from that hellhound, but does Theo care? Probably not, and as much as Josh wants to leave him in the dust, he has a sense of responsibility and connection to the other chimeras’ like him.

He won’t leave Corey behind. Not even when Theo’s nowhere to be found and probably off somewhere with that Stilinski guy, trying to get his plan together.

“Help him!” Josh looks pleadingly at Kira, hoping that being a part of the McCall pack has given her some sense of decency and empathy for another person.

Even if the person was going against their views.

“You first.” Malia says, eyeing them with nervous glances, and he’s left between a rock and a hard place. What other choice does he have?

Josh holds onto the cables and uses all of his strength and power he can, to give them what they want, to keep them from leaving Corey behind to die. A chimera who’s the best of them. Not because he’s the most powerful or the most important, but because he’s the only one who’s still held onto his humanity in some way.

Sure, Hayden has too, but Corey wants to help everyone and that’s a rarity these days. He won’t let him be taken down like this. For the likes of Theo’s or Scott’s purposes.

Once Josh has done what it is they wanted, Kira helps Corey too, and he’s given a second chance at life.

It eases Josh’s anxiety and burden. He has succeeded in keeping Corey alive and that’s more than he’s done in his life before all this weird stuff happened.

Corey smiles at him, and he doesn’t know what to think but he smiles back, feeling almost relieved. It’s not a feeling he’s felt often. Maybe when he was a kid or when he died, but then he was brought back for some ulterior motives of a coyote.

Josh’s life story is quite the odd one.

———————-

“What’s that?” Tracy asks, fearful of Theo’s crazed mind and the helmet he’s holding, a little too tight and too far away from his own body to give Josh any real reason to trust his motives.

“It’s how we’re going to find the beast.” Theo explains, looking at it with such sheer confidence and determination.

“So you’re putting that thing on?” Tracy asks, nervous and exchanging a glance with Josh.

“I’m not. You are.” Theo smiles, holding it out towards Josh, not giving any thought to his feelings or reservations about putting on a helmet they know nothing about. They barely know how to use it or what it’s for.

“I’m not putting that on.” He says, cowering at Theo’s hard stare and he wasn’t expecting to be so worried about this chimera.

The thing is, he’s seen Theo’s willingness to do whatever he can to achieve his own agenda. Josh doesn’t really know what he’s willing to do to him if he refuses.

After some hard and frustrating points from Theo about killing Josh if he doesn’t do what he’s told, he places it on his head.

He’s never been so afraid of anything in his life. The unknown, the fear of what could happen, simmers in his heart and overtakes his mind.

Of course, when Theo does what he knew he would, killing him in cold blood and leaving him to rot, it’s poetic and tragic.

Josh’s life story.

Only…..

—————

A cold and scattered feeling hits him, piercing his throat and he coughs up the same metallic taste as before, only this time it’s less daunting. Less painful.

Josh is in the dark and he doesn’t know where he is, but there’s a loud, sputtering heartbeat next to him. Riddled with fear and anxiety.

He has to shake his head a few times to clear his vision and when he does, he sees a frightened person in front of him, eyes wide with a frozen feeling of terror.

“Who are you?” Josh finds himself asking, and it’s the same question Hayden once asked. It’s nearly impossible to feel calm. Is this a new kind of life he’s living? To be brought back time and time again for someone else’s benefit?

He grows worried, and ready to react, but Josh soon realizes the person is more afraid of him than he is of them.

“I’m Nolan.”

Huh. Well, maybe life has a way of making sense and Josh is more than happy to find out.

@wolfboy88 @teenwolfholidayfest

[snacho-to-ur-nacho]

i feel like edens trauma is overlooked a lot

(huge huge spoilers here, of the trilogy. doesnt include rebel, so u can read if you havent got there)

because like, first he grows up struggling and his mothers grieving their father but its okay bc he has his two older brothers right?

but still, he doesnt have anything to eat, like in the scene, when he has a few bites of the food and realized he was caught he started to cry

so hes growing up malnourished and starved, not to mention scared of the police brutality

and then day's trial comes, and his big brother is suddenly gone, despite eden thinking he was so smart and hed do great, which puts pressure on him to have to study even harder

then he hears that big brother danny is dead. and this must have shocked his world. the brother who he used to have so much fun with. now his entire family is grieving, mother is probably broken apart, John is trying to care for all of them, and overworked and struggling, leaving eden quite alone. and then, because things cant get better for thr poor dude, hes like 7 when he gets incredibly sick.

and now eden is infrcted with a disease like no other, irises bleeding and barely clinging onto life, holding on by a thread. hes too bleary to understand whsts happening- all he feels is slight flashes of john desperately saying something, his mother touching his forehead, and everyone, including him, thinking he was going to die.

he feels dead.

until weeks later he drifts awake. weak, and afraid, but alive. except johns not with him, and neither is his mother. hes in some glass tube, on a train, headed some place, where soldiers shove him around and take samples and samples of blood. additionally, hes blind, not able to see anything, calling out for his family, not knowing whats happening. Hes probably wondering if this is death.

finally, it comes to a stop. and then a soldier helps accompany him back to LA, where he's told the only family he thought he has, is dead. and, the brother he thought was dead, was alive, and was the modt wanted criminal.

imagine his confusion and pain hearing that, processing it.

now, hes at the hospital, and finally he feels a family member with him- day, his danny, the brother who was supposed to be dead. hes hurt, confused why daniel didnt tell him, grieivng, and just so exhausted.

so he lives with daniel, slowly trying to find a new normal, until he hears that his brother is going to die. but not from his brother, no, he hesrs it from the media. and now suddenly the city is under attack, he doesnt understand whats happening, hes barely wisked to safety, and finally understands whats happening. desperate to end the war, hes readynto sacrifice himself, despite only being 10. he goes back to the labs, where hes tested, but puts on a fake smile for his brother, whos already going throihh so much.

then the final fight happens, and he feels his brotjer guiding him to safety. he allows himself to feel a bit of hope, until he sees his brothernfreeze. eden doesnt see the bullet, but sees his brother fall, and fade into the coma.

its months later eden is finally reasusred day is alive. months of being alone, blind, confused, and thinking everyoje he knew was dead. but after, he knows daniel isnt the same. daniels forgotten some core memories, and... hes changed. so, they leave los angeles, leave the city, go to a foreign nation to start fresh. Daniel doesnt want to talk about tje past, so he wont. He'll keep the trauma and scars and fears within him, never saying it aloud. and he'll grow, soon be old enough to understand everything about hisnpast, to see the video of john beign shot, to realize the truths about his past.

[newtmastruther]

A second chance

Words:1,948 (my longest fic yet!)

Collab with @boy-cow000

Small note: I listened to Laura Palmer’s Theme song while writing this and I totally recommend it

“Imagine Newt survived. Imagined he woke up after it all, standing in the rubble. Wandering around dilapidated buildings and the ruins of the last city only to realize he is seemingly the last one left. Not knowing that the rest of the saved children had already arrived at the safe heaven. Only seeing the hoard of undead soaring around him in waves.”

He began to hear his heartbeat, slowly fading in after only hearing a deep silence for what had felt like decades.

Suddenly, he sat up, gasping as his eyes widened. Looking at the palms of his hands—the once black veins still thick with darkened blood, now threaded with a white fading through them—he noticed his palm was cut. He looked down at where his hand rested: a glass shard. Where the hell was he? He looked around, and all that surrounded him was rubble. Looking up, he nearly hit his head on the collapsed building, which was dangerously tilted above him.

He breathed frantically, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to get to his feet, slipping over the rubble. Digging his fingers through the stones and the tiniest glass shards on the floor, he dragged his body towards the small light he saw coming from one of the far-off corners. Panic surged through him. The blood from his palm smeared onto each piece of rubble he clung to, tetanus being the least of his worries at the moment.

Finally reaching the light, he pulled half his body out, looking around at the Last City—well, at least what was left of it. How long had he been ‘asleep’ for? The city was in shambles. Looking above him, he flinched when he saw that part of the collapsed building he’d just crawled from was still on fire. He quickly rushed out from under it. It was difficult with his limp, but he managed to get up, tripping on something and grabbing a pillar for support.

“Bloody hell…” were the first words he spoke in what felt like years.Looking at what he had tripped on, he saw a half-broken tube on the floor. He let himself fall onto his knees roughly, not having the capacity to lower himself gently. Gathering some of the broken shards into his hand, he stared at the last small drop of blue liquid as it dripped between his fingers.

The weirdest part—it was all empty. Could there be a chance that… he’d been injected with it? That would certainly explain how he was still aware and not a full-on Crank.

He slowly put down the broken shards, looking around as he forced himself to stand. He realised, presently, no one around him was alive. He saw and heard Cranks in the distance, in the fog caused by all the fires, but there was no sign or sound of any humans. He had thought Thomas and his friends would have ended this by now, that the city would be teeming with survivors. Where even were his friends?

That made him freeze.

Tommy? Minho? Gally? Frypan? Brenda? Hell… even Teresa?

Everyone was gone. His face scrunched up as he thought through the scenarios of what could’ve happened to them. Before he could even process it, tears poured down his face. He sobbed messily, gasping for air.

“THOMAS?” he screamed in agony.

He dragged his bad leg behind him as he walked, desperately trying to find any of them—or even just a trace of where they might’ve gone.

“Shit… shit!” he cursed, tripping again—this time on a brick. Holding his bad leg, he cried into his knee before angrily kicking the brick away with the same leg, only causing himself more pain as he cried out and collapsed onto the floor. All alone. No one there to help him now—or ever.

He rubbed at his eyes, but the tears just kept coming. The thought that his friends were dead hurt his heart more than anything. Especially the ones he had spent years with in the Glade. He couldn’t even write Minho a letter. Or Gally. Or Fry. What if Tommy never even found his letter?

He scoffed, trying to steady his breathing. Then something caught his eye, painted on the wall far away from him.

‘IF YOU READ THIS, EVERYONE IS AT THE SAFE HAVEN.’

Some coordinates were written underneath. Someone had graffitied ‘WE ARE ALL DOOMED’ under that, but that handwriting wasn’t Gally’s.

Hold on.

The previous message was Gally’s handwriting!

But the Safe Haven was bombed… wasn’t it? Nothing was left of it anymore. Yet, the coordinates didn’t match the location of the old Safe Haven. And yes, Newt knew coordinates. He didn’t know how, but it was probably another thing WCKD had injected into his brain.

There was now a possibility that his friends could actually be alive.

Hopefully all of them.

Soon, he was walking around the Last City. He stopped and ducked into an alleyway when he saw a horde of Cranks moving together like some grotesque parade. He screamed when a Crank, rotting away in the alleyway, tugged at his shoulder. He ran as fast as he could—unfortunately, right into the hoard of Cranks.

He panicked, backing up only to walk straight into one. He tried to squeeze his way out of the group, but there were just too many. He flinched when a Crank suddenly leaned in, face to face with him. The first thing Newt noticed was the horrific smell, even before realising he hadn’t yet been ripped apart.

He looked around, pushing the Crank off him and walking through the crowd, even though they were moving in the opposite direction. He got face to face with a few of them on purpose, crouching slightly to meet their hunched level. They simply walked past him, not even looking at him.

Continuing on his way, he crouched again to meet the eye level of the next Crank—gasping and falling backwards when he saw its face. It looked exactly like Minho.

He panted, blinking and looking again at the Crank as it passed by him. Now, it didn’t look remotely like Minho. They didn’t even share the same hair colour.

Newt sighed, grabbing onto a Crank to help himself up—only for the Crank to fall on top of him. Suddenly, it began acting as if it were going to bite his face off. It hurled towards him, forcing Newt to push its body back. The only thing keeping it from tearing into him was Newt desperately holding it off. It got closer—too quickly.

About to bite into his neck, the Crank suddenly paused… smelling him?

Newt kicked it off.

He reached for the knife at his side—only to realise it wasn’t there. Only now did he notice the bloodstain on his shirt, right at his chest. He remembered everything. What he did. How he attacked Tommy—even though that wasn’t really him in that moment.

He looked down at the Crank. It was now back on its feet, continuing on as if nothing had happened.

Newt’s hand clung to his neck.

He felt it—surging through his veins again.

Trying to get back in control.

Small note: Thank you so much for reading! This was my first time working on a fic with someone so also a big thank you to @boy-cow000 ! No idea if I should make this some sort of series or not where Newt finds some way to the Safe Haven,let me know if you’d like to read that

[deathbystero]

'cause we're just kids who grew up way too fast

in which Ponyboy struggles to come to terms with everything. a/n - here's the full chapter y'all. lemme know if it's worth carrying on with and if you have any ideas on what I can do to extend the plot, feel free to request or give me some ideas

It’s only been a few weeks since that night—coming on three, to be exact. I don’t think things will ever go back to how they were; how could they? With Johnny and Dallas gone, everything feels off-kilter in some way. Like a loose thread just waiting to be pulled, ready to fall away and leave nothing but a gaping hole in its place. 

Home doesn’t feel like home anymore. Not really—not in the same way it was before. Things are a lot quieter. A lot emptier. I don’t think Darry minds all that much; an empty house is a peaceful house, even under all the unsettling tension. 

The gang feels a lot closer now, too. I suppose that’s one good thing about all of this, but nobody is quite themselves anymore. There isn’t as much energy in the air; there aren’t many laughs around anymore, and nobody smiles as often as they used to. It's like everyone is carrying around a weighty cloud on their shoulders, or maybe they’re just trying to keep their minds busy with something else. But we never talk about those days anymore; no one does. The topic makes us uncomfortable, like a wound that can never be healed. 

Maybe it’s just me who can’t get used to living without them. 

The nightmares still come every once in a while, more now than they used to. Sometimes they’re pretty bad—Johnny and Dallas making frequent appearances, their faces blurred, their voices distorted. Sometimes, I realise that I’m starting to forget the little things about them: the way Johnny would tilt his head a little to the left (or maybe it was to the right) when he was talking; the way Dallas would bite his lip when concentrating hard on something, even if he didn't seem to notice himself doing it. Everything seems to be slipping through my fingers faster than I can grasp, trying desperately to hold onto the memories, begging them not to fade away into the background. 

Maybe that’s why they haunt me so often: because I'm afraid—afraid that someday I won't remember them at all. 

Darry slept on the floor in my bedroom for a little while after that night, too scared to leave me alone after everything. He’s been doing that a lot lately, constantly checking up on me, even when I'm only in the next room over. Sodapop says it's because he's scared I’ll disappear again, which is ridiculous; I’ve got nowhere to run to, and even if I did, I doubt I’d want to anyway. Without Johnny to keep me company, I might as well be right here in Tulsa forever. 

There was never anything in the papers about Johnny and Dallas—at least not anything good. They don’t write editorials for “murderers” and hoodlums. Nobody would read them anyway. It would be a waste of ink, a waste of print, and a waste of paper. It’d just be another story about another couple of kids from the east side who wound up dead. No one would care. No one would even know what happened to them, not until somebody started asking questions, and even then, the truth would be twisted. Nobody knows what happened. Nobody but me. They can try to understand, just like Sodapop, Two-Bit,  Steve, and Darry have tried, but they won’t ever see it the same. Not like I do. 

For a long time after the incident, I tried convincing myself that Johnny wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be; you don’t just lose your closest buddy in one night. That doesn’t just happen. And yet, it had happened to me. 

To be truthful, I still don’t really believe that Johnny is dead. It’s stupid, irrational, and childish, but I can’t help but cling to that notion like my life depends on it. Maybe I'm losing it a bit, growing a little delusional. Darry seems to think so. Not a day goes by where he isn't telling me to “get my damn head out of the clouds” or to “get my act together."

I’m trying, really, I am, but sometimes it gets hard. The truth hurts too much. So I decided it was better to just pretend that it hadn’t happened. Pretend the entire mess never went down. That’s easier than confronting reality, even though I know there are some aspects of Johnny and Dallas’ deaths that are very, very real. Too real to be ignored. And it’s not like I can ignore it, can I? It’s part of me—a piece of me—a piece of my memory that I can never fully forget. I’ll just have to live with it.

That’s easier said than done, though.

[sprog-writes]

Soulmates AU but it's like this:

Just like in the real world, the idea of soulmates is just a myth. A story. A part of culture's folklore, but generally regarded to be some kind of romantic thing that's not actually real.

But after Simon gets rescued from the desert, after he wakes up in that coffin, after that brush with death, he starts seeing red threads connect people by their fingers.

He can touch them, sometimes, if he focuses enough. He thinks he's going crazy for a while. Having some kind of hallucinations.

So he does some research, he learns about the strings, and at first it does nothing to reassure him he's not going crazy. But then he finds a forum, a gruochat, something like that, with people recounting their own experiences with it. All with the same common denominator: they died, for a bit. And they didn't stay dead.

He doesn't visit the forum again after that. He still thinks it's bullshit. His eyes don't linger when he sees how a really entangled red line connects Price and Nik. He doesn't stare when he notices two practically invisible circles wrapped around two recruits pinkies, holding each other's fingers while they talk and they laugh.

And he avoids looking at his own hands like the plague. He tells himself he doesn't care. He tells himself it's not important. Not even when the other end of that thread is closer than he'd ever imagined. Not even when the hand it's connected to hits his shoulder.

He does cave, after a while. He spends some time in that forum. It's the only thing he can do not to actually go insane when it feels like his hand is being constantly pulled towards his Sergeant and him with it. Those people... At least they understand. There's a woman who was resucitated after a heart attack. She was declared dead for 2 minutes. When she woke up she thought the strings were because of something wrong with her eyes. When she went online, she couldn't help but stare and agonize about how the father of her children wasn't connected to her. They loved each other, but the universe didn't deem that enough, it seemed. It ended up ruining her marriage.

Some of the people there hated the string, just like her. Predestination doesn't match with everyone.

There's those that are hopeless romantics, who see this as the best thing to happen to them. That pass their days trying to follow the line.

Some others saw their "soulmates" as just their perfect match, but still believed you needed to put in the work to have a relationship.

Ghost doesn't know where he stands.

The more time he spends with Johnny, though, the more he understands how perfect he is for him. He's certainly disappointing some of the people in the forum, proving the universe, Destiny, whoever is responsible for it, right. But he can't help it, when everything that comes out of his Sargeant's mouth makes his eyes crinkle, when every quip and jab is met with equal responses, when seeing those blue eyes light up when he enters a room makes him want to be Simon again.

Price notices. In all the years he came back, Ghost has never been as obviously bothered by the strings as much as he is now. Not since he first thought they were hallucinations.

So, when he finds himself in the Captain's office, he expects some kind of reprimand. A well meaning question about his health.

Instead, he's met with, "Congratulations."

He blinks. "Pardon me?"

"Soap's a good lad. He's got his flaws, but who doesn't?" Price goes to light the cigar he'd been holding when Ghost walked in.

"... I don't follow, sir." He says, even though he knows exactly what Price is implying. He wants the Captain to stop pussyfooting and say it.

Price takes a drag of his cigar and blows the smoke out in a way that doesn't directly hit Ghost, even though it doesn't bother him anymore. "I don't care if you're dating or just fucking or what have you, Simon." He looks him in the eyes when he says his name. It leaves Ghost feeling prickly and oddly vulnerable. "But... You seem happier, lately."

"Fraternization -" the weak excuse he had started to pull out by instinct was interrupted by Price's laugh.

"Son, I couldn't give a single fuck. Look what we're doing here! Look at the people involved. No one cares as long as we get the job done." He chuckles again. And Ghost wants to tell him. He wants to explain about the threads, he wants to ask about Nik, he wants to spill all he feels for his- for Soap. Wants to go to his room, pull him out, kiss him in front of everyone, and intertwine their pinkies just like those rookies were, so that their fingers are so close that the string is barely visible.

But he doesn't. Instead, "There's nothing going on, sir," he tells Price, like a coward.

[tinnieaus]

Purgatory AU ( tag Purgatory Dhmis AU)

(🔞⚠️Triggers ⚠️🔞 death, gore, child death, cult activities(sacrifices, rituals), suggestive, nsfw)

The Teachers, trapped souls. For one reason or another they were picked to endure a never ending loop of torture. They don't know if it's entertainment for some god or if it's a punishment. But they're here, and they can choose whether of not to try and keep themselves sane or give in.

Sketchpad (Paige), the oldest 'Teacher'

The longest stay in purgatory

has forgotten her name, her story, her age, and how she died

was alone for the longest time before Tony had arrived

shes a little unhinged, but still cares for those around her and has empathy

tries to help everyone else with their 'changes' knowing how traumatic it was going through it alone

friendly to everyone, only changes her tone why they're mean to her

Tony, the Leader

very much suffering 24/7

anxiety 24/7

holding on by a thread, thanks to sketch

closest to sketch, okay with colin, iffy about the rest, despises Shrignold

cries when overwhelmed

Shirgnold, the cultist

very unhinged

creepy and unsettling to the others

was already a bit crazy when he arrived, has just let himself go completely

does not give a crap about staying sane

seems to target Larry, Colin and fridge for some reason

Colin, the Nerd

very iritable and snappy with everyone

not handling anything well at all

will scream if someone tries to touch him

really freaked out by Shrignold

tolerates Tony and Sketch

cries when alone

Steve and spinach (Samantha), the father and daughter

very protective of his daughter

depressed and tired 24/7

gets along well with tony, fridge, sketch, and larry

not afraid to stab a bitch if they touch his kid

spinach is too young to understand what is happening

only talks and interacts with others when her dad is around

feels safe around her dad and fridge

really likes fridge

thinks Larry is cool

Fridge(Fredric) and bread boy(Bonnie), father and son

fridge is jumpy and on edge 24/7

sticks close to steve, feels comfortable to be around another parent

doesn't trust anyone but steve to be alone with BB

over-protective of BB

too terrified to kill anyone, but will fight if threated

One by one the unfortunate souls wake up in a brightly colored house. Each have no recollection of their name, their life story, their existence before now. They can remember just moment before their death, the emotions, the colors, shapes. Then the light they walked towards that inevitably brought them to where they reside now.

The doctors office

If a Teacher gets hurt for any reason, they can go to the Doctor. The dark room holds two beds, two cabinets and an unseen figure that stands outside the light of the bright lights pointed at the beds. Each teacher has visted at least once, for something small like a cut or cough, and something big, limbs torn off and on the brink of death. Even cold, seemingly dead body's can be brought to the Doctor and they'll walk out as if nothing happened. Whoever made this place knew violence would be prevalent and brought the best doctor on board.

The longer the teachers exist in the purgatory, the more cartoony they become. At some point they become completely 'cartoon' and can change into their 'object' form (aside from shrig, into his bugiffied form) but for everyone but Sketch are unable to do it. The transition from human to cartoon starts with simple things like clothes, appearing in the purgatory in a different set of clothes that hints to the person's cartoony end goal. The skin color changes, maybe some facial/structural changes that happen throughout the process, added limbs, loss of limbs, hair changing colors, eye color, height.

Rooms in the house

The rooms in the house seem to be made specially made for certain Teachers. Each Teacher has a room, decorated, set up, and painted specially for them. Each time a Teacher arrives, the hall upstairs gets bigger, longer and adds a new room. The hall is unusually long compared to the layout of the house. The rooms shift and break geometrical and logical rules as it changes to fit the souls living inside. None of the teachers are able to leave the house

[redroomroaving]

Don't burn alone in the dark (Rolan x Geraldus, G, what-if one shot)

The wizard is hurting, drinking himself useless as he waits at Last Light Inn, refusing to let anyone get close to his pain. Geraldus, trying to hold on to hope in the dark, can't help but see it. (Aka: What if Geraldus was with the Harpers at Last Light Inn?)

He was there again; at the bar.

Geraldus slid the bow from his shoulder, resting it on the table as he took a seat, glancing across the length of the inn at the figure at the other end, slumped over, a wine glass in hand, eyes staring into oblivion.

Tumeril was saying something, but he wasn’t really listening; distracted as he took in the tiefling and felt the familiar, aching pang of guilt in his chest.

They hadn’t been fast enough; by the time they’d made it to the source of the noise - the crash of thunder and clatter of swords that had echoed even in this place that seemed to swallow up all sounds - it was too late.

Bodies strewn across the floor already, and there, gathered in dark in a cluster - just a few left; a young woman with lavender hair was shielding two of the small children - children, mostly, were left - and there, chest heaving and eyes wide, flecks of fresh blood across his cheeks - the wizard.

He must have spent nearly all he had to fight them off, his limbs shaking as Geraldus’ compatriots rushed to their side, quickly gathering up the children and fighting back the last of the retreating cultists.

He could still remember what he said as he approached him - those gold eyes meeting his, glowing there in the dark.

“They took them,” he said, “I have to go after them I have to -”

Geraldus took a deep breath as he watched him across the bar now; recognising how absolutely defeated he looked. They hadn’t been fast enough, and the tiefling had lost his family for it. No amount of wine was going to change that, but he seemed determined to try.

“-again once the others are ready to take back over, I guess. We’re not going to find them, though.”

Geraldus glanced back at Tumeril, realising he’d barely heard a word of that, but understood his sense of defeat. They’d lost more than a few already to this place and the unending dark; he knew why Tumeril thought it pointless to try and find survivors at the cost of more lives.

“We can’t give up,” Geraldus said quietly, looking at a pair of the tiefling children huddled together in one corner, playing games together to pass the time, “there’s still…”

Tumeril laughed sharply, shaking his head.

“You’re too naive,” he said, “they’re already dead, Geraldus.”

Maybe he was right. It was getting harder, the more nights they spent in this place, to hold on to the threads of hope that Geraldus had always kept so tight, but he wanted to try.

It all felt like a nightmare that didn’t end, no matter how many times you woke up.

Every morning the sky was still black, and in this place it was always the middle of the night, all of them clinging desperately to the light; even as they bristled against one another in these confines - the Flaming Fist no less frustrated than they were, the refugees struggling to stay afloat, and the High Harper there in the middle of all of it - her sharp gaze overseeing everything.

She was talking quietly now to another; an elf finely dressed in an elegant dress, with dark hair who seemed to be responsible for the Fist. They’d arrived a few days back now, before they’d found the tieflings, and had spent most of their time gathered in one of the side rooms formulating a plan.

Everyone seemed to be looking for a plan; but as each day passed, the hours all starting to blend together, he could feel the weight of this starting to bury them all, one by one.

It wasn’t too late; Geraldus was sure of it. He’d picked up tracks this time - found a path towards the edges of Reithwin, the path to Moonrise Towers; some, at least, had not been pulled away with the cultists. Someone had made it to shelter there in the ruins; he felt sure of it, and he prayed that whoever they were, they were staying safe.

We’ll find you, he told himself, and we’ll find the rest of them, too.

His eyes drew back to the bar; the tiefling’s voice was raised, not quite a shout but close to it, carrying across the bar as he addressed the woman; the bard with the lavender hair.

“A song?” He was saying, voice sharp and filled with spite, “oh of course, what could possibly help more?”

“Rolan-” the bard was saying, a soft, sorrowful look on her face, “I’m just…”

“No please, Alfira,” the wizard replied, leaning back a little, his glass lurching in his hand, a little wine spilling across his hand that he was heedless to stop, “do play us a song, I’m sure this captive audience will appreciate your caterwauling.”

“It will help pass the time whilst we wait to find out just how many of us died for you to get here,” he said, every word sharper than the last.

Geraldus fiddled a little with the edge of his arm-guard, watching as the bard sighed deeply; watching her features crushed with hurt as she crumpled with defeat, slinking away, a glittering of tears in her eyes as she did.

“At least we’ve got quite the supply for them to drown their sorrows,” Tumeril said wryly across the table, eyeing this unfolding scene, “although at the rate they’re going, we won’t have that either soon.”

Geraldus watched the wizard’s face; the victory was fleeting - his face triumphant for only a moment at the bard’s retreating back before the spectre of reality set in, a shard of something impossibly lost, the rawness of mourning fresh and burning, flitting across his features.

The tiefling slumped back against the bar, lifting his glass to his lips, and, finding half of it across his sleeve instead, let out a string of curses under his breath, face turning spiteful again as he rolled up the edges of his cuff with a hiss.

Geraldus watched as he held his glass out again, demanding another. One of the children, glancing at the other nervously, reached for a bottle and poured it.

Geraldus thought faintly that perhaps someone ought to intervene, or at the very least, that the children shouldn’t be behind a bar at all.

“I’d get a drink myself,” Tumeril said, “but I don’t fancy being in that one’s blast radius.”

Geraldus glanced back to Tumeril then.

“He’s lost his family,” Geraldus said quietly, “he’s hurting.”

The tiefling had tried to rush after his family even then, as they had gathered up the others to pull them back to safety. He’d watched as Skywin had grabbed one of the children and lifted them onto her back, calling the retreat.

“Geraldus, there’s no time for this - we have to go.”

He’d reached for the tiefling just as his shaking legs gave out, and helped to pull him to his feet, listening as his compatriots had promised the wizard that they would go after them as soon as they could - that he just had to come with them now first.

Geraldus hadn’t made the same promise, only helped to hold up his arms as they pulled him with them.

“We’ve all lost people,” Tumeril said, a little sombre now, “they’re out there right now paying respects to the three we lost just today.”

Geraldus had seen them, clustered out there on the outcrop by the side of the inn, looking out on the strange light that surrounded them; this false sky conjured by the Cleric above, saying their prayers for the fallen.

“You don’t see the blacksmith drinking himself useless,” Tumeril added, blonde brow raising slightly.

But the blacksmith could still hammer; the bard could still play; the children still had one another to play with, the Harpers had their mission, the Fist had their charge to protect.

The wizard, though?

What could he do other than wait? No wonder he felt so powerless.

“No one should be powerless,” Geraldus said quietly. Tumeril let out a little sigh, reminded, glumly, of their tenets.

“No one should be powerless,” he agreed.

He thought of going to the bar - not that he wanted to drink, he never really did - but then thought better of it.

Tumeril had been right about one thing; around that man at the bar was a tempest, and no one that stepped close would be able to cut through those waves until the storm had passed. He’d condemned himself to facing it alone, and the thought of that created a little uncomfortable swell of sadness in Geraldus’ gut.

Try as he might, he couldn’t stop his heart from aching a little for him; sitting there, his pain spilling out behind the sourness on his face, a pyre burning in silence.

What had she called him, the bard? Rolan.

He committed the name quietly to his memory. Rolan.

–

Rolan’s head was swirling as he leant against the cold stone, letting his forehead press against it for a moment in a vain effort to stop the spinning.

Stepping outside had been a mistake - some loose headed notion that the air would help stop the sensation that he was on the deck of a lurching ship, the ground perilously close to rising up and meeting him as he took each step - but of course, there was no fresh air here - not in this place.

No wind. No stars. Just more spinning and darkness and the images of them - of Lia’s face, her amber eyes burning bright and wide, telling him it would be ok, that they would be ok, of Cal’s hands wrenched behind his back - the sword clattering from his side as he shouted in defiance of the face of his captors.

The feeling, like ice through his heart as he realised there was nothing else he could do to stop this, hearing the sounds of crying behind him - and knowing that no matter how his heart was tearing apart - if he left them these children would die.

Fuck, he thought, feeling the soft scrape of the stone against his skin as he let his forehead slide just a little down the wall, they could be dead already. They’re dying. I’m here and they’re dying and I can’t think and I -

Here, alone, with the swirling void beneath him and just the feeling of stone to anchor him before it swallowed him up, he had no more defences left to stop the tears. They were falling now, whether he wanted them to or not.

Crying, Rolan? You’re crying now like that means anything to them? A tear shed for their loss is as useful as one of Alfira’s fucking songs. It doesn’t help anyone but you.

His stomach was turning now, the spinning sensations starting to lurch in his gut too now, and he could feel it - the wine rising in his throat; his evening of poor decisions ready to stage an encore.

His hand went to his mouth, a vain attempt to stop it before it started, but it was too late - he felt himself retching already.

He span in place and gravity finally claimed him, feeling himself falling forward to the floor with his mind still half in the air, everything feeling a little as if it were happening a few seconds later and a few steps away.

He heaved as an unstoppable wave of wine and iron and bile rose up through his throat.

In his dizzy mind, he hoped, at least, nobody was around to see this particularly heroic display of vomiting.

Alas; that hope was quickly dashed.

He was still spinning, unable to even really look up as he felt a presence beside him, kneeling - fingers reaching, carefully and tentatively, to pull his hair back from his face. He felt those fingers drawing his hair together and gathering it at his nape; and wondered when it had even come loose.

He was still heaving; painful, sharp lurches through his gut that he couldn’t stop, a whole night’s worth of wine determined to make a second appearance.

He was aware of the fingers on his neck the whole time, a hand placed on his shoulder and guiding his wobbling body slightly to lean some weight against them, crouched.

“It’s ok Rolan,” a voice, soft, unfamiliar, was saying, “you’re ok.”

He was grateful at least his tears would be disguised like this; his eyes watering now from the sudden sickness just as much as the pain.

Finally, as it started to cease, he reached up and wiped at his lips with his sleeve. Well; at least he didn’t feel quite as swirling any more; the pain in his gut and the horrible, sharp smell of bile dragging him rather abruptly back towards something more sober.

He let his other hand steady himself against the stranger’s knee, feeling himself shaking a little and trying, desperately, to stop doing so. After a moment that felt far longer than it was, Rolan managed to lift his head, and braved himself to meet their eyes.

He blinked away the watering of his eyes, and found himself looking at a familiar face; one he’d seen only once before, but one he remembered.

He’d heard his saviours before he saw them - a sharp arrow shot striking into the chest of the looming cultist, sending it crumpling to the floor, a deadly hit. Then, to his side, a streak of magic, and the clattering sound of approaching footsteps and metal scraping, armour and swords.

A pair of wide, hazel eyes, dark hair framing soft features, drawn together in concern, a hand placed on his shoulder, the other still clutching a longbow.

“They took them,” he had said, trying to get the stranger to understand that it wasn’t him that mattered, “I have to go after them, I have to-”

Those same eyes were looking at him again now, dark brows drawn together in gentle concern.

He didn’t know what to say; his mind still too filled with haze, his body still wavering, the taste of bile on his lips reminding him just how little dignity he had in this moment.

“Don’t worry,” the stranger said, releasing his gentle grip on Rolan’s hair, and after a moment, whispering in a low voice, words echoing with arcane energy, “te absolvo.”

Rolan felt it; a wave of energy rippling out from the stranger’s grip on his shoulder, spreading out across his body, washing over his mind like water, soothing and cool against the heat and pain that occupied his skull.

As it lapped through him, he felt a little bit of his own mind returning, but not as it had been before the wine, not filled with shrapnel and anger, but simple, clean, feeling like the moment of waking, that blissful space before you remembered all of the details of life that waited in the day.

He was lifting him, slowly, carefully to his feet. Rolan felt himself wobbling, his legs not quite steady enough, and let his weight lean into the stranger's body a moment, unable to do anything else.

His body felt solid, and warm, and a much better anchor than the cold wall had been.

“We should get back inside,” the stranger said gently, “there’s a door, through the back - it’s quieter.”

Rolan pulled back, testing his own feet a moment, and the stranger released his grip. The strange false moonlight was reflected in his eyes, looking at him, aching and genuine in a way that made the creeping sense of shame in Rolan’s gut grow.

What are you doing? Rolan thought, what is the point of you, Rolan?

“I don’t need your help,” he managed, wanting the shame to stop and not knowing how else to get it to stop other than to get this man to stop looking at him.

The stranger smiled; just a small one, the tiniest curve at the edge of his lips.

“No, you don’t,” he said, “but you can have it, anyway.”

Rolan felt a twist now, in his chest; an unexpected sensation there he was struggling to identify, battling with the guilt and misery, and not knowing what to do with any of it. He was exhausted, now, and the world still felt too loose for him to stay in it much longer.

So, he nodded.

“I’m not thanking you,” he said quickly, even though he wasn’t quite sure why he did.

The man smiled again.

“You don’t have to,” he said simply, and then started walking, slowly, leading the way.

As Rolan trailed after him, doing his best to keep his steps steady, he noticed the half-elf glancing back at him, eyes darting across him, making sure Rolan was following him.

He was tall, dressed in impressive armour; a little more notable than many of the other Harpers he’d seen lingering about, not that he had paid any of them any particular attention. He hadn’t cared to learn anything about any of them - they mattered even less than he did.

Still, as they rounded the corner, heading towards the back door, he found himself asking a question.

“Who are you?” He asked.

The man looked a little surprised, but smiled, brushing a little hair back over a pointed ear as he reached for the door handle.

“I’m Geraldus,” he said.

Thank you, Geraldus, he thought, silently, holding the name in his mind a moment before it slipped back into the haze.