#for the better part of a year he was sifting through himself

[casualavocados]

Don't come to see me again. Throw them away for me. There's no point in keeping them. It's all in the past.

KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Ep. 12

[joelsrose]

First Date: Part II

Part 1

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The room was quiet, but your heart refused to follow suit, pounding wildly against your ribs as Joel’s words played over and over in your head. The faint hum of alcohol lingered in your veins, leaving your senses dulled but your emotions sharp. Heat crept up your neck and across your face, a blush you couldn’t will away. Your chest ached, full and warm, caught somewhere between elation and frustration.

Not like this.

Joel Miller wanted to kiss you. The thought spun in your mind like a cyclone, disorienting and infuriating all at once. Why was he so impossible to understand? Why couldn’t he just come out and say what he meant instead of leaving you to sift through his maddening half-truths and clumsy, drunken confessions? All he ever did was complicate things.

He was infuriating, stubborn, and guarded to a fault—a wall of iron wrapped in a storm cloud. And yet, despite all of it, you felt yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame. It didn’t make any sense. Why him, of all people? Had the years of chaos and heartbreak warped you so completely that you’d developed some ridiculous weakness for brooding older men with a penchant for gruffness and unspoken truths?

You huffed into the darkness, pressing your palms against your flushed cheeks, but the heat didn’t dissipate. Against your will, your thoughts drifted back to him, to his voice low and gravelly, saying things he couldn’t seem to admit in the sober light of day. Was he awake now, thinking about you? Or had he already pushed it all aside, boxed it up and locked it away in whatever cavern he stored the pieces of himself he refused to share?

The ache in your chest swelled, pushing against the growing exhaustion that tugged at you. You curled onto your side, pulling the blanket closer, hoping to smother the whirlwind of emotions that refused to quiet down.

And just as the edges of sleep began to blur your thoughts, you felt it—a phantom sensation born of longing and bittersweet dreams. The imagined press of Joel’s lips against yours, warm and deliberate, a fleeting moment of tenderness that made your heart stutter even as slumber finally claimed you.

ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡

You rode in silence behind Joel, the steady rhythm of your horse beneath you almost lulling you into a trance. The biting cold nipped at your cheeks, but your thoughts kept drifting to the man ahead of you. His broad frame cut an imposing silhouette against the pale horizon, his posture as tall and rigid as ever. Every movement was deliberate, his eyes constantly scanning the terrain, as if the weight of the entire world rested squarely on his shoulders.

This morning, he had greeted you with a curt nod and a gruff “Morning.” The simple acknowledgment had caught you off guard. After the tension of your last conversation, you half-expected him to retreat into one of his impenetrable silences. But that was Joel Miller—always catching you off guard, always surprising you right when you thought you finally had him figured out.

Patrol today was supposed to be a routine supply check at one of the safe houses, but something felt off. Your admittedly poor sense of direction had its limits, and even you could tell that you’d been heading the wrong way for at least an hour.

You hesitated, your eyes fixed on Joel’s broad back as he rode ahead. Joel wasn’t exactly known for his love of small talk, and the idea of breaking the silence felt like stepping into dangerous territory. But the quiet was stretching too thin, and curiosity, paired with a healthy dose of boredom, finally got the better of you.

“Joel,” you called out, your voice cutting through the crisp air, “where are we going? The safe house is the other way.” Your tone was casual enough, but it carried an undercurrent of irritation you couldn’t quite hide.

He didn’t turn, his voice gruff and matter-of-fact. “Already checked the supplies this morning.”

“What?” you blurted, reining your horse to a halt. Your frustration flared as the biting cold nipped at your cheeks, your irritation rising at the realization. “What the hell are we doing out here, then?”

You couldn’t keep the exasperation out of your voice, the long ride through freezing winds now feeling even more unnecessary. Your breath puffed in front of you as you waited for an answer, your fingers tightening on the reins.

Joel finally stopped his horse, turning in the saddle to face you, his expression unreadable as always. “We’re goin’ somewhere they can’t hear us,” he said simply, his tone as dry as the winter air.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, your frustration bubbling over. “The hell does that mean?” you shot back, your breath puffing out in an irritated cloud.

Joel exhaled, rubbing a gloved hand over his face as if summoning patience. “Jesus,” he muttered, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Don’t sound so scared. Not gonna murder you.”

Your eyes widened for a moment, caught completely off guard. Then it hit you—Joel Miller had just told a joke. A joke. In his own deadpanned, gruff way, Joel Miller was trying to lighten the mood, and it left you momentarily speechless.

“What do you mean, ‘somewhere they can’t hear us?’” you pressed, suspicion still clear in your voice.

“Less chance of runnin’ into infected or raiders out here,” Joel replied, his tone measured, his focus already shifting back to the path ahead.

You frowned, still not satisfied. “Okay… so?”

“So we can practice,” he said plainly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Practice what?” you groaned, exasperation creeping into your voice as you rolled your eyes. “Do you ever speak in full sentences, or is this just a special talent of yours?”

Joel’s eyebrows arched slightly at your tone, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He wasn’t used to this—your voice sharp, laced with teasing. Around Maria and Tommy? Sure. But with him? You’d always seemed a little more reserved, a little hesitant.

For a moment, something softened in his expression, his guarded demeanor cracking just enough for the faintest twitch of a smile to tug at the corner of his lips. It was fleeting, though—gone before you could catch it, as if he’d forced it away before it betrayed him.

“Gonna practice your shootin’,” he said, his voice steady, with just the faintest edge of amusement, before turning his focus back to the trail.

You found your gaze lingering on his profile, tracing the hard line of his jaw and the subtle furrow of his brow, hoping it would somehow reveal his truth. Joel Miller was a complete enigma, a puzzle you couldn’t seem to piece together no matter how many hours you spent in his company.

This was the man who rarely spared more than a fleeting glance at anyone unless it was absolutely necessary, the man who seemed to prefer the chaos of infected over the mundane discomfort of small talk. And yet here he was, willingly going out of his way, taking you out to practice shooting. In the middle of nowhere. Far from prying eyes and unnecessary distractions.

The thought crept into your mind before you could stop it, your chest tightening as you turned it over. Was there a chance—however small—that Joel Miller felt something for you too?

It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? You shook your head slightly, willing the thought to dissipate, but it clung to you, stubborn and insistent. No matter how much you tried to brush it aside, the possibility lingered—warm and persistent, like an ember nestled deep in your chest, refusing to fade no matter how much you tried to snuff it out.

ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡

“All right,” Joel said, his voice breaking through the crisp morning air as his eyes swept over the landscape ahead. The clearing was vast and open, framed by a dense thicket of trees whose bare branches swayed softly in the winter breeze. Frost coated the grass, glimmering faintly under the pale, overcast sky, and in the distance, a frozen creek carved its way through the land, its icy surface catching the weak light like fractured glass.

The air was still, carrying the sharp, earthy scent of winter, and the silence was almost unnerving in its completeness. No distant chatter, no shuffle of movement—just the sound of your breath mingling with the faint crunch of frost underfoot.

Joel was right. You were far from Jackson, far from the risks of infected or raiders. Here, in this quiet expanse of frozen solitude, it was just the two of you.

Joel swung his leg over his horse, dismounting with practiced ease. You followed suit, your boots crunching softly against the frost-laden ground as you landed. Without a word, Joel led the horses to a nearby tree with a thick, sturdy trunk, securing them with firm, deliberate knots.

You grabbed your pack and rifle, trailing behind him as he moved through the clearing. His eyes swept the area with a critical precision, his every movement purposeful, as though he’d already planned out exactly how this would go.

He stopped at a fallen log first, gripping it with both hands and dragging it into position with a grunt of effort. Crouching low, he pulled a tin can from his pack and set it carefully on top, his hands steady despite the biting chill in the air.

Next, he turned his attention to a dilapidated fencepost, its wood splintered and weathered, lining up a few bottles along its edge. The frosted glass caught the faint light filtering through the clouds, glinting like tiny beacons against the dull gray backdrop.

But Joel wasn’t finished. A rusted metal barrel leaned against a nearby tree, and he hauled it upright with a quiet determination, giving it a quick once-over before affixing a target to its side. Finally, he moved toward the creek, his boots crunching over frost and ice, lining up a series of rocks along the edge, spaced just enough to challenge your aim at a longer distance.

You watched it all with growing amusement, your eyebrow arching as Joel stepped back to survey his work. His expression remained all business, his lips pressed into a firm line, but the meticulous care he put into arranging each makeshift target was oddly endearing.

“Jesus,” you muttered, eyeing the array of makeshift targets scattered across the clearing. “How many of these are you hoping I actually hit?”

“All of ’em,” Joel replied without missing a beat, his tone steady and confident.

You raised an eyebrow at him, incredulous. “That’s ridiculous, Joel.”

“No, it ain’t,” he said, dead serious, his gaze unwavering as he adjusted his stance. “When we’re done here, you’ll be able to hit every single one.”

You let out a disbelieving huff, shaking your head. “You’re insane.”

“I meant what I said,” he continued, his voice low but firm, cutting through your doubts. “You’re not a bad shot—but you’re not confident.”

His words made you pause. He remembered saying that, back when he’d been drunk. Did that mean he remembered the other thing he’d said then?

Thinking about you.

Joel kept going, his tone calm but resolute. “Half of shootin’ is havin’ the aim,” he said, gesturing toward the rifle in your hands. “The other half is thinkin’ you can actually hit what you’re aiming for.”

“Okay,” you breathed, steadying yourself as you tightened your grip on the rifle.

Joel Miller believed you could hit every single one of these targets, so you better damn well try.

You glanced at him, his expression as steady as ever, his confidence in you unwavering. “Alright,” you said, your voice firming with determination. “Teach me.”

Joel gave a small nod, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stepped closer, his presence solid and grounding. “First,” he began, his voice calm but commanding, “your stance. You ain’t gonna hit anything if you’re all off-balance.”

Joel stepped closer, the sound of his boots crunching against the frost pulling your attention to him completely. The space between you felt impossibly small as he came to stand at your side, his dark eyes scanning you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“Feet shoulder-width apart,” he said, his voice low and gruff, his tone laced with a quiet authority that sent a shiver down your spine. You adjusted your stance, glancing at him for approval, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment too long before he gave a slight nod.

“Good,” he murmured, stepping behind you. You felt the weight of him there, close enough that the warmth of his presence cut through the biting cold. “Grip the rifle like this.”

His hands reached out, rough and warm as they wrapped over yours, adjusting your grip with careful precision. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a pulse of heat through you that you couldn’t ignore.

“Relax,” he said, his voice softer now, but still carrying that edge of restraint. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, grounding and firm. “You’re too stiff. Loosen up—ain’t gonna hit a thing if you’re all tense.”

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on his words and not the way his touch lingered, his thumb brushing lightly against your shoulder before he pulled back.

“Like this?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

Joel leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “Better. Now, line up your sights.”

The proximity was dizzying, the way his hand ghosted over your arm to guide you sending a jolt of awareness through you. You couldn’t help but feel the heat of him at your back, the roughness of his hand as it hovered, hesitant but deliberate.

“You’re tilting,” he murmured, his voice softer now but still gruff. His hand brushed your arm lightly as he adjusted your aim. “Not your body—just your eyes. Straight down the barrel.”

The tension crackled in the air between you, thick and electric. You tried to steady your breathing, but it was impossible with him this close, his focus entirely on you.

“Now,” Joel said, his voice almost a whisper, rough and unrestrained, “breathe in. Slow.”

You obeyed, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with his words.

“Hold it,” he continued, his tone impossibly close, the timbre of it making your pulse race. “Squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull—squeeze.”

The rifle fired, the shot echoing through the clearing.

The can on the log wobbled but didn’t fall.

You groaned in frustration, your cheeks burning from the effort—and something else entirely.

Joel stepped back slightly, just enough to give you room to breathe, but not enough to break the tension. His lips pressed into a line, his eyes scanning you, calculating. “Do it again,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You frowned, glancing at him. “You make it sound so easy,” you muttered.

“Ain’t supposed to be easy,” he said, his voice lower, quieter. His eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, the air between you felt heavier. “But you’ll get there.”

He stepped behind you again, closer this time, his hand brushing your lower back as he guided you into position. “Focus,” he said, his voice rough and close. “You got this.”

This time, when you fired, the can flew off the log with a sharp clang.

A surprised laugh burst from your lips, and you turned to face him, your heart hammering in your chest. Joel’s eyes lingered on yours, the tension thick and charged, before he gave a small, approving nod.

“Told you,” he said, his voice gruff but softer.

The world seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in the stillness of the clearing.

Your chest tightened as you met his gaze, and for once, he didn’t look away.

ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡

The clearing had transformed into a battlefield of spent casings, the sharp tang of gunpowder mingling with the crisp evening air. You’d lost track of how many rounds you’d fired, how many times Joel’s gruff encouragements had pushed you to reload and try again.

The sun hung low now, spilling a watercolor of oranges and pinks across the sky, while shadows stretched like creeping fingers over the ground. The fading light tugged at the edges of your nerves, a reminder of how dangerous it was to linger, but Joel stood firm.

“You’re not leavin’ until you hit every single one,” he said, his voice steady and resolute, as if the world beyond this clearing didn’t exist.

Your gaze shifted to the last target—a battered can balanced precariously on the edge of a log, defiant in its refusal to fall. It mocked you in its stillness, the sole survivor of the carnage you’d unleashed.

Joel adjusted his stance beside you, his presence a steady anchor. “Alright, let’s go again,” he said, his tone as unwavering as ever, leaving no room for argument.

“Joel,” you groaned, the ache in your arms deepening as the rifle seemed to grow heavier with every passing second. “We’re gonna run out of bullets, I’m starving, and then—when we’re weak from hunger—werewolves are gonna eat us.”

Joel’s head snapped toward you, his brow knitting together in utter confusion. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

You bit back a laugh, your shoulders shaking just slightly. “Sorry. I’m delirious. I told you—I’m hungry.”

He exhaled sharply, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t catch, though the faintest flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips. “Focus,” he said, stepping closer, his voice softer this time, like he was coaxing a skittish animal. “This is the last one—you can do it.”

You glanced at him, lifting an eyebrow in mock defiance. “And if I don’t?”

Joel’s eyes glinted, his expression unreadable as he shrugged, his tone deadpan. “Then I’ll leave you out here. Alone.”

Your jaw dropped, the words hanging in the air for a beat longer than they should have. “What?” you practically yelped, caught between indignation and disbelief.

He shrugged again, the corner of his mouth tugging upward into what could only be described as a smirk. It was maddeningly subtle but unmistakable, and for a moment, you just stared at him, thrown off by his uncharacteristic playfulness.

“Jesus, Joel,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes at him, though the spark of humor in his gaze told you exactly how much truth there wasn’t in his empty threat.

“Alright,” you sighed dramatically, squaring up to the rifle.

Joel stepped behind you, his presence impossibly distracting, his warmth cutting through the cold like a flame. His hands settled on your waist, firm and steady, grounding you in a way that sent your heart into overdrive. The touch wasn’t intrusive, but it was deliberate, and it set every nerve in your body alight. He nudged your feet apart with his knee, his voice low and gravelly as he murmured, “Remember—feet apart.”

How in the world did he expect you to hit the target when he was this close? Your mind raced, your thoughts tangling into a mess of sensations—the press of his chest just shy of your back, the quiet strength in his hands, the way his breath ghosted over your ear. You bit your lip, terrified that if you said anything, your voice might betray just how much he was affecting you.

“Alright,” Joel said softly, his voice so close it made your stomach flip. “Now shoot.”

You forced yourself to exhale, a slow and steady release, and squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked against your shoulder, the shot ringing out across the clearing, and the can flew off the log with a sharp clang that echoed through the trees.

“I got it!” you yelped, spinning toward him, the thrill of victory bursting out of you. Without thinking, you hopped in place, your excitement bubbling over.

Joel clapped his hands together once, his grin breaking free like sunlight through storm clouds. It was rare, genuine, and so utterly Joel that it stole your breath. “Good girl,” he said, his voice warm, his tone low, the words landing squarely in your chest and sending heat rushing to your cheeks.

Your laughter spilled out, light and unrestrained, though the flush in your face betrayed how much those two simple words had affected you. “I can’t believe it,” you said, catching your breath. “I mean, you helped—like, a lot.”

“No,” Joel said firmly, his eyes locking with yours, the intensity in his gaze unwavering. “You did that.”

Something in the way he said it—earnest and steady—made your chest tighten, the words settling in a place deeper than just pride. For a moment, the world stilled, and it was just him, his eyes on yours, his presence steady and reassuring in a way that made it impossible to look away.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten, your lips curling into a shy smile. “Thanks,” you murmured, the word feeling heavier than it should.

“Alright, let’s go,” Joel said, turning toward the horses. But just before he mounted his, he glanced back at you, his voice low and teasing. “Before the werewolves come get us.”

You couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across your face as you laughed softly, shaking your head.

You smiled the entire ride back.

ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡

You loved movie nights at Jackson. They were your favorite day of the month—the one night where the weight of survival seemed to lift, where laughter and shared moments made the world feel just a little bit normal again. Joel knew this.

Over the past few weeks, Joel had learned more about you than he ever expected. You’d started opening up after that shooting lesson, your words spilling out during patrols while he listened, even if he didn’t always respond. He didn’t need to say much—he was paying attention, far more than you realized.

He tucked away the little details, storing them like they might matter someday: how much you loved coffee, the way you always gave your horse, Winnie, a soft pat before every ride, how your favorite food used to be sushi, even though you hadn’t had it in years. He noticed the things you missed, the faint wistfulness in your voice when you mentioned them. And he couldn’t help but notice the way your face lit up whenever you talked about movie nights—your favorite day of the month, you’d said, like it was the closest thing to normal life you had left.

That’s why Joel was sitting here, crammed into the overly warm and crowded community room, the hum of excited chatter filling the air. A few teenagers a couple of seats down were causing a ruckus, and Joel had already shot them a sharp glare, but he stayed. His jacket was draped over the seat next to him, keeping it empty despite the steady stream of people filtering in.

At one point, a woman—nudged forward by her giggling friends from another row—sauntered over, her intentions clear in the way she lingered near Joel’s side. She gestured toward the empty seat beside him, her tone light and suggestive as she asked if it was free.

Joel, oblivious to her flirtation and entirely disinterested, didn’t even bother to lift his head. “Seat’s taken,” he replied curtly, his voice flat and dismissive, his eyes never leaving the drink in his hand.

The woman hesitated, clearly caught off guard by his lack of acknowledgment, before retreating back to her friends, her cheeks tinged with embarrassment.

Joel didn’t seem to notice—or care.

Moments later, you walked in, your smile wide and contagious as your eyes swept across the crowded room. Movie night had always been your thing—something you loved, even if you usually came alone. You didn’t mind; the atmosphere, the chatter, and the shared excitement were enough.

But when your gaze landed on Joel, sitting stiffly amidst the chaos, your smile grew even wider. It was funny seeing him here, so out of his element, and yet undeniably him.

“Joel?” you said softly, your voice carrying just enough over the hum of the room as you wove through the crowd toward him. “What are you doing here?”

He feigned surprise, his tone casual, though the slight shift in his seat betrayed him. “Oh, you know… watchin’ the movie.”

You chuckled softly, the sound light and unguarded, tugging at something deep in his chest. Your eyes scanned the crowded room, narrowing as you searched for an empty seat. The hum of voices began to quiet as the lights dimmed, the projector humming to life.

“Well,” you whispered, “I should probably find a seat.” You started to turn, ready to slip away into the sea of people.

“Wait,” Joel said abruptly, his voice low but firm, cutting through the settling quiet.

A sharp shhh from someone nearby made his jaw clench, but he ignored it, reaching over to pull his jacket off the seat beside him.

“There’s a seat here,” he muttered, his tone gruff but leaving no room for debate.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard, your gaze dropping to the now-empty seat. “Oh, I thought you were saving it…” you said, gesturing toward the jacket he’d just moved.

“No,” Joel replied quickly, a little too quickly, as he draped the jacket over his lap. “It’s yours. Sit.”

Your heart swelled, a soft warmth blooming in your chest as you slid into the seat beside him. Joel Miller saved you a seat. Here, of all places—a packed room buzzing with energy, in a place he’d never willingly set foot in before. It was almost unthinkable, and yet, there he was, his rugged frame taking up more space than the narrow chair could manage, his attention fixed stubbornly on the screen ahead.

The closeness felt different, a quiet charge humming between you that had nothing to do with the low whir of the projector kicking to life. You glanced sideways at Joel, catching the way his jaw was set tight, the muscles working under his skin as his hands gripped his jacket like it might steady him.

“Thanks,” you whispered, leaning in just enough that your words were meant for him alone.

He didn’t look at you, but the slight tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. His grip on the bottle in his hand loosened, and for a fleeting second, you could’ve sworn you saw the faintest tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡

The movie flickered to life, its warm glow casting shifting shadows across the crowded room. You watched intently, the pictures dancing over your face, your quiet smile tugging at your lips as you lost yourself in the moment. Joel’s eyes, however, weren’t on the screen. In the subtlest way, he turned toward you, his gaze lingering a second too long, his breath hitching as he took you in.

You looked so happy, so at ease, and it struck him harder than he wanted to admit. It was a rare thing, seeing you like this, unguarded and content. And for reasons he didn’t dare explore, it hit him like a punch to the gut.

Joel’s leg started to bounce, an outlet for the restless energy he couldn’t seem to shake. His mind was far from the movie, far from the room entirely. Every nerve in his body was attuned to you—the warmth of you sitting so close, the faint scent of your shampoo, the soft sound of your breathing as you leaned slightly forward.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he allowed himself to relax, just a fraction. His knee brushed lightly against yours, his shoulder just barely grazing yours in the cramped space. He told himself it was the tight quarters, the lack of room—but deep down, he knew better.

You noticed immediately. The slight shift in his posture, the nervous bounce of his knee, the charged silence between you—it was impossible to miss. You bit the inside of your lip at the contact, a thrill coursing through you, though you barely moved. The tension was thick, a current humming between you, leaving the air heavy with unsaid things.

Joel might think he had you all figured out, but you knew him, too. He wasn’t watching the movie. His restless movements, the way his grip tightened on the bottle in his hand, the faint rigidity in his shoulders—it wasn’t frustration. It was nerves, raw and unspoken, and maybe more telling than anything he could’ve said.

In a moment of quiet boldness, you leaned into his shoulder, your movement so slight it could’ve been dismissed as accidental. But it wasn’t. Your weight pressed gently against him, testing the fragile boundary that seemed to hover between you. Feigning a yawn, you let your head tilt, coming to rest on his shoulder, your cheek brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt.

Joel froze. You felt it immediately—the sudden tension in his body, the way his breath caught for just a moment. But he didn’t pull away. He didn’t shift or shrug you off. He stayed perfectly still, as though any movement might shatter whatever fragile thread had been strung between you.

His arms remained crossed, rigid beneath you, his posture brimming with restraint. And yet, he didn’t move.

He let you stay, let the weight of your head settle against him, as if it was something he couldn’t bring himself to deny. The warmth of your touch against his shoulder was subtle, but it felt monumental—like a quiet revelation neither of you were quite ready to speak aloud.

Your lips curled into the faintest smile as you closed your eyes, pretending to focus on the movie, though you were acutely aware of him. Of his tension, of his breathing, of the steady warmth radiating from him.

Joel shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours again. This time, it wasn’t accidental. It was deliberate—quietly, wordlessly saying, I’m still here.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you dared move.

The movie played on, its flickering images casting faint shadows, forgotten by you both.

ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡

It was almost Christmas, and Jackson was doing its best to exude holiday cheer, even in a world irrevocably changed by the outbreak. It wasn’t extravagant or polished—how could it be?—but there was a warmth that spread through the town like an unspoken agreement to make the season a little brighter.

String lights, salvaged from who-knows-where, were hung along fences and rooftops, their soft glow casting a cozy light over the snow-covered streets. Some blinked unevenly, others stayed dark, but the effort was there, and it was enough to make the evenings feel a little more magical. Handmade decorations adorned the town—garlands of evergreen branches tied with bits of red cloth, paper snowflakes crafted from old books and newspapers, and ornaments fashioned from bottle caps and scraps of metal.

Music played faintly from the Tipsy Bison, where someone had rigged up an old record player. A collection of scratched vinyls—holiday classics from a bygone era—filled the air with songs that crackled and skipped, but still brought smiles to people’s faces.

You loved Christmas—everything about it. The way it seemed to pull people closer, the way the world seemed to glow a little brighter under the soft, warm lights. You thought back to the days before the outbreak, when you’d pile into the car with your family and drive through neighborhoods, marveling at the twinkling displays in windows and yards.

And the trees—the trees. You remembered how, every year, your family would spend hours decorating your own. There’d be laughter, arguments over which ornaments went where, and the familiar scent of pine filling the room. You’d string the lights carefully, drape the garlands just so, and stand back to admire your work, always ending the night with hot chocolate by its soft glow.

That was what you missed most: a Christmas tree. Your own tree. Something to decorate, to make your house feel like a home again, even just for a moment. You’d tried to make do—stringing up lights you’d scavenged, hanging the odd decoration here or there—but it wasn’t the same. You wanted the ritual, the tradition, the warmth it brought.

You sighed, staring at the bare corner of your living room, imagining how it would look with a tree standing there, soft lights casting their glow on the walls. It wasn’t much to ask for, was it? Just a piece of the life you used to have.

ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡

As you and Joel rode back to Jackson after another long patrol, the crisp winter air bit at your cheeks, the fading daylight painting the snow in hues of soft lavender and blue. The silence stretched between you, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of hooves against the frozen ground. Without thinking, you began humming softly, the tune slipping from your lips to fill the quiet.

“Bright time, it’s the right time, to rock the night away,” you sang under your breath, the words light and airy, carried on the cold breeze. The melody danced between the steady sounds of the horses, a small comfort against the stark winter stillness.

Joel turned toward you, one eyebrow quirking up in that familiar, skeptical way that always seemed to say more than words ever could.

“What?” you asked, grinning at the look on his face. “Don’t tell me you hate Christmas.”

“Didn’t say that,” he replied, his voice gruff as always, his gaze sliding back to the trail ahead like the topic was already dismissed.

“Okay, Grinch,” you shot back, snorting at your own joke.

Joel shook his head, but you caught it—the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips, like he was fighting to suppress the smallest of smiles. It was fleeting, but it was enough to make your chest feel lighter, the warmth of it lingering far longer than it should.

You let the moment settle, your eyes drifting to the endless sea of trees ahead, their branches bowed under the weight of freshly fallen snow. The sight was stunning, the kind of quiet beauty that belonged on a postcard, but it gnawed at something deep inside you—a pang of longing for a life that felt worlds away.

The words escaped before you could reel them back. “I’d give anything to have a Christmas tree again. Just...decorate the hell out of it. Lights, ornaments, everything.”

Joel didn’t respond right away, but he turned his head just enough to let you know he was listening, his profile softened by the dusky light..

“It used to be my favorite thing,” you said, your voice quieter now, the edges of nostalgia softening your words. “Every year, my family and I would put up the tree together. It was chaos—arguing over where the ornaments went, trying to untangle the lights without strangling each other—but it was the best kind of chaos.” You paused, the weight of the memory settling over you, bittersweet and heavy.

Joel didn’t say anything, his silence stretching longer than you expected. You glanced over at him, suddenly self-conscious. Vulnerable. The thought crossed your mind that he might shrug off your rambling with one of his usual gruff remarks, but when your eyes met his, he wasn’t dismissive. He was watching you, his expression unreadable yet completely focused, like your words mattered more than you realized.

You cleared your throat, a nervous laugh bubbling up to fill the space. “What about you? Did you ever have any Christmas traditions?”

Joel exhaled deeply, the sound heavy and weighted, as if it carried a lifetime’s worth of memories with it. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer, and a flicker of guilt sparked in your chest. Who were you to poke at a past he worked so hard to bury?

“Sorry,” you started, your voice faltering as you prepared to retreat. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head slightly. His tone was quieter now, less guarded. “It’s fine.”

The pause that followed felt like the calm before a storm, a moment suspended in fragile quiet. Finally, he spoke, his voice carrying a softness you weren’t used to hearing from him. “Me and my daughter, Sarah…”

Your breath caught, the way he said her name hitting you like a punch to the chest. There was something in his voice—a warmth and sorrow so deeply intertwined that it wrapped around your heart, pulling it tight.

“She used to love those gingerbread house kits,” Joel said, his voice quieter now, as if speaking the memory too loudly might shatter it. A faint, almost shy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, softening his features in a way you’d never seen before. “Always wanted to make the fanciest one—had these big ideas about balconies and turrets, like somethin’ outta a magazine. And every damn time…” He chuckled, low and warm, the sound tinged with affection. “It’d fall apart. Used to drive her nuts. But she’d just laugh it off, tell me it was all part of the plan, and start over.”

You smiled, the corners of your mouth lifting without thought as the image came alive in your mind. A younger Joel, one free of the weight of the world, laughing with his daughter over collapsed gingerbread turrets. The thought was bittersweet, a glimpse of a man you’d never known but could almost picture—a father who loved without hesitation, whose laughter was full and unguarded, before loss had carved its mark into him.

“That’s a nice memory,” you said softly, careful not to speak too loud, afraid to disturb the fragile thread of openness stretching between you.

Joel didn’t reply right away. Instead, he adjusted the reins, his grip easing as his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—a quiet acknowledgment that, for once, he wasn’t carrying that memory alone.

For the rest of the ride, the silence between you felt different. It wasn’t heavy or awkward, but something warmer, like the quiet understanding of two people who knew what it was to hold on to pieces of a world that was gone.

ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡

You woke to the faint gray light of dawn seeping through the window, your body protesting the cold with an ache that had become all too familiar. Winter had a way of settling into your bones, amplified by too many restless nights. A long yawn escaped as you stretched, the motion tugging at sore muscles. You wiped the remnants of sleep from your eyes, shivering as your bare feet met the icy floor.

The house was frigid, the kind of cold that clung to everything, stubborn and unyielding. You pulled your coat on over your sleepwear, wrapping it tightly around yourself as you shuffled into the kitchen. The soft hum of the coffee maker broke the silence, the promise of warmth in your mug the only thing motivating you to stay upright.

Then you heard it—a muffled groan, followed by the unmistakable sound of something heavy being dragged just outside the door. Your movements stilled, the faint noise enough to send a flicker of unease skittering up your spine. Frowning, you tilted your head, straining to catch the sound again.

Another grunt. Low, frustrated, and definitely close. Your heart leapt, the stillness of the morning amplifying your sudden wariness. What the hell? Your eyes darted to the door, your mind torn between throwing it open or reaching for the rifle leaning against the wall.

Curiosity got the better of you. Hands slightly trembling from the cold—or maybe something else—you stepped forward and gripped the handle, twisting it slowly. The door creaked open, and a gust of icy air hit your face, stinging your cheeks as you peeked outside.

“Joel?”

There he was, hunched over, dragging a pine tree through the snow, its branches catching on every uneven patch of ground. His face was flushed from the cold, his breath visible in the crisp morning air as he gave the tree one final heave. Straightening up, he caught sight of you standing in the doorway, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

For a moment, he froze, caught in the act. His expression was as guarded as always, but there was something else—a flicker of hesitation, like he wasn’t sure what to say or how you’d respond.

“You, uh…” He shifted awkwardly, glancing at the tree, then back at you. “You said you wanted a tree,” he muttered, his tone gruff, his shrug feigning indifference, as though dragging a whole pine tree through the snow was just another errand.

Your chest tightened, warmth spreading despite the icy air around you. “Did you cut this yourself?” you asked softly, stepping closer, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Joel nodded once, his gaze dropping for a moment, as though the simple act embarrassed him more than it should have.

“And dragged it all the way here?”

Joel nodded again, his hand drifting to the back of his neck, his fingers rubbing at the nape like he could somehow ease the tension there. “Wasn’t far,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, but the faint flush creeping up his cheeks gave him away.

He was lying—it had been far, and he was too old for this shit. Every step back had weighed heavy in his bones, his hands still numb from the cold, his back stiff from hauling the thing all the way here. But none of that mattered. Not when it meant seeing you like this, your eyes alight with joy, your smile so bright it knocked the air from his lungs. He’d do it again in a heartbeat, a hundred times over, if it meant he could hold onto this fleeting, impossible moment just a little longer.

You stared at him, the enormity of his gesture settling over you, wrapping around you like the warmth of a fire on the coldest night. You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. The lump in your throat was too thick, your emotions too raw.

Without thinking, you closed the distance between you and threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a fierce hug. Joel stiffened at first, his hands hovering at your sides as though unsure of where to place them. But then, slowly, his arms came around you, his hold tentative but steady, one hand splaying across the middle of your back.

“Thank you,” you whispered into his shoulder, your voice muffled but trembling with sincerity.

Joel didn’t say anything, but the way his grip tightened, just enough to let you know he was there, said more than words ever could. The faint scent of pine and the warmth of him filled your senses, and for that brief moment, the rest of the world seemed to melt away.

As you pulled away and took a proper look at the tree, a delighted shriek escaped you, your hands flying to your cheeks.

“Jesus,” Joel muttered, his hand coming up to cover his ears in mock exasperation. “Warn a guy next time, would ya?”

“Joel, this is the best day ever,” you said, spinning to face him, your grin so wide it almost hurt. “You are officially the opposite of the Grinch.”

He shook his head, a soft huff of amusement escaping him.

“Come on, let me help you,” you said, grabbing at the trunk of the tree, already tugging it toward the door.

“Don’t need to do that,” he said, his tone gruff but without bite.

“I want to,” you shot back, undeterred, already struggling to maneuver the hefty thing into your living room.

ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡

With Joel’s steady hands guiding it, the tree finally found its place in the corner of your living room.

It fit perfectly, its branches reaching just shy of the ceiling. The rich scent of pine filled the air, and for a moment, you could almost forget the world outside as you stood back and admired it.

“Joel, seriously,” you said, turning to him, your voice softer now. “This is really kind of you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, brushing off your gratitude like it was nothing, though he avoided your eyes.

But this wasn’t nothing—not to you. There was something about the moment, about Joel standing there in your home with snow still clinging to his boots, that made you feel bold. Something about the quiet intimacy of it all, the way it felt almost domestic in its simplicity. Joel Miller had gone out of his way—for you. The thought made your chest tighten, a warmth spreading through you that melted away the chill of the morning. It made your heart ache in the best way, leaving you feeling special in a way you hadn’t in a long, long time.

“How about…” you began, your heart thudding as his eyes flicked back to yours, sharp and attentive. “Did you maybe wanna come over tonight? I mean… to help me decorate the tree. And I, uh…” You faltered, suddenly shy under the weight of his gaze. “I have alcohol,” you finished, wincing at how lame it sounded out loud.

Joel’s eyebrow arched, his lips quirking ever so slightly. “Alcohol? That’s your bribe? Like I’m some kinda drunk?”

“What? No!” you sputtered, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like—”

“I’m jokin’,” he interrupted, his voice tinged with dry amusement, the smallest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You exhaled sharply, a mix of relief and nerves tangling in your chest as his teasing sunk in.

Joel hesitated, his expression shifting subtly as his eyes lingered on yours. There was something unspoken in his gaze—an uncertainty, but also a quiet warmth that made your breath catch. It felt like he was weighing something, some internal debate playing out just behind his carefully guarded exterior.

“Alright,” he said at last, his voice softer now. “Yeah, okay.” He gave a small nod, almost as if convincing himself this was fine, this was normal.

“Okay,” you echoed, trying and failing to contain the giddy smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Tonight,” Joel repeated, his voice steady but quieter, as though the word carried more weight than it should. He nodded once more, turning toward the door. He hesitated briefly, his hand hovering over the handle, as though he wanted to say something else. But instead, he cast you one final glance, his expression unreadable, and stepped outside, leaving behind the faint warmth of his presence—and the buzz of anticipation that seemed to cling to the room like static.

ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡

Joel stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at the reflection he usually avoided like the plague. The mirror never lied, and what stared back at him was a man weathered by regrets and loss, his inner turmoil etched into the lines on his face, the streaks of grey in his hair and beard. His hands gripped the edges of the sink, his knuckles white, as he shook his head slowly. He didn’t recognize the man looking back at him—at least, not tonight.

He felt stupid.

Like a goddamn teenager getting ready for a date, his heart pounding for no good reason. When you had asked him to come over, the words had caught him off guard, knocking the breath right out of him. His initial instinct had been to say no, to mutter some excuse about being busy. But the look in your eyes, the way you’d smiled at him—hopeful, hesitant—had thrown him off balance. Against all his better judgment, he’d nodded.

And now here he was. His hair, damp and slicked back from the shower, was a little more effort than he’d ever normally bother with.

He’d even trimmed his beard and mustache.

He wore a button-down shirt, one of the few he owned that didn’t look like it had been through a war, and a pair of jeans that weren’t too worn at the knees. His coat was thrown over the back of a chair, waiting for him to stop pacing and just go.

What the hell was he doing? He had lugged a fucking tree to your house. Joel Miller didn’t do things like that. Not for anyone. He didn’t put himself out there, didn’t let himself get drawn into things that could end up hurting more than they were worth. Yet, here he was, straightening his shirt in a mirror he hated, wondering if you’d notice the effort he was putting in, even though he wouldn’t admit it to himself.

The walk to your house felt longer than it should have, each step heavy with the weight of his thoughts. Joel wasn’t just out of his depth—he was drowning in unfamiliar waters. He could turn back. He could go home, pretend he’d forgotten, avoid whatever this was threatening to turn into. He stopped mid-step, staring down at the snow-dusted ground, the temptation to turn around gnawing at him.

But he didn’t.

Before he knew it, his boots were on your porch, the warm glow of light spilling out from the edges of your window. His hand hovered over the wood of your door, suspended in hesitation. His chest tightened, his breath shallow as a thousand thoughts battled in his head.

What if this was a mistake? What if he couldn’t give you what you deserved? What if…

The sound of your humming floated through the door, soft and genuine, and it stopped his spiraling thoughts dead in their tracks. He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment to steady himself.

Then, with a rough exhale, he knocked.

ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡

“Hi,” you said softly as you opened the door, your breath catching for a moment as your eyes took him in.

Joel looked… handsome.

Not that he wasn’t always handsome, but tonight he looked different—more put together than usual, as though he’d taken the time for this.

His hair was slicked back, still damp from the shower, and the button-down shirt he wore fit him just right, the dark fabric emphasizing the broad set of his shoulders. He’d put in effort for this. For you. And that thought sent a soft ache through your chest, your heart beating just a little faster as you struggled to find the right words.

“Hi,” Joel replied, his voice low and gruff, but there was something softer beneath it, something you couldn’t quite place.

“Come in,” you said, stepping aside, your heart thudding in your chest as he crossed the threshold.

Joel stepped forward, standing awkwardly by the door as his hands hovered at his sides, unsure of what to do with them.

“I’ll take your coat,” you offered, your fingers brushing his sleeve lightly as you reached out.

“Oh,” he said quickly, “I can do it.”

The two of you fumbled with the coat, a clumsy, almost comedic dance of politeness. When you finally managed to get it on the rack, you turned back to him, your cheeks flushed, an apologetic smile tugging at your lips.

Joel thought it was sweet, the way your nervousness showed in the little things—how you smoothed the hem of your pink jumper or tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Well,” you began, breaking the silence as you turned toward him, your voice light with an effort to ease the tension. “I managed to steal a bunch of leftover ornaments and lights.” You disappeared into a nearby room, your footsteps soft, and returned moments later with a box in your hands. Setting it on the living room floor with a playful grin, you added, “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Cross my heart,” Joel replied, his voice low but warm, mimicking the motion with a faint, crooked smile. The gesture, so uncharacteristically lighthearted, made your grin widen as you knelt by the box, feeling the weight of the moment ease into something softer, something warmer.

“Okay,” you said, gesturing to the box with a quick motion. “I’ll get you something to drink. Sorry, I’m a terrible host—I don’t have people over much.”

For some reason, that confession made Joel’s chest tighten—not with discomfort, but with a quiet sense of satisfaction. The thought that not everyone had the privilege of this—the quiet intimacy of being in your space—filled him with something he couldn’t quite name. That he was one of the few people you’d allowed into this small, private corner of your world… it mattered more than it should.

“It’s fine,” Joel said, his voice coming quicker than he intended, smoothing over the moment. He softened his tone, just enough to catch your attention and pull your gaze back to him.

You glanced at him, a shy smile brushing across your lips before you turned and retreated into the kitchen. The faint sound of glasses clinking as you moved about filled the silence, but Joel barely noticed, too busy taking in the room around him.

He eased onto your couch, leaning back tentatively as though he didn’t quite belong there. His eyes swept over the space—cozy, warm, undeniably yours. Books were stacked haphazardly on a nearby table, their spines a mix of worn and new. A blanket hung over the armrest, its edges slightly frayed, like it had been used countless times for comfort. The faint scent of something sweet lingered in the air, soft and welcoming, and it made him smile without realizing it. This wasn’t just a house—it was a home, and he couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since he’d felt something like this.

When you returned, holding a glass in your hands, Joel’s gaze lifted to meet yours. He didn’t look away immediately, his eyes lingering just a moment too long, enough to send a spark of warmth through your chest.

“Thanks,” he murmured, reaching for the drink. His fingers brushed yours briefly, the warmth of his touch startling against your cool skin. The small, fleeting contact sent a shiver down your spine, leaving you momentarily breathless as he settled back into his seat.

You smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear again. “Alright,” you said, your voice a little steadier now. “Let’s make this tree look like Christmas exploded on it.”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, his eyes softening. “Lead the way.”

ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡

You and Joel worked side by side, the soft glow of the living room lamp wrapping the space in a warm, golden light. The open box of ornaments lay at your feet, spilling out a chaotic mix of shiny baubles, mismatched trinkets, and tangled strings of lights that looked like they’d seen better days.

“This one,” Joel said, holding up an ornament so hideous it made you visibly wince—a lopsided gingerbread man with one eye missing, its glitter barely clinging to the uneven surface.

You raised an eyebrow, a laugh slipping past your lips before you could stop it. “I thought the plan was to make this tree look nice.”

“Hey,” Joel shot back, mock defensive, though the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. “It’ll add character.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress your grin. You could get used to this, you thought—the easy banter, the warmth of his presence, the quiet moments where the world didn’t feel so heavy.

“Sure it will,” you teased, reaching into the box for something a little less tragic. You pulled out a glittery star, holding it up with a flourish. “Here, let’s balance out your ‘character’ with something actually pretty.”

Joel chuckled, a low, warm sound that sent a soft hum of contentment through you. He reached up to place the gingerbread man on one of the higher branches, his fingers brushing against the pine needles with a carefulness that caught you off guard.

Your gaze lingered for a moment, drawn to the way his hands moved—strong and calloused, bearing the evidence of a life lived hard, yet surprisingly gentle in this moment. You shook yourself out of it, your cheeks warming as you focused back on the tree. But the thought lingered. This could be something.

As you leaned forward to hang the star, your shoulder bumped into his, and the contact sent a jolt through both of you.

“Sorry,” you murmured quickly, your cheeks flushing as you stepped back.

“S’all right,” Joel said, his voice quieter now. His gaze flicked toward you, and for a split second, the room seemed smaller, the space between you charged with something neither of you dared name.

You both turned your attention back to the tree, the moment lingering in the air like a held breath.

“Here,” Joel said after a beat, pulling a strand of lights from the box. He handed it to you, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. The touch was fleeting, but it left a warmth that lingered far longer than it should have.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your heart thudding as you began winding the lights around the tree.

Joel stepped closer, his hands reaching out to help guide the string. His proximity made your pulse quicken, and you swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task instead of the way his arm brushed against yours.

“Looks good,” Joel said after a moment, his voice low and steady. His eyes lingered on the tree, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that his attention had shifted, subtly but unmistakably, to you.

You turned toward him, holding up a candy cane with a playful smile. “Last one,” you said, the warmth in your tone betraying the ease you felt in his presence. “Where should it go?”

Joel leaned forward slightly, his hand brushing the tree as he pointed to a branch near the top. “There.”

You tilted your head, eyeing the spot with a small laugh. “I can’t reach that high.”

Joel stepped closer, his warmth radiating against your back as his hand rested lightly on your lower back, guiding you forward. “Here,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “I’ll lift ya.”

Before you could respond, his hands found your waist, strong and sure, lifting you as though you weighed nothing. The sudden contact made your breath catch, your pulse quickening as your hands instinctively reached for balance. For a brief moment, you froze, the nearness of him stealing your focus.

“You good?” Joel asked, his voice steady, but quieter, almost careful.

“Yeah,” you managed to breathe out, your voice barely above a whisper. You hooked the candy cane onto the branch, the small act grounding you as you steadied yourself. “Okay, got it.”

Joel lowered you gently, his hands lingering at your waist for just a second too long before he pulled away, the absence of his touch leaving your skin tingling.

You turned to face him, your cheeks warm, your heart pounding in a way that felt almost too loud in the quiet room. “Thanks,” you said softly, your voice carrying a weight of something unspoken as your eyes met his.

Joel nodded, his gaze steady but unreadable. “Tree looks good,” he said gruffly, though there was a softness in his tone that made your chest ache.

You smiled, the warmth between you undeniable as the glow of the tree bathed the room in soft light. “It does,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡

You watched as Joel knelt by your fireplace, his broad shoulders hunched as he fiddled with the knobs and levers, his movements deliberate and confident, like he’d done this a hundred times before. You’d asked him to take a look, to figure out why it wouldn’t turn on, and now here he was, focused in that quiet, determined way of his.

The warmth of the room still hadn’t chased away the chill clinging to the corners, and you pulled your sweater tighter around you as you waited. After a few moments, the fire roared to life, the sound sharp and satisfying, the flames crackling as they cast a soft, golden glow over the room.

The light danced across the walls, illuminating the tree in the corner, its twinkling lights and ornaments transforming your living room into something cozy, almost magical. A wave of contentment settled over you, warm and steady, wrapping itself around you like a blanket.

Joel stood, brushing his hands off on his jeans, and turned to you, his brow drawn in that familiar way of his. “How the hell,” he began, his voice tinged with disbelief, “have you been gettin’ through winter without a damn fireplace?” His hands found his hips, his posture a mix of frustration and incredulity.

You shrugged, leaning casually against the arm of the couch, masking the truth of how many nights you’d spent shivering under blankets too thin for the bitter cold. “I’m tougher than I look, Miller,” you quipped, a teasing grin tugging at your lips, trying to keep the moment light.

Joel shook his head, his brow furrowing deeply, his expression a mix of exasperation and something heavier—something closer to concern. “Gonna get yourself pneumonia,” he muttered, his voice gruff but laced with that quiet insistence that always made your defenses wobble.

“Pfft,” you scoffed, waving him off like it was nothing. “I’ve made it this far.”

But Joel wasn’t letting it slide. He turned to you, fixing you with a look so serious it made your smile falter. “You gotta take care of yourself,” he said, his tone firm, weighted. The way his voice dipped—low, resolute—settled something deep in your chest. “I’m bein’ serious.”

Your grin faded as his words lingered, the weight of them sinking in. He wasn’t joking, wasn’t teasing. Joel’s dark eyes stayed locked on yours, steady and unrelenting, and there was something there that stole the breath from your lungs. The way he was looking at you—like your well-being mattered more than anything else—sent a wave of warmth washing over you, one that had nothing to do with the fire crackling softly in the hearth.

You forced a small, playful smile, though your voice was softer now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite name. “Almost sounds like you care about me,” you teased lightly, trying to break the tension, though your heart pounded as the words left your lips.

Joel’s jaw tightened for a moment, his gaze flickering as if debating whether to speak. But then he did, his voice low and steady, slipping out almost like he couldn’t help himself. “’Course I care,” he said, his tone laced with a rawness that caught you off guard. He shifted slightly, his fingers brushing over the back of the chair as though grounding himself. “You think I wouldn’t?”

The sincerity in his voice wrapped around you, leaving you stunned, your heart stuttering as the space between you seemed to shrink. The way he said it—like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like it was something you should’ve known all along—sent a twist of yearning through you so sharp it was almost painful. Joel’s gaze didn’t waver, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved, the moment hanging heavy between you, filled with all the things neither of you had said yet.

You froze, the teasing grin slipping from your face as his words hung in the air, heavier than they should have been. Joel didn’t say things like that. Not Joel. Not ever.

And yet here he was, standing in your living room, saying the kind of thing that cracked open every wall you thought he’d built around himself. It wasn’t the first time, either—the third, maybe fourth time he’d let something slip that showed you, without question, that he cared. But now, as if realizing what he’d done, he looked like he was already regretting it.

He sighed, the sound deep and weary, dragging a hand through his hair as his gaze darted away from yours, fixing on the floor like it might swallow him whole. “I should probably get goin’,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, tinged with that same uncertainty you’d seen in him before. “I’ll, uh… come back tomorrow. Fix that cabinet hinge in the kitchen.” He gestured vaguely toward the next room, his words rushed and uneven, like he needed to fill the silence with something, anything, to get himself out the door.

You blinked, caught off guard—not by the mention of the cabinet hinge, which you hadn’t even realized was broken, but by the way Joel suddenly seemed so unsure of himself. The way he shifted on his feet, hesitating as though he didn’t know if he should stay or go. The Joel you knew didn’t hesitate. He didn’t backpedal or falter. And yet here he was, breaking his own rules, leaving you too stunned to speak.

You opened your mouth, trying to say something to pull him back, but the words wouldn’t come. The air between you felt heavy, electric, charged with everything unspoken, until Joel finally moved toward the door. His boots thudded against the floorboards, each step carrying him closer to leaving, but when he reached the door, he stopped.

For a moment, he stood there, his hand resting on the handle, the muscles in his shoulders tight like he was bracing himself.

You thought—hoped—he might turn around, might say something to break the tension strung so tightly between you. But instead, he gave a small shake of his head, so faint you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching him so closely.

“Goodnight,” he said gruffly, his voice rough at the edges, and before you could respond, he pulled the door open and stepped out into the cold night air.

You stayed where you were, rooted in place as the door clicked shut behind him, the warmth of the fire doing nothing to ease the ache that had settled in your chest. His words replayed in your mind, over and over again. ’Course I care.

The weight of them pressed against you, soft but insistent, leaving you wondering if he knew how much those words had meant—or if he’d ever let himself admit it.

ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡

Joel kept his promise. The next evening, just past seven, he appeared at your door, his work tools slung across his arm. Outside, the wind howled through the streets of Jackson, carrying snow that fell thick and fast, blanketing the world in an unforgiving stillness. Most of the town had hunkered down for the night, fires crackling in hearths and windows locked tight against the bitter cold.

When you opened the door, Joel stood there, looking more worn than usual. His coat hung heavy on his shoulders, dusted with snow, and his breath curled in the freezing air. “Evenin’,” he muttered, his voice low, each word edged with exhaustion. As he stepped inside, you noticed the soft groan he let slip, the deliberate slowness of his movements. He’d had patrol—he must’ve. No one else would’ve braved this storm, not at this hour, unless they had no choice. Or unless they’d made a promise.

Joel didn’t linger in the doorway. He brushed off the cold, heading straight to the kitchen like a man on a mission. Setting his tools down on the counter, he rolled up his sleeves, the quiet determination in his posture unmistakable. Without a word, he knelt to inspect the broken cabinet hinge, his hands already moving with practiced precision.

The room fell silent, save for the faint clink of tools and the occasional gust of wind rattling the windows. You watched him from across the kitchen, the words from the day before still circling in your mind, soft but persistent. ’Course I care.

Your voice broke the quiet, hesitant. “Where’d you learn to do all this?”

Joel didn’t glance up, his focus fixed on the hinge as his hands worked it into place with steady ease. “Construction,” he said gruffly, as though the word was too simple to explain the breadth of what it meant. His tone carried a quiet weight, the kind of admission he didn’t make often. “Did it for years… before.”

“Oh,” you murmured softly, the revelation settling over you. It caught you off guard—Joel had been a constant in your life for months now, his presence as steady as the rhythm of patrols and shared silences. You’d spent hours riding beside him, trading small talk and the occasional story, but somehow, he’d kept this piece of himself hidden. Joel Miller, who seemed to know almost everything about you, was still such a mystery.

“All done,” he said, straightening and brushing his hands off with the kind of no-nonsense efficiency that made you bite back a sigh. Ten minutes—that was all it had taken him, and now he’d be gone again, leaving behind a warmth you weren’t ready to let go of.

“If you, uh… need anything else fixed, just let me know,” he added, his tone gruff but carrying a note of softness that lingered in the air. He reached for his coat, his movements purposeful as he headed for the door.

You followed him, your gaze flicking to the storm raging outside as you opened the door. The wind roared like a living thing, flinging snow in thick, relentless waves that obscured everything beyond a few feet. Joel muttered a low, “Christ,” under his breath, his expression tightening as he took it in.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your brow furrowing as you pushed the door shut again, sealing off the bitter chill.

Joel raised an eyebrow, giving a shrug as he reached for his coat again. “Headin’ home. My place ain’t far.”

You crossed your arms, fixing him with a pointed look. “And you say I’m the one who doesn’t care about myself,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended but underpinned with concern. “You’re not going out in that.”

Joel huffed, his brow furrowing, his posture shifting like he was gearing up for an argument. But before he could get a word out, you stepped forward, placing a hand on his chest. It wasn’t forceful—just firm enough to stop him in his tracks, your fingers lingering against the warmth of his shirt.

“You’re staying here,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips, your tone leaving no room for argument. “Besides, you’re the only one who knows how to start my fire, remember?”

Joel exhaled sharply, the sound somewhere between a sigh and a grumble as his shoulders slumped in reluctant surrender. He shrugged off his coat, hanging it back over the chair. “You’re a damn pain, you know that?” he muttered, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah,” you teased, your grin widening, satisfaction flickering in your chest. “Go on, Miller. Make yourself at home.”

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath you couldn’t quite catch, but he didn’t fight you. Instead, he moved to the fireplace, crouching down with the same practiced focus as before. The sound of crackling flames soon followed, and the heat began to spread through the room, softening the chill that had lingered.

Joel straightened, his hands brushing against his jeans as he turned toward the couch. With a gruffness that seemed more for show than anything else, he eased into the worn cushions, his posture finally relaxing as he leaned back. For a moment, he just sat there, his gaze flicking to the fire, then to the tree, then—unmistakably—to you.

It was going to be a long night, the kind that stretched on slowly, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of shared warmth and unspoken words. But for the first time, neither of you seemed to mind.

ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡

The wind howled outside, rattling the windows as if testing the strength of the glass. The storm showed no sign of relenting, snow piling up in relentless waves. An hour had passed in the warm quiet between you and Joel, the unspoken question hanging in the air—was he staying the night?

“I’m hungry,” you sighed dramatically, sprawling on the couch with a lazy stretch. The fire crackled beside you, its glow soft against the walls, while you stole a glance at Joel, who sat across the room, his expression unreadable.

Joel let out a low groan as he pushed himself to his feet, his joints protesting the movement. He wandered toward the kitchen, his boots heavy against the floor, and pulled open one of your cabinets. “You got any food?”

You shrugged lazily, your head tilted against the couch cushions as you watched him rummage through the shelves. “Not really. I don’t cook much. Usually hit the dining hall. Or, you know… skip meals.”

Joel froze mid-motion, his back straightening as he turned to look at you. His brow furrowed, and the disapproval in his expression was unmistakable. “What?” he said, his voice low, carrying that familiar gruffness that managed to be both chastising and concerned.

You winced inwardly, realizing too late that you’d just handed him another reason to scold you. “It’s not that big a deal,” you added quickly, sitting up as if that might soften the blow.

Joel’s head shook slowly, his gaze hard as he muttered something under his breath. “Unbelievable,” he finally said, the word half to himself as he stepped toward the cabinets with more purpose. Rolling up his sleeves with a deliberate tug, he began scanning the shelves, his movements efficient and no-nonsense.

“What are you doing?” you asked, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him, curiosity piqued.

“Making dinner,” he replied curtly, grabbing a pan with practiced ease. His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a quiet care to the way he moved, pulling out utensils and scanning the sparse contents of your cabinets like he’d done this a thousand times before.

“You can cook?” you asked, your voice laced with amusement and a hint of disbelief.

Joel glanced over his shoulder, his expression unimpressed. “I’m 56 years old. You’d hope I know how to cook by now.”

A snort escaped you, and a teasing grin spread across your lips. “Feel free to move in, then. Handyman, chef… do you do laundry, too?”

Joel raised an eyebrow, stirring something on the stove with deliberate motions. “Hilarious,” he deadpanned, but the faintest twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

The thought, though—of living here with you, of being this small, steady presence in your life—settled deep in his chest, an ache he hadn’t felt in years. It was a longing he didn’t dare give a name.

You chuckled, the sound soft and unguarded, before leaning back into the couch. The warmth of the fire seeped into your skin, lulling you into a comfortable haze. Your eyes fluttered closed, the gentle clinking of pans and the scrape of utensils filling the space like a quiet, unexpected lullaby.

For a man who rarely spoke more than a few words at a time, Joel Miller had a way of taking care of you—whether you’d asked for it or not.

ᡣ • . • 𐭩 ♡

“Wake up,” a gruff voice broke through your haze, the words sharp but not unkind. You groaned, burying your face deeper into the pillow, the warmth of the fire and the soft cushions lulling you back toward sleep.

“Wake. Up,” Joel repeated, and this time you felt a hand on your shoulder—firm but surprisingly gentle, his touch softer than his tone.

“What?” you mumbled, your voice muffled as you rolled onto your back, blinking up at him through the fog of sleep.

“Dinner,” he said simply, stepping back toward the kitchen and pulling out a chair at the small dining table. He sat down, his movements steady and deliberate, waiting.

You yawned, stretching as you pushed yourself off the couch, your limbs heavy from the comfort you’d been wrapped in. Padding over to the table, you blinked the sleep from your eyes—and stopped.

Your gaze fell on the spread in front of you, simple yet thoughtful. Somehow, Joel had managed to turn the random leftovers from your cabinets into something that actually resembled a meal. The sight of it made your chest warm.

“Aww, Joel,” you said, a soft laugh escaping as you slid into the chair beside him. You looked at the plates, your heart swelling at the small details—the carefully sliced bread, the steaming stew, the way he’d even set the table. “You made all this?”

Joel gave a nonchalant shrug, his eyes flicking to you briefly before focusing on his own plate. “Didn’t take much. Just used what you had.”

You took a bite of the stew, your eyes fluttering closed as the warmth and rich flavors settled in. “Alright?” Joel asked, his voice gruff but tinged with a flicker of curiosity as he watched you.

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze with a smile. “Better than alright,” you replied, taking another bite, savoring every spoonful like it was the best thing you’d eaten in weeks.

After dinner, you stood and began gathering the dishes, waving him off when he moved to help. “I got it,” you insisted, practically pushing him toward the couch. Joel grumbled under his breath but relented, settling down near the fireplace.

The fire cast golden light over his features, softening the hard lines of his face as he leaned back, his eyes fixed on the flickering flames. The familiar sound of running water and the clink of dishes filled the room, and Joel found himself glancing over his shoulder.

You stood at the sink, your back to him, humming softly under your breath as you worked. Your hair fell loose over your shoulders, catching the warm glow of the firelight, and Joel couldn’t help but let his gaze linger, something soft and unspoken stirring in his chest.

When you were finished, you dried your hands and crossed the room, handing him a glass of whiskey before settling at the opposite end of the couch. Joel took the glass with a nod, the firelight catching in the amber liquid as he swirled it absentmindedly.

“The fire’s nice,” you murmured, your voice quiet and content as you leaned back into the cushions.

Joel nodded, his eyes shifting from the flames to you. “Told you it’d make a difference,” he said, his tone gruff but carrying the faintest edge of warmth.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the room filled only with the crackling of the fire and the faint whistle of the wind outside. The tension that always seemed to linger between you felt softer now, more like a quiet understanding. You sipped your whiskey, the heat spreading through you, as Joel’s presence, steady and grounding, filled the space beside you.

Joel broke the silence to your surprise, his voice low and gruff, cutting through the comfortable hum of the fire. “What were you hummin’?” He gestured lazily toward the kitchen, where you’d been earlier, his words measured but his gaze intent.

You froze for a moment, feeling a warmth creep into your cheeks. “Oh… you heard that?” you asked softly, your voice tinged with a shy laugh. “It’s just an old country song my dad used to sing when I was little.”

He nodded, his whiskey glass balanced carefully in his hand, his fingers tapping against the rim. “Sounded nice,” he said simply, taking a slow sip. His tone was even, unreadable, but the weight of his words hung in the air like they carried more than he’d intended.

You hesitated, then smiled, your brows raising in playful disbelief. “Was that a compliment, Miller? Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Joel scoffed lightly, his gaze flickering to the fire before returning to you. “What? I compliment you all the time.”

“In what universe?” you shot back, the amusement clear in your voice. Your eyes sparkled as you leaned forward slightly, bracing your elbows on your knees, waiting for his rebuttal.

Joel shifted in his seat, leaning forward as if considering his next words carefully. His expression was thoughtful, though his lips twitched in a way that suggested he was humoring you. “Said you weren’t a bad shot,” he offered finally, his tone casual, like that was enough to make his case.

You rolled your eyes, the warmth of the fire softening the moment. “Not sure if that counts as a compliment, Joel.”

He tilted his head slightly, his jaw tightening just a fraction as he regarded you. The firelight danced over his features, carving out the lines of his face, and for a fleeting moment, he seemed like he might let it drop. But then his gaze lingered, stayed, the quiet stretch of silence between you enough to make your heart skip.

“You’ve got…” Joel began, his fingers now drumming lightly against the glass in his hand. His voice was softer, hesitant, as though he wasn’t quite sure how to finish the sentence. “Nice eyes,” he muttered finally, the words falling out clumsily, unpolished and raw.

Your breath caught, your heart thudding against your ribs. The sheer simplicity of the statement, coming from him of all people, felt like the most vulnerable thing he could’ve said. Joel Miller, with his gruff exterior and impenetrable walls, had just admitted something so small yet so intimate.

He quickly took another sip of his whiskey, his eyes darting away as though trying to escape the moment. You couldn’t help it—you laughed softly, the sound tinged with disbelief and warmth. A blush crept up your neck as you shook your head, your smile soft.

“That’s the best you’ve got?” you teased lightly, though your chest felt impossibly tight.

Joel groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. “Forget it,” he muttered, but there was something in the way his gaze flickered back to you that made your breath catch.

You turned your attention to the fire, needing a moment to steady yourself. “You know,” you began, your voice quieter now, “you don’t have to keep fixing all my stuff.”

Joel leaned back slightly, his posture loosening as he studied you. “Someone’s gotta do it,” he said simply, his voice carrying a gruff sincerity that sent a shiver through you.

“I can take care of myself,” you replied softly, glancing back at him, your eyes searching his face for something you couldn’t quite name.

Joel raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Let’s see,” he said dryly, ticking off on his fingers. “Doesn’t cook, didn’t know how to start her fireplace, believes in werewolves…”

A laugh burst out of you, breaking some of the tension, though it didn’t fully ease the weight in the room. “Seriously, Joel,” you said, shaking your head. “You don’t have to.”

His expression sobered, his gaze locking on yours. For a moment, you thought he might deflect, might brush it off with another quip, but instead, just looked at you.

“I know,” he said quietly, his voice low, so sure.

The words hit you harder than you expected, settling somewhere deep in your chest. He didn’t have to, but he chose to. Over and over, he chose to show up for you in ways that spoke louder than anything he could ever say. It was an unspoken truth that hung between you, heavy and charged.

Your heart pounded as you stared back at him, the air thick with something unsaid. “Joel…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but the words caught in your throat.

He held your gaze for a moment longer, then leaned back with a sigh, his fingers wrapping tightly around his glass. “Drink your whiskey,” he muttered, his tone gruff but not unkind, his walls creeping back up just enough to keep him safe.

You smiled faintly, shaking your head as you took a sip. The fire crackled, the warmth of the room wrapping around you both, but the weight of everything unsaid lingered, weaving an invisible thread between you.

Neither of you dared to pull at it just yet, but it was there, undeniable, and it felt like enough for now.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Tag list xxx

@bbyanarchist @kanyewestest @locked-ness @bambisweethearts @pedritospunk @ickearmn @joeldjarin @disco-barbiexx @sherrye22 @vxrona @ashhlsstuff @dendulinka6 @ashhlsstuff @r4vens-cl4ws @divineangel222 @jasminedragoon @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @handsintheeaire

[itsabouttimex2]

Eclipse Kings

Part Three: Wild Dawn

(Part One: Mountain Monkeys) (Part Two: Barbed Dusk) (Part Three: You Are Here)

(Extra One)

For almost all his life, Sun Wukong had never really known “want”, not for more than the few moments it took to decide he was going to pursue some fleeting and new desire.

The land itself seemed to conspire to his favor- he was borne to a thriving mountain of surplus and luxury, sparkling streams racing down each hill, bountiful orchards with boughs so heavy they dipped near to the earth. Even the horizon was generous, spanning sunrises to color his every lavish breakfast and hosting a banner of glittering stars to lull him to sleep.

He wanted for nothing, because when the world would not bend to his whims, he simply bent it himself- to the end result of power, luxury, and adoration.

His life was fraught with the inevitable turning of blades, stuffed full of motion, conflict, and inevitable triumph. His troop grew by the year, Flower Fruit Mountain knew nothing of suffering, and his treasury was brimming with relics.

A demon crowned eternal king of a flourishing mountain, untouchable and immovable.

What more could a monkey want?

Company, as it turned out. The varied little simians scattered all through the trees and bushes of his mountain were wonderful, of course- he cherished them all like his own children, and doted on each and every one of the little menaces.

But he still wanted more.

—-——————————————————————

“That, little mortal, is when I joined my Sworn Brotherhood!”

The Great Sage Equal to Heaven smiles warmly at his recited memories, claws lightly sifting through a large collection of traditional clothing.

“We were going to lead a siege on that stuck-up realm of Celestials, but my darling moonbeam had an even better idea- why not start our own kingdoms? Instead of teaching those stuffy old fools how to respect us, we could just show them up and take all their little worshipping mortals away!”

You don’t say a word in turn, still bundled up in a fluffy towel, sitting on the nearest chair, idly watching through blank eyes. Since you hadn’t been willing to walk or respond, Wukong had scooped you up with a sigh and hurried off to his and Macaque’s shared changing room, given permission to pick out some old clothes of theirs to give you.

“Of course, all of the stuff that was supposed to be boring was, uh… a total mess. Y’know, like deciding on territories, drawing borders, figuring out taxes—ugh. Mortals do not like taxes. Sure like ‘em better than being eaten by demons, though.” He chuckles at his own words, shaking his head as if to dismiss the unpleasant memories of bureaucracy. Wukong pulls out a black ceremonial robe embroidered with purple thread and holds it up against you, squinting as if he’s considering how it might look.

“…no. My sweet moon wouldn’t like you wearing this.”

“…s’it “too nice” for me?”

“…you mortals really aren’t the best with self-esteem, are you? No, little villager- it’s because he wore something like this when we were married. After that, he started commissioning seamstresses to make him more clothes like that robe… the actual thing is framed in a glass box over our bed. I don’t understand why Mac wanted that, but I can’t ever say no to him…”

Wukong’s voice trails off, tone softening as his gaze drifted to the ceiling. A smile plays on his lips, barely restrained, as he’s replaying his dearest memory of Macaque on repeat. You shift uncomfortably, unsure how to respond, the weight of his affection for his moonlit partner pressing against the silence.

He breaks it himself, but only after walking across the room and popping open lacquered wood chest, breaking the preserving sigil printed across it .

“You know,” says the king, his claws tapping the gleaming pauldron of gold within, “I wore this when we got married.”

He turns to the side, catches the fact that you’ve perked up even a little, and continues.

“It was the nicest thing I owned at the time- most of my outfits were skinned animals and stolen rags. This is something my brothers had given me, so it was the nicest thing I had that wasn’t my staff.”

Wukong’s fingers linger on the golden armor, tone rich with an ancient nostalgia. “I wasn’t one for fancy clothes back then- still coming around to it now- but I was even worse with it back then. I wanted to go in my tiger skirt and my old boots! But my brothers? Oh, they insisted: “You’re getting married- you can’t just show up looking like a bandit on your wedding day!” So they gave me this, and a nice red robe with a ton of silly characters embroidered into it- it’s framed right next to my mate’s robe, now.”

Say something. You need to say something. You can’t just mumble and mutter if you want to stay in a king’s good graces, can you?

“…do you… remember your vows?”

He perks with a smile, intrigued by the random question, entirely missing how dangerously close you are to cracking.

“Well, if that’s want you want to know, how about I tell you about the whole ceremony? Here, I’ll lay out how it went…”

——————————————————————

Macaque shuffles in place for a moment, old meekness returning to him- his hands twitch, and the notes smoothly inked onto the sleeve of his silk robe catch in the light, drawing his aureate eyes downwards. The crowd all around is nervous mortals and drunk demons, dressed in red or black or gold, held at peace mostly by his eager “brothers”. On Azure’s lap and shoulders are several children, more interested in his blade and snout than the ceremony. He’s smiling, more at ease than any other here.

The others for the most part are doing alright. Peng is preoccupied with their drink, casually allowing themselves to be marveled at by a blacksmith and a jeweler- though neither are allowed to touch, both mortals are fervently etching the gilded designs into their paper scrolls. The avian flaps those glimmering wings on occasion, causing streaks of light to flash over the modest venue, catching across the polished tiles.

Yellowtusk sits on a carved stone chair, marking the attendants in a neat ledger, made oversized to fit his hands. Several troops of Long-Tailed and Crab-Eating Macaques play on his trunk and tusks, their little fingers deftly taking hold in the cracks of his thick skin to ascend it. They don’t ever distract him for more than a few seconds, even when the youngest cubs forget their manners and start chirping in his ears.

The largest of their Brotherhood stands at attention in the doorway, toying with the straps of his battle axe. His face is painted with a rarely seen apprehension, looking back and forth over the room on occasion. Sometimes his gaze stills on a veil-shrouded woman with painted lips, and then he smiles for a moment.

The Demon Bull King is not nearly as subtle of a man as he thinks.

Not that it matters- when, for all that (which is very much) his Sworn Brothers know he’s courting a Celestial Maiden, they’ve chosen to keep an oath of silence on the matter.

(“He’s our big guy,” as Wukong had put it during one meeting months ago. “And we want that goofball to be happy.”)

(All of them- even Peng- had toasted to that notion, in the general direction of the bull’s empty chair.)

The mortals are safe. His brothers are content. He can do this.

Once more the dried notes on his sleeve catch Macaque’s attention, snapping him from the venue and to his golden love.

One last time he goes over them, dedicating those practiced words to memory.

He takes a breath, and turns to the audience.

“My mate-to-be is… molten gold, kissed by the rising sun. Beautiful is a shallow word to describe him- he is a masterpiece, a divine work of art carved by the heavens themselves. His eyes hold the all the world’s fire within them, blazing with the brilliance of a thousand sunsets. His laughter is a hymn to freedom itself, a melody I pray to hear every day for the rest of my life. When I look at him, I don’t just see a king, but the very heart of my existence, the axis upon which my world turns. He is my sun, my storm, my sanctuary, my everything.”

Several of the softer mortals are touched by his speech, lifting their cotton sleeves to the very corners of their eyes. Others only lightly clap, still uncomfortable at being called to the union.

Macaque does not have time to look away from before Wukong’s ginger-furred paws clasp onto his shoulders, holding tight.

There are no notes, no hours of reciting, no time spent with helpful Sworn Brothers to listen and offer advice, no matter how snarky- Sun Wukong simply turns from the crowd and offers himself.

“Macaque… I love you. I want you to be my mate forever. Until the sun goes dark.” Wukong's tail flicks behind him, expression softening with a rare blush. "Because... you're part of my story, bud. You’ve always been a part of it. And I'm tired of pretending like I can write the rest of it without you. Be mine forever and let’s be mates.”

The world is blurry, at least to Macaque. Nine and a half seconds prior he had thought there’d be some disappointment to push through, delivered an insincere joke or a vow written by another’s hand.

But there was only been Sun Wukong, love of his life, smiling at him.

“I will be your mate,” he chokes out, “forever. Until the sun goes dark.”

——————————————————————

“We’ve never been apart since then,” he purrs, dragging one claw over a hanfu the color of a sky on a gentle morning, toying with the white sash to untie it. “Not even for a day.”

Before you have a chance to respond, he plucks up the garment and holds it out to you. The size difference between him and the outfit is comical, and you wonder why these two demon kings have it in the first place.

“This should fit you, bud! Here, let’s get that towel off-“

You scream.

It’s not particularly loud or long, or even desperate- but it’s a scream all the same.

Worse still for yourself, you take this hysteric moment to lay on some shaky remand.

“NO! No more! Just stop touching me! I don’t- I d-don’t like it! You’re- you’re twice my size and you keep- you and him are always getting in my face and- a-and putting your hands on me, and I- I’m am so, so sick of it! I am not an o-object! I am a person! I am a person! I-“

“Quiet. Now.”

Wukong’s golden eyes narrow as he stands there, the weight of his presence pressing down on the room like a thundercloud ready to burst. His tail flicks sharply, but his voice remains measured.

…there are tears rolling down your eyes now, lost in the fluffy expanse of the towel around your body, sopping uselessly away as the king takes two footsteps to your form, frowning.

Not that it does anything to settle the rapid beat of your heart, crushed by the newly oppressive atmosphere.

“…you’re scared. I understand that. And maybe my moonbeam and I, we’ve been a little too hands on. That’s on us. But this my pagoda, and I did not build it by hand so that a little guest could yell at me. You know that you’re not a prisoner here. The doors aren’t locked, and there aren’t guards stationed outside them… now. I’ll let you get dressed- alone- and then you can eat. And…

“And no more touching without your permission. Okay?”

“…m’sorry. F-for yelling.”

“…I’m not mad,” he lies, one hand shifting to condescendingly pat you on the head. “I forget- my brothers, and my mate, too- we yaoguai just aren’t the same as mortals. You little things are scared too easily, and break so quickly.”

Something about hearing that is humiliating, but you don’t dare argue with him. Instead, you hunch your shoulders and cling to the towel, sniveling down at the floor.

Wukong’s frown softens the longer he watches you cry, all the sharpest edges of his irritation melting away into something closer to pity.

“I’ll leave it here. Call if you get lost looking for the kitchen.”

His words are painfully curt, and then the king is gone, golden beads and silk robes swishing behind him with each step.

You were never close, and only ever tangentially in the “good graces” of these kings. It’s not like you’ve shattered some precious bond.

But you still feel bad.

You wouldn’t, not usually. But as you unwrap the towel and begin to dress yourself in the lovely hanfu left draped over the chair nearest to you, the aches and pains of yesterday’s chase down the mountain weigh on you, just as MK’s new identity and newer happiness strike a deep point of insecurity- that you simply weren’t good enough to take care of him.

You weren’t good enough to provide for him anymore.

You wanted to believe you were more than them- strong enough to survive on your own, to fight your way through the world with MK in tow. But the truth was harder to face: Sun Wukong and the Six-Eared Macaque were meteoric gods, and you were just a mortal caught in the tides of their myth.

And where MK was thriving in this ecliptic chaos, you instead were already cracking under pressure after only a day spent before the kings.

…there’s a lovely silk pouch, dyed the color of new lavender blooms, hanging from the hanfu- you only notice it after tying the sash into a decent bow. The soft texture grounds your tumultuous thoughts, and a powerful aroma steadily drifts from within.

You fiddle with the tie and open the sash, revealing a dried bundle of orange blossoms tightly tied together, each stem marked with a glittering mystic sigil- 提高.

Whatever scent they would’ve had already was amplified by the marking, causing a heavy flow of fresh floral scent to ooze from the little purse.

You lift it and take a deep breath from the bag, allowing the veil of citrus aroma to utterly cloud your mind, providing it a much needed fog to rest under.

The soothing haze is slow to fade, even after you’ve pulled away and sealed the bag, but eventually you are left with only your steadied thoughts in the ornate chamber, amongst fine silks and polished wood, treasures of centuries past hung casually about It’s beautiful—almost too much so.

A reminder that this world of theirs is not the same of yours.

But you would not stop trying to survive in it.

You couldn’t.

[thatacotargirl]

The Daughter of Day (2)

Welcome back to The Daughter of Day, a series exploring a new Court and a triad, because why not!

I hope you enjoy chapter 2 🌟

This story is set after A Court of Silver Flames.

My inbox remains open for oneshot/imagine requests.

Taglist: @fightmedraco @lilah-asteria @acourtofsmutandstarlight

A Reader x Feysand Fanfiction

Reader's POV

It had been over a week since my father had sent a request to Rhysand asking to host me as a visitor in Velaris, and we still hadn't received a reply. I knew it might take a while, with Rhysand being a High Lord and no doubt as busy as my father was most days, but I couldn't help the heavy feeling in my heart that I might be refused and I'd have to carry on living in Day. It wasn't that I disliked my home court - it had beauty to rival even the most glowing stars in the sky - but it was suffocating being trapped in the palace. Every morning I woke with no plans other than to walk the castle walls, hiding from the palace guards who would no doubt scoop me up and take me back to the safe confines of my bedroom if they found me. Every night, I'd fall asleep hoping my dreams would whisk me away to adventure, fun, freedom. Then, I'd wake up, and I'd do it all again.

Rhysand's POV

Rhys sat in his office sifting through endless piles of paperwork with a sigh. Azriel sat to his left, writing furiously into a notebook, his tongue sticking out slightly with concentration. Rhys chuckled inwardly, and rose from the desk, pacing around the office with his pen tapping against his thigh. He was feeling restless and couldn't quite put a pin on why. He was more than satisfied with his life as it was - he had a beautiful mate, a perfect son, a loving family, war had been won, and life was rebuilding. He had defied all odds and had come out stronger, despite the trauma that lingered below the surface. But, in spite of that, he felt like a part of him was missing. Like he had completed the puzzle that was him, his life, but there was one piece that he had overlooked and left the puzzle incomplete.

Shaking his head, he grabbed a handful of letters from the desk and began slotting through them, tossing the occasional one into the trashcan by his desk. Suddenly, one gold envelope caught his eye. He placed the pile back on the desk to hold the envelope with both hands, feeling the power of its author within. That heat, that sun, that all glowing all consuming power could belong to one High Lord, and one High Lord only - Helion. Rhys carefully opened the letter and reviewed its contents.

Dearest Rhysand, It was a pleasure to be hosted by yourself and your wonderful family this week; and the Day Court remains a staunch ally to you and your Court. I write on matters unrelated to alliance. My daughter, y/n, is finding herself lost amongst Day Court. I admit that I may have 'coddled' her, as one might say, but I did so for fear of her life and safety, and out of love. However, she now wishes to experience a world outside of my shining walls. Would you be so gracious as to allow y/n to visit Velaris for a period of time? I ask this as your ally, and friend, as I trust that y/n will be safe with you in your City of Starlight. Yours truly, Helion.

Rhysand was surprised at the request. Helion had kept his daughter hidden in the confines of the Day Court palace for 25 years, and was now allowing her to not only leave the palace, but leave the Court entirely? He shook his head, almost inclined to deny the request. He could not be responsible for y/n's safety, even if Velaris had the lowest crime rate of all Prythian. If something were to happen to y/n within his court, it could result in war and bloodshed. He took up his pen to write his reply, denying the request, but felt himself hesitate.

Rhys knew better than many what it felt like to be trapped. To feel as though your life wasn't your own to live because you were being held against your will, not able to spread your wings and explore, live, enjoy what this world had to offer. He sat as his hands touched the paper and he found his fingers moving on their own accord.

Dear Helion, The Night Court would be delighted to host y/n. She may stay at our River House for as long as she wishes. Please do send word of when we can expect her arrival and we will ensure that a room is prepared. Regards, Rhysand.

Reader's POV

With a sigh, you put away the book that was resting on your lap and head towards your bedroom. The book was a romance, one you had read so many times over that you were sure you could re-write it verbatim, where the protagonist pursues revenge against those who wronged him to win back his one true love. Whilst romance books were your guilty pleasure, a part of you would always feel sad that perhaps you might not get to experience romance like those you read. Although, maybe nobody did, and that's why the books were so popular - everyone pined to be desired in a way that could only be conveyed on the pages of a story, and not in real life.

As you rounded the corridor and headed towards your bedroom door, you were intercepted.

"Y/n, my darling! I have news from the Night Court".

Your head shot up to meet your father's eyes, your own no doubt full of hope.

"Rhysand has offered for you to stay at the River House in Velaris".

You felt your heart jump with joy and excitement. It was finally happening.

"When can I go?", you asked eagerly, already mentally packing your bags with your favourite dresses and shoes.

"Whenever you wish, my sunshine. I will gladly take you myself".

After giving your father a quick hug, you ran full pelt into your bedroom and grabbed a bag from the back of your closet. After packing a small bag of personal items, you gazed around the drawers and closets at your clothes and halted. The beautiful golden sundresses, flowing skirts and cropped t'shirts were perfect for Day Court, but you were almost certain that you might freeze in the Night Court, not to mention that you would stick out like a sore thumb. Feeling a presence enter your bedroom, you turn to see your father make his way to the edge of your bed.

"I will provide Rhysand with a stipend to cover the expenses of you living with them, and some extra to get yourself some more appropriate clothing", he winked. You smiled at him, grateful that your father somehow always knew what you were thinking without you needing to say it. You walk over to him and reach out to take his hand.

"Thank you, for everything", you say, as he pulls you in for a hug.

"Anything for you, my sunshine".

A moment passes and you find yourself wallowed by feelings of guilt. Guilt for wanting to leave the haven that he built for you. Guilt for wanting to explore without him. You were his only child, his pride and joy, and here you were wanting to leave the nest - and leave him behind in it. Sensing your change in emotions, Helion pulls back from the hug to stare sincerely at your face.

"You make me proud everyday, y/n. You have grown into a beautiful, wise, and kind young woman and I am so proud that you are my daughter. I want you to live the life you've always dreamed of, even if that means it isn't here with me. And, no matter what, I will always be here for you when you decide to return".

You can feel the tears falling steadily down your face as you silently sob. Even though this is what you wanted more than anything else in the world, it didn't make it hurt any less.

"Come, let's go now". Helion offers you his hand and you gladly accept it, picking up the one bag that you had decided to bring with you. With one last look at your bedroom, you offer your father a silent nod, and close your eyes as you feel his power surround you both and winnow you away from the Day Court. Away from home.

You arrive with a thump at the steps of the River House you had visited a few weeks prior, and Helion reached up to knock on the giant door. Waiting, you turn to eye to streets around you, watching the citizens of Velaris go about their days chatting happily and laughing. It was dusk by the time you had arrived, and people were bustling their way down towards the main town in search of food and entertainment for the evening.

The door opened and you turned back to see Feyre, High Lady of the Night Court, standing before you. Her sister, Elain, stood at her side. Both women were smiling.

"Y/n! Welcome back to Velaris! Come in, come in", Feyre gestures to the house, moving out of the doorframe. You move to enter, but stop when you realise your father isn't following.

"This is where I leave you, sunshine. But know I am always here if you need me, and I will come and visit you in a few weeks to see how you are getting on". You can see through the smile on his face right to the sadness in his eyes.

You feel the tears pricking your own eyes but you desperately fight them back, not wanting to cry in front of Feyre and Elain. You lunge forward into your father's arms and hold him, squeezing as tightly as you possibly can, before giving him a salute and walking into the River House. You didn't trust your words not to give away the tears or beg for him to take you back to the comforts of Day; but it seems that nothing slipped past Feyre, as she reached out to pull you into a hug of her own, Elain quietly closing the door behind you.

"I know how hard it can be to make that first step to independence, y/n, you don't have to fight your emotions for our sakes", she offered, stroking your hair and letting your cry quietly on her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so happy to be here, it's just harder than I expected".

You felt a hand rub your back and turned to see Elain, a sincere and kind smile on her face. You offered her a watery smile back.

"Come, let's get you cleaned up and then we can have dinner?" she asked, peeling you away from Feyre and guiding you up the stairs. You could hear commotion behind the various doors of the River House but Elain quickly led you to a door at the end of the hall. She opened it and you gasped, surprised to see that the room inside was decorated in the finest Day Court gold you had seen. You turned to Elain as she smiled.

"We figured it would be hard, leaving home for the first time, so we wanted to do something to help you settle. Helion sent us some furniture from your home and we added the rest, I hope it's ok?".

You nodded, completely speechless. Elain walked past you into the adjoining bathroom and began running you a bath as you emptied the contents of your bag. You placed the items around the room; the make-up on the vanity table, the books on your bedside, and the soft yellow blanket you'd had since you were a baby across the end of your new bed. You carried your few toiletries to the bathroom as Elain closed off the water, the smell of jasmine and honey wafting through the air.

"I hope you don't mind, I used my own bath oils as we didn't know what scent you'd like, but we have plans to go into Velaris tomorrow to buy you everything you need".

"We?", you asked.

"You, me, Feyre, and Mor!", she exclaimed excitedly. Her warming and happy energy made you want to smile.

"That sounds wonderful", you grinned back at her, "I haven't met Mor yet, she wasn't able to make the meeting when I was here last".

"You'll meet her tonight, she's coming to dinner. She's Rhys' cousin and lives not too far from here. She's also convinced everyone to go to Rita's tonight, but you don't have to join if you'd prefer to get some rest and settle in here".

"Rita's?"

"It's kind of like a club, Feyre and Mor love to go and dance, and Cassian usually causes some mayhem there. I don't often go but Feyre asked me to this time, she even went out of her way to get Amren to babysit Nyx instead of me!" Elain chuckled to herself. "I think it might be in case you wanted to come, they have a habit of drinking themselves into a bit of a stupor and might be a bit overwhelming to handle on your own".

"Nyx?", you asked, trying to remember the names of everyone you had heard of in the Night Court.

"Feyre and Rhysand's son", she paused, seeing the surprise on your face. "You know, maybe you should join us tonight if you're feeling up to it, you have quite a lot to catch up on!"

You couldn't help but return Elain's smile. Perhaps this would be a good way to get to know everyone and break the ice. "Sure, I'd like to join".

"Great! I'll let Feyre know and have her find some options for you to wear tonight. Speaking of, I'll go and find you some things to wear for dinner too - back in a moment" she smiled, and left the bathroom.

You undressed and climbed into the bath, big enough to fit at least another 4 of you in it, and sank down into the water, letting yourself soak away the emotions of the day. You couldn't help the smile that adorned your face, in spite of your lingering guilt and sadness at leaving your court behind. You had received such a warm welcome in Velaris and-

You heard a crash outside the landing, someone shouting and swearing, and a whole host of laughter as something transpired down the hall from your bedroom. You recognised the echo of Feyre's laugh and Elain's giggles, as a male - Cassian, perhaps? - swore like a sailor. You could pick out a few words; paint, prank, and glue.

You laughed and sank deeper into the water, regrouping your mind. It had been a busy enough day as it was, and it looked like it was only going to get busier still.

[pearlessance]

Dig Two Graves - Idle Threats [vii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel relives the worst moment of his life and finally reads your journal.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI (no smut in this part, but in almost every other in the series), brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, angst, canon typical violence, joel and reader fight the rat king, reader has an added backstory to progress the plot

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

There’s a certain sort of amazement in your horror. Joel watches you take everything in—watches you sift through trashed rooms, taking what hasn’t already been picked over. Scalpels, expired vitamins, and gauze all wind up in your pockets or your backpack.

You only encounter two clickers on the main floor, and they likely wandered in through the bomb-sized hole that’s been blown through the side of the hospital. 

He thought you were quick with the bow of yours, but it’s nothing compared to how lethal you are with that sawback knife. Before you even make it to the second floor, there’s blood splattered on your cheek and a murderous glint in your eye. When you take down the second clicker and turn to see him with his rifle raised, you draw a new, crystal clear rule. “We don’t use bullets unless we absolutely have to. We don’t use guns unless we have to. The less noise we make here the better.”

“‘Course,” he says.

But you narrow your eyes at him, unrelenting. “I’m serious, Joel. I’ll tell you when I need help. If you fire that thing every infected in this place will be on us in a second.”

He almost hears the echo of his own voice in your words. It makes him smile. There’s a sign hanging above the stairwell. Joel nods to it and says, “You got that list of stuff you need for Maria? Can probably find most of it in the labor and delivery wing. Third floor.” 

You nod in agreement and find the scrap of paper you’ve kept safely stored these last few days. It’s crinkled but still legible, the smeared ink list covering both front and back. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

There are spores on the third floor. Joel helps you secure your mask, tightening it maybe a little too tightly, and can’t help but smile to himself as you look up at him through the clear glass over your eyes. You look so innocent, so sweet—and he might die today and so he says, “You’re so beautiful, baby. You know that?”

You shove his shoulder playfully and scoff at his compliments, but your cheeks turn a shade of crimson he’s never seen before and he knows it’s gotten to you. “Shut up.”

The two of you slink through the halls on the third floor, and at this point, Joel feels like you’ve gotten too lucky on this trip. There haven't been any bad moments, any close calls. And you find a quarter of your list in just one room behind the nurse's station that Joel has to break into with brute force. But it works, and he tries not to think about how everything on the list for Maria had been easily accessible. 

He’s still bitter about this whole trip, in truth. Joel’s glad to have this time with you, glad to have gotten to know the most hidden parts of you. It’s all made him understand you better, made him see who you really are beneath the bratty facade you wear.

You’re different out here. And not just because of the inherent danger that comes with being outside the walls. You’re different with Joel. And he knows it’s likely because your rigid exterior has kept everyone else in Jackson from getting too close to you. Everyone except Maria.

Joel wonders if she knows how lucky she is, how fortunate someone like you has decided to love Jackson as much as its creator. Because if it were him, if it were Ellie in your position, Joel would never let her lift another finger for Maria even if she begged on her knees. You’re worth more than this. Your life matters beyond what you can provide. 

And he vows to remind Maria of it the moment the two of you return. He promises to put an end to this parasitic relationship formed between the two of you.

“Hey,” you say. “Look.” You pull something from a drawer behind the nurse's station. It’s an old folded paper, yellowed around its edges.

It’s a map of the hospital. Joel stands beside you, so close he can feel the heat of your body through the sleeve of his flannel. He scans the map briefly, taps his middle and index finger against the lowest level labeled operations. “That’s where we can find the rest,” he says.

“How do you know?” 

He doesn’t. Not for certain. “Operating rooms,” he explains. “They were always stocked with supplies, oxygen tanks, stuff like that. There was a cart full of things for anesthesia. Could be someplace else but it’s likely there. Maybe secured in some closet or somethin’ down there.”

You nod slowly in contemplation. He watches your profile, savoring the sight, watches you gnaw on your bottom lip. He can tell you’re nervous. He is, too. 

Joel presses a kiss against your hairline. “We’re gonna make it back home,” he says. But he can’t promise it, even though he wants to. 

Something is weighing on you. Your eyes are far away, misty. He wants to prod for answers but knows better. “Yeah. We will. Let’s go.”

The north stairwell past the third flood is blocked by rubble and debris, likely caused by the explosion from the bombings.

You end up doubling back, winding through the hallways down to the lobby and to the opposite side of the hospital. The south side of the building is in better shape but must have been where the quarantine rooms for Casper began because the infected are everywhere. A dozen clickers roam the halls, some hidden between solid steel doors or plastic sheets to section off makeshift rooms.

Thankfully, the task of eradication proves relatively easy. Until the last three, anyway. 

Joel’s crouched low, knife in hand, stalking slowly behind a clicker with fresh blood on its mangy shirt when a test tube shatters beneath his boot. 

The infected turns its head and lets out an ear piercing screech, gathering the attention of the other three clickers left. They descend upon him, and Joel is readying himself to jam his knife through the head of whichever one’s closest—but then he hears your voice. 

“Hey! Hey, over here!” 

And all three of them change course. You’re like a magnet drawing in death. Joel feels everything slow in an instant. 

It’s like he’s right back in that capitol building, leaving Tess behind as if she meant nothing. And Joel had never told her otherwise because he’d been too afraid of caring and losing. But then came you, who obliterated all of his defenses and wriggled your way into his worm-eaten heart anyway. 

And yet somehow Joel ends up in the same predicament. 

He abandons his knife altogether in favor of his rifle. He looks through the scope, aims, and the shot echoes off the hospital walls.

You’ve got your knife in the neck of one clicker but it still thrashes in your grip. You just missed the spinal cord—the first time he’s seen you miss any of your strikes. 

It’s too close for him to shoot without potentially hitting you in the process.

The other isn’t, though, and Joel looses another bullet that pierces true. 

He slings his rifle back over his shoulder and he’s only two yards away from you when you stumble backward, losing your balance, the clicker’s strength overpowering yours. 

You’ve got both hands holding its mouth just out of range of your face, knife still stuck in its neck, and Joel’s ears begin to ring.

He doesn’t remember reaching you. He doesn’t remember ripping the clicker off of you and onto the floor. He doesn’t remember shoving the heel of his boot through its softened, decayed skull.

All Joel can recall is the sound of your fearful scream in his ears. 

But when he comes back and the color red bleeds from the edges of his vision, the evidence is there. The infected brain matter has splashed across the white tile and his boot is covered in blood and gore. 

Your chest is heaving when he turns to look at you. You’re still sitting on the floor, arms stretched out behind you as you try and fail to catch your breath.

His voice is calm, and steady as he asks, “You wanna tell me what the hell that was?”

“Me? What about you, Joel? I said no fucking guns!”

He doesn’t know what to expect when you speak. But it certainly isn’t that. “I wouldn’t have had to use it if you didn’t try to get yourself killed,” he says, biting anger in his voice. Residual fear from the clicker, he tells himself. 

But it feels like a lie even in his own head. His fury has nothing to do with the clicker and everything to do with your brush with death, Joel knows.

“I told you if I needed help I would say so! I had it!”

Joel leans down and plucks your bloody knife from the dead clicker’s neck and hands it to you. “Did you? Cause it didn’t look like it from here.”

You push yourself to your feet furiously. “Yes, I did! And I don’t need you making decisions like that on a whim! It’s too goddamn dangerous out here. What happened to my run, my fucking rules? Hm? What about that?”

He’s never seen you this angry before. Even with Maria, you’d been more lax. It doesn’t bother him, though—because he’s just as furious. “A whim?” He scoffs. “You wanna talk about rash decisions? Alright—what about that stunt you pulled that got you into this mess in the first place? Yelling’ and hollerin’ like some banshee in the middle of a bunch of clickers and for what?”

“What was I supposed to do, Joel? Let them swarm you, kill you? Are you delusional? I—!”

He closes the space between you and takes your arm between his fingers, squeezing tight enough to bruise. Whatever you’d meant to say, whatever insult you’d had full intentions of hurling at him, lodges itself and stays stuck in your throat. “Don’t you ever do somethin’ like that again, you hear me?”

“What am I doing, then? Protecting you? Oh, sorry! I guess that’s my bad!” You raise your bloody hands in mock surrender. “Next time I should let them tear you apart, is that it?”

“Next time you don’t put yourself between me and a threat,” he says firmly. “I don’t care if it’s a clicker or the barrel of a gun. Your life fucking matters.”

You flinch as if he’d struck you in the face. It takes you a minute to come back from it, to gather yourself enough to respond. But the moment a crease forms between your brows Joel can sense a coming argument, and he cuts it down before giving you a chance to breathe life into it. 

“It matters,” he says again. “It might not to you, but it does to Ellie, to Tommy, to everyone in that town.” He doesn’t say Maria’s name, but he knows you mean something to her just as well. His voice cracks as he admits, “You matter to me.”

You search his face frantically, trying to find a lie when there isn’t one. He watches tears well that refuse to fall, watches your throat bob as you swallow down that fight in you. Your silence speaks volumes to him. 

Still, it’s not enough to settle the fear that’s curdled in his gut. “Promise me,” he says. “Promise me you’ll never do something stupid like that again.”

It takes a moment, but then you relent. “Okay. Okay, I promise.”

Joel releases his hold on your arm, and as his panic begins to subside, it’s replaced with urgency. He wants to get out of here, to make it back to Jackson. He wants to move all of your things into his two story colonial, wants to see you writing in that journal of yours on the porch while he sits beside you and strums his guitar. He wants to see you wearing nothing but his tshirt, padding barefoot into the kitchen while the moonlight streams in through the window. He wants to see you laughing with Ellie over a strawberry scone, wants the subtle sound of your breathing to lull him to sleep in the comfort of his bed. 

He wants to live.

As if you’d read his mind, you say, “C’mon. Let’s get this over with, I’m ready to go home.”

The south side of the hospital, while in better shape than the north, was still affected by the bombings. The descent proves treacherous, and more than once Joel has to hand you his rifle while he lowers himself down a steep drop in the rubble. When it’s your turn to climb down, he takes his rifle in addition to your bow and quiver, and stretches his arms out to ensure your safe drop. 

It must look much more daunting for you, he thinks. You move slowly, carefully, wiggling the heels of your boots between the unwavering stones.

“I’ve got you,” he promises, and gives a low grunt when you push yourself off the rubble slope and stumble into his waiting arms.

Once you’re on the lowest level of the hospital, you’re able to navigate through the building from the crumbled but still legible directories posted on the wall.

Your feet are silent as you round every corner carefully, an arrow knocked the whole time. Joel trails behind you, rifle poised against his shoulder, finger a hair's breadth away from the trigger.

The two of you clear the hallway that consists of only two runners—and it raises a bit of a red flag when you realize they’ve been infected fairly recently. You slaughter them both with your knife silently and send him a weary look over your shoulder. Joel knows, even though neither of you speak, that you’re thinking the same thing he is. 

What killed them?

But you discover nothing remaining in the hall. And the first operating room you investigate proves fruitful. Joel clicks on the flashlight tied to the strap of his backpack and closes the door behind him. “There,” he whispers, pointing to the cart behind the operating table. “An anesthesia cart.”

Unease creeps up his spine because this trip has been made easy. Too easy. But the cart has everything you need, and he’s not in a place to question the hand of God. Not anymore.

You place your bag on the floor between your feet and begin rifling through the cart’s contents. Joel watches you place viles, needles, surgical tubes, and a container of some sort of compressed gas all into your bag. Twice you have to readjust its contents to fit more into it. And when you’re finished, he switches you and lets you fill his just as full.

It doesn’t take long until everything on your list has been crossed off twice. You’re placing one last glass vile into his bag, trying to wiggle it into the pocket on the side. But you fail, and the vile slips through your fingers, shattering on the concrete floor. 

That’s the first time he hears it. 

A feral, angry sort of screech—deafening in the hospital’s silence. 

Joel’s eyes find yours, and he wonders if the terror on your face is reflected on his, too.

It’s a foreign sound. Not runners or clickers or bloaters—and Joel has absolutely no interest in making a new discovery. He tightens his hand around his rifle and nods towards the door. 

But the two of you don’t make it more than three feet before the wall standing between you and safety erupts into pieces, revealing the most monstrous thing Joel has seen in all his life.

It’s a massive, fleshy creature, and before the dust even settles he can see not one or two faces but four—bodies all held together by overgrown masses of cordyceps.

Joel can feel the icy fingers of death wrapping around his neck. He has only his rifle and your sure-fired arrows, both of which don’t have nearly enough ammunition for his liking. He knows, sure as rain, that he’s not getting out of this alive. 

But that doesn’t mean you have to die here. 

“Stay behind me,” he orders. “I’m going to clear a path—distract it, you go around and get out that door.”

He knows you’ll fight him on it but Joel doesn’t give you the chance. He aims for one of the heads and pulls the trigger. 

The creature wails and thrashes and charges forward blindly, teeth gnashing in the air. 

Joel fires again, but it barely registers. The first bullet seems to have made it somehow more lethal, movements harsh and angry. 

He realizes you’ve completely ignored his direction and instead have saddled up to his side, bow in hand with an arrow knocked. “You’ll have to shoot me, Joel,” you say over the clamor, and it makes his stomach turn. And then again, “If you want me to leave this place without you, you’re gonna have to shoot me.”

You’re not bluffing, he realizes when you loose your arrow and it buries itself deep within the creature’s mangled form. He needs you safe, he needs you out of here, far away from this place. Joel turns his rifle towards you, heart hammering behind his ribcage. He tries not to think about the way your eyes widen as he turns and aims for your thigh. 

But before he can pull the trigger the monstrous things charges towards the both of you. Joel surges to the left, pushing you out of harm's way and narrowly missing the onslaught himself. 

In a second you're back on your feet with another arrow whizzing through the air, piercing true. In that moment you remind him a little of Tess, and the thought crosses his mind that she would have adored you but he can’t linger in it long. Joel raises his gun and empties his magazine into the mass of infected.

He reloads and empties another. The creature slows but doesn’t stop and Joel begins to panic at the rapidly dwindling amount of ammunition. His heart is beating so fast that he worries it might burst. His palms are perspiring, sliding against the cold metal of his gun. 

“Joel!” Your voice cuts through the fog in his brain. “You think you can distract it for a minute?”

“I got it,” he says. He kicks the hospital bed in the center of the room and the mass of infected turns its gruesome head. He fires again and again and again, aiming for the several heads stuck between clumps of cordyceps.

He can’t see you but he can hear you fumbling with things on the anesthesia cart, can hear the soft click of a lighter through the cacophony. And then your sweet voice. 

“Hey, asshole!” An arrowhead drenched in blue flame flies through the air, landing true right in the creature’s center. 

It lets out a wail of agony, stumbles, and then charges towards you. 

Joel sees you falter, watches you become a deer in the headlights in real time. It reminds him so much of the look on Sarah’s face when she witnessed Joel’s first kill in their front room when Jimmy Cooper broke through the glass door; frightened, terrified. His chest pulls tight. 

He empties another round into its head, distracting it just long enough for you to come back to reality, to knock another arrow, light it, and release.

It takes every last one of your fiery arrows and all but six of Joel’s bullets before the creature falls to the floor in a mass of blood and flesh and fungus. 

He slings his rifle over his shoulder and tries to catch his breath, tries to accept the impossible reality before him. 

You’re alive. Alive, and safe, and he is too. It’s the first time in a long time Joel has felt this happy, this elated. His eyes connect with yours and you’re covered in blood splatter and grime but he thinks you’ve never looked so beautiful as the moment that pretty smile stretches wide across your face. 

You laugh, and he does, too. The sound fills the space with warmth and light and love. Joel swims in it, basks in it, savors the moment because it’s the best thing to happen to him in years. 

But then a clicker peels itself from the mass of decay on the floor and it’s on you in a second. 

Your laughter turns to blood-curdling screams, bow clattering to the floor and you tumble right along with it. 

Joel runs to you, shoving any fallen debris that stands in his way.  He angles himself just right, Aims. Shoots. 

The clicker falls limp over you. Your screams stop. Joel thinks his heart does, too. 

You don’t move. Even when he finally manages to get to you and shove the clicker away, your eyes are misty, far away. 

Your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, which is a relief, but you don’t look at him. He places both hands on either side of your face, eyes burning with unshed tears. “You’re okay,” he says, more for himself than for you. “You’re okay, baby, you’re okay.”

He begins to wonder if he was too late. Maybe you’ve been scratched or bitten or—

That’s when he sees it. The blood covering your shirt, pooled in the center of your belly. And all he can think is not again. 

Please, God, if you’re listening, don’t do this to me again. 

It’s all too familiar. 

And suddenly Joel Miller isn’t in a hospital at all. He’s back in Austin, in the middle of that field, so goddamn close to the highway, so close to freedom. And that blinding light is being shined in his eyes again but this time it’s not his daughter dying in his arms, it’s you.

He must have missed. Must have shot right through the clicker. This is his fault.

Joel peels the wet cotton of your shirt up and doesn’t see any injuries. No scratches, bite marks or bullet wounds. But there’s so much blood it covers his hands now.

“Sarah,” you choke out. 

He freezes, trembling fingers still intertwined in the hem of your blood-soaked shirt.

It doesn’t feel real. You don’t feel real. Joel’s grip on reality is swaying. He must have heard you wrong, right? He must have. 

But then you speak again, voice stronger this time. “My sister’s name was Sarah.”

He says nothing. What can he say, anyway? 

Your eyes are still clouded when you finally look up at him. “Maria doesn’t talk about her. I…I want to, I should. I don’t want to forget her name.” The confession is broken in your mouth, breathless. “Please, Joel. Don’t let me forget her. Don’t let me forget—“

“I won’t,” he says. He swears he’ll circle back, swears to let you talk about this later. Promises it to himself, in fact. But right now he needs to get you to safety, needs to get you far from here. 

He helps pull you to your feet and doesn’t look away from you for more than two seconds while he searches for both abandoned backpacks full of supplies.

Joel carries them both and then wraps a tight arm around your shoulders, half carrying you. The ascent back up to the street takes longer, but he manages. And when you come upon two runners just outside the hospital, Joel wastes them easily even with extra weight on his back. 

It’s not the weight or the runners or the two mile distance between the hospital and the house where you’d stashed your horses and supplies that bother him though. It’s your complete and total silence that does. 

He doesn’t want to make things worse for you. Doesn’t want to get involved if you’re not ready to share. But he can tell something’s weighing heavily on your shoulders and the urge within him to fix it chafes him raw. 

By the time you make it half a mile from the hospital, it begins to rain. It’s a spring rain but still cold enough to make you shiver. Joel gives you his canvas coat, but it doesn’t have a hood. And you’re leaving a murky blood trail with every step you take. He thinks about clearing a house somewhere closer but knows even being away from the horses this long is a risk for thievery.

So, he forces himself to power through it, to watch you suffer silently while he can do nothing. Even though exhaustion is heavy in your bones, on your face, in your heart. And when you do finally arrive back at the house, the ends of your hair are plastered to your neck and the majority of the blood on your clothes has vanished.

He orders you to sit with the horses as he rummages through the bedrooms in search of something warm and dry. Joel returns with a pair of black jeans, an oversized sweater, and two towels to dry you off. “Stand up,” he says. 

And you obey wordlessly, which breaks his heart because he wants to hear some bratty remark, some unhinged comment. But you give him nothing but compliance. 

He strips you of your clothes, uses one towel to dry your skin and the other to ring as much rainwater from your hair as possible. He works slowly, gently. And then he maneuvers your limbs of his own accord, running two fingers over every inch of your bare skin. 

Your voice is broken and you sound so tired as you ask, “What are you doing?”

“Checking for bites,” he explains softly. “Maybe scratches.” He can feel your gaze on the side of his face, but Joel doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied with his inspection.  He dresses you in the clothes he found. The jeans are a little tight and the ivory sweater has a moth-eaten hole in the sleeve, but your shivering lessens.

He knows it’s risky, but he breaks apart the crumbling oak dining chair and tosses the wood into the fireplace. He’s already striking a match and trying to light it before you catch onto what he’s doing. 

“No fire,” you tell him, a frantic tone slipping into your voice. It’s the first emotion you’ve shown since the hospital. “Joel, what if someone—?”

“Then I’ll deal with it,” he says, leaving no room for argument. You’re cold, and he has the tools to fix it. What kind of man would he be if he chose not to? 

The fire catches, illuminating the dark room in orange and yellow hues. He doesn’t want to leave you but he does for only long enough to feed the horses, bring them fresh water, and find dry clothes for himself. While sifting through one of the dressers he discovers more than just jeans and a black tshirt, though. 

When he returns to the main room, you’ve moved to sit in front of the fireplace, hands held out in front of the flames.

He moves the rickety old coffee table towards you and sits on the other side of it. “Look what I found,” he says, holding up the set of fifty-two playing cards. They’re no longer shiny and white, weathered and yellowed now with age. But they’ll still serve their purpose. Joel begins to shuffle the deck as he asks, “Is there anything you know how to play?”

You take your hands reluctantly away from the fire and tuck them beneath your legs instead. “Rummy,” you answer quietly. “Maria taught me.”

Joel nods and begins to deal out ten cards to the both of you. He can feel your stare, heavy and weighted, but doesn’t meet it until he’s lifted his cards to observe them. 

He’s got shit for luck. Always has. “Went out to a casino once with Tommy,” he says, smiling fondly at the memory. “Promised myself I’d only spend a hundred bucks but ended up spending double and left with less than fifty cents that night.”

You start a discard pile. Joel picks up your eight of hearts. “I’m okay,” you say. “You don’t need to do…whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

A crease forms between his brows. “And what’s that, exactly?”

“Distracting me,” you tell him, drawing from the stack of cards. “Trying to make me feel better. I’m just saying you don’t have to. I’d tell you if I needed to talk.”

He doesn’t believe it for a second. Because you might have a foul mouth and a habit of thievery but you’re also the most selfless person he’s ever met. You didn’t tell Maria you didn’t want to go on that run for her pregnancy craving, you didn’t tell him you needed him with a clicker trying to tear you apart, you didn’t ask for a fire or dry clothes while you shivered in the dark. Joel Miller doesn’t think you’d say a goddamn word even if you were drowning. “Would you?”

You don’t answer. You discard a three of clubs instead.

Joel discards and draws. He inhales deeply and lets out a slow breath. “You don’t have to do things alone anymore,” he says. “Supply runs, life riskin,’ grief…whatever it is, I’m with you.”

“Even back in Jackson?” There’s disbelief in your tone as you draw a new card. “People are gonna talk, Joel. You said it yourself.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, yeah I did.” He discards his ace of spades. “Turns out, I care less about them and more about you.”

You don’t say anything. Joel wishes so badly that you would give him just an inch of an idea as to what’s going on inside your head. You pick up his discard and get rid of the two of clubs.

“That alright with you?”

“I don’t care about what the people of Jackson think or say about me. I already told you that.”

“I’m not askin’ about them I’m askin’ about you,” he says. Joel wonders how long you’ve been forced to put all your wants and needs aside for them. Long enough that it’s become a habit, even here when it’s just the two of you. 

“What about me?” There’s genuine confusion on your face, which only further proves his point. You discard a nine of hearts.

He picks it up. “I’m old,” he says, discarding his four of clubs. “Got a good fifteen years left in me, twenty if I’m lucky. You gotta whole lot more than that. An’ I don’t live on the exciting side of things much anymore. That really what you want?”

You roll your eyes and Joel feels warmth bloom in his chest at the sight. It’s something. 

“You could die tomorrow and so could I,” you say. “You know that as well as I do. Something as trivial as age doesn’t matter. Maybe it used to, but things are different now.”

He nods contemplatively and draws another card. “That’s true enough.”

“And you won’t ever hear me complaining about monotony,” you say, a little quieter. “Never had much stability. Doesn’t seem like a bad thing to me.”

It’s not meant to provoke sympathy but he feels it anyway. Joel wants to provide that for you more than anything. But he doesn't want to be the kind of man that keeps things from you. He learned his lesson the hard way with Ellie. “My, uh…my daughter. Her name was Sarah, too.” Joel lays his cards down on the table, displaying a perfect ace through king run of hearts.

You don’t even register the fact that he’s won the game. Your cards tremble in your fingers. He knows you won’t speak, so he decides to instead. 

“I think I’ve known for…for quite some time. Just didn’t want to admit it to myself s’all. But the minute you looked at me and said her name?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “When I realized we shared this loss, you and I…that we were…connected somehow—I knew there’d never been another option. No goin’ back. It’s when I knew it without a doubt.”

You lay your hand down this time, a perfect run of spades.

A tie.

“Knew what?”

“That I love you.” It surprises him how easy it feels to say it, how naturally it flows from the tongue.

You tense up, muscles going rigid at his words. He watches the orange flames reflect and flicker in your eyes, watches you hesitate to speak.

He doesn’t expect you to say it back. Doesn’t matter to him whether or not you ever do, in truth. Because he doesn’t love you for what you can provide, he just loves who you are. He just loves you. 

You make a sudden decision and stand to your feet, crossing the room to rummage through your backpack. It takes you a minute, but you finally pull the battered leather journal from the bottom and then you return to your spot. “Goodnight, Joel,” you say, tossing the journal into his lap and lying on your side in front of the fire. “You’ve got the first watch.”

He spends it learning everything about you. The entries are vague, details omitted. But it fills in the gaps left behind by what he already knows. He gets a glimpse of who your Sarah was, and in those entries, he sees bits and pieces of you within her. He sees your distrust of Maria spiral into acceptance and then into attachment, sees your view of Tommy’s arrival and your apprehension to trust him, too. 

He learns that ultimately it was a day you spent on patrol together that his little brother won your faith. Tommy told you all about his sibling he would kill and die for, a conversation that must have struck you deep enough to decide to protect Tommy the same way you protect the whole of Jackson.

One of the older entries shocks him. The first interaction you ever had with Ellie, it seems, was the night after they returned to Jackson when he followed her back to the hospital in Salt Lake City. Joel remembers very vividly how awful he felt back then. And Ellie, it seems, was much the same.

In the entry, you say you find her sitting beneath the willow tree across the street from your home. You find her crying, alone, and so frustrated and confused that she’s barely making sense. You bring her inside, and she confesses all to you. Ellie tells you about the hospital, about how she both loves and hates Joel at that moment. She tells you about her friend Riley, about Marlene and Tess and Sam and Henry. She tells you she’s immune.

And in the next sentence, you make a confession in ink that you would do no differently than Joel had. You say that you would damn everyone else if it meant the safety of this crying girl at your kitchen table, and Joel’s eyes begin to sting the longer he reads. 

You document a run that happened seven years ago in which you made your first human kill at fourteen. You reference it in several other entries as The Dying. It takes Joel until halfway through the journal before he realizes you formulate several things in this dramatic metaphorical way. 

Discovering Jackson is The Finding, you call your bow The Cursor and sometimes refer to Maria as The Director. Your sister’s death is referred to simply as The End.

With less than a quarter of the journal left to read, he finds an entry dated the day before he was assigned to watch duty with you. You refer to yourself as The Wraith, comparing yourself to the dead, to a ghost. You express your longing to be a sibling again, despite that fact never changing even after enduring such a heavy loss. 

And then the next entry, dated the day after your shift in the watchtower, is an almost blank page. In the center, there’s a hand-drawn moth, the only thing within the journal’s entirety drawn in color. Below it, a single word is written.

Joel.

[part six] [part eight]

taglist; @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef

[let me know if you'd like to be added!]

[glorified-red]

Sometimes u just need Damian to hold u while u cry y'know¿??

I feel this with every fiber of my being, you have no idea.

Actions Speak a Thousand Words

summary: Damian was always a man of little words, but in moments like these, he wished he could do better to comfort you. word count: 1,280~ warnings: self-doubt, self-hatred, Damian sucks at emotions but he's tRyiNg. Light hurt/comfort In honor of summer classes sucking ASS and Damian's cameo in the Pride comic, here's this, because I feel like everyones a little bit tired right now.

You felt a shoulder bump into yours, effectively washing away all your thoughts. You hummed in question, your gaze barely lifting from where it was stuck. 

“You’ve been staring at the wall for long enough that I’ve begun to think it’s personally wronged you.” 

You hummed into the fingers that nestled against your chin, it was subtle pressure but it was enough to keep you from floating away. The hum almost died in your throat, having gotten caught in the heat that taunted you. 

When you didn’t laugh or even budge, Damian grew worried. He attempted to—as you taught him—lighten the mood once more. 

“I could fight the wall for you. It seems as though you’re mortal enemies.” 

You responded that time, but the attempt at banter fell short when your voice was nothing but a whisper. “We’re in the middle of a staring contest, that’d defeat the point.” 

It was Damian’s turn to hum, he tried to sound like he was on board with the idea but the tail end of the noise lifted into confusion. He slipped onto the seat next to you. 

“Are you at least winning?” His gaze attempted to reach yours. Green eyes were at the edge of your vision if you just turned your head to look at him. He felt his eyebrows crease together when your eyes fell from the wall and onto the desk in front of you. 

“I don’t think so,” you whispered, much softer than the last time you spoke. If Damian wasn’t inches away, the wobbles in your voice would have faded into nothing, to never be heard. The lips behind shaky fingers struggled to suck in a breath. 

Damian sifted ever closer to you until he could feel your silhouette against his. He hesitated, if not for a moment. He wasn’t good at this, he was trying to be—god he was—but it didn’t stop the lump in his throat from forming every time he saw you in hardship. 

He started with the first step: “Are you okay?” 

That sentence alone felt like he had said it wrong. He could mimic the exact inflections as everyone, down to the last breath, and he would still feel so out of place saying it. He hated the sound of his own hesitance—why couldn’t he be good at this, just once? He’d watched for years as his oldest brother danced through emotions so effortlessly, even his father had grown in an aspect Damian would never admit he was jealous of. He’d seen it—experienced it himself—yet he could never navigate this as easily as the others. 

You told him he was doing wonderful every time. You noticed his efforts and smiled at his mistakes, told him he was human and that it was okay. But damn, did Damian want to be better for you. You taught him what it was like to feel alive. He wanted to return that feeling tenfold until your body buzzed with his love for you. 

He just didn’t know how. 

The silence between you too lingered for longer than he liked. Every fiber of his being itched to fix the problem, to make sure whatever was making you feel this lost was squandered. But he quieted that part of him; he told himself “later.” Right now, that wouldn’t help you. That wouldn’t help you process this or feel whatever you were feeling right now. He had to give you time. 

So he waited, even as the milliseconds stretched into seconds. He let your brain filter through his question and piece together a response. 

“I’m just tired, Dames.” 

He picked at his pants, feeling the seams roll under his fingers. 

“Do you want to take a nap?” died in his throat. 

“We could cuddle?” slipped from his tongue. 

“Maybe take a break?” seemed impossible to say. 

Those are solutions, they wouldn’t help right now. 

“From?” he settled on. The green from his eyes never left your face for a moment. He was sure you could feel it, the weight of his gaze. It slid from your temples down your nose and across your jaw, tracing each line over and over again so he could see when they shifted. He could analyze your face for hours, it’s how he knew the twitch between your eyebrows was a sign you were trying to form the words on your tongue. 

He knew you. And he knew you wanted to smack a smile on your face and move on, to laugh it off and apologize for everything and nothing all at once. He often did the same, just with a different way of shrugging off emotions. He hid behind a stone wall where you hid behind a mirror. 

It was funny really, how easily you could penetrate his walls and how easily he could see through a two-way. 

“Everything.” Your eyes finally met his and the feeling of his heart sinking wasn’t one he could ever get used to. The sight of tears forming constellations on your lashes was enough for his heart to lurch. He felt it deep in his ribcage and up into his throat. 

He struggled on his next word. The words had to claw their way out of his mouth, enemies of hesitance and anxiety blocking their path. He wanted to tell you everything would be okay; he wanted to say it would get better; he wanted to say something that would help—anything. 

But Damian was never a man of many words, and oh, did he hate himself for it. 

No matter how many times he was told his strengths, he could only ever see the weaknesses, the imperfections, and the traits of him that could be traced back to his grandfather. Even after so long of trying to be better, it was useless. 

He was trying to be someone he wasn’t. 

So he let the words die. He let the resonance turn into a steady breath and did what he was good at: he held you. His arms wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest. You all but fell into his embrace, your head finding its way under his chin out of habit. It felt natural here, with you in his arms. Damian felt like he could breathe easier as if all his insecurities washed away. 

He hoped you felt the same. 

“I'm so tired,” you sobbed. Fingers clung to his shirt and pulled on the fabric but he stayed steady. He was, and always would be, your rock: the steady force in your life while all else seemed to swirl into chaos. He would always be there for you, despite everything. He was an immovable force and he slowly took pride in that fact. 

His lips pressed into the top of your head, the words hidden behind those lips ached to break through. Instead, he wrote the words into your body and kissed them into your skin in hopes the message was received all the same. 

The pads of his fingers squeezed consonants into your shoulders and slid vowels down your back and up again. His thighs carried the weight of yours and promised strength in return. His chest breathed in your sorrows and pressed affirmations into your heart. 

“I’m here.” 

It was short—that much Damian knew. But it was all he had to say. Every single word trapped in his chest was released in two simple syllables. There was nothing else. It was so simple, yet he overlooked it everytime. 

He could feel your body leaning into his, the way your hands had to convince themselves he was there. He knew you. And he knew this was enough. 

He would always be enough. 

As he was.

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

[beanmachine69]

Brothers' Beloved Bestfriend | Daniel Ricciardo (part iii)

part i

part ii

You chose not to wear the red dress, but that didn’t stop Daniel from stealing glances at you the whole night, sifting through guests any chance he could to talk to you before your brother swept him away. The guest list was more than you had anticipated, so when you retired to your room after everyone had left, you were uncertain whether you could keep your exhaustion at bay to stay awake and talk to Daniel. Obviously those thoughts and struggles were thrown out the window when you heard your bedroom door quietly open as he snuck in, closing the door behind himself and pausing at the entrance, watching you finish your skincare routine.

“Finally.” You replied, passing him a smile as he made his way to your bed. 

“What, couldn’t wait any longer to see me again?” He laughed.

You rolled your eyes before joining him in bed, getting flashbacks to how it had felt the first night he was in your room. This felt like a strangely domesticated moment though, you’d shared several sweet moments with him over the course of the years you had known him, but this felt intimate, and domesticated. Crawling into bed and under the covers with him waiting for you on the side of the bed he knew you didn’t sleep on felt odd- not in a bad way, but more in a different and kind of adorable way.

Your crush on Daniel had started as the same old cliche crush; you liked your older brothers’ best friend, but it had grown into something much more in the past few years, and as confusing as it was, you were still glad you two were cuddling next to each other. He had always been the type of person to go through the effort of completely understanding and knowing the people around him; he was a comforting soul to many and though you’d always felt comfortable around him, this was different, it was far more intimate than you could have ever wished for. You’d of course be lying if you claimed you didn’t wish for this, that you didn’t think about it every time your hugs lingered a moment too long or every time he’d lean just a little too close. Daniel always felt like the man you would feel safe around, and now that he had his arms wrapped around you and your face buried in his chest, listening to his heart beat, you felt safer than you could have imagined. 

The dreaded conversation wasn’t brought up for a while, initially you two talked about the event, the food, the people, the interactions and eventually you two managed to transgress into a completely different conversation about life and the struggles the two of you had faced as individuals- not once did the conversation feel forced and not once did it feel like he was trying to make a segway into the intended topic. It wasn’t till you looked up at him during an extended few minutes of silence, only to have him be looking back at you, his smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Your forehead is at the perfect spot.” He said, inching closer to give you a kiss. 

You smiled at the gesture, it was sweet and made you feel warm on the inside.

“I’m sorry, I should have expressed my feelings better.” Daniel said, breaking the comfortable silence with words that felt heavier than they should have. 

“Wait wait wait wait, what are you apologizing for? If anyone should be apologizing right now, it should be me; I’m the one who cut you off when I should have talked to you about my fears.” You replied, plummeting directly into the core of the matter, pulling away to look at his face better, you propped your head up on your arm for better comfort. Daniel mirrored your posture, propping his head on his arm, and reaching out with his other hand to hold yours. 

“No, no, I thought about it a lot and I feel awful for how I came onto you-” You saw his face flinch when he registered the last few words and bit back a chuckle, “Uh, I was much older than you and still am, and it was your first summer back from college and all, and really I should have had a better conversation but we were both kinda drunk and it felt like oh y’know it’s now or never and-”

“Danny.” You interrupted him, squeezing his hand a bit tighter as a form of bodily punctuation.

He didn’t reply to you, his gaze met yours and for a moment you swore you would start crying. You’d known these past few days that your feelings for him had resurfaced, but every passing moment felt like those feelings hadn’t resurfaced, but instead had never left, they had existed for longer than you’d like to admit and no matter how much you’d lie and say it was momentary or what-not, they were real and had been existing longer than you’d acknowledge. Hearing him ramble hurt you, it was the saddest possible confirmation of his pre-existing and lasting feelings for you and though that fact should have brought comfort, his expression of that fact brought a great discomfort. You’d always known Daniel to be a man capable of expressing his thoughts and using his words, but at that moment, the way his words fell out of his mouth with his eyes darting and looking anywhere but yours made you regret any decision you thought to be correct. 

“Dan, stop apologizing, whatever happened that night happened and I don’t regret what we did. Do you?” 

“God, not at all.” Daniel replied, brows furrowing slightly as he lost grip of the direction of the conversation.

“Yeah, so the problem wasn’t the fact that we had sex. I just freaked out because I’ve had this crush on you for so long and I didn’t think anything would happen except then it did and it scared the shit out of me because I didn’t know what my family would say and I somehow convinced myself that you didn’t like me like that and that that night was just a fling and yes, before you say it, we did have a conversation during and after about our feelings but I don’t know I guess it felt too good to be true?” 

You had spewed out a lot, most of which Daniel already knew, but the last bit of your statement completely threw him for a loop and momentarily disabled his brain for a response. In the two years he had to think over the matter, not once did he suspect that you would ever think he’d use you as a stupid drunk one-nightstand. Excluding guilt, all emotions Daniel felt towards you were inter-linked to great degrees with immense respect and genuine adoration for you- the idea of you seeing yourself as a silly drunken decision blew his mind. The emotions he felt were not verbally expressed, he was trying his best to untangle his thoughts while you read his expressions and said the first few words that came to mind. 

“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong? Listen, I’m really sorry for ghosting you, it just became too much and I got so scared y’know like with my brother and my family, and your career and my college and-” 

“Shut up.” He interrupted, confusion dissolving off his face.

He moved faster than you could question, pulling your face into his for a kiss. It wasn’t breath-taking or anything, but it truly was a long enough kiss to shut you up, for your train of thought to be completely derailed and for you to be distracted by his lips gently moving against yours as his hand let go of yours and moved to cup your face, thumb slowly stroking your cheek.

“I would never, ever look at you like that.” He said, face a few inches away from yours.

“Like what?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Like you’re worth letting go of, ever.” He whispered, scared of saying those words too loud. 

Daniel had never admitted this to anyone, mainly because he couldn’t; the only person who knew the both of you was your brother and that wasn’t particularly a conversation he’d like to have earlier on, except now he was sure he didn’t care about what your brother had to say or what your family had to say- all he cared about was the fact that he wasn’t going to let any silly thought hold him back, nor was he willing to mess up and risk the chance of losing you again. 

“Danny..” You tried to say something apart from his name, but failure was inevitable, you had never admitted this earlier and having to hear the confirmation of your unspoken fear and conclusionary reason for the cut-off brought you immense comfort. “I’m sorry for running away from you Danny.” 

“I understand, I really do, please don’t beat yourself over it baby, I get it, I really really do.” He comforted you, as he pulled your head into his chest kissing the top of it as he felt you relax. 

It truly felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders, it felt like the two years you had spent thinking about him and all that could have been were useless and in the moment they felt sillier than they were. The time for the actions and confessions just wasn’t right and deep down inside the both of you had known it then and knew it now too. 

The Enchante merch he was wearing felt soft against your skin, the supple fabric against our face felt comforting, his hand stroking your back felt comforting, the way you could feel his breath felt comforting- it all felt like a reward for the two years of discomfort. 

“Y’know,” Daniel said, interrupting the one-sided conversation you were having with his heartbeat, “I don’t think your brothers’ going to be very surprised when we come clean about all this.” 

“Hm? Why’re you so sure, did he say something?” You asked, confused with the random mention of your brother.

“Uh, no, but I think he’s seen me staring way too many times.” He laughed, “I mean the guys not an idiot.” 

“I don’t think he’ll be too mad, I mean yeah he’d be mad at first, but it’s you and he trusts you, I don’t think he’d have an objection to us dating.” 

“So, what I’m hearing is that we’re dating? Gee babe, lemme at least buy you dinner first.” Daniel laughed, a sound of joy that vibrated through his chest, which you slapped lightly as a response to the teasing.

“I mean- I don’t know, that’s not what I-” You got flustered, suddenly completely unsure of a response. 

“Baby, baby, I’m joking, we’re dating that's for sure, I don’t think I wanna put that for later again.”   

“Oh cut it out Ricciardo.” You mumbled, smiling at his stupid joke. 

He hummed in response, holding onto you tighter as the thought settled in his head, he had hoped for this despite his ‘better’ judgment and now it was happening. You were in his arms, body completely slack against his with your breath slowing down as he felt your body drift off to sleep. 

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A/N: I'M BACKKK!!! after eid and a major depressive episode, I have returned to provide the finale of my Danny fic, I'm sorry if it's short, hope yall like it, as usual inbox is open for criticism and asks! Love you all<3

[pinkhelados]

Always You - Miguel O’Hara x Reader (Part one)

summary: You and Miguel have been friends since high school and throughout all of that, he’s loved you. Getting around to asking you out however? No.

contains: mutual pining, friends to lovers, mentions of insecurity on miguel’s part. NOT PROOFREADING

part one | part two

You and Miguel went to high school together, graduated together, roomed together during university, and throughout all of that, Miguel had loved you, his best friend. He remembered when you walked into his chemistry class Junior year of high school… Through his thick-rimmed glasses, he admired the sway of your hair and the light glinting of the black plastic headband on top of your head. His body tensed when you sat next to him, offering a charming smile that would have him whipped his for the rest of his life.

The teacher’s voice faded into meaningless noise in the background and he found himself only focusing on you you. Brown eyes watched as you silently took down notes, sketching doodles on the edges of your notebook whenever you’d get bored, nose scrunching slightly whenever you made a mistake. He knew better then to stare but you were just so magnetic. You turned to look at him. Crap

Miguel darted his eyes to look at his paper only to find his page void of any writing.

He’d been so enraptured by you that he forgot to copy down notes.

Flustered, his eyebrows furrowed but quickly shot up when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He glanced up at you expecting you to tear into him for his ogling but then he noticed you had slid your notebook next to his. He blinked but picked up his pencil and begin to copy down what was on your paper. “Thanks…” He mumbled, turning away to conceal the red on his tanned complexion.

Ever since that day, you were talking to him and he was delighted to listen. It started with you teasing him for ‘spacing off’ during class and then turned to conversations about music shared interests. The semester progressed he begun to hang out with you after school, silly conversations turning deep and personal. For the first time he felt like head a real friend, not just some random he talked to during robotics season. Thick and thin, you were there for him and when it was his turn to comfort you, he did in a heartbeat.

Senior year prom night, that stupid guy you’d been seeing ditched you last minute. You were sat on the edge of his bed sniffling into his shoulder. “Hey it’s okay, you’ll be fine,” He cooed into your ear, rubbing your back soothingly. If he weren’t so mousy, he would’ve kicked his ass. “God what was I thinking?! You told me he was a douche- Xina told me he was a douche- whyd I even go through with it?” You sobbed into his shoulder. Miguel already hated the guy for snatching you up and him breaking your heart like this only served to enrage him further. “I don’t know- you’ve always been kind of stubborn.” He joked. You wiped your eyes and smiled weakly, playfully hitting his shoulder. “Shut up, I know.”

Miguel laughed and silently held you up against him, careful to not extend any boundaries. “I don’t even have a date anymore and I already got the dress…” You said with sad eyes. An idea popped into your head. “Mig-”

“No.”

“Why not! I know you hate parties but it’s senior prom-”

“You know I don’t do well in social settings, (Y/N)”

“It’d make me feel better..”

That was all it took for his resolve to diminish. Miguel grunted but secretly, his heart was soaring. “Fine. Let me find a dress-shirt or something.”

He kept the picture in his wallet. Miguel would look at it whenever he needed a break from college work, you holding a peace sign over his head, blue lights making your dress glow and he just stood awkwardly doing his best to smile. As he walked to the campus library, he took out his wallet and just stared at the small Polaroid picture with a soft smile on his face. You’d changed and so had he.

Miguel opened the library door, sifting through the crowd of studying college students. A hand went up and discretely waved back and forth and Miguel walked towards it. “Hey,” you smiled. Miguel smiled back and set his bag down. “Hi.”

Miguel had grown taller since high-school- like- suspiciously tall. He went from being the small, nerdy guy to this 6’9 tank of a man in the span of three years. Freshman year of college, he didn’t look like this. Though- you liked it. Really liked it.

His arms were big- the crewneck just barely concealing the muscle of his arms and the broadness of his back. You’d been crushing on him since second year of college. It was odd- how quickly your view of him changed and this change brought on guilt. He was your best friend! You couldn’t feel that way about him though he certainly didn’t help. Friends would point out how nice to you he was, how easily he’d fold and howd he’d drop anything just to help you. All of that made your heart beat and yetYou never thought anything of it. You’d do the same. It was just something between friends, no? Miguel’s brown locks slicked back and his glasses sat on the tip of his hooked nose as he stared at you with those soft eyes of his. “Ready?”

Your cheeks flared when he reached over to touch your shoulder. “Yeah- yeah,” you nodded.

The sky faded into darkness when you finished studying with Miguel, it was chilly too as you walked through campus over to the dorm you shared. “Damn- it’s freezing,” you rubbed your hands together, breaths coming out in white clouds. Miguel laughed, casually taking your hands in his larger ones. His palms were like heaters- unusually warm. He leaned closer to you, the redness of his cheeks not going unnoticed. “Better?”

A blush came upon you face and you leaned on his shoulder. “Mhm, aren’t you cold?” Miguel just wore a sweater with a plaid scarf wrapped around his neck and a pair of gloves, gloves he always wore ever since last summer. He shook his head. “It doesn’t bother, we’re close to home either way so it’s not like we’ll be out for too long.” You nodded, mumbling a soft ‘true’ and kept walking with his masssive hands around yours.

Arriving home, you plopped onto the couch and leaned your head back. “I’m beat,” you mumbled, looking over at your best friend who was taking off his scarf.

God his back looked good from that angle- his waist too…

“Yeah- I’m gonna go to bed, actually,” Miguel yawned. You tilted your head. “Already? It’s only nine?” You said as he walked over to his room. “Gotta get my beauty sleep- I’m a busy guy,” he said sarcastically though there was some truth to his words. Miguel was a genetics genius so his classes were difficult, not to mention all the internships he had at various scientific facilities. “I think you’re plenty beautiful, tiger,” you snickered, he laughed too. “Gracias, mami.”

You turned back to the tv when you heard the soft click of his lock. Bored, you switched on the tv. It was all news about this masked vigilante- Spider-Man they called him. You’d been hearing about him a lot recently for the past four weeks. “Huh,” you said, and continued watching.

-

Miguel had changed into his suit soon after he left you to his own devices. The night hadn’t been too eventful, he prevented a couple robberies which he’d tracked with the help of Lyla- his AI.

“So-“ A yellow light emerged from Miguel’s wrist, illuminating his masked face. “You ever gonna tell your girlfriend about…” She waved her arms around. “This?” Miguel scoffed and looked away, thankful for the mask hiding his cheeks. “No- and she’s not my girlfriend.” Lyla laughed, her avatar flickering to her now lying on her stomach with her palms resting on her cheeks. “You can’t hide this from me, big guy. I monitor your heart rate and it always spikes up whenever you’re around her. Coincidence? I think the shock not!”

Miguel swatted the hologram which only flickered in response. The AI hummed in amusement, swinging her leg in deep thought. Miguel’s fangs barred underneath his mask but sheathed soon after. “That doesn’t mean anything,” He mumbled. Lyla rolled her eyes. “Well according to my tracking software- I’ve also picked up rises in temperature, clammy hands-!”

“Okay!” Miguel grunted. “Shock- I get it.” Lyla smiled triumphantly, flickering over to the top of his head where he gave it a little pat. “Lucky you, I have several algorithms that should be foolproof in asking her out!” That made Miguel laugh. His ai didn’t comprehend his deep insecurity and for some odd reason that was a little heartwarming to him. “Don’t overestimate me, Lyla. (Y/N), she’s- she’s way out of my league. I don’t wanna risk years of friendship because I can’t control my own feelings.” He sighed.

The hologram frowned. “Hey don’t say that,” Lyla hugged his head but all Miguel felt was the warm heat from the light and the pain in his chest. He took out his wallet and gazed into the senior prom night picture. “Shock, I looked like such a dork,” He laughed. You were still so beautiful, hell- you were even more beautiful now. Miguel swallowed, hope blooming in his chest. “What’re those foolproof plans of yours anyways?”

Lyla’s eyes lit up and she scoured her files. “Oh I am so glad you asked.”

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 20)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

“Soldier Abernathy,” Boggs’ voice is the one to finally break them apart.

Y/N moves to her feet, straightening out her gear. “Yes.”

“Civilian Abernathy.” Boggs also acknowledges the man on the floor.

“Yep.” Haymitch groans, pulling himself up.

“There’s been an incident.” Boggs squares his shoulders.

“What kind of incident?”

“Peeta attacked Katniss.”

“He what?” Y/N stammers.

“Our Peeta?” Haymitch is getting older, surely he’s heard wrong.

Boggs nods. “Follow me-”

Without another word, Boggs ushers them to Katniss’ room in medical. She is limp on the bed, being changed into a hospital gown. She looks the same as she had when Haymitch left her, save for the large angry bruise, blooming over the expanse of her neck.

“Damn it,” Haymitch murmurs.

“How could this happen?” Y/N turns to Boggs.

“I stepped outside to give them privacy. When I heard the commotion, I went straight in. He’d already put her through the medicine cabinets and had her on the floor. It happened fast.”

Y/N brings a hand to her throbbing temple. “Thank you for…” Y/N breaks off. “I should’ve stayed with him.”

“Not your fault, soldier.” Boggs says, immediately.

Haymitch passes a hand over her back. See, you stubborn thing? Not everything can be your fault.

“I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.” Boggs excuses himself.

The doctors trickle out, leaving Katniss in her neck brace, hooked up to a bunch of beeping monitors.

“She’ll be out for a while, by the sound of it. We should check on Peeta. Try to figure out what the hell’s going on.” Haymitch kisses Y/N’s temple. Watching his wife stroke dark hair away from Katniss’ face.

Y/N nods.

Peeta’s room is not much better. He is restrained, for his own safety. Unconscious after the attack, Boggs had to get him off somehow.

The results of the bloodwork returns without traces of any hallucinogenic drugs. The only abnormal thing found in his system is trackerjacker venom.

“So what does this mean? He thought Katniss was someone else?” Haymitch asks Dr. Aurelius, who’s come to deliver the news. He’s not a regular doctor, he’s a head doctor. Maybe he’s here to make sure they don’t lose their shit?

“Well…it’s hard to say. I’ll need to speak with him once he regains consciousness. For now, it seems a bit odd that he would remember Y/N in the hovercraft and in this room, only to not recognize Katniss a moment later.”

There must be something…something she’s missing. “So you think he knew it was Katniss and did that to her anyway?”

“I understand how difficult this may be for you to hear, but Peeta did attack Katniss with the intent to kill her.” Dr. Aurelius explains.

Haymitch shifts, meeting Y/N’s eyes.

“That’s why he’s restrained?” Y/N presses her lips together.

“This is for his own safety.“

“I don’t understand.” Y/N cuts him off. “He held my hand all the way home.” There’s just no way. “Peeta wouldn’t do that to Katniss.”

“I know it is painful for you to see them this way. But given your experience on the hovercraft, I have every reason to believe that we can help him work through this.”

“How?” Haymitch wonders.

“With the knowledge that he recognizes Y/N, we will be able to use a trusted source to sift through the information fed to him by the Capitol. In theory we will be able to reverse this fear conditioning.” Dr. Aurelius is already working up a plan.

“So that’s what you think this is? A response to fear conditioning?” Haymitch asks.

“He has lacerations, old and new. Evidence of shocks and beatings, that with the presence of trackerjacker venom suggests what one would consider brainwashing. A hijacking, if you will.”

“Have you ever treated a patient in his condition?” Y/N gnaws at the insides of her cheek.

“I have never seen anything like this, no.”

“We’ll do whatever we can,” Y/N says, immediately.

“For now there is nothing to be done. Katniss and Peeta are resting, which they both desperately need. I might suggest you do the same.”

“If it were your kids, could you rest?” Haymitch bites out, bitterly.

Aurelius nods, in understanding. “No.” He stares for a moment more. “As Peeta’s family is deceased, you are his next of kin. You will be involved in making medical decisions. If anything changes you will be the first to know.”

“Thank you.”

“There is one more thing, before you go.”

“And what might that be?” Haymitch retorts.

“Johanna Mason has requested that you also be listed as next of kin, until she is found to be of sound mind.”

“What about Finnick?” Y/N wonders, they’ve always been close.

“Finnick struggled during separation with Annie.”From what Aurelius can see, he’s still struggling. “He is in no position to make decisions about her medical care. Rather her be a ward of the district, she would have you.”

“Of course, we’ll take her.”

————————————————————————

Pollux is with Madge, when they return to the children, keeping all three entertained. There’s someone else, perched in the corner, quiet, just watching.

“Mom?” Y/N says, warily. She’s only seen her once since they’ve been here. The older woman was deep into detox and screamed at her to get out.

“Hi, honey.” As if nothing has happened. As if nothing is wrong.

“Mommy, look what we made for Peeta!” Arista holds up the off white paper banner, lined with drawings and colored flowers.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Y/N chokes down her despair. How can I explain this? “It’s beautiful, he’ll love it.”

“You’re sad,” Everest calls her bluff.

Haymitch steps closer, saving her, the way he always has. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

“Is it Peeta?”

“Yeah,” Haymitch breathes, perching himself at the end of Everest’s bed. “Come here.” He pats the space on either side for his children. I’ll take this one.

Y/N follows her mother out into the hallway.

“How are you holding up?” The older woman asks.

“I’m ok.”

“Good.”

“So you’re out of rehab?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, yes.”

“You look really…healthy.”

“Y/N I saw Finnick’s broadcast and I- I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you. That I couldn’t protect you. I know I wasn’t the best mother-”

“You did the best you could,” Y/N cuts her off. “As a mother, I understand that we can’t always be there the way we want to.”

“But you are there. Everyday and every night, you are there for those kids. They know that no matter what, their mom is coming home. They know that you will always be there. I’m sorry you didn’t have that.”

“It’s ok…I’m-” Y/N wraps her arms tightly around herself. “I’m ok.”

“When I lost Maysi, I lost myself. I tried to get it back, to get a grip, to keep pushing but I couldn’t. When you got reaped,” she breaks off. “When I saw my baby girl get taken from me I- I mourned you. I mourned you the second you got on that train and I never stopped mourning you. But you weren’t dead, you were alive and my mind, especially with the morphling, couldn’t comprehend that.”

“Mom, please, stop.”

“I know you must be angry with me.” Her mother tugs at Y/N’s hand. “But I need you to know that didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of this, you are so good. You are good and you are brave and you are strong. Better than I ever was or could be. And I’m going to be here for you now, if you’ll let me.”

Y/N nods, silently, brushing away tears. “Thank you.”

————————————————————————

The guilt grows, festering like a wound. Guilt over the strain on their marriage, guilt for their absence from their children. Guilt for Katniss, neck braced, in a coma. Guilt for Peeta, restrained, turned into a weapon meant to kill the only girl he’s ever loved. Guilt for Johanna, tortured and stripped of her dignity. Guilt for Cashmere, who lost her brother. Guilt for Madge who takes on so much burden that is not her own.

“He’s been asking for you.” One of the doctors from Peeta’s team catches Y/N in the hallway.

The voice is enough to snap Y/N back to the task at hand. Haymitch is with Katniss, such is their agreement, until Peeta feels more at ease in the presence of others. Triggering him is not worth the risk.

Through the observation window, she can see him struggling, tugging at the bonds. Two doctors are beside him, attempting to soothe him. Y/N enters the room without hesitation, fighting her way into his line of vision.

“Peeta.” She says softly, moving towards him.

His thrashing does not stop, but he registers that she is there.

“Can we clear the room?” Y/N asks.

“Of course.” The doctors nod, they too are at a loss.

Peeta’s breathing is so shallow and rapid, she fears he might be hyperventilating. His eyes searching her sadly, warily. “I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Don’t you know what I did?”

Katniss. “I’m not upset with you, Peeta. I just want to help you.”

“You don’t know what it was like.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“But Snow did stuff to you too, didn’t he?”

“Nothing like this,” Y/N swallows the lump in her throat. “I brought you something, from the kids; my kids.”

“I remember…” Almost. Memories dancing near the surface of a frozen lake.

“They made you this,” Y/N unrolls the slightly crumpled paper. “Sorry I smushed it.”

Peeta’s eyes well up with tears. “Can I keep it?”

“Yeah, of course, we’ll find somewhere to hang it up.”

————————————————————————

“My colleague, Dr. Maes, informed me that the two of you had a rather…colorful conversation, at the bed side of her patient, Johanna Mason.” Dr. Aurelius says, during his later session with Y/N.

“She’s not a good fit for Johanna,” Y/N explains. “I’d rather you see her.”

“I couldn’t possibly take on Peeta, Katniss, Johanna, Haymitch and yourself.” Aurelius explains, “given her condition-”

“Take me off the list.”

“Are you sure that’s the best decision?”

“It’s the only option I have.” Y/N crosses one leg over the other.

“Tell me why.”

“What?”

“Tell me why that’s the only option and I’ll consider it.”

Y/N takes a steadying breath. “You’re the best they’ve got down here and we both know it. This isn’t about being a lost cause, or a martyr. It’s about people needing you more than I do.”

Dr. Aurelius sighs, “I’m sure Haymitch will follow your lead.”

“I didn’t mention it to him yet.” The longing pangs in her chest.

When she does tell Haymitch, later that night, he’s half asleep.

“Whatever you want, Angel.” He murmurs, pulling her closer.

They’ve hardly seen each other. She feels the strain on his heart, tugging at her own. Y/N fists a hand in his shirt. “You’re what I want.” More time with you.

“You have me by the balls,” he scoffs, “Stop torturing yourself. Everyone has to pay the piper and revolutions don’t come cheap. If we have to keep going like this; for however long, we’ll do that.”

“This is enough for you? Five minutes to ourselves before bed, after being apart all day?”

“You’re enough.” Haymitch breathes, “you’ll always be enough.”

Just you and me.

————————————————————————

Katniss wakes a day later, clawing at the brace around her neck and breathing hard. The monitors surrounding her beep frantically as Boggs tries to calm her.

“Hey, Katniss. You’re alright.”

Her hands move back to the brace.

“Don’t, you’re swollen.” Boggs stills her fingers.

Katniss leans back in defeat, her voice is but a broken whisper. “Peeta.”

Part 21

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating @jackierose902109 @jellybear455 @dreammgc @dadbodfanatic-x @ftdtcmlovr @inky-sun @ms-brek-ker @undercover55655 @mischiefmanaged21 @avoxrising @koiphisch @drwho-ess @daisydaisybilly @misfits1a

[ofstoriesandstardust]

quarter life crisis (j.h.s.)

a/n: this is wildly influenced by my own life so i have no idea if this is even relatable but you can have it anyways.

summary: Rejection from a potential grad school stings more than they realize.

inspired by taylor bickett’s “quarter life crisis” | part of the maroon universe

warnings: implied/referenced sex, swearing, age gap (reader is 22, Jake is 33), alcohol mentions, writing this was kind of cathartic, 

word count: 5,757

Unfortunately, we are unable to offer you a place in our program at this time...

The bright screen wavers in front of you as you blink back the stinging of your tears. Your boyfriend’s hand rubs comfortably on your back as you shut the lid of the laptop, slumping down in your chair. 

Your pretty, perfect boyfriend. 

Your pretty, perfect boyfriend who was one of the best Naval aviators in the country. 

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s just Stanford.” 

Just Stanford, like it wasn’t one of the top schools in the country. 

Aim for the skies, your Dad always said. 

“Yeah.” You mutter, sliding off the chair at the counter of the kitchen island. 

“You have like what, seven other programs?” He says, following you as you walk towards the fridge. “You’ll get into the program that’s meant for you. Besides, I selfishly didn’t want you going so far from me.” 

You sigh, turning to face your boyfriend. 

Your pretty, perfect boyfriend who wouldn’t ever know the sting of rejection. 

Rejection and Jake Seresin were antonyms, words that would never go together, polar opposites. 

Much like you and Jake. 

Jake, a 33-year-old established Naval aviator with two confirmed kills who had his whole career right in front of him. 

You, a 22-year-old college graduate with no direction and no idea what she was doing. 

You and Jake were antonyms, people that would never go together, polar opposites. 

“Yeah.” You say, realizing you’ve been quiet for too long as Jake’s eyebrows furrow. 

“Sweetheart-” He says before cutting himself off, looking a bit at a loss. “What can I do to make it better?” 

You shrug, giving him a small smile. “Nothing. Why don’t you go on to the Hard Deck without me? Think I’m gonna take a minute.” 

He hesitates. “You sure?”

You breath out, crossing your arms as you nod. “Positive.” 

He nods, still looking a bit skeptical as he leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “See you soon?” 

“Yeah.” 

-

You groan, rolling over as you blink awake. The TV is still on, the title screen for Treasure Planet pulled up as you search for your phone. 

It’s a tough task, ensnared in a tangle of blankets and squinting from the too bright TV in a pitch black living room. You finally latch on to it, wedged between two cushions, quickly looking away as the bright screen lights up at you. 

Your head pounds as you struggle to turn the brightness down on the phone, the cry you’d had earlier leaving your throat dry and head in need of a painkiller. You swallow, throat feeling like sandpaper as you struggle to sift through the 49 text messages, not to mention the 8 missed calls. 

You don’t think you’d ever been so popular. 

The texts are mostly from Jake, a handful from Brad and Nat and Reuben and even one from your Dad (Sorry to hear about Stanford kid). 

The calls are all from Jake though. 

Hey, it’s been a while, where are you? Call me back. 

Hey, this is the fourth time I called you, why aren’t answering?

Hey, I’m starting to get worried. Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone. Please call me back. 

I will drive to your house. I know where your Dad keeps the spare key. Please just call me back and tell me you’re okay. 

Okay, okay, I get the hint. You want to be left alone. Just send a smoke signal that you’re alive or something? I’m just kind of worried about you. Okay, I- Okay, talk to you later. 

You groan, a quick glance at the time telling you it’s almost midnight. You must’ve cried yourself to sleep for an unintended six hour nap. You shoot off a quick text to Jake, letting him know you just fell asleep. You respond to the meme Reuben sent you, confirming the two of you were still on for drinks with kids from your high school tomorrow, friends of his he still kept in touch with. You knew Max and Lauren and Joy and Tristan and Cody when you went to school, but you’d never been quite cool enough to hang out with them.  

You pull the fridge open, searching for the leftover pizza best you can with the bright LED lights in the fridge. 

“What are you doing?” You yelp, turning around as you see Maverick standing there in his pajamas, half-asleep. 

“Getting food... sorry, did I wake you?” 

He shakes his head, yawning. “Jake called, asked if we heard from you. You were asleep when we came in so I just wanted to make sure you were still here.” 

You nod, glancing down at your phone. Jake still hadn’t texted you back. “Yeah, I just texted him.” 

“Okay, well, I’m going back to bed. Sorry about the Stanford decision.” 

You give a half-shrug. “Just Stanford.” 

He blindly pats your shoulder before yawning again. “K, goodnight.” And then he’s shuffling back to the stairs to go to bed as you groan, shutting the fridge. 

-

“You look pretty.” Penny comments as you walk into the Hard Deck. 

“Thank you.” 

“Got a hot date?” Amelia teases. 

“Nope, just drinks with Reuben.” 

“Let me go put this box in the back and then we’re good to go, yeah?” You nod as Reuben rounds the bar with the box in his hands. He pauses, turning back to you. “Do you remember Anna who went to high school with us?” 

You blink, nodding slowly. 

Of course you remembered her. She’d been your best friend for seven years. 

“Yeah.” 

“Did you hear she was engaged?” 

You nod again as Jake’s arm slides around your waist. “I did hear that, yeah.” 

“Well, her and her fiancé are in town, Tyler I think his name is, and so I invited them to go with us.” 

You nod as Reuben turns, heading for the back. 

“Hi sweetheart.” Jake whispers in your ear, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. 

“Sorry I disappeared last night.” You whisper back, but Jake doesn’t get a chance to respond as Bradley cuts through the conversation. 

“Weren’t you and Anna, like best friends?” Bradley asks, taking a sip of his beer. “I remember her because she had a huge crush on me, which was always kind of strange. She was like my second sister.” 

“Yeah, well Anna decided to stop being friends with me a long time ago.” You say with a sigh. 

“You and Anna were friends?” Reuben asks, coming back into the room. 

You nod. “For like seven years.” 

“I never knew that.” He said, eyebrows furrowing. “I never even saw you guys talk to each other at school.” 

You huff out a laugh, feeling somewhat bitter. “Yeah, because I wasn’t cool enough to be seen with her. It would ruin her street cred.” 

“That’s shitty.” Jake comments, tugging you between his legs to rest his chin on your shoulder. “I’m sorry.” 

You give a half-shrug, blinking back the sting of tears yet again. 

“It’s whatever.” 

It’s not whatever. 

You’d known Anna since you were eleven years old, since the two of you stood next to each other in line for your English class on the first day of the 6th grade, becoming friends because the two of you were wearing the same shirt but in different colors. 

Anna was at your house more often than not. You’d been the first person she’d called when her brother got cancer. You’d walked to her house after your parents told you that they were getting a divorce. She used to come over whenever your Dad had cancer treatments and make pancakes with you and watch Glee so you didn’t have to think about it. 

And then one day, at the start of your senior year, she’d cut you out. Blocked your number and stopped talking to you. She’d shown back up again before you started college but hadn’t stuck around very long that time either. 

She’d disappeared for a few years and came back with a fiancé who was her soulmate and a successful job in a new city across the country. 

And here you were, back in San Diego, with a shiny new grad school rejection and a dead end bartending job your Dad had hooked up for you and a boyfriend you hadn’t said I love you to yet. 

Comparatively, one of you was doing better than the other and it wasn’t the one who had gotten screwed over. 

It made your chest burn, thinking about how you had always thought you’d be there when she got engaged and had to find out from Instagram of all places. 

Put a lot of things into perspective for you. 

You blink, realizing you’ve been quiet for too long again as the group stares at you. “Sorry.” 

Reuben watches you carefully. “You ready to go?” 

You take a shaky breath, nodding. “Yep, let’s go.” 

-

“Reuben!” Max yells as the two of you walk over. “Took you long enough!” 

Reuben laughs, pulling Max into a hug before introducing you. Max nods, giving you a side hug as Lauren’s eyes light up at the sight of you. 

“You were in our AP Literature class.” Max says, pulling away from you.

Lauren groans, leaning over the table to give you a hug. “Don’t bring that class up, Maxwell. I’m still not over the fact that we all failed the AP test.” 

“Yeah, I’d like to not revisit the year Max and I dated.” Joy says, offering you a smile from across the table. 

Max sticks out his tongue at her as your and Reuben sit at the table. “You remember Tristan, yeah?” 

You nod as he raises his glass to you. “Good to see you again.”

“Glad to see we all survived that awful AP Lit class.” 

“And then I don’t think you ever met my older brother Cody?” 

“You got bumped up to my History class your freshman year, right?” Cody asks as he extends a hand over the table. You nod, confirming his words as you shake his hand. 

“Hey Cody, I was in that class too!” Anna protests from the end of the table. 

You offer the girl a small smile. “Hi Anna.” 

“You know, I didn’t know the two of you were friends.” Reuben comments, gesturing between you and Anna. 

“She was too busy pretending I didn’t exist.” You mutter under your breath, doing your best to disguise the words with a cough. 

“Okay, why don’t you boys go get us drinks?” Lauren asks. 

“So you can sit here and gossip and have girl talk?” Max says, raising his beer to his lips with a smirk. 

“Yes. Get lost.” Joy deadpans. The boys grumble but follow her orders, even Anna’s fiancé following the group. 

“So how have you been?” Lauren asks, a genuine small lighting up her face. 

You shrug. “Pretty good.” 

“Are you and Reuben dating?” Joy asks, earning a nudge from Lauren. 

You chuckle, shaking your head. “No, God no. We’re just co-workers, pretty sure my Dad put him up to this, always saying I need to get out of the house. Besides, I have a boyfriend.” 

“How is your Dad?” Anna asks, taking Max’s chair so she could scoot closer. 

“Good. He’s good. He and Maverick just celebrated their anniversary and he’s in remission.” 

“So... backtrack, boyfriend?” Lauren says, propping her head up on a closed fist. “Please, do tell.” 

“Can I see a picture?” Anna asks. You nod, pulling your phone out from your back pocket, swiping through for an acceptable photo of the two of you. You land on a picture from a barbecue Penny had hosted recently, a picture Javy had taken of the two of you when neither of you were paying attention. 

His smile was wide, hair messy from rolling around in the grass all afternoon as the team played football. Your arms were around his neck, his hands on your waist as the both of you smile, deep in conversation. 

“His name is Jake. He’s a Navy pilot and works with Bradley and Maverick. It’s how we met.” 

“Dating a flyboy, I’m sure your dad is thrilled.” Anna comments, raising her eyebrows. “Isn’t he- He’s kind of out of your league. No offense.” 

And there it is. 

Your pretty, perfect boyfriend, out of your league. 

Of course it was something you knew, but not something you needed to hear, least of all from her. 

“Oh, he’s cute.” Lauren coos, peering over at the phone. “How serious is it?” 

You shrug. “Dunno, we’ve only been dating for a few months. Just kind of seeing where it goes.” 

“Don’t be fooled, Jake’s hopelessly in love with her.” Reuben comments as the boys appear back at the table. 

“I don’t know about that.” You say, taking a gulp of the drink Reuben has set down in front of you. 

“Is the sex good?” Joy asks, causing you to choke. 

“What?” You choke out, lungs burning. 

“Well, is it?” 

“Um-” 

“You don’t have to answer that.” Max intervenes, tossing a look at Joy. 

“No, I’m with Joy. He looks like he knows how to fuck, I’m curious if he’s good.” 

“Lauren!” Reuben protests, crossing his arms. “Back off.” 

“I second that.” Tristan says. 

“Oh, please like you didn’t hear about Joy’s sex life when she dated Max.” Lauren says, narrowing her eyes. 

“So?” Anna prompts. “Is he good in bed?” 

You shrink back, suddenly aware that everyone’s looking at you. 

You had told Jake that you hadn’t really been with any one else. Not any one meaningful, anyways. You doubted that the sex was as good for him as it was you, but you hardly had anything to compare to. 

“I mean, he’s a six foot Navy aviator with an ego. What do you think?” 

Joy raises an eyebrow. “And what about size?” 

“Absolutely not, do not answer that. I still have to serve him at the Hard Deck, please do not give me intimate details about Seresin’s dick size.” 

“I wasn’t going to...?” You say, offering him a curious look. “You picked me up after the first time we hooked up. If I was going to tell you any intimate details, I would’ve by now.” 

“Wait, wait, wait, what?” Lauren says, waving her hands.

You sigh. “Jake and I hooked up as a one-night stand before we ever officially got together. I sort of fled the morning after and Reuben picked me up.” 

“Man’s knows how to leave a hickey, that’s for sure.” Reuben mutters. 

“Okay, let’s talk about literally anything else.” Max says, cutting the conversation off. “You applying to grad schools or anything?” 

“Yeah. Just kind of vibing at the moment, though.” 

“Didn’t-” Rueben start, but then cuts himself off, frowning. “Never mind.” 

“Yeah, please don’t bring that up right now.” You mutter. “What about you Max? What’ve you been up to?” 

“Bring up what?” Anna asks. 

Reuben sighs, glancing at you. “Nothing.” 

It’s too late, everyone looking at you now. 

“I just- I just found out I got rejected from a grad school yesterday. That’s all.” 

That fact that it was Stanford you got rejected from goes unspoken. 

“What happened to the gifted kid we all knew in high school?” Anna laughs. 

“Burned out in college trying to be good enough for her parents.” You snap, shooting Anna a look. “She’s currently having a quarter-life crisis and would like everyone to please stop asking her about it, so Max, what have you been up to?” 

The boy just blinks.

-

“How was drinks?” 

“Awful.” You groan, all but collapsing on to the couch next to Maverick. 

Reuben sighs, sticking in his hands in his pockets. “I don’t remember Anna being such a bitch.” 

“You don’t maybe. I do.” You say, sitting up to look at him. 

“Anna who always spent a lot of time around here?” Maverick asks. You nod and he clicks his tongue. “I never liked her all that much.”

You sigh. “How she behaved tonight? That’s how she treated me for seven years and I just let her. And yet she’s still the one who’s doing better.” 

Reuben nods, conceding to you. “Well, if Anna doesn’t come with us again, would you want to come back out with us?” 

You shrug. “I guess.” 

“You don’t like them?” 

“No, I think they’re great people. I don’t think they like me very much.” 

Reuben scoffs. “What’re you talking about? Lauren and Max adore you. As does Tristan, they want you to come back out with us. You should’ve seen Lauren’s face when I said you were coming tonight.” 

You sigh, unsure of how to explain to him that you felt like you would never escape who you were in high school, like they’d look at you and still see that girl you had been. 

It really hadn’t been that long since you’d been at the high school that had made you feel suffocated with a life that felt dead-end. 

Rueben was great, he’d always been. The best thing about him was his heart. 

And his friends were great too. 

But in high school, the lines had been drawn in the sand. You knew where you stood with them and it was about several social status levels below them. 

Just because you now had a pretty, perfect boyfriend didn’t change that. 

Reuben says your name, making you realize you’ve once against fallen silent for too long. “Sorry, what?” 

“We’ll do next time on your turf, okay? You can pick wherever and whatever.” 

You sigh, standing up from the couch. “Reuben, just leave it, okay? We’re never gonna gel as friends.” 

“You and them? Or us?” He asks, with a frown on his face. 

You wince, internally cursing your slip. “Reuben-”

“You still think I care that you might've been, what? A little dorky in high school?  I saw a girl who was bright and intelligent and passionate. What did it matter that she went on a few tangents about the State of Union address because her Dad was there? You were one of the smartest people I interacted with in high school.” 

You want to snap and say, yeah that’s the problem. I was the smartest kid you knew and knew exactly what I wanted and now I struggle to get up in the morning because I don’t even know who I am anymore. 

But all you can do is sigh and look at Reuben. He scoffs, shaking his head, stalking to the front door before slamming it shut. Maverick winces as you struggle not to cry again. 

“What the fuck was that about?” 

“Nothing, I’m just a drama queen.” You mutter. “I’m going to bed.” 

-

“Hi.” You look up from where you’re cleaning glasses to see Lauren and Max. 

“Hey, Reuben’s just in the back if you want me to go grab him for you.” You offer, sticking a thumb to the back where Reuben was helping Penny sort the new delivery you got today. 

Lauren shakes her head. “No. I just-” She sighs, looking at Max. “We just wanted to come say that well, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I love you, I think you’re great, and I’d love for you to come back out with us sometime.” 

You huff out a laugh, setting the glass down. “Reuben put you up to this?” 

She frowns. “No?” 

Max sighs. “Look, I don’t even like Anna. None of us liked Anna, the only one who was friends with her was Reuben.” 

“That’s only because she was a part of a different friend group.” Reuben says, appearing from the back with another crate of clean glasses. 

You snort, grabbing the crate from him. “Funny to me you had multiple friend groups, I didn’t even have one.” 

“Oh, c’mon, you had a friend group.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah? Who, Reuben?” 

He falters, clearly struggling think of someone. 

“Reuben, I didn’t even get asked to prom. Let’s call a spade a spade, I was a loser.” 

“I think you had your head so far in a book no one ever got a chance to see how great you are.” Lauren amends, offering you a kind smile. “And I’d love if you came and hung out with us again. And we will stop asking about your sex life, I promise.” 

“Why, she doesn’t want to brag?” Jake drawls, appearing next to Lauren. 

“No!” Reuben exclaims. “No intimate details about his dick size! I can’t do it!″ 

Jake gives Reuben a confused look as you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“This is your boyfriend?” Max asks. You nod. He extends a hand to Max and then Lauren. 

“Jake Seresin.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Lauren says. “You like escape rooms, right? We could do one of those? Boys versus girls.” 

“I don’t know, the last time I did one of those it was with my Mom and I have it on good authority I’m a bit bossy.” 

“The prehistoric ages, when your Mom was around.” Bradley says, appearing next to Jake at the bar. 

“Shut up Bradshaw.” Natasha mutters, wedging herself in between him and Jake. 

“Aw, she’s making friends. It’s like kindergarten all over again, this is so cute.” Coyote teases, appearing behind the group. 

“Reuben and I both have next Monday off. How about laser tag?” You ask, ignoring Coyote even as your cheeks warm. 

Reuben coughs awkwardly. “I’m gonna bow out of this one, thanks.” 

Max startles. “What? Why?”

Reuben shrugs, not sparing you glance. “Cody and I already have plans.”

“Since when?” Lauren asks incredulously. 

“Since last night.” You mutter under your breath. “It’s okay, I think I’m supposed to get dinner with my Dad’s that night. You know, family thing.” 

“We are?” Bradley asks. 

“No, just me and them.” You lie, praying Bradley just accepts it and moves on.

Lauren nods unconvinced. “Well, our door is always open. Just give us a holler, we’ll be around.” 

-

“What happened to dinner with your Dad’s?” 

You grunt, picking up another rock and tossing it in the lake. 

Lake Murray had become little more than a pond over the years, but with the park nearby and walking trails all around it, it became a great place to come to hide away when you needed to think. 

“You know, you are one hard lady to find.” 

“Shut up Jake.” You mutter. 

Your pretty, perfect boyfriend was a liar. He’d had your location since the time you’d gotten too drunk and had just hit share indefinitely when he’d come to pick up from the bar. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“No.” You say honestly, not having been okay in months. 

Still, it stung even more today, waking up to another rejection from a grad school program, this time from your alma mater. 

Jake sighs. “What’s going on?” 

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

He huffs. “I’m worried about you.” 

The Why? sits in your throat, crushed by the guilt that you’ve been making your pretty, perfect boyfriend worry about you. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to.” Is what you mumble out instead, kicking another rock, watching it tumble down the edge towards the lake. 

“Would you please talk to me?” He all but begs, a hint of desperation in his voice. “You’ve been acting strange ever since you got the Stanford decision back and I want to know what’s up with my girlfriend.” 

His girlfriend, who he hasn’t even said I love you to yet, making you wonder if he ever would.

Rationally, you knew it was early, especially if this relationship wasn’t going anywhere. It was unreasonable to expect Jake to return your feelings and it was unreasonable to expect Jake to commit to a girl who didn’t have her shit together. 

“It’s nothing.” You say, keeping your eyes on the deep blue water, slowly lapping at the shore. If you strain your ears you could hear the screaming of kids at the park across the way. 

You hear him shuffle behind you, moving closer, but he doesn’t sit down. “Sweetheart.” He says, but stops. 

You sigh, your heart aching with want, begging you to turn around give him a hug. To let him pull you close and run his fingers through his hair, whispering that it’ll be okay and that he isn’t go anywhere. 

Maybe it would be better if the two of you broke up. 

Maybe he would be better off without you. 

You’re quiet for too long because Jake is sighing and you can hear him take a few steps back. “You want to be alone?” 

You nod. 

He leaves.

-

You blink, the tears stinging at your eyes as Lauren posts a picture of her and Joy with a handful of other girls that had been friends with them in high school. 

my girls xx is what she posts on the story of them out getting drinks and you have to close the app before the stories can continue on.

You sigh, letting the phone rest on your chest as you hear Maverick downstairs, crooning along to Voulez-Vous as he cooks dinner with your Dad. You should put your phone away, pull yourself together enough to go down there, and spend time with them. It’d probably do wonders for you to take a break from your phone, from social media, where it feels like everyone is living a better life than you would ever have. 

Your phone buzzes on your chest but you don’t bother to check it, still just listening the commotion from downstairs. Maverick has set the fire alarm off again. 

There’s a knock against your window, causing you to startle. With big windows that overlooked the ocean, birds would occasionally fly into the glass, but this was definitely more of a knock than a thud. 

You lift your head, catching sight of your boyfriend’s blonde hair shining in the setting evening sun, casting a warm orange glow over the room. 

“What the fuck?” You mutter to yourself, pulling yourself off the bed and over to window, pulling it open. He grins at you. 

“Pizza delivery.” 

You blink, staring at him. “How the fuck did you get up here? Why are you up here?” 

He shrugs. “A magician never tells their secret and you weren’t answering your phone. C’mon, come have a picnic with me.” He nods his head down to the sandy area just off of your back porch. You know it’s conveniently just out of sight for either of your Dads if they were to walk past the sliding glass doors. You sigh, shaking your head. “Give me two minutes.” 

He nods as you shut the window. You pad down the stairs, slipping into the kitchen for the bottle of champagne leftover from your grad party months ago. Maverick grins at you as you pull the bottle from the fridge. 

“Doing some day drinking?” He asks. 

“Something like that.” You say, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet. He eyes them. “In case, you know, I spill.” He nods, giving you an unconvinced look. 

“Jake’s outside, isn’t he?” He whispers. 

“Maybe.” You whisper back as your Dad emerges form the pantry. 

“What’re we whispering about?” He asks and Maverick gives him a grin. 

“About how I find you so sexy, baby-”

You groan, cutting the man off. “Gross, stop. I’m going outside to enjoy the sunset.” 

Your Dad nods, too preoccupied with Maverick. You’d tell them they better be careful or the food will burn again but it’d distract your Dad and you know Maverick is giving you an opportunity to get outside unquestioned. 

You slip out on to the patio, catching sight of Jake resting on the blankets he’s laid out, pizza boxes open in front of him. 

You set the champagne down along with the glasses, catching sight of the white box. You open it as he pops open the champagne, revealing the chocolate-covered strawberries. 

“Pizza and chocolate-covered strawberries? Thought you said the bar was in hell if this was romance.” You tease, sliding the box back across the blankets. He huffs out a laugh as you settle down on to the blankets. 

“Well, maybe I could be learning a thing or two from Troy Bolton.” 

-

Your head rests against Jake’s thigh, his head propped up near your feet. You feel warm, the alcohol and good food coursing through you as you watch the setting sun turns blood red at the horizon. Jake’s other hand is resting on your foot, thumb gently running over your ankle. 

“Thanks for doing this.” You say and he gives you a smile. A genuine one, not the lazy grins he usually he puts on for the rest of the world. 

“Anything for you darling.” He pauses for a moment, his movements on your ankle continuing. “But I do want to talk about why you’ve been so weird lately.” 

You shrug, shifting. “I’m just feeling weird, I guess. Call it a quarter life crisis or whatever, but I’m just feeling a bit strange.” 

“How so?” 

“I don��t know. I’m not where I thought I’d be at 22, which is so stupid because I have my whole life laid in front of me and yet I- I always thought I’d have my life figured out. I’d know what I want to do and where I’m going. I’d have my forever relationship and my forever group of friends. But I’m getting rejected from grad schools left and right, I’ve got no solid group of friends. I hang out with my pseudo-brother’s friends most of the time and work a job my Daddy got for me. I live at home, for Christ’s sake. And it’s not that I don’t enjoy being with you because I l-” You pause, cutting yourself off, almost reeling at the fact that you'd almost let the words slip out. 

You loved Jake Seresin but you were uncertain he loved you in return. 

“I do like being with you. But all my friends from school, they’re engaged or married and have solid careers or amazing grad school offers and best friends they have game nights with and weekly drinks and I don’t know, they fucking meal prep together. And it’s added on to the fact that I’m like sort of friends with Reuben now, who I always thought was so cool in high school. You know, he had that life. He went to the football games and had dates to dances and surfed and had friends to hang out with. Still does. And I’m realizing I’m sort of starting to grieve a life I didn’t have in high school. You know, a life I could’ve had if my life had been just a bit more stable. My Dad had his cancer treatments and my parents were locked into this nasty court battle over child support. Not even over me but how much money I was worth. Maverick was never around, Bradley too, and I’m just-” You squeeze your eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath. “I’m upset because I could’ve had that life in high school if I wasn’t busy taking care of myself and making sure I stayed alive. If I wasn’t busy trying to make it into college because I knew it was the only way I’d make something of myself, the only way I’d be worth something in my parent’s eyes.”

You sit up, the tears slipping down your face. “I feel like a failure. And even more than I feel like a failure, I’m angry at losing out on all I could’ve had but didn't get because of my parents.” Your voice is raw and wet as Jake sits up too, pulling you close to his chest. “My whole identity for so long has been about my academic success and now that the academics don’t want me, I have no idea who the fuck I am.” 

“I’m so proud of you.” He whispers into your hairline, pressing a soft kiss there. 

You hiccup. “How? I’m a mess.” 

He chuckles, pulling back slightly. “I’m proud of you because you did survive. I agree, it’s not fair to you that you had to raise yourself. I’m proud of you though because you got through all that and now you get this amazing opportunity to learn who you really are without all the books and smarts.” 

You shrug, glancing away from him. 

He sighs, cupping your chin. “Sweetheart, just because the academic success goes away doesn’t take away from how wonderfully brilliant you are. You are so intelligent, and I, for one, am so excited to see who you become in this next stage of your life. I think I’ve already gotten glimpses of her and I-” He swallows, pushing some of your hair away from your face. “I love her so fucking much.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as you look back to him. 

“I love you sweetheart.” He licks his lips nervously, eyes darting around your face as if trying to gauge your reaction. “I know this is probably bad timing but- but it sounds like you needed to hear it. And I know I don’t fix it or make it go away, but- I’m here.” A new wave of tears hits you and Jake pulls you back to his chest. “I know I’m not high school or prom or Stanford, but I-” 

“Jake, shut up.” You say, wiping at your eyes as you try to push the tears back. He snaps his mouth shut, falling silent, even as he hand falls to your waist to rub circles into your side. “I love you. So much, you have no idea.” 

He smiles. “Good to know.” 

You groan, wiping at your eyes again. “God, I ruined our date. I’m sorry.” 

“Sweetheart, no.” He says firmly, scooting back. “I’m glad you felt like you could talk to me about this. I get that it’s probably hard to voice and I’m happy to know you’re comfortable talking about these things with me.” 

You sniff, giving him a half-shrug. “Still-”

“No. None of that. C’mere.” He says, pulling you to his chest and then laying down on the blankets. “I love you, darling.” 

“I love you too.” You whisper back, nuzzling closer into him as he runs his fingers through your hair. You sit there for a while, the sun going from red hues to a dusky purple. 

“I have a question.” He asks.

“Go for it.” 

“Why did Reuben make that comment about not wanting to know my dick size?” 

You groan. 

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Prettier When You're Mine

Andy Barber x Reader

Author's Note: Slowly trying to finish a few of these ongoing stories.

Summary: One year into working with a young, bright and beautiful junior prosecutor, Y/n, who bears an almost uncanny resemblance to Andy’s late wife, Laurie, he finds himself developing feelings for her. Though, when she brushes off his advances, Andy proves that he’ll do whatever it takes to recreate his family.

Disclaimer: 18+ This work contains dark themes, including stalking, dub-con, infidelity and manipulation. Read at your own discretion.

Masterlist Playlist Chapter 5

Chapter 6

A trip to Andy's house to reclaim her lost ring causes tension between Y/n and James, and unveils some dark truths. Warning: dubious consent, SMUT/NSFW, coerced/forced sex. Please do not read if you are even remotely uncomfortable with any of these warnings.

Dumping the contents of her bag on the kitchen counter, Y/n hastily sifted through it. Compact, cell phone, a couple pens, a packet of tissues, wallet, loose change and no ring. “Shit, shit, shit,” she swore under her breath, on the verge of tears. It hadn’t been anywhere that she'd looked, not in her office, her coat pocket or even in the damn coffee cup she’d checked on a whim. Calls to the doctor’s office and the bus station as well as a visit to the coffee shop and the place that she’d bought lunch had also been completely unhelpful and Y/n was beginning to fear that the ring was gone for good. 

But it couldn’t be, not James’ mother’s ring. Precious family heirloom and the first material sign that she’d been accepted into their fold. 

For the millionth time that day, Y/n found herself asking; why me? Was it because she’d almost been willing to let things go too far with Andy? Because part of her wanted them to? Or was it because she’d gotten herself in a self-pitying funk over something she was supposed to have made peace with? 

Was it a sign that she simply didn’t deserve a man like James? 

Standing in the middle of their loft’s small kitchen, she didn’t feel like she did. Because how could she be deserving of him and still spend rare, private moments fantasizing about her boss- who had proven himself to be just like any other jerk in a position of authority. 

In retrospect, she should have seen the signs; his penchant for initiating physical contact, his apparent desire to know her on a personal level, his insistence that they work together. She couldn’t believe she actually thought he just saw potential in her- no strings, no expectations. 

“Babe?” Hearing the bathroom door open, Y/n worked quickly to clumsily repack everything into her handbag. She hadn’t told James that she’d lost the ring, and had spent the entire car ride home trying to hide her left hand.

“Yeah?” Y/n’s head snapped up and her frenzied gazed noted James standing near the foot of their bed, wrapped only on a towel, with his skin still damp and his hair dripping. “What?” Then, hearing the haste in her tone, she cleared her throat and tried again, “I mean….what’s up?” 

James’ lips fell again and he stuttered before continuing, “I was just gonna ask if you wanted to get Chinese,” he padded barefoot across the wood floor, “But I think I can ask you the same question.”

“If I wanna get Chinese….?”

“What’s up?” He quoted with emphasis, “Or better way; are you okay?” 

Sneaking a cautionary glance at her hand, Y/n dropped it at her side and didn’t dare make a move towards James. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Not believing her for a second, James shook his head and made the final steps towards her, rounding the kitchen counter so he could lay his wet hands on her shoulders, “No you’re not." He searched her teary eyes, worry pooling in his, “Did something happen at the doctor's?”

Sniffling as slow tears trickled down her cheeks, “I’ve just had a really rough day,” her voice broke pitifully and James didn’t miss another beat before pulling her against his chest. One hand cradled the back of her head while the other fell to the small off her back, and as she clung to his waist, she finally let a couple sobs break through.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" He probed gently. 

How was she supposed to tell him that she was irrationally insecure about them never being able to convince? Or that Andy had come onto her in a moment of vulnerability. Or that she'd lost his mother's ring.

"No," she whimpered, "Not yet. I just wanna….I just want to forget the whole thing." Forget that she'd always secretly want something she would never have. Forget that she'd lost a very expensive and precious symbol of their union. 

Forget that she was still thinking about what would have happened if she'd been brave enough to give in when Andy had come on to her. 

Forget that she was above betraying the man she loved. 

“Alright,” James murmured, kissing the crown of her head, “Well we don’t have to until you’re ready,” he added, lips still pressed to her hair. He was so good, so patient and she loved that. 

Andy was so brooding and dangerous, she liked that. 

Hugging James tighter, Y/n squeezed her eyes shut and tried to regulate her breaths; she didn’t deserve to cry about it when she’d come so close to acting on selfish impulse. They might have stayed like that for a while, if it were for her phone ringing loudly from where it sat on the counter. Sniffling loudly, Y/n pulled away and brushed her tears away with the sides of her fingers, “I should….” Trailing off, she moved towards the phone, sluming her shoulders when she saw Andy’s name on the screen, “Its my boss,” she reported sullenly. 

Coming to stand behind her, James rested his hand on her shoulder, “Just let it go to voicemail.”

Y/n sighed, “Its not that easy.”

“You don’t owe him anything,” James reminded before letting go of a heavy breath and reluctantly adding, “But if you feel like you need to then, I can’t stop you.” 

As James retracted his hand and started walking away, Y/n looked at Andy’s name on the screen and frowned as she glanced back up at her fiancee, “Don’t be mad, please.”

“Not mad,” he said, not looking at her as he tugged one of his drawers open, pulling out a pair of sweatpants, “Just….I’m worried about you, okay? This guy keeps you at the office at these weird hours and then today you come home crying.”

“What happened today has nothing to do with, Andy,” she lied, “He…he tried to help-”

“So you told him what was wrong but you didn’t tell me?” James knitted his brows, stepping behind the bamboo privacy screen that they kept near their wardrobe to get changed. 

By then her phone had stopped ringing and the screen had faded to black, “That’s not….I didn’t tell him. I was really vague about it-”

“Yeah, well all I got was you had a rough day,” stepping out from behind the screen in low riding sweats and a t-shirt, James moved to hang his towel on a rack they kept next to the bathroom door. 

“I…its complicated,” just then, her phone started ringing again, the urgency evident in the blaring tone, “I really have to take this,” Y/n snatched her phone off the counter and swiped the green icon. “Hey, what’s up?” Y/n answered cooly, defiantly matching eyes with James, whose gaze had hardened. 

“I have something that I think belongs to you.”

Knitting her brows, Y/n stuttered, “What?”

“Three carats-”

“You have it,” Y/n gasped; she must have lost it in the haste to vacate his office, everything had been so jumbled and messy, from her feelings at the time to the physical situation. 

“Yeah. Why don’t you come by and get it?”

Turning away so her back would be to James, Y/n drew in what she hoped would be a calming breath, “You’ve had it all day and said nothing?” She hissed as quietly as possible. 

“Well, let’s not get accusatory.”

“God,” Y/n suspired, “Are you at the office?”

“Of course not,” Andy sounded amused by the whole situation, like he was baiting her, and it made Y/n’s blood boil. “You should come get it, tonight. Wouldn’t want James to think you’re trying to seem like an available woman.”

Exasperated, Y/n sighed, “Yeah, well, I don’t know where you live.”

“I’ll send you the address now,” she heard the phone moving on his end of the line and then less than a minute later, her phone pinged with an incoming text. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

There was that name again, that involuntary thrill up her spine. 

Without another word, Y/n hung up and turned to James who was looking at her expectantly. “I have to go, some stuff came up late in discovery and its a lot so we’d have to start going through tonight to finish in time for Thursday.”

She wasn’t sure if James believed her, but he did play along, “Alright, well you should take the car,” he suggested and she was grateful that he didn’t offer to drive her. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, approaching her once more, that time grabbing the keys off the coffee table and pressing it into her hands from over the counter, “Go do your job, we’ll talk when you get back.”

Leaning over, Y/n smiled tightly and reached to cup his cheek with her free hand, “I love you,” she kissed him briefly, hoping to chisel away some of the lingering tension. 

James hummed softly, “Yeah, I know, I love you too.” When they broke, she grabbed her bag and coat quickly and hurried out of the apartment, letting a slow breath vacate her lips when she pulled the door shut behind herself; caught between being excited to see Andy again and combating worry over what would happen when they did. 

Stuffing the hand with the car keys into the pocket of her camel coat, Y/n inhaled deeply before bringing her fist to Andy’s front door. His house was nice, it was one of the first thoughts she had upon pulling up at the curb; it was kind of like the one she had in her mind when she thought about the perfect place to live; big enough to comfortably raise a family with a gable roof and big windows that made you wonder what was happening inside. It looked like something out of HGTV or one of those home and garden magazines- sweet and picturesque. 

“You came,” Andy determined when the door swung open. He was still half dressed from work; sleeves of his navy shirt rolled up to his elbows, black and blue tie from earlier gone and top two buttons of his shirt open. 

“Yeah,” she squared her shoulders and straightened her back, “Well I want my ring.”

Andy smirked and Y/n ground her teeth, “Its upstairs, come in and I’ll get it for you.” Y/n couldn’t tell if it was an invitation or condition but Andy didn’t leave room for explanation, instead leaving her to follow him as he turned and delved further into the house. 

The hall light was off, making the glow emanating from the kitchen up ahead to seem dim and ominous. Their shadows seemed bigger and in even in the low lighting Y/n could make out some of the framed photographs on the wall  and she slowed down to see some of them. She recognized the people, a woman and a teenage boy, from the one personal picture that Andy had in his office- a small, family portrait taken on what she'd assumed was a taken at a beachy resort, contained in a shiny gold frame. 

Mexico, he'd explained when he'd caught her staring once. The last vacation they'd taken before Laurie and Jacob's accident. 

It must have been so hard for him to lose everything like that, especially since he had no other family. Worst yet, he was still a social pariah; the things she'd heard around the office were brutal and they seemed to follow him around like a dark cloud. It was why she'd tried to befriend him when they'd started working together, no one should be that alone. 

But Andy had crossed a line.

Though, she hadn’t been very good at drawing one in the first place. Maybe she should have told him about James sooner. Maybe she didn’t want to. 

When they finally broke off into the kitchen, Y/n stopped abruptly and folded her arms defensively. Andy didn’t head upstairs immediately, instead he poured two glasses from an open bottle on the dark veined marble counter. “I think you’ll like this one,” he offered her the glass. 

Rolling her eyes, Y/n kept her arms folded, “I want my ring.”

“Have a drink,” Andy inched closer, causing Y/n to have to tip her chin to match his gaze. Swallowing a hitch breath, she tried to not react too much. He was so much bigger than her though, it was hard to keep the thrill contained. If the past couple months had taught her anything it was that there was a darkness that resided within Andy- behind the sad blue eyes and the strong silence was something akin to a tornado strong enough to rip an entire country to shreds. 

Dangerous and violent. 

And she liked it. 

“I don’t want one,” she countered definitely, his proximity chipping her resolve away. 

“I wasn’t asking, sweetheart,” Andy offered her the glass again, “Take it.” Reluctantly, Y/n relieved him of the glass but hesitated on taking a sip. Something might stir inside her when he was around, but it wasn’t trust. “Relax, I wouldn’t do that to you,” Y/n glared and in response, Andy downed his entire glass in one go, stepping away to fill it up again- that time a little more than the last. “See?” He took a generous swing, “I’m not that kind of guy,” he got close again, that time offering his glass for a toast, “To good men.” 

She’d called him a good man, that had aged pretty badly. 

“To good men,” she retorted sarcastically, taking a large sip of the wine. He was right, she did like it. 

“Do you like it?” Y/n could have been wrong, maybe she had a little too much faith in him, but his question seemed genuine. Like he was eager to know if he’d made the right pick. 

“Its alright,” the lie must not have been a very good one because Andy smirked. “I want my-”

“I know, finish your drink,” he gritted. Then, after polishing off his second glass at an alarming rate, Andy wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. With just the slightest stumble in his usually confident gait, he set the empty glass down with a thump and started walking towards the stairs, “I’ll go get you’re fucking ring,” he mummbled, leaving her downstairs without another word. 

Not thinking much of it, she took periodic sips of the wine. It was good, and judging by the label, it must have cost upwards of a couple hundred dollars, but it wasn't particularly strong- definitely not strong enough to get a man of his size drunk after two glasses.

That was when she put it together; the slightest scent of liquor on his breath when he’d answered the door, his outwardly aggressive behavior, the way he’d swallowed the wine like it was water- Andy was already drunk. He’d probably been that way since he’d called earlier. 

And he was obviously playing some kind of game with her. Laying a trap. Luring her to danger. 

On heavy steps, Andy returned downstairs about five minutes later, prowling towards her and prompting Y/n to absently inch backwards into the wall. “Your ring,” he held it up with a little, wicked grin. She put her hand out for it, but Andy took it instead, turning it over so her palm would be face down. Their chests were inches apart at that point and he kept his darkened eyes matched with hers, presumably in a defiant act above all else, as he slid the ring back onto her finger. “All better?”

Clenching her jaw, Y/n tried to pull her hand away but Andy tightened his grip and lunged; within the second his lips were on hers. Reacting instinctively, she kissed him back- it was completely impulsive, submission to a primal desire. She could taste the mixture of liquors on his lips and his kiss could have been as inebriating  as the poison he’d poured down his throat. She might have gotten drunk on him- she would have- But the minute she caught herself, deserting carnal yearning in favor of what was true and right, Y/n tried to use her free hand to shove him away. 

But he wouldn’t budge. 

Andy was solid, immovable. Like a gray stone wall or a bear boxing in its prey. 

She could feel a bulge pressing into her lower stomach, making it hard to focus

“Stop,” she fought against his lips, a frustrated noise escaping her lips when grabbed the wrist of the hand she as using to push against his chest. “You need to stop,” Y/n struggled against his hungry lips. It doesn't matter that she actually doesn't want him to, that she'd traded hours of sleep for fantasies that looked just like that. A moment where they'd be alone and he'd do things to her that James might be scared to.

But none of that mattered- they were fantasies and she was engaged.

When she attempted to use her legs against him- knee him in the groin or kick him in the shin- Andy reacted swiftly positioned both his legs between hers, consequently pressing his crotch against her.

“No,” he easily positioned her hands over her head, closing his fingers in around her wrists and pinning them to the wall above her head, rendering her defenseless. “You want this,” Andy snarled into her mouth, hooking his now free hand around the back of her thigh, guiding it harshly to his hip. “Say you want this.”

Wiggling against frantically, Y/n tossed her head back, hitting it on the wall, as she tried to tear her lips from his. “No, get off me,” she protested, voice rising above a harsh warning. 

Deserting her thigh, Andy brought his hand to her neck and held her like that for a moment, “We’re doing this,” he managed through gritted teeth, “I know you, you want this. All those nights we spent together, just the two of us. Everytime I asked you if you wanted to go home, what did you say?” He was squeezing her throat, applying enough pressure to limit airflow. 

“N–no,” it was getting harder to breathe and speak, and her vision was dancing  but something in the back of Y/n’s mind doubted that he genuinely wanted to hurt her, “I-I said….no.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re engaged?” He pulled her forward a little, only to slam her head into the wall again, though not hard enough to inflict any more damage than a sore spot. 

“Exactly,” Andy hissed, “You said no. We went on a fucking date and you didn’t tell me you were engaged.”

Hot tears were racing down her paling cheeks and Andy was beginning to seem more and more like a blur. “Because,” she gasped, desperately trying to suck in some air, “I…” A hitched sob punctuated her words, “I….I didn’t want you to know.”

She really didn’t. It was wrong, misguided and shamefully selfish, but at some point, Y/n had thought that bringing up her engagement would ruin the closeness that she so enjoyed with Andy. She enjoyed being the only person he opened up to, in a way, it felt like he was hers and as long as she kept her relationship with James hidden, nothing would change.

“Exactly,” he growled, seeking her lips once more, “You’ve wanted me exactly the way I’ve wanted you since that first case.”

A broken sob fell into his mouth and Y/n occasionally found herself punctuating her failing resistance with sloppily returned kisses. “I don’t wanna do this,” she cried weakly, breaths short and throat dry, “You don’t wanna do this,” halfheartedly, she kissed the corner of his lips and tried to turn her face away again, “You’re drunk, this isn’t you.” 

Pressing his forehead to hers, Andy chuckled and his grip on her neck loosened so he could flatten his hand on the top of her chest. She could feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of her dress as he dragged it slowly down her body, and as she got a clearer sense of where his hand was going, she was breathing quickly. “I promise you, sweetheart” he rasped, fingers creeping under the hem of her skirt, which had ridden up her thigh, “This is exactly me.” 

Pushing aside the crotch off her underwear, Andy slipped two of his digits into her folds and started pumping slowly. “See?” He taunted in response to the slickness that had gathered there shortly after she’d felt his member pressing into her stomach. Try as she might, it was impossible to deny the effect that Andy had on her and she hated that she did want him- a man like him, who was proving to be worse than the rumors. She hated that the only reason she was resisting was because she didn't want to be branded as a cheater. 

“You want this,” he coaxed, curling his fingers and extracting a sharp inhale, “Admit it sweetheart.”

Not because she loved her fiance- she did- but she didn’t want that love questioned. Not by Andy, not by herself. 

But love and sex, they were different. She could love James and want Andy. It wasn't wrong, it was just human.

His beard grazed her skin, and the sensation coupled with her mounting arousal made a shiver run up her spine. “Please….” Her plea was teary, and Y/n wasn’t sure what she was begging for; for him to spare her the consequence of a nasty truth or give her more. 

Biting down on her lower lip, Y/n hoped a little pain and blood on her tongue was enough to keep her mouth shut and ward off the obvious truth, but when his lips sought her jaw and he added another finger to his quickening ministrations while pressing his thumb to her nub, she succumbed. “Yes…” She heaved, sobbing, “I want you,” she cried, head bending forward and her face consequently nuzzling the side of his.

She was only human, after all.

Finally satisfied, Andy let Y/n’s wrists go and she immediately loomed her arms around his neck, holding him to her. Meanwhile, he removed his fingers from her arousal and started pushing her underwear down, letting it pool at her feet. Without thinking, she kicked it away and when Andy curled his fingers under her ass after sparing a bare moment to undo his pants and free his cock, she let him lift her off the ground and wrapped her legs around his waist. 

But when Andy slid into her with unfettered ease, girth stretching her to the point of a delicious burn, an erotic moan tumbled off her lips and her fingers curled in his nape. Immediately, he struck up a pace of pronounced but aggressive thrusts, giving off the sense that he was barely containing himself. 

She still felt guilty. Y/n still knew it was wrong. 

“Fuck….Laurie….” In the heat of the moment, her name dripped off his lips, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that it wasn’t even about her;

'Because you remind me of someone. Someone special.'

'Keep the length, try a couple shades darker'- just like the woman in the photographs. 

“I’ve been thinking about this since we met,” he admitted, liquor stained breath hot on her face and distracting her, “God, you feel so fucking good, you take me so well.” 

He felt good too. 

Steadying her at the hip with one hand, Andy used the other to free her blouse from the waist of her skirt. Delving under the hem, he groped her breast through her bra, kneading harshly. As the rhythmic roll of his hips grew rabid, Y/n found herself demanding, “Harder,” and, “Faster,” with the occasional obscene praise peppered in between. 

Reveling in the feel of his bulging veins rubbing her sensitive walls with each purposeful, aggressive thrust and the way the curve of his member seemed to probe at the lowest part of her stomach, Y/n sunk her nails into his back, clawing at Andy through his shirt. Breathy moans and low grunts bounced off the walls as stifling heat cocooned them, hardly remedied by the air conditioning. 

With each jerk, her back hit the wall with an audible thump and as Y/n felt herself inching closer to insurmountable gratification she tightened her legs around his hips, driving the back of her feet into his thighs. “Andy,” she hitched headily when his lips met hers again, not really in a kiss but a stretch of shared breaths. “Fuck,” Y/n heaved into his mouth, “You feel so….”

Grinning wickedly, he tried to meet her lust blown eyes but their faces were so close that it was hard. “Feel so….?”

“So-uh,” a small fraction of her was readily able to recognize that there was no coming back from the words she wanted to say. Her silly admission that he was the best she’d ever had. Y/n’s mind though had fallen into some kind of sex-crazed limbo, caught between what was inherently right and what felt incomparably good. 

“Tell me,” he demanded, kissing her roughly, biting her lips before pulling away a few centimeters.

“Good,” at the back of his head, she grabbed a fistful of his hair, causing him to bite her lips when they kissed again, “So fucking good.” Pressing her face close to his, the rise and fall of her chest became erratic and her heart was galloping in behind her ribs and she became acutely aware of just how close she was to toppling over with gratification. 

“I wanna feel you,” he encouraged, quickening his pace a little, fingers digging into her waist. 

The fabric of his shirt was crumpled in her grip and eager for release, Y/n struggled to buck her hips towards his. With a gasp, Y/n’s legs stiffened and her head lolled back against the wall. Unrestrained ecstasy started in a burst at her center, spreading like an untamed wildefire to electrify her every nerve. Clenching around him, her frame quaked and she drenched their thighs in silky moisture. She didn’t think it had ever felt like that; like watching fireworks on an LSD high or speeding on the freeway after a night of tequila shots. There was a rush she’d never experienced before, one she fittingly thought could only ever be achieved with drugs. “Andy! Fuck!” Her throat hurt and her words were loud and a little hoarse.

Andy’s pace didn’t falter through the crest of her euphoria, though just as her high settled, leaving behind a pleasurable sensitivity and colours on her vision, his hips sputtered. She should have pushed him away, begged him to pull out, but much too consumed by the threads of pleasure still running through her veins, Y/n clung to him as generous ribbons of his hot product shot into her. By then, he’d shifted his feet slightly and moved both his hands to hold onto her hip, as if he were keeping her in place so she’d take every drop of him. 

Even after it was over, Andy remained sheathed between her sore walls for a handful of slow moments. They kissed, lips taking on a leisured pace that time and Y/n leaned forward so he’d be supporting most of her weight. She could have sworn that every sensation in that moment was raw and amplified; the roughness of his beard scratching the area around her lips and tickling her palms, the fullness of him still settled inside her, the heat of his touch seeping through her blouse and the rhythm of his heart matching hers. 

Suddenly, she couldn’t remember if her heartbeat had ever matched James’. 

She hated that she was comparing them. He was a good man and Andy was…..Andy. 

Gingerly, he pulled out, and simultaneously, she untangled her legs from around him, knees almost buckling as her feet finally hit the ground. Shutting her eyes as she slumped against the wall, Y/n could hear the soft clink of his belt as Andy tugged his pants up, and while she made no effort to pull her skirt down, she could feel the fabric slowly creeping back to his proper place. 

When he lazily leaned forward, braced by one arm pressed to the wall diagonally over her head, Andy  reached out to ghost the  outline of her face with his rough fingertips, thumb tracing tear stains and then the shape of her kiss-swollen lips. His breathing was just as heavy as hers and it was only after his touch hand trailed down her neck and had reached the valley of her cleavage did he disturbed the heavy silence. “Can I tell you something?” His hoarse whisper elicited a pitiful whimper and shiver from her. His large hand skimmed the contour of her curves and settled to a firm grip on her waist, “You’re prettier when you’re mine.”

Mine. 

His. 

A hitched sob escaped her throat just as her guilt doubled; how could she? That time, when she pushed him away, Andy complied. There was so much she could say to him; curse him, lie and say she hated him, blame him but it would really only be words born from her own guilt and after he’d spent the past forty minutes or so ruining her, Y/n didn’t think he deserved the satisfaction. 

Sucking in a big breath to contain her shameful tears, she shuffled away from Andy, who didn’t even put a toe towards trying to stop her; she supposed it was because he’d already gotten what he wanted. Blindly, Y/n stumbled towards the door, letting herself out without a word and not bothering to shut it as she left. Approaching the car parked on the curb, Y/n rummaged through her coat for the keys and after she got them out, she shrugged off the coat using it to lap up some of the moisture on her face and neck before getting in. 

Immediately after getting the engine going, Y/n put down the windows and turned on the air conditioning, hoping the inescapable chill would do something for her appearance. Then reaching into the glove compartment, she hastily extracted a wad of napkins and did her best to clean up before discarding them on the passenger seat  and  grabbing up her phone. 

“I’m sorry about what happened earlier.”

“Drive safe. Text me when you get there.”

“Y/n?” 

“I get it if you’re still upset but please let me know that you’re safe.”

“Ordered your favorite for dinner. Waiting till you get here. I love you.”

“Shit!” Y/n banged the wheel with the side of her fist and hot tears rained from blurry eyes. She’d been at Andy’s for just over an hour. Trying to slow the erratic rise and fall of her chest and quiet her sobs, she quickly typed a response, telling James that she’d forgotten her phone in the car and would be home within the next half hour. 

Then, as she wiped her eyes and pulled off, hoping she could bring herself to face James by the time she got home. 

[dreamingofep]

Sinned Awakening Reimagined: Pt. 5 🩸

An AU Elvis fic

(Vampire!Elvis/ Vampire Austin! Elvis x reader)

Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Elvis is fighting his need for blood, making him weaker by the day. Then you walk into his life, making you the perfect target for his next meal. But an unknown force is making this more difficult than he expected... [Elvis' Perspective]

TW: Cussing, mentions of blood, angst, thigh riding

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: Hello everyone! Hope you enjoy this part as much as I do! I had this scenario in my head for a while and didn't know where to place it and finally made it work. I'm sure you all have noticed... but Elvis has very long legs... and his thighs are quite nice and strong... So my mind went places when I was watching TTWII a while ago and yea the rest of my thoughts are in here🫣 Anyway, please enjoy this next part!

If you'd like to start from the beginning, start here or Ao3! Hope you enjoy and message and comment what you think.

🩸

You were stubborn, he should have known. You wouldn’t come over without a fight. He thought it would be better if he didn’t surprise you and arrived at your apartment unannounced. But he was starting to think he had to do just that. 

He needed to get more blood for himself because he was too scared of losing control around you again. It wasn’t as fulfilling as he wanted it to be but it did make his thirst at least tolerable. 

He still needed answers about why you couldn’t be compelled. Or why he was so attracted to your blood… or more importantly, why he was so attracted to you. 

As he waited to hear if you would come over, he decided to try to look for answers in the books he had thrown around the penthouse. There were so many vampire legends to sift through. These books were written by people who experienced these occurrences firsthand and decided to write them down to help other vampires. 

Elvis turned to these books a lot throughout the years. He knew nothing of what it meant to be a vampire. The man who bit him, Raphael, basically left him for dead and didn’t tell him what he did to him. He just woke up with an intense desire for food but soon discovered it wasn’t food he craved; it was blood. 

He decided to start from the beginning, from the first vampire that ever existed. It was in Greece and the man was cursed to never see his love, only at night. Artemis gave him great hunting abilities, strength of the gods, and sharp fangs to drain the blood from beasts to write letters to his love. He was forbidden to touch her or even kiss her. While she lay there dying, he begged Artemis to make his love immortal. She agreed and let him touch her to drink her blood. This would kill her mortal body but from then on, her blood mixed with his would create immortal life for anyone who drank it. 

The story was incredible to him and made him envy that kind of love. He wanted someone to selflessly love and care for. He had read that story many times before but he just always thought it was too long ago for it to happen to him. He had met other vampires that were in love with each other but they were both turned when they met each other. They never knew each other when one of them was human. That’s what makes him so frustrated with this whole situation. 

He had to constantly remind himself you were human. It would never work. You were too fragile, too incompatible with him. Well, he knew that was a blatant lie. You two had enough attraction to make the world spin. You being human just wouldn’t work in the long term. He’d end up hurting you or worse. He was too fearful that his need for blood would end up making you despise him. The only way it would work was if he turned you. 

No! You’ve gone absolutely mad! He scolds himself. 

He had never had such a selfish thought. He couldn’t turn you just because he wanted you with him forever. That would be the worst thing he’s ever done. He’s given the choice to anyone he’s bit and made them seriously think about what it meant to be a vampire. He was never given that opportunity to contemplate what his decision might do to his life.

He felt a bit cheated that way. He was delirious and weak when Raphael bit him. He just remembers the excruciating pain of when his fangs tore into his skin. It felt like branding irons getting plunged into his skin. His bite was vicious and cruel. He had no mercy for Elvis and took his mortal life away without giving him a chance to think about what he was giving up. 

He swore to never be like that. He wanted to give the person a chance to think about this life-altering decision. Especially for you. You needed to make the decision if you wanted to be with Elvis like that. He wasn’t sure if your feelings were the same as he felt for you. That’s why he needed to talk to you. He needed to see if you felt the same or if he was too disillusioned by this all and needed to come to terms that you could never be his. 

He continues to sift through book after book, not getting a clear understanding of what he is going through. He read for hours and was about to give up for the night until he picked up the last book in the pile, making him stop in his tracks. 

There were a few instances where a vampire couldn’t compel a human. It was almost unheard of but there were instances of a vampire being so attracted to a human, they were all they could think about. Their blood almost called to them, luring them in to feed off of them. Elvis knew exactly how that felt. That’s how it was to be in the same room as you. This overwhelming need to be next to you or to be feeding on you. 

The text further explains that it was difficult to feed though, these kinds of vampires couldn’t compel them to feel any pain or have them forget about the bite. In this particular case, the vampire went to seek help from the oldest vampire he knew in the area. He asked how it could be possible to not compel a human and to be so astronomically attracted to them. 

The older vampire was shocked but understood what was happening. It was fate. Like the very first vampires on this earth, they were meant for each other. Bound to each other by the gods and by their blood. A soulmate. A chosen. 

Elvis drops the book on the table. No, it can’t be, this is a legend. These kinds of things don’t happen anymore. He had never met anyone like this. Granted, he had only been like this for little over a decade but still, no one uttered a word of something like this. The chances of this happening to him felt like lightning striking in a bottle. 

He had to breathe and think about this rationally. He needed to see you as soon as possible. He needed to know if these feelings he had were under false pretenses or if it was something more. Was it actually fate? Did something like that actually exist? Were you made for him and only him? 

He glances at the clock and sees it well past 2 am. This couldn’t wait though, he needed to see you now. He quickly gets dressed and rushes to the ground floor of the hotel. He gets in his car and speeds to your apartment. It would have been quicker if he ran but he thought this would be easier to get you in and back to the hotel. 

He pulls up to your building and turns the ignition off. It was very quiet over here compared to the liveliness of the strip. He walks up the stairs and straightens out his jacket, he wants to look as good as possible for you. 

He listens for you, seeing if you’re alone or not. You were and he breathed a sigh of relief. You were still up, sifting through a book it sounded like. At least you wouldn’t be woken up in the middle of the night by his visit. He grew nervous but he had to do this, he had to talk to you. 

He knocks on the door gently, not too harshly to frighten you. He hears your heart beat a bit faster, intrigued by who might be at the door at this time of night. He backs up from the door, wanting to give you as much space as possible to not startle you. 

You slowly walk to the door and the sound of the door unlocking makes Elvis hold his breath. He was afraid you’d slam the door in his face once you saw him. The door cracks open and you peek through the crack to see who it might be. Your heart stuttered when you saw him. You stood there frozen and looked at him shocked. 

“Hi honey,” he says low. The sound of his voice makes your heart beat louder, which he loved. 

You open the door a bit wider, “What are you doing here? How did you know where I lived?” You tremble. 

“I needed to talk to you, that’s all,” he explains, taking a few steps forward.

“I know, your men tried to get me to come with them to see you. You must have been crazy if you thought I was going to get in a car full of vampires,” you hiss.

He winces at your accusation. Yeah, that probably wasn’t the best idea.

“Well, I’m here now. I just want to talk to you,” he sighs. “May I come in?” He places his hand on the door frame, stretching his arm above his head. 

You huff, “Do you have to be invited in, is that how it works?” You say as you roll your eyes. You were testing his patience. He didn’t want to play any more games with you. He was here to talk to you and figure things out. His hand squeezes frustratedly on the doorframe, making the wood make a cracking sound. You freeze and look up at him nervously. He presses his lips together and takes a deep breath to recollect himself.

“No, I don’t need to be invited in. But I’m trying to be better and not be so forceful with you” He growls. You shake your head at him and your eyes lower.

“You can come in,” you say softly, as you open the door wider for him. 

He steps inside and he still smells that other man’s scent in here. He wasn’t here that long ago and his scent was stronger than last time he was in the apartment. It pissed him off but he had to hide the fact he was in here before and act like it didn’t bother him.

He stands in the living room, inspecting you as the door closes behind you and you turn the lock. You turn to face him and your entire body language is closed off. He could tell you were still nervous but you tried to fight it. You look at him a bit closer, furrowing your brow when you do.

“What’s wrong with you?” You ask bluntly.

He’s taken back, not understanding your harsh tone.

“What are you talking about?” He says gently.

“You look… sick… your eyes are so dark and there are hallows in your face,” you say a bit wary.

He hardly ever bothered to look at himself in the mirror. He hated his reflection for years now. He always knew he’d see that monster staring back at him. And the last week without you, he knew he’d look the same. A sad, weak, pathetic excuse for a man.

“Yeah, well… I haven’t been feeding so…” he says 

“Oh.”

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I saw you at my show,” he says slyly. 

Your cheeks flush and you look away from him. 

“Yes I was there with a friend that wanted to see you,” you say flatly. 

“And you didn’t want to see me?” He asks smartly. 

“No, not really. I’ve seen you enough times to last me a lifetime,” you snap.

Thumpthumpthump thump…

You were lying right to his face. He couldn’t help but find it amusing. 

“You’re lying,” he growls. 

You stand there frozen, knowing he’s right. 

“I-I don’t know-,” you stammer.

“I hear your heart pounding away when you’re fucking lying to me,” he seethes.

You stay quiet, nerves shooting through you. 

“You just make me nervous. I can’t think straight,” you mumble.

“You have no idea how much worse it is for me just being around you,” he hisses.

A silence forms between you two and he tries his best to calm himself down. He didn’t want to scare you off again. He had to reign in on his emotions the best he could.

“Who lives here?” he asks you.

“How can you?…” you ask confused.

“It reeks like a man in here,” he says through his teeth.

You straighten out your posture and walk closer to him, crossing your arms when you step in front of him.

“My fiancé lives here, why do you care?” You snap.

“Because I don’t like you being with another man,” he snaps. He freezes when he registers the words that just came out of his lips. It was so uncalled for. He didn’t expect himself to say something like that out loud.

“You don’t have the right to say such things to me!” You yell, “You don’t know anything about me!”

“I don’t care, I don’t like it. He can’t take care of you the way I can,” he fumed.

Your face was in shock, you couldn’t believe the things he was saying to you. He couldn’t either in all honesty. He was telling the truth though. The very idea of another man near you made his blood boil. You remain quiet, looking at him with disgust.

He knew it was pointless, but he needed to try anyway. He wanted to try to compel you. Maybe his strength was strong enough to make you forget everything that’s happened. 

“Sit down,” he commands, pointing to the couch behind you.

You look at him with shock, his blunt tone clearly upsetting you. 

“What? Why are you talking to me like this!?” You rasped.

Elvis audibly grunts with frustration, hating that he can’t do the one simple thing of compelling a human to forget about his existence. He was so weak for your blood that he couldn’t function properly!

“Can you please not be difficult and just listen to me!” He snarls.

“No, I don’t have to do anything for you!” You hiss. 

That was it for him. He needed to put you in your place.

His patience ran dry and was tired of your attitude.

He picks you up and quickly sits you down on the couch. You gasped at how quickly he moved and how tight his hands were on your arms. Your eyes bored into him and you tried to wiggle out of his grasp to no avail.

“That’s enough,” he growls. “I need you to listen and answer me,” he scowled.

You take a deep breath before you speak and stare into his dark eyes. He petrified you but he sucked you in regardless of what your instincts told you to do when you were around him.

Run as fast as you can...

You don’t though, something was keeping you there with him.

“I need your honest answer. You know I can tell when you’re lying,” he says as he glances at your chest. You hold your breath and nod your head at him. The grip he has on your arms doesn’t let up and your skin melts into his so effortlessly. He needed to focus and get back to why he was here in the first place.

“What did you want to know?” You ask low.

“Do you have feelings for me? Are you, attracted to me even if your instincts tell you not to be?” He asks you.

Your face looks a bit shocked and you can’t form the proper words right away.

“No,” you say quietly.

THUMPTHUMP THUMP THUMP…

He growls when he hears that loud, tempting sound come from your chest.

“I told you not to lie,” he says through his teeth.

You take a shaky breath when you hear his tone and see he’s not playing games. You still try to wiggle out of his grasp but he doesn’t let you move. Your eyes well with tears and you struggle to breathe normally.

“Yes… yes, I do feel something for you. I don’t know what it is but I-, I can’t help it. Everything tells me to run when I’m near you but you’re like a magnet. You pull me in every single time without even trying. It's so frustrating! You are probably the most lethal creature on this earth and there is nothing I want more than to be near you. It’s stupid and reckless of me,” you stammer.  

He stares at you intensely, feeling the same way for you.

“And I can’t fathom what I did with you. I can’t believe I begged for you! You’re a vampire, a soulless creature and I’m a human! We should have never done that,” you scold.

“But we did and it only made us more inseparable,” he says low.

“I can’t be with you Elvis, it would never work. We're not meant to be together,” you tell him.

He hated that prospect. Living away from you has been torturous enough this week. He needed to be near you, protecting you everywhere you go. He had to be the one to take care of you in every way you needed.

“It can, I think it can,” he tells you.

“How?! You have said it yourself you can barely be around me without wanting to suck me dry,” you hiss.

“I want you,” he growls.

“No, you don’t! You want my blood and that’s it!” You scream at him.

He hit his boiling point again, he couldn’t hold back any of his feelings. He stands up and turns away from you.

“You have no idea what it’s like for me,” he snarls, slowly turning back around to face you.

“Since you have walked through my door, you have been the only thing on my mind. I can’t go on with my day without feeling empty inside and the only thing I want to make me whole is you,” he confesses.

You sit there stunned, not expecting him to be so blunt about his feelings. He can tell you’re trying to make sense of all of this but you can’t. You’re from different worlds and don’t belong in each other’s.

“You can’t-… you can’t have me, Elvis. I can’t be in your world, you don’t need me,” you say insecurely.

“You can if you want to be. That’s all I want,” he admits.

“And until you get bored of me and find someone else, you’ll see that this was all for nothing,” you say frustratedly.

He walks back to the couch and sits next to you, legs touching, making you both sigh heavily.

“I will never get bored of you. That’s the thing, there is no one like you,” he says as he eyes you up and down. He grabs ahold of your hand and your whole body freezes at his touch. He rubs small circles on the back of your hand and he can feel you melt by the way he’s touching you.

“Honey, you have no idea how I crave you. In every single facet. There has not been a day that has gone by where I don't miss your very presence. I miss the sound of you breathing and the way you say my name,” he breathed.

“Elvis please,” you say shaking your head, your cheeks burning.

“Mhmm, like that… that’s just music to my ears,” he hums. “I crave other things too… like you naked in my bed,” he coos. He watches you bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to show him how much you liked that too.

Your heartbeat rose and fluttered away as he spoke.

“I’ve missed having you there. The way we fit together perfectly… that’s just something I can’t get out of my mind,” he sighs, leaning a bit closer to you. You take a shaky breath and can’t look at him. If you looked at him you might just be done for. He puts his hand through your hair and rests at the base of your neck, making you look back at him. "I can't get enough of you. Just the sound of you moaning when I'm deep inside you makes me hard if I think about it for too long," he says low, leaning in to place a kiss on your neck. You gasp and squeeze onto his thigh.

“You miss me too, don’t you?” He says softly, licking his lips when he looks back at you.

You looked at him drunk, fighting everything he was saying but he could see right through it.

“Yes, I miss all of that. All of you,” you whimper as you squeeze your hand tighter on his leg.

“There might be a reason why this is happening… why we feel so strongly toward each other. The way I can’t compel you…the powerful attraction I have for you… it’s because of something stronger than us… it might be fate pulling us in,” he says.

“What?” You say shocked.

“There’s legends of this kind of thing happening to vampires before. The way they couldn’t compel them, the way the attraction they felt for them the first time they ever saw them. How their blood called to them like a siren. Their blood is the only thing they ever want to drink to keep them satisfied… that’s what I’m dealing with. I crave only your blood. I’ve tried to drink other’s blood while you've been away and it’s never enough.” 

“I think that’s what has been wrong with me the whole time, why I can never control my thirst or get enough. It's because I needed you. You are the only one who can satisfy me. You are my missing piece,” he coos. He wanted to kiss you, he wanted to feel those soft lips crash into his and feel on cloud nine.

“Elvis… it can’t be,” you say in a daze, “these things just don’t happen. I’m human, I will die one day and you’ll walk this earth sad and miserable again,” you try to reason.

“It won’t be that way because… I’ll have to turn you one day. I don’t think I can live without you,” he confesses. 

You get up from the couch to get away from him, too shocked over this revelation. He feared this is how you would react. It wasn’t easy to hear. He was telling you your whole life has changed just because you walked into his penthouse. 

“No! No, I can’t become like you! I can’t do that!” You say petrified.

“I’m not asking you to want to be changed now. I’m not evil like that. I’ll still give you the choice of when you want to be bitten,” he says gently.

“Never! I never want to become like you! Fate or not, I can’t be yours,” you say exasperated.

Thump thump thump…

He flashes his eyes at you and smirks. That wasn’t completely truthful. Despite your fear, something enticed you and your fluttering heart gave it away. He gets up slowly, making you back up against the wall with apprehension. He stands in front of you, placing one of his hands above your head on the wall, and looks at you hungrily.

“I know this isn’t easy… but you like the idea of being mine, don’t you?” He purred. 

You swallow harshly and look up at him weakly. Your breathing hitches and you can’t get the words out you want to say. Elvis takes a step closer to you, the magnet that attracted you two together was pulling him in. 

“Tell me,” he whispers. 

You look away from him, not wanting to give him that satisfaction of hearing such things from your lips. He carefully puts his hands around your waist and squeezes you softly. He feels your body stiffen and then relax because of his touch.

“Please tell me,” he asks again.

You continue to stay silent, not budging. He takes one more step closer to you and the top of his thigh is in-between your legs. His thigh pushes up against your core and you gasp when you feel him touching you. You look back at him in a bit of shock, unable to hide that you like his body on yours a bit too much. He wants the truth out of you. He needed to know he wasn’t crazy and you were feeling the same way he was. 

“Why do you want to fight me, honey? You know I’ll give you anything you ever wanted,” he coos, gently pushing his thigh against your core more. You sigh at him and look down at where his leg is. His hands are still on your hips and he starts to gently rock your hips against his thigh, making your core grind on him. You let out a deep groan and look back at him in shock.

“Goddamn it, Elvis please,” you bleated.

He smirks at you and your whiney tone, “What is it, honey?” He asks innocently, moving your hips some more. You grab onto his shirt and ball it in your fist.

“You make me weak,” you groan.

“I know, I feel the same way. I can’t say no to you,” he breathed.

You try to pull him closer and he suddenly feels your hips move on their own, loving the friction against your core.

He keeps his hands on your hips, guiding you as you continue to groan with how good this feels.

“Do you want me? Do you want to be mine?” He asks you again.

You softly whine and look at him helplessly. You gasp every time he grinds you onto his thigh more. You let your head lean back against the wall and look up at him with heavy eyes. He couldn’t get enough of how you looked when you were turned on. He felt his cock get hard just watching you get off on him.

“Come on baby, say it,” he begs you. You press your lips together and hold back the whiney moan that forms in your throat.

“I-I can’t,” you stammer.

“You know you want to. You like the very idea of it. I heard how excited you got,” he says as he puts his hand on your chest. The loud patter of your heart beats against his hand and makes him hum contently. 

“And look at yourself, grinding on me trying to get off. I know you want me. I just want to hear it,” he teases. Your hips roll onto him with his tempting words and you cry out frustratedly.

“Yes I want you,” you whine, “I want you so much, it kills me. I shouldn’t want you this much but I do. I want you all the time. I want to be yours,” you professed.

He sighs delighted, loving the words that just left your lips. He leans in and kisses you passionately, groaning when he feels your eager lips meet his. You both were a mess, grabbing and holding onto each other for dear life. You run your hands through his soft hair and try to pull him in as close as possible. You moan into his mouth as he moves your hips more, trying to get you to finish. 

You break the kiss and moan his name, breathless and needy. He watches as your eyes flutter and your brow furrow together as your body tenses on him. 

“That’s it, baby, let me see you cum,” he coos. You groan and hold onto him tight, letting your orgasm rip through you. You cuss his name and pant for breath. He loved watching you like this. You looked so sexy and perfect in every way.

He lets you calm down a bit before going to kiss you again. There was something about the way you kissed him this time that made him feel aflame. Like you were truly meant to fulfill him. He takes his leg away from your core and pins you to the wall with his body. You instantly groan when you feel his hard length pressing into you. He ravages you with his kisses, starting from your lips, then your cheeks, to your neck, and down to your breasts. God, he missed doing this to you. He wanted to cover every inch of your body with his kisses and lick his favorite part of you. His hands roamed your clothed body and wanted so badly to feel your warm skin on his.

He briefly pauses and picks you up, carrying you to the bedroom. He doesn’t stop kissing you until he sets you down on the edge of the bed. He goes to close the door and lock it, starting to unbutton the shirt off of himself. You look at him apprehensively, not sure what he was going to do with you.

“What baby?” He asks innocently.

“What are you going to do with me?” You ask as your eyes trail down his body.

“Oh me? I’m not going to do anything. You, however, are going to ride me until the sun comes up. How does that sound?” He says peeling his shirt off of his body and standing back in front of you, giving your forehead a kiss.

You take a sharp breath in when you feel his lips on you again and stare at him in complete shock at his request. 

“I umm… it’ll be hours before the sun comes up,” you quavered, your fingertips brushing along his chest.

“Good thing I never get tired,” he says deviously.

🩸

*

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Tagging:

@neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @theresalwaysep

@sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog

@myradiaz @tacozebra051

@flwrs4aust @emma181873

@austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything. @ohjustpeachy_

@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony.

@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rimartin11@that-hotdog.

@louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777ep1938

@50sexyshadesfashionista

@oldhOllywOod @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs @sloppiest-of-jos

[lulublack90]

Prompt 15 - Smart

@jegulus-microfic August 15, Word count 744

Previous part First Wolfstar part

Regulus can’t believe he didn’t think of it himself. He was in Slytherin after all. He'd seen that portrait nearly every day for seven years and yet a Gryffindor had come up with the incredibly smart idea of asking the portrait of one of the most famous wizards in Britain for help with the locket. 

“When can we go?” Regulus says excitedly. If he had been his brother, he’d have been jumping off the walls by now, but luckily he wasn’t and had more decorum than to run amok like Sirius would have. 

“I need to get a message to Dumbledore so he knows I’m coming.” James scratched his head as he thought. He pulled out his wand and was about to recite the enchantment when Regulus interrupted him. 

“What do you mean you? We’re both going. You are not leaving me here with Flitsy,” Regulus argued. If James Potter thought he could go waltzing off and take all the glory for himself. 

“Love,” James started gently. Regulus steeled himself, ready for whatever lame excuse James was about to try him with. “Everyone thinks you’re dead. You’re only safe while everyone keeps believing that. The second Voldemort finds out you’re still walking about, he’ll stop at nothing to get to you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Regulus scoffed, folding his arms across his chest and turning his head petulantly. 

“Against someone who’s basically immortal?” James questioned, his eyebrow raised. Regulus sighed. He had a point. 

“But Salazar's more likely to give information to me. Isn’t there a way for me to get in without Dumbledore or any of the professors needing to know I’m there?” He asked, his mind already sifting through all the possible spells he could use. James groaned, which made him look up. It was an exasperated groan, something Regulus had never heard from James. James dragged his hand down his face and groaned again. 

“I have a way that will keep you hidden better than any spell.”

“You’d better not be about to transfigure me into a mouse or something,” Regulus warned, pointing his finger at him. James huffed out a laugh. 

“No, love, something far better than that. But you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone about it.” Regulus agreed instantly. He was intrigued by what James could possibly have that could fool the protection spells surrounding the castle. 

“Accio, cloak!” James called into the house, pointing his wand in the direction of his bedroom. Something silvery floated across the room like a partially hidden ghost. But when it landed in James’s hand, Regulus couldn’t see it any more. “This is one of the things that made the marauders so successful at getting up to mischief while we were at school,” James said before he disappeared. He was standing there one second, making his speech, and then he'd vanished. Regulus blinked hard, looking around the room to see where he’d gone. 

“James?” He asked the empty room. 

“Yes, love,” James’s voice came from behind him, startling Regulus. He jumped and spun on the spot to see nothing but thin air. 

“Where are you?” He said suspiciously. 

“Right here, love,” James’s arms were around his waist, pulling him under a heavy cloak. It clicked then what James had in his possession. 

“An invisibility cloak,” Regulus said in awe, reaching out and running his fingers over the fabric. “Where did you get this?”

“Family heirloom passed down over the years. I’ve no idea where they got it, but it’s mine now.” Regulus could hear the smugness in James’s voice. 

“And this will get me in and out of Hogwarts undetected?”

“Yup,” James popped his p. 

James took the cloak off of them and carefully folded it. He raised his wand again. “Expecto Patronum!” He called, casting the patronus charm. Regulus took a step back as the giant silver-blue stag erupted from the tip of James’s wand. The great beast bowed his head to them, his antlers dipping to eye level. “Tell Dumbledore that I need to come to the castle. It’s of the utmost importance. I need access to the Slytherin Common room as soon as possible,” James finished his message and the stag raced from the room on its way north to Scotland. “Here, you’ll need this as soon as we get the okay,” James said, holding out the invisibility cloak. Regulus took it with trembling fingers. This was it. The fight against Voldemort had truely begun.

Next part

[hoonzluv]

HEART’S ECHOES - NISHIMURA RIKI

chapter 5: goody-two-WHAT?

yn sat alone in the study room, surrounded by books, papers, and notes. she had reserved the room for the tutoring session but felt a bit nervous. even though she had told her teacher she was happy to take on the task, she wasn't entirely sure how it would go.

suddenly, the door opened, and ni-ki walked in, his backpack slung over one shoulder and a carefree expression on his face.

"hey," he said with a light smile.

"hey," yn replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "how are you?"

"i'm good, i guess. a bit tired from classes, but good. you?"

"i'm good too, thanks. so, what do you want to study today?" yn tried to keep a professional tone, wanting the session to be as productive as possible. "i have these papers for us to go over." she pointed to a stack of neatly organized notes. "these are my class notes. i also have my personal notes if you need something more specific."

ni-ki sat down across from her, pulling out a notebook and a pen from his backpack. he seemed a bit lost, like he didn't know where to start. "uhm, well, i think what i'm struggling with the most is math. i don't get any of the stuff from the last unit."

"perfect, let's start with that," yn said, sifting through her papers until she found the math notes. "i've got everything we've covered so far right here. if you point out what you don't understand, i can help you better."

as yn spoke, ni-ki found himself staring at her for a moment. he'd never really paid much attention to her before, but a few days ago, when they were texting about the session, he had seen her profile picture and realized how pretty she was. now, seeing her in person, he confirmed it. yn was strict and structured, sometimes a bit stubborn, but she had a dedication and passion that he was starting to admire.

ni-ki flipped through his notebook, showing a page full of equations and messy notes.

"it's this part about derivatives. i don't get when to use which rule, and i always mess up the steps."

yn looked at the page and nodded. "okay, let's start with the basics." she grabbed a marker and began writing on a whiteboard mounted on the wall. "there are three main rules you need to know: the power rule, the product rule, and the chain rule. i’m going to explain each one, and then we'll do some exercises together."

“wow, you’re such a goody-two-shoes, ynki teased, grinning at her. “always so prepared and organized. how do you do it?”

“oh, it’s easy,” she replied with a hint of sarcasm, “just years of practice being responsible while others slack off playing with balls.”

ni-ki’s grin faltered for a moment, feeling slightly offended by her comment. “yeah, well, not all of us are perfect,” he muttered, trying to brush it off.

as yn explained, ni-ki paid attention, though he occasionally scratched his head in confusion. she made sure to go step by step, pausing to check that he understood each concept before moving on.

"does that make sense so far?" yn asked after explaining the first rule.

"kind of, but i still feel a bit lost," ni-ki admitted.

"that's okay, it's normal at first. let's practice some examples together." yn wrote an equation on the whiteboard and asked ni-ki to try solving it using the rule they had just reviewed.

ni-ki took the marker and started writing, hesitant at first but growing more confident as yn gave him little nudges of encouragement.

"exactly, that's correct." yn smiled when ni-ki finished the equation. "now let's do another one, but this time using the product rule. remember, the key is to identify the parts of the function and apply the rule correctly."

the session continued this way, with yn patiently guiding ni-ki through different problems. after a while, she noticed that he was starting to grasp the concepts better.

"how do you feel now?" she asked after they solved several exercises together.

"better, definitely. i think i'm starting to get it," ni-ki said, smiling slightly.

"i'm glad to hear that." yn returned the smile. "we can review this as many times as needed. i also have notes on other units if you need help with something else."

"for now, i think this is enough. but i'll definitely need more help with math and maybe with chemistry too."

"perfect, i'm here to help with whatever you need." yn gathered her papers and organized them again. "next time, we can focus on chemistry if that works for you."

“yeah, that sounds good. thanks, yn."

"you're welcome, ni-ki. see you at the next session."

as ni-ki left, yn felt an unexpected relief. he first session had gone better than she expected, and although there was still a lot of work to do, she was confident they could achieve good results together and so she will be able to have one more thing in her extensive school record.

prev - m.list - next

note from now on the chapters will be based on different weeks because i need the story to progress... this stressful to do but i enjoy it XD

©  hoonzluv all rights reserved. 2024.

[whumped-by-glitter]

Chapter 1, Part 5: "You Passed"

⚠️ CW: Institutionalized Slavery, Dehumanization, Food Whump, Poisons, Starvation, Degrading Self-Talk, ANGST..... Please let me know if I missed anything.

As always, thank you @3-2-whump for beta reading. You're the real MVP for sifting through all of my run-ons and the endless back and forth of ideas... Thanks for the feedback and ideas to @aloafofbreadwithanxiety and @generic-whumperz as well!

Story Under The Cut

Masterlist

⏮️ Previous

The Mutt stayed back a moment, still savoring those two small words. Once he evened himself, he too walked out of the room. He had an hour with no specific orders. The dog already knew what he was going to do with it.

He snuck past the living area, making sure not to be seen by Balor. This wasn’t too much of a task though, Balor was dense, and Dog was quiet.

He had plenty of practice from that time his master accidentally left him on orders of complete silence for almost a year. For almost a year, any time he so much as stepped too hard the bands would tear into him. Ever since then he’s been hyper aware of every sound he made.

Easy as sugar tree bake, he was past. He first went to the kitchens and grabbed mostly fruits and raw vegetables. Those would probably go unnoticed and be the easiest to explain if they didn’t.

Dog didn’t even need to look for Boy. The boy was in the back kitchen washing dishes. The gut-wrenching realization hit him, as a flash of anger had to be tamped down. They put the starved child to work in the kitchen.

The mongrel took hold of Boy’s wrist and led him downstairs, down the marble staircase to the wine cellar.

“Eat,” he urged, shoving the food at him.

“But won’t we………”

Dog cut Boy off, “I’ll take full responsibility, just eat, please.”

“T-thank you.” Boy slid down the wall, too exhausted to argue and scarfed down the meager meal. “You’re not going to have lunch?”

Dog’s stomach churned, food would probably help the poisons, but his master hadn’t said he could. “No, Master needs me back in an hour, I don’t want to feel weighted down,” he replied smoothly.

Boy nibbled at a carrot as the dog felt him analyzing him, “What is it he is always pulling you away for anyway? You have been holed up in that room for hours this morning.”

“You know better than to ask,” the Mutt replied. He changed the subject quickly, “You should come up with a hair style this evening, you could use a haircut.” The others didn’t need to know about the poisons, he especially wanted to protect Boy from the truth. A truth Boy himself narrowly missed. He pushed down the bitter memories of his 10-year-old self with the 3-year-old version of the kid in front of him.

Boy paused for a moment then agreed, “It is getting long, isn’t it?” He played a bit with the short braid the dog hastily put it up in this morning.

Dog nodded, “Mmmhmm, I’ll ask master for some scissors and a razor later. Now eat, and seriously, don’t worry about the consequences, I’ve got it covered.”

“I’m eating, I’m eating,” the boy chuckled a bit.

The sound filled the dog’s chest with warmth. He didn’t fully understand it, but it felt nice. He wanted to always protect that warm sound, since the first day he heard it all those years ago. Dog patted his cheek a bit before putting his mask of void back on to go back upstairs. He wouldn’t want to mess up and act like something other than a tool in front of his master. The thought came forward somewhat more resentful than expected.

The dog reentered the familiar room and was instantly hit with the smell of food. His stomach growled loudly, but he pushed the hunger pain away and sat in his usual seat. His posture was rigid as he slowed his breathing to prevent extra movement, he rested his arms on the metal plates, ready to be restrained, should his master desire it.

He kept his gaze on the floor, analyzing the familiar tiles in front of him. The faded blue green stone caught the afternoon light from the window, making them glimmer a bit. When he looked carefully, he could occasionally see the small fossils of snails and tiny crustaceans long dead. He vaguely wondered, as always, what their life may have been like before they became trapped in stone. ‘Was it happier life than my own?’

The door opened loudly, startling him. The sound snapped the dog’s attention back to the present. His master strode in, placing a table in front of him once again. He inwardly flinched; this meant more poison. ‘Probably’ he thought glumly, answering his own question about the snail.

His master sat a tiny portion of food in front of him. “Eat it.” He said simply.

The mutt complied, slowly, thoughtfully holding it in his mouth. He knew better than to wolf the food down by now, no matter how hungry he might be. A flavor arose from the bit of casserole, a flavor that did not quite belong, proving his instincts correct. It was slightly bitter, maybe a little sour? That could be the cream though. It was barely there against the other flavors of the casserole. There was also a slight musty taste to it, that was the giveaway.

“Lim,” he said measuredly, keeping his tone neutral. Lim was a root, similar to a potato, which made it easy to hide in a dish such as this. “Lim is a slow acting poison. It has to be fed to the victim over days or weeks. By the time it’s noticed there is no way to treat it.”

This went on dish after dish. Some were mixed with several poisons in one dish. The end was in sight when another potato dish was sat in front of him. He tested, he instantly found the Lim, but he continued to hold it in his mouth, careful not to assume that’s the only poison in it. Soon his tongue started going numb, there was another poison.

“Lim and Caecus,” he announced, voice shaking slightly. Poison resistance did not mean he had complete immunity; he was fast reaching his limit.

His mast still said nothing. Nothing…. He deeply wanted was praise…. The poisons hurt, he felt like he swallowed knives and needles…. Yet another dish was sat in front of him, a dessert. Finally, it was almost over….

He bit into sample of cherry bar. It was tart, as expected with cherry, but there was a sourer tone to it. There was an exceptionally sour smell emanating from it as well. “Balla wood berry.”

His master added the dish to the stack on the tray and walked out without saying a word. The dog choked back the sick feeling building inside of him. He knew this was the only food he was going to get today and was desperately trying to keep it down. His master also usually punished him for getting sick after taking poisons, he wanted so bad to be good. He badly wanted his master’s approval; it would make the sick feeling much better.

Finally, his master came back in. The dog clinched his jaw with nerves, barely containing a flinch as he listened to his master’s footsteps cross the room to him. He found himself holding his breath as he walked in the front of him.

“Mutt…” his master passed, as if looking for the words, “You passed. You have correctly identified all of the poisons, even under stress.”

His master sounded pleased, his master has never sounded so pleased… the dog’s eyes began to water involuntarily, getting touched with the ring was just part of the test. He wasn’t bad after all!

“Good boy, I’m proud of you.” His master patted his cheek with a gloved hand, “as a reward I’ll let you go back to your quarters early.”

The mutt began to tear up, he’d never in his life had ever been told someone was proud of him, let alone his master. This was well beyond the praise he had hoped for. He completely forgot about being sick. The emotions welled up inside of him, threatening to overflow. He decided he would ask for the hair cutting supplies later and stood, immediately dropped to his knees in a reverent bow.

“T-thank you Master,” he replied, pushing his voice to be as flat as possible.

His master did not respond, instead the Tallisian turned and walked out of the room, leaving the Mutt alone.

When his master was out of ear shot, he let himself overflow. “This slave, this mutt, he was good!!!!” he yelled as loud as his ruined throat let him. “He made Master PROUD!! PROUD, Master was PROUD!” he sobbed, it was so surreal to hear those words. He just sat on the floor sobbing. Something strange happened, his lips stretched, his face felt weird…. Was this what a smile felt like? He sat on the floor of his master’s office, grinning and sobbing like a fool. He didn’t usually talk in the third person when he was alone, but it just felt right. He was finally a useful tool. He had made his master PROUD.

Next 🔜

Masterlist

@whumpsandbumps, @whumperofworlds, @skittles-the-whumpee, @wounds-seen-and-unseen, @emptycalories-splitlip

@pigeonwhumps, @i-eat-worlds, @starfields08000, @onlywhump, @snakebites-and-ink

@turvuren, @whumps-and-bumps, @paingoes, @spectral-whumpy-writer, @vampiresprite

@whumping-in-the-dark

As usual, just let me know if you want to be added or removed from my taglist.

[bakuliwrites]

WIP Wednesday

Hello, everyone! I am finally feeling better after a good long week of being super, duper sick. Thank you so so much to the talented @elinorbard and @kalmiaphlox who have tagged me in Snippet Sundays and WIP Wednesdays over the last couple of weeks! I truly appreciate it :) Sorry it's taken me so long to respond to you.

I haven't been working too much on things lately, but I've gotten around to doing some writing today! Here's a (long) snippet from Yours, Eternally, a Tav x Gortash fic I've been working on and am hoping to have out soon :) I've posted some snippets before here and here and here.

Her gaze is penetrating, but her irises are suffused with sorrow. "Beautiful creature," she hushes, lips brushing featherlight against the raven strands of his hair, "Your heart is filled with such anguish." Her lips trail softly along his cheekbones, thumbs caressing either side of his face. Enver does not remember the last time someone was this gentle with him and with this much sincerity. Surely, she is the most recent in his memory.  Orlando looks at him with wonder, and with the ache of years spent apart; with the same gnawing yearning that has plagued Enver for ages. He feels the Tiefling's sorrow in every fluttering heartbeat. It is the same pulse beneath his ribs that has wrought him agony for the better part of a decade. Or perhaps the same torment that has haunted them both since youth. You are split in twain, she hushes in his thoughts, breath fanning against the tender flesh of his neck as she lays kiss after kiss along it, The fibers of your heart are tangled in your teeth. Like webs. I can taste them on my tongue. She kisses him, hard and deep, and Enver finds himself folding into her; collapsing like a dying star into her embrace. And he realizes it is true: there is so much anger and sorrow in his heart. It is ruinous, wrathful, burning. In the Hells, his heart burned with rage. Outside now, it smolders, embers flowing through his veins, ash weaving into his very makeup. Enver is certain even his marrow tastes of smoke and sulphur. He is certain his wrath has rotted the fibers of his heart. Festering hatred, long brewing since his youth, has fermented in his mind. He is a husk of the aristocracy, the upstanding citizen he tries so desperately to portray. Orlando leans back, her lips parted ever so slightly and a curious glimmer in her hazel eyes. “Sulphur marrow,” she whispers, her talons ghosting gently across Enver’s broad chest. His mind is a mess, an open mess for her to sift through and pluck from freely. He gives her access to it all, no longer caring for secrecy or obfuscation. If she is to ally with him, she must know all. “I know not what your marrow tastes of,” she goes on, her hands moving to cup his face, “But I know that if one were to eat of mine, they would taste only you.”

Tagging @elinorbard and @kalmiaphlox back! Along with @inkymoonbunny, @verbenaa, and anyone else who wants to share anything :)

(And as an aside, working on the drawing requests people submitted to me, as well!)