#fic: by the grit of sandpaper | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

penvisions · 7 months ago

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by the grit of sandpaper {chapter 7}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Summary: A letter, clear words, the work forged by skilled but aching hands, all of it helps you to heal from what had been one of the worst weeks of your life.

Word Count: 13.3k (!!)

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, age gap (reader is early 40's and joel is 57), pining, requited unrequited love, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, mild injuries, confessions, lots of feelings, light angst, hurt and comfort, fighting, two (2) satisfying slaps, joel miller's hands need their own warning, smut, p in v, unprotected p in v, oral (f and m receiving), soft joel, pet names (sweetheart), serious conversations, apologies, references to child loss, minor character death, blood, talk of female anatomy, reader has no assigned name but has a commonly used nickname, lemme know if i missed any major ones!

A/N: SURPRISE, Y'ALL!! i was supposed to have internet installed this week but it's been delayed again and my local library is only open today and since queues make me nervous, i threw caution to the wind and yeah - WE MADE IT. this is the final chapter! i am so delighted and humbled by the responses to this fic. i put a lot of myself into olive and for everyone to root for her and cheer her on means so, terribly much to my lil heart. i love y'all and i hope this finds you well ♡

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The hush of cardstock is the only sound in the room as Joel shuffles through the recipes you had written down for him, for him and Ellie. The fancy loops of your cursive are faded, a little blurred in some spots and he regretted your time and devotion getting smudged by his lack of attention. He had been too slow to retrieve all the index cards where they had landed, flying into the air as you had run straight into his back. It had taken so long because Marsha hadn’t seemed to get the hint or his direct words that he was not and would not be with her the way that she wished for him to be.

But she did now. She had been picking Millie up when Joel had all but kicked the door in, shouts of needing help echoing down the street. The woman had flattened herself to the wall, eyes taking in your unconscious form in Joel’s arms. How carefully he maneuvered, how mindful he was to not jostle your body too much, how frantic his expression was even as he tried to explain what he could to the nurse and doctor who sprang forward at the sight. His brows were drawn together, worry evident as he explained to them your stitches from a few days ago had opened, how you had been coughing up blood before he found you. The fear in his strong voice when he detailed how cold you were, how unresponsive. All of it combined was a reflection of his care for you. Something only seen in his interactions with Ellie. And now with you.

Joel had felt pride surge in his chest at seeing the damage you had inflicted on the other woman, guilt flaring just seconds after. You had been pushed to your breaking point, not just by her but by everyone in your life. Evidence of the fight was etched across your body from the scratches from the woman’s nails up and down your arms, the tangled tresses of your loose hair, to the bruises that had blossomed along your soft skin.

The most notable with the tearing of your stitches. The stain of blood on your skin in places he couldn’t wipe it away, for fear of harming you further, even in your unconscious state. It had been three days, and you still hadn’t woken up. Even after the repair to the wound, a better stitch pattern was implemented and two blood transfusions. One from him and one from Tommy.

He hadn’t wanted to leave your side since he brought you in, but he had things he needed to take care of. The few people who interacted with you coming in and checking on you, him coming to spend each evening by your bedside and staying through the night. Maria was across from him now, Macon sound asleep in her arms as the clock ticking on the wall displayed the post sunset hour.

“Marsha will be interrogated at the next town meetings, for her behavior and words towards Olive.”

“Good.” Joel croaked, his voice gravely from disuse.

“Millie will be on next week’s patrol with you, per your request. Once she’s adequately trained, she’ll be added to the rotation.”

“If she takes to being trained. I have a feeling she might pretend to not learn anythin’ just to get out of it.”

“We’ll make sure she doesn’t,” Maria hummed in agreement, knowing more than Joel the small requests and complaints the woman has made in her time behind the walls. “It’s time some of the people who have been idle share the responsibility. Besides, Olive requested to be taken off patrol before. I’m sure she’ll double down on that once she’s recovered.”

“Please tell me she didn’t hate being forced to be my partner when Tommy asked. I don’t think I could ever apologize enough if it was somethin’ she didn’t want to-“

“Joel, she was okay with it, believe me.” Moving to stand, the woman reached to rest a hand on your legs beneath the blankets. “She was glad to feel like she was trusted enough to be asked. She never had any ill feelings toward you, even when she didn’t know you.”

She watches him, he can feel the weight of her stare on him as he continues to go over each of the cards contents. There’s a bag beside him, a small canvas thing he had loaded up with some spare pieces of lumber from bigger projects, scraps that he spent the evening hours whittling and carving as he sits beside you bed. He alternates between doing that and going over the cards, habits to keep him awake as he sits vigil and waits for you to return to him.

“I wasn’t sure what to expect when you came back. But…you surprised me.”

“How so?” He knows he was always a sore and heavy subject between her and his brother. Even more so when he quite literally stumbled onto their doorstep. He had been determined to change, to give back into the second chance at life he had been handed, for Ellie, for his brother– for himself. Aligning himself with the customs and way of life carved out in the plains of Wyoming. He’s glad he hadn’t fallen completely to the depraved, hallowed out version he had adapted to, had been forced to become with the loss of everything he knew, with the loss of his daughter.

“You’ve meshed well with the lifestyle we created here, got onto good terms with one of the best people we have here.”

He didn’t look up from the cards in his hands, he knew that. Deep down, he knew you hadn’t minded patrolling with him. But it was hard to understand with how messed up everything was at the moment and he lost himself to the circling thoughts of how hurt you had looked as you stood your ground with him a few days ago in your kitchen. But his head shot up when a whimper sounded into the air that wasn’t from the woman or his nephew.

You were stirring in the bed, eyes still closed. Hands shaking as they raised to cradle your middle, mind no doubt recalling the circumstances of your last waking moments. Joel’s heartbeat was loud in his chest, echoing in the spot where they had drawn blood from the inside crook of his right elbow. Macon gurgled in Maria’s hold, wide eyes cut towards you as you shifted a little underneath the blankets.

“Joel…” You murmured, eyes clenching shut tightly. You weren’t rousing, you were still unconscious, though your mind seemed to be in working order if you were dreaming. Joel sets down the index cards atop the blankets over you, moving closer to grip a hand with both of his, the other laid out flat to ensure the line of the IV didn’t get tangled or kinked.

“I’m here. It’s okay, you’re okay. ‘m not going anywhere, you hear me? I’m right here, Olive.” He soothed you as best he could, the wrap of your fingers around his stirring his heart to beat faster in his ribcage.

As he’s leaving the morning, a patrol that he would be taking Ellie out on with the approval of the council to begin her training as well, he see’s the shadow of two figures approach your room out of the corner of his eye just as he’s placing a parting kiss on your forehead.

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t know anyone would be here this early.” It’s the sister and brother pair you had insisted on bringing back. The woman, Callie Joel thinks her name is, is holding a hand to her swollen stomach protruding out from beneath her long coat. It looks like it wouldn’t fasten with how far along she was. Nolan, the man who had been with you when this whole mess started was a step behind her and a bouquet of dried flowers clenching in his hand.

“It’s okay, was jus’ leavin’.”

“Look, Mr. Miller.” Nolan steps up to him, leaving a few feet of space as Joel turns to head to the door while Callie sidles up to take the chair he had slept in and scoot it close to your unconscious form. “I tried my best to tamp down the fight, but Olive, she’s…she’s a scrappy one. Was on that other girl before I could even blink.”

“Millie. The other one’s name is Millie.”

“Millie did this?” Callie questions from her spot holding your hand in hers, eyes wide. “She’s been so nice to me, I had dinner with her and her mom just last week…”

“Millie ‘n Olive don’t get along too well, bad history.” Joel hopes he isn’t overstepping your privacy by saying so, but if the two were intent on being at least friendly with you, they deserved to know that not everyone was so forward in their interactions with you. “Patrol gone wrong, they both lost someone important to them and Millie didn’t deal with it well.”

“She called her a whore, when she saw us talking.” Nolan explained, “Olive moved first and apologized, but all hell broke loose when Millie hit her back.”

“She what?” Joel felt anger burn hot through his veins, the implication of you being anything other than kind and thoughtful not sitting well with him. No wonder you had snapped, Joel hadn’t found out exactly what had occurred, the council stemming the raging gossip as best they could as soon as it began to spread. Reminding people to deal with personal issues in non-confrontational ways or punishment would be doled out and extra duties would be tacked on.

The two fell quiet, feeling the anger simmering in him. Joel’s face had darkened, brow furrowed deep and his jaw ticking as he tried to get a control on it.

“Y’all have a good day.” He manages before he’s out the door, his steps even and nearly silent as he makes his way out of the infirmary. He’s at Marsha’s in the blink of an eye, fist knocking against the wood of their front door.

“Marsha isn’t home, she’s serving out her punishment by taking over Olive’s morning shifts at the mess hall.” Maria’s voice calls to him as she strolls down the street. Macon is in her arms, but he’s fussing. She stops and places him in the baby carriage in front of her and quiets him with a pacifier. “Millie is out getting the rundown of how patrol works and what her responsibilities are.”

“Did you know that Millie called-“

“Yes. It’s been dealt with.” Maria’s voice implied she didn’t agree with what happened, that it was indeed being considered with much thought, not taken lightly with how it built up to the point of combustion in the town’s center on one of the busiest nights.

“Easy now, honey, there you go.” Tommy’s soothing voice allowed for you to feel less embarrassed about how slow moving you were, how long it was taking to trek from the infirmary to your house. His arm was around your waist, his other in front of him as he held onto your right hand for added support. “Joel will probably be knocking on your door the second he gets back from patrol and finds you gone from the clinic.”

“He can knock all he wants.” You huffed out, not too sure how you were feeling toward the man at the moment. Once you had woken up, the nurses told you he hadn’t left your side during the nights you had been there. Tommy and Maria sharing with you the way he had been frantic to find you the second he had found out about your fight with Millie. The decision of you no longer wanting to do patrol being portrayed as a punishment for your violent outburst. But the council held no real ill will toward you, having addressed the behavior you faced from more than a few of the townspeople.

“Marsha is due to cover your shifts at the mess hall, the early ones. Until you’re ready to go back.”

“Dunno, think she needs more ‘n a week or two tackling that hectic shift.”

“There’s my girl,” Tommy beamed, glad to know you weren’t too injured to show the side of yourself he knew.

As you turned down your street, Tommy let go of you at your insistence to try and support yourself. After a few stumbling steps, you managed to find your balance, even if your pace was still on the slow side.

“Joel ‘n I fixed your door. Well, we made a new one, actually. Old man did some damage to the other one when his big bulky frame was pushed into it by those storm winds,” He chuckled, most likely picturing the ordeal that was far more tense and serious than a mishap on Joel’s part. It had been…one of the hardest things you had to do, stand your ground and deny the man you had come to care. Especially in the face of him practically confessing to you that he shared in your feelings. “Cranked the heat up to get it back to the temperature you prefer. Even watered the plants for you, fed that stray that comes around sometimes. I think it found the crate you set up for it on your back porch.”

“You’re too sweet, Tommy. Thank you.” You watched as he unlocked the door and for the first time since leaving the infirmary you noticed how he was constantly shifting. His weight from foot to foot, his hands raking through his long, dark curls.

He helped you up the few steps of your stoop, his hands a gentle weight, arms ready to tense and catch you should you lose your balance. Once you were settled in your bed, a bottle of pain killers and a glass of water on your bedside, the man tentatively settled on the foot of your bed.

“I wanted to apologize, formally.” He started, brown eyes glittering in the midafternoon sunlight filtering in through the blinds. You leaned up from the pillows propped up behind your back and up against the fabric headboard, about to say something but he held up a wide palm to stop you. “You told me ‘n Maria in passing the behavior people have toward you. It was out of our control, freedom of speech ‘n all but…we should’ve at least tried to tamp it down more than we did.”

“Tommy, everyone has already done so much in letting me in, giving me a chance. I did-didn’t want to stir any trouble and it wasn’t real-really anything I couldn’t handle.”

“Honey…” He stands up and nestles himself between you and the edge of the bed, his back on the headboard right next to you. He brings you into his chest and kisses into the crown of your head as you return the embrace. something he hadn’t done since you appeared back at Jackson’s gates with blood covering you head to toe and the corpse of your friend draped over the back of your horse. “You deserve to feel comfortable, to feel safe. No matter what.”

The next morning, after a night spent tossing and turning, you shuffled down the hallway and into the kitchen without turning on a light. It was still dark out, using what little of the streetlight so close to the front of your house filtered in through the sheer curtains. When you sat at the kitchen table, you tried to set your mug down but there was a clatter as the bottom of it collided with something already resting there. And the space next to it, it seemed the whole table was covered in stuff, leaving no room for you to set it. Mumbling about people being in your house and rearranging your stuff, you shuffled over to the lamp atop the storage hutch’s middle shelf.

But you’re shocked when you flick the light on and turn back around to the table. It’s…covered. Every inch of the surface taken up by small stacks of what looks like intricately carved plates, serving trays, spoons, spatulas, and small figures that look like birds moving in a downward swoop. The coffee still in your hand splashes a little to the tile beneath your bare feet, starting you as it bounces up to kiss the skin of your ankles. But you pay it no mind as you absently set it on the hutch beside the light and move to the table with watering eyes.

It had to have been him. Joel.

The plates are beautiful, vaguely floral shaped and stained such a deep mahogany. They’re not too heavy, though they are very sturdy in your inspecting hands. Turning each one from the three separate stacks of them, each a different size from dessert to salad to serving plates, reveal a small J.M branded into the wood. Each of the leaf shaped serving trays reveal the same, though they are heavier and a bit harder for you to turn over in your weakened state. Large smoothed edged bowls are nestled in each other, the topmost one holding matching large serving spoons made your heart lurch and your stomach swoop.

The carving had been lovingly attended to because each rivet and swirl, each boarder and flat surface, it was all so seamlessly smooth. On evert single piece littering your table.

Tears are trailing down your cheeks to rest atop his intricate creations. The sight of two sets of spoons and two sets of spatulas held together with twine making you have to clap a hand over your mouth as a sob wracks through your body. The memory of hurling the ones you had requested from him flashing too bright and loud. You had taken something crafted by him and thrown in across this very kitchen, disrespecting the time and attention he had devoted to the request you had made.

Collapsing into the chair, you let the emotions of the last week take over you. Your coffee is lukewarm when you rise to retrieve it, but you twirl a carved bird in your hand as you sip from it, tears waned for the moment. That’s when you spot the large, flattened pieces on the other side of the table.

Cutting boards, three of them. Each one with a branding on the thick sides to label them individually for herbs, vegetables, and meat. The entire surface of each it sealed with a coating, but beneath it on the corners are floral patterns that you squint your eyes to take a closer look at. Gasping, you realize he had depicted the blooms often found on olive trees. His voice suddenly rings in your head as your mind recalls something you weren’t even conscious for but had filed away.

‘I made you one…I made them all for you. All of them, every single one….C’mon, sweetheart. You gotta let me save you so you’ll have one. I’ll give you anything, I’ll give you everything. Olive, please.’

‘I’m here. It’s okay, you’re okay. ‘m not going anywhere, you hear me? I’m right here, Olive.’

The tears flow, with no end in sight as you reach a shaking hand for the note you see laying atop the largest one.

‘Olive, I know I’m shit with words, I know I’ve sent such mixed signals with everything. But I want you to know, need you to know that seeing you is the best part of my day, of every day. Even if it’s just across the mess hall, across the street, as I walk home from patrol and see you in the window of your kitchen with a soft smile. The talks we have, the questions we share, every single word we’ve exchanged as made me feel worthy of the things you think of me, for the first time in a long while.

You are such an extraordinary, kind, thoughtful person and I am so lucky to have made it here to Jackson to cross paths with you. I can’t change what happened, but each hitch of your breath, each tug of the brim of your hat over your eyes, each moment spent with you makes me want to wrap you up in my arms and keep you close. I don’t want the first time you hear the words from me to be in writing, but, Olive. I fear I’ve fallen for you, and it’s made me such a fool. Please take these gifts for what they are, a representation of how I think of you every second of every day. Of how you inspire me to be a better person. Of how much love I have for you. J.M.’

Your coffee goes completely cold as you sit at the table, reading the note over and over again.

The gentle knock on your door kickstarted your heart, fluttering hard in your chest as you knew who was on the other side of the repaired wood. You turned the burner off on the stove top, shifting it to rest atop one of the cooler ones. You called for the man who held your heart to ‘wait a second, please’ before you turned to the table and reached for one of the serving bowls, spooning out the steamed contents of the pan into it and placed it back among the others already atop the table. The table was full, dishes coloring the spread laid out across the table. The rest of his gifts had been carefully places in the hutch along the back wall, some of them displayed behind the glass of the topmost part.

Toasted sandwiches cut into triangles rested atop one of the leaf serving trays, the one you had just filled up with three different types of steamed and roasted vegetables. A glass pitcher of fresh juice you pressed earlier a deep red and shining in the flames from candles interspersed between the trays and plates. You nervously ran your hands down the front of your apron, a worn but loved patterned thing that wrapped around the back of your neck and at the back of your waist.

The brownies looked a little thick, now that you took a second to consider them. A rich buttercream piped into a swirling tower amid them stacked up on one of the larger flower plates. The midsize ones set in front of two chairs with empty glasses and clean utensils beside them. All set up, all waiting.

For him, for Joel.

Moving to the door, you paused and took a deep breath to calm yourself, the titter of shyness you weren’t sure you would ever overcome when it came to the man on the other side. Reaching for the lock, you clicked it out of its setting and twisted the handle to open the door.

Joel was stood there, silhouetted against the bright winter sun, the broadness of his shoulders and the volume of his curls on display so close for you. His head had been hanging, one hand on the wall beside the door. And when he looked up to catch your eyes, your breath hitched and you felt your fingers twitch at the urge to pull him close. To let him make his written words a reality and cradle you in his arms.

“I-I got your no-note. And the – the things you left f-for me.”

“Did you,” He cleared his throat, hand moving from where it was supporting him to fall to his side, clenching and unclenching in that own nervous habit he had. His eyes roved up and down your body, taking the image you were making in your doorway. You felt like you looked okay, but your hair was a little frizzed out from the heat of cooking. And you were so, incredibly self-conscious. He was such a handsome man, and you were…just you. His voice was shaky, something you couldn’t ever recall hearing from someone normally so controlled. “Did you…like everythin’ alright?”

“It’s all so perfect. Th-thank you.” You smoothed your hands down the front of the apron again, nervous and unsure of how to approach him even as your body hummed in anticipation from the thought of it. He loved you. And you loved him back.

“And the- the note?”

“Y-yeah.” You couldn’t bring your eyes up to meet his, too self-conscious with how all uncharted everything seemed to be.

“I’m so fucking sorry. I-“ He surged forward through the open door, but his boots scuffed as he cut the movement short. You had unconsciously stepped back, nerves alight from the last time you had been approached. Muscles twitching, your arms tingled with the way you tried to relax from the sudden tension that had flooded your entire body. Fight or flight activated. You could see the way his throat bobbed with the nervous swallow he took before sighing out a deep breath. “Olive, I swear to you, I- you’re so good. The sweetest, prettiest thing I’ve had the pleasure of knowing in my time and if you’ll let me, I’ll be a good man for you. I’ll be a good man with you.”

“Joel, I-“ Your words choked off into a sob, tears trialing hot down your cheeks as your emotions spiked and cascaded over you. Hands trembling as you did reach out for him, fingers wrapping around the unzipped edges of his thick jacket. He moved into you, his own hands coming up to cradle your cheeks as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m right here, I’m with you. Not goin’ anywhere unless you want me to, okay?” He holds you, letting you bury your tear-stained face into his neck. The flow of them still falling from your eyes dampening the fabric of his flannel.

“D-do you want some lunch?” A shy smile pulled at your lips, heat blooming in your chest even as the tears continue to fall.

He seems to release all of the tension in his shoulders as he sighs out something relieved. You can tell he’s a little confused by the question, but he wasn’t going to turn it down. The opportunity to spend time with you, to talk to you. He had come here, after all, not even knowing where you two stood after everything. Fresh from a patrol, you could smell the lingering scent of hay from the stables on him. The leather from his gloves sliding along and holding the reigns of his horse. Nodding, you finally manage to meet his eyes and your breath hitches even as a pang of worry echoes in your chest.

“H-how was patrol?” You wait for him to take a seat before you go to pick up the pitcher and pour him some of the juice you had made. His hands are a soft hush over yours as he takes it from you and pours himself a glass before reaching for your own empty one with a lopsided smile.

“It was good, took Ellie out for her first one. She’s been buggin’ me about it since the start of winter.”

“Is she going to be my replacement? I don’t want her to feel like she has to if she’s not ready.” His eyes move over your face as you spoon steaming vegetables onto his plate and then yours.

“Maria agreed with me that Millie should be trained up, she’s starting with me next week. It’s part of her punishment for instigating the fight.”

“Oh.” Another thing for the woman and her mother to hold against you. You worried for a second of how much damage you had done to her in your near fugue state but then realized if she was okay enough to start patrol then she was far better off than you happened to be.

“We don’t have to talk about that or we- we can, if you want to. Just…just want to talk with you. About anything.” About anythin’, about nothin’.”

The conversation isn’t much from then on, but it’s enough to hold his attention. You’re tired, so incredibly tired and lethargic from the emotional morning you had, from putting all the food spread over the table together, not much of it left after Joel devours a lot of it. Starvin’ he had said through a bite, pink tinging his ears as you offered to make another sandwich for him. He had assured you everything you had made was enough and now a half pot of coffee sits in mugs in front of you each, brownies bitten into after dipping it in the frosting you had made.

As soon as his two were swallowed, he turned beseeching, wide eyes to you and you found moving to stand between his legs. His arms were so warm around you, the food and his company weighing you down in the best way as you wrap your own around his neck. His face is buried in your chest while you press a kiss to his steel curls, something that worries you for a split second before he sighs out a small ‘you’re so soft, sweetheart’.

“I-I want to talk more, but,” Your weight sagged against him, his arms tightening around you to help keep you on your feet. “I’m so tired, Joel. I think I need to lay down.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I understand, lemme just- I’ll clean up lunch and get out of your hair, go on and rest.” But you didn’t move, your breath hitching as you leaned back enough to peer up at him. Your eyes surely gave away how drained you were, but you weren’t quite yet ready to let him go. Even if things were a little stilted and there was so much to discuss. Right now you just wanted to lay down, to get off your feet and relieve some of the tension on your stitches.

“W-will you stay?”

“Of course.”

He follows silently behind you, boots thudding on the hardwood flooring of the hallway. Each step matching the beating of your heart. Through the door and into your room, you realize he must’ve already been in here, it was so tidy and the laundry that had piled up was neatly folded atop your dresser.

If he’s just as nervous as you are, he doesn’t show it. Seemingly taking things as they come, letting you shrug him from the flannel you had unbuttoned. When you move your hands to the buckle of his belt, one of his large hands covers both of yours. Looking up, you reassure him nothing has to happen and that you aren’t ready for anything to happen but you don’t want the denim on your clean sheets. He nods, letting you continue to disrobe him. A shaky laugh falls from his plush lips as you notice the line of him through his boxer briefs, it twitches under your quick glance, and you feel a swoop in your own stomach in response.

He asks if you need to change to, offering to turn around. But you grip his wrists and bring his hands to the ties at the side. It’s a loose thing, to help you manage to move around better, the prospect of pants and a belt too daunting despite the season. He carefully lifts the fabric from your body, his eyes on your face the entire time, even as the clothing falls to pile on top of his. With a nervous giggle, you lead him to the bed and you both get comfortable underneath the covers. It’s early, not even the sun has set, but neither of you seem to mind the time.

He's settled against the pillows when you reach out a hand on your normal side of the bed, fingers tangling with his as you lay slightly on your side toward him. The bandages around your middle are obvious underneath the camisole you wear with your underwear. He’s facing you too, his other hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I…I want to.” Your words are barely above a whisper, as you take in the image he creates beside you, filling the empty part of your bed with his broad frame. His steel curls flattened on the pillow, his warmth only a few inches away, his eyes soft and watching you as you collect the words from your mind to fill your tongue. It had been something you yearned for since that first brush of his hand against yours, that first smile you managed to pull from him with an offhand comment, from the first moment he asked you a question in return to one of your own. Even if someone else had shown you the same kindness, his would be the one you sought after. “Be with you.”

“I want that too, sweetheart, more’n anything, but…I hurt you. I know that, I was careless in my attempts to be careful, to not push you. To…surprise you with what I wanted to be the first thing I gifted you.”

“Tommy told me. You know I thought some kids stole that piece of the trunk?” Your eyes glitter with a hint of mirth, teasing tone light and reminiscent of times past. It’s fleeting, the bone deep exhaustion settled in your body not only physical but mental. “I…Joel, I worry about…everything. All the time. You deserve to the chance to thrive here, for Ellie to thrive here and…being with me would-“

“I’d choose you over the town any day, you’ve gotta know that. Me and Ellie, we’ve been through a lot but we’re tough, you don’t gotta worry about us. I know…that people see her lack of manners and anxious tendencies as something that needs to be fixed. Maybe, yeah, the little troublemaker could stand to hold her tongue sometimes but she’s so young, she’s got a lot to unlearn from being raised the way she was. She’s a good kid, she’s good but you are too. We’ll take it slow, because I haven’t done this dance in while, hell, ever really. And I want to do it right, I want to be what you want because I definitely know you don’t need me.”

“I haven’t needed for anything in a long time, but Joel Miller believe me when I saw my days are better when they’re spent with you. Even…even the bad ones to an extent.”

“I’ll apologize a thousand times.” He tightens his grip, tired eyes trained on them. There’s a sadness to them, the depths of which he had let you glimpse once before. Loss, pain, devastation in the wake of when the world has broken and then turned into. You share in that sadness, having lost the person you had devoted your life to protecting, having lost the life you had just begun to flourish in before it was ripped from your hands, having lost a child that you could still hear crying in your sleep some nights…

The words are on the tip of your tongue, the need for comfort from the one person you wanted it from, needed it from. It was true that you had been complacent before him, not concerned with the things people felt the need to pursue in the lives they felt safe enough to pursue here in the town. That he stroked yearning in the very core of who you were, something you hadn’t ever experienced even back when the world was thriving and bustling as it once had been.

“Can we j-just kiss a-and start to move for-forward?”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think I exactly deserve that right now…” Your face falls. The small, shy smile dipping and the sides of your mouth dropping into a frown as you feel the burn of tears prickle again behind your cheeks. The rejection hurts, even if you understand why he feels that way and agree with him to an extent that this situation isn’t going to magically fix itself.

“But I do.”

He doesn’t even think to argue, not with the way that he’s leaning close to touch his soft lips to yours as soon as the words leave them.

“I’ve gotta get goin’, sweetheart.” Joel’s whisper roused you, so close you reached for him. Long fingers curling around his wrist, nails lightly scratching the soft skin there. He felt the cumulation of inching out of bed slowly and quietly to not wake you as the vain attempt it was. He should’ve known his efforts would be fruitless, his resolve chipping away to nothing when you breathed his name out on a sleepy sigh. “I got training patrol. Be back early this afternoon, bring you something from the mess hall, alright sweetheart?”

You only hummed in response, lips pressed against his wrist now, sending tingling trickles of sensation all over his body at the easy way in which you displayed your affection for him now. It had been a couple of weeks. Two weeks of you making dinner one night, then walking him through another the next day. Of coffee in the mornings when he wasn’t busy, the never-ending list housed on the spiral notepad in his back pocket present in only the worn fabric over his pockets, the actual thing mysteriously gone. A break for the season, he has said when you asked him, palming the fabric of his back pockets one day.

As you lay in bed, dozing back off in the wake of his departure, Joel is outside the gates with a nervous Millie astride a horse beside him. They stop on as Joel figures an open field a few miles away would be the best bet for practice. Far enough for the sound of gunfire to not echo back and alarm people but close enough to rush back should something go awry.

“Know anythin’ about guns?” He looks over to the younger woman, her eyes wide and her head on a swivel as she constantly takes in her surrounds. He feels a little bad that she’s so on edge, but the only way to make her more comfortable is to get her out more and more. Allow her to see that it doesn’t have to be all bad. But he does understand her reaction, she’s never been outside the walls, had never been outside the town that it was before the walls went up. She had been younger than you when the world shattered, had people to look after her and care for her.

“My daddy taught me how to shoot them when the world fell apart. But that was…a long time ago now.”

“Okay, well, we’re gonna see what suits you better. On patrol we use shotguns, but a handgun will do in a pinch. The key is range, keeping any threat as far away as possible.”

“Yes, Mr. Miller.” She watches him closely as he removes the shotgun slung around his back. He checks that the safety is secured and he holds it out to her as she moves to stand beside him at the beckoning of his hand. He walks her through the general mechanics of the gun, firm in her not placing her finger on the trigger until she was ready to shoot.

“Are you right or left handed?”

“Um…I favor my left.” He hands off the gun to her, telling her to practice her grip on the large gun while he rummages in one of the packs attached to his saddle. He’s got a cloth bag that he fills with snow and ice that coats the ground, propping it up a good distance away on top of a long dead tree stump.

Time passes and her aim gets a little better, though she’s taking too long to line up her shots. Joel reminds her to just take a breath in and shoot as she exhales. But the words cut off as he sees movement on the horizon of their spot on in the field. He’s off a ways from her, by the target he had set up for the woman to practice on. He’s turned to hold a halting hand up to her before he takes his own gun out from the holster and puts one of them down.

Another sprints from the cover of the forest nearby, but he’s focused on taking down the other two far too close for comfort. Just as he turns to take out the one closing in on him, it lunges and he’s struggling not to fall with the sudden weight slamming into him. His gun goes flying and he curses out as he tries to fend it off with his arms, the snapping of its mangled teeth loud and far too close to his face.

He wishes he had spent a few more minutes with you in bed, pressing his lips to your forehead to your cheek, to your plush lips, to any part of your body he could as the bullet ripped through him and pain sparked hot across his entire chest. Through it, he manages throw the stunned thing to the ground, another shot flying from across the field to land directly in the back its head. Joel is looking up as he bends down to retrieve his gun, his other hand pressing hard to the burning in his shoulder. Millie is too focused on him to see the blur running toward her, too late in her shifting attention as it grips her shoulder tights. Taking a deep breath, Joel tries to focus as best he can to line up his aim and take out the single Infected that remained.

He shoots and it goes down.

His shoulder throbs and his vision darkens at the edges.

“Joel!” You shout, simmering panic making you forget common manners as you burst through the door leading into the main exam room of the infirmary. There are three beds lined up on the opposite wall, other rooms set up for more serious cases that required overnight stays. Millie and Joel are settled into two of them, the younger trembling and holding her right shoulder while Joel is pressing a kerchief to his front, blood soaking it through.

Marsha is already plastered to the side of her daughter’s bed. Making no noise whatsoever, which was just as uncomforting as you realized how pale she they both were. Blood splattered over Joel while Millie looked relatively unharmed.

Millie launches into a jumble of words as she gets up from the bed, but you stop her in your tracks with a chilling look over your shoulder as you go immediately to Joel’s side.

“You need to back the fuck up, Millie. I told you I’m not engaging with you anymore, now go back to your own bed and mind your business.”

Turning from them, your eyes land on Joel and he’s barely able to keep his eyes open as he lays across the bed. Your heart stutters, as does your voice the closer you get to him.

“You two are just perfect for each other with your penchant for harsh words.” Jealousy was ugly on the older woman, making her act out towards you but more concerningly towards Joel. He hadn’t done anything wrong, even in the moments he had let his anger flare around her and he scolded her for her manipulation and childish behavior. He had told you all about it, about every interaction between them to tide your hurt feelings and assumptions about them. He hadn’t needed to do it, but he had wanted to be completely transparent. To share with you the things he experienced.

“And you would be just perfect for recognizing harsh words, wouldn’t you?” You fire back, not even bothering to look over your shoulder at the woman who had caused so much grief and anxiety. Your words seem to stun her, as she doesn’t rebuff you in anyway, but you feel guilt flash at the kneejerk reaction, still so worried about upsetting anyone or instigating anything remotely unfriendly. But Joel was bleeding and it you were far more worried about him at the moment.

“What ha-hap-happened? That’s so mu-much blood!”.” You ask him quietly, concerned with how his unseen injuries could be affecting him. His fingers twitch, letting you know he was trying to reach out for you. You sidle up beside him, hands reaching for his left as your wide eyes take in the expanse of his naked chest. The nurse has on pink stained white. One of the nurses bursts through the open door, ignoring the tension in the room, quickly getting to work with the tray of equipment she brought in. Her pristine gloves immediately take on a pink stain, blood gushing over his front as she digs a pair of long tweezers into a large bullet hole. She exposes in his right shoulder once she peels back the collar of his jacket and cuts away the tattered collar of his undershirt. “J-Joel, did you g-get ambushed by In-Infected? Or was it peop-people?”

“Was an accident.” He grunts out, hand tightening over yours as the nurse works to stall the bleeding.

“Millie sh-shot you?” You feel ire bubble up ugly and thick, heart beating hard at the thought of Joel out there with no protection other than the person in question, the person who had no idea how to begin to fend for herself or an injured person beyond the walls. She had been so young when the world broke, a few years younger than Aiden had been when you took him as your responsibility, his parents being the first to turn in the restaurant.

“Oh, would you shut up with that god-awful stuttering? Grown woman can’t even speak properly in a moment of crisis.”

“Mother!”

“Making a bad situation worse by simply being here, why don’t you let the nurse take care of him and just leave?”

“Mother, enough! That is no way to talk to Olive, she puts her life on the line every time she goes out beyond the walls. She and Mr. Miller have helped to make this a safe place, you should show her respect and leave her be!”

“Millie Antoinette, that is no way to speak to me.”

“You’re going to lecture me on language with the way you’ve been slinging backhanded insults about Olive all these years? Blaming her for something completely out of her control, berating her for her stutter when you know she can’t help it because the whole town makes her feel like she’s walking on eggshells.”

“This conversation is not over, we will continue this at home.”

Finally turning to look over your shoulder at the way she began to take out her frustrations on Millie, your eyes were set hard and your displeasure was obvious as you took in the way Millie’s good arm was being held far too tightly by the woman.

“Why do-don’t you just keep my na-name out of any future conversations you may have. You’ve caused enough damage, your own daughter paying for your actions and getting injured because of it. Joel getting injured because of it. No one is to blame but you and the influence you’ve lorded over her all these years. Twisting and tainting the memory of the man she loved, the man I devoted my life to protecting and ensuring he got to live a somewhat normal one after the world fell apart. He wouldn’t have wanted her to harbor such ill feelings toward me, toward what happened. But you turned it into something to use against me and you hurt her worst of all, teaching her it was okay to behave like such a child!” Your

You’re breathing heavy by the end of your outburst, finding your voice after stuttering through the first words. Unconsciously reaching for and tightening the hold on Joel’s hand through the entire exchange. He squeezes it in reassurance, through the nurse’s ministrations.

“You tell ‘er.” Joel slurs as the nurse secured a large patch of gauze over his would, betadine staining the edges of the material. The action of pressing down the tape around the corners making him hiss out a pained breath and your attention focuses on him once again.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, you ungrateful little-“ You could feel her approach you from behind and you let go of Joel’s hand, not wanting to jostle him should she push or shove you. She was about your height so when you swung your hand out, your palm landed right on her cheek with enough force to turn her head as the sharp slap echoed around the room.

Red blossomed bright on her skin. Her fingers twitched and you landed another hit without thinking before she could make a more intentional move.

“I know you were not about to touch me,” The feeling of your lip lifting up in a slight snarl was unpleasant, but you couldn’t help the visceral reaction to the woman after everything she had done.

Even in the wake of trying to be polite and cordial with her when you thought her and Joel were a thing, she had shown you thinly veiled niceness in return. Her eyes always watching, much like a hawk stalking its prey. But you wouldn’t be her prey any longer, unwilling to play the part she had bestowed upon you for no good reason. You weren’t a malicious person, you weren’t a violent person. Not anymore. You were kind and thoughtful and did everything you could to be nice and help out where you were needed or wanted, and you would not put up with the woman any longer.

She raised her hand up once the shock of your quick movement wore off and you used the back of your forearm to knock it down, your hand sliding down her arm to capture her wrist in your grip. Her widened eyes found yours and you hoped, fleetingly, that she was unnerved. She cried out when her wrist began to smart underneath the force of your grip, trying to pull it from you but you didn’t budge. She was a fool to think using her free hand to pry at the fingers you had wrapped around her to no avail. You saw the thought for her to raise it at you flash across her face before you felt Joel’s hand gently pull at the back of your sweater.

“That’s enough, Marsha.” Maria’s voice was harsh, cutting into the scene suddenly. “Seeing as your daughter is in good hands, let’s have a little chat.”

The woman’s harsh expression, the twist of her mouth about to shape around a degrading insult, the furrow of her brow as she focused on you, it all fell away the second she realized she had an audience.

The nurse tending to Joel moved silently from Joel’s bedside to Millie’s as you released Marsha from your hold to follow behind Maria.

“Olive, I am so sorry. For everything. You’re right, Aiden wouldn’t have wanted any of this. I-I feel so…badly for how I’ve ignored you all these years when I should’ve been there to comfort you. You lost him too.” Millie cries as the nurse tends to her bruised and swollen shoulder, there now that Joel is taken care of. There was a large bruise marring her skin that was around angry looking welts, scratches that looked like they hadn’t broken the skin, no doubt from whatever occurred outside the walls. You tried focus on her, but it was hard with the adrenaline of confronting Marha thumping harshly through your entire body, Joel could surely feel the trembles where he held onto you.

“We were practicing shootin’ and a group of five or six of ‘em came outta the trees.”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, you began to peel back his opened flannel and shoved up the shirt he had on underneath. Hands frantic as you felt all around his body for signs of a bite. When you brushed against his groin to move down to his legs to check underneath the denim, you noticed he had fallen quiet. Looking up at him from where you were inspecting his shins, you clocked the way he rested the inside of his wrist over his zipper and belt buckle. His face was tinged a little pink at his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

“You could’ve led with that!”

“I’m okay, sweetheart. Millie shot the one that almost got me, but the first shot missed and then she took it down. She didn’t see the one comin’ up behind her cause she was so focused on helpin’ me.”

“Just lay back,” You croon sweetly, gently pushing the bulk of him to sit atop the bed.

“Yes, ma’am.” Joel groans, adjusting his hips as he scoots up to lean against the plush headboard.

It’s soft everywhere in your room, from the fabric of the headboard to your sheets and covers, to the dried flowers and sheer curtains hanging over the windows. He feels swaddled in the best way, completely wrapped up in the little world you’ve created in your space. The mix of him seen interspersed between your many books lining new shelves he crafted for you to replace the old, creaking ones worn down over time. A carved serving plate he had made for you, atop your bedside table and housing a tube of hand lotion, a note left from him the other day when he had to leave in the early hours. One of his flannels hanging up from a set of floral hooks he had made to go on the back of your door.

He was just a present influence in your home as you were in his. From the multiple bottles of oil scattered about his stove top, to the leftovers clearly labeled and stored in his fridge, to the pair of underwear that had ended up nestled with his in the top drawer of his dresser. The very ones you wore underneath his shirts when you slept over in his bed, making the sheets smell a heady combination of you both that had him seeing you in his dreams even more.

It had been a slow dance of homemade dinners, of nights spent in each other’s bed, of searing kisses and soft words shared between you both over the last two months. Both healed from the events that had allowed for the confusing and heartbreaking one to shift to this one, where it was obvious you both wanted each other, both had so much adoration for each other. But you were still so shy around Joel, never letting things go further than wandering hands sneaking beneath clothing.

But tonight, you were feeling so encompassed by the need to see him, to touch him, to be seen and touched by him in return. Tommy had let slip it was your birthday tomorrow when he asked if you were still coming around his and Maria’s for dinner. Joel had been confused why you hadn’t shared that with him, you knew when his birthday was after all. And everything that came tangled with the date.

“Joel,” You whispered against his lips, having moved to hover over his lap with your arms atop his shoulders. His hair had grown long, the thick locks brushed back by his large hands to swoop into gorgeous curls behind his ears and over the back of his neck. Nearly brushing the tops of his broad shoulders, he groaned out as you toyed with the ends of the long locks now. Nervous energy made it hard to keep your hands still and you confessed quietly as you ran your fingers through the curls. “I…I need to tell you something before we- before we, um, do this.”

“What is it, sweetheart?” His eyes blink open, concern and worry glinting in them as he takes in the way you’re worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “We don’t have to do nothin’ if you don’t want to or aren’t ready. Just wanna be with you, no matter what.”

You start and stutter a few times, the words trailing off as your emotions spike and memories find their way to the surface. But it was the right thing to do, to share this part of your past with him. The potential for the mood to be ruined all to glaring as you realized it would be one of the heavier things you shared with the man who had become you partner in every definition of the word.

“Joel, I…I don’t have, um, I don’t have all my…parts.” Waving a hand over your lower stomach, right where you rested over his own. His confusion was obvious as he focused on the part of your body in question, his plush lips parting as he contemplated how to better ask for clarification. But you leaned back a little, your thighs tightened around his hips as you did so to pick up the hem of your camisole and unbutton the jeans you were still dressed in. A faded but thick scar ran from the bottom of your belly button, swooping below it in an imitation of a smile and then down in a straight line from the middle to disappear beneath the band of your underwear. It was completely healed, but still pink in discoloration.

“The doctors at the QZ we briefly stayed at in the beginning of everything…they did a hysterectomy after I had my…son.”

“Olive…” His hands raise from where they were around your hips, shaking slightly as he pauses in his reach to caress the marred skin. His eyes flash up to meet yours in a silent question for consent and at a small nod, he brushes the knuckle of his index finger over it. Shuddering at the soft touch, you watch the way emotions flit across his weathered face.

“They weren’t nice about it, I still…I still have pretty vivid nightmares about it because there was very little anesthesia, something about rationing the drugs and it…it was one of the most painful things I’ve had to endure. But…I thought you-you should know because I know you have some years on me, and you said you don’t think…an accident would happen and you seemed genuinely concerned because of my age. But it wo-won’t because of this.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel presses the palm of his right hand over the scar, the warmth of his skin soothing just as much as the kiss he placed on your cheek. “You’re…you’re okay though?”

“As okay as I can be about it,” You consoled his worry, breath hitching as he gently caressed the skin beneath his hand. “I waited until I was healed a year, when the threat of infection was long gone, then I took Aiden and…and Ezra and I got us the hell out of there.”

He didn’t ask how you lost Ezra, he didn’t berate you for your choice to leave the QZ, he didn’t ask how you had even ended up in that situation in the first place. He didn’t do anything but slowly move to where your back was on the bed, and he was hovering over you. Soft kisses and the brush of his mustache trailing over every inch of skin he could see. His fingers slid beneath the thin straps of your top in a silent question, and you sat up enough to allow him to life the garment from your body. Willing to show yourself to him, to take the offer of his soothing comfort. His breath puffed out at the sight of your naked chest, his fingers skimming up to brush against the supple skin and hardened peaks now on full display.

He clocks the way your fingers move to the buttons of his flannel and fumble, prompting him to take over for you to push it off his own shoulders, his undershirt disappearing along with it to the floorboards. But before you can move onto his belt, he’s gently pressing you back to the bed and pressing the plush softness of his lips to your body, trailing lower and lower until he brushes them so lightly over your scar.

Your breath hitches and you can feel the small smile as he takes his time to worship your body. To sooth the emotions he must know it took to confess something so big, to engage with him in this way even if you wanted to. Mind’s always tickin’ he would tease, no heat behind his words, but adoration.

Fingers skimming over soft skin, the callouses of time and skill a heady sensation over it ahead of his lips, he slowly shimmies the undone fabric of your jeans down your legs. He takes the time to undo and step out of his own pair before he’s back on the bed, attention focused on your legs as he begins to move up, up, up. Only giving you the barest of chances to take in the thick line of his hard cock as it twitches beneath dark fabric.

His fingers slide underneath the waistband of your underwear from where his palms rest wide on your upper thighs, his mouth suckling the plush skin before him. His lips feel like heaven, like finally stepping through your front door after a long shift, like a hot bath after a long day, like a breath of fresh air after being in a stuffy room. It feels like home. Startling slightly at the sudden press of his nose to your clothed core, you feel more than hear the rumble of his chuckle.

“This okay, not too much?”

“Not too much,” you assure, lifting your hips to allow him to drag the fabric down. Heat blooms in your chest, worry for not being as pretty as someone else or as groomed as you used to be. But all of your anxieties and insecurities fade away as you look down and see the way his eyes are trained on your glistening cunt. He groans out as he drags the beck of a knuckle over your puffy outer lips, reveling in the jerk of your hips at the light contact.

“’s pretty, sweetheart. So perfect.” Is all the warning he gives you before he’s spreading you open with both of his hands and burying his face between your thighs. A long, warm wet lick with the flat of his tongue from one end of you to the other has your head thudding against the pillows and your hands searching for purchase in his hair. Pleasure sparkles all over your body, glitters behind your eyes as he tastes you, suckles that little bundle of nerves, as he gently glides two of his thick, warm fingers right inside and curves them up.

His name is a strangled sound puffed into the air, your breath hitching in the way he admitted to loving so much as he begins to pet your inside walls with his fingertips, his lips latched around your clit. His patchy scruff and mustache adding to the feel of him against your skin, against the most intimate part of you he’s taking his time in pleasuring. It takes everything you have to lift your head enough to peer through bleary eyes to find him already staring up at you. His pupils blown so wide there’s no hint of the deep brown they’re made up of. His brow is furrowed in concentration, the tops of his cheeks barely visible a deep hue of pink as he worships you.

While still holding your gaze, he purses his lips and sucks, turning the sparkles of pleasure into hot waves as they overtake you. Your body isn’t your own any longer as it tenses, back arching clean off bed, your thighs clenching around his ears. Your lost in the force of the pleasure he pulled from you as easily as breathing, taken every moan and sigh as signals to what you liked best, listening to your body like he was meant to. It’s no longer yours but his.

“They’re we go, so good, sweetheart. You taste so good,” He murmurs as he helps your through the crest before pulling again to palm at himself through his underwear with one hand, the other holding your bucking hips down to clean every last bit of your release from where his fingers are pulled from you.

Reaching for him, you tug at him, urging him up to his knees so you had run your palm over the trail of dark hair that disappears below his waistband. He moves his hand from where he’s holding himself through the fabric as your fingers sneak below and touch him for the first time. His hips cant, pressing firmly into your willing hand.

“Take these off, please.” You whisper as you wrap your hand around him, barely able to touch the tips of your fingers with the girth of him fully hard. He’s hot against your skin, velvet soft over the rigidness of his cock. Finally seeing all of him as he pulls the fabric down and pushes it past his thighs. You let him go for him to toss them over the side of the bed, eyes taking in the stretch of his body through the action.

He’s peppered with freckles over his tan skin, chest covered in thick hair that’s the same steel grey of his curls, thick thighs tensed with the way he sits before you on his knees. He’s littered with scars, some thin and crisscrossing over each other, some raised thick to disrupt the smoothness of his skin, though none hold the same untold story of the one at his temple. The one he lets you brush softly before sleep. But they don’t take away from his beauty, they enhance it and let you know without a doubt he’s a fighter.

His cock is thick and long, ruddy at the tip and bobbing despite the heft to kiss his stomach as you eye him up and down. Every inch of him is beautiful and you tell him with a sigh, body singing for him to come back to you. Locking eyes with him, you see his own insecurities wash away at the wonder and admiration you gaze at him with.

As soon as you move to reach for him, he’s doing the same. Mouths connecting and laying his body over yours to feel every bit of your skin against his that he can manage, your legs parting to wrap around his waist. You gasp at the bump of his tip to your folds, the breathy sound turning into a moan when he grinds down against you, his hands tangling in your hair as he swallows it straight from your lips.

He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he reaches down to grip himself, guiding the ruddy tip to your entrance and holding his breath for the barest of seconds. You nod, unable to form words so wrapped around him, so covered by him, to consumed by him and what he means to you. Twin moans decorate the air as he pushes in, the girth of him stretching you and causing heat to lick at every single nerve.

It’s soft and slow, sensual the way he moves against you. Taking in the moment for all that it is, showing you in the most intimate way what you mean to him as you feel how deep he gets with every thrust. But when you moan out for him to go harder, to go faster – he willingly obliges. The slow roll of his hips shifting into quick snaps against yours, a hand gripping your thigh over his shoulder as he presses down in such a delicious way. You can tell you startle him when you cry out, the head of his cock catching that perfect spot, as your hands scrabble at his shoulders and your nails dig into the freckles skin of his broad back.

Sighing, you take a moment to stretch out your shoulders once you remove the apron from around your neck. It’s well into February and you’ve take back control of the morning shift at the mess hall.

Marsha had done a…well, she hadn’t done the best, but Maria had stepped in the week before you had been due back. To ensure everything was exactly the way you preferred it. It had been a lot of long early morning shifts on top of staying through the lunch service. You had tried to stifle your amusement at Maria complaining about how fast the woman had tried to get through cleaning tasks to get home before the sun set. None of it had been good enough for Maria, knowing that you dedicated yourself to making sure things were not only clean but ‘Olive clean’ as she termed it. Turning the whole dining room and setting up the kitchen for a smooth open the next morning since dinner was normally left to the individual households or the Tipsy Bison.

Part of her punishment was formally apologizing to you and thanking you for your service to the town, but it hadn’t happened. You weren’t holding your breath for it to happen, either. It wouldn’t undo all the anxiety and hesitancy you still had even now interacting with anyone outside of your very small circle.

“Miss Olive?” The sudden voice of someone peeking their head through the swinging door that led into the kitchen caught you off guard. “Oh shoot, I am so sorry! I didn’t meant startle you.”

“Oh, it’s okay, just lost in my own head. How can I help you?”

They step inside, an older couple that comes at the same time everyday, enjoying the quiet before the rest of the residents make their way into the dining room.

“Just wanted to say it was a good meal this morning. We really appreciate all the work you put in providing for the town. Glad to have you back in the swing of things.”

“Oh! Well, th-thank you very much. I’m glad you enjoyed today, had a couple friends urge me to include the pastries.” They nod at you, waving before turning away and disappearing back through the door. A smile graces your lips as you shrug on your coat and wrap a scarf around your neck. The kind words help you to trudge your way through the built up snow from the night before, none of it having melted once the sun rose. The winds are still sharp, piercing in their added chill to the air.

Your home is nice and toasty when you enter, intending to shower the splash of porridge that had gotten you, sinking into your skin even after you had wiped off. But you pause when you catch the scent of fresh coffee and hear a distant grunting coming from your back room. Instincts taking over, you reach for the bat leaning up against the corner behind the front door.

“Hello?” You call out, unsure of who would be in house since Joel was supposed to be on patrol with Ellie. Maria and Tommy wrapped up in council meetings with Macon dropped off at the school to be watched over.

“Jus’ me! Shit-“ A loud thud cuts off Joel’s words and you’re rushing down the hall to find him crouching on the floor, hands busy holding the framework of a shelving unit where it had tilted over. “Hey, sweetheart, wanted to have this done by the time you got back.”

You had torn out the old shelves of the back room, the wall smoothed and painted over a few days ago when you had tried to reorganize everything and one of them came crashing down. Ellie had been over a week or so ago, indulging in your vinyl collection as she did homework while she stayed the night, Joel on an overnight patrol. Apparently, she had shared with him the scary moment that prompted the change to the wall.

“Are you okay?” The words rush out as you move around him to help push the large structure back onto it’s base. He sighs as he stands, knees cracking from the added weight of the wood against him as he tensed and braced against it. When he did, your eyes rove over him to ensure he really was okay. Then the bump on his forehead catches your attention as he looks over to you. It’s red and slightly swollen.

You see the small scrape on his cheek, blood beading up along the thin lines.

“Damn thing just shifted as I was adjusting the line up. ‘m okay, promise.”

But you close in on him, hands cupping his face as you pull it down to you, brushing your lips lightly against the bump as his hands wrap around your waist. Shifting down, you kiss just below the thin scrapes, not wanting to pull at them or irritate them further before reaching for a kerchief from your back pocket and dabbing lightly at the blood. Pulling back to peer into his eyes, you see the almost shy way he’s looking from you to the shelving unit.

“There,” You press your lips to his next, his eyes fluttering shut at the swipe of your tongue against his plush bottom one. He swallows the sound that bursts from your chest as he pulls you close. He tastes like the coffee you had smelled when you first walked through the front door. Humming out an, “All better.”

His grin is bright, the dimple in his right cheek fluttering your stomach as you catch sight of it hidden in his scruff.

“All better.” He parrots before shifting you both so your back is to the wall he had been working on installing the shelving unit against. “But you ain’t supposed to be home yet. Your present isn’t ready.”

“Present? I didn’t ask for anything, Joel Miller.” You crane your head around to try and look at what he was doing, too concerned with him to see what he had been trying to do exactly. But he brought a hand up from your waist to grip at your chin and he halted the movement. “And aren’t you supposed to be on patrol with Ellie?”

“Traded off with Tommy, told ‘im I had something important to do today.”

“Joel…”

“Nu-uh. You’ll have to wait to see it, birthday girl. Macon is due for pick up in an hour,” You huff a laugh as he bends his knees to lift your weight and toss it over his wide shoulder. Hair falling loose around your face, it’s impossible to see anything as he struts out of the room and across the hall to the bathroom. He sets you down atop the vanity counter with a light of his own at how disheveled your hair got.

“So pretty,” He muses quietly as he brushes it from your face and tucks it behind an ear. Heat creeps up your face, still not used to such open compliments from the handsome man. Stepping away for a moment, he fiddles with the shower knobs to get the water going, ensuring it’s the perfect temperature that you prefer. He helps you to disrobe, trailing his lips over every inch of your upper body as it becomes exposed before ushering you into the stall with a parting kiss. We’ll head over to Tommy’s for an early dinner once I’m finished up here, yeah?”

“Yes, of course.”

Dinner was a small affair, Ellie using one of the recipe cards you had made for Joel to attempt her hand at a casserole and a cake. The noodles were far too mushy and the cheese was a little too crusted, but you wouldn’t trade her bright smile as she set it down with a flourish for anything in the world. The cake was a touch better, the frosting smooth in most places and the perfect amount of sweetness to counteract the rich chocolate she had been adventurous in trying out. Two candles were lit atop it after meal, her smile infectious as you thanked her and reached to squeeze her smaller frame to yours.

“Alright, alright. Now make a wish and blow them out!” She was excited, Macon imitating her as he bounced in your lap.

“Macon, want to help me?” He gurgled his agreement, barely able to hold his head up and only for short bursts of time. But he pursed his lips as you leaned closer to the cake and blew. He made a sputtering sound, bubbles forming at the corners of his lips and everyone laughed as he seemed shocked at the smoke lifting from the now spent candles. You looked over to Joel, catching the soft smile he was sporting as he watched on.

But you were both in your home now, having left at the assurance of dinner being cleaned up and the kitchen tidied. You were standing in the back room, taking in the sight of what he had been working on all day. Floor to ceiling shelves had been installed on the wall that was shared with the kitchen on the other side. The supplies you kept for the harvest from the olive trees aesthetically placed in the cubbies.

“Joel, it’s beautiful. Thank you so much.” You felt the heat of him as he walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your middle. His deep voice was so close as he hooked his chin over your shoulder. He guided you out of the room and across the hall to your bedroom, waddling his frame around yours as he refused to let go.

“What’d you wish for, sweetheart?” He whispered, as if it was a secret he was hoping to be privy to, your breath hitched as you turned in his arms and snaked your hands around his neck.

“Nothin’, just…for everything to keep on the way it has been. I’ve got everything I need.” You leaned up and kissed him, his hands tightened around your waist, and you giggled as he dipped you a little with his enthusiasm. You could feel his own smile as his lips moved against yours and you breathed out one last laugh before pivoting your bodies toward the bed. He let you, so willing underneath your touch.

The next morning you both rise early before the sun, helping each other dress and then walk hand in hand toward the stables, boots crunching over the thin ice that had formed overnight. Just as you lead Lowry through the gates, Joel astride is own horse, he turns to you with a lopsided grin.

Your eyes trail over him, landing on the worn fabric of his back pocket, the spiral top of his notepad tucked securely inside. It turns out the faded patch was your business after all and you smile at him in return as he speaks.

“So what’s your favorite movie?”

You answer him honestly, earning a huff of slight exasperation for your answer. Turning the question on him as the sound of steady hoofbeats and soft conversation flows over the open plains of your morning route.

previous chapter || end

taglist:

@joelsgreys @morning-star-joy @sawymredfox @pascalpvnk @littlemisspascal

@merz-8 @orcasoul @sabmat @dreamingofleon @keylimebeag

@picassopedro @tuquoquebrute @alejaa-a @jessthebaker @joeloverture

@joelscruff @swiftispunk @tightjeansjavi @undercoverpena @corazondebeskar

@honeyedmiller @novas-dreamworld @slugz-writes-shit @hiroikegawa @dugiioh

@persephone-girl @furiousmushroom @copperhalfcent @lizlil @hiddenbabynyc

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@ohhellotherebumblebee @koshkaj-blog @amyispxnk @wand-erer5

dividers by the lovely: @/cafekitsune and /saradika-graphics

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mrworldwideshoulders · 2 years ago

Text

give me novacaine || reader x myg

Lost and spiraling, Yoongi can’t stop himself from thinking about what he could have done differently to keep from losing you - if he'd been a better man, if he'd spent more time with you, if he'd been more affectionate, maybe he would have known sooner…and maybe he could have kept you from betraying him. Inspired by When I Was Your Man by Bruno Mars.

Pairing: reader x MYG (if you can call it that); feat. JK and Hobi Word count: 5.6k Rating: M / R (18+) Genre: angst, breakup au Warnings: descriptions of cuts, blood, and broken glass, (extremely) foul language, hobi being an angel as usual, jk being kind of a badass A/N: hey there and welcome! this is the sequel to my fic bang bang (shameless plug) so i would definitely recommend reading that one first because you will probably be a bit confused if you don’t :) actually really enjoyed writing this one, so i hope you enjoy reading it just as much. beta’d and bannered as always by the amazing april (@onmypillow-onmytable)! thx! ly - robyn P.S. I do not own BTS or their likenesses, nor do I own the music of Bruno Mars (lol), they just inspire me.

part of the unorthodox jukebox collection (masterlist)

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” A soft touch on Yoongi’s cheek draws him out of his slumber and back into real life.

“Hmm,” he grumbles, reluctantly opening his eyes to find you next to him, smiling gently, pale morning sunlight illuminating you from behind like a halo. “You couldn’t let me sleep a few minutes longer?”

“I couldn’t help it,” you say. “I like seeing you right when you wake up, all grumpy and half-asleep. Like a cat.”

Yoongi can’t help but let out a small chuckle. “I’ll get you for that.” He reaches out a hand to pull you toward him, bringing your face mere inches away from his.

“Good morning,” you say softly, staring into his eyes.

“Good morning.” He presses his forehead against yours.

“I was just thinking…” You hesitate. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Min Yoongi.”

“Oh? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

You lean in suddenly, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. “A good thing, of course. A very good thing.”

A crack of thunder sounds, jolting Yoongi awake. Rain beats against the full picture windows, fat drops streaming down like tears. He blinks, the insides of his eyelids feeling like full-grit sandpaper scraping against his corneas.

He wasn’t dead.

He was still very much alive. And on top of that, still dreaming about you, even though you were gone and every part of him that had once held love was filled with his hatred of you, his empty apartment still echoing with the sounds of your betrayal.

How unfortunate. Especially the part where he was still alive.

He sits up slowly, peeling the side of his face from the leather couch, and his head throbs so sharply and violently that his vision clouds. “Fucking hell,” Yoongi mutters, fingers digging into his pulsing temples, as if that would solve anything. He takes a glance around the room. The place is a mess. He struggles to his feet, swaying unsteadily as his vision starts to swim again. It’s dark still but just light enough to indicate that morning is on its way, ready to remind him that he’d been just stupid and just desperate enough to be taken in by your ruse. Something crunches underfoot as he’s feeling his way out of the room. He reaches down, feeling blindly for the source of the noise, and a sharp stabbing pain pierces into the soft, fleshy part of his hand. “Shit!” he snaps. It’s glass. Of fucking course it’s glass. The remnants of a whiskey bottle lay in pieces on the floor, and he remembered now, that he’d thrown it at the wall last night. Blood pools in the dip of his palm, the cut apparently deeper than it felt. “Perfect,” he says under his breath. “Just perfect.”

The water in the sink runs red for what feels like forever, but it finally stops long enough for him to disinfect it and wrap it in a swath of gauze and medical tape. The wrapping is sloppy, but it’ll keep everything in place for as long as it needs to. He’s struck suddenly by another memory.

“Ah, fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck. That hurts!” You’re supposed to be chopping vegetables for stir fry, but he looks over to see you gritting your teeth, a bloodstained dish towel wrapped around your hand.

“Let me see.” Yoongi reaches for the towel, but you nearly yank your hand away from him.

“No! I can’t.”

“Why not?” He reaches for it again.

“I’m afraid to look.” You squeeze your eyes shut while he unwraps the towel from your hand. Blood still oozes from a small but seemingly deep cut on your middle finger. “My finger is still there, right?”

“What finger? I don’t see a finger.”

Your eyes shoot open. “Yoongi! Come on.”

“Made you look.” He grins, pulling you over to the sink. “It’s just a little cut. Here, rinse it off first, and I’ll bandage it up for you.” You wait silently, wincing slightly as he dabs disinfectant on the cut. He wraps the bandage securely but not too tightly around your finger. “There.” Yoongi lifts your hand and kisses it gently. “Better?”

“Much,” you manage, cheeks coloring.

Could he have done more? He knows he should have – definitely could have – been better. On one hand, he’d tried, hadn’t he? He’d tried to be gentle and attentive, to go against all of his past experiences with women and relationships; his mother, for one, and her incessant stream of boyfriends, an array of different faces that were all the same, faces who would all sneer at him on his way out of the house and tell him to straighten up and respect his mother. He’d ended up something like her anyway, for a time, an near-ceaseless series of one night stands and unattached partners filtering in and out of his apartment for a good part of his early twenties – but that was different. You were different. He hadn't ever loved any of them the way he loved you. He'd tried to never let you see the side of him that could be angry and sometimes violent. On the other hand – he should have known better. It wasn’t like you were his first anything. He should have known that some women wanted more than just your time. They wanted to be doted upon, made to feel special, surprised with the occasional gift or dinner out on a random Tuesday – and he hadn’t done a very good job of that. He wasn’t good at giving gifts, unlike Hoseok, who somehow seemed to be able to intuit the perfect gift for someone within minutes. He hadn’t ever gotten the impression any of that was something you wanted, and it certainly wasn’t something he wanted, either. He hated those types of little grand gestures. They were sappy. Cringe-inducing. Unoriginal. All qualities he’d never considered himself to possess.

Was that really all it would have taken for you not to stab him in the back? A surprise date at the nicest restaurant in the city? Could a bouquet of flowers on a random Wednesday make you call it off with every other guy you were seeing? There was no way it could be that simple, could it? If it was, then maybe all of his teachers were right, and he really was the biggest idiot in South Korea, if he hadn't managed to figure that one out. Yoongi closes his eyes and lets out a short laugh, his bandaged hand still humming with pain. “I really must be a dumbass, huh, y/n?” he mutters. “Stupidest motherfucker on the planet. Is that what you wanted? Fucking flowers?”

He checks the time on his watch. Quarter to six. Too late to go back to bed and too early to go to work. Not even go-getter Jungkook shows up to work that early, and despite being in charge Yoongi is never there before eight or nine unless he has to be. Well, someone has to clean up the glass in the front room, and he can’t show up for work still reeking of whiskey. Jungkook does pretty much nothing but eat and work out in his spare time; he’ll throw Yoongi over one shoulder like a sack of flour and carry him back home to sleep it off if he so much as catches a whiff, so a shower is in order before he can go anywhere. It may not be much but he’s got to do something to keep his mind off you and all of the little things he did wrong.

The shower does little to improve his mood or his raging headache, but the show must go on, as they say, and he forces himself out the door shortly after eight. As glad as he is to have you and your lies out of his life, he has to admit his apartment feels empty without you, silent in a way that it hasn’t felt since the first time he invited you over. Once he’s at work he quickly sequesters himself in his office, the door shut firmly behind him, and an hour or so in only confirms what he knows already but doesn’t want to acknowledge: he’s not going to be getting much of anything done today. The rain is still beating a lull against his windows, the task at hand is long forgotten, and a nap is sounding more and more appealing by the second. His mind is already starting to drift, eyelids dropping shut like window shades.

There’s a quick rap at the door, and whoever is out there doesn’t even wait for a response before it opens. “Yoongi-ssi?” Jungkook's looming figure hovers tentatively in the doorway.

“Hm?” Yoongi barely lifts his head from where it’s propped on his good hand. “What, Jungkook?” He can’t even muster up the energy to bark at Jungkook like he usually does when he hesitates a second too long; he can only turn his head slightly and squint in the younger man’s direction.

“Is…everything okay?” Jungkook says finally, stepping further inside. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks for that,” mutters Yoongi, eyes still half-closed. “I’m fine. Go away.”

Jungkook ignores him. “You really don’t look so good, Yoongi. Are you sure you should be here right now?”

“I said I’m fine,” he snaps, wincing as a sharp pain shoots through his head. “Don’t you have work to be doing?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“So get out of my office and go do it, then.” Yoongi scowls. “I’m not paying you for your company.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says, eyebrows pinching in concern, “but, you know, I would understand if you wanted to take the rest of the day. We don’t really have a lot going on at the moment, just a couple of small cases. I can take care of things for a day or two. That’s kinda why you hired me, isn’t it?”

“I’m fine, Jungkook.” Yoongi lets out a heated sigh. “What I want is for you to leave me alone. Please,” he adds as an afterthought. “Just go away.”

Jungkook doesn’t budge, instead staying firmly rooted in front of the desk. “What happened, hyung?”

Yoongi doesn’t speak right away, knowing exactly what Jungkook is asking. “It’s over,” he murmurs. “She’s gone. That’s all you need to know. I don’t want to talk about it.” No need to tell him how you tried to defend yourself, even with the photographic evidence right in front of you, or any of the horrible things you both said to each other, or about the deafening silence that fell after you stormed out, the long night of beating himself up over every little regret that followed and trying to drown out the voices in his head.

He eyes Yoongi skeptically, gaze twitching from his face to his bandaged hand. “You didn’t do anything…crazy, did you?”

“Of course not,” he grumbles, shoving the injured hand under his desk. “Y/n L/n is still out there walking around on her own two hooves, I promise. Jesus, Kook, who do you think I am, huh? I may be impulsive but I’m not stupid enough to kill anyone.”

“Then…what did you do to your hand?”

“Broke a bottle. Sliced my hand open while I was trying to clean it up. Any more questions, or can we move on? I’m really not in the mood for this.”

“No, I guess not,” Jungkook says quietly, dropping his head to avoid eye contact. “I’m sorry. I know how you felt about her, but…it’s for the best.”

A rush of anger floods through him. No, you don’t. You don’t know how I felt. You don’t know what it’s like at all. Being unwanted, everyone, yourself included, wishing you would just disappear, then thinking finally, here’s someone who accepts you, someone who loves you, despite every bad thing you’ve ever done, only to have it all blow up in your face because she never loved you, she was only stringing you along for her own amusement. It’s mortifying. You don’t know anything. And I hope to God you never do. I hope you stay blissfully ignorant of the way real pain and heartbreak feels, because it’ll make you want to crawl into a hole and die. He doesn’t say any of what he’s thinking and simply shrugs. “What’s done is done. Like I said, I don’t really want to talk about it. Let’s get to work, huh?”

“Yeah. For sure.” Jungkook turns to leave, then hesitates. “She wasn’t a good person, Yoongi. I wouldn’t lose too much time thinking about her. There’ll be someone else one day. Someone who’ll be a better match for you than she ever was. I guarantee it.��

“It’s fine,” Yoongi says, though it isn’t. “I’m already past it. Just go, okay? Close the door on your way out.” What is it with Jungkook and making promises he can’t keep? That’s his problem right there, guaranteeing this and that and hoping for the best when the only thing anyone’s guaranteed in life is death. For all Jungkook knows Yoongi is destined to die alone, just like you said, and even that would be more than he could have hoped for. Maybe you’re right, and no one will ever love him but you, not that you had ever really loved him anyway. He knows he’s hard to love: stubborn, ornery, a little too private for most people's liking. Spend most of your life getting knocked around the way he has and it's no wonder no one wants anything to do with him. He's damaged goods, after all. Scratches and dings everywhere. Too much baggage for even the most sainted person to deal with. Maybe he is better off alone. It’s lonely, but no one gets hurt that way. Hearts stay guarded, hearts stay intact. Is that the secret?

Almost as soon as Jungkook leaves, his phone vibrates on his desk. His number is private, which means it can only be one person. He sighs and allows the call through. “Yeah?”

"Yoongi-ah!" Hoseok's exuberantly cheerful voice breaks through the speakers. Yoongi has always wondered how one person can be in such good spirits all the time. "I'm glad I caught you. I was wondering, did you mean to call me last night?"

"No," says Yoongi. "Just an accident. Sorry.” What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

"Huh. Okay." Now he sounds skeptical. He can almost see Hoseok’s face pursing into a frown. “Because I could have sworn I heard—”

“It was nothing, Hobi,” he says firmly. “I was drinking and I must have bumped your number or something. That’s all.”

“Drinking on a weeknight? Is everything okay?”

Damn it. Why does Hoseok have to know him so well? “Everything’s fine. Had a rough day at work yesterday. You know how it is.” Hoseok doesn’t know exactly what it is he does for a living, but he has some idea.

“Well…okay.” He can tell his friend still doesn’t believe him. “I guess I was imagining things. But, you know you can always talk to me, right? If there’s ever something you want to talk to me about. I’m here to listen.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Yoongi swallows hard, the words sticking in his throat.

Hoseok continues. "Anyway, while I’ve got you, I was going to ask if you wanted to come over for dinner sometime. It's been forever. Hyorin and I would love to see you. And when are you going to come see your godson? Junho has grown so much, you’d barely recognize him if you saw him.” Junho is what, six months old now? Hoseok and Hyorin had insisted on making him Junho’s godfather when he was born, despite Yoongi’s protests, saying there was no one better for the job than him. “Bring y/n with you. We’ve been dying to meet her. And I have to see for myself the woman who managed to crack through that tough outer shell of yours so quickly.” Hoseok likes to claim that it took a year’s worth of his mother’s lunches for Yoongi to crack even slightly, while for you it only took a matter of months to get right to the heart of things.

His words stab at Yoongi's chest like knives. “Uh…yeah. We’ll have to get together sometime.” Coward. The word floats in front of his eyes again, the same way it did last night when he hung up instead of talking to Hoseok. What kind of coward are you that you can’t even tell your best friend that it’s over, that she’s gone, that she played you for a fool? How long are you going to go on dodging him and letting him think everything is fine when it’s not? “About that,” says Yoongi. “Y/n and I – we broke up. Yesterday.”

“What?” Yoongi can tell Hoseok is genuinely floored by this. “Are you — really? What happened? Didn’t you say you were about to ask her to move in with you? Officially?”

Yoongi chuckles bitterly. “We discovered some, uh, irreconcilable differences. And she cheated on me. With multiple people.”

"Yoongi..." Hoseok sighs. "I'm sorry. I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d known. You doing okay?"

“Oh, I'm fine,” Yoongi says dismissively. "I'll get through it, I always do. You know me. Anyway, better to have that all out in the open now than later, right?” He can’t even force himself to imagine what it would be like if they’d been married. At least ten times worse, probably. Would he have ever even wanted to be married to you? He’d barely even begun to think about the possibility, to picture what it would be like to have you as his wife, to start a family with you. A happy little family, something he’d never had before. The very idea repulses him now.

“You don’t have to hide it, you know.” Hoseok seems to know something he isn’t letting on. “It’s okay to be upset. That was a shitty thing for her to do. It’s a shitty thing for anyone to do. You wouldn’t be the only one to—”

“Aish, seriously, I’m fine.” Yoongi rubs at his forehead in frustration, unwilling to admit that Hoseok is absolutely right. “I knew it was all going to come to an end sooner or later. Everything does for me. It just came sooner than I expected.”

Hoseok pauses momentarily, and for a second Yoongi wonders if maybe he’s gone too dark on him. ”Listen, why don’t you come over tonight instead?” Hoseok says finally. “Hyorin is making dakgalbi. I know it’s your favorite, and she always makes enough to feed the entire military. You should come. We can catch up. What do you think?”

Yoongi lets out a humorless laugh. “Your wife, who likes me for some reason, just so happens to be making dakgalbi the day after I find out my girlfriend has been cheating on me for the better part of our relationship? Almost sounds too good to be true.” Just as it had been for someone like you to have any real interest in him at all. Too good to be true.

“It must be fate then.” He pictures Hoseok shrugging. “And you shouldn’t argue with fate, right?”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll take my chances. I’ve managed so far, haven’t I?” Managed to screw everything up and drive everyone who matters away from you, he thinks. “I don’t think I’d be very good company right now, anyway.”

“Okay, well, if you won’t come over for dinner, I’ll bring you leftovers tomorrow. How about that?” Hoseok is just the same as he’s always been: trying to take care of Yoongi when it should really be the other way around. He must have had such a glowing, happy childhood to end up this kind and caring as an adult. How had a fuckup like Yoongi ever managed to become friends with someone as pure as Hoseok?

“Fine,” he relents. “You do that. But call first, okay?”

“Of course.” Voices sound behind him on the other end of the line. “Listen, I’ve got to go now, but we’ll talk tomorrow, all right? And Yoongi?”

“What?”

“It’s not your fault. I know it hurts right now, but she chose to cheat all on her own. You didn’t make her do it. So cut yourself some slack, okay? Someday it’ll all work out.” Why does everyone keep trying to tell him that? It’s all just empty platitudes anyway. Nothing works out for him. It never has. In fact, it’s surprising that his own company hasn’t crashed and burned yet.

He hears your scornful voice in his ears again. If you’d paid more attention to me, you would have figured it out sooner. You don’t care. You never cared. Would Hoseok still be saying that if he knew the whole story about what I was doing back then? Yoongi wonders. Would he still choose to see only the good in me? Would he still be willing to call me his friend? Godfather to his firstborn child? Anything at all? “Yeah, right. I’m sure. Thanks anyway.”

“I’m your best friend. It’s what I’m here for.” Hoseok hangs up.“You’re my only friend,” mutters Yoongi dryly, long after the line has gone dead.

He should not be doing this. Not today. But he’d insisted to Jungkook that he was fine, and being fine meant leaving the office for a few hours to do some surveillance for a case they were working. It wasn’t as if Jungkook had forced him; if anything he’d basically told him that he could handle it on his own, as he’d been saying all morning, but that it was easier for two people than one, just in case anything happened. Yoongi had decided to come anyway, his headache having tapered off some, and the distraction would – hopefully – keep his mind off everything, namely you. He was beginning to regret that decision, almost as soon as he’d made it. The rain still hadn’t let up, and the guy they were supposed to be tailing hadn’t moved from his table at the cafe where he’d been sitting for the past forty-five minutes. It was hard to believe that the client thought that this guy was even a threat to their personal safety – but a job was a job, and a paranoid client with deep pockets was better than no client at all.

How things had changed in the past ten years of his life. Ten years ago he was still pickpocketing people like his client, on top of working long, miserable hours in the kitchen of some god-awful restaurant, having to scrape just to put food in his mouth and pay the rent on his tiny shithole of an apartment. Of course his mother had been no help; she’d been the one to kick him out in the first place, claiming she’d already done her duty by allowing him to live rent-free under her roof for nineteen years, as if he were just some freeloading roommate and not her son. Yoongi’s thievery had started innocently enough, as innocent as lifting wallets off unsuspecting people could be. A means to an end. That was all it was ever supposed to be, a way to supplement his measly paycheck when things were tight. Then the wrong people had taken notice of his talents, turning it into something far bigger and far darker than he had ever intended for it to be, and sending him hurtling down a path he’d never wanted to venture down, but found himself unable to stop until it was almost too late. Was it his fault, then, that things had ended up this way? All of his past transgressions, everything he’d done and regretted now, falling in love with someone who would never truly be his in any capacity - had all of that been preordained the moment he lifted that first wallet in Gangnam Station? Yoongi was starting to think you might be right, that no matter how much good he did, no matter how many people he protected and thefts he prevented, he would always remain the same on the inside. He could put on an expensive suit and cut his hair and act like he was doing it all for the greater good, but deep down he’d always know it was just that: an act. He was, in the purest sense of the word, a fraud. Just as you had said. A fraud, a liar, and a thief.

What if you did decide to go back on your word? What if you told everyone – his clients, his colleagues, his friends – about how he’d gotten to be where he was? Would it make any difference? He’d threatened to reveal it himself – but would he? Could he allow everything he’d so carefully built to come crumbling down like a house of cards? If any of that happened he would be right back where he started ten years ago. Alone. Hoseok probably wouldn’t want anything to do with him if he knew what Yoongi had done to get by, certainly wouldn’t want him anywhere near his wife and son. Jungkook, perhaps, could be counted on to stick around, but Yoongi wasn’t holding his breath. Maybe that would be a good thing. No more secrets. No more lies. No friends or associates. A fresh start.

“Yoongi-ssi?” Jungkook’s voice crackled in his earpiece, startling him back into reality. “Status report?”

Yoongi glanced up at the man’s table, which was currently being bussed – because it was empty. “Fuck!” he swore under his breath, hurrying out onto the street.

“Something happen?” says Jungkook.

Yoongi sighs angrily. “Something happened, all right. I lost him, Kook.” The guy might not have been dangerous, but he’d walked away right in front of him – and Yoongi hadn’t even noticed because he was lost in his head, daydreaming about the past. How stupid did he have to be to let that happen? “He was there two minutes ago, I swear.”

“Shit,” he hears Jungkook mutter. “Well, he’s on foot, he can’t have gotten far. I’m in the area. Let me see what I can do.” Jungkook goes silent.

Yoongi paces on the sidewalk, unsure what to do with himself. He’s never lost a tail before, not like this. Not even someone trying to lose themselves in a crowd could shake him off. He’s useless. Especially today. The rain pours, pelting painfully against his skin.

Pathetic, sneers your voice in his head again. I thought you were supposed to be good at this.

“Got him.” His colleague’s triumphant voice finally breaks through after what seems like an eternity. “Headed for the subway station. We’ll probably lose contact once I’m underground, so I’ll touch base once I’m topside again.”

He used to wonder where Jungkook would be without him – probably still working for the gangster his father owed money to, still under the guise that he’d be dismissed whenever the debt was paid – but now Yoongi wonders where he’d be without Jungkook. The kid is too good for this business, he thinks, and should really be doing something more honorable with his skills. Police work, maybe, or working in intelligence, not private security. Something entirely unrelated, even. He’s far too talented to waste his life working for someone like Yoongi. “Good.” He exhales a sigh of relief, pinching at the space between his eyes. “Stay on him.” Jungkook doesn’t need him, not anymore. Maybe he never did. Maybe that was just something he’d always told himself to make himself feel better about essentially hijacking the trajectory of Jungkook’s life. “You going to be alright if I head home? I don’t think I’m going to be much use here.”

“I’ll be fine, but…” Jungkook sounds like he wants to say something else but holds back. “Okay. Have a good night, boss. I’ll update you when I get back to the office.”

“Thanks.” says Yoongi gruffly. “And…I’m sorry.”

"Don't worry about it," says Jungkook. "I've been telling you to go home all day. Go on, I've got this covered."

Yoongi chuckles wryly before he pulls his earpiece out. Home. That might be the last place on earth he wants to be right now. But where else is he going to go?

It’s been a long day. A very long day. One with a lot of thinking, and still more to go. The front room is back in order and dark shadows are beginning to fall around him as the rainy afternoon gradually fades into night. He's staring out at the city skyline, lights blinking on one by one like stars, contemplating his next move when his phone vibrates. Jungkook, presumably with an update on today's subject. "Nothing too interesting to report. You were right, the guy’s harmless."

"Hah," Yoongi scoffs. "I wouldn't take my word for it."

"I'll keep an eye on him," says Jungkook, "and let you know if anything else comes up."

"Sounds good." Yoongi hesitates. "Listen, Jungkook…about earlier. I'm thinking about taking some time off work. Do you think you could handle things for a while?"

"Of course I can. But how long is a while?"

"I don’t know. Indefinitely?" The line goes silent and Yoongi is momentarily afraid that he's lost him. "Kook, you still there?"

"Yeah. Still here." Jungkook sounds stunned. "I was trying to figure out if you just said what I think you just said. You said indefinitely, right?"

"As in, I'm not sure when I'll be back? No, you heard me right."

"Well…why?" He pictures the puzzled look on Jungkook’s face, eyes widening, eyebrows scooting together in confusion.

Yoongi lets out a sigh and stares down, examining the bandage on his hand. “Got some things to sort out. I’m not sure that I can trust myself right now, and I don’t think I should be doing this when I can’t even trust my own judgment. It’s risky for all of us. Someone could get hurt.” That’s all he wants. Just once in his life, for people to stop getting hurt because of him.

“Right. I understand that, and I recognize what you’re doing, but Yoongi, you know what you’re asking, don’t you? A couple of days is one thing, but I have no idea how to run things for that long. Especially when I don’t know when you’ll be back. You know I don’t mind doing it, it’s just…a really big ask.”

“I’ll be back, Jungkook. It’s not like I won’t.” Yoongi chuckles. “You’re the only one that’s qualified. And you’re the only one I trust to do this. I can trust you, right?” The question is almost rhetorical. The kid has more than proven himself in the whole time he’s known him.

He hears Jungkook take a deep breath. “Of course. You can count on me, hyung. I’ve got this.”

“That’s good to hear.” Yoongi does feel bad about leaving it all on Jungkook to pick up the slack, but he knows he can handle it. Things will be just fine without him, at least for a while. Everything always has been. Black Swan might even be better off with Jungkook at the helm instead of him. “I’m sorry for dropping this on you at the last minute.”

“Please,” Jungkook scoffs. “I told you, I’ve got this.” His voice changes, growing softer, less brash. “So…what will you do while you’re gone?”

“Hm. Not sure yet.” Yoongi smiles faintly. “You know, I’ve never really been on a vacation. Maybe I’ll leave the city, go somewhere sunny. Tropical and warm. Maybe the mountains.”

“That’ll be nice.” There’s a beat of silence. “So…this is it, then,” Jungkook says. “You’re really going.”

“Don’t get all sappy on me now, Kook,” says Yoongi briskly. “I’m your boss. We’re not really friends, are we?” They’re not friends, not just colleagues. They’re partners. Is that really any different?

“Yeah. Sorry. Well, good luck, boss. I’ll be here, as long as you need me to be. I hope you get everything figured out.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi heaves another sigh. “Me too. Goodbye, Jungkook. I’ll be in touch.” He hangs up before Jungkook can get any sappier on him and stares down at his hands again. He’ll leave town, maybe in a few days or so, go somewhere far away and stay there until it feels right to come back. But there’s one last thing he has to do tonight before he can go anywhere.

The door in front of him swings open, and the savory smell of stir-fried chicken wafts out. “Yoongi?” Hoseok looks him up and down, taking in Yoongi’s rain-soaked appearance. “What are you – did you walk here? It’s pouring out. You’ll get sick.” Same old Hoseok, the mother he never had.

“Hobi,” he says, ignoring his friend’s fussing. “Sorry I didn’t call first, but I was in the neighborhood and I got to wondering…does that dinner invitation still stand?”

“Always, but…” Hoseok falters. “I thought you said—”

“You know I can’t resist free food.” Yoongi smirks. “And…” He hesitates. His past is dark, littered with thorns and broken glass, winding paths to hell built upon good intentions. He can’t change that. But he can change his present – his future, too. And it starts with being honest with the people around him, whatever the fallout may be. No more secrets. No more lies. Especially to the people he cares about. “I decided I could really use someone to talk to.”

“Okay, well – get in here, then.” Hoseok pulls him inside, where it’s warm and bright and filled with life. “We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

Things will be better without you. Not now, but eventually. Maybe someday it will all work out like everyone keeps trying to tell him. Maybe there is still happiness to be found in this life.

#mrworldwideshoulders #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts angst #bts series #bts x reader #bts au #reader x yoongi #reader x suga #reader x min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi x reader #breakup au #bts x you

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tinypandacakes · 8 months ago

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18, 27!!!

Thanks for the ask :)

27. your favorite part of the writing process

My favorite part is the point in editing where everything comes together. When the chapter finally feels right and it captures the vibe I was going for. It makes me feel proud and accomplished :]

18. if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

A little NSFW so under the cut but it was a dry-humping scene where König got a bit overexcited. Two disjointed unedited bits below. It didn’t end up fitting what I needed, but I keep these tidbits cause you never know when it could be recycled for another fic…I do like him a little over eager and pathetic sometimes…

He pressed his hips up against you, rutting his clothed length along your wetness. König rocked forward and back, the material of his sweatpants chafing you a little as it wicked away your arousal to dampen the material.

He sucked in a breath through what you imagined were gritted teeth, each of his inhalations more strained than the last as he held onto his thinning self control. An especially hard thrust pulled a little whine from you, tugging against your most sensitive parts.

— —

The feral gleam in his eyes softened when he met yours. He rolled his neck and let out a deep sigh.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he said, voice still rough, like it had been scrubbed raw with sandpaper. His fingers teased the inside of your thigh, his thumb sliding up higher. “I just…fuck, look at you.”

Despite the moisture his clothes had stolen from you, your body was just as eager to offer more, his thumb parting you with a wet little sound, a trickle of arousal greeting the calloused pad of his finger. He spread your slick upward like a balm, adding a little circle around your bullied clit, an apology for being too rough, too eager.

It soothed the burn of dry skin and distrust.

#ask game

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littlestsnicket · 2 years ago

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worth it but rock climbing is totally destroying my nails. gentle exfoliating and excessive moisturizing do wonders to keep calluses from getting weird and peelly but there are no remedies for essentially rubbing your nails on corse grit sandpaper other than, i guess, keeping them even shorter than i already am

@kitsnicket i bought a perfume sampler with a city on fire in it and i am very excited

i found a nearly finished drabble in my community slush file and now i am tempted to write more community fic (abed and annie roleplay as cooper and audrey or always a girl abed are both really promising fic ideas). unfortunately there are too many other things i would rather be working on and there is only so much time

@kuwdora you ao3 bookmarks are just amazingly curated! and i have found so much good witcher fic i either hadn't read or hadn't thought about in a while!

got doctor faustus with arthur darvill from the library! probably won't watch it until next weekend, but yay! (i love getting things from the library! for me--at least--it's the exact right amount of pressure to actually go ahead and watch/read something new)

#mayo blogs

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juletheghoul · 3 years ago

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Moment of Peace

I'm practising writing for other characters - I know this won't be everyone's cup of tea and if you're following me solely for the Pedro content I respect that! Hopefully you like it anyway! (There will be Pedro fic updates this week)

Dedicating this to @foli-vora for encouraging me to go outside my comfort zone and write about this juggernaut of a man.

Frank Castle (Punisher) x F!Reader

Pairing: Frank Castle x F!Reader

Word Count: 950

Warnings: NSFW 18+ language, Smut, PIV sex (wrap it up), spitting, dirty talk, implied violence, light choking, talk of guns, talk of blood - let me know if I missed any!

Masterlist

-----

There was someone in the house.

You tried to steady your breathing, your movement had to be silent. His words swam through your mind as you reached for the gun he gave you.

His warnings, his instructions, his face - it all flashed before your eyes as you made your way down the stairs with shaky legs. Your heart raced with each step - until you saw his face.

“Jesus Christ Frank, you scared me half to death.” The relief was palpable. “How much of that blood is yours?” You made sure to put the safety back on before you set it down.

“Not enough.” His gaze was half mad, rage filled and intense and you knew why he was here.

“Let me get you cleaned up-“ He didn’t let you move, his big boots barely made any noise as they brought him to you. “It’s okay.” You tried to connect to him, made him look you in the eye even as his hands held you in their bruising grip.

“Tell me to leave.” His voice was sandpaper, a harsh grit in the quiet. “Tell me to never come back, tell me you’re too good for me. Tell me you don’t want this.” His words were silk, a soft press against your clit - a wet tongue on your nipples.

“You know I won’t.” Your eyes were connected, even as his blood-stained hands roughly pulled your clothes off, his eyes daring you to stop. Daring, or maybe begging. You never did.

It took seconds, or minutes - maybe days before he had you naked. His eyes raked over you, sending a hot spike of arousal into the crux of you. If you didn’t know any better, you would have tried to undress him but it would have been for naught. You knew he wouldn’t let you, this had to be done his way.

His hands were full of calluses, scratching at your skin as he pulled you towards your sofa and you ignored the way your nipples stiffened, the way your heart raced now - so unlike its rhythm from before.

He was carved from stone, and you felt it most when he kissed you. You tasted his anger in it, smelled the metallic sting of gunpowder, blood most of all.

“You’re too fuckin soft-“ he compounded his words with the force in his hands. “Too good for me - tell me to go.” He knew you wouldn’t and you didn’t do so now as he stripped away his self-made uniform. The emblem he did his deeds under, now discarded- forgotten on your floor.

“No.” You made space for him between your legs and the ache for him to fill your cunt was like a bruise deep inside, one only he knew how to soothe.

“You like this don’t you? Huh? You like when I come in here in the middle of the night -“ His frown was deep and his eyes were both focused and far away as you spread the lips of your cunt for his eyes. “Look how wet you are for me darlin’, almost a waste.” He nudged at the swollen bundle of nerves with the tip of his cock, a soft act before the ruination that would soon come.

The thrust of him inside was like a shove. The gravel of his voice only served to make you wetter, made you drench him. You moaned when he thrust again, when he made your breasts bounce from the force of it.

“Is this what you wanted?” He brought his hand to your throat, holding you as he fucked into you almost painfully. “A monster touching you? Fucking you like this?” You could hear the wet sounds of it, of his body taking up space within yours.

“I want you Frank-“ Your voice was strained, from the movement and from his hand. “I always want you.” Your hand came up to cup his cheek and you saw him close his eyes tight. A pained look flashed across his face and you ignored what it could mean.

“I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve this-“ he kneeled between your legs on your sofa and raised your legs up onto his shoulders to get deeper. “I don’t deserve this pretty pussy, I don’t deserve how fuckin' good you feel.” You reached down to rub your clit and he groaned to see it. “Move your hand sweet girl.” You did as he asked and watched as he let his saliva fall exactly where your fingers had just been.

It was too much, the feeling of it gliding between your fingers and the swollen bundle of nerves had you clenching up, squeezing his cock with a vice-like grip as you came around him.

“Too fuckin’ pretty.” He whispered it, mostly to himself as he chased his own pleasure, a handful of thrusts before he was stroking himself above you. Spilling onto the puffy lips of your cunt with a groan.

You caught your breath for a moment, feeling the blood pounding in your chest and in your ears.

This was the only time he was soft. The only time he seemed like he could be happy, when he was sated. His hands were softer, his expression was softer. A few heartbeats of peace.

This is why he came. This is why he sought you out time and time again, for those few seconds of quiet. Until they evaporated, like they always did.

He dressed in a flash and left just as fast. A gruff take care at the door.

Bye Frank.

You made sure everything was locked up tight, and put the gun back before you made your way back upstairs.

See you soon.

------

(Tagging who I think would like, and who expressed interest)

Tags: @wheresarizona @anaaaispunk @you-got-me-starry-eyed @absurdthirst @januarystears @bruxasolta @aliypop @elirobin @thebookisbtr @sanasnacks @mandocrasis @rachelwritestuff @beskarboobs

#the punisher #frank castle #frank castle x female reader #jon bernthal #netflix punisher #frank castle x you #jon bernthal fanfiction #frank x you #mcu #netflix mcu #marvel fic

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disasterlesbiansunite · 3 years ago

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Just Two Things: A Young Royals Fix-It Fic

His mama had stood over him as she began talking. Wilhelm could hardly focus; the vision of the video (his video, his and Simon’s video, the video of Simon) burned into his brain on a constant loop. She hadn't asked him if he was alright, not yet, but he had stopped expecting her to early on in life. Duty first, he guessed, as usual. She pulled away and off the bed, rattled off the words about the interview he’ll do to protect the royal family et cetera, et cetera.

“I don’t want you to see Simon for the time being,” she said, and he glanced up, suddenly feeling like his world is fell away underneath him. He wished Erik were here, that Erik was still alive. If he were, then maybe this would all go away. He doubted any of it could now.

August brought him dinner that night when he’s too exhausted to even leave his bed. He said that Erik would want Wille to be himself - but how is August so sure of what Erik would want him to do to fix this, to just get this whole shitshow over with, when the only person who knows that is six feet under.

“Follow your heart, really.” August said. “Follow your heart.”

If anything his heart only thought of two things at the moment. One is the crumpled up rage he feels that’s been broiling under his skin since he saw the video; the screaming, panicked wild thing that wants to shout at the world and watch it shouts back until no part of him remains, no crown prince, nothing.

The other part of his brain thought of Simon. Holding him, soft and warm until his skin, kissing his neck and inhaling as much of him as possible. Kissing him, kissing Simon, an exhilarating feeling he can’t describe, he won’t ever be able to describe. Almost all of the girls he had kissed had kissed gently and slowly, like they were afraid he would disappear right next to them. It always felt like he was being kissed by air, a ghostly possession that was over in a second and just as uncomfortable.

He would have thought that Simon would kiss like that, he had thought Simon would kiss like that, Simon had kissed like that, before they really truly got to know one another. Now, Simon kissed hard and rough, like he knew Wilhelm wouldn’t disappear but just as quick, aware he couldn’t have him by himself ever. Simon’s kiss had the edge of sandpaper, tough grit and fine smoothness rolled into one. Simon kissed for the sake of it, like there was so much he wanted to do to Wille, do with Wille, that he simply couldn’t function enough to do anything but kiss him. Wille fell asleep soon after that, dinner discarded. He wondered if the last time they would ever kiss would be the time that caused both of him to want to recoil from society and away from the world. A part of him hoped so.

The nail on his thumb was raw and bleeding.

As he walked through Hillerska, everyone stared at him in pity. He was used to the stares, used to the way his simple presence shut up people around until all they could do was give him a dumb look. It was pity that was new to him, but he tried not to focus on that as Malin rushed with him to his first class of the day. He knew the things they were saying, drove himself insane as he googled himself over and over again, watching Sweden’s trending page unravel until it felt like it was all over. He watched as Simon walked into their classroom, turning heads for once in his life. Once except for the amount of times he had his, of course. He mindlessly made small talk with his classmate, but all he could think of were two things.

After class he rushed into the locker room to talk to Simon. He looked sullen, his features that were generally framed in a light source of their own were moody and dark, an awkward, ill fitting portrait. He wanted to kiss it all away. Instead, kicked at Simon’s foot, hooking the two into a game of footsie.

“What the hell are we going to do?” Simon asked, wrapping his hands around Wilhelm’s, as if he had any of the answers. Breaking news, he didn’t. All he could do was sit in silence and hold Simon, it felt like the only thing he could do. Unless…

“They’ve asked me to deny it was me in that video.” He could barely get the words out.

“Serious?”

Wille hummed, unable to interpret that reaction. “They want me to make a statement at the castle on Saturday.”

Simon turned, his head moving off of Wille's shoulder in a way that feels entirely unwelcome. Put that back please. Wille had realized that he could only really function anymore in Simon’s arms. As if he wasn’t touch starved enough, but Simon was hot and didn’t mind so it didn’t really matter. “But you’re not going to do it, right?”

“I don’t want to say anything.” Simon doesn’t get it, but Wilhelm doesn’t expect him too; too impossible to explain.

“But, Wille, everyone can see that it’s me in that video,” Wille groaned. He had forgotten that slightly important detail. Simon continued, “What am I supposed to do? But no matter what, they can’t dictate what you say,” Yes, they absolutely can, they’ve done it before.

We haven’t done anything wrong.” He had forgotten that too, spending so much time yesterday going over consequences and contingencies ranging from plan A to Z it made his head bled. But no one had actually told him that they hadn’t done anything wrong. Not even August, with his love is love attitude that came out of nowhere. Not even fucking him.

Mama had been waiting for him. Mama had met Simon. She never looked twice at Wilhelm, veiled disdain souring her mouth as she stared out the window.

“What? Why can’t I just have a relationship with him? And not say anything. Just live a normal life.” He knows why. He just wants to hear her say it.

“You’re the crown prince.” And there’s the world crashing back down onto him. “And that’s a privilege, not a punishment.” It’s both actually, but whatever, mama.

“Yes, but I didn’t ask for this!” Erik should be here. Erik would know what to do.

“Well, nobody has ever, ever asked for this,” his mama shot back. He feels like a little kid again, feels like biting his thumb raw. “You’re the only one who can take over the throne after Erik. Don’t you understand that?” He wished she would just look at him.

“You’re so young. When you’re young love feels like the most important thing in the world. When I was your age, I too had an unfortunate romance.” He wants to laugh or cry or release that panicked, clawed, anxious feeling that’s always been trapped underneath his chest, beating his heart faster and faster and faster. Unfortunate romance, she said, like Simon isn’t the best thing to happen to him, like Simon wasn’t the only one holding him together, like Simon wasn’t the only real thing in his world.

He snapped back into the conversation.“Is it worth it,” she continued. “If you feel that the attention you’ve been getting so far is unacceptable, it’s nothing compared to what you will endure for the rest of your life. We have a chance to cover this up. I urge you to take this chance. You may not get another.”

With Simon on one shoulder, and his mama and the world on the other, it turns out he was going to make the statement after all. Fucking great.

He felt like throwing up, but, to be fair, when hasn’t he.

“Are you ready?” His mama asked, like he could ever be ready to announce to the world, no that definitely was not me in that tape and that boy is definitely not the love of my life, thank you very much.

He dragged his feet, as he went into the room where Rosenqvists sits. Like Mama said, they only have one chance to not fuck this up.

Rosenqvist smiles at Wilhelm, her eyes hawkish. He musters as much of a smile as he can, playing with the buttons on his suit as the photographer directs the two around.

“It’s good to see you again, your highness.”

His eyes darted around the room. He could hear his mama and papa argue in the room they were in

“You too.”

The interview began then, menial questions about his existence that made him want to bite at his thumb. He resisted, knew that if Rosenqvist saw how his anxiety was surging through him like a freight train and mentioned it in her interview, his mama would be more angry then she already was. The questions are simple really, he barely thought about the answers and more about how Erik would have phrased them. Not like Erik would have been in this situation.

“So, Wilhelm, we both know why we’re here.” She smiled apologetically at him. Here we go. “As you are, no doubt, aware of by now there was a video from Hillerska that is going viral of what is rumored to be yourself and another male student,” she paused for a moment, uncomfortable with the what she’s about to say to a boy she’d been interviewing for most of his life, “being intimate. What do you have to say about these rumors, Crown Prince Wilhelm?” She’s less probing, then. He can tell his mom already prepped her on how exactly this interview needed to go. Fuck.

“That’s not-” his words got stuck in his throat.

“That’s not you in the video?” She filled, looking more and more saddened with each word, more maternal that he thinks he’s seen anyone in his entire life. He wanted to nod, wanted to do what his mama wanted for him, wanted to listen to what she feels is best for their country, because it is theirs now, isn’t it? Erik is dead and gone and never coming back no matter how much Wilhelm wishes he had been able to keep him alive. Wilhelm doesn’t exactly know much about what it takes to be king, not like Erik did, but he’s pretty sure a leaked tape is one thing a king is not supposed to have on his record. Wilhelm should want to deny the rumors, so why does it feel like every time he tries to open his mouth that it’s filled with cotton, that panicked wild thing grabbing hold of his brain and shaking it like his snowglobe. It’s begging him to choose the path of least resistance. And then there was Simon. Simon with his pretty soft voice and his even softer lips. Simon with his kind eyes and hands and just Simon, Simon, Simon. Simon, who has already been broken by the video and if Wilhelm denies their relationship then he’ll only break more. The only things he can think about. Just two things. Two things he can’t seem to choose between.

He took a deep breath. Erik would have wanted him to follow his heart, would have said that that would be how he becomes a great king. By being kind and good, and wholly himself.

He chose.

Simon’s mama shouts for a rematch as he laughed into his snack.

Ayub tensed next to him, “Oh, shit.”

“What’s up?” Simon asked, confused. Did his dad ask him to go home or something?

Instead, Ayub read from his phone: an online copy of this week’s Göteborgs-Posten screenshotted and reposted to Twitter. “The Crown Prince addresses rumors of Viral Video.”

“What?” He could have sworn Willie had said he wouldn’t do the interview. His mom and Sara exchange glances.

Ayub read on, “While the Royal Court denies rumors that the Crown Prince appears in the video that has gone viral this past week, his royal highness Prince Wilhelm goes more in depth on his time at Hillerska and the events surrounding the video. He says, ‘I started at Hillerska to focus on my studies and have kept to that.’ At this moment, the prince pauses and grows quiet.

‘That’s not the entire truth. The truth is that that is me in the video. I do not know who took it or why but the facts remain the same. There are many people who would want me to not address the rumors surrounding me at this time, and some even would want me to outright deny them, but I disagree. If I am to be king, and no matter what happens from this I will be king, I want to be the kind of king the people can be proud of, the kind of king my brother would have been, and the kind of king that if he saw me he’d be proud of. And that starts by being genuine and being myself to the citizens of Sweden and to the world.’ ‘Everyone should be allowed to live as gay or straight or whatever they want,’ says the Crown Prince. ‘And I suppose the former includes me, but I would still like this time to decide further who I am and what kind of king I will be.’”

Simon is stunned. Of all things, he didn’t think of this as even an option. He fishes his phone out of his pocket.

To Wille: just read the interview, what. the. fuck.

From Wille: Is that a good “what. the. fuck!!!” or a “bad what. the. fuck?!?”

To Wille: you’re so brave, wille, thank you

To Wille: also according to ayub youre trending as “gay king wilhelm” on twitter rn

From Wille: Fuck yeah, bow down to your king. Meet me before school starts tomorrow, courtyard?

To Wille: see you then, gay king willie

As Simon approached the school - having already been stopped by four journalists, three photographers, two nosy neighbors and one blogger - he could see as Wille nervously paced at the edge of the courtyard, his hand rubbed deep into his chest, shirt creasing around it. Simon couldn't even begin to imagine what had happened in the palace after Wille’s interview. From what he saw the queen didn’t really strike him as the accepting type, but that was one of those things he’d let Wille discuss on his own time. He snuck up behind Wille instead, held his arms and kissed his neck.

“Hello, my prince,” he said and twirled Wille around and into his arms. Wille let out a little sigh of relief and if he could have held Willie there for forever he would. Wille smiles at him and kisses him on the cheek.

“Can we just go one day Simon without having your weird relationship issues making a scene,” Sara huffed past and quickened her pace to the school. Simon hadn’t noticed the stares, it felt like everyone in the courtyard had been watching them from Felice to August to other boarders Simon couldn’t name, but that had definitely called him names. Simon can’t bring himself to care anymore.

“I’m so proud of you, Wille.” Wilhelm let out a little noise, the only amount of negative emotion that being schooled on refinement since before he could talk would allow. He grabbed at Simon’s coat and drew him in for a hug.

“I love you,” Wille said and suddenly Simon’s whole world had shrunk down to three words.

Wille quickly ended the hug and walked towards the school, his bodyguards following quick after. Simon speed walked up to him and grabbed his hand, “I love you too.” Wille broke out into that tiny golden smile Simon loved to tease out and grabbed Simon’s hand.

The stares followed but Simon didn’t care. “Just two things left,” he said, “Get through this last day before break and then find whoever took that video.”

“And then?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet,”

Wille hummed and played with Simon’s as they settled at the doorway of their first class of the day, “You might want to work on your plans.”

“No, my plan only needs those two things.” Simon messied with Wilhelm’s hair and strolled into the classroom.

Wille followed after one hand fixing his hair, the other clutching at Simon’s hand, muttering, “Just two things?”

Just two things.

#if this is bad im sorry #young royals netflix #young royals #wilhelm x simon #fic writing #yes they are my comfort characters #after like two days #character study #myownfics

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okay-j-hannah · 4 years ago

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Look At The Sky

Doctor Who : Fic

Eleventh Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 2729

Warnings: Just my undying love for the eleventh doctor ... it could be perceived as unhealthy

Request: “um… this is my first time doing something like this, don’t really know how to do it, so can i ask for eleventh doctor fic, so basically reader saw doctor when she was small like 6ish that time she was moving away to another city reader was sad and start crying. doctor saw reader and comfort her and said “look up to the sky, the stars you are seeing here is the same stars you will be seeing at (place reader will move in to)” and about 15ish years later reader accidentally bumped into a person which is the doctor and she recognize him immediately and found out doctor hasn’t change and found out doctor lost his tardis and helps him to find it and end up going on a trip with the doctor?” @zero2461

A/N: The night isn’t all dark - there is still light to be seen scattered amongst the universe - and an old imaginary friend once told you such a fact

It was cold on that roof. The shingles were rough and stained with hard water. The breeze was trying to pry the leaves from the rain gutter, flitting their way towards (Y/N)’s bare feet.

The briskness of the air was freezing her tears in place. And as she hugged her knees closer to her chest, she buried herself within her sadness – her fear. The house she sat upon would belong to someone else come morning and she couldn’t face the fact she was leaving the place she spent her whole life in.

The darkness closed in, suffocating the space she’d squeezed into, her arms around her legs. She was voided of air, her soft cries turning into sobs. She didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to change, didn’t want to be scared.

A sudden crash slammed into the roof behind her. Instantly there was the sound of those sandpaper shingles being caught on something. Or rather someone.

“Oh, woah, woah, HEY!” A man was tumbling down the rooftop, rolling until he tipped over the edge and his fingers found purchase on the rain gutter. “Oh, oh, oh – uh – HELLO?”

(Y/N) jumped to her feet, shock locking her joints into place. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, though the stray tears kept them from drying out. She couldn’t believe what her little mind was seeing.

She inched herself towards the roof edge, craning her neck to peek without getting too close. Nimble fingers were white where they gripped at the gutter. Suddenly they were joined by a forearm, then elbows, then a head and shoulders.

Her immediate reaction was that he was rather funny. This man was dangling off the side of the house, but he was smiling. Really properly smiling – ear to ear – like he was having the time of his life.

“Hello there. Didn’t you hear me before? I believe it’s rather rude not to return the greeting. Isn’t that still the custom here? Wait, what year is it?”

(Y/N) stood there, her mind whirling at the peculiarity of it. Was he wearing a bowtie?

“Alrighty then,” he muttered, gritting his teeth and pulling himself up further onto the roof. “Perhaps the thought of assistance isn’t in your customs either.”

Her mother had taught her the difference between her real and imaginary friends. It had been years since she’d had a play date with someone made up in her head. But as the man pulled himself further into view, the more unbelievable he seemed. Suspenders, a bowtie, and something glowing green in his jacket pocket.

Almost instinctually, at his words, she moved the last few steps to reach him. Her small arms reached for one of his and pulled as hard as she could. His knees reached the top and she balanced him into a standing position.

“Brilliant. Thank you. That was quite a fall.” He straightened his jacket and peered at where he magically appeared.

Perhaps (Y/N) wasn’t too old for imaginary friends. Her mother did say they come whenever you need them most. Did this funny man come to her aide because she was in dire need of it?

“The old girls’ having one of her moods,” he muttered aloud, though mostly to himself. “I’ll never tire of women locking me out of the house.” Then as if he remembered he wasn’t entirely alone, he whirled about and met (Y/N)’s stunned gaze. “Hello!”

She started blinking furiously, scrunching her brow in confusion, “Hello?”

“Ah,” he clapped his hands together, “Third time’s the charm.” Then he jogged over and knelt in front of her. “The TARDIS is playing a dastardly trick and teaching me a lesson for parking her atop a freezing star. Overreacting I called her – I had everything under control. But you know her, always must make me out to be some arrogant, wizened old man.”

(Y/N) swallowed hard, fisting her nightie at her sides. The man before her made less and less sense the longer he spoke. It seemed rather unlikely that her mind would imagine something as peculiar as him.

“She’s right, of course,” he twiddled his fingers in her face before gesturing to the sky above them. “But that doesn’t mean you leave me stranded to teach me a lesson I’ve refused to learn before!”

“Who are you?” Her voice came out quiet and puzzled, “Why are you talking to the sky?”

He observed her for a second, still on his knees, “You’re a little one, aren’t you? A little one crying on a rooftop alone. Why would a little one be crying on a rooftop alone?” He outstretched those nimble fingers and brushed away the forgotten tears.

She didn’t realize she hadn’t wiped her face clear. The funny man was no longer smiling – it was replaced by a layer of concern. He jumped from one facial expression to another as though they could tick by like seconds.

“I can’t stand to see a little one cry. You’re meant to be off discovering butterflies and snow and ketchup. I wish you were smiling.” He then cradled her face, giving her one of the most genuine looks. But he was on his feet again, pacing and staring at the sky. “Who am I? I’m the Doctor. And above us right now is my TARDIS laughing her windows off at me being stuck on a rooftop.”

(Y/N) licked her lips, holding her nightie tight at her sides. “What is a TARDIS?”

“My ship,” he said, putting a finger to his teeth and observing, debating. “My spaceship.” He was whispering now, staring at the night. “My ship that’s able to travel through time and space. Oh, darling why have you brought me here?”

“You travel in space?” (Y/N) wondered aloud, “But it’s so dark up there. Aren’t you scared?”

The Doctor turned on his heel, hand flailing about like he didn’t know what to do with his arms. “There’s a moving truck in the driveway. That window there shows a room full of cardboard boxes and a bare bed. Now what would a little one be crying about on a rooftop alone?”

He again came back to her, gazing down at her small figure and placing a hand on her head, “One that doesn’t want to be heard crying. Doesn’t want to be heard by her stressed parents preparing to move houses.”

The reminder of what the next morning was going to be made her throat tighten. She stared at the Doctor with a newfound sense of comfort as he offered a welcoming smile.

“What’s your name, little one?”

She sniffed, wiping her eyes quickly, “(Y/N).” She shivered and he sighed.

“Well, (Y/N),” the Doctor whipped off his jacket and threw it around her shoulders. “I’d say you’ve got too much bottled up in that little body of yours.” He extended a hand and led her to the edge of the roof where they sat and swung their legs.

She tugged on the jacket, finding it warming her arms immediately. It smelled oddly of old books and butterscotch candy.

“I don’t want to leave.”

The Doctor twiddled his thumbs, swinging his legs much more enthusiastically than the child next to him. “It may not seem like it, but change is good, (Y/N). Without change we wouldn’t recognize the good from the bad. We would never see anything new, anything more beautiful or anything greater.”

She sniffled again, “It will be so different.”

“Yes, and that’s the best bit. You shouldn’t get stuck in one spot. You get stuck and then you get comfortable. And comfortable means boredom and routine.” It appeared to be his time to shiver.

(Y/N) knitted her brow, looking down at the bleak darkness that consumed her earlier. She didn’t look over to see that the Doctor was doing the opposite. He was looking up at the wonder of the night.

“You’re wrong, you know.” She turned her head slowly to face his alighted one. “It’s not so dark up there. Space.”

She matched his gaze, trying to see what he saw, “But it’s so black.”

“Then what do you call those twinkling lights?” He pointed out the dots pinpricked through the screen of black. “Stars, (Y/N). Those stars are out there burning and blazing, freezing and exploding. Some are planets full of life and music and fun. Others are satellites and ships passing by as they explore and live.”

(Y/N) felt her tears dry, instead she clutched at the Doctor’s jacket. He was nudging her shoulder, his smile returning to his face.

“These stars you see here are going to be the same stars you see from your new house.” He leaned into her, face inches from hers, “That is one thing that will never change.”

And for the first time in a long time, (Y/N) smiled. The Doctor yelled out at the sight, grabbing her face and planting a kiss on the top of her head. “That’s what I like to see. There’s nothing to fear - look to the stars, (Y/N), they will remind you that even the darkness isn’t entirely dark.”

A high pitch buzzing came from the jacket around her shoulders. That glowing green light was emanating from a pocket that (Y/N) reached for, extracting some sort of metallic pen.

“That’s my cue,” the Doctor said, grabbing the pen and retrieving the jacket that (Y/N) had half off. “The TARDIS is trying to find me threw the sonic. I wish you luck, little one. I believe you’ll have many adventures to come.”

~~~

It was many years later that (Y/N) found herself walking down the streets of her home. It was growing darker as the sun set, but it was always her favorite part of the day. The part where she could see the stars.

Long ago she learned, from some imaginary friend it seemed, that stars were proof that light still existed in the dark; no matter how far away or small they appear.

She longed to see those stars, to be given that reminder. Living her college days stuck at home, she’d grown accustomed to dreaming and wondering rather than getting a mortgage and build tenure.

The light was just turning from purple to indigo blue when she spotted someone crossing the street. Someone with spindly legs, a bowtie, and a green tinted sonic pen. Her attention was immediately pulled from whatever daydream consumed her.

Though she wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t some sort of dream. It had taken her well into her high school years to convince herself that this funny man was simply a figment of her imagination. But here he was brandishing his peculiar pen and not looking a day older than when she first saw him.

“E-Excuse me,” she said, voice shaking. “Hello?” Her steps got quicker – oh, what was his name – and she sped across the street. “Sir?”

The man didn’t appear to think he was being addressed. He was too busy interpreting whatever his pen was saying.

What was his name? “D-Doctor?”

His head quirked up, hair falling into his eyes. She recognized him instantly. “Oh my God. You’re the Doctor.”

He smiled pleasantly, “Yes, how brilliant. And you are?”

“Um...” she couldn’t help the smile spreading across her face, her hands gesturing in wild motions. “I’m - I’m (Y/N). The little girl on the rooftop. You... You almost fell off my house cause... your ship abandoned you?”

The Doctor stood there puzzling before recognition lit his gaze. “Ah - (Y/N). The little one. You were only yea high the last time I saw you. How long has it been?”

“Just... just over ten years. Doctor. How do you look exactly the same? I thought you were just some imaginary friend from my childhood, but here you are... flailing that green pen of yours.”

“This,” the Doctor began, looking slightly offended, “Is a sonic screwdriver. Does much more than any regular pen.”

She found herself grinning like an idiot, the breath short in her lungs. “I can’t believe this.” She ran a hand up and into her hair, “You’re real.”

“Ten years. Ten years, really?” he scrunched his face, pocketing his screwdriver. “Time really does fly in a time machine.”

“Your ship,” (Y/N) stated, finding herself breathless, “The - the TARDIS, right? Did she abandon you again?”

The Doctor seemed a bit abashed at the statement, “I might have misplaced her.”

“The man that travels through time and space has lost his ship?”

“Not a man, (Y/N) – Time Lord.” He waved his hands about before clapping them together, taking a few spindly steps towards her. “And we do have a funny thing about not aging in the traditional manner.”

She smiled wider, taking in the nostalgia of his peculiar figure, a sudden rush of comfort overwhelmed her. This man – Time Lord – was the sole reason she got through some of her darkest days.

“But my sonic has picked up her signal and she should be somewhere around this... corner.” And he sped off down the sidewalk, swinging expertly around a lamppost. (Y/N) trailed behind; her previous plans quickly forgotten.

She found the Doctor approaching a large wooden box, placing a hand on its blue door. If she hadn’t run into the Doctor before she probably would’ve thought the sight stranger then it was. Everything about the Doctor was strange and funny.

He entered the blue box and left the door open. It gave (Y/N) a perfect view of the impossible sight within. The room inside was unbelievably large, incredibly bigger than what is appeared to be on the outside.

She wandered closer, stepping in and twirling about. It was impossible.

And there was the Doctor behaving like a schoolboy on a playground as he pressed buttons and flipped switches at a center console.

“It’s so much bigger.”

“Oh, yes – always my favorite bit,” he beamed, commanding the TARDIS to shut the front doors. “It is bigger on the inside, isn’t it?”

She grinned, hands holding her face in shock, “Doctor, are you – flying the ship?” And the answering lurch of the ground made her stumble into nearby railing. “Where are we going?”

“I’m going to remind you why living a routine, comfortable life is boring.” He pressed a few buttons and stabilized the rocking. He jumped on his feet, running towards (Y/N) and gripping her shoulders in excitement, “Are you ready?”

Her only response was shrugging her shoulders, awe clearly present in her eyes. The Doctor urged her back towards the doors and slowly pushed against the handle.

Slowly and dramatically, (Y/N) discovered that the world outside wasn’t her hometown streets, but a mass of darkness. Darkness that was outshined by a large ball of light. It blazed and burned just as the Doctor once described.

“This, (Y/N),” the Doctor whispered, holding her steady on the doorstep, “Is one of your stars.”

She took a shaky breath, staring at the whirling solar flares and the burning light consuming her like the morning sun. “You were right – it's not so dark up here.”

He laughed, watching her reaction, “I’m not always a liar.”

“You knew I’d come in here, from the moment I called out to you.” She beamed, still staring out into space, “You left those doors open for me.”

“What can I say? I’m known for leaving quite an impression.”

“I don’t think you understand, Doctor. Since meeting you – my whole life has been shaped around this hope that things will be better. Because I always knew there was light at the end of the tunnel. I always knew that light prevailed despite of the darkness. You taught me that.” She peered over at him, taking in his face, “You taught me that the light, no matter the distance or how small it may be, will always find a way to shine past the black. Past the bleak.”

And she watched as his face went from that boyish grin to the layers of concern. Being ten years older, she saw it for what it was. Wisdom. Ancient. Concern. He was a creature that had seen many things in his lifetime. His mask was of ramblings and bowties and flailing limbs. But beneath he was an ancient one that probably understood her words better than she figured.

He sighed, tilting his head to the side, “Oh, (Y/N). My dear (Y/N). It truly is so good to see you again.”

~~~

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