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

penvisions · 14 days ago

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by the grit of sandpaper {honor me}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: As the seasons change, you and Joel tackle both big things and small that make up life in Jackson. Underlying it all, is one thought that prompts him to craft something he thinks will be even better than the cutting boards you lovingly used every day.

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: canon typical language, canon typical violence, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, joel just needs his own warning actually, arguing, reader gets overwhelmed, reader deals with ptsd and general trauma, mentions of child loss, mentions of lost family / loved ones, winter weather as a trigger, lonliness, reader struggles with seasonal depression, mentions of outbreak day, heated interactions, smut, p in v, unprotected p in v, reader has no canon name but a commonly used nickname, some descriptions f hair length and skin tone are made (they are not set in stone), this may be triggering so please be careful if you are sensitive to any of these, i just want y'all to be safe

A/N: i've had this in my drafts for the longest time and finally got around to finishing it. not gonna lie, i made myself sad with some of it but i think this is a good and realistic depiction of a healthy relationship and dealing with hectic life stuff. so glad to be sharing more of them with y'all, they mean so much to me

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The deep timber of a guffaw bursts into the bright blue sky, scaring a collection of birds into flight from where they were searching for food by the water’s edge.

“Oh, shut it!” You shout, no heat behind your words but bubbling laughter, water sparkling all over you as it soaks into skin and fabric alike.

Joel uses one hand to mime zipping his mouth, even as the corners of his lips lift up into a grin. He’s glowing in the midday sun, bronze skin on display as he mirrors your choice of a tank top to stave off some of the heat. Joel is standing proudly at the shore, pebbles and larger rocks firm under his sturdy boots. His weight has accented itself, the stones shifting to accommodate him. He’s a vision, fishing pole in the thick curl of his hand, propping it up on his hip in an almost suggestive manner. His other hand steadies the pole, the line cast out shaking to the very end where it disappears into the gray blue lake.

You huff, shaking the cool water that had splashed all over you. The fish you had caught wiggling something fierce as you tried to unhook it from the end of your line. It had flipped and flopped, slapping its slimy, scaled body and sharp tail thrashing against your scrabbling hands. The splash of it diving back into the water had been large, spraying you to soak through your tank top. The light color of it darkened and damp combined with the near panicked expression you had throughout the entire moment.

Chuckles rumble from between flashing teeth until he catches sight of the blood dripping down your arm. Twisted up and at an angle for you to access the damage as the sting set in.

His focus never leaves you even as he leans down to rest the handle of his fishing rod down, wedging it between two larger boulders to keep it propped up. His longer hair tousles from where he had it tucked behind his ears, a strand falling to curl over his forehead as he’s suddenly in your personal space.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” You soothe even as you feel the sting of the water that trails down your arm and seeps into the cut.

“Darlin’, you’re drippin’ blood.” Joel quietly disagrees, taking the handkerchief from his back pocket and dabbing at the wound before holding it tight, curling his palm over the four inch line.

You can’t stop the hiss that escapes from deep in your chest, the pain flaring at the pressure. His eyes fly up from where he’s looking for any signs of blood seeping through the fabric to catch the grimace that pulls your lips down at the corners. You see the panic flit in the back of his eyes, the sun turning them amber as they take stock of you all over now. Worry evident in the grip he keeps on your injury and the other palm that cups your shoulder to keep you both steady on the rocky shore.

He's quiet, mind working a mile a minute as the weight of your injury settles atop his shoulders. But you don’t want it to affect him this way, the sight of blood suddenly jarring him back to the gruff man he had once been. The horrors of the world too much for him to not be consumed by it. You want your Joel back, the one he had been just moments ago.

“Hey,” You whisper, other hand coming up to cradle his strong, scruffy jaw. “I’m okay, Joel, I promise.”

“You better be, otherwise I’m gonna swath you in bubble wrap.” His plush lips well with color as he chews at his bottom lip, peeling the fabric from your cut to check on it. The blood clotted, wound sealing up as best it could, and he lets out a relieved sigh that fans his warm breath over you.

“Joel, bubble wrap doesn’t exist anymore.” You say with a roll of your eyes, hoping he sees the feigned petulance. He fastens the handkerchief securely around your arm, tying it off to keep it in place as he rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes in a long blink. You see the tension leak out of him as he takes a deep breath, the beating of his heart calming beneath your palm on his chest.

“Hush, lemme just worry about you, okay?” He’s a provider, a caretaker, a protector. It’s in his nature to switch from carefree and silly to focused and shielding in a heartbeat. It was something you admired, mirrored in him as it makes up a part of you are as well. Two sides of the same coin, connected. Bonded. Understanding.

“That goes both ways, Miller.” Your breath hitches as he pulls you flush against him, the feel of his firm body against yours still takes your breath away even after all this time. His lips quirk up at the corners before he captures your own.

The day spent at the lake was Joel’s way of getting you out of your head, with the anniversary of Aiden’s death fast approaching at the end of the week. He did his best not to push conversation if you spaced out during meals or he found you out walking among the budding olive trees. He did his best to make you either a mug of warm coffee or a chilled drink and press it into your hands to help soothe the thoughts that consumed you. You know you could come to him with anything, talk to him about anything and he wants you to know that he’s there. Even if you can’t find the words sometimes.

He's watching now, as you linger in front of the second bedroom. Aiden’s bedroom, the door closed by his own hand all those years ago as you both set off for the patrol that plagues your nightmares. Joel hadn’t meant to, but he had bumped the handle one day as he waddled down the hallway with planks of wood that would become shelves in your shared bedroom. Book collection growing as he brought more home from patrol and Ellie traded for ones that she thought you would both like.

That same fire that had consumed you six months ago as you hurled hurt words and wooden spoons alike at him in your kitchen had reared up. You had just so happened to be coming home when he had realized the door opened and you caught sight of him with his hand on the knob as his curiosity got the better of him. A quick glance was all he had taken, but that split second in which he glimpsed an unmade bed and piles of clothing along the floor before he began to close it had been enough for you to rush at him with sharp words and quick motions.

Through your tears you had demanded why he would do such a thing, invade his privacy like that. Your privacy. And he realized his mistake, the split-second decision made out of curiosity had caused enough damage that he had slept on the couch out of guilt for disturbing you when sleep came to him late that same night. He had woken up to you curled atop him, throw blanket he had rucked off over your tangled legs and your head pressed right over his heart.

Now though, it’s you who stands in front of the door with a hand on the knob. Joel steps out into the hall with a towel around his waist, skin warm from the time spent in the sun and the water he had used to wash off the remnants of the trip.

“Olive…you okay?” He keeps his voice low, not wanting to spook you. You don’t startle, but you do turn to look at him with wide eyes and a firm set to your lips. Wet footprints mark the hallway as he approaches you, reaching out to rest his hand atop yours and remove it from the brass. Your skin is cold against his as he places your palm over his heart. It thuds against his ribcage as you look up at him with such conflicted eyes, tears brimming the lash line and then falling over to race down your cheeks as you suck in a shuddering breath.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Breath with me, okay? You’re okay, sweetheart.” His own palm spreads warm against your chest, the neckline of your tank top scrunching up with the action. He breaths deep, counts to three and then exhales, making sure you mimic him until your heart beats at a calmer rate. He doesn’t care that the warmth of his skin cools and the droplets of water on his shoulders now chill him in the conditioned air of the home. He’s worried about you, about the shakes he sees move your shoulders, the arm of the hand he holds, the wobble of your head.

He ducks his head to catch your eyes, a tiredness he knows all too well tinging the color of them. You look like you’re about to say something but your mouth snaps shut seconds after it opens.

“Take your time, I’m here, not goin’ anywhere.” The spot of blood on the handkerchief draws his brows together and he carefully ushers you towards the bedroom. You move pliantly, allowing him to set you on the edge of the bed. He kneels to take your boots off, socks too. And you seem to come back to yourself while he disappears to wash his hands and gather supplies for the cut.

“Joel?” You croak, throat thick.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He speaks softly, voice washing over you and almost massaging your tense muscles.

“Can we…can you…h-help me tidy up h-his room tomorrow?”

“I’ll help you with anything, but are you sure?”

All you could do is nod, reaching for him the moment he finishes wrapping the bandage around your cut and tucking it into itself.

“He would’ve li-liked you, I know it.”

“I would’ve liked him too, Olive, I promise you that.” He offers you a soft smile, eyes so earnest that it makes you feel like he really would’ve, that he’s not just saying it to make you feel better. But that’s the thing about Joel, he doesn’t say stuff he doesn’t mean. His words are important.

“He loved me, just wanted to see me happy. You make me happy, y-you make me so happy, Joel.” Your lip quivers as you look down at him with tears trailing down your cheeks. “He deserved to be happy too.”

“He was, sweetheart, you made sure he was. Safe and happy here in Jackson, you gave him the chance to have a life here.”

“It wasn’t long enough.” Words barely choked out on a sob has him surging up, forgetting the wet cloth and tube of ointment on the floor.

“It never is.” He crowds you, arms wrapping around you and hauling you up the bed with him. You tried to move with him, but all you did was cling to his chest with your head buried in his neck. “He knows you did your best, he knows.”

A simple question, a simple answer; both led to a hard afternoon where Joel proved just how much he loved you as he helped you to finally open that door and step inside the second bedroom. Just a clean, nothing too strenuous, nothing too much for you to handle. Just picking up the clothes that had been piled up, dusting the furniture and making the bed over again once everything was washed and dried. Clothes put back into drawers and hung up, going through them left for another day. Joel had been beside you every step of the way, helping where he could, with his hands, his strength, his words.

Later that day, he lets you be the big spoon. Your arms secure around his chest as you tuck yourself around his back and simply breath with him until sleep claims you both.

“Thank you again, Rick, I really appreciate the help.” You smile at the teenager beside you, sitting in one of the wooden chairs Joel had been excited to craft to fill the space of your newly completed porch. His freckled cheek was stained with dirt, as were his arms from his offered task of cleaning out the gutters of your house. You and Joel had been trying to decide when it could be done as he shared lunch with you in the kitchen earlier that week when the boy had chimed in that he didn’t mind taking on the task.

Joel let you lead the interaction, even though you both shared the house and the land it was on with Ellie, it would always mean more to you.

“It was no problem, ma’am. Wanted to show my appreciation for the opportunity to work alongside you in the kitchen.”

“I’m happy to have you there, there’s no need to thank me.” You raise your glass of tea in a silent cheers, the temperature is begging to wane. Days warm but evenings getting chilly, the nights cold enough to turn on the heat.

“Everyone around town says that you used to patrol, still do sometimes.” He’s a little subdued now, like he’s worried about saying the wrong thing. “With you’re uh- with Mr. Miller.”

“I go out with Maria and Tommy sometimes too, but I try to focus on the kitchen these days.” Is your way of confirming the teenager’s assessment. You had really stepped back from patrol, opting to only go out with Joel on overnight or longer ones. Tommy and Maria sometimes if someone called off or fell ill. You realized that going out beyond the walls was something you just…didn’t want to do anymore. Even before Joel had become your partner, but he had needed someone to show him the ropes while Tommy took his own leave to focus on Maria and the pregnancy.

“Do, um, do you think I could maybe go on the next one with you, both of you?”

“Oh, well.” The overnights would be too much for him, or maybe they would be perfect since it’s a longer journey for him to get the feel of the job- how serious it was and all the planning and caution that goes into it. “That’s certainly something I can run by him and Tommy, see if we can work it out.”

“I would really appreciate it. I know I’m still kinda new myself, only been here just shy of eight months. But now that I’m a little acclimated, I want to help out more.” He’s genuine in his words, something that you both appreciate and worry about. So many of the teenagers here haven’t had to face the hardships of the outside world, being protected by the town, the community built within the walls. That had always been an issue between you and Millie, until the influence of her mother no longer affected her so deeply. It’s a challenge to get the younger generation to realize just how fucking insane the world is now.

But then again, they had no memories of the way things were before.

You’re quiet for a moment, thinking over the young boy’s words. You offer him a not as he finishes the glass of iced tea you brought out to him and takes off back toward the house he’s set up in with two other boys and the town butcher.

“Look mighty fine up there, if I do say so myself.” Joel’s voice hollers from the gate he had put up around the front yard. His hands are atop it, his eyes trained on you as you realize you must’ve been spacing out.

“My partner was kind enough to build it for me with his own two hands, pretty impressive, huh?”

“Oh yeah? Sounds like a real keeper to me.” He struts up the walkway and takes the steps easily, hands cradling your face as he dips to press his lips to yours in a breathtaking kiss. His tongue traces your bottom lip before tangling with yours as you return the kiss with just as much fervor.

“Gonna make us late, darlin’.” He murmurs against your mouth, not willing to disconnect completely.

“I was sittin’ out here already to go and you’re the one who decided to take his sweet time coming home.”

“Was busy helpin’ with the paddocks. Horse kicked one of the partitions clean off its hinges. Foal needs a lotta discipline before he’ll be ready to train for ridin’.”

Joel holds his hand out for you to use as an anchor to stand, letting you wrap your arm around it and tug it into your front as you both walk side by side down the walkway and toward the street. Ellie bounces out from the backyard and her own little studio to join you both as you make your way toward Tommy and Maria’s for a little bonfire dinner.

Hours later, once the sun begins to set and cast the evening sky in a swath of deep navy blues and gorgeous deep purples, you find yourself back inside the house. Maria had asked after Tupperware for the leftovers from the grill and you had jumped at the excuse to take a moment for yourself.

Joel’s name leaves your lips in squealed laughter. He had snuck up behind you to scoop you up into his arms as you tried to reach for something in a cabinet that was too tall for you.

“Gross, get a room.”

“Tommy!”

“Nope, y’all should know better. You are guests in my home and still can’t seem to keep your hands off each other.” Tommy grabs the sippy bottle of juice that you had refilled before disappearing as soon as he had appeared in the room.

“I wasn’t- Joel just- you’re a traitor!” You shout after him even as Joel continues to trace his fingers over the sensitive skin of your ribs. He keeps it up, hands closing around your ribs to pick you up and plant your butt right atop the counter. He’s between your legs, smirk in place as he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Looks like it’s just you an’ me, sweetheart. Wanna tell me why you were lookin’ me up and down out there?”

“You know why.”

“Needly little thing you are sometimes, huh? Just can’t help but watch me, this is a family event, ya know. Nothing but innocent fun around the fire. ‘n you had to go and make it dirty with your squirmin’, tryin’ to get some relief right here between these pretty legs, hmm?” All you can do is gasp as his thick fingers swipe up the seam of your jeans, just enough pressure behind them to squish your already slick and puffy lips together.

“J-Joel…” Hands fly to catch his wrist, to catch the longer strands of his hair that are curling around his neck and pull.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He’s crowding you, fitting himself perfectly between your thighs and pressing into you. The bulge in his own jeans is obvious as he swoops in to take your lips with his, devouring any argument you have about the setting.

Joel curses as silently as he can, the little crystal dish on your bedside table is empty. None of the rings you wear occasionally are nestled there. He opens the smooth drawer, peering inside only to find a journal, a cookbook with a bunch of bookmarks, and an old polaroid camera. Hands on his hips, he glances around the bedroom, looking for anything that could help him with the task that’s been weighing in his mind and heart the last six months.

It had come out of nowhere, the thought shocking him one day as he sat on the porch he had added to the front of your house to mimic the one on the house he and Ellie had been in before moving in. The project had been daunting, there was nothing but a small concrete stoop with few steps and two wooden support beams. But now there was a decent porch that runs across half of the front of the house from the front door to the living room window. You had been working earlier mornings, to help with the gardens and harvest after ensuring the town had a hearty spread for their breakfast.

It was fall now, marking the passage of a year since your relationship had begun to shift. An entire year of being with you had made him feel whole again, it healed parts of himself he had ignored for far too long. He had spent the summer months getting the work done around his other projects. Replacing fence lines around the gardens, house repairs, the shed and detached garage he had fixed up for Ellie’s living quarters and his workshop right beside it. He had insisted, saying he didn’t mind turning your house into a home for all three of you. The smile you had given him was blinding and he vowed to make you smile like that as often as he possibly could.

That same smile had broken out on your face the afternoon you had trudged home from your busy day.

And the thought of bending down on one knee in front of you to keep it there had him moving to meet you as you approached. He kissed the smile on your lips, hands cradling your face before he trailed them down to your waist and lifted you in a spin that cropped up a bout of giggles that melted his heart.

Now though, determination to make the moment perfect made him hyper aware of every moment he shared with you. That it was hard to just not reach for your hand and ask you as easy as it was to breath.

Even though he’s sure you would fawn over the question and give you an easy answer all the same. But he wanted to put work into it.

He finds you sprawled on the couch, mouth open and harsh little puffs of air sounding into the air as you slumber. Crouching down to get the throw blanket from a basket beside the couch, he drapes it over you and feels his chest fill with warmth as you instantly snuggle down further into the cushions. The glint on your fingers as you curl them around the edge of the blanket and bring it up under your chin catches his eye and he feels his heartbeat pick up.

Your jewelry. The rings he had been looking for are set daintily in place.

He’s careful, more careful than he’s ever been before as he gently reaches for your right hand. Eyes watching your face as he slips his own, thicker fingers around one of the rings and begins to slide it from its place. He gulps as he sees how they dwarf yours, thick and strong where yours are slim and long. Then his stomach flips and heat pools between his legs as he recalls the way you had begged him the night before, to fill you with them. The sounds you had let out, the memory of them alone makes him swell in his jeans.

Just as he’s got the ring in his grasp, your hand twitches and a deep hum has his eyes catching your own sleepy ones as they crack open.

Through your blurry squint, you see Joel’s handsome face, the broadness of his shoulders and the curls atop his head warming your heart. Yawning, you reach for the hand you were sure had just been tangling with yours. He had pulled it back and sleepy confusion colored your features.

“Mmm, what’re you-“ You kiss each of his knuckles, dragging his hand up with both of yours, his shoulders sagging at the soft feel of your lips on his skin. You drag them over each dip and ridge, “Doin’ up so early?”

“You fell asleep after your shift, sweetheart, it’s not so early anymore.” The slip of his tongue along his own lips has you boldly opening your mouth, his eyes dilating at the soft pink of your own tongue as you swirl it around two of his fingers. It must be something about the warmth of the sun hitting the living room windows, the depth of which you slept and then waking up with Joel crouched beside you. But you needed him, your body yearning for him in the basest of ways.

“Let’s waste the afternoon together.” You press the words to the pads of his fingers, not bothering to wait for a response before you suck them into your mouth to the knuckle. Joel’s eyes roll as a groan rumbles from his chest, his other hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing over your hallowing cheeks.

“Anythin’ you want, darlin’.” And then he’s pulling his slick fingers from your chasing mouth and trailing them down beneath the blanket to press between your legs, his mouth descending on yours.

You notice the way he nearly runs to his workshop after patrol on days he’s home early, his eyes focused and his hands clenching at his sides in the way they do when he’s anxious or thinking something over.

You leave him be, Joel would come to you about what was bothering him when he wanted to. There was no need to push the communication, you trusted him implicitly.

But he was busy most afternoons, well into the early evening lately and while it didn’t worry you…it worried you. He was distant, despite the other day when he had played hooky and put off his afternoon handy man tasks. Coming to bed late, after you had already crossed over into semi unconsciousness.

Often finding the leftovers of dinner still on the table or on the stove and cleaned up after he ate if he beat you home in the evenings. Ellie too, had noticed he was a little more reserved. She had been soothing, spending more time in the kitchen with you at home and dropping by the gardens with another girl’s arm interlocked with her own.

It had to be the time of year, September bleeding into October. His birthday had been a quiet affair, another cake like the first one you had given him. Yellow cake with chocolate frosting that ended up on the tip of his nose as Ellie dipped her finger into the excess and swiped it across his face. He had smiled so bright and his laughter had been loud, his shoulders easing the second he had walked through the door after patrol to find you both waiting for him with it. Just an evening with his two girls on the day he missed his other one with all his heart.

Forever intwined with his birthday was the trauma of the day the Outbreak took place, the part of himself he had lost in his daughter the day after. Something he would carry with him until his last breath, though he admitted that you made it easier to shoulder. Your kindness and love allowing him to heal from it in ways he had never thought he would be able to.

But today when you walked down the street and unlocked the front door there was no sign of anyone having been home for hours. And then you remembered that Joel had gone off on an overnight patrol with his brother and the thought doesn’t sit well. It was a hard day for you, this late in fall. Much like Joel’s own. But unlike him, you hadn’t shared the specific date.

It was still hard to talk about, even if you had made peace with the passing of your own child. Had admitted as much to Joel, to Tommy, Maria. But Ellie…you hadn’t shared it with Ellie. Even as you hear the happy laughter of hers as she treks down the street outside. Unable to quell the low mood and not willing to bring her own down, you grab your bag and make your way down the hallway to your room.

The next day you sleep as late as possible, rest not having come easy throughout the night. Thankfully, it was the week you normally take off for the harvest. Your absence in the mess hall kitchen accounted for and supplemented by Millie and Callie. She had taken her mother’s place in the space, the older woman choosing to keep to herself in the wake of all that happened the year before. The gardens her preferred job now, though her hands were beginning to bother her as arthritis set in.

With little sighs of exertion and some slight frustration at yourself for feeling things so deeply, you dress modestly in a plain tee and flannel. The sleeves are pushed up by noon, the entire flannel disrobed by three as you flit around the trees and gather the olives that are ready for picking. You’ve got two barrels by the time you hear Joel and Ellie walking down the street, the teenager laughing and joking. Joel’s voice is a more even tone, a deep rumble that calms you even as you think back to how distant he had been before he left for the overnight patrol.

Two weeks of kisses planted to your forehead as you slept, of blankets rustling and strong arms wrapping around your already passed out form, of notes being the main form of communication. It was bound to happen, a tough spell. Emotions so intricate and surely hard to deal with as the seasons changed. The date on the calendar looms in the back of your mind as well, the day that everything shifted. That you told Joel how you feel and he told you the same, that you decided to act on those feelings. Maybe that’s why you were so hyper aware of his actions and the long, busy hours he led.

Dinner wasn’t even prepped, no thoughts of food but for the pitted delicacies that were ready to harvest. The street quiets once again as they enter the home, sounds of life wafting from the slight openings of the glass. It was too chilly in the night to have them open but air flow during the day and a lower setting on the heat allowed for a good temperate environment.

The smell of coffee swirls out of the side window of the kitchen, the breeze picking it up and bringing it to you just as Joel descends the few stairs at the back of the house with two steaming mugs.

“Told ya I’d help with that, sweetheart.” He looks tired, his jacket marred with dirt and his scruff glistening in the low sunlight. “Didn’t have to start it alone.”

He’s pressing the mug into your hands and dipping his head to press a kiss to your forehead, your stomach fluttering at the smile you could feel on his lips before he pulled back and you could see it for yourself. The basket you had been using to gather the harvest hangs from your arm, opposite the one that now bears a small, still silvery scar from the day on lake.

“Just needed to get outta my head,” You don’t quite meet his eyes, prompting him to hook two fingers underneath your chin and tilt your head up. His warm eyes search yours, the emotions swirling inside of you on display for him to see, to search, to calm.

“Lemme get some dinner started, sun should set soon. Come sit with me?”

“Joel, I’ve already started this tree, I don’t want to leave it half undone.”

“I’ll help you, then dinner, yeah?”

“You’ve had a long day,” You sigh, unable to quell the guilt and shame of feeling so utterly alone with him standing in front of you, with Ellie in the house. “You should shower and get some rest.”

“Don’t wanna rest until you’re taken care of.”

“I’m not ready to go inside.” There’s an edge to your voice, one built up from the past few weeks of things just feeling like too much. He clocks it, the simmering emotions just beneath your tingling skin and the slightly raised words you aim at him. You’re not looking at him, eyes focused just to the right of his own, a curl catching your attention and making it easier to focus. But you’re overwhelmed and don’t know how to handle it.

“Okay.” He’s stepping back, cautious but willing to give you the space you needed. To not push the matter or force you into following him into the house. His fingers caress your skin as he pulls it away and your eyes flutter shut as tears burn hot beneath your cheeks. “I’ll, uh, be inside.”

“Okay.”

You don’t ever make it down the hallway, finishing up the harvest on the tree and then setting everything in the utility room before showering and then promptly burrowing into bed. No lamps turned on, no lights in the bathroom, no pages of the book you were currently working through read or tea had.

Just, straight to bed. Despite the sounds of Joel and Ellie having dinner with quiet conversation. The smell of roasted vegetables strong and the clink of glasses almost too much to bear. You want more than anything to force yourself out of bed to join them- but you can’t. The weight in your stomach, the soles of your feet, it’s too much.

“Olive?” Joel’s deep voice calls in a soft whisper from the cracked open doorway, but you don’t stir even as you lay with your back to it. You have no idea how much time has passed but you realize as your eyes focus and your ears stop buzzing that there’s no longer any sounds of conversation or life being lived down the hall. It’s quiet.

When his steps round the bed to his side, he startles a little when he notices that your eyes are open and glinting in the moonlight that filters in through the curtains haphazardly pulled over the glass panes.

“You’re awake.” It’s not an accusation, it’s a soft realization. He’s sitting to remove his boots, jeans shucked off and folded on the chair tucked into the corner by his bedside table. Flannel shrugged off and socks tugged up to his calves before he sinks onto the bed and slips between the covers.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s goin’ on, but you can’t tell me that everythin’ is fine.” He reaches for your fingers that are curled around the edge of your pillow, keeping it tucked underneath your cheek just the way you like it. “’m here, promise.”

And the petulant no, you’re not is quick to cut the air at full volume.

Harsh breath through his nose is the only response you get before he’s pulling you into him completely, intertwining your legs together and cradling your head with the back of his head as he tries to catch your eyes.

“I know I been busy, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not just that…y-you’ve been di-distant too.”

“I don’t mean to be.” He acquiesces quietly, knowing that the truth in your words is something he can’t really argue with.

“Always in the damn shop, makes me feel like that stuff is more important than me and then I get pissed off that I even feel that way. No matter how fleeting it is.”

“Your feelings are important, no matter how small or big. I…I’ve been working on something for you. But that’s not an excuse for how things have been.” He’s pressing his forehead to yours, a deep breath jostling you both as it stutters out of between his plush lips. “I wanted to have it done in time for the holiday but I keep fuckin’ it up.”

“Don’t want anything- j-just want you.” Your nose is cold when you nuzzle it into the crook of his neck, right where his collarbone peeks from beneath his shirt.

“You’ve got me, I swear it to you.”

“It’s been…it’s been really hard the past few days…”

“Past few weeks.” He breaths the words into your hair, his scruff rustling there as he buries his face into the crown of your head, arms tightening around you. “’m sorry for lettin’ things get to me.”

“Me too…”

“We’re gonna be okay, yeah?”

“Yes, Joel, of course. It’s just…it was just…a few days ago was…this time of year….that’s when I l-lost-“ A hiccup steals the admission from you, tears wetting the skin of his neck as you’re suddenly overcome with voicing exactly what had you so overwhelmed.

“Shh, it’s okay, you don’t have to- if you don’t- if you can’t. I get it, believe me, Olive.”

“I don’t want to keep it from you, it’s just- it’s a l-lot and it’s he-heavy.”

“I know…I know…but I’m here, I’ve got you.” He holds you until you’re breathing evens out and you fall into a restful slumber. His mind reeling with how much he’s been focused on what he could provide for you when you were right in front of him and struggling with something he had been too blind to see, even having been through it himself. One of his hands snakes down and traces the scar that’s exposed from your rucked up shirt- his shirt and thinks back on how shy you had been when he had first met you, how grateful and thankful he was that you two connected…

The next few days are spent tending to each other, tending to the harvest that needs to be collected, divvied up and handed to the general store on main street. To people who want the fruits of your trees for trade. He’s by your side through it all, helping any way he can even if you can’t find the words in a specific moment. No patrols for either of you, no kitchen shifts for you to run to for long hours. Just the two of you and the trees that gave you back your purpose once you had found a place here, safety.

The trees had given you purpose when you had lost your child and again when Aiden had passed. It’s a purpose that seems to realign everything in you each year and for that you’re grateful. The man beside you making you feel like things are finally settling for the better, even if he’s got his own past that haunts him in the quiet moments.

Joel feels it too, how good this time to yourselves has been. How much you both needed it.

It’s when the last line of trees needs to be focused on when bubbles of laughter and small jokes are shared, your voices lighter after so much devotion and time spent together healed the jagged edges of busy life that had caused discordance. He’s trailing soft fingertips through the belt loops on your jeans while you reach for the topmost branch atop a step ladder when he catches the subtle shake of your shoulders. He’s worried for a second that tears have taken over but he hears the huffs of your laughter and smiles so wide his cheeks hurt.

When you step down with something cupped in your hands, he can’t help but be mesmerized by the sparkle in your eyes as you hold them out to him. But he’s also cautious, because he’s learned your penchant for placing random things in his hands. With a shake of his head, he’s stepping back with his hands raised in surrender- refusing whatever you’re trying to give him.

“Nu-uh, you little troublemaker. I dunno what you’ve got but I don’t want it.”

“It’s not bad!” You giggle, unable to reign it in as the thing in your hand tickles against your palms.

“Then why you giggling like a maniac, huh? You may be cute, but I ain’t fallin’ for it this time.” He tries to maintain an even face but you can tell that he’s holding back laughter. Especially when you go to tease him with your next breath.

“Awe, is big bad Joel Miller afraid of a little catapillar?”

“When you’re tryna put it in my hands, yeah. They feel gross and look ugly as hell.” The lines around his eyes deepen as his moustache pulls down with his frown.

“Joel!”

He just raises a brow at you, the thick arch of his making you stare at him in open shock. He looks far too good, even as he’s trying to be serious right now. Eyes bright as he watches you. You can see that he wants to laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching the longer you hold out your hands. Parting them, you show him the bright green creature, lined with black dots and fuzzy legs. He visibly shivers as the thought of it crawling on him crops up in his mind and you can’t help a bark of laughter at the distaste he’s frowning with.

“Put that thing down. I got somethin’ better for you.”

Oh, you’re no fun. It’s just a silly, little guy. He ain’t gonna harm anyone.” You turn around to place him on a lower branch. Right beside two olives that you had yet to pick. The creature happily crawls onto the branch and proceeds to take microscopic bites of the fruit, forgetting all about being plucked from the higher branches. Wiping your hands on your dirty work jeans, all traces of laughter dissipate and your breath hitches when you turn around.

Joel is down on one knee and he’s holding his own cupped hands out to you now.

“Was tryna to figure out the best way to do this, but uh- figured I should just take the moment.”

“Joel…” Your bottom lip trembles as your heart races, he looks nervous. The strong, broad man kneeling in front of you looks nervous and it makes you nervous in turn. Feeding off of his energy in a way you always have.

“Now, I realize that while being so focused on gettin’ this right that I kinda fucked things up. Took a long time because first I had to swipe this to use as a reference,” He uses one hand to reach into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out your simple silver band that had gone missing weeks ago. And then it hits you: he’s made you a ring. “I love you, think you deserve the whole goddamn world. Whatever I can provide for you, I will. For as long as I can and as long as you want me to.”

“Olive,” His beautiful brown eyes catch the midday sun as they connect with yours, emotions swirling them. He unfurls his fingers and sitting in his palm are two wooden rings. One is larger than the other ever so slightly and you can see the shine of epoxy on them as they glint. “Will you honor me in becomin’ my wife?”

You’re nodding your head enthusiastically, hair bobbing in it’s clip to keep it away from your face as you take the few steps toward him. Your fingers brush his as you gently caress the crafted wood in his palms, a watery smile taking over your face as you realize this man had made you wedding bands from the very trees he was helping you harvest for the second year in a row.

“That a yes, darlin’?”

“Of course it’s a yes, Joel.” Your words leave on a breathy exhale as he let’s you slip the larger ring onto his left hand. He’s got his eyes trained on your own as he does the same, threading your fingers together and using that connection to haul you into his arms as he stands. He kisses you deeply, dipping you backwards slightly as he holds tight to the middle of your back.

And it’s the best feeling, of finding someone as special as him in the remnants of a broken world. Of finding someone who loves you through the good times and bad, through the happy moments and hard moments, through everything and anything you both had to do to survive and make it to this point. Joel Miller is one of the good ones and now he’s yours forever. You're his forever.

taglist: @pedrospatch @morning-star-joy @sawymredfox @pascalpvnk

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

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

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

@part2joelmiller @formulafun @noisynightmarepoetry @sofiparallel

@blueberrylemon7 @maryrhodalouandted @joelsdagger @fluff-lover

@communism-bitches @slugz-writes-shit @mosssbawls @vie-is-punk

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

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

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 17 days ago

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The Dark Forest (Part 7)

It's about to get spooky up in this fic.

She is weak when she awakens and she doesn’t know what day it is.

Or if it is day at all.

Night is perpetual in this forest.

She sits up and rubs her eyes. Her own skin feels like sandpaper on them. She is too weak to hold her arms upright and so they fall limp at her sides, her head dips several times over and she considers laying back down. She thinks that maybe she hasn’t really awoken at all. But the very moment her cheek is nestled against the ground, her arm gives a little twitch.

A little twitch that quickly escalates into a maddening and irresistible itch.

Her entire right arm is covered in red bumps and welts. Hives.

Icy once again finds herself clawing at her own skin. Scratching until it breaks and blood trickles down her right arm. It still itches so she keeps scratching. Scratching until a hand closes over her wrist. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

But that furious twitching beneath her skin persists.

“I made some ointment.” Darcy smiles.

“You know how to make ointment?”

Darcy nods and holds up a notepad. “The instructions are right here.” She casts a glance over her shoulder. “Hand me that ointment, will you Stormy?” She pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

“I think that I remembered something.” Icy mumbles.

Darcy tilts her head. “About how to get us out of here?”

“About why we wanted to find the Polluting Pine.”

“Forget about the Polluting Pine, you can’t use it anyways.”

Icy swallows.

Swallows as best as she can, anyhow. She thinks that her throat is still swollen. Or maybe it is her tongue. “Yeah.”

“Here it is!” Stormy declares a little too loudly. She thumps down onto the ground next to Icy with her legs in a criss-cross position. She thrusts her arm out and practically shoves the makeshift bowl that she is holding into Icy’s face. “Oh, I can’t help!” She jams her own fingers into the paste and carelessly and roughly rubs her fingers over Icy’s right forearm.

Icy hisses and grits her teeth.

“Careful, Stormy. You’re rubbing too hard.” She takes the makeshift bowl and the paste. “Like this.” She gently takes Icy’s hand in hers and just as tenderly spreads the ointment over the rash, avoiding the spots that Icy has scratched open. “There. All done. That should get rid of the rash.”

Icy cradles her hand against her chest and glares at Stormy who seems to shrink under her gaze. She vaguely remembers fighting with Stormy. The memory is fuzzy but she remembers punching Stormy and kicking her.

Over what?

She doesn’t know.

“She was just trying to help.” Darcy says quietly.

There are things in this forest that scratch and screech and bite. Icy doesn’t do any of that, she only has to stare the right way and the both of them flinch.

There are so many terrifying things all around them and Darcy and Stormy seem to be the most afraid of her.

.oOo.

They have been wandering for days but they don’t wander aimlessly anymore.

They may not have been able to figure out what the Polluting Pine was for but they do know that they want to leave this horrible forest.

Icy still needs proper medical attention. Her eye is still swollen shut and the rash on her neck and right forearm remain.

They had tried to wait for her to heal to resume their wandering but she doesn’t seem to be getting any better and they are running out of food. Sometimes she feels a jab or a twitch and she swears that her condition is getting worse.

Her body feels hot but she is shivering. And it certainly isn’t the pleasant sort of shivering that comes with a good blast of frigid wind. It is a warm kind of shiver that makes her stomach feel queasy.

“You’re scratching again.” Darcy points out for what must be the tenth time. And for the tenth time, Icy lowers her hand and slips it into her the front pocket of jean-shorts that are growing tattered.

Stormy leans in closer and frowns. “That looks pretty bad.” She grabs Icy’s hand and Icy yanks it back. Stormy is agitating. Stormy doesn’t know how to keep her hands to herself and she wonders why Icy yells at her. “It’s all oozy and gross!”

Icy’s stomach sinks. “Shut up Stormy. You’re gross and if you keep talking you’ll be all oozy!”

“Please don’t start with each other.” Darcy winces. She is already on the verge of tears. Icy gets tired of that too. Darcy cries too much. Everything makes Darcy cry from branches snagging her hair to getting more mud on her shoes. But that doesn’t mean that she isn’t right; the three of them only have each other.

“Tell her to stop touching me then.”

Darcy sighs. “Stormy, what did we talk about?”

Stormy folds her arms and grumbles. “Icy has a personal bubble and I have to ask before entering it because if I pop it she’ll pop me.”

“That last part wasn’t part of the talk.”

“Yeah, cause I made that part up myself!” Stormy declares.

And they walk on.

Stormy walks closer to Darcy and further from her.

And they keep walking.

On and on and on until it begins to grow dark again.

They need to find a place to stay for the night but shelter is becoming harder to find. They have left the area rife with caves and the amount of fallen trees large enough to nestle themselves in has decreased. Tonight, it occurs to her, they might have to sleep out in the open. Out where the shadowy creatures can find them with ease.

She can already hear them calling. It is something between a wail and a whistle. It makes her shudder. She has seen the bodies attached to this particular call and they are grizzly; they possess skin stretched so tightly over their skulls that she can see the texture of the bones beneath. Many of them have two or three skeletal faces fused to one another. They all have three fingered hands that are perfect for stabbing eyes and ramming into mouths at the same time. They wear necklaces made from children’s shoes and tie random toys to their stringy hair using scraps of bloodied clothing.

The one that stalks them now, creeping just out of sight, has a huge collection of shoes around its neck. White laces with faded silver tinsel threaded into them are knotted with rainbow laces and laces that used to be white but have gone a dirty grey-brown. The shoes attached vary in style; the shoelace with the silver tinsel is attached to a light pink sneaker that used to have a sparkle of fake diamonds on the toebox and at the heel. Most of the diamonds have fallen out, leaving empty holes where they had once been. The rainbow laces are attached to a pair of rainboots, kids size 5 and a half.

The creature thinks that it is being sneaky but she can hear the shoes knocking against one another and, now and then, out of the corner of her eye she catches the blinking of those light up sneakers that the dirty white laces are attached to.

But when she looks over her shoulder, it is gone again.

She shudders.

It gives its wail whistle.

She can’t tell from which direction it comes in.

It sounds so distant but she knows that it is very near.

“We should try to get a fire going.” Darcy says.

Icy nods.

Firelight usually keeps those creatures at bay.

Firelight almost never keeps her dreams at bay. Firelight is no match for the whistling wails that follow her into her dreamscape.

.oOo.

She is running.

Her lungs are on fire.

She keeps running.

The calls are growing softer now. So distant that she almost can’t hear them. The plummeting of her stomach is accompanied by a cold sweat that breaks out on her forehead. The call is so soft now that she has to strain her ears to hear it.

She pushes herself harder, runs a little bit faster and the calls grow louder again. But Stormy is falling behind and Darcy is falling behind Stormy. So Icy slows her pace again until the whistling wails grow unsettlingly faint once more.

She slows her pace even further until she is at the very back.

Until she can’t hear the calls at all.

She tells them not to look back.

It is quiet enough now that she knows that she is within reaching distance.

But the calls grow louder in her ears again, this one is different, perhaps a screech of conquest—a horrid thing that sounds like a screaming fox and an owl hoot at the very same time.

It has passed her right by, its shadow falls over Stormy.

#Winx #Winx Club #Winx Trix #The Trix #Winx Icy #Winx Darcy #Winx Stormy #Fanfiction

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mrworldwideshoulders · 2 years ago

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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 · 9 months ago

Note

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 · 4 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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