#getting through the early chapters is a bit rough but it was worth it

[dogencool]

Things that make me sick and ill: this

[anyarose011]

Christmas Time is Here {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Christmas (FINALLY) has arrived! What better way to spend the day full of cheer than with your family (and the boy you previously didn't really care for until just a few days prior). It'd be better if you could spend it in Boston as well...

Part 7 of ?? (Masterlist)

Warnings: Making out, swearing, talk of sex, and jokes about pimping out one's father.

Heyyyyyyy, what's uppppp, it's meeeeee. So...okay, long story short, I got back from strudying abroad and have been using this summer to just readjust to America (it's been rough, low key). So I just want to apologize for the long wait, and I hope this chapter is worth it. Also, because the main characters in this story (reader and Angus) are minors, I WILL NOT be adding smut. Still, thank you guys so much for your patience!

Word Count: 6.4k

You thought you slept in at first, until you glanced at the clock on the nightstand and read ‘7:30am’. Groaning, you sat up, rubbing your face when the realization hit you: It was Christmas!

That’s what caused you to leap out of your bed and immediately look under it, pulling out the three horribly wrapped gifts in newspapers tied with a twine ribbon. Before you could do anything else, a light knock on the doorway made you flinch.

“Yeah?” You whispered.

“Are you decent?”

Giggling at Angus’ use of your words from last night, you said. “Not really, I’m still in my pajamas.”

“Get dressed, I wanna show you something.”

You snorted. “You’re not gonna kill me or something, are you?”

“No, but on an unrelated note, we’re going off campus.”

“Wait,” your face dropped. “seriously?”

He snickered. “No. It’s just in the theater.”

You shook your head. “Okay, I’ll meet you in the hall.”

His footsteps echoed outside, and you decided to give him his gift early. After changing into a long-sleeved shirt and pants, then your socks and boots, you slipped out of the door whilst hiding the present behind your back.

“What’s behind your back?” Angus immediately asked once he saw you.

“Merry Christmas to you too.” You teased. “It’s nothing.”

“Amy…”

Sighing overdramatically, you held out the gift. His eyes grew to the size of the moon (both things that you still think are beautiful) as he took it from you. “I…what is this?”

“Well,” you shrugged. “it’s a present, but you kind of have to open it to-.”

“-No, I mean…I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s okay, I don’t want anything.”

“Hey-.”

“-Ordinary people say ‘thank you’ and open the damn thing.” You smirked.

He mirrored your expression before tearing the newspapers. It was almost funny to you how Angus Tully looked as if his breath was stolen from his lungs just at the sight of Little Women in his hands.

“This is yours.”

“Well, it’s yours now. That’s kind of how gifts work.”

“It’s your favorite though.”

“Who told you it’s my favorite?” You tilted your head, as if challenging him.

You’d never seen a face whiter than the snow outside. “I-I, um, shit.”

“No,” you shook your head. “you’re telling me you kiss me so hard my lips turned blue in the kitchen-!”

“-Hey, hey! Shut up!” He tried to be serious but only ended up laughing.

“But you can’t remember what my favorite book is?!”

Taking a deep breath, Angus then said. “I’m sorry, okay?”

A smile pulled onto your lips. “Yeah, I’m just messing with you.”

“You’re horrible.”

“Thank you.” A giggle fell from you. “Oh god, I hope my dad didn’t hear that.”

“I checked his bed, he’s out somewhere.”

“Alright,” you shrugged. “escort me to the theater then.”

He grinned from ear to ear as he led you through the halls. Unashamedly, you were a bit disappointed; you wished he’d taken your hand. Still, despite the sun being out, to your knowledge, you were the only two people awake. You wouldn’t blame Mary for sleeping in, and it was Christmas, no way Danny would waste his time with you three; that man had family in Worcester.

When you and Angus made it to the theater, you both walked up the steps to the stage and after he set the book down on the floor, he leaned against the piano.

You crossed your arms, smirking. “Mr. Tully, you better not serenade me.”

“I’m not singing.” He tried not to smile.

“So, there is a God.”

“Quit it.” He snickered. “Sit down, I’m gonna teach you how to play the piano.”

Raising your brow, you said. “You told me you hadn’t played since you were ten.”

“I hadn’t taken lessons since I was ten. We have a piano back at home, so I still play sometimes.”

“Never here?”

“Never here. Come on.” he tilted his head to the bench.

Rolling your eyes, you sat down, placing your hands on the keys. Angus came to stand beside you. “Okay, you know the alphabet?”

“What the hell is that?”

“Perfect.” He scoffed, then pointed to the white keys. “So, you only have to know ‘A’ to ‘G’. If this,” he pressed the white key in the middle of the piano between two black keys. “is ‘D’, then what is this?” He hovered his finger above the white key to the right of it.

“E.” You said simply. “I do know that this ‘B’ key is out of tuned though.”

You reached over his arm and played the ‘C’ an octave above, bringing your face just a little closer to his. He smiled. “Okay smartass, you do know what the alphabet it.”

“Yeah, I just don’t know how to play anything, that’s all.”

Angus took your right hand in his hand (fucking finally), and brought your fingers to play the ‘E’ and ‘D#’ a few times before then ‘B’, ‘D’, ‘C’, and ‘A’.

“Know that one?” He asked.

“‘Fur Elise’.” You grinned at the name. “And you’re sure you wish I was your first kiss?”

He answered plain and simple. “I’m sure.”

“Okay,” you decided to keep toying with him. “what comes next? And I’m pretty sure I have to use my other hand at some point.”

You expected a retort from him, but he only went behind you and grabbed your left hand. Gently, he pressed his fingers over yours, and guided you to slowly play the piece by Beethoven. It was peaceful to say the least; well, as peaceful as it could be while your heart was trying to beat itself out of your chest.

As his chest hovered against your back, you decided to soothe your own worries.

“Son of a bitch, you just wanted to hold my hand!” You teased.

The music stopped as he pressed his face against your shoulder while laughing. It should’ve made you uneasy how just at ease he was around you; but perhaps you both had already acted like this before you kissed. Perhaps, with only being around him for a week, you had come to know him as a close friend (even with how much you loathed him at first).

He took his head off your shoulder and looked at you, his nose practically against yours. “And what if I did?”

This was the part where you were supposed to say something smart in return and make him feel just a bit stupid. But…were his eyes always that brown and beautiful?

You were just a girl; no one should blame you for immediately throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him.

Luckily, unlike the night before, he was less surprised this time. His arms were around your waist, and whether he meant to or not, he pulled you down to the floor with him when his own legs gave out.

Still, even though the sudden shift of your body caused you to squeak out in surprise, your lips didn’t leave his as your hands soon carded through his hair, and his moved further down your hips.

“I don’t want to do anything more,” you said quickly between kisses. “I don’t want to do anything more!”

His lips moved down to your neck, one of his hands came back up to cradle your jaw tenderly. “Me neither.”

“Okay.” You answered, your voice slightly pitched as he kissed your neck. Angus laid you down as softly as he could on the stage and hovered above you; his kisses never leaving your skin. His hand found yours and held it above your head as he brought his lips back up to yours. Even with it being clumsy, nothing in your whole life had felt so…good.

You wondered just how anyone on earth could get anything done after being kissed like this for the first time.

Perhaps it is because they hear their father calling their name.

At the sound of your father’s voice echoing through the halls, you and Angus froze. With one look, you both immediately pulled away, and he got off you, sitting on the piano bench and putting his hands on the keys.

It was quite comedic how that was the first time you heard him play; and he was quite good at it.

Luckily, you managed to get up and lean against the piano the moment the door to the auditorium opened and soon slammed shut. Angus stopped playing, and you both looked up and saw your father, huffing as if to catch his breath from running around everywhere.

“Merry Christmas.” Were his first words, and after both you and Angus repeated his sentiment, he then asked. “Where the hell have you been?”

You shrugged. “Just here.”

His eyes traveled to you and then to Angus, who, like any nervous teen boy who’d nearly been caught after making out with the teacher’s daughter, waved. Your father simply nodded. “Well, come on. I have something to show you two.”

He left through the doors he came in, and after you and Angus glanced at each other, you both followed; Angus picking up the book of course. Your father took you both to the dining hall where Mary had been waiting, and proudly presented a frankly shabby Christmas tree with some wrapped gifts to you.

“No ornaments?” Angus asked.

“Oh,” your father sighed. “I’m sure we can round up some ornaments somewhere. Uh, now.” He picked up one of the gifts, handing it to Angus. “This is for you.”

The boy glanced up at him as if he handed him the best thing he could receive that day (next to your copy of Little Women of course). He tore it open, and it was revealed to be another book.

“‘Meditations.’” Your father read the title. “by Marcus Aurelius. For my money, it’s like the Bible, the Koran and the Bhagavad Gita all rolled up into one. And the best part is not one mention of God.”

Mary huffed, obviously not a fan.

“And this,” he handed her the other package under the tree. “is for you.”

She opened it, revealing another book of ‘Meditations’. “So, you just give this to everyone?”

“And.” He gave her the other gift under the tree; that being a horribly wrapped bottle of whiskey.

That got her to smile wide as she took it. Your father, grabbing the final package under the tree, then handed it to you. “Yes, it’s a book, no, it’s not ‘Meditations’.”

Smiling, you unwrapped it and stood absolutely still in shock before exploding into a cheer. “Where did you get this?! I couldn’t find even in Boston!”

“The day trip we took to New York for Thanksgiving? Found it while you wandered off in the bookstore.” He joked.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face if you tried.

“What is it?” Angus asked, looking over your shoulder.

“Maria,” you answered. “by Mary Wollstonecraft. She’s Mary Shelley’s mom.”

“Like, Frankenstein Mary Shelley?”

Oh, how much you wanted to kiss him just because he knew the author of a popular book. Still, you didn’t know how many men even knew a woman wrote one of the most iconic stories of all time. Still, your father and closest woman you had to a mother in years were watching you, so you settled on shoving him.

“That’s right; maybe you’re not that stupid.” Before he could verbally respond, you were almost out the door. “I got something for you guys, be right back!”

You felt like a little girl again as you ran through the halls and up the stairs into the infirmary room before taking the shittly wrapped presents off your bed. You slid down the main staircase railing before barging back into the dining hall where it looked like barely anything had changed.

“What was my time?” You asked your father, a huge smile on your face.

He gave a look. “You didn’t ask us to time you.”

“Happy Christmas.” You handed him his gift, then repeated the same action and sentiment to Mary.

Your father was the first one to open his, and a pleasant smile spread upon his face while holding it up to you; a coloring book of ancient Rome.

“How’d you know I wanted this?” He joked. He had perhaps almost every single book on Roman history, so you had to get creative.

You shrugged. “Oh, you wouldn’t stop talking about it, remember?”

Mary opened hers next, grinning from ear to ear once it was unwrapped. A pink pocket-sized prayer book. “How’d you know I lost mine?”

“Because you told me.”

She hugged you, pinching your cheek when she pulled away. “You’re an angel.”

“Oh, Angus,” Your father took the forgotten envelope out from under the tree, handing it to the boy beside you. “this came in the mail for you.”

He opened it, and glancing over his arm, you saw cash stuffed inside of the card with “Greetings of the Season and Best Wishes for a Happy New Year” printed inside, with the only written words being: “Love, Mom and Stanley.” Not any personalized notes or words of adoration anywhere to be found.

You wanted to squeeze his hand, give him any traditional sense of comfort; yet you weren’t ready to explain to your father and mother figure about the both of you…you weren’t dating, but you were something. So, instead, you merely pushed yourself against his side and acted annoying.

“Fuck, you’re loaded.” Mary scoldingly said your name, but you continued. “Well, he is! Yeesh, you should be paying off my father’s retirement if you hate him that much.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Emma Woodhouse.” You father rolled his eyes.

Angus, fortunately, snorted. “I’ll think about it.”

“Alright,” Mary placed her hands on her hips. “now who’s hungry?”

As usual, the four of you had a lovely breakfast; although, this time, per Christmas tradition, you each had a little piece of chocolate with your pancakes she made. When helping her with the dishes, you saw that only one Christmas cookie you left out the night prior had remained.

When the dishes were done, you and Mary pulled the men into the teacher’s lounge.

“So why are we being held against out will?” Angus joked.

Your father sighed. “It’s almost ten-thirty.”

“And?”

“Charlie Brown!” You cheered, plopping yourself down on the carpet in front of the TV to turn it on.

“It’s the one tradition we have each Christmas,” your father explained and lowered his voice to Angus and Mary. “and one I wouldn’t mind getting rid of.”

“If you want to go drink alone while reading Agatha Christie, go ahead.” You announced, not turning to look at him as you flipped through the channels.

Mary and Angus merely laughed, and you proudly sat down on the couch. Your father mumbled incoherently, but before he could take a seat beside you, Mary grabbed his arm.

“Now, now, come help me make popcorn for the movie.”

Sighing, he let her lead him out of the teacher’s lounge and into the kitchen. Angus soon sat where your father would’ve if not for Mary. You smiled.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” He grinned, and there was silence (as always) between the two of you. One that was broken with. “Thank you.”

You tilted your head. “What for?”

“Just…” He laughed. “for liking me I guess. Also, for what you said about the stupid card and everything.”

Smiling, you glanced up to see if your father and Mary were close by. When you determined they weren’t, you took his face into your hands and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, dumbass.” You pulled away, looking back at the movie as little children start to sing Christmas Time is Here. “Just don’t bitch for the rest of the day.”

He snorted. “I’ll try my best.”

And he did. The four of you watched the movie, and after that, you and Angus went back up to the infirmary and spent the rest of the afternoon reading. Definitely not kissing at all; for sure not.

When you weren’t reading, you were either talking about stupid shit-.

“I thought I heard somewhere that plants can feel pain, do you think that’s true?” You asked, looking up at him while you laid at the end of his bed, your feet by his head.

“…I just want to thank you for letting me peek inside your mind and to see how weird it is.”

Or, surprisingly emotional conversations.

Angus nodded as he laid on the bed, you at his side. “Yeah, I mean…I had a good childhood, it just felt…weird sometimes.”

“I get it.” You rested your head on his shoulder as you both stared at the ceiling.

Still, it was perhaps the longest and most intimate interaction you ever had with a person up until then. How strange it was with a boy you hated only days ago.

Hours later, Mary called you both down for supper (luckily what was reheated from the previous night), and despite there only being four of you, you felt less lonely than when you had at the party. You sat beside Mary, not minding when the smoke of her cigarette tickled your nose.

“Thank you Mary,” your father smiled at her once he was finished. “that was just lovely.”

“Oh, is that an actual compliment?” You never heard Mary sound so surprised. He sighed heavily, and you didn’t bother holding back your laughter.

Angus set down his silverware. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a real family Christmas like this. Christmas dinner, I mean, family style, out of the oven, all the trimmings. My mom always just orders in from Delmonico’s.”

Mary nodded. “She’s got the right idea. Next year, I’m ordering from Delmonico’s.”

“Anyway, thank you, Mary.”

She winked at him, then turned to you. “Well? You got something to say?”

You squinted your eyes mid-chew. After swallowing, you replied with. “The meat’s a bit raw, don’t you think?”

“Oh, none of that today!” She scolded you as everyone else giggled. “Ungrateful child on Christmas.”

“It’s great, Mary.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Your father rose a glass. “I’d like to propose a toast. To my two unlikely companions on this snowy island, to my lovely daughter, and to our absent friends and family.” There was a pause much obviously for your mother and Curtis as if they were at the table with you. “I realize that none of us is here because he or she wants to be, so if there’s anything I can do to make the holidays a little cheerier for any of you, just say the word.”

“Copenhagen.” You didn’t miss a beat.

“Try again next year, Josephine.”

Angus shrugged. “Boston.”

“Boston?” Your father wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

“Why not? I want a real Christmas. I want to go ice skating. I want to see a real Christmas tree with ornaments, not that stupid thing.”

That was what you couldn’t take (as a joke, obviously). “How dare you. You put some respect on that tree my father grew with his blood, sweat, tears, and other fluids.”

Whilst the adults groaned your name in disgust, Angus stared down at his plate, his body trembling with repressed laughter.

“You both said it was nice.” Your father reencountered.

“It is nice.” Mary defended.

Angus, after recovering from his amusement, continued. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Let’s have a real holiday.”

 Your father huffed. “We’re not going to Boston. It’s out of the question.”

“You just told the kids ‘anything’. So, if Copenhagen doesn’t work, then why not Boston?” Mary argued.

“Mary, we’re not allowed to leave campus or the immediate environs.”

Well, it was your moment to shine. Now, here’s the trick: Usually, the ‘puppy dog eyes’ only work on parents from the ages of birth to nine. Sometimes, but not in your case, it can go on longer into the early 30s (that is, if your parents are total pushovers, or you’re a master manipulator). So, what do you do instead? Well, if it’s with your father, you do this:

Glance at him one last time as if to make a final plea, but then act as if you already know the answer and look down as if you’re trying not to show your sadness. You cannot be angry at all, just sad and disappointed so that he can assume you’re judging all of his life choices that he had made previously to lead him to this.

…It’s not easy, but it certainly gets you what you want (…there was like a 76% success rate last time you calculated it).

“But,” your father sighed upon looking at you and Angus. “I suppose we could call it a field trip. A field trip would fall under the ambit of additional academic pursuits. There’s even a fund set aside for additional academic pursuits.”

Despite him looking annoyed, you had a feeling deep down, he wouldn’t mind getting out of Barton. Angus gleefully rose out of his chair.

“I’ll go pack!”

You knew you couldn’t chase after him excitedly, so instead, you focused on your father.

“Now wait a minute,” you scowled. “so you not only listened but also let him persuade you into having us go to Boston, but you didn’t even bother with Copenhagen? That’s really sexist of you.”

He sighed, exhaustedly saying your name. “You’re a smart girl, so you should know that there’s a difference between a ten-hour flight across the world, and a-!” Of course he stopped when he saw your shit eating grin. “…and you’re a smart girl because you played me like a fiddle.”

Grinning from ear to ear, you got up from your seat and wrapped your arms around him, kissing his cheek. “Thank you, papa!”

He waved you off with a smile as you gathered up your dishes and glass, then went into the kitchen and placing them in the sink. You dashed up the stairs to the infirmary, to which you were greeted by Angus’ arms entrapping you.

Laughing, you reciprocated. “Why’re you like this?”

“I’m just happy, is that so shocking?”

“Yes.”

He pulled away only to then cup your cheeks in his hands and bring your lips to his. You sigh into his mouth, kissing him back.

“Does it ever stop?” You asked between kisses.

“What?” He led you to lie on the bed.

“You kissing me all the time."

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Don’t you dare.” You meekly threatened, pulling him back down.

Neither of you started packing for another fifteen minutes; not until you heard your father’s footsteps in the hallway.

You surprised yourself by how well you slept that night. Usually, before an exciting day, you are restless. Yet, you actually jumped out of bed to get ready once your father came in to wake you up.

After a quick breakfast and an hour of waiting, the four of you were in the car on the way to Boston. A curse that you never thought possible is that you could not read in the car without throwing up; so, that forced Angus to read aloud (something that wasn’t a curse).

“‘That boy is a perfect Cyclops, isn’t he?’ said Amy.”

“That’s not what Amy sounds like.” You said matter of factly, laying almost flat in the backseat.

Angus sighed. “Well, she does today.”

“Mr. Tully,” your father looked in the rearview mirror. “is she implying that Amy usually sounds different?”

You grinned. “Yes I am.”

“Oh?” Mary arched her brow in interest.

“I’m not doing a voice.” Angus immediately retaliated.

Sighing dramatically, you stuck your bottom lip out. “Just this one line? Please?”

He stared at you as if you had him under a spell; either that, or your face was a monstrosity so terrible he couldn’t look away. It’s nice to think the first one. So, breathing heavily through his nose, he pitched his voice up.

“‘That boy ith a perfect thyclops, ithn’t he?’ said Amy.”

Needless to say, the car erupted into laughter.

You can’t quite remember what else was discussed between the four of you on that long drive. All you can recall is that you never once felt sorrow or pain from your mother’s absence. It was…lovely actually.

Soon, the car stopped outside Peggy Lamb’s triple decker apartment in Roxbury neighborhood. You hadn’t been there since you were thirteen for Thanksgiving. When, after your mother passed, Mary and Curtis invited both you and your father to dinner for the holiday. Then, just all of a sudden (much like Miss Crane’s Christmas parties), you stopped going.

“Here we are.” Mary announced.

“That’s an awful lot of stairs…” Your father trailed off.

“Probably icy too…”

Nope, not going to give your kissing buddy (what was Angus Tully to you? What were you to him?) a clue.

“Mr. Tully.”

“Right.” He nodded once he finally took the hint from your dad. He smiled. “Mary, can I help you with your bags?”

“Yes, please.” She smiled, and Angus got out of the car.

You leaned against Mary’s seat. “Mary, may I help you with your bags.”

“You may.”

You heard your father prod at just why you would want to go into the cold air and help Angus carry the bags but paid him no mind. You did though when it was Angus who asked.

“What’re you doing out here?” He popped the trunk.

“Mary asked me to help too.” You pulled out the large suitcase with all your strength. “She knew your noodle arms couldn’t handle it all.”

Scoffing, he took the hatbox and closed the trunk. “Seems like you’re handling it perfectly.”

“Of course, I am.” You did your best to hide the ache in your arms already forming as you led the way.

Mary, with her window rolled down, stopped you at the foot of the stairs. “Hey, why’s she carrying the suitcase?”

“She said she could handle it.” Angus replied.

“That’s not very gentlemanly of you.”

“Yeah, Angus.” You taunted as if him only carrying the box was his idea.

This was certainly not the first nor the last time you’d make his jaw drop from your wittiness. Sighing, he held out his hand for the suitcase, and you traded it for the hatbox.

“And be careful with the box,” Mary called your name. “Knowing you, you’ll drop it.”

You just stuck your tongue out playfully and continued up the stairs, Angus lugging the suitcase. “What do you think she packed in here, rocks?”

“I’d tell you, but you’d make a joke about how much women need to pack even though ‘We’re only here for a few days’.” You said in an accent that any man with low self-esteem would deem offensive.

He scoffed, stopping on the first floor. “Yeah, maybe.”

You tutted. “Ah, ah, ah, one more floor up.”

“What?”

“Peggy lives on the top floor.”

Angus sighed all the air that was left in his body before taking a deep breath. “I should’ve let you carry the damn bag.”

“But ya didn’t.” You smirked, leading him, once again, up the stairs.

When you both finally got to the top, you didn’t even need to knock on the door before Peggy and her husband came out to greet you.

“Oh, my goodness!” Peggy wrapped her arms around you once you set the box down. “It’s been too long.”

You laughed, hugging her back. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

She pulled away, but still holding your arms. “Never apologize, honey. And who’s this with you?”

Obviously, she was looking at the scraggly, 6’1 white boy behind you. Still, smiling, you introduced him.

“Angus; he goes to school at Barton and has been spending the holidays with us.”

“Aw,” Peggy shook his hand. “it’s nice to meet you.”

He nodded, grinning. “Nice to meet you too.”

“So,” she looked at you. “where’s that sister of mine?”

You tilted your head over ledge, and she and her husband walked over, waving and calling Mary’s name. Peggy turned back to you.

“Well, it’s been great seeing you again. If you ever need anything, you’re always welcome here.”

You nodded, smiling unwavering. “I’ll keep that in mind. Have a Happy New Year.”

She repeated the pleasantries and hugged you one final time before you and Angus started descending the stairs. When you passed by Mary, wishing her goodbye, she stopped you.

“Not yet, now you’ve gotta help me up there.”

“Oh yeah,” Angus offered her his arm. “sure thing.”

You resisted. “I already said hi to Peggy, am I excused?”

“I guess so.” She sighed as if you annoyed her.

Happy with her answer, you hugged her tightly and rushed into the front seat of the car, enjoying the warmth. In the corner of your eye, you saw your father arch his.

“You and Mr. Tully seem to be getting along finally.”

Glancing over, you nodded. “Yeah. He’s still a bit of an ass, but he’s not so bad.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Time.” You shrugged, hoping your years of (somewhat) lying paid off. “I guess forcing us together for a week in the cold really helps.”

He hummed, turning back to look at the front as if there was anything eye-catching about the road. Thankfully, it didn’t take Angus that long to walk Mary up the stairs, and he was soon in the back of the car.

Your father drove into the city centre of Boston, and parked outside of the hotel you three would be staying at. Of course, you had a room all to yourself (although, you only had a single bed and not a twin, but you were happy nonetheless).

After twenty minutes of getting situated, the three of you went out to explore the city (a city the three of you had been to multiple times but was still just as beautiful as the first day you saw it). You went through more parks you could count, streets that almost all looked the same but still something unique about each of them; it was just nice enough to walk and talk with your companions.

“Alright,” your father lit his pipe after the three of you had lunch. “it’s about one-thirty right now, what’s one thing everyone want to do today?”

“I have two things.” You said.

“One for now, Josephine.”

“Brattle’s Books.”

“Very good, even though you already have too many. Mr. Tully, what about you?”

He shrugged. “Just ice skating, honestly.”

“Wow.” your father released his breath. “I must say, I am impressed with how simple both your suggestions are.”

“What do you wanna do?” You asked.

“The Museum of Fine Arts, of course.” He began walking. You and Angus sighed as if it was the worst convenience in the world. Your father defended. “Oh, quit your bellyaching, both of you! This is still technically a field trip. Okay, what’s the second thing you want to do?” He asked you.

“A milkshake and fries.”

“That’s it?” He wrinkled his nose. “That disgusting concoction, is it?”

“Yes, and it’s not disgusting, you’re just a picky eater.”

Angus chimed in. “It doesn’t sound that appealing.”

“Who asked you?” You questioned.

Your argument ended there as the three of you made the journey to Brattle’s Book Store. Just as you did in the car, you talked about nothing and everything at the same time; perhaps that’s why those little moments of transitioning matter the most to you.

When you made it to Brattle’s, you spent a little time inside the actual store, but more of it outside in the large empty space between the two buildings. It was like it was another floor on the old bookstore, several upon several shelves hugging the walls, and smaller ones creating aisles on the floor.

You primarily were by yourself, keeping a mental list of more books to buy for later, and lose yourself quickly in between the pages and old smell of them. You hadn’t even noticed it’d begun to snow until Angus was beside you.

“So, you’re telling me it couldn’t have snowed all the times we were indoors?” He joked.

You looked up. “Of course not, God’s angry at us.”

“Why?”

Smirking, you nudged him. “Kissing outside of wedlock.”

“The worst of all sins.” He played along.

“Above heresy, even.”

“Hi there handsome,” a woman’s voice penetrated the air. “got a cigarette?”

Neither of you wanted to turn around to see who she was talking to (or acknowledge her if she was talking to Angus). So, communicating with just one look, you stayed put.

“No, sorry. I smoke a pipe.”

Well, so much for staying still. At the sound of your father’s answer, both you and Angus turned slowly. A woman with red hair tied up in a messy bun wearing the ugliest shade of yellow and a raggedy fur coat graced your presence.

“How about a date, then?” She tried again. “You want a date?”

“No thank you.” He took the pipe out, smiling nervously.

“Oh, come on, let’s go somewhere warm!”

“Go ahead.” Angus teased. “We can wait here.”

Jaw on the floor, you couldn’t even say anything at first.

“See?” The woman stuck her hands in her pockets. “They can wait here, read some books. They don’t mind if daddy gets a little candy cane.”

“Thank you, but I never really liked candy canes.” Your father picked up a book. “Plus, I’m prediabetic.”

She scowled, and turned over her shoulder, leaving. Angus leaned over the bookshelf in between the two of you and your father.

“You know, if you do want a little candy cane, I won’t tell anyone.”

You swatted him, finally. “Stop trying to pimp out my father, you…you…”

“What?” He grinned from ear to ear. “What am I?”

“Papa, cover your ears.” You looked at him.

“Mister Tully,” he said instead. “for most people, sex is ninety-nine percent friction and one percent good-will. Call me old fashioned, but I place value on physical intimacy, and so should you two.”

“I never-!”

“-You know,” Angus interrupted. “if it wasn’t for your kid in front of me right now, I would’ve thought you never had sex.”

Again, you struck him; this time, enough to leave a bruise.

“Ow!” He cradled his arm.

“You know,” you used his words. “if it wasn’t for your mom sending you to private school, I would’ve thought you were a cheap, common whore.”

Instead of scolding you, your father laughed. It’s not as if he never did, it was always just...a rarity and almost a blessing to hear him be so carefree.

“Mr. Tully, cover my daughter’s ears, would you?”

Angus followed through and you let him.

“Believe it or not,” your father continued. “there was a time when the fire in my loins burned white hot.”

“You’re full of shit.” Angus snickered.

“No, the details would curl your toes.”

“Okay, then let’s hear.”

He shook his head. “Whatever happened between my wife and I is none of your business; especially our daughter’s.”

“She can’t hear anything.”

“Yes, I can.”

His hands left your ears, leading both men to laugh. Nothing more was (thankfully) said about your father and mother’s sex life. It was after another ten minutes outside when your father announced it was time to go; not before having to use the bookstore’s bathroom. So, that left you and Agnus by yourselves for the first time since arriving.

“You’re horrible.” You playfully kicked his feet.

“You hit me!”

“You deserved it. God, you’re such a man.”

He didn’t respond verbally. Instead, with a smile, he reached into his coat pocket and brought something out. In his hands, he held a somewhat worn copy of The Little Prince, and two different colored ribbons.

Freezing where you stood, you could only stare at them. “What’s this?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Looking up at him, your parted lips couldn’t form words to express just the…surprise of it all. So, Angus continued.

“I bought it; the book at least. I found it inside, asked your dad for the money so I could get it for you, and that was it. The-the ribbons, I got one that was your favorite color, but then I remembered my mom would talk about how there’s some colors that look better in a girl’s hair, so I got one I thought-.”

You threw your arms around Angus and held him so close to you people would think you were using him for warmth. He froze at first before immediately melting into your embrace. You brought his face down to yours, kissing the tip of his nose before pulling away and taking the gifts into your hands.

“Holy shit…you’re too sweet.” You giggled, flipping through the book.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “So, you like it?”

“I love it, you idiot.”

“And if you find the book at your house when you go back-.”

“-I’ll keep this one too.” you cut him off. “You’re thoughtful, you know that?”

Angus stuck his hands in his pockets, kicking the snow at his feet. “It’s nothing.”

“Fuck you, it’s everything.”

“Well,” he shrugged, smiling. “since you said it so eloquently.”

You rolled your eyes with a playful grin, then held up the colored ribbon he deemed (and was correct about) would look good in your hair. “Can you put this one on, please?”

“Uh, yeah,” he cleared his throat. “sure.”

You handed it to him, turning around. It wasn’t the first time he put his hands in your hair, but this time, with your back to him, it felt strange. Strange in a good way, but perhaps there wasn’t anything sensual about it, it felt that way.

And it was nice.

The feeling of it anyway; other than that, he had no idea what he was doing.

“What do you want it as?” He asked.

“Half-up, half-down.” You took a hair tie off your wrist, holding it our for him.

“What?”

“Like, instead of an actual ponytail, just make the top of my hair one, and leave the rest down.”

You didn’t even have to look at this man to know there was nothing going on inside his head trying to figure out what the hell you just said.

Thankfully, your father came out of the store.

“And what’s going on here?”

Angus looked over his shoulder. “I uh…”

“Step aside please, Mr. Tully.”

He did, and your father snatched the hair tie you were holding. “Half-up, half-down?”

“Yes, please.” You nodded.

“Do you know how to braid hair, Angus?” He asked, tying the hair tie around the ponytail he made.

“No.”

He hummed disapprovingly, sliding the ribbon into the hair tie and beginning to make a bow. “You should; it’s quite an important skill for a man.”

[penvisions]

gone to the dogs {chapter 7}

Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: Tensions run high as you can't seem to recover from your bout of sickness even though Tess is back on her feet and helping the newest member of your pack sort out some things. Neither of you had told Joel yet, bidding your time until some things are taken care of but you have a feeling it's more than just that if Tess's determined silence is anything to go by...

Word Count:

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, canon typical gore, outbreak fic, mean joel miller, degrading language, violence, heated interactions, adult language, fighting, references to injuries, blood, sexual content, rough sex, p in v, smut, unprotected p in v (it's the end of the world, y'all), sexual propositions, oral (f receiving), talk of pregnancy, angst, reference to off screen assault, medical jargon, mentions of nausea, mentions of past trauma, mentions of canon death, mentions of past childloss, i think that's it for this one!

Fic notes: we are officially 10 years into the apocalypse! joel is 46 at this point and cane is early 30's, but please imagine her to look anyway you want! these are just rough estimates and descriptions that are not set in stone as per the x reader tradition. simply a way for me to get the story fleshed out a bit c:

A/N: this fic really just got so big and it can't possibly be contained to the original ten chapters when i first started it. these two have really taken the reigns and i am all for letting them develop and flourish as they wish ♡♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

Joel scrubs a hard hand over his face, brushing away as much of the ash and dirt as he can as he lowers the bandana wrapped around his head as a mask. It’s not much, but it eases his mind enough for him to keep using it.

He’s been pulling more shifts, as many as they could give him. You and Tess both being sick was something that worried him, stressed him out. The dangers of the end of the world were rampant, too many to count and keep track of. A weakened immune system brought on by fever and sickness was something from Before that he had completely lost the notion of.

Seeing you beaten up and bruised from fights or shows of power, from hard days working whatever shitty physical labor the zone needed done or from crawling your way through the rubble of the fallen city around them in search of things to trade and sell- it was different. Different than seeing you wrapped up in all the thin blankets in the shared apartment, that he could get his hands on only to still see the shivers that rack your body and chitter your teeth together. It was different than seeing you barely manage to keep water down to take the pills he paid far too much for only for you to gag on the weight of it settling in your empty stomach.

The scraps of chicken and bone he managed to trade for had cost so many ration cards. But the medicine, the stock he was able to pull from the bone- all of it was worth it for you and Tess to start to get better.

Well, Tess was better. You were…you were…are still sick. No longer plagued by fevers, cold spells, and heat flashes. But your stomach was unsettled, and your appetite was borderline gone, the weight you dropped a little concerning and the color drained from your skin.

He’s been playing caretaker to whatever extent you’ll allow him when he’s in the privacy of your shared apartment. Even if it’s as simple as refilling your mug with hot water for a second cup of tea, of collecting the bowl you had used to try and eat something with before he got home. He’s willing to do it, to do more. But you won’t let him. Determined to hold onto your independence in a way that both makes him proud and feel a little useless.

So he works. To provide. To make it easier. To give you space. Doing the long standing trades, showing his face more on that side of things while you’re unable to do so. Tess now, too, is back at it and it seems like you’ve given her clear orders on who to trade with and who not to as the weather grows colder.

But right now all he can focus on is the sprawled out form of you on the bed. Sheets and blankets tossed and kicked to the end of the bed and nearly crumpled on the floor as you pant heavy breaths while trying to find a comfortable position to fall back asleep.

The baser instincts in him rise at the smell of sweat and the sounds your making, the slight groan of the mattress beneath your wiggling form. it’s not that he wants it for himself, well, not just that he wants it for himself. But your body is stressed, it’s fighting, mind and nervous system out of whack. He’s on you the second he steps over the threshold into the room, determined to give you some sort of relief. To give you something else other than seemingly endless days of sickness and being unwilling to leave the building.

“Joel, ‘m still sick.” You mumble halfheartedly, that tug in your navel letting you know that despite everything, your body still sings for him- because of him. And it’s intoxicating, the immediate reaction as you feel plush lips against your skin, feel the weight of his body so close.

“Don’t matter, want you.”

His kisses are like fire, trailing down from your chin where he nips hard to your neck and chest. Tank top pulled up as carefully as he could manage, ridding you of the thin fabric. His lips close around hardened peaks to pull out desperate sounds from you, so sensitive to the soothing swipe of his tongue after biting teeth. His nose skims across your skin, the sharpness of it driving you wild as his hands make quick work of removing the pants you had fallen asleep in.

His teeth nip gently at the swollen lips of your cunt through the fabric of your underwear before he breaths in deep. “Gonna get you outta your head for a bit.”

And like a switch, your mind and body only focus on him.

The drag of his nose over the same place, the tug of his fingers pulling the now damp fabric down. The hot, thick line of his cock against your legs as he pulls them up to bend into your chest. His tongue swipes flat over your folds, delving between them after, shockwaves of pleasure so intense after experiencing nothing but aches and pains for the last couple of weeks. It pulls a moan deep from your chest, the responsive chuckle earning him another as you feel the vibrations of it skitter across your skin.

He's pulling pleasure from you like he was made for it, his knowledge of your body all he committed to memory and you’re crying out within minutes. His fingers grip the backs of your thighs, spreading them to make room for his body to line of with yours and then he’s pushing in slowly. Through a crack of your eyelid, you see his focus on where the two of you connect, brown eyes dark and hair slicked back save for one stray curl folded over his temple. Teeth gritted and breath hissing as he fills you, slowly, taking in the sight for what it is, feeling it for what it is, living up to his promise to get you out of your head as he bottoms out and your mouth goes slack.

“Theeeere we go, huh, darlin’?” One of his hands snake up to grip your chin gently, pulling your thrown back head toward him. Thick fingers caress the too hot skin there and his eyes soften as your own fly open when he leans forward to press a kiss to the tip of your nose, the obscene sound of him pushing in deeper and your walls clenching around him. “Look at those pretty eyes, starin’ up at me with nothing behind them, that’s exactly what we wanted, wasn’t it?”

All you can do it try to nod, his hand so large cradling the side of your face, his lips so tantalizingly close but your body is frozen, the breath caught in your throat as you pulse around him, pleasure rippling through your body as he throbs deep inside you. He must see the way they tremble and he closes his mouth around yours, giving you exactly what you wanted without you needing to ask. When he pulls back, his teeth glint in the faint light seeping in through the window.

“Don’t gotta think about nothin’ else but how full you feel. Deserve to turn your thoughts off and just focus on gettin’ fucked.”

He’s pulling back a bit, his knees caging you in as they squeeze around your hips.

You can barely take a breath before he’s slamming back in and it’s pushed from your lungs.

Over and over again.

The day starts off normally, a plan in motion to tell Joel once he returns from one of his shifts. Tess spends the day helping to move most of Jean’s stuff out of the shitty apartment she had been given alongside two other single girls. Not enough room for her to even have her own space. But Tess was willing to give up her bedroom and move into the living room to provide some semblance of privacy and control for the young girl. You had taken her to the clinic, as well. Dropped her off and were due to pick her up any moment now, but you’re kneeled down in front of the toilet.

Your own sickness seems to linger while Tess is back in good health. Her color coming back while yours remains pallor, hot flashes and cold spells waring underneath your skin and making you nauseous. You were doing your best to hide the worst of the symptoms from Joel, not wanting him to feel like he needed to use the stock of goods and cards for more medicine that only worked at first. You’re just grateful that awful cough that rattled your brain and hurt your throat was gone, the phlegm that seemed to either clog up your sinuses or run far too freely gone as well. It had been a bad chest cold, same as Tess and you didn’t understand why you were better, but you weren’t…better.

You had given blood at the clinic, just to be cautious.

Because you were beginning to get worried. Between the new responsibility of caring for and protecting Jean, the rather startling reach out from Bill concerning new habits from Frankie he’s developed and the increasing scarcity of things to find in the city, you were feeling a slow simmering panic begin to form in the back of your mind and weigh down your mental and physical resolve.

The cold chill settling in the air wasn’t helping, telling you that it was about to get a while lot worse as the temperature dropped and winter weather became a daily struggle on top of it all. Snow and ice in Boston was normal this time of year, to begin falling from the sky and form on the ground.

Picking Jean up from the clinic was supposed to be a simple task. But you honestly don’t remember much of it. The ringing in your ears had started once the doctor had turned to you and read the results of your own testing. Effectively pulling the entire god damn earth’s crust from beneath your feet. You don’t remember the trek back to the apartment, nor the way that Jean was glancing at you out of the corner of her eye. Bottom lip between teeth as she contemplated commenting on same diagnosis that was read to you.

Shock. You were in shock. Mind reeling from the fact that now there wasn’t just one pregnancy to navigate, but two.

All you know is the startling cold of porcelain seeping through the towel you had placed over the top of the lid as you knelt in the bathroom once again. Stomach heaving and throat burning, heart beating far too fast as you struggled to regain your breath. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, a sharp contrast in how hot they were compared to the tile that surrounded you.

Just as you managed to stand up from your rather humbling position in front of the toilet again, you hear it.

The boom of Joel’s voice through the thin walls.

He was home early.

And Tess must’ve just told him what you two have been handling the past few days.

Keeping as silent on your feet as possible, not wanting to sound the creaks of your aged flooring, you inch into the living room and move into the kitchen. His voice is clear as a bell and angry.

“It’s just another fucking human being that’s going to be subjected to a shitty life and even shittier people. How do you think that kid is gonna feel when they learn about how they were conceived? You think she’s gonna be able to sit her kid down and explain to them the shit she had to endure? That she was raped and it was either go through with the birth or risk her life ending the pregnancy? You think that’s any kind of thing to put on child in this god forsaken world?”

“Joel, she’s scared. She said you told her to come to you for help. And Cane and I are an extension of that-“ Tess’s voice is raised, an attempt to wrangle in Joel’s own but its fruitless. You’ve only heard him sound like this when he deals with less than savory trade partners. You’ve only heard him when it was that first year of knowing him. When he didn’t trust you or share your bed. Before the shadow of a life you two slowly and carefully curated together.

“Just cause y’all are women doesn’t mean you know better about this than me. Don’t you try to pull that sexist bullshit with me, Tess. You know just as well as I do that bringing a new life into this world is a mistake. The risks of pregnancy before were deadly, with the help of machines and medicine. But now?”

He scoffs loud enough for you to hear it through the walls. You don’t flinch, though you know you would’ve once upon a time. There’s truth in his words, no matter how he’s weaponizing it to prove his point. To deny getting involved in the situation.

“Now she’s as good as dead if she goes through with it. And what if she does manage to give birth to a healthy baby and she’s the one stuck paying the price? Bleeds out or needs to be cut open, then there’s just another orphan the system is gonna abuse and use for their twisted sense of righteousness.”

“Joel-“

“She’s gonna be stuck with a kid, do you realize how much time and effort and work is gonna go into that and it’s all gonna fall on us. On me. And I am too fucking old for this shit.” You can hear silence that greets his harsh words, the raw and unfiltered emotions he feels on the matter. You knew Tess had a kid before all this and it must be hard for her to grapple with the reality of the situation. Especially as it brings up memories and her own past emotions. “There is no way in hell this is going to work out.”

“She came to us for help, Joel. You instilled in her that you would look after her, no matter what. And guess what? This is something big! She can live here with me, I can…I can help her through the rough patches, I know what it’s like to have a less than smooth time of it.”

“Tess…”

“I’m going to help her, Joel. From one mother to a prospective one. As a parent, I would think you feel at least a little connected to the issue at hand.” That gave you as much pause as it seemed to Joel. The silence that permeated the air was heavy, crackling tension palpable even through the walls.

“This is dangerous, this is stupid and reckless. Children aren’t a blessing, they’re a curse.” His even but thudding steps could be heard as he makes his way to the door. You’re still in shock a few moments later when it doesn’t slam shut, it doesn’t even open. He must’ve turned around and you can almost picture him looking over his shoulder. All broad and brooding, angry. “This is a mistake.”

With no other outlet for what you’re feeling, you shove your hands into the sleeves of your jacket and grab your keys from the nails they hang on beside the door. Glancing on the sleeping form of Jean on the couch, you’re relieved that she’s in a deep enough sleep to not hear the harsh words of the man who she had sought out for help.

You don’t even dare glance at the end of the hallway, not knowing what you would do if you glimpsed Joel at this moment.

And that scared you.

That you didn’t know if you would curl up into his chest, wrap your arms around his neck or waist and burrow your face into him. Inhale his scent and be comforted by the way he holds you back. Or if you would scold him for his choice of words, for the way he’s backtracking suddenly as the situation turns now to something he doesn’t have the patience and energy to deal with.

That you didn’t know if the words would immediately fall from your lips or stay lodged in your throat and suffocate you.

He had given Jean his attention, his protection, his word that he would look out for her. And he’s standing there determining the course of her future that would best benefit him. That would work in his favor, to not have to deal with something so monumentally important. The news isn’t the best, it isn’t born of a decision between two consenting adults who are determined to nurture and love. Hell, you aren’t even sure if Jean had ever admitted to wanting to be a mother beyond not feeling right with doing away with her condition. But it was something, it was someone.

Hope. It was hope you were feeling as you sped down the hallway and away from the harsh words that hang in the air.

Hope for a future that isn’t the same damn thing day in and day out. Fighting and hustling for supplies, for food, for water, for space in a crowded zone. That isn’t protecting your territory and your smuggled items, that isn’t holding fast to your going rates as people challenge them and clamor for them because even if you did want to provide things that were hard to find or considered contraband, you still needed to benefit from the effort and skills that go into supplying them.

The news Jean brought to you, born of devastation and immoral means, could be the universe’s push of urging you toward something else. Your own news born of a moment of passion under the influence with someone who you found rare solace and genuine companionship with. The naïve notion of taking it in stride and shifting everything for the better, for the hope of making something of the situation you’ve landed yourself in is a painful one. Cultivating and nurturing goodness back into the world where you could, back into your life that had become so violent and overwhelming in its eat or be eaten nature.

You’ve been violent for so long, have had to be violent for so long. The world demanding it of you if you wanted to survive, to breath, to live to see another tortured day. And all those days that it seemed like too monumental a task, too hard a thing to commit to once again. A flicker of your old, weaker self rising up and arguing that there was no point, that it was useless to survive a hard day and the only reward was another string of them. But now you know why it was imperative that you stuck with it, defending yourself, protected yourself, used teeth and nails and haunting violence to make sure you saw the sun rise each morning and set each night over a world that was decimated beyond help.

And that reason was a phantom weight low in your belly. The new reason you would fight even harder from this point on until the moment you drew your last breath. Your child would know better than you were thrust into, would know better than this broken world and mockery of what was once city life.

You would bite and claw and fight, shoot or slash anything that threatened the life you were determined to give to your child, to give back to her. That younger version of yourself lost piece by piece as things quickly fell, as people gave into temptation and damnation the second civilization crumbled.

You don’t realize the heavy words in your mind are coming out as snarled sounds every time your boots hit the ground with your fast pace. The man Jean had described was walking home, you on his tail and none the wiser about what fate was about to deliver. What you were about to deliver.

Crazy bitch. Depraved dog. Ruthless.

His insults don’t mean anything, as you stalk him through the streets and down the hallway that leads to his apartment. His pained groans and stuttered breaths mean nothing to you as you land hit after hit, they don’t give insight to anything but satisfaction that curls your lips up at the corners.

His words, Joel’s words, ring in your ears as you feel the impact of your knuckles on the man’s face. Each punch, each hit landing as the echo inside your head gets louder and louder. Those are the only ones that mean anything, the only thing that fuels your violence. The man crumpled beneath your knees deserving of every last bit even more so and you’re convinced he would feel the exact same way. He would see his own actions as righteous, taking what was his, what was deserved- the consequences not on his mind nor something he would feel like needs his attention. An afterthought, the result of an assault he forced on someone.

All of it, everything in the entire world was just- mistake, mistake, mistake. After goddamn mistake.

But this? Delivering retribution on the man who is weaker than you ever were, it feels right. It feels like something you’re meant to do. Despite the depravity and brutality of the sentence you’ve given him, it’s a step in the right direction. It’s a step toward a better future.  

Please. Stop. I’ll do anything you want. Take anything you want. Please- no…no!

And then he’s no longer breathing the air he doesn’t deserve.

With bruised hands, swollen knuckles and aching fingers you gather everything in his apartment into his own duffle bags hidden beneath the bed.

You leave the apartment, ignoring the cracked doorways as people peek through them to see what the scuffle was about, who had been target this time- the only thing left inside besides dirty linens and dishes is his body with a note stabbed into his chest with his pocket knife.

Don’t mess with my people.

Signed off with a stamp of ink in the shape of a paw.

And though it’s far too early to feel the weight in your belly, something settles there and you feel it the entire walk back to the apartment building, even as you stand at the sink and wash the blood from your hands. The stain of it lingers even with the aid of soap and cold water.

His figure used to be refreshing, a comforting thing to see at the end of every tumultuous day. But now, your eyes track him, take him in as if he posed a threat. As if he had done anything other than simply walk into the room, his muscles rippling with the action of removing his jacket. His scruff a dark shadow in the low light that glitters when the gray there catches the light. He’s so broad, the entire doorway filled by the width of his shoulders, the breadth of his chest. The same body you found comfort in when it curled around you or pressed down upon you. But now, it’s as if a stranger has strutted into your home for all that had happened recently.

Large, calloused hands reach for his belt, remove with a simple pull through the fabric holding it in place and you feel nausea rise at the spike of desire that pools between your legs. Feelings and urges war with each other in your mind and heart, body reacting to his as he approaches. Your head tilting into the cradle of his palm even as your mind screams at you that he doesn’t care. This is the same man who had declared loudly and determinedly that he wanted no part in the situation at hand. The one that involved a child. He hadn’t known his words were not only for another woman but for you too.

“You okay, darlin’? You look a little waxy there. The meds workin’ alright or do I need to go and get some more from the infirmary?”

“Fine, Joel.”

“Hey,” His eyes search yours as he tips your chin up, locking onto them and trying to find out what you’re not voicing. But he can’t seem to, because his brow furrows and the corners of his lips pull down. “You sure?”

“Had to take someone out, is all. Muscles weren’t used to being used like that.” The admittance doesn’t lift any of the weight in your chest, but the words are out. No longer caged between your ribs with the other secrets you now carry.

“Tell me you didn’t.” He takes a step back, and he’s not upset…but he’s- something. How were you supposed to know it was fear, when you swallowed yours down so long ago?

“I’ll tell you I did, because it needed to be done. He didn’t deserve to breath anymore. He forced her, Joel. He manipulated her long before that and then when she was finally free from him, he goes and-“

“You shoulda let me handle it.”

“Why? Because I’m too weak?” The snarl in your words has him removing his hand from you, giving you space. He lets out a heavy breath as he realizes the way you had taken his worry, his fear.

The room is crackling, the energy flowing from you having built up for days, weeks now. It hadn’t bothered you at first, it hadn’t bothered you at all. Until someone had made a comment that you had been made to heel, fucked into your rightful place. Just as you had been leaving the clinic earlier that day. You had been preoccupied, yes that’s true, but that didn’t mean you had taken a step to the side and allowed for authority to shift. You had simply begun to focus more on finding things that would not only benefit the anticipated needs of the zone’s occupants, but of Bill and Frank as well. Then you had gotten sick, all of that paired with the reality you were facing alongside Jean and no one could blame you for the whirlwind that had replaced your heart.

“You’re just tired, is all. Not weak, I could’ve been there for backup.” He tries to keep calm, but you can see the way the muscle in his jaw twitches. He looks from the collection of items on the dining table, to where you had made up a nest of sorts on the couch as you had tried to get some time out of the bed you really should be swathed in to recover. “Let’s get you another dose of meds and maybe a shower.”

And you know he isn’t trying to belittle your emotions or step around them. He’s seeing them for what they are, as least as best he can. He knows you’re overwhelmed, that small things grow into big things over time, and this is one of those moments where you realize that they have and it’s completely out of your control.

“‘M fine.” You can’t help the snap of your teeth as you clench your teeth, head pounding and stomach turning. You hadn’t left for days but you had heard the rumors going around as you and Tess all but disappeared from the scene when you both fell sick. Determined to get out and reclaim some semblance of control, you reach for your coat. The clack of plastic makes you freeze, worried that the object got shoved from the depths of the inside pocket it’s hidden in.

Joel takes the moment to come up behind you, his arms wrapping around your middle. Grounding himself and attempting to ground you too, knowing there was no stopping you if you wanted to get some space. You know he wouldn’t take that from you, try to control that part of you. He needed space sometimes too, even on the good days. But this wasn’t one of them, this was a bad day. A monumentally bad one. And it’s made even heartbreakingly worse by the confession he breathes into the back of your neck, his forehead pressed to back of your head as he inhales your scent. Don’t go. Love you. Need you safe while you’re sick.

You freeze, processing.

Love you. Love you. Love you.

It echoes in your mind, his voice caressing and soothing despite everything. It calms you enough to take a deep breath, to try and center yourself for the barest of moments.

And it sounds so good, his voice quietly voicing the warmth and affection that had developed, that had been carefully cultivated between you two over the years. But as good as they sound, they don’t bring you the comfort you know he hopes that they will. Because he’s already undermined the sentiment, he’s already crumbled the very foundation of what you two stand on. It breaks your heart a little to not return the words, even as you feel them harden and catch in the middle of your throat.

“You gotta know that, by now.” He fills the silence as your body tenses in his hold.

But the timing of it, the words he had spoken so devoutly just the previous day are like shrapnel stuck in your skin, burning and stinging. No amount of picking at them will take away the damage they’ve done, clear the burns and the irritation, the pain.

“Didn’t know you were the type of man who cast aside a pregnant woman who came to you for help. A woman who you’ve done nothing but try and watch out for until this point.” Your voice is a whisper, anger bubbling up, heartbreak spilling your chest open, body almost numb from the way everything was so poetically fucked.

“You’re right, I’ve done nothing but try and watch out for her. And guess what? She still got hurt, she still got assaulted, she’s still in this goddamn situation that has no good outcomes!” He’s pulling away, you turn to face him. The darkness that had fallen as night settled is not longer comforting against the onslaught of photophobia you had been experiencing all day. Now it feels suppressive, it feels like you’re in a cage that you can’t escape from. The words Joel had said and is now saying are like locks, connecting together in a twisted way to make you feel the weight of how they can’t possibly be coming from the same person.

“Is it really that bad of a situation?”

“Is it- for fuck’s sake, Cane.” He scrubs a wide palm over his face, the scruff of his neck bristling at the action and causing goosebumps to sprout all along your arms. “I think I get a decent read on you and then you go and ask somethin’ like that. Do you not see how this will affect us? Affect everything we try to do to survive?”

His voice has shifted from anger to something that rings warning bells in your head, it’s not desperation and its not beseeching. But there’s something in the deep timbre that alights your nerves and makes you feel as if everything between you will be determined in the next choice of words. Despite how you feel, despite the way things have been going, the groove you’ve found with him and Tess. Despite the smuggling getting harder but still holding a majority of the supplies and power, and how Joel returns to you every night. Despite it all, the phantom weight you feel low in your middle compels the words that leave your lips next.

“I’m not even sure if I know what love truly is but if it’s not what I feel for you then I have no clue. It’s never simple and perhaps it just speaks to how I’m meant to be alone.”

“What’s more simple than telling me how you feel?” His eyes are narrowed, though you see the way his irises are blown out. You wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s panicking, but he’s not…he’s hadn’t expected anything other than reciprocation. And it breaks your heart, the chasm in your chest deepening as you realize you can’t gift them to him as easily as you would’ve been able to just twenty-four hours prior.

“Because I heard you, Joel!” Your words leave you in a shout, an angry frustrated cry that bursts from your chest. Unable to quell the spike of emotions, this wasn’t just about Jean anymore. “I heard you talking about how that girl you’ve taken under your wing suddenly means nothing to you the second you can’t handle the situation. The things you said, the fucking vitriol in your voice when you talked about an innocent, a baby.”

“That’s what changed your mind? Affected everything I’ve done in the past four years, we’ve done in the past four years.”

“Yes! Because you- it- because it was so hateful. Like, I get it, Joel, really. You’re a big scary man, you’ve got the brooding scowl down and the razor sharp glare, but she needs our help with this. I don’t like it anymore than you do, but I’m not about to tell her what to do with her own body. You cannot be so daft to not think that that’s not going to alter the way I think about you at least a little.”

He doesn’t seem to know how to respond, his full lips pull down into a deep frown and his brow furrows, but he doesn’t say anything else. His eyes hard, sharp on you as he watches the way you shrug your jacket on and stand in front of the door. With a hand on the knob, you look back over your shoulder with a set expression, not willing for him to see any glimpse of what’s going on in your head.

“I’m going to take Jean to Lincoln. It’ll be safer for her there, better place to raise her mistake.”

The instinct to run, to protect, to build for not one but two mistakes settles deep in your bones as you realize the notion was a solitary one. Joel’s own instincts clashing with yours. Preservation and protection flare up and make you defensive, make you willing to walk away from the life you created with someone you love, to deny them the last true thing that makes life worth living- of loving and being loved in return, they allow you push through the heartache of leaving it all behind.

“I’ll be staying there to help her through everything.”

You don’t hear the whispered plea to not leave that falls from his lips, eclipsed by the sound of the slamming door. Or you do, and it push it from your memory for all the pain it brings to recall it.  

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[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 16

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

@garbagemilkshake and I thought that something a bit more on the fan service side would be fun for this week's chapter art and I totally didn't write a whole additional scene to make it happen.

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it, Menstruation, There WILL NOT be any Miscarriages

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Folate.

You were sick of spinach.

It seemed to only have two settings: crunchy or snotty. Donnie had done his best to be creative, but it was within those two confines that you were stuck. Any sort of cooking preparation reduced the leaves to slim slime. It was tolerable enough baked into Florentines or strung up through pasta, but as time wore on, eating it became a chore. You found yourself sifting through your food to gobble down the spinach first so you could have a few blessed bites without it.

The same went with salads. While there were any number of preparations or sauce options, at a base level you were eating roughage. The greens came in a litany of hues, but their flavors hadn’t ranged much. Spinach blended in while radicchio stood out, but the concept at its core was a monotonous one. The real trouble came with pesticides and bacteria. While Donnie couldn’t smell the latter, their proliferation meant he could scent when a product was off. You shopped at a number of places to get the best produce, but you were still riding a 50/50 line where the vegetables would need to be tossed, just in case, for your growing fetus’ health. 

You didn’t want to hang your entire folate consumption on spinach, but the matter had seemingly been taken away from you. Fortified cereals were either too processed or blander than if you had eaten wheat straight from the plant. From there, other fruits and vegetables scaled with trace amounts except for asparagus. You once enjoyed the stalk roasted and beside a nice fish, but your body’s shifts had started.

You could no longer digest the vegetable properly.

The first time it had happened, you couldn’t identify the issue. You ate a day’s worth of food and you were awoken in the darkened early morning with stomach cramps. They persisted until you had a bowel movement and the next day Donnie poured over the causes. Your lunch was swapped out, but you ran on a meal plan for dinner which meant a repeat of the same effect. You had a snack of only asparagus on a hunch after that and the ensuing bathroom trip was a third time shame on you before you cut it out of your diet.

Calcium.

Your giant vitamin wasn’t doing enough.

It was yet another thing you had trouble noticing at first. Your legs had been achey, but there weren’t necessarily alarm bells for you. Days where you were a little more stationary at work had the same effect. You were moving into your tenth week of pregnancy and, while there certainly wasn’t enough weight inside you for those sorts of aches to build up, you figured maybe it was your little bean. Donnie had examined your gait and further reassured that you had yet to walk differently. Your hips were relatively fine, but you found that particularly in the morning, your calves pinched. Donnie rubbed them to encourage blood flow, but felt no makings of muscle tension.

It was the calcium.

You hadn’t even needed to bring it up during your eleventh week visit with Dr. Kuro.

You had simply winced when getting off the exam table and she caught the movement with flicking ears.

She promptly informed you that low levels of the mineral were often related to muscle cramps as calcium aided in contraction. Donnie’s gaze had gone glazed for missing something so obvious, but Dr. Kuro talked him down. She had seen glimpses of his intense concern over making every little thing right and put you both side by side in chairs. She spoke to the supposed rules of pregnancy and, without trying to scare either of you, specified that you could do everything right and things might not go as intended.

She perforated the fear with a teasing that if you followed all the scare tactics then you would be left with nothing to eat at all.

Dairy became a staple in your diet after that.

It wasn’t something you obsessed over prior, but it became a necessity. You had trouble downing a glass of milk straight for what it did to your intestines, but sprinkling cheese and the like throughout your dishes added the necessary pop. Your legs loosened near immediately and your required baseline of calcium was raised. That came not with a heftier pill, but a larger dosage and further blood tests. Dr. Kuro reminded you that you were finding the norms for something totally unique so there would be some adjustment. As long as nothing ever got too uncomfortable, you were safe to experiment.

You swore to tell Dr. Kuro about every single little change that happened to your body after that.

You doubted she minded.

Vitamin D.

In your uneducated days, fish had seemed like some damning entity to pregnancy. Whispers of mercury levels and haunting tales of sushi made the entire ocean into something to be avoided. It was further perpetuated by the dreaded colossal fish oil pills, which were supposedly the only substitute. Maybe because of their name, but you had always equated fish oil with snake oil in your mind. That was an issue for pregnant people you had thought before and had never minded expensive baubles that looked like edible glass.

You hadn’t had any restrictions before. 

Now that you did, you found that your misconception was just that. 

Fish was good for pregnancy. 

Mostly. 

It all seemed obvious enough until you actually began to learn about the product. In an annoying pendulum swing, what went from bad to good then apparently went rotten again. Nearly all commercial salmon was brightened to its signature orange via a color additive. Natural caught fish touted an organic brightness, but then there was talk of fishing practices. Sustainable or not was difficult to find out by design and hatcheries supposedly lost the necessary nutrition value. You were damned if you did and damned if you didn’t and all the while there were imaginary eyes on you.

It was an inkling you had because you had been there. You could see yourself, heavy with child, and surrounded by whispers about what you did or did not eat. The judgment was imminent and, though no stranger could probably tell you were pregnant, you were aware of others. You watched on as those who were perceived to be carrying had to act as if they weren’t being whispered about. People had endless things to say about business that wasn’t theirs. Others would soon think they had a say in what you did with your body and baby and you were haunted by that fact.

Donnie was both worse and better in that regard. Your mate respected you, but he was also beholden to his science. Before you were pregnant, there hadn’t been much mention toward what you consumed. Your mate had his own long stemming issues with food that he was slowly recovering from to this day. His interest in it waned with the more dishes he tried and he’d long phased out of drives to cook. He now did it for the sake of balancing household work, but his time of experimentation had passed. 

Your baby was an entirely new entity. 

Right when his interest had settled, he had been forced to become hyper aware of consumption yet again. A new life that was not his own depending on it and therefore he couldn’t just throw random supplements to keep it going. He wanted the best for your child and that came with knowing all about where each morsel came from or did. In an instant, he was trailing company ledgers to find out an entire life cycle of any given product. He didn’t knock his enriched foods of old, but he saw them differently. There was science to what the body could absorb and digest. He lived by your vitamins, but saw their limitations. Anything synthesized resulted in a poorer uptake of nutrients than from what he was now forced to categorize as real food and then just like with fish as a concept, so came the counter swing. 

Those same labs that made the vitamins and supplements also often had a hand in the fortification of those supposedly real foods. The scare tactics around genetically modified foods was a hoax at best. He had gone on long winded tangents about how selective breeding fell under the umbrella which had been done long before the idea of intercepting genes in seeds was a concept. Unfortunately it mattered little what your mate thought on the concept as larger companies had long been pillaging the market. They affected germination only to boost dividends and destroyed small farms in the process. They eliminated competition both literally and amongst the very produce they sought to monopolize. The swinging pendulum of the good and bad of industry was exhausting your mate.

It hollowed him out for his basal attitude, which you had long known to be staunch. He voiced his opinions boldly and his current one regarded what you ate. You were fine with taking his opinion at first, since you were actually interested in those. Your interests aligned there and that was why you let him sift through vegetables. You wanted your baby to be just as happy and healthy so it was easy to let him sniff out pesticides or leaves wilting from unknown branches of E. coli, but the moment you got to fish it went a proverbial overboard.

There were many types of fish. Some were farm raised and others came from fancy fishmongers. There was preparation. There was an endless ocean of what could and could not be done to get a fish to a plate. Before you even began your discussion, you could sense discomfort wafting off of him. The factors were as endless as the unknowns about your baby and it was unsettling especially to the man who preached science as his gospel. It was the only sense he had for many years and seeing it round on him illustrated the failings of society. For every advancement in food safety, there was a greedy corporate hound there to dismantle it.

He played his own part with Genius Built. Your forkfuls were bites of a moral conundrum. Donnie approached the debate on the side of banning fish. Its industry above all others posed the greatest risk. You had landed on the side of wanting to eat it. Instead of a fight, you had both stewed in silence. 

Together you had exhausted all information. You were prepared for Donnie to persuade you. Instead, he waited. He knew duality better than most. The norm was usually choosing whatever lesser evil pertained to the individual. In this area, you chose for him. 

You were growing your child after all. You compromised and set a standard that would be applied to whatever foods came next. There would be a limit on how much time you could weigh the benefits of a food item. If it became a headache, then it would be thrown out. If you felt strongly about eating something, then exceptions could be made.

You would do your best and that was all you could do.

Protein.

After the limitations were set, you could tell Donnie thrived under the parameters. With a time limit, he could no longer go on adding pros and cons until it drove him mad. He had a certain window in which to research and that eased his mind. While all of it was dedicated to you in some way, you liked having him around attentively instead of distracted by research about how to do right by you or your baby.

You also stepped in. After fish had illustrated the dark side of food consumption while pregnant, you made yourself present during the meal planning. You sat down with him once a week and did your best to decide together what to eat. You picked out things you were craving and built up around that. When you weren’t particularly feeling anything, you then chose lighter fare and left days open for exploration. You used them up eating out at restaurants where the components of a dish were known. You acknowledged your privilege in getting to do so, but balanced it amongst what seemed like waning time with your mate.

There would soon be another person vying for your attention and you were more aware of it in your thirteenth week. It marked the occasion where there was a stark drop off in the chance that you would miscarry. You made the date an entire night out with your mate and he partook without reservation. Those consecutive visits that you thought might be tedious suddenly blossomed into a journey.  That live feed, static cam footage of what was happening inside of you continued to grow and with it your confidence. You were going to have a baby with the love of your life and you spent a balmy July night wrapped up in that knowledge.

You then spent the next day planning meals around chicken.

It felt like a comical omen of things. For as fantastical as your world was, there was an inevitable dose of reality. Donnie’s endless pocket book did little when crafting a daily menu. You guessed the less sensible of his type of elite had someone else do this sort of thing, but Donnie had never been anything less than hands on. You owned a set of aged mismatched Tupperware like anyone else. You filled containers with a rice medley and tried to dole out even amounts even while the vessels varied in shape. They came with you as you went to work and you waited in the same line when it came time to reheat your food in the microwave.

It was grounding.

In the world where Dr. Kuro was taking notes like she would soon publish multiple prize winning scientific papers, you were still you.

You had no plans of quitting this life when the baby was born.

Donnie had more than enough time to take the role of a stay at home parent and you relished the thought. You pictured him with towels on his shoulder for spit up and the ensuing gag he’d surely make for each diaper. You bet he would fashion himself a mask to preserve his nostrils and he’d strap in with an entire suit to protect his person from fluids. There was no way he’d actually be able to subvert the dirtiness that came with babies and you bet as soon as Lady Nagami found out that she would be  wringing her hands at the increased income stream coming her way. 

Your husband in an apron.

Your husband with a lump that looked just like him sleeping on his chest.

Your husband exhausted in the middle of the night as he soothed a sobbing infant.

You mooned it all until someone popped your bubble with a comment about your food having long finished warming in the microwave.

You excused an additional 15 seconds to get that extra boiling temp amongst teasing groans.

You ate with your coworkers and caught up on gossip.

Things were looking up. 

Iron.

Spinach was back.

In reality, it had been back. 

It was your most dreaded super food.

It had been haunting you since your days of calcium.

Popeye vexed you in ways you couldn’t quite articulate.

You almost wished you could chug down a can like him in one gulp.

You would swallow your daily dose whole and be done with it.

Instead, you reconsidered your position on fortified foods. It was in your fourteenth week that you walked right up to where Donnie was sitting at his desk. He spun his chair to address you openly and you cleanly told him, “I need a break from spinach. I want to barter on juice and cereal!”

He approached the metaphorical table with folded hands in front of his mouth. “Go on.”

“You make the juice and we do a cereal taste test.”

You had clearly thought over your proposal and he dropped his act. He accepted and asked if he had forced the greenery on you. You told him that he hadn’t, but you were on your last nerve with the repetition. You both ruminated on all the benefits as a way to give spinach it's time before you let it go. You left the chance open that you might return to it, but in the meantime you ordered a juicer.

It was delivered the next day and Donnie studied how best to utilize it. The planter Spencer had sent over soon multiplied. Where one box hung ornamental flowers, another soon sat with wheat grass and additives. Actual herbs were located amongst your other vegetables on the roof and with that, you planned an exploratory trip to a farmer’s market that weekend. 

The sun cooked the summer day and your large hat did little amongst the persisting heat. Even Donnie in his layers seemed worn by it and you ended up purchasing drink after drink. You found a particular blend of fresh juice and lemon ginger tea to be a hallmark amongst your sips. Donnie probed the purveyor and found him to be satisfying enough that he purchased a set of juices from the stand. You haul was then supplemented with a few produce items you didn’t grow yourself and you returned to send them through the blades of your machine. 

Each morning that followed would come with you and Donnie teasing each other with concoctions in the kitchen. You made up for the loss in fiber from fruit by tossing in things like flax through the juicer. It seemed like a silly act at the time, but you and your mate both found that it mixed in well. A spice grinder soon appeared and you were putting peppery spins of drinks for the sake of it.

By the fifteenth week, you welcomed spinach back, but only if it was joined by the quintessential apple a day and a few other vitamin boosting and flavor covering pals and ground beyond its textures and into something new.

You got used to lugging around colorful sips in a handy insulated bottle and it was something you toted around. Most places cared little in the city if you had a water bottle and you took advantage of that. You found it easier to sip mindlessly while you did other activities. It worked almost as an idling method while you thought, which was something you did in front of a wall of cereals.

Donnie’s glasses were especially flared in their dual colors as he analyzed the lot and you waited nearby. You had long learned at this point not to be swayed by anything written on the packaging. You were chained to ingredient’s lists. They were the closest you could get to the honest truth of a food’s make-up and Donnie had modified his glasses to sweep through that and a company’s procedure with only a glance.

“Options!” Your mate spoke suddenly and surged forward.

You sucked from your straw and leaned against your cart as you waited.

Donnie picked things off the shelf in a growing stack.

You watched them increase to a brow raising level before he walked the balancing act over to you.

He lined them up in a standing row and swept a hand over top. “Here’s a viable selection, my dearest.”

“That’s more than I thought.” You leaned forward on the cart’s handle to overlook the bounty.

“Quite.”

“You always think it’ll all be sugary.” You refused to move and stepped up on the lower cart bar.

Donnie grabbed the basket so it wouldn’t move.

“Take out that third one. Catalina Crunch is not a cereal. They like to pretend. It’s totally just cardboard meant to be eaten dry.” You pointed.

He plucked the selection free and returned it to the shelf.

“A few of these are the same brand.”

“I selected within your taste preference.” He returned just as the cart started to roll and stopped it with his foot. “Shall we further narrow?”

You sighed as if put out and hopped off the cart. Donnie took his turn to lean as you joined his side. He watched you instead of your choices as you flipped through the boxes. You plucked two from the same brand whose names were one word off and compared them back to back. There was an odd difference in calories while all the other nutrition facts seemed the same. The ingredients list revealed little, but time crept up on you. You ended up tossing out both options and left the store with seven total cereals.

You parted from Donnie and the bags at the door when you got home. Your husband was none the wiser as he twisted with his totes and made sure everything was closed. He sauntered over to meet you in the kitchen and paused when he saw you had a litany of bowls out. He reviewed the many dishes and you turned to him with two spoons and a sparkling gaze.

“We’ll need a rinsing process or a new utensil each time for an adequate taste test.” He spoke with metered affection.

You leapt at him and he took your weight with a hefty squeeze.

You were sat down, but he didn’t leave where he was pressed to you as you dolled out cereal.

You opened a box at a time and he poured the milk with a flourished grace. You teased him about what kind of barista he would have been and he scoffed at the concept. You went on through your first bite to mention how he ground his own beans. By your third and fourth bowls you added how finicky he was about water temperature. He was darting his eyes by the sixth bowl as you detailed his organic cotton filters and his gooseneck kettle.

By the last bowl, you had two cereals chosen and an alternate line of work for your husband.

You spun a yarn about your twilight years as Donnie cleaned up. The rest of the cereal was sealed off and bound to be downed by that exact man. You would join him on a few of the options for the sake of it, but he never particularly cared to down a food as long as it was inoffensive to him.

He listened attentively to your tale about how your kids would be grown and moved out. They’d have illustrious careers and the two of you would give up city life. You’d find a lake that better mimicked Donnie’s biodome and buy it outright. He’d improve the ecosystem, set up a nature preserve, and the café on the edge of the grounds would fund it. You would live in a house connected to it and spend lazy days surrounded by nature and the sweet smells of coffee.

“Will they come to visit?” Donnie whispered as you finished up your story.

“Our kids?” You looked at him.

He nodded one anxious time.

You smiled and took your time in dusting cereal flakes from his black ensemble. “Every year.”

That response seemed too tepid for him, but you weren’t done.

“Instead of just Christmas, they take the whole last few weeks of the year off to stay with us. The oldest picks up pond study where your knees have been giving you trouble and our youngest whines about how there aren't better shops nearby. You remind them that you asked for their lists beforehand so you can order everything, but they always forget.”

Donnie slacked and came in closer.

“Then there’s the surprise visits and we lose count. One of them gets dumped and drives out and shows up in the middle of the night looking like a mess. You spend the whole night cheering them up and plotting some poor kid’s take down. Sometimes they get bored and pop in with a silly, ‘we were in the area.’ Then there’s the grandkids. They love the water and their pop-pop.”

“Pop-pop?” The illusion was broken and Donnie chuffed.

“You would want something silly like that.”

“Papa.” Donnie spoke with a sharp edge.

“Isn’t that for dads?” You teased.

“Could be for both…” He had a soft, unrelenting smile.

You guessed it was. 

Exercise.

“It’s been three months.” Donnie spoke as he moved the sofa.

“Mhm.” The bundle of your mat was clutched to your chest.

“Well?”

You feigned a listless gasp.

His cheeks puffed out the slightest amount as he set the furniture aside.

“My beloved Donatello, corrupted by gossip!” You continued on and rolled out your mat.

Said man rounded toward you with his displeasure.

You laughed and spread out your hands to get the corners down.

He waited with a grouch above you.

You cutely rolled onto your back and looked up at him.

He had to school himself to keep his features annoyed.

“I know what you’re asking, but I kind of want to hear you say it.”

He frowned deeply.

You sat up long enough to locate your resistance band.

He paced mentally and it showed in the slightest bob of his body.

You flopped back down with less grace and stretched the band between your hands.

“What happened with Coral and Nelson?” He all but snapped the truth of his question.

Your grin split your face.

He dropped down to squat beside you and waited.

“You’re so cute.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Patently incorrect. I do not have enlarged eyes, rounded cheeks, or comparatively small bone structure.”

“You’re describing babies.”

He was further put out and a protesting whine caught in his throat.

“Adorable.” You told him with full admiration.

He wilted with his large arms. “Darling…”

“I’m not teasing you.”  You explained. “I really do think so, Sweet. I’ve thought so since the moment we met. I thought you were handsome and then I thought you were cute.”

“Your taste…” He ushered and clearly held himself back from touching you.

You stretched with the band and brushed the backs of your hands together for the sake of it.

He churred softly.

“Okay, so the pilates move I’ve been having trouble with…” You laid down and gave the resistance band some length before hiking your legs up and tucking your heels into it.

He watched on with some gripe oozing off of him.

You would tell him what he wanted to know, but couldn’t help but drum up suspense. “So there’s a machine to do this in, but theoretically I shouldn’t need it.

You stretched out your legs and the band came with you. You wrapped the rubber around your palms for a good hold and brought your legs straight up into the air. You kept the band from snapping away with pointed toes and then tried to split your legs, but your heels caught on the rubber.

“See.”

Donnie let go of some of his complaints and his head wove in observation. “What is the machine like?”

“It has separate bands for each leg.”

“Easier to split.” He hummed.

“Exactly.”

“Socks?” He wondered.

“I can’t use them. Too much grip.”

He frowned and stood to approach your legs.

“She’s still doing the class, obviously.” You snuck in. “Coral, I mean.” 

Donnie continued to examine your feet.

“I think she likes it. It’s not really a super sweaty kind of workout. I think it's fine. I get that it's a low impact exercise, but some of the ways the teacher can stretch are terrifying…! Like she’ll do a jackknife, go into control balance, and then she backwards somersault into a crab!”  

“Is this how you were told to do it?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“Your teacher, she’s a career instructor?”

“Yeah, after doing ballet when she was young.”

He nodded once before tapping your legs.

You brought them down and safely freed the band.

“I’m unfamiliar with resistance training, but I recognize a pulley.”

He urged you to sit up.

You did so and watched as he went for your gym bag. He gathered a toning tube and traded it out for your loop band. After stowing the other item, he returned and had you sit with your legs out. He started with your right and slipped the handle around your foot. He then wound around your back so the band stretched and pulled against the resistance to do the same to your left foot. “Now try.”

“It’ll slip when I stick my legs out.”

He openly thought. “Being on your back isolates leg muscles, but the band should compensate. Does the motion require your legs to straighten?”

It was your turn to ponder. “No…? I’m supposed to go up, out, and in to stretch the pelvis.”

“Rendering start position irrelevant.”

You nodded and laid back.

It took some adjusting to lay comfortably on a rubber cord, but you eventually managed. Once you were settled, you pulled at the band with your knees folded and were careful in raising your legs up. You soon had them extended high and rolled outward for the necessary spreading motion. The band undulated beneath you, but stayed in place until you completed one rep of the exercise.

“We got it!” You cheered and did a few more for the sake of it.

“Discuss with your teacher if this is appropriate.”

“And if not I’ll find out why.” You sent him knowing affection.

He lavished in it.

“So Coral and I have done seven total weeks of pilates. That’s three more than the three month deadline of asking Nelson out.”

Donnie’s head lifted with attention.

You held out eye contact.

His pupils darted through a few imagined scenarios before he finally looked at you. 

“Their first date is next week.”

He perked up with high brows. “Really?”

“Yup.”

“How?”

“He asked her.”

Donnie got to his knees and addressed you fully. “Explain.”

You laughed and continued to stretch your legs. “They say exercise boosts confidence. Nel’s never really had that, but he’s been doing this circuit training thing since his last girlfriend or whatever. The three month deal deadline came up and Coral said she was looking for the best time to spring it on him which is so weird for her. I figured she would just blurt it out, but I guess it’s different since they’ve known each other for years. Anyway, she got home from the gym one day at the same time as him. He made them both quinoa because it’s good after a workout or whatever and boom, he served it up, told her there was a place that makes way better, and asked if she wanted to go.”

Donnie slowly took in the information.

“Oh and she did blurt out asking if that was a date. I guess he laughed and said it was if she wanted and she berated him for being noncommittal.”

“They’ll last weeks at most.” He chuffed.

“Or forever. No in-between.” You chuckled.

You folded your legs to end your exercise and watched Donnie trace the movement.

“Wanna try?”

“My prosthetic.” His gaze pinched. “I can fashion an attachment.”

“Like I’d start you here!” You playfully sat up. “I’m a bonafide intermediate!”

“I see…” He deferred to you even though he had leagues of fighting experience that made that statement particularly inaccurate and gave you an idea. 

“We should remember the grip thing…” You got off the mat so he could get on. “Since you’re new and all.”

He took your spot. 

“It’s better-no safer with bare skin and it would be way too much trouble for you to change into your gym clothes so you should ditch your pants…”

He saw right through your game with narrowed eyes. 

You waited with excitement that would have had your tail wagging if you had one. 

He was obvious in giving up for a show and arched to get his waistband. “You are the intermediate.” 

“Yay!” You cheered as softly as you could before biting your lip at your husband’s chiseled form.

💜 NEXT 💜

Thank you to my beta @tmntxthings 

[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Chapter 7

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,120

A/N: Really appreciate everyone's patience these last few weeks! I've been bounced around to a bunch of doctors, the holidays are always busy, and we got some tough news about my FIL, so it's been rough. But I'm so happy to come back to this series and look forward to continuing it 💜

“Ok fine, I get it now.” Dean huffs as he rests his hands on his hips, taking in the valley below him that glows in the early hours of morning.

You step up beside him, your stance mirroring his as the last ascent was definitely the steepest of the climb. And mixed with the sharp morning air cutting into your lungs, you were feeling it. But as you take in the view, the start of the day shimmering off the bare branches of the forest below you, it was absolutely worth it. Even with all of Dean’s moaning and groaning along the way. 

You close your eyes, the warmth of the winter sun a slight reprieve against the bracing breeze. You take in a deep breath, letting it settle deep inside you, feeling as the inhalation travels through you, winding all the way down to your toes. 

You breath in again, your fists clenching as a familiar pang of sorrow begins to overtake the relaxation. In the quietness and warmth, you feel her. Your Aunt Rose. Your teeth clench as you feel tears prickle at your eyes. But as you take in another breath, you won’t let them fall. Because you’re happy to have her here with you. This is exactly what she would want for you. She would be happy for you. Proud, that you had taken a giant leap out of your comfort zone, and that warms you more than any sunshine. 

You open your eyes again and take in one more deep breath as you look out past the vally, the tears drying without having fallen, and you let it all out in one big sigh, your body humming.  

“Good?” You turn to Dean, who offers you a gentle smile, and you swallow down the lump in your throat and nod, your lips soft but upright.

“Well,” he shifts to fully face you, his stature casting a shadow over you. “If you’re done with all you’re breathing,” he raises his eyebrows. “How about some breakfast.”

The diner clock reads 10:34 when you and Dean walk into Billies, him once again holding the door open for you before you step inside. You’re still surprised by the gesture, even though this is the second time he’s done it, but you appreciate it nonetheless. 

Once Dean steps in behind you, you start to head for your usual spot at the counter, but Dean catches you by the elbow and points to a booth towards the middle and against the opposite wall. It’s the same one, or at least close to, the one he sat at a few weeks ago when you first ran into him here. 

You really enjoy sitting at the counter, but after all the nice things Dean’s done for you the last few days, you figure you can let him pick the seat. Plus, something tells you this man has a routine, and you’re not going to try and mess with it. So you lead the way to the spot he pointed out and throw yourself onto the fading vinyl with a slow whoosh as it adjusts to your weight as Dean settles in across from you.

“I’ve never actually been here for breakfast.” You comment as a middle-aged woman steps up to your table and places down menus and automatically fills Dean’s coffee mug before she motions to yours and you nod. You haven’t seen her before, so you’re assuming she must do the morning shift. 

“Thanks, Denise.” Dean shoots her a smile that leaves you feeling slightly jealous of the woman before he wraps a large hand around the mug, and brings it up to his full lips, closing his eyes as he enjoys the first sip with a hum. Your breath catches. 

God damn why are even the simplest things with him so hot?

“You’ve been missing out then.” He says as he opens his eyes and sets the coffee back on the table. It takes you a moment to remember what he was talking about. 

Breakfast, right. 

You reach down the table and grab the tin of creamer as he continues. 

“As good as the lunch is, Lloyd back there makes the best damn eggs you’ve ever had.” You nod your head as you stir your coffee, watching as it lightens to your preference – like milk chocolate. 

“I’m actually not a fan of eggs.” You place your spoon onto your napkin, the liquid saturating the paper as you take your own sip, your shoulders scrunching up towards your ears as the hot liquid settles in your chilled body, even after Dean kept the truck well heated on the drive back. The last few days had been the coldest since you arrived, and the weather was calling for snow soon. 

You almost miss Dean’s wide eyes and gaping mouth before he quickly shakes it away.

“Who the hell doesn’t like eggs?” His nose scrunches and you can see the visible confusion on his face. 

You just shrug.

“Never really been a fan. Especially when I go out for breakfast. If I’m going out, I want something I don’t normally have.” 

“Which is?” Dean raises a brow as he takes another sip, this time keeping the mug in his hand instead of setting it down, and your heart rate spikes again.

Down girl. You remind yourself. It’s breakfast, not a date. Nothing was going to happen after this.

“Pancakes.” You grin. “With strawberries and cream.” You watch as Dean’s lips part at your answer, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head but he swallows his comment down with another sip of coffee. 

“Fair enough,” he settles on instead. 

Only ten minutes later, Billie makes her way over, your breakfast orders in hand – Your pancakes, complete with a whipped cream swirl, and Dean with the “hungry man” platter, filled with three eggs, two pieces of toast, a few slabs of bacon, and finished off with a side of hash browns. Your stomach feels queasy just looking at that much food. 

“I see you made it out alive.” Billie smiles down as she places the dishes on the table and looks between the both of you. You let out a laugh, remembering your conversation from a few days ago as Dean’s brows knit together.

“What now?” He looks between the two of you. You purse your lips, trying to bite back your smile.  

“I had Billie vouch for you before we went hiking.” You pick up your fork and make the first cut into the pancakes, appreciating the perfectly golden brown fluff. “Had to make sure you weren’t going to throw me off the cliff or anything.” You smirk at him as you take your first bite, and your body slumps as you moan as the food hits your taste buds, the perfect combination of vanilla and strawberry.

“Oh my god, this is so good,” you say over the food, not caring that it’s impolite. Dean wasn’t kidding about the breakfast here. It was heavenly. 

It takes you a minute to realize both Billile and Dean are staring at you with wide eyes, so you push yourself back upright and swallow your food down, heat rushing up your neck and cheeks. Billie gives her head a slight shake and a smile appears over her shock. 

“I’ll pass along your compliments to Llyod.” Billie pats you on the shoulder then heads back towards the counter, and you shoot her an embarrassed smile as she goes.

“Told ya breakfast was good.” Dean points at you with his fork, a gleam in those gorgeous green eyes before he turns back to his plate before he can see you lick your lips, wanting something sweeter than what you ordered. 

“So you thought I was going to kill you?” Dean looks up at you before taking another bite. You smile over your food, swallowing it down.

“Look, we obviously didn't get off to the best start.” You raise your brows at him. “In case you forgot, you did point a gun at me, which I really didn’t appreciate.” He clears his throat and looks down at the table, heat brightening his cheeks.

“Yeah I might have forgotten that part.” You just smile even though he’s still avoiding your gaze. 

“So yeah, I asked Billie if you were a psycho who would kill me if I went hiking with you.” That gets a huff out of him.

“Really?” He holds his hands out in front of him, gesturing to himself. “Do I look like a serial killer?” His eyes find yours, astonishment shining in his irises. 

“A girl can never be too careful.” You smirk.

“Fair enough.” 

A couple forkfuls of silence later, you clear your throat.    

“Know if anything fun is happening this weekend?” You ask as you watch Dean take a massive bite of his eggs, which were almost gone already. 

You asked to make small talk, but you were also curious. The town turned out to be pretty quiet, quieter than you thought you would appreciate, and loneliness was starting to grate at you. Turns out, four weeks alone wasn’t as relaxing as you expected it to be. It was nice at first, but now it was starting to get boring. Hence the hike this morning. But now that was done, and you’ve read, meditated, shopped, and ticked off every checkbox of your relaxation reset this trip was meant to bring. Though it sounds like the town is bustling with city tourists during the warmer months, there is not much going on while there’s snow on the ground. Really, the only thing you could think of was to head to Max’s. But truth be told, you didn’t feel like sitting at a bar alone again. You were missing your friends. 

“No clue,” Dean swallows down his bite and chases it with some coffee. “I’m headed up to Bolton for some work.” He puts his fork down and leans back as he rests his hands on his thighs, a near empty plate shining up at him. 

Bolton. That sounded familiar, but you weren’t sure why.

“What’s Bolton?” You ask before you take another bite from your still half-full stack of pancakes.

“Town ‘bout an hour from here. I have some work I gotta take care of.” You raise your eyebrows as you swallow down your food before you open your mouth. 

“You’re a traveling mechanic?” You can’t stop the smirk that starts on your lips. It sounds a bit ridiculous. Especially considering he had his own shop here. 

He sighs and rolls his eyes as your smile grows. 

“If you want to put it like that, sure.” He draws out crisply, though his smile matches yours. “There’s a few classic car collectors up there that have me on retainer to keep their cars in good shape. A lot of them buy and sell them for investments.” He picks his fork back up and stabs at some lingering potatoes. “So they have to be in working order if they want to make back a profit.” He shoves the scoped food into his mouth. 

Well that was a surprise, and your eyebrows show it. You hadn’t expected pick-up-truck-Dean to be a closested classic car maestro. 

“That actually sounds cool.” You match his bite with one of your own, each mouthful of pancake just as good as the first. 

“And being a regular, small-town mechanic doesn’t?” He shoots back and you breathe out a laugh as you lick your lips. 

“I didn’t say that.” But Dean just rolls his eyes again with a smile. 

Grumpy Dean may be a pain in the ass, but this Dean was starting to grow on you. He was actually, dare you say, fun?

“There’s a car auction on Sunday and one of my regulars wants me to check out a few of the cars he plans to put up beforehand.” 

“Sounds fancy,” you comment absentmindedly as you take the last bite of pancakes you can manage. You’ll need a box to take home the rest. “I’ve never been to a car show before.” You put your fork down and sit back, happily full. 

“If you want, you’re welcome to come.” Your eyes shoot to him. “Can’t imagine you’re into cars, but,” he shrugs as he trails off, like he’s not inviting you on a weekend trip with him.

Your mouth falls open and he looks at you when you don’t respond. 

“What?” He asks genuinely, but your voice is stuck in your throat.

“How’s everything over here?” Denise suddenly appears, hands on her hips and a smile on her face. 

“Perfect as always,” Dean beams up at her and she just rolls her eyes at him before she looks at you.

“Such a schmoozer.” Denise smirks at you and you tighten your lips with a quick nod, still in a half state of shock by Dean’s invitation to go away with him this weekend. 

“Anything else I can get you kids?” Denise turns back to Dean. 

“Just the check.” He reaches down for his mug and tips it back, finishing it off. 

“And a box.” You jump in, your voice suddenly back. 

Denise reaches into her apron and rips off a piece of paper from a pad and drops it on the middle of the table.

As soon as the check lands, you reach for it at the same time Dean does, but you’re quicker, and you snatch it up and pull it to your chest as he grapples for it. 

“What are you doing?” Dean stares into your eyes, clearly asking you to give him the check, but you have no intention of doing so. 

“I’m paying for breakfast.” You explain simply and you reach over to your hiking pack and pull out your wallet, grabbing your credit card and handing that and the bill back to Denise.

“Be right back.” 

“You don’t have to do that.” Dean falls back into his seat. You smile.

“I do. Consider it a thank you for fixing my car, and taking me hiking.” And you mean it. Because the truth is, you owe him a hell of a lot more than just a breakfast, but considering he won’t let you pay for the new battery or the gas from today’s trip, it was truly the least you could do.

“Here ya are, sweetheart.” Denise returns a beat later with the receipt and a to-go container. You accept both, and you’re sure to leave her a 25% tip as you usually do with morning waitstaff since you know for a fact they earn a lot less than the afternoon and evening crews. 

After you sign your name, you throw your card and wallet back into your bag.

“Thank you,” Dean’s voice from across the table gets your attention. You smile at him.

“Of course.” And he smiles back at you.

“Just don’t let my mom know I let you pay. She’ll have my ass for it.” A laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it and your head falls back with it. 

“Deal.” You lick your lips as your laugh dies down. “I promise not to tattle to your mom.” You pick up your plate and dump the rest of your pancakes into the box, taking a moment to push down the edges around the lid. 

Once it’s secure, you scoot out of your seat and grab your bag, throwing it over your shoulder and picking up your leftovers as Dean also stands. 

“After you,” He holds his hand out and you give him another smile, your body warming from toes to ears as you brush by him, the heat following you out into the cold and into the bed of Dean’s truck as he drives you home.

“Ugh this feels so good.” You moan as you sink further into the tub, bubbles tickling your chin as your body relaxes into the near scalding water, but that’s exactly how you like it, especially after having spent your morning in the bristling cold. You had stretched out once you finally got home, but you could already feel the start of soreness in your glutes and calves from the hike.

Your phone pings next to you, briefly interrupting Vance Joy. You grab the wash cloth hanging off the edge of the porcelain and wipe your hands off before you grab it off the floor, your home screen illuminating with a text message.

Dean Winchester.

Your heart rate spikes at his name as you sit up straighter and quickly open the notification, curious what he could be texting you about.  

If you do want to come up to Bolton this weekend, just lmk. I’m leaving Saturday morning. 

You squeeze your lips together and throw your head back against the pillow behind you, a smile spreading on your lips. 

Before you can even think about what you want to do, your phone pings again. You hold your phone up, a new message appearing under the last one. 

Probably should mention, I’m staying at my mom’s place as she lives up there. She has a couple spare rooms and she wants you to know she’d be happy to have you.  

“What the fuck.” You whisper to yourself as you stare at the words. His mom. You had no idea this was going to involve his mom. Your excitement starts to fizzle. 

“This is weird, right?” You ask out loud as you dangle your arm and phone over the tub’s edge and rest your head back, letting everything sink in. 

It wasn’t enough to just be going away for the weekend, but now you’d be meeting and staying with his mom. 

Who the fuck goes on a trip with a man they barely know, to stay with his mother of all people? 

Aunt Rose would. Your inner voice answers the question you had no intention of responding to. 

Hell, she would have jumped at the opportunity for the chance to meet new people and enjoy a fun weekend at a fancy car show.

You blow out a slow breath through puffed cheeks. 

If you were being honest, it did sound cool. You’ve never been to a car show before, not that you know much about them, but you do “ohhh” and “ahhh” whenever a nice car drives by. You can at least appreciate them. And what were you going to do this weekend? Spend another evening alone at Max’s with the hopes of maybe finding someone to go home with? 

But you know that’s not what you want to do. 

Oh god, Sydney is going to murder me. 

You bring your phone back up and open a text.

I’m in. 

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[onestepbackwards]

Love That Bites

I’ve been playing Symphony of the Night randomized for months, and rewatching some stuff from the anime, this series has had me in a choke hold. I’ve had a thing for Dracula for Y E A R S and the first season of the anime did not help (Even if I have my gripes with that adaption). Unfortunately, there is very little Dracula x reader content out there, and I can only reread it all so many times. o(TヘTo) I also started writing this a bit before the Dead Cells x Castlevania crossover was announced, so that only fueled my motivation to write this. This series is also going to ignore some stuff in canon like some stuff in Aria and Dawn of Sorrow. Canon is just a sandbox and I’m making a castle. I hope you all enjoy the start of this new series! This is part 1, and is mostly setting up the scene for the story. Hopefully there will be more to come! Apologies if this chapter is a little messy. (❁´◡`❁) Summary: When you decide to take a vacation to get away from a toxic home life, you just expect a few days of relaxation to revitalize yourself. However, you didn’t exactly plan on finding the castle belonging to your family’s arch nemesis. Especially when he should be dead for the next century... CW: Reader is a Belmont, Anxiety and anxiety attacks, brief mentions of past trauma, mentions of toxic home life, increasing stress, death mention, paranoia and confusion, you’re safe though don’t worry. Word Count: 6016 words! First: Here! Next: Link

-----

All you had wanted was a break.

You wanted, no, needed to get away for a week. Simply put, your home-life had become unbearable once again.

Normally, you at least tried to plan ahead when you wanted to take a break away from home, but things had been piling up. You knew if you didn’t get out, you were going to crash and burn again, and that was the last thing you needed as of late.

So early in the morning, before anyone else in your home had awoken, you packed a few small bags, and loaded up your vehicle.

You left a note on your kitchen counter for your relatives, and quickly left. If you thought too much about it, you’d start feeling guilty again, and stay behind.

Thankfully, the quiet car drive had been a welcome one, every mile further away from your home only seemed to lift the stress off of you little by little.

It took a while to get to your destination, but a few hours were nothing to you, considering your profession.

When you have to go on hunts across the country, and occasionally around the world, you learn to get used to the long travel time.

The trip to your current destination had always been worth it, though.

It was a small cabin out in the countryside. Your family had purchased some of the land a few generations ago, and it was a sort of vacation spot, at least until recent years.

Not many family members knew about the property anymore. Your late mother had been one of the few that knew about it, and had still used it. When she was alive, she took you often as a kid to get a break from your training.

You had nothing but fond memories of the place.

The little cabin and surrounding wildlife had become more than just a place with fond memories as of late. It had also become a safe haven.

When things got rough at home, it became a habit to take off to said little safe haven.

So here you were.

The cabin was the same as you had left it, not that it ever changed.

You walked through the overgrowth on the porch, and pushed through the front door. The inside was just as old and dusty as you remembered leaving it a few months ago.

Despite the layer of dust, it still looked well kept and comfortable. Just like you liked it.

Lugging your bags through the entry, you let out a sigh as you made your way through the small cottage. When you entered the living area, you unenthusiastically dropped your bags to the floor, and fell onto the couch with a loud sigh.

You didn’t do anything for a while, simply staring at the ceiling as you sat, your thoughts fast, but your head feeling empty. Overwhelmed, but dissociative.

It was like this every time you came here, but you could finally breathe.

No yelling, no arguing, no working your days away with chores at a house. If you were lucky, there wouldn’t even be hunting involved. Just pure, unbothered peace.

A scoff left your mouth at the thought.

“Some Belmont I am…” You muttered to yourself. What Belmont doesn’t like going hunting? Your aunts and uncles probably still jump at the chance to do so, and your step family would already be out the door with weapons in hand.

You didn’t hate hunting. But nowadays, you were beginning to dread doing it.

Either you were hunting all the time, especially on trips that were long and hard on you, or you were at home, forced to play housekeeper half the time. Anytime there was a hint of a possibility of a monster near your city, your step family took the job. They essentially barred you from doing anything nearby, only having you do the tedious jobs.

As much as you liked traveling, you didn’t like doing it for a hunt that might be a bust half the time. When you arrived at your destination, either the monster was long gone, never existed, or was already killed by a local hunter instead.

It’s become a drain on your personal finances, and a drain on your energy. Especially since you were always ‘expected’ to come right back home. Didn't matter if you were an adult, they needed their precious servant back.

“What a joke…” You huffed, before closing your eyes.

Attempting to relax, you took in the scent of the area, listening to the slight breeze and wildlife from outside.

There was so much going on in your head, but the cabin was already helping, you could tell. Despite your thoughts, your body was already beginning to lose tension.

This was just what you needed.

You waited a few more minutes, taking everything in, before you got to work. Getting up, you grabbed your few bags, and hauled them off into a bedroom. You dropped them on the bed, and moved to the closet, looking for something specific you had left behind years ago.

Opening the closet, you pulled out an old backpack, and brought it to your bed. With memorized ease, you opened your bags, and tossed a few things in.

It’s not like you’d need a lot for a hike. Just a few snacks, some water, and a few weapons just to be safe.

You weren’t exactly afraid of monsters showing up, but being who you were, you couldn't afford to be too careful.

Chances were you’d be fine. Monsters were incredibly rare on this stretch of land, and the wildlife tended to keep to itself.

You paused though when you gripped The Vampire Killer. The whip that had been in your family for centuries.

Would you really need this for a hike to clear your head…?

You stared at it for a moment, battling with yourself in your head. You took it just about everywhere. Not so much for hunting, but so it wouldn’t end up in anyone else's hands.

Eventually, you came to a decision, and placed the whip to the side. The whip was safe here at the cabin, and you had several weapons. It would be fine. You would be fine.

With your mind made, you finished packing your backpack, and slung it over your shoulder, before heading for the front door of the cabin.

The door locked shut behind you, and you set out in a random direction. It was still early in the day, just around noon, you figured you could go out by the mountains. You raised a hand up to the sky, wincing at the light.

“The shade should be perfect to come back this way by 5….” you mumbled, and got to walking.

You wouldn’t be out longer than a few hours. By the time you got back, you could make something light to eat, and catch up on some reading, if you were lucky.

Wandering around, you followed a few paths, before turning around the base of a smaller mountain. You knew the area well, but still enjoyed venturing out and exploring.

Especially as of late, the beauty and nature of the area was an amazing way to clear your head and de-stress.

The walk was nice, and you swore you remember a lake being in the area. If you could find it once again, it would be the perfect place for a picnic.

It had only been an hour of walking when you turned the corner of the base of the mountain, where you normally would have been able to see the lake.

Something felt a little bit off, though. Despite the weather forecast being clear for the day, the sky seemed to be clouding up the further you walked. Then the further you walked, the more on edge you felt. It was as if you were somewhere you weren’t supposed to be.

However, instead of a beautiful lake surrounded by a forest and mountain range, you were met with a sight that made your stomach drop.

Out across the edge of the lake, just past the tree line, was a humongous castle. One you distinctly remember not being there in the first place.

Lightning occasionally flashed around it, and you could hear the thunder in the distance. Despite how dreadful the dark clouds looked above it, the weather almost seemed deadly calm. It faintly reminded you of the eye of a storm.

You felt sweat beginning to form all over you, and you swallowed thickly as you stared at the ominous structure. Your hands shook, and you were finding it hard to stand.

Dracula’s Castle.

There was no doubt about it. You had learned about this castle your whole childhood, and understood what its presence meant.

Sitting down on the grass beneath you, you took a shaky breath. If you stood any longer, you were worried you would faint.

How was this possible? Dracula hadn’t been vanquished for that long…. Right before you had been born, if you remember correctly.

Has someone resurrected him? Or was someone trying to take his power? You had heard of both scenarios happening, and you weren’t sure which one you wanted to be true.

Hell, you knew it was possible for Dracula to be revived just a few years after being defeated, if someone powerful enough wanted to.

But if you were being honest… You hadn’t expected Dracula to be back in your lifetime, or at least in your youth. You had somewhat hoped it wouldn’t be your problem.

You didn’t exactly want the fate of the world resting on your shoulders.

It had been something you had feared since you learned the truth of your lineage. That Dracula may very well come back, and you, or your future kids may need to step up and defeat him. That you might have to be the one to save the world from destruction.

Licking your lips, you tightly gripped a strap from your backpack till your knuckles went white, and looked up at the sky.

“Hey God? Why me?” you asked, genuinely serious.

As expected, you received no answer, just another flash of lightning and clap of thunder in the distance.

Your eyes then landed back on the castle, and you let out a nervous sigh.

You knew you needed to check it out, despite the feeling of dread in your gut.

As you got up though, a sudden thought struck the back of your mind.

The Vampire Killer was back at your cabin, almost an hour away.

Groaning loudly, you couldn’t help but smack your face in frustration.

“Of course! The one time, the one time-! Of all times to have decided not to take the whip with me!” You cursed, frustration building in your chest alongside the anxiety.

Yeah, you could go back to the cabin and go grab it, but that would be wasting possible precious time.

“Okay… So, it’s not the end of the world… Yet… People have defeated Dracula before without the Vampire Killer. Not a big deal.”

It was a big deal, to you at least. This was huge. Dracula could be planning to attack humanity at any moment, and the best weapon against him was sitting snugly on your pillow back at your cabin.

You sighed.

Still, as you watched the castle in the distance, you couldn’t help but notice something odd.

You didn’t see any monsters. Hell, you didn’t see any bodies outside the front of the gate. Didn’t Dracula have monsters all over his castle, inside and out? Not to mention all the stories you had heard, involving impaled corpses that tended to sit outside the castle every other resurrection.

It was quiet.

No monsters. No bodies. No Dracula.

It made you feel sick, like you were waiting for something to attack you from just around the corner.

But the attack had yet to come.

You weighed in your options. Could you really just leave and go back to the cabin? How were you so sure nothing was watching you right now? What if something followed you back, and found your cabin?

Another thought suddenly hit you like a freight train.

Just how long had Dracula’s castle been here?

It has been over a year since you last checked out this lake. The castle was in the perfect place to remain hidden from view at the cabin, being behind a mountain. The castle could have been here this whole time, just an hour away from you, and you were never the wiser.

The very thought sent chills throughout your body. Just how close to death had you been this whole time?

You felt like you were going to hurl.

As much as you want to leave, and puke from the overwhelming emotions, you force yourself to stand your ground.

You had to investigate.

It wasn’t up for debate. As much as you would like to throw excuse after excuse until it was nighttime, you did not have that luxury.

You came to a decision.

The most important thing you could do right now is head into the castle and check things out. You had some weapons on you, so it wasn’t like you were going in defenseless.

If push comes to shove, you could always make a hasty retreat, and head back over to the cabin. There you could grab The Vampire Killer, and return after regaining your strength.

Was it the best plan? No. But right now, any plan was better than nothing.

A thought passed through your mind as you took a step forward.

Should you call for backup?

You had your father and step brothers, and even your uncle and aunt. Quick, you pulled your phone out, only to sigh in frustration.

“No service. Figures.”

You should have guessed. There was just barely usable service at the cabin, why would there be any out here in the wilderness?

Looks like it was all you. No help was coming for you.

If you died… You doubted help would come for you as well. Your family would probably only come looking for your equipment, if anything. The chances of them looking for you, especially here at this lake, were slim. There wasn’t a question in your mind that they would miss the castle.

Just like you had for who knows how long.

Gripping your phone for a moment, you sighed, before shoving it back in your pocket.

Calling was no use. It really was just you against the forces of evil.

“So much for an uneventful, relaxing trip…” You mumbled, and reached into your bag. Pulling out a dagger, you gripped in your hand for a few moments, before finally heading towards the castle.

The walk towards the looming castle wasn’t as long as you had hoped it to be. All the while, it also felt like it lasted an eternity.

Must have been the impending doom and anxiety, which only increased with each step you took.

Why hadn’t you come across any enemies? So far, just like you had seen from afar, there were no monsters.

Even as you quickly approached the gate, you saw no adversaries. No undead armies. No wolf men ready to tear you to shreds.

Just an old, rusted looking gate.

You couldn’t help but wonder, what was Dracula’s game? In nearly every journal you’ve read with family members in the past hunting him down, his castle is filled with enemies of all sorts. Even at the gate, monsters are usually ready to attack.

Yet, it was quiet.

For a few moments, you could only stare. It was now or never, and you couldn’t exactly ignore the fate of the world.

Gently pushing at the massive iron looking gate, you were surprised at how easy the door gave way. It slowly opened with a loud squeak of the hinges, stopping just a few feet forward, waiting for more force to push it forward.

You were a bit dumbstruck.

Was it really that easy? You weren’t going to lie, when you approached the gate, you assumed you may have to find another way in, or some obtuse way of opening it.

Peeking your head in, your eyes widened at just how… empty the courtyard was.

There were a surprising number of plants and trees, sure, but other than that? The only sign of movement there was, was the plants moving from the wind.

It was ominous. The lack of any life, or undead rather, made your hair stand on end.

A low rumble of thunder went off above you, and you looked up at the dark sky. Despite being early in the afternoon, it felt so late with the clouds surrounding the area like this.

It was fitting, you supposed.

Steeling your nerves, you pushed the door open further, and stepped into the courtyard. Each step had you on edge, with you anticipating an attack that never seemed to come.

That didn’t stop you from keeping an eye out though.

Approaching the door to the castle was more or less the same as the gate. Though it wasn’t any less daunting. The doors towered over you all the same, and did nothing to quell your nerves.

“...Should I knock?” You mumbled to yourself, before shaking your head.

“Stupid… It’s a Vampire Lord’s castle, who of which I’m supposed to vanquish. ‘Should I knock…’ what a dumb question.” you grumbled to yourself. Though at this point, it felt like you were stalling.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open, fully expecting an attack.

But once again, you were completely surprised to see an empty entry hall.

“...Now this is definitely weird.” You mumbled, carefully eyeing the long, dimly lit hall.

You pushed past the door, and let out a small squeak as it shut behind you. The grip you had on your dagger tightened, and you shuddered at how the temperature seemed to drop.

It was cold. Unnaturally cold.

The air was stagnant, and hardly cold itself, but something about the area was nearly sapping your warmth. Was it your nerves? Or just some aspect of the castle being supernatural?

Perhaps it was the strange nerve wracking loneliness that seemed to echo with each step down the hall?

Either way, something was not right about the castle, and it wasn’t just the fact it was a being of Chaos.

It was the fact that the further you walked in, you were encountering nothing.

The courtyard and entry all weren’t the only empty areas. The large open room you entered after that had also been empty, along with the hallway and stairway after that.

Not a monster in sight.

There wasn’t even any sign of life in this place. Sure, you hadn’t encountered anything yet, but every room you entered, every hall you cleared…

It was as if nothing was here in the castle.

You weren’t going to lie. You were starting to have doubts about this being Dracula’s castle.

But at the same time, there wasn’t any explanation for this place otherwise.

Not to mention, the air in this place wasn’t normal. There was an underlying power in the air. The same kind that made your hair stand on end. The same kind that made the air feel colder than what it was.

What castle could feel this way, besides Castlevania?

“Still… none of this makes any sense…” you mumbled to yourself as you cleared another empty room. At this point, you were both extremely nervous, and incredibly frustrated.

You had combed through several parts of the castle at this point. It was getting late, and you were getting nowhere. Already you had been through what looked like an art gallery, passed by a library, and pressed on through a giant dining hall.

As you neared another set of stairs, you could only run a hand through your hair in irritation and stress.

Despite how much ground you have covered, you found no sign of this place being lived in. You only had so much daylight left, and you were beginning to feel like you were investigating a weird, lost cause.

Still, you persevered. If there was a throne room, you at least wanted to check it out. If you didn’t find anything, you would come back another day more thoroughly prepared.

And if you found something? Well…

You could hope for the best. Maybe if Dracula is there, he would be weak? It would make sense, given the lack of life and monsters in the castle. If he was weak, you wouldn’t have to worry about not having your whip, you hoped.

If not… Well, you could run away. Despite the lack of weapons on you, you still had a few tricks up your sleeve. You didn’t live this long as a monster hunter without learning a few ways to give yourself a back door for a fast escape.

Thankfully, it wasn’t too hard to figure out where the throne room was. It tended to be high up in the castle in nearly every iteration your ancestors talked about in journals.

Still, as you came across a final staircase leading up to a separate tower of the castle, you couldn’t help but be more on edge than ever before. The clouds circled above you, occasionally cracking off lightning and thunder uncomfortably close by.

“It really feels like I’m about to be in some final showdown from a movie…” You mumbled as you approached the door, your dread pooling in your gut.

However, much like the growing trend of this castle, you noticed something odd.

The door to the throne room was open, and creaked on its hinges. It was as if it was half hazardly pushed away by someone running out the room.

You briefly wondered if that was a bad sign or not.

Going against the little voice in your head telling you to turn back, you pushed past the door and walked in.

The first thing you took note of, despite the poor lighting from outside, you could see just how huge the room was. You could easily imagine it being big enough for a battle, or a council meeting.

Then there were the giant windows that occasionally lit up the room whenever lightning strikes. Some were even open, clacking open and closed from the wind outside, said wind occasionally pushing the curtains back every so often.

It certainly added to the creepy atmosphere.

Finally, there were the two most glaringly obvious parts of the throne room. The giant throne on top of a set of stairs, and what looked to be a statue kneeling in front of it.

You could only stare in silence. The tension you felt in the air was so thick, you felt it could snap at any moment like a stretched out rubber band.

Your curiosity pushed over your fear, and you found yourself walking forward. Each footstep echoing through the chamber, the sounds of your steps bouncing off the walls.

Coming to a stop a few feet away from the throne and the statue, you couldn’t help but feel… odd at the sight. A mixture of fear, dread, curiosity and intrigue turned in your gut as you stared down the statue.

It was Dracula.

Or at least… You thought it was Dracula.

The statue was big, despite the figure kneeling on one knee in what looked like pain or exhaustion. A hand gripping his gut, while another reached forward, clawed fingers pointing towards you. A cloak seemed to wrap around his body, but it hardly hid his large form.

The head was… a lot of things.

His face was hauntingly beautiful, much like you had come to expect from vampires. What was his hair seemed to beautifully frame his face, with his mustache and beard only adding to the charm.

However, under the beauty, you could see traces of what he really was. A monster.

Despite his handsome features, his face was contorted in what looked like a pained snarl. His fangs were bursting forth, large and ready to pierce.

And his eyes… His eyes were wide open, the whites a darker shade than the iris, which only added to his supernatural and inhuman look.

The room was silent, and you felt your blood run cold, despite the sweat on your skin.

It was Dracula, no doubt about it, but…

Why was he a statue?

Tentatively, you took a few steps forward, but still kept your distance.

You studied the statue a bit more, rounding it cautiously. After a few moments, you carefully stepped forward, and poked the shoulder, before jumping backwards.

Pure stone.

Your hands fell to your sides. It really was just a statue.

“Unbelievable.” You mumbled, confusion and disbelief clear in your voice.

Just what was going on? The castle was here, so in theory, so should Dracula. Not a statue of the guy.

“Unless…” You murmured, putting a hand along your chin in thought.

Dracula being turned to stone somehow… Perhaps that was the reason the castle was like this?

It made sense, the more you thought about it.

“It’s as if the whole castle is asleep…”

If Dracula was technically alive, but out of commission, then it would make sense. Though if you were being honest with yourself, you were still surprised you weren’t seeing some of his more powerful supporters. Surely you would have at least seen Death by now?

The deity was loyal to its master, appearing even when Dracula had not always been in control. So where was Death, or any other powerful monsters that no doubt would support the Lord?

Perhaps being petrified like this, also cut ties with his presence to those powerful monsters? He simply seemed asleep to them, or not fully revived. If he wasn’t fully around, or at least enough for any of his powerful generals to sense him, they simply did not know he was here.

Other than that, it was the only explanation you had.

It still made you nervous and uncomfortable though.

You continued to eye the statue. Was Dracula dead, or was he aware? What had happened to lead to this?

Thinking hard, you tried to remember everything your mother had told you about the last time Dracula had appeared. It was a long time ago, and your mother had only heard about what had happened from another family member.

Didn’t she mention that the Belmont who defeated Dracula last say something about a curse?

You cursed your poor memory, which had been worsening with your own health as of late. Shaking your head with a sigh, your frown deepened.

Still, even if you didn’t know all the details, this could easily have something to do with said curse you were briefly told about all those years ago.

Biting your lip, you placed your hands on your hips, unsure what to do, or where to go from here.

Obviously no one was in danger at the moment, even if you still felt on edge. Dracula was very much contained here in the castle.

But that left you with a bunch of different thoughts rushing through your mind.

You couldn’t really ask for a better spot for the castle to be, if you were being honest. It was hidden, right along private property. Chances of civilians finding it were slim. The less innocent lives you had to worry about, even if it was idiots trespassing, the better.

Then there was how to deal with the problem at hand. What do you do with the statue and the castle? You couldn’t just leave Dracula here could you?

“If I had only brought the Vampire Killer…” You mumbled under your breath, nails digging into your palms.

The whip was ancient, but incredibly powerful. It was strong enough to break down stone. You could finish the job tonight, if you wanted to make the trek…

But would that be wise?

…Did you even have much of a choice?

It’s not like you can actually do anything right now, anyway. Your dagger and other weapons can’t cut through stone. Not like your whip could. You would be here for hours.

You let out a sigh and rubbed your temples, exhaustion creeping up on you. Sure, you hadn’t fought anything, but this whole ordeal was adding onto your already existing stress.

Running a hand through your hair, and looking out a nearby window, another thought ran through your mind.

What if you revived him by destroying the stone? Even if he was cursed, you weren’t aware of the specifics, and you didn’t want to be the one to accidentally doom the world by trying to ‘save’ it.

Feeling your hair stand on end again, you quickly glanced back at the statue. Even if he was on his knees, he was still level height with you.

And it felt like he was looking right at you.

The thought made you very anxious. Was he alive? Or even aware you were standing right in front of him? A Belmont, debating on how to end his life?

Suddenly, the very thought made your stomach sour.

“I… Need to go. I need to leave.” You said, finally making a decision. You needed to get away from here.

You were not equipped to handle this.

A fight to save the world? Sure, you could improvise.

But whatever was happening here? No. No way.

Despite your conscious telling you to stay and deal with the problem, you tentatively took a step backwards. Then another. And another.

Your eyes stayed on the statue until you reached the door, and you quickly turned and left, shutting the large door behind you.

It didn’t take you long to hightail it outta of the castle. The main layout you had passed was burned in your mind, and made it easier to run through.

Though it wasn’t until you were out of the castle, did you feel like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The moment you passed through those large, ominous doors and into the courtyard, it was as if you could breathe again.

You didn’t wait to catch your breath.

Running through the courtyard, you sprinted out past the rusted gate, not stopping until you were long past the lake that sat in front of the castle.

Finally, when you reached the spot where you had first noticed the castle, you came to an abrupt halt. Panting, you turned around, and eyed the ominous structure.

It was late now, the sun had been setting for a while. However, that didn’t hide the castle from your sight. The dark clouds still hovered above, with lightning and thunder striking every so often.

You still couldn’t believe it. Dracula’s castle was here, for who knows how long.

And you were going to have to destroy it somehow.

“Lucky me…” You mumbled.

Taking one last look, you anxiously made your way back to your cabin.

The walk back, which normally would have been peaceful and relaxing, was nothing but a stressful venture for you. Sure, the castle seemed empty, and you could no longer sense it the further you walked. However, that didn’t mean you were safe.

For all you knew, you were being followed by an army of hell, just waiting to ambush you.

That… didn’t really put you at ease, even as you approached your cabin.

Cautiously, you opened the door. With your weapon ready, you made a quick search of your small home.

Thankfully, no one but you seemed to be here. You weren’t sure if that relieved you, or made your anxiety worse.

You decided to take it as a blessing.

Still, you didn’t rest. It was too late to drive back, nor did you want to just leave, knowing the castle was right there, just an hour away by foot.

Biting your lip, you eyed the Vampire Killer, which was still sitting innocently on your bed. You could practically hear it in your mind to pick it up and head back to the castle. ‘Use me! Use me! Finish the job!’

As much as you wanted to, you felt a sick feeling in your stomach. Something wasn’t right, and you knew it. You just needed to figure out what it was, before you made any hasty decisions.

One wrong move, and you could not only revive your family’s immortal enemy, but also potentially doom the world if you fail at killing him. This was something where you had to tread lightly, lest you make a horrible, world ending decision.

No pressure.

You stood next to the bed for a few minutes. It felt as if your mind was racing, but you felt unable to think at all.

With a sigh, you made up your mind. Grabbing your whip and a bag, you headed to the backdoor. You wouldn’t be hunting Dracula tonight, no, but you still had to ensure your safety.

Starting with some protective measures.

Thankfully, throughout the generations, your family came up with many different ways to ward off monsters and vampires from properties. If you wanted any sleep tonight, you would have to put some of these in place, at least for your peace of mind. It wasn’t something that would take too long, but better safe than sorry.

Even if you hadn’t seen a single monster, you weren’t going to risk your life by making assumptions. It was small mistakes that got hunters killed, and you weren’t going to join their numbers.

Setting up a few traps and enchantments took longer than you would have liked, but you weren’t going to take any chances. Your cabin already had some traps in place, but renewing everything wasn’t going to hurt anyone, let alone you.

When you finally sat down on your bed, you rolled onto your back, and blankly stared at your ceiling. The Vampire Killer in your hand tightly.

“What now?” you asked yourself.

The answer seemed simple. Sleep, wake up, and take care of the problem.

It wasn’t that simple though. You already had fought yourself about this for hours. Did you really need to now, right before bed?

You turned your head to the side, seeing your phone charging on your nightstand.

“I could call for assistance…” you said, toying with the idea in your head. But did you really want to invite that mess here? With how reckless your family at home was, you didn’t think it was a good idea.

Then there was the fact they would find this place. Your little sanctuary away from them. They would never give you peace if they found this place. In fact, you were sure your father would tear it down, or claim it was his, since he was the beneficiary after your mother passed.

They would never let you have anything like this. You knew they already had tried multiple times to find where you go when you disappear, you weren’t going to give them that luxury.

Most of all, you weren’t going to give them the last thing left untouched that had been your mother’s.

You could call your other family, such as your uncle, but you shot idea that down. You hadn’t really talked to your aunt or uncle in years since your father took over everything. For all you knew, their numbers had been changed again. As much as they’d probably like to know what was going on, you felt a bitterness in your gut.

As much as you loved your aunt and uncle, they hadn’t so much bothered calling or texting you these past few years. Why would they help you now? Maybe for some glory? ‘To keep humanity safe?’ When they haven’t even helped out family?

You snorted. No thanks.

Besides, it would no doubt take them hours to get here, and they’d probably tell your father about this place against your wishes. Something about wanting all ‘Belmonts’ on deck. Bah.

Turning onto your side, you reached over and turned the lamp on your side table off.

You could think more on this tomorrow.

[seenoversundown]

Sparrow Of The Dawn : Chapter Seven

Sam x Willa (Fem OC)

Warnings: Anxiety (Normal and Flying related) Mentions of Plane Crashes (all in panicked thoughts) Lost Luggage (it can be a rough time for some people) Angry Sam (if you squint) , and Fluff (but like..if you get Sam Feels, you chose this)

Word Count: 7.1k

Summary: Sam unfortunately finds himself in not so meet cute with Willa. Hopeful that he doesn't cross her path again; the world works in mysterious ways and not always in your favor.

Author's Note: I hope you're ready 🤭

Stuck In the Middle With You - Stealers Wheel "Well, I don't know why I came here tonight, I got the feeling that something aint right, I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair, And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs."

“Alright, repeat after me.” Quinn says after placing their car in park. They turn to me, hands extended as they explain. “No annoying man is worth your shot at this job.” 

“No annoying man is worth my shot at this job.” I repeat, also turning to face them for the pep talk they're giving me. 

“Good. Just.. don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do out of state. Most things I wouldn't do out of state are felonies, there’s a lot of red tape with crossing state lines.. so, assault is off the table.” Their nonchalant attitude about committing crimes will always make me laugh. The thing is, Quinn doesn’t look like the type of person who would commit a crime, but also definitely looks like the type of person who would commit a crime. I don’t put anything past them because I’m sure whatever they’ve done if they’ve done it, they’ve one hundred percent gotten away with it. 

“Assault is off the table.” 

“Right. My knitting needles are still available if they’re needed when you’re HOME.” a definite emphasis on home.

I take a deep breath, centering myself for the morning, trip, and week ahead. Oh, it’s going to be a long one.

“You got this, don’t you stress that pretty little head. Just text me if you’re feeling particularly violent.” 

“Okay, okay. You’re right.” I pull them in for a hug. “I got this.” Once again repeating their words back to myself. 

I hop out of their car and tug my definitely overpacked luggage from the back seat. 

“I’ll text you when I land, okay?” I call back to them and shut the door, and turn toward the entrance to the airport.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

After I checked my luggage, I went searching for the gate. I find a seat, sit down, and wait. Albeit very early, but you can never be too sure with flights. It could be busy, or they could have changed the gate; there are too many variables to things going wrong. I decided to send Sam a text to gauge when to expect him while I sit here. 

Willa: What’s your ETA?

I try to keep it simple enough, but as the minutes tick by I start to get more anxious. Why are men so terrible at texting? I wait another few minutes and text him again.

Willa: Are you on your way?

Could I be any more like an annoying girlfriend? God. Ew, don’t think about Sam and Girlfriend in the same sentence. 

I check my phone for what feels like the millionth time this morning. Where the hell is he? Scrolling through my apps trying to distract myself to no avail. I close out and open my text thread with Sam, which only consists of me texting him. He still hasn’t answered my last one, and his read receipts aren’t on so I don’t know if he’s ignoring me or just hasn’t bothered to look at his phone. Which, why would he not check his phone? We’re seated together, we’re flying together; why would he not bother to communicate with me? Unless..

No. 

No way? 

He wouldn’t bail, would he? 

I mean, I don’t exactly know him super well but.. He wouldn’t.

Right?

My heart starts to race in my chest as I begin to panic. I stand up and look around, trying to see if I can spot him through the crowd of people walking down the hallway. I stand on my tiptoes, trying to gain the tiniest bit more field of view when I see him. Casually walking down the aisle, breakfast sandwich in hand, headphones on, paying nobody any mind. 

I seethe.

He smiles at me when he catches my eye. I swear it takes an age for him to finally meet me with how slow he’s walking. Like he has all the time in the world.

“Morning, Birdie.” He says cheerfully, taking another bite of his sandwich. It astounds me how little regard he has for other people. Just living life flying by the seat of his pants, not worrying about the time or anyone else involved. Especially not if that anyone is me. 

“Where the hell have you been, Sam? We board in–” I double-check the time. “Ten minutes!” I say exasperatedly. 

“I know.” He looks confused. How could he be confused about this? The email stated explicitly boarding begins at 5:50am. Oh, it's too early in the morning for me to be dealing with this. “That’s why I’m here? Why on earth are you irritated before 6 in the morning?” 

“Why do you always show up at the last minute?” I snap back.

“I’m still early, they haven’t started boarding yet. Jesus, calm down, okay. It’s gonna be fine.” He takes the last bite of his sandwich and throws the wrapper in the nearby trash, wiping his hands on the front of his gray sweatpants. God, his gray sweatpants. I shake my head of the thought, remembering I’m angry at him and refusing to let the thought of his ass in tight tapered gray sweatpants distract me.

Oh, I could hit him, I am that mad. Get it together. You will not let this man ruin this experience for you just because he wants to be a bonehead first thing in the morning. What was it that Quinn said again?

I take a long breath in, hold it–

“He’s not worth my job. No across-state line crimes. Assault is off the table. Knitting needles in case of emergency.”

– and release. 

I choose silence instead of violence. 

The attendant comes over the speaker and starts announcing boarding schedules. We have pre-selected seats and are, thankfully, sitting on the side with only two. We at least won’t have to deal with any strangers for this leg; PMW is a small airport, so of course, we have a layover to get to the West Coast. I hope I can convince Sam to let me have the window seat. Naturally, we’re one of the last groups to board. I’m just happy I checked my suitcase and just brought my backpack for the flights so I don’t have to worry about the overhead bins. Can’t say the same for Sam though, as he stands next to me with his backpack on and duffle bag gripped in his hand. 

When our group gets called, Sam heads over first; I sort of just cower behind him like a small child. Annoyingly latching onto the back of his cream-colored henley. We take awkward baby steps through the aisle as people file into their seats. I give Sam a gentle reminder of our seat numbers, 11A, and B, in front of the wings where it's quieter but not the emergency exit.

He pops the overhead compartment open and shoves his duffle bag inside then he slides in, right to the window seat.

“Uhm. Can I..” I start nervously. “Can I actually take the window seat?”

He stares up at me. His mouth hung open, clearly confused. “Why?” he asks.

I roll my eyes, irritated that we’re holding up the line to some degree, as people mumble and push past me. “Seeing out the window.. Helps.” trying my best to tiptoe around the elephant in the room.

“Helps?” He parrots me. 

“I hate flying, Sam. Okay? Can I please just sit in the window?” I rush out under my breath, finally spilling the beans. If he had just an ounce of intuition about him. Nevermind. 

“Ohhhhh.” He says, standing up, well, standing as best he can under the overhead bin. “That’s why you were being so psychotic this morning.”

He stands up straight in front of me in the middle of the aisle, waving me in with his hand. 

“It’s not psychotic to want someone to show up on time.” I slip past him and slide into the window seat. Shoving my bag under the seat in front of me. He follows, plopping down next to me and doing the same with his bag.

“I was on time, just not early. I’m actually always on time, you’ll find.” He leans an arm against the armrest between us, placing an inquisitive finger to his chin. “I’ve not once been late since you’ve known me, have I?”

I decline to answer, and instead raise the shade on the window and pull out my headphones, ready to drown him out once the flight attendants are finished with their instructions. Because, yes I do pay attention to those. You can never be too careful. 

The plane starts to move, and instantly my heart is beating like a drum in my throat. I wring my fingers together, focusing on the friction of my hands. The heat of my palms only soothes me so much. 

Sam leans over the armrest again and whispers, “You can hold my hand if you’re scared, it’s okay.” I look down to see his palm staring right back at me. I glance up to his face trying to determine if the smile he wears is genuine or if he’s being a dick. 

My pride won’t allow me to accept the former, so I reply, “I’d rather eat dirt, actually. Thanks for making fun of me.” Then I cross my arms and stare out the window. 

“I wasn’t – Nevermind.” He adjusts in his seat and puts his own headphones back on his ears. 

The relief I feel knowing this first flight is a short one is minimal at best. Just when I get used to being in the air, we’ll have to touch back down and then I’m waiting in the airport to do it all over again. 

I pull my headphones over my ears and choose a playlist I specifically curated to be relaxing for the flight. I tilt my head back and focus on anything but the low hum of the engine. Just as I start to forget, I’m thousands of feet in the air..

Turbulence. Fuck.

I jolt upright and clasp my hands together, squeezing them together so tightly I’m on the verge of breaking a finger. I feel a hand touch my forearm. I peek open one eye, despite knowing that the only person that could be touching me right now is Sam. I look up at him, and he gestures for me to remove my headphones. 

“It’s a short flight, so they won’t go up as high. Meaning there will be more turbulence than normal as we fly through the clouds.” 

Great.

Wonderful. 

Amazing.

That makes me soooooo happy, actually. My breathing picks up, and I trying to calm my nerves and focus on my breathing. In through my nose, and out through my mouth. Sam sneaks into my line of sight again.

“Hey.” He gives me a gentle smile and I might find it sweet if I wasn’t losing my mind at the moment. “We’ll only be up here for ten minutes tops, then we descend. You have nothing to worry about.”

Easy for you to say. I resist the urge to snap at him and go back to my breathing techniques.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I have never in my life been more thrilled to touch solid ground. Every time the plane shook, I squeezed my eyes and hands tighter. I’m surprised I made it out unscathed. Well, relatively unscathed. The skin around my thumbs bore the brunt of my anxiety when I wasn’t trying to be as still as possible. Somehow, my logic was if I can stay still, we won’t plummet to the ground to our untimely deaths. At one point, we dipped what I’m sure was a normal amount, and I swore that was the end of me. 

“I’m hungry.” Sam says to me as we walk through the tunnel to the airport. “Think I’m gonna roam around to find some.”

I stop midstep. “No. I don’t trust you. We’re going to find the gate.” I say.

A statement, not a question. 

“But Birdie, I’m hungry.” He complains, like a five-year-old. Jesus, if I wanted to tote around an annoying child, I would have had one by now. 

“We’re going to go and find the gate, Sam.” I don’t let him argue with me. “Please, don’t do this to me. I’m already stressed, and I don’t trust you not to make it worse by showing up at the last minute again.” We finally step into the gate. Airports always smell so bad, and the Newark airport is no different. No matter what time of year, they always smell like sweaty socks. Gross.

“How about this,” he counters, and I wait for his terrible idea. “We go find the gate–”

“Yes! Thank you!” I exclaim triumphantly. I honestly thought I’d have to fight him harder on that. He throws me a pointed look as we walk side by side.

“How about we go find the gate, we see it exists, and then we go get food. Together.”

I contemplate his words, mulling them over in my head. I’m not usually one to eat while flying. Due to all the nerves and stress that I’ll miss a flight or get lost. I don’t fly much for this reason.

“Come on, Bird. We have a two-hour layover, and if I don’t eat, I’ll be cranky, and there’s no vacancy in the cranky department because we both know that spot is taken by you.”   

“Hey!” I protest. He’s.. not exactly wrong, though. Am I cranky? Yes. Do I have a reason to be cranky? Yes. Come to think of it.. I don’t think I’ve actually seen Sam cranky. I’ve seen him surprised, like when I yelled at him at the farmers market. I’ve seen him happy, like when we won the contest. I’ve seen him sassy, because yes sassy is the word I’d use to describe when he bickers with me. But I’ve never seen him cranky or mad even. He always matches my snarkiness tit for tat, but he never seems irritated by it. It’s one of the reasons I don’t fully mind having to do this project with him. He’s talented, which makes the work part easier. And he’s a total pain in my ass. Mostly because I just.. Don’t understand him.

“So…” He waits with anticipation. 

“Okay.” I give in; I feel like I’m always giving in to him. “We’ll see where the gate is, and then we’ll go get food.”

We make our way through the crowd. Luckily, the gate we have to be at is just at the next terminal over, so we don’t have to walk very far. Sam, however, is a very tall man, and I find myself struggling to match his stride, even at a casual walking speed. Or what I’m sure is casual for him. I wrap my hand around his elbow and give him a gentle squeeze as if to remind him of my presence. Just another example of Sam acting like he’s the center of the universe. He does, at the very least, slow down a little after that, but I don’t let go of his arm. Just in case. 

“There’s our gate, Birdie.” He looks at it lovingly and slips his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. “Isn’t she pretty?” he lets out a dramatic sigh. 

“Yeah, okay. I get it. Let's get you some food before you wither away and die.”

Choosing a place to eat goes swimmingly when I point out somewhere, and he turns it down. Stupid vegetarian. Finally, we end up at one of those marketplaces that’s more like a rest stop than an actual place to eat. 

Sam buys half the store worth of snacks, and I stick to just a bag of goldfish and a coke until he yells over to me. “Hey, can you grab me sushi if there’s some over there?” He points to the cooler. 

Does he really think he’s going to find sushi here? In the airport? I look anyway just to appease him, and when I find none, I check out. I grab my two items and meet him in the hallway, and we head back to the gate to sit until we board. Thankfully.

We find a couple seats next to an outlet and put all our belongings on the seat between us. 

“There was no sushi?” He looks over at me with the biggest puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen. Jesus. Have his eyes always been that pretty?

“No, Sam. There was no sushi.” I say, hardly wanting to disappoint him. 

“Damn.” he mutters, shoving a couple chips into his mouth. 

“This is Newark. Did you honestly expect there would be sushi?” I ask, opening my bag of goldfish. 

He shrugs, “I dunno. Ya never know.” 

“I thought you couldn’t eat sushi, being a vegetarian and all.” I question skeptically, popping a few crackers into my mouth and opening my bottle of coke. 

“Sushi is my one exception.” He whispers to me like it’s a dirty secret. “Don’t tell Daniel.”  He says as if Daniel and I are in cahoots with each other to conspire against him. I’ve never even met the man. Not officially, anyway. I’ve seen him at the bar a few times, but we've only exchanged a handful of words as he’s checked my ID a time or two. 

“My lips are sealed.” I pretend to lock my mouth and throw away the key. He smiles at me, and it reaches his eyes. Bright and happy. How he manages to be in such good spirits traveling is beyond me. 

I reach between us, setting aside my goldfish, and dig through my bag for a charger. I spent so long checking my phone and staring at my empty texts from him that the battery is getting low, and the next flight is the longer one. I feel through every corner of my bag; I swore I packed it in and I don’t feel it. I open another compartment and feel around there, nothing. Another, and nothing. God damnit. 

“What’s wrong?” Sam asks, setting his food down next to him. 

“Can you just–” I start pulling out items from my bag and setting them in his hands. His eyes are wide with confusion, but I don’t care. I need to find my charger. 

In what feels like Aggie Cromwell’s endless purse of goodies, I stare down at my now empty camera bag. All the contents strewn between mine and Sam’s laps, his arms overflowing. 

“Uh.. Bird?”

“Ugh! I can’t find my charger.” I lean back in my chair, annoyed, and he laughs. He LAUGHS. The nerve of him.

“I have an extra.” he attempts to hand me some of my things back. I stare at him slack jawed. Okay?

“Well good for you!” I snap back. Mr. Overprepared Kiszka has an extra charger while I’m going to have to buy a new one. He laughs again, his eyes squinting as he does. 

“I mean I have an extra you can borrow. Hold on.” He starts to successfully hand me back my things and I crowd them around my lap. 

“Here you go.” He gives me a small smile, and I grab the charger from him. 

“Uhh, thanks.” I unravel the cord from where it's tucked around itself and plug it into the wall socket next to me. I pause just before I stick the cord into the lightning port on my phone. Why does he have an extra?

“Sam.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t look up from the book he’s reading. 

“Why do you have an extra charger?” 

“Just in case.” He shrugs, still not making eye contact with me. I have a feeling of what he’s going to say if I press the issue, and I better be wrong. 

“Why?” I push his book out of his view. And he sighs. Oh here it comes.

“Because Birdie.” He adjusts in his seat, putting his bookmark in between the pages and looking me directly in the eye. “Clumsy and forgetful usually go together, and you’re definitely clumsy. Is that what you wanted me to say?”

I’m not forgetful. I’m prepared–I’m overprepared, really. I overpack. I plan, and I plan, and I plan. I am not forgetful. Sufficiently annoyed and again choosing not to argue with him, I start to place my things one by one back in the pockets of my bag. 

With his eyes still watching me, he says, “So.. Do you like the camera bag?” a wide smile spreads across his lips. God damnit. I knew he was going to be like this and still bought one anyway. But to be fair, it was the first bag that popped up in my Google search for ‘camera bags’. He totes his around everywhere he goes, so clearly he thinks it's a good choice. 

“I do. It has lots of pockets for all of my things.” I say.

“Like your rocks.” He holds up a black tourmaline raw chunk, and I pluck it from his fingers and tuck it securely in one of the pockets. 

“Yes, like my rocks. That one is good for travel.” I say matter of factly. My phone buzzes against my leg, drawing my attention away from him.

Quinn: Birdieeeeee, you got some splanin to dooooo

Willa: Not you too 🤦🏻‍♀️

Quinn: Hey! You’re not allowed to protest when I was just trying to be a good, dutiful, stay at home roommate and do your laundry while you’re away. HOWEVER I found these in your hamper

Quinn: [ picture ]

Quinn: I was just wondering, if your ratty old sweatpants are here.. What you’re planning on wearing there?

I groan at their text, earning a curious side-eye from Sam. When we won the competition, an email was sent out informing us that we would be sharing a double room. Despite knowing we’d be in two separate beds I still wanted to seem like I have my shit together. Ratty sweatpants do not say ‘I have my life together.’ They say I’ve worn these through every breakup I’ve ever had and are stained with no less than four different kinds of comfort meals and chocolate syrup from the ice cream I've consumed in them, too. Resulting in the conclusion that my life IS, in fact, a mess. Sue me for cryin’ out loud. My phone buzzes again.

Quinn: Are you wearing your sexy pjs?

Quinn: for HIM?

Quinn: A MAN?!

Quinn: You only wear them for me? ☹️

That causes me to laugh, out loud. 

“Everything okay?” Sam asks, concern written on his features.

“Oh, HA, yeah. Everything is fine. Just roommate stuff.” I explain awkwardly.

Willa: They are not sexy pjs just because they match. I was trying to seem like I have my life together okay. People with matching pjs have their lives together.

Quinn: [ picture ]

Quinn: That’s cold, Wallaby.

Jesus Christ. I stare at a photo of Quinn’s pouting face and promptly redirect my attention to Sam. He’s just been in his henley this whole time. No jacket, no coat, no scarf, and he usually always wears a scarf. 

“Are you not cold?” I let my impulsive thought escape my lips. 

“No.” He says plainly, turning the page to his book. 

“Did you even bring a jacket?” I can’t help myself but ask.

“I packed a jacket, yeah.” He pats his own camera bag. 

“Oh.” Well damn. How am I supposed to respond to that? He shuts his book with his finger still keeping his place.

“Are you cold?” He asks.

“I’m always cold, remember?” I say absentmindedly. 

I always come prepared for traveling because airports are cold, planes are cold, and, in my unfortunate turn of luck, it's cold where we’re going. I get a free vacation to an equally cold place. Not how I pictured California. I wore a black long-sleeve under my cream-colored Patagonia pullover to keep warm. I figured a small coat would be enough, with the beginning of April around the corner. 

“Did you want to borrow it?” He interrupts my thoughts.

“What?”

“My jacket. You said you’re cold. Did you want to borrow it?” 

My eyes go wide at his suggestion, and I can’t seem to make my mouth move in protest. I just sit there with my mouth hanging open like a weirdo, and because I’ve taken too long to answer, he already starts to pull his jacket out of his bag. Oh god.

“Here.” He says, giving me a small smile. I take the jacket from him and straighten it out. Oh. It's the rust-colored jacket he was wearing the first day I saw him at the Farmer’s Market. I slide it around my shoulders and slip my arms through each sleeve, staring down at the ties in lieu of buttons. Sam laughs as I stand there.

“It just ties, Birdie. Here,” His hands, oh god, his hands, work the delicate strings at the front. Tying them in tiny little bows. I’m exactly the same height as him as he stays seated in front of me. When he’s finished, he’s still smiling. “There you go. Perfect.” And I really look at him for what seems like the first time. Oh, this is going to be bad.

“Now Boarding Flight 2637 to San Francisco.” They announce over the intercom. Thank god.

 We’re not the last boarding group this go around so it should go a little easier. We stand slightly out of the way until it's our turn to go; this time, Sam lets me lead. Similar to the last flight, we’re in front of the wings, and he allows me the window seat. It works out better that way because he spent so long trying to fidget with the overhead compartment before sitting down next to me. 

Much like the previous flight, I fight with my nerves. I’m just hoping there isn’t turbulence. We’re in the air for almost seven hours; I don’t think I could handle turbulence for that long. I run through my routine. Taking my headphones out and wrapping them around my neck, double-checking my playlist, slipping my Kindle into an easy-to-grab area just in case I am calm enough to read. Doubtful, but we can hope. 

I clasp my hands together and wait as the plane navigates the runway. The flight attendants start their safety presentation and as always, I pay attention. I think I catch a slight giggle from Sam as I crane my neck to be able to see over the seat in front of me. Then we take off. 

I stare out the window as the ground shrinks beneath us, the wheels folding up under the aircraft. I make myself small and still, paying attention to my breathing and the speedy thrum of my heart in my chest. In through my nose, pausing, and breathing out through my mouth. My head starts to get fuzzy as I take in the smell of Sam’s cologne still lingering on his jacket. The woody notes of cedarwood, balsam, and amber calm me down a little. Has he always smelled this good? Why have I never noticed that before?

My eyes wander to Sam, curious to see how a normal person handles a flight. Secretly stealing a glance at him, I take in the profile of his face backlit by the sun from the opposite window. He really does have good genes; all of them do. It’s kind of rude, actually. His hair waves slightly, resting against his shoulders. He runs a hand through it as he casually scrolls through his phone. I lean my head against the back of my seat, feeling myself start to relax a little with each deep breath I take. 

He meets my gaze and holds his hand out to me, offering me the same comfort I previously denied him on the last flight. Again, I decline with a small wave of my own hand. I should be okay, I think to myself.  

After a bit, I’m jolted from my calm demeanor when more turbulence hits. I sit up straight and resume my position of small and still, nervously wringing my hands together.

Sam grabs my hands with both of his and squeezes gently. I look over at him and he looks so worried about me. Why does he look so worried?

“Come here,” I think is what his mouth says to me. I can’t hear anything over the rapid beating of my heart in my ears. Everything else is muffled.

He breaks apart my hands and laces his fingers with my right one, my left one having no choice but to wrap around the back of his. He tugs me a little, pulling me closer to him and I lean my head against his arm. I inhale deeply, searching for the scent that calmed me earlier. In through my nose, pause, out through my mouth.

Again and again, until I feel my heart slow, even if just by a small amount. His thumb gently rubs against the back of my hand. 

“Hey, look at me.” He says softly, as my ears start to clear up. I tilt my head up, never leaving his arm, and stare directly into his warm brown eyes. “You ever heard of the jello theory?” I shake my head no. 

“The theory is that when a plane experiences turbulence, it's kinda like a stapler trapped in jello. The stapler wiggles around but doesn’t suddenly land on the floor. So the plane isn’t going to tumble out of the sky because of a little turbulence; it’s just gonna wiggle around a bit.” 

Huh, I never knew that. I can feel my muscles start to loosen where they’re half wrapped around him. 

“Better?” He asks.

“Better.” I say. Which is the truth. I do feel better after hearing that. 

“Want to watch a movie? Help distract you a little more?” He bends down slightly, unzipping his bag and pulling out his laptop, all one-handed, as he never lets go of mine. 

“How?” Obviously confused by the mechanics, we both have over-the-ear headphones, which puts sharing out the question. And Sam doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy to listen to a movie with the sound on blast in public.

“I have one of those splitter things. Borrowed it from my brother, actually. Ya know.. Just in case.” He says, and the smallest tint of pink washes over his cheeks. He pulls down the tray and sets his laptop on top of it, again reaching into a pocket and pulling out the splitter, and clicking it into place. He wiggles his fingers at me to give him my headphone jack, and then he plugs that into place right next to his. 

“I have Zootopia, The Godfather, and uhh,” he pauses looking down at me. “Twilight.” he mumbles.

“I thought you said you’ve never seen Twilight?” I question skeptically.

“I haven’t.” and I’m almost positive he’s lying. “I uploaded it ya know.. Just in case.” he repeats for the third time today. Samuel ‘just in case’ Kiszka.

“Twilight it is.. Everyone should see it at least once.” I give him a bit of a side-eye. My belly does a flip, and I squeeze his hand tighter when another jolt of turbulence hits. He squeezes my hand back, letting me know its going to be okay. 

“Twilight it is then.” and he clicks play on the movie.

My eyes start to flutter close sometime around ‘Hold on tight spider monkey’, but before I fall asleep, I could swear I see Sam quoting the movie under his breath. I tuck that nugget away for another time.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

When I wake up, I’m still curled up to his arm, our fingers still clasped together, his head gently resting against mine. I raise my head a little, careful not to disturb him, and notice the spot of drool I’ve left there. Oh god. I sit up straight, scaring him in the process, and begin furiously wiping at my mouth. He looks at me wide-eyed, then down at his arm, back up to me, and turns back to his movie. He doesn’t say anything nor does he look upset. My face heats with embarrassment, and I scoot as far away from him as I possibly can. 

He disconnects our headphones and starts to pack up his laptop when the pilot informs us of our descent. I feel like I’ve been on a plane for ages today. Somehow, despite my nap, I still feel unrested. Must be all the anxiety. 

When the plane finally touches down, Sam is quick to get up and stretch. I can’t blame him; he’s nearly six feet tall. I can't imagine that’s comfortable. Especially with my clinging to him like a koala the whole flight. I stand as tall as I can in the cramped space and set my bag on his seat waiting to exit. I feel around my pockets, double-checking that I have everything. Where is my phone? I bend down to feel around the floor, looking to see if it has fallen between the cracks, and notice it under Sam’s seat. I grab it and pocket it. I stand up and get about halfway, only to come eye-to-eye with Sam’s bare belly button. I peer up, and he’s on his tiptoes in the overhead compartment, trying to wriggle out his duffle bag. 

Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. With each stretch and pull of him trying to get his bag out, his sweatpants shift further and further down, exposing the band of his Hanes boxers. Fuck off. Honestly. What have I done to deserve this torture? 

I stand as tall as I can and stare right at the bottom of the overhead compartment just as he gets his bag free. God, I need a fucking nap.

“We have to stop at baggage claim.” I remind him as we start to walk single file down the aircraft. 

“Right.” 

We both say goodbye to the stewardesses, both of whom bid Sam a warm farewell and don’t bother to look at me. Lovely.

“I think it's this way.” He says, pointing at the signs. I let him lead the way; if he wants to captain our way through the airport, so be it. My brain is fried, and I don’t even want to be here anyway. We walk down two flights of stairs to a carpeted area at ground level, nine carousels lined up next to each other. He takes a left to one-half of them and points. 

“They said this one.” 

So we wait. And we wait. And we wait some more. 

Bag after bag comes out, none of which are mine. I start to get restless. Stepping from foot to foot. 

“Sam.” I look over at him. I tuck my hair behind my ears and then begin wringing my hands together. “My bag isn’t here.” 

“What do you mean your bag isn’t here?” He drops his duffle off his shoulder with a loud thud.

“I mean, none of these bags are my luggage.” My eyes are wide, and my pulse picks up. “Oh god.” I run my hands over my face and start to pace back and forth in front of him. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Hey, hey, hey.” He calls to me. “Birdie!” finally grabbing a hold of my shoulders and stopping me. “We will go check with the baggage claim office and figure it out. It’ll be fine. Please calm down.”

“Calm down? You want me to CALM DOWN?” I start to raise my voice a bit too loudly for where we are. Even though it’s nearly a ghost town down here for it still being in the middle of the day, I know I’m embarrassing him, but I can’t stop myself in the heat of the moment.

“We're in another state. This is for WORK, and my luggage is gone. I will have nothing to wear to anything they need us to do. I can’t even brush my teeth! And you want me to be CALM?” my chest rises and falls with my rapid breaths. He reaches out and snatches one of my hands and cradles it between both of his. 

“I just meant we’ll figure it out, okay?” 

A frown makes its way to my face, and I just wave him onward to whatever plan he’s internally concocted. He leans down and grabs his duffle bag, and heads off to his destination. 

When he finally reaches the desk for our airline, no one will pay him any attention. All trying to get their own affairs in order before glancing over at him. 

 “Excuse me.” he says and waits. No one looks. “Excuse me.” he tries again, and nothing. Finally, seeing a side of Sam I’ve never seen before, he raises his voice and yells, “Who the hell do I need to talk to to get my girlfriend’s luggage?” and I nearly choke on my own saliva. 

“Sorry sir, what can I do for you.” a petite young woman says to him.

“My girlfriend checked a bag, and it wasn’t at baggage claim. We’re in town for a business trip, and it’s important that she has her luggage. How can we figure out where it is?” My eyes gloss over and my ears start to play static noise at the second mention of ‘girlfriend’. I don’t even hear the rest of the conversation when he shakes me back to reality. 

“They sent it down the wrong track. She said it should be on number 2 instead of 7.” When I fail to move my feet, he questions me. 

“I’m your what now?” I ask him. Girlfriend.

“I just thought they’d take me more seriously if I said that. ‘Coworker who usually hates me and bickers with me all the time’ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.” he says casually, putting an arm around me and leading me in the direction the receptionist sent him. “Why? Do you think I should have said something else? Fiancee? Wife?” 

“Oh, Sam, for the love of God, please shut up.” I rub my fingers over my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Yep, I definitely need a nap.

“Damn, okay..” he laughs.

We finally make it to the right carousel and I grab my luggage. Crisis averted. I give him a small thank you, knowing he made it happen but also still being incredibly annoyed by this process. And maybeeee taking it out on him a little bit. Just a little..

We make it to the front entrance, where a man in a suit and cute little hat has a sign that says “Sam Kiszka and Willa Clarke”. He introduces himself as Christian, takes my bag and leads us to his vehicle. I hop into the backseat as Sam and Christian put the luggage in the trunk. When Sam joins me in the backseat, I don’t even bother to open my eyes. 

“He said the hotel is like a half an hour’s drive with the traffic.” He whispers to me. The faint click of his seatbelt follows. I hold up my hand, give him a thumbs up, and try to nap the rest of the way there. 

The ride feels much longer than it actually is, given its bumper-to-bumper traffic. The roads are terrible and bumpy, and he zigzags through the cars, but I try not to pay attention. I wish I had some melatonin so I could just conk out when we get there. Every curve, bump, and honk of the horn grate on my last nerve as I’m pulled from my nap and further thrust into insanity. 

I feel myself barely keeping it together by the time that we get to the hotel. Longing for my PJs, I meet the boys at the trunk to get my luggage. I say thank you to Christian and watch as Sam shakes his hand and stealthily hands him a tip. Even in my half-asleep brain fog, that still makes my stomach flip. Why was that kinda.. Nope, not even going there.

I follow behind Sam, and he opens the door for me. At least he has manners. And we wait our turn to talk to the receptionist at the front desk.

“What name is the reservation under?” He asks. I pull my phone out of my pocket and go searching for the email in my inbox. 

“Says both of us.” I pocket my phone again. 

We step up to the counter, and the young man greets us with a pleasant smile. “Welcome to the Hyatt, I’m Dustin. How can I help you?” His curly hair bounces as he talks. 

“We have a reservation under Sam Kiszka or Willa Clarke,” Sam replies. 

“You’re with the newspapers, right?” 

He shakes his head. 

“You’re in room 422. You’ll head down this way to the elevators, and you’re on floor four.” Dustin says as he slides us our room keys. Sam grabs them, handing me the extra. 

“We have continental breakfast every morning starting at 6 and going until 9 in the morning. We have plenty of amenities, like a pool and fitness center you’re free to use, just use your key to access the rooms. If you need anything else, call down to us from the phone in your room.”

We thank yet another person and make our way to the elevator. Sam presses the correct floor button and I lean against the back wall.

“The home-iest home stretch of all home stretches.” He says to me, and I just glare at him, having depleted my energy for the day. God, I’ve lost the will to bicker with him. 

The elevator dings, and I nearly hear the chorus of angels singing in the distance. My bed is calling me. Well, a bed is calling me. I tote behind Sam like the sleepy toddler I’ve become as he twists and turns his way down the appropriate hallways until he reaches room 422. The golden room. Finally. 

He places the key against the pad, the light turns green, and the sound of it unlocking is music to my ears. He steps inside flicks on the light, and starts hysterically laughing. I’m not even sure I want to know what’s so funny when I ask him, but I do anyway. 

“Why are you laughing?” his tall frame blocking my view of anything as I try to get my suitcase in the door. I shut the door when I’m finally successful, and he’s wiping the tears from his eyes as he continues to roar with laughter. I let go of my luggage handle and step into the light.

“Oh. My. God.” 

Of fucking course, there’s only one bed.

Chapter Six

Chapter 8

Masterpost | Taglist (or reply to be added!)

Taglist (:

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[sunny-mercya]

Simplicity

Edmund Pevensie x Male Reader

Fandom -> Chronicles of Narnia

Masterlist

The low humming of Jazz music, which comes from the old crackling radio in the livingroom—loud enough to hear throughout the apartment—fills the bathroom and is a cutting line for the once setting silence before.

Warm steam filled the small bathroom—giving the tiles a glistering of droplets—breathing onto the mirror and fogging it up. A nice comfortable humidity it was for the body and environment of minds.

You and Edmund laid in the bathtub together; you between his legs, back against his chest and while you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, Edmunds arms found a comfortable spot around your stomach—fingers drawing shapes and prodding onto your skin.

The water was as hot as it could be, almost feels like a boiling pot. During the colder months—end of October to mid April—it was nice to take a long bath in such burning like warmth. Though for your own liking, the temperature was just a tad too high and it took you more than just a few minutes to get adjusted to it. But Edmund was the one who had drawn the bath and preferred such temperatures much more.

The Instrumental version of; Bei mir bist du schön, had started and you tapped, drummed even, your fingers in rhythms against Edmunds arms and humming, mumbling the bit of lyrics you remembered—not completely in tune—with it.

One of the many songs you enjoyed to listen to, when it was being played on the Radio—you're still on a lookout for a Vinyl Record of it and even if it would cost you almost half your loan, it was worth it to buy—as it was, during the rough and nightmarish years of war, one of the few enjoyments you had.

Time like these, alone with Edmund and basking in simple togetherness, has become short lived and rare as of current in the last few months. With Edmund having his college courses from early morning to late afternoon and you working afternoons shifts—from 5pm till midnight—you two barely saw each other at all. So time like these are sacred and the weekends cramped with activities as much as possible.

«You want to watch the upcoming movie tonight or read some books?» Edmunds voice was deep low whisper, spooked you awake from your dozing off.

«Both. Though I wouldn't mind taking a nap too» you yawned a bit, the whole atmosphere, the sharing body heat, was making you feel drowsy and sleeping (the whole day) sounded appealing.

«I think, to do both would be a bit much to give attention to. A nap you can't take either, love, you already slept till lunch» deep chuckles rumbled through Edmunds chest, echoing through the room and sounded pleasing in your ears.

The water, which have lost significantly on temperature over the last two and half hour—goosebumps rising on your skin—sloshed every now and then whenever one of you two moved around too much. Creating a play of low and high tides and with a rubber duck and toy boat, it would make a great scene play indeed.

~~~

Scratchy and roughly felt the once soft fluff blankets on your skin now, a itching brush against your naked thighs—irritating.

The cushions of the Sofa didn't felt as comfortable today as you had imagined it would be.

Rigid, uptight and posh, like a guest or friend who visit their friend for the very first time, you sat next to Edmund—who has started to, probably again, read Moby-Dick and being on Chapter 4 already.

You didn't felt like reading nor watching some Television and neither to take a nap, even though you felt drowsy before—but now very much wide awake.

«Ed, bored am I,» you proclaimed as dramatic as you could, dragging the words at the end and lips wobbling, throwing yourself at your boyfriends side.

Edmund didn't take his eyes off from the book, reading the last few sentences—paragraphs—of the page, before turning to the next one,

«Well, what am I supposed to do about it?»

«Ending my suffering boredom?»

«Fine, get the scrabbles and Rommé, since ya won't let me finish my reading, love.» Edmund sighed out loud deeply, closing his book.

Edmund watched how you sprung from the sofa excitingly and walking towards the dresser. Roaming through the drawers in search of the games. The rising of your shirt—which belonged to him—showing a peek of your naked butt, was a enjoyable sight.

Most of the scrabbles round has won Edmund. Which wasn't surprising at all, as Edmund has a vocabulary as big and thick as the Oxford Dictionary, but the game wasn't about winning—it was about annoying and teasing each other, which then would turn into some deep, philosophical, conversations.

«And would you believe it? Clara was such a biatch towards Jeannie for no reasons at all and then, she had the audacity to like come at me and give me shit about me doing my work not properly and like—»

Edmund placed another letter piece on the board, listen patiently to your work ranting and gossip. You always had something new to tell him from your work, a nice change and contrast to his tiring and boring college life.

«Clara was the blonde right?»

«Yeah, blonde and with a horrific green and orange blazer.» you nodded, reminding him of the Blazer you absolutely detested. The colour combinations forever grotesque to you.

Edmund hummed, taking a sip from his tea—which you had made after round three. You placed two more pieces and Edmund couldn't help himself but to chortle, snorting even and choking a bit on his tea.

«Dear, I don't believe, Tresdonning, is word to exist,»

«Well, now it is and will be, Mr.Dictionary» you waved him off, placing another row of words—which probably didn't exist at all, but you didn't care, never had, as you both never played Scrabbles serious and abide the rules at all not once.

It didn't stop Edmund to be a teasing know-it-all arse and correcting you, whenever he got the chance for it. This too was part of the game though, then without it wouldn't be much fun to play at all.

«They bringing Night of the Count in the Television tonight»

«Brilliant, we haven't watched this movie in so long, I will make us some cinnamon bread for it. Eds, you still haven't told me about this weeks college,»

Edmund took another sip of his tea, dragging it into a long one. Compared to you daily doings, his mundane life of college felt boring—so boring how he himself felt sometimes, making him question why someone like you—a person so full of boastfully jolly colours, kind and lovable—would date someone like him, a person of greyish and bitterness.

So Edmund kinda dreaded it to tell you about his week. Pushing around the subject the best he could, though his options were running thin.

«The same as ever,» he begun, moving the scrabbles piece around his fingers.

At some point he spill dumped his entire week, the good and bad, to you and you listen—occasionally asking questions and begging in a way to still hear more about his subjects he had chosen.

~~~

The bed always felt the comfiest, more for safety and off guard, relaxing and causality, compared to the sofa and occasionally the thick fluffy wool carpet in front of the fireplace—where many heated passionate nights were shared.

Moonlight rays shining into the window and peeking through the small curtains gap. Illuminating the bedroom in a slight, bluish like, glow. It brought enough light too see most outlines and your own hand.

Edmund knew you are already deep asleep, ascending into the wonderlands of dreams while he whisper sweet nothings into your ear. Covered with thick layers of blankets and curling against his side, him having you in his arms—tracing his finger softly against your skin, drawing circles on your cheek and going over your lips.

Just laying here, in his bed with you in his arms, during one of the simple days, was something Edmund cherished the most. It mades him aware of how good life in the here and now, besides his life in Narnia, could be.

Edmund didn't know if he could survive a life without you, he would be able to move on if you were about to die suddenly.

«I love you»

Three simple words Edmund whispers in the night, into your ear. Three words with a grand meaning behind it, three words to show just how much you meant for him.

Just basking in the simplicity.

[chicgeekgirl89]

Chapter 5: Wife

Read on AO3

When T.K. wakes up he’s momentarily confused. Whatever he’s on top of, it’s not his mattress. Did he fall asleep on the salon sofa or up on the aft deck again? He has to stop doing that.

And then the thing underneath him shifts ever so slightly and the memories of the last few hours come back in stunning technicolor. He smiles, rolling his hips a little bit and Carlos groans beneath him. “Don’t start something we can’t finish,” he says, his voice rough with sleep, or possibly lack thereof.

T.K. opens his eyes and squints at his phone. They slept for…approximately an hour and a half. Definitely lack thereof then. “I think we both finished pretty well a couple hours again,” he says. 

“Yes, we’re clearly very good at finishing each other,” Carlos says with a laugh, his voice muffled because he’s pressing his lips into the bare skin of T.K.’s shoulder. “It’s more of a timing issue. We have to be up for breakfast in three minutes.”

T.K. opens his mouth, but Carlos lifts a hand and presses a finger against his lips, effectively silencing him. “I know you’re about to say ‘challenge accepted’, but if you start something now there’s no way I’m getting out of this bed,” he tells him.

Oh god. Those words are enough to make T.K. want to chain Carlos here and never let him leave. 

“Let the guests get their own breakfast,” T.K. tells him, planting his face between Carlos’ pecs (they feel every bit as wonderful as T.K. imagined they would) to press a kiss to his skin. 

Carlos’ fingers come up to toy with the hair at the nape of T.K.’s neck. “Pretty sure that’s going to affect our tip.”

“Who cares?” T.K. says with a groan.

“The entire crew,” Carlos tells him. “And us. Tips are what make this job worth doing. Also if we don’t get up someone is going to come looking for us.”

Right. That would be awkward. Especially since now, in the light of day, T.K. is remembering all the reasons he’d been trying not to let this happen in the first place. Like the fact that Iris and Carlos are exes, which makes everything complicated and weird. 

T.K. sits up enough to let Carlos slide out from beneath him. He opens his mouth to ask for a little clarity on the Iris situation, but Carlos speaks first.

“Hey,” he says. “Can I ask a favor?”

“Sure,” T.K. says, letting his eyes do that charming sparkle thing that usually gets him what he wants.

“Not a sex favor,” Carlos says with a smile.

Oh.

“I was thinking maybe I’d cook dinner for the crew tomorrow night. Like a really nice dinner since we have an extra day between charters,” Carlos continues. “As a thank you for being so kind and helpful.”

“Oh, cool,” T.K. says, once again astounded by how lovely this man is. “But I’m not going to be much help as a sous chef. You should see me try to boil water.”

Carlos chuckles. “No, I don’t need help in the kitchen. I was thinking I’d do something local, but that requires a trip into town and I don’t really know where to go.”

Time alone with Carlos? Wandering through the Bahamian market place? “Yeah,” he says. “Just as long as it’s not too early.”

“Yeah I’m aware that you’re not a morning person,” Carlos says, a knowing look on his face. “Don’t worry. I won’t drag you out of bed before you’re ready.”

“I’d rather you drag me into bed.”

Carlos laughs, and then an odd look comes over his face. “This was a lot of fun,” he says.“But I don’t—can we keep it between us? For now?”

“Sure,” T.K. says rolling onto his back and looking at the bottom of the bunk above him.

“Okay. Great. Thanks,” Carlos flashes him a relieved smile and then disappears into the bathroom.

It’s fine. T.K.’s no stranger to keeping secrets. What they did here as two consenting adults is between them and no one else. 

But something about the look on Carlos’ face, the hint of fear in his voice, it’s rubbing T.K. the wrong way. He needs to find out what happened between him and Iris. Especially if this is going to happen again.

And he’d very much like it to.

The guests are off the boat by mid-morning, which is a huge relief. When you’re on charter you have to be “on” all the time. Always mildly pleasant to sometimes outrageous (the 80’s rager this group wanted was nothing compared to the foam party another group requested that ended in one member jumping overboard and another cheating on his wife with her sister), all for the sake of tip money. 

The work doesn’t stop though. As soon as the guests are gone everyone gets out of their whites and back into their red FireBug t-shirts, ready to clean the boat until every inch of it shines. 

T.K. is bent over the master toilet, scrubbing away when Tommy’s voice crackles over the radio calling them all for a tip meeting in fifteen minutes.

Thank god he’s nearly done; the boat has been cleaned from top to bottom, which means that tomorrow they’ll only have the last minute prep stuff to do before the next group of guests arrive. 

And tonight? Freedom. The perks of being a yachtie mean occasionally having time off on a two hundred million dollar boat in an exotic location. Those few hours of free time are everything. Moments like that are when you can pretend that you’re the one with the endless bank account on the vacation of a lifetime. 

And he’s really looking forward to spending some of those moments with Carlos.

T.K. stands up, stretching out his back, his knees stiff from kneeling on the floor. He pats the garish, lion shaped tap on the sink as he gives the bathroom one more look and then heads out into the hallway where he picks up all the soiled sheets and towels to drop off in the laundry.

He passes the galley on his way there and catches a glimpse of Carlos, hands on his hips, distress on his face. Every single cabinet is open and the counter is covered in cookware, but Carlos isn’t doing a thing to help that situation.

“Hey,” T.K. says, putting on his sexy flirt voice since no one else is around.

Carlos is apparently too distracted to fall for it. “I think I’m losing it,” he says. “I swear to god we had more coffee filters, but I can’t find them anywhere. I thought I put them in one of these drawers, but they’re not there.”

“Ah,” T.K. says, walking through the doorway and into the kitchen. He grabs hold of the drawer Carlos indicated and yanks it out completely, setting it on the counter. Then he reaches deep into the empty cavity, fingers scrabbling around and until he meets crinkly plastic. “Voila,” he says as he pulls out the slightly squashed package of coffee filters. “That drawer is the worst.”

“Oh thank god,” Carlos says, relief on his face. “I thought I was going to have a mutiny on my hands. Crews without coffee are terrifying.”

“We do need our caffeine,” T.K. says.

“I owe you one,” Carlos says, sliding the filters toward the coffee pot on the counter.

“Mm…I could think of one or two ways you could repay me,” T.K. says, quirking a smug little smile.

“Oh really?” Carlos steps toward him, crowding him into the corner. “Would you like to tell me how? Or should I get creative?”

Oh fuck. The words go straight to his groin and he swallows hard. Carlos’ mouth is only inches away, his breath fanning over T.K.’s face. T.K.’s eyelids flutter closed as Carlos leans in—

“Yo!” Mateo pokes his head into the galley and the two of them spring apart. “You two coming? Tip meeting baby! Gotta get that green!”

“Yeah we’re on our way,” Carlos says, his face bright red as he quickly moves to follow the deckhand. 

Thank god Mateo is a slightly oblivious human being; he just keeps rambling on as they climb the stairs to the main salon. “This one’s going to be a big one, I can feel it.”

“You always think it’s going to be a big one,” T.K. says with a roll of his eyes. He tries to catch Carlos’ gaze, but the he seems to deliberately looking away.

“Yeah, gotta manifest what you want,” Mateo tells him as they reach the top of the staircase and join the others.

“What if I want six weeks of vacation without you there?” Judd asks from where he’s already seated on the pristine white couch. “How do I manifest that?”

“Not sure that’s in the cards Juddy boy,” Tommy teases as she settles into her usual chair. “Twenty-four hours of freedom will have to be enough.”

T.K. takes a seat next to Judd and expects Carlos to sit on his other side, but he crosses the room and sits next to Iris instead. She immediately leans over and says something to him, making him smile. He puts a hand on her knee and squeezes as he responds, and T.K.’s heart twinges painfully in his chest. 

They’d agreed to keep it private, but feeling like he’s a dirty secret isn’t quite the same thing.

He gets distracted from his anxious spiral when Nancy brings over a tray of drinks for the group and Tommy pulls out the tip envelope.

“All right team,” Tommy says, her calm, pleasant demeanor immediately silencing the chatter in the room. “Another fantastic charter. We had a pretty big emergency on our hands and you all handled it with the speed and skill I expect in a crew. Our guests were equally impressed and left us a very generous $23,000 tip, which is roughly $2,000 per person. Congratulations. And don’t forget, we have a dinner reservation tonight on land at 8:00. Be ready by 7:30 if you want to go.”

There are cheers all around as the envelopes are passed out. Dinners off the boat don’t happen every day, they’re lucky if they get them once or twice a month, sometimes less if the charters are coming back to back and everyone is exhausted. They’re a big deal and usually involve a post dinner trip to a club for dancing and more fun. 

T.K. doesn’t see Carlos for the rest of the afternoon. It seems like every time he walks by the galley Carlos is heading out somewhere else. It’s a similar situation in their cabin.

He’s having as similar problem with Iris. Every time he finds her there’s someone else around. Which is kind of annoying, but also a relief since he’s not sure what he’s going to say when they finally do have a chance to talk. 

“Hey Iris, your ex-boyfriend and I were fucking around last night and we might do it again. Is that okay with you?”

“Hey Iris, cool that I shoved my tongue down your ex’s throat?”

“Hey Iris, did you also find your ex’s dominating nature to be a massive turn-on?”

Yeah. None of those seem like great options.

He manages a quick shower before their dinner reservation, choosing his favorite floral Hawaiian shirt for the night and pairing it with a pair of cream colored linen pants, then grabbing a Panama hat for good measure. When in the islands, you may as well dress like it.

Paul and Mateo are in the crew mess when he gets there, both of them already sipping a beer to celebrate the end of their work day. T.K. pulls a mineral water from the fridge and joins them, laughing and chatting it up as they wait for the rest of the crew to get ready.

He’s halfway through his mineral water when Carlos finally appears. T.K. nearly chokes. 

Their chef is in black pants and a white button down that’s opened just one button more than should be legal, revealing a vast expanse of that beautiful brown chest T.K. had gotten to run his hands all over last night. His curls are wild and he hasn’t shaved, a little bit of five o’clock shadow shading his face. He smiles as he takes in the rest of the group, making something heavy drop into T.K.’s stomach. “Starting the party early?”

“I just spent two hours scrubbing the jacuzzi,” Paul says. “This is medicinal.”

“Fair enough,” Carlos says. 

“They’re in the fridge, help yourself,” Judd directs and Carlos takes him up on it, popping the cap off a bottle and taking a sip.

T.K. should not be staring at the way Carlos’ Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he drinks, but he is. It’s almost hypnotic and very, very sexual. God damn it. It’s like torture to be this close to him, to have him looking this good and not be able to touch him. He has got to talk to Iris.

Speak of the devil, Iris, Nancy, and Marjan choose that moment to arrive, all of them dressed to the nines as per usual. T.K. isn’t sure how they’ve managed to fit so many different outfits into their teeny cabin wardrobe, but he hasn’t seen them wear anything twice since the charter season started, and they always look fabulous.

“All right crew, we ready to go?” Tommy asks as she walks in, flanked by their first officer Dave. Neil, their engineer, drew the short straw this time and will be staying behind to watch the boat.

Their reservation is at Dune, a place with views that a travel blogger would rave over. It’s a thirty minute drive there in a couple of rented vans and T.K. ends up squished in the backseat between Marjan and Nancy, Iris and Mateo in front of them with Dave in the front passenger’s seat ignoring all their shenanigans. 

They’re in a spectacular mood by the time they reach the restaurant, some of them already a little tipsy and the rest just giddy with freedom and the beautiful Bahamian sunset. It’s shaping up to be a perfect night.

He sidles up to Carlos as they wait to get checked in. “I haven’t seen you all afternoon.”

Carlos flashes him a smile, but it feels artificially pleasant. “Yeah I had lots to do.”

T.K. waits for more, then feels confused when it doesn’t come. “I think you’re going to like it here,” he says, letting his hand brush subtly against Carlos’. “The food is amazing.”

“Great.”

What the hell? Why is Carlos being so weird?

He’d thought they were just missing each other all afternoon. But now it feels like maybe Carlos was avoiding him on purpose.

They’re lead to their table and he watches Carlos hesitate as they all grab chairs and the only open one is next to T.K. 

Now he’s starting to get pissed.

“Are you okay?” T.K. asks quietly as they all reach for their menus, a tiny bit of heat in his tone.

Carlos looks at him, but his face has that bland, pleasant look he usually reserves for guests. “Yes. I’m fine.” He looks across the table. “Paul, have you ever had the grouper here?”

Okay, now T.K. is really mad. What the fuck? Where is this apathetic attitude coming from? Was he just an easy lay? He’d thought…he’d thought there was something more between them. But apparently he was wrong.

He wants to drag Carlos away from the table and force him to talk about whatever is going on, but there’s no way to do that without making a scene. So instead he stares blankly at his menu, internally berating himself for once again falling for someone who says all the right things to get him into bed and then doesn’t give a fuck about him once it’s over.

Everyone else laughs and talks as they order drinks and apps and mains, their stories getting wilder and more hilarious the more the evening progresses.

“He literally shat on the deck,” Nancy says during dessert, the entire table howling with laughter. “This tiny dog, I have never seen so much poop in my entire life. I think he had a bowel issue. And he bit everyone on the crew. It was awful.”

T.K. forces out a laugh and then pokes at the creme brulee on his plate. Usually he loves the crème brûlée here, but tonight it sits thick and too sweet on his tongue.

When Iris gets up a few minutes later to go to the bathroom, T.K. practically leaps to his feet, startling everyone at the table. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “Sorry, be right back.”

If he can’t get answers out of Carlos, maybe he can finally get some out of Iris.

She’s already in the restroom when he gets there so he waits outside, lurking like some kind of pervert. His brain is so jumbled right now he’s not sure he can form a decent sentence, but he has to try. “Iris,” he says as soon as she reappears.

She gasps and he receives an incredibly sharp jab to the solar plexus. He doubles over, clutching at his chest, not an ounce of breath left inside him. “Iris!” he yells irately when he finally gets it back. “Why the hell do you always punch first and ask questions later?”

“Why are you lurking outside the women’s bathroom?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest.

“Aren’t you going to apologize?” he says, hand rubbing at the throbbing area dead center between his pecs. 

“For defending myself? No.” She looks him up and down. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

“I wanted to talk to you. About Carlos,” T.K. says, suddenly feeling nerves bubble up inside of him. 

“His snoring,” Iris says knowingly.

“Oh, no, not that.”

“The way he has to have everything cleaned up before bed or he can’t sleep?”

“No, that’s not it either I—“

“Oh. Did he tell you off for not rolling the toothpaste tube up to get all the toothpaste out of it? You don’t have to listen to him, you can throw it away before that. He’s not the toothpaste police.”

“No, Iris, listen,” T.K. says, putting his hands gently on her shoulders in an attempt to ground her. “I’ve been…I—“ he swallows trying to figure out how to say this. “I know Carlos is your ex-boyfriend—”

“No he’s not,” she says immediately.

His head is spinning. This conversation is not going at all how he’d thought it would. “He’s not?” he asks in confusion.

“No,” she says. “He’s my ex-husband.”

It’s like a bomb detonates in his soul and slowly shatters him from the inside out. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He wishes he was sitting down because he’s so shocked right now that he can no longer feel his legs.

Husband.

They were married.

Which is a hell of a lot different than dating.

And it means…he doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know anything at all anymore.

“You were…married?” His voice sounds strange coming out of his body.

“Yeah for like a year and a half,” Iris says. 

His mind is rewinding at maximum speed through everything that’s happened on the boat since Carlos arrived. The way he and Iris look at each other. The tenderness. The hugs. He tries to make it all fit in his head with what happened between the two of them in his bunk this morning and Carlos’ aloofness tonight, and every possible answer he comes up with seems worse and more damning than the last. 

He’s an idiot.

An absolute idiot for ever believing that someone like that could be into someone like him.

“And you…do you still have feelings for him?” he asks.

Iris gives him a weird look. “Yeah. I love him. Why do you think I told Tommy to hire him onto the boat?”

It feels like the lid slamming shut on a casket.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Nancy asks as she comes around the corner. “We’re waiting for you. Judd, Tommy, Dave, and Neil are heading back. Are you coming dancing with the rest of us or what?”

“Yes, dancing,” Iris says, immediately moving to follow her, completely unaware of the way she’s just destroyed T.K.

“Dude let’s go!” Nancy shouts over her shoulder as she walks away.

It’s with numb legs and a bruised heart that T.K. follows.

[shamrockqueen]

Wasteland paradise

Chapter 1

Pairing : Boyka X Reader (Post Apocalyptic AU/ inspired by but not in the universe of Fallout new Vegas)

Warnings : R18, human trafficking, purchased reader, eventual Smut, rough smut, eroticism (not every chapter has smut), death of minor characters.

Word count : 1498

Scott Adkins Masterlist

They say that the decay was gradual, overtaking humanity like a spiderweb of cancer and bleeding into the very bones of modern society. The elite sat comfortably on their pedestals as the earth below them crumbled—that is, until the rot reached them too. They say that when the tallest tower finally fell, it was already too late.

The underbelly was all that survived, becoming this new aristocracy within what once were major cities. Those who fled were left with the scorched landscape they had left barren. Some founded small communes; others formed almost farel gangs that roamed further out into the wasteland. Some settlements fizzled easily; some were attacked and picked clean by invaders; but a few seemed to live long enough to spawn other generations.

You’d never know what that modern world was truly like, and sometimes you’d find yourself wondering how your life would have been if the older generations had ensured a better future. It wasn’t worth thinking about anymore. No, living through the week has greatly outweighed depressive fantasies.

You found yourself alone—finally and horribly alone.

You tried your best to wash the blood stain out, but no amount of scrubbing could make the dress clean again. It felt low, repurposing the very clothes your mother died in while she lay naked in a shallow grave, but you couldn’t afford to waste the fabric. The dress would never come clean, but the pattern was a beautiful yet slightly faded floral blue, so the cleanest part of the fabric had to have been worth something. Anything to put some food on that empty table now that you’d be the only one left to provide for it.

Almost all of your time had been spent taking care of your mother until her slow demise, which had her coughing up most of her own blood. It was always hard to look at her while she was in that state, and the only hope now was that she would be at peace.

You looked at the once-beautiful dress you had bundled in your hands. It had been her favorite, but it was too late to bury her with it now. You pulled the small switchblade from your pocket and began cutting off the stained portion of the fabric. You didn’t bother to cut the seams, as whoever bought it off of the trader once it left your hands would just do it themselves.

You bundled the dress under your arm and left your little home. You had shared this poorly constructed, one-room shanty house with what was left of your family. The small shanty village wasn’t very big and didn’t yield very much production, but the few traders that came through were often a godsend as they brought in many much-needed supplies. A tiny smudge on their map, and they still remembered to visit all of you.

You hoped to get there early so as not to be stuck in the hot sun for most of your day. The caravan was normally parked over by the moonshiners shack, an old man who made a pretty good hootch and would sell a lot to the passing traders.

It was the main reason the caravan came at all and often a great reprieve from everyday life since he’d let the townsfolk get drunk at a hefty discount.

He was nice enough for an old coot, and more often than not, he could be seen sitting in front of his home with his dog Trixie, waiting for the traders to show up.

Old Trixie was sweet and would wonder over and nuzzle up to passersby in search of extra affection and maybe a bit of food. She usually rushed the hill when anyone got close, but when you rounded towards the shack, she wasn’t anywhere in sight.

You crested over the hill and looked down at the lonely little shack at the bottom. There were vehicles all around the house, alongside the trader’s trucks, but you didn’t see any people. You used your hand as a visor to shield your vision from the bright sun overhead to get a better look at the scene before you.

A mound of fluff lay motionless next to the door. Trixie’s telltale brown and white spots were stained in a deep, terrifying red splattered along her small body.

More bodies, larger and human, came into view, all of which lay slain by the side of the caravan. You stopped walking, shaking in your boots at the prospect of getting caught by whatever had caused this entire scene. You nearly pissed your pants off when the mirador walked out of the shack with a jug of hooch in each hand. He wore a torn armored vest doused in a fair amount of blood that most likely wasn’t his.

He turns back towards the house as if to talk to someone behind him, and you take this chance to turn tail and run back the way you came. The fabric was let loose from where you’d clutched it under your arm, kicked away by the dusty wind in exchange for your meager life. The desecration, the sacrifice, the loss—none of it was worth anything now, and all was forgotten in the wake of a possible bullet to the teeth.

The only sound you could hear was the crunch of dirt under your boots as the blood rushed to your ears. You sprint off as fast as you can, propelling yourself down the hill almost faster than your legs can keep up with.

You barely caught the sound of someone shouting after you with a jovial “Woah, where’s the fire?”

All were silenced after a loud bang of gunshots went off not far behind you. Everyone scattered like ants as more shots rang through the air.

You make the mistake of turning back to look at the whirring of a spiked vehicle as it rounds over the hill. You tried to run as fast and as far as your feet could carry you until you could find ample cover from the impending doom.

The flicker of the blue plastic tarp as it got caught up in the breeze stole your sight as you switched your direction towards possible safety. Your boots nearly slid out from under you as you dove towards the tarp. It proved to be a small, unused alcove between two shanty houses, with the plastic cover leftover from a collapsed partial roof.

You kick yourself underneath it and fling the tarp back over your body. You had to squeeze in among the long-forgotten junk as you tried to steady your heart.

You watched as the shadows flickered from the outside of your small cover; many were from those running away just as you had, but others were larger with more sharp edges. Your stomach ached as the shrill and broken voices of your neighbors disappeared into the distance, but it would be the first crack of gunfire that made your guts drop entirely. The cries of the fallen were quickly devoured by the roar of scrap metal against the rough terrain vehicles that rolled by.

You held your breath to keep from hyperventilating, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as tears dribbled tracks down your dirtied cheeks.

You hear heavier, slower footsteps that clinked as they hit the dirt. The sound of it was horribly clear as they got closer and closer to you, hidden only by a tattered blue tarp. When the cracked leather of the side of a boot came into view, you had to choke down every ounce of fear that wanted to burst forth, practically forcing it back down into your lungs as it twisted your face in horror.

You wait just as they wait. The boots don’t move for however long it takes to make your heart nearly beat out of your chest. Then they started to turn towards you.

The next sound is deafening as bits of rusted metal go flying as the blue sheet is ripped right off of it. Old car parts clunk and scrape together, and you have to cover your head with your hands as the small avalanche of junk falls over you.

As the hot sun hit your body once again, there was no use in staying quiet, and a scream finally forced its way out of your body.

To your dismay, you weren’t shot; you were only dragged out by the roots of your hair as the raider dug his fingers into your scalp. You're barely kicking as your legs fight, only to wiggle out from under the junk pile.

He pulls you out onto the road before giving you a kick and a quick order of “get up, off the fuckin ground.”

You scramble up, hands over your head, his rusted gun pointed to your face. He barked out “walk” through his broken teeth, pointing ahead of you with his weapon before kicking the back of your knee when you didn’t already turn and start moving. Your leg buckled but kept you upright as you limped ahead of him towards the chaos they had created.

Shanty houses were lit on fire after being looted and knocked over. A few children were being pulled away from the corpses of their parents left laying in the street; some were caught in the crossfire and laid not far from their fallen family.

“There’s almost nothing here aside from the hooch and the cargo from the caravan!” One man shouted out to the one following not far behind you, his gun still pointed to your back.

“Grab some survivors and load'em into one of the empty wagons. We can sell them off at the trade center for good money.” The voice behind you called back. “If they try to fight you, just shoot’um.”

When your knees shook, it slowed your pace, and you heard him yell at you, “Move, damn it.” And you picked your feet up as quickly as you could towards the caravan.

True to their word, anyone who fought back was shot immediately. They would say that they could still get plenty of money for a few of you, so losing 1, 2, or maybe 5 wouldn’t be an issue.

When everyone was loaded into the wagon, it pulled off with a kick of dust. You watched your old town smolder and smoke in the distance until it disappeared into the wasteland. You’d never see the shanty town again, not that there would ever be anything left to look for.

Chapter 2

Tags : @annwoods91 @jasminrt1

[itsfrenchfornothankyou]

Hey @spoonergodofspoons has gotten far enough in one piece for me to start recommending fanfics so I thought it would be easiest to post them here! Consider this my one piece fanfics rec list for people who recently got halfway through dressrossa

Part 1: early asl reunions

Look I am a sucker for these fics, and aren't we all a little in denial about marineford?

A present that's a mystery (giving you your history) by midnightluck you might see that name a couple of times here, I love their fics so much idk if they have a tumblr

Anyway this is about 5.5k of sabo getting his memories back early (because koala found embarrassing baby photos of him for his birthday) and reunion fluff, one chapter for Ace, one chapter for Luffy

Wish by spirit and if yes by midnightluck LOOK I TOLD YOU THEYRE REALLY GOOD AND I LIKE THIS ONE EVEN MORE THAN THE LAST!! it's an au where the RA send someone to keep in touch with the whiteboards every now and again, and now it's sabo's job! This fic has my favourite reunion of all time and I won't say anymore because if there's one fic on this list you should read it's this one - 32k

Twin flames by soccersarah01 , again, no idea if they have a tumblr

Ace calls sabo his twin while in impel down and this has .. consequences. Reunion! Gol D Sabo! Fucking with the government! What more could you ask for in a fic! 66.666k

Speak up boys! By @plantwithoutplot , a solid contender for just being one of my favourite fics ever, it's currently sitting at about 69k (nice) and chapter 9/31 and look I know it's incomplete but it's SO GOOD

it's a time travel au, where the asl bros end up on Gol D Roger's ship. Ace is trying to commit patricide, Sabo is trying to be the reasonable one and Luffy is... Luffy. Everybody is having a rough time of it and auuugggg the angst of being reunited but knowing you have changed so much and what if you don't know them anymore and what if you are no longer the person they loved and AHHHH go read it!! Read it now!!!

Chasing the remnants by @29rynoah sabo goes with dragon to loguetown! This one moves a little slower than the others in terms of how long it takes for the characters to actually be reunited, but the writing is really good!! The payoff when they finally get to see each other again? The character work? Incredible, 40k and I know I said it moves slower but when I was reading it I swear it only felt like 10k

Being together we are stronger than ever by starryyah

Body swap! ASL can have a little body swap, as a treat! I'm sure nothing will go wrong! 13k

Part 2: Lawlu!

Okay, I know I'm a big proponent of platonic lawlu and I cannot see Luffy in any kind of romantic relationship I really can't- however some people are writing really good lawlu and I am a little bit closing my eyes and saying yes it is queerplatonic. To me.

I Love Luffy by missdreamgirl32 you know what I just want to steal one of their tags to sell this to you: Law tries to play three-dimensional chess against two guys playing go fish and loses

The character dynamics in this are so fucking good, I'm also actually just going to steal the summary right from the work because I get way to lost trying to explain everything else which is cool about this fic if I try to synopsise it:

After hearing Luffy off-handedly mention he has a boyfriend, and worried there might be some misunderstanding, Ace and Sabo decide to track the guy down and invite him out to dinner

Anyway it's really fucking good check it out it's only 10k I have read it... Many times (could be read as romantic, I do not)

The mysterious Torao by spooky_vallimo

This one is romantic but it's so fucking funny, spare 3k words worth of time to read this drabble, au where Luffy and Trafalgar met as kids, if you enjoy it there are some more works in the series

Come to sea with me, where we can be free by siojo

This is the only au that's set in a completely different world on this list, I guess I love Luffy is a different world but it's not fantasy different, its more a modern au

Anyway siren AU!

this one is again, a lil different to the others on the list, which are largely character studies

This one is on the list because I'm a little obsessed with the story aside from one piece characters? It's just really well written and has interesting lore and world building

It's also kind of a sad/bittersweet fic, and some of the characters do eat humans (because siren) so yeah, this one has a different vibe to the other fics on this list but it occupies a certain space in my brain, only 8k

Part 3: Miscellaneous!

This is ASL stuff that isn't necessarily early reunion, or is only about one or two of them

The world doesn't deserve you by dezace

Okay so what if I told you there is an au where asl brothers are pirates together as children? And that it was 47k and had other works in the same universe?

Great, you're on board? Now, this is the only fic on this list to have made me cry

It is HEAVY ANGST and Spooner I know I'm making this list for you but it will HURT YOU and you may not want to read it, the ASL bros may be alive but they were the only survivors after a buster call was made on goa, and everyone else on the island died, and everyone believes the trio to be dead for a very long time

But if you do decide to read this fic which will hurt you, the emotional catharsis at the end is REALLY GOOD!! and there are many more short stories in the universe!!

But if this all seems a bit too ouch, the this author has a different, more light hearted series: Luffy was raised as a marine and makes it everyone's problem, which is a fun good time where Luffy knows marine codes and uses them to save ace, among other things

Man I wanna go reread the world doesn't deserve you again

On brotherhood by @ladycrimsonandblack

This is a lovely little fic where Luffy is the elder brother, just over 4k

There's this very specific fic niche where Luffy is older and he meets up with Ace while Ace is unwillingly being recruited onto the whiteboards and I just love it, this is the second one I've read and now I'm going to see if I can track down the other

Update this is it

Anyway yeah this is a very specific genre of fic, but it turns out I'm very fond of it

Whatever you can still betray by midnightluck

Have something short fun and fluffy! In this fic Haruta of the whitebeards thinks Ace is a marine spy, but that's fine they're going to keep him anyway! 6.5k, one of my faves

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

let's say i need a crash course into early modern/late middle age criminal law of wallachia, not in-depth enough to defend a thesis but good enough to write a historical crime novel in a way a salty historian wouldn't completely tear it down.

what pointers would you give me, what should i read up? what should i, in your niche and macabre-esque tastes and opinions, include? what mistakes are obvious to someone who's studied the era, but a layperson would miss?

(it's for, uh, dnd reasons)

oh hey oh hey!

[I want to front-foot with something I end on and that’s don’t write with the opinions of others in mind. This includes, don’t research for your writing with the opinions of others in mind. It’s stressful and there’s no pleasing everyone. I get into it a little bit at the end of this reply, but I wanted to mention it quickly at the start as well.]

Oh man. Man oh man. Giving myself a crash-courses on a new field can be a bit of a ride. My personal approach is the: Bibliography Rabbit Hole. 

If I’m net-new to a topic, I’ll get a decent overview text—wikipedia works fine for this purpose, as do some “laymen’s” history books—which allows me to get my bearings. My sealegs, so to speak. In this case, something on mediaeval and early modern Wallachia—just to familiarise myself with the big players (voivods, other landowners, church leaders etc.) and what the systems are that people were operating in (casts/classes, treaties, ruling families, liege-patronage systems, legal system, religious and cultural systems, education, gender/sexuality/marriage etc.). 

As I’m going through my overview I’ll make note of anything that’s relevant to the specific avenue I’m after. So if the text glosses, perhaps at a high level, the importance of the jurisdictional difference between ecclesiastical and secular courts of law, I’ll see if there’s a reference/bibliographical note to follow up on. 

Historians tend to focus on specific areas of study therefore if John Doe wrote about church law in Targoviste in the 13th century—there’s a high likelihood John Doe has also written about church law in other areas within Transylvania and Wallachia. Indeed, there’s a chance he’s written about the legal system more broadly in that area in the mediaeval period. 

From John Doe I can see who he references, what books he’s contributed chapters to, what conferences he’s attended and like as not I’ll find more references and historians whose work I can look into. 

Some good places to start searching around on are google scholar, academia.edu, jstore, researchgate, SAGE journals, public library and so on. Google books will sometimes let you preview a text to see if it’s worth chasing down. And I know you know this - but discernment is key when picking through sources. Peer reviewed, reputable publications, when was it published etc. etc. 

So that’s my approach to crash-coursing a topic. In terms of what I would want to see/recommend including? I’m afraid I can’t really answer that without knowing more of the story! Who are the characters, what’s the rough plot, what aspect of the law are we seeing? that sort of thing. That would help me have an idea of what I might want to see if I was reading something (or playing dnd? I’ve never had the chance to play, unfortunately, so I’m answering this more as a general writer). 

It’s hard to explain how I can tell if another writer is deeply engaged in a topic with which I’m very familiar, but I definitely can. Some stuff will be little things - like in Confessions of the Fox the modern interpretation of a 17th century municipal bylaw drove me nuts. Other things will be more glaring, though I can’t think of anything off hand. It also depends on what the creator is trying to do—these are film references, but I don’t go into "A Knight’s Tale" expecting accuracy lol. When "Little Hours" played around with including modern things (she’s on drugs!) it was doing so winkingly and in a way I think Boccaccio would have enjoyed and honours his original work.

In my own work, I definitely blend in modern-isms because I’m going for essence and texture of living, breathing people over strict accuracy of how they would have sounded when speaking because as modern readers, it can detract from the overall experience. How Anne Carson approaches translating poetry is how I approach translating the past to the present in fiction. Not everyone is like that though, and if you’re writing a hard-core, serious history novel then yeah, I’d say keep language as close to how they would have sounded in, idk, 1432. 

Also, there’s no pleasing everyone. So I wouldn't, fundamentally, worry about what curmudgeonly historians will think of your work because they’ll never be happy. I would approach it in the sense of “I did what I could, with the resources I had to hand, and the work I have created does what I want it to do. It tells the story how I want it to be told”. If you later want someone to do a history-check on it, that’s always an option. But yeah, I wouldn’t hyper-focus on that. 

In addition, when I research I like to think of it as exploring a new world and I want to make that world feel alive to readers. I want them to know the smells and soundscapes and feel of the air. If I come at it from that perspective, that it’s about painting with words and knowledge, and not the perspective of: oh gods, I hope my old supervisor doesn’t judge me horrifically for factual inaccuracies, then I find the research to be that much more enjoyable and the process of writing/creating that much easier and less stressful. 

--

Addendum: Lent by Jo Walton, she references the Savonarola Chair as if it were of his design and it’s not, it’s just a relatively modern term for a popular type of chair at the time (Dante Chair or Luther Chair is also what it’s called). This brings me to a point: always double check the well known “facts” or “common knowledge” of something. That’s a good general rule of thumb for sure.

--

Thank you so much for the ask! <3 <3

[evajellion]

How goes your Octo demo Paths?

Alright, so I played about 6/8 of the character starting routes before figuring out what my opinion was-

First of all, idk if it was you or some other anon that spoiled what happens to Hikari, but I was very >:( I said no spoilers until I said I was done! (no hard feelings of course)

Short version: Octopath II seems like a great game so far! The learning curve takes a bit of adjusting, and since it's so massive, I'm sadly going to put off buying it (I still have Dragon Quest XI to finish). Good, but not "$60 must-buy" good.

… although, I struggle to say any Switch game is worth that price.

I highly recommend for any newcomers playing this game start with Hikari, Ochette, or Partitio. The other characters are… rough to work with at the start, to say the least. (Osvald and Temenos really aren't made for fights that only have 1-2 party members)

Cutscenes are… lengthy compared to Live A Live's or even other Square games. I felt like dozing off sometimes while the dialogue boxes rambled on, and I don't like how you can't skip or autoplay pre-battle cutscenes.

Apparently, the speed-up feature for battles was not in the original and is new to the sequel, and thank god for that! But some of the early boss fights (especially when you're stuck with Osvald) take longer than intended!

I wasn't really attached to most of the cast in the way I was with DQXI, LAL, or most FF games unfortunately.

… except for Partitio. I dunno what he did right, he clicked with me right away. Love his personality and abilities. Ochette came close second!

(If we ever have another LAL x Octopath crossover story, he and Oscar are gonna be friends.)

I'm not the biggest fan of the guard-breaking and turn-taking system, it gave me flashbacks to the Hyperdimension Neptunia games, except battle turns in that game were a bit on the faster side. (this is not me saying you should play Nep instead, god no-)

The graphics and soundtrack are great but that's to be expected!

I got confused at first like a moron because I didn't know you could play through the early first-chapter scenarios of each protagonist when you recruit them. It confused me as to why there weren't multiple save slots for this demo like there were for LAL.

So yeah, this was a slow burn for me. I voiced my complaints, and people said "yeah this game isn't for everyone" but I did adjust as time went on!

And by adjust I mean Partitio swooped in and existed. Cool new blorbo obtained.

… I'm probably going to get Pokémon Mystery Dungeon DX instead though, because I was supposed to do it two years ago, and because TPC needs a firm kick in the ass for their bullshit in regards to Pokémon spin-offs.

Octopath II will do well, no doubt, but I need to remind TPC that we want more Mystery Dungeon. Bangin' part of my childhood was playing the original on my dinky little GBA SP. >:(

[lilithrebellion]

Mind sharing your thoughts about Krul and Mika’s dynamic? It’s so complicated and muddied thanks to her treatment of him, you can’t help but be intrigued. I also can’t help but notice that she’s a lot nicer to Amaya compared to everyone else but maybe that’s just cause she’s her best solider?

Sure!

Overall, I think Krul has a sort of "tough love" approach to "parenting" Mika. I see her as being strict, but very supportive. In fact, I think the strictness comes from her being supportive, in that she's pushing Mika to succeed in his goals.

In the early flashbacks, Krul's treatment of him does seem questionable since she did force him to become a vampire and talks about how Mika drinking her blood instead of from humans makes him reliant on her like a "dog". But, I also see it as her offering Mika that choice while also being very upfront about the caveats. Because she could have shoved the blood down his throat like when she turned him. But for this scene, she waits until Mika bites her on his own. In a way, she let Mika have what could be considered an informed choice. She's just phrasing it in a vampire-like way.

And while in the beginning, it does seem like Krul is only helping Mika because she needs him for his Seraph gene, I do feel that Krul cares about Mika more than just conveniently using him for her goals. In fact, I think it was made really clear in chapter 96. First, there's a flashback of her training baby Mika. Which, on one hand, does look like she's just one-sidedly beating him up. But you also see that Mika isn't shown as distressed, but determined instead. So much that Krul sounds somewhat impressed at what he's willing to do to save Yuu. And then Mika says he can handle it and asks her to keep going, you get this proud Mama Krul smile.

Plus, the harsh training does make sense. Mika would have understood that he needs to be strong if he wants to save Yuu, and he knows he's not going to get that if he's coddled. Although it's rough, Krul's giving Mika what he wants here.

Same chapter, she comments about how Yuu and gang are dumb (lol) and that if she had raised them, they would have turned out smarter, like how Mika is. Another proud mama moment, in my eyes.

After recalling this, she asks Yuu to prove how serious he is about wanting to save Mika. I'll put the panel again, because it speaks for itself.

Krul is doing this because the idiocy Yuu's been showing has made her doubt his intentions and she wants to know that Mika's care for Yuu isn't one-sided, that he actually cares about Mika in return. She wants to know that Yuu was worth all the suffering Mika went through. Which is, the most blatant protective parent behavior ever. And I don't think she would have bothered with saying this if Mika was just a tool to her.

And besides this, I find that despite the harsh things Krul says to Mika (especially in the earlier chapters), she is surprisingly lenient towards him. Again, with not forcing him to drink human blood. And also with how she encourages Mika's desire to save Yuu. Which makes me think that the harsh statements early on that he "can't defy her since she's his owner" shouldn't be taken literally and actually means "be smart and think this through. I'm not your enemy". In chapter 22 where this takes place, it happened because Mika got mad at Krul for keeping her plans from him. But after saying the above, she ends up whispering it to him anyway. Which, I don't think she'd have done if she actually cared about Mika being obedient. Also I do find it mildly hilarious that Mika goes "I want to run away with Yuu-chan" and Krul's response is essentially "Yes, do it. Go run away with him. That works for me too.👍"

And sidenote. Not sure how canon we want to consider this, but I find this bit from the Shitsuji no Seraph drama cd where Krul is going full mama mode doting on Mika to be adorable.

Now getting into Krul and Amaya in comparison. I also used the "strict but supportive" idea when conceptualizing their dynamic. (Although less "mom-like" with Amaya since she wasn't as young and also already has a mom) Similar to the human blood thing with Mika, Krul is upfront with Amaya about what becoming a vampire means and let her make the decision herself. Plus, when Krul tells Amaya that she should leave after the Ashina battle, it is to protect her from experiencing the pain of being shunned as a monster by the people she wanted to protect if they found out. Of course, she does experience this anyway later on. Krul's intention here is something like "I'm telling you this for your own good, but if you need to find out the hard way then so be it." And when Krul finds Amaya afterwards, I wanted to make sure that her words of comfort didn't come off as too gentle. With how I saw her interactions with Mika, I think she's the type to give the honest truth, even if it's hard to hear and won't sugar coat things. I also find that she values independent thought (from how she's proud of Mika for being smart), which is why I had her tell Amaya to decide for herself what it means to be a vampire.

And mirroring Krul's encouragement of Mika to run away with Yuu, Krul so far has been encouraging of Amaya wanting to protect Yui. However, Krul's support of Mika was partially due to their goals aligning. And without giving too much away, this will also hold true for Amaya and Yui. For now, just know that Krul also has her goal of taking down Karlheinz since she finds him to be an annoyance, and that Amaya helping Yui is currently in line with that goal.

So while yes, Krul is nice to Amaya. And yes, it is partially because she has been a loyal and dependable soldier for about 500 years now. But the main point is that same with Mika, Krul is allowing Amaya's actions because it is also what she wants for one reason or another. As for what that reason is, you'll just have to wait and see.😉

(Low key though, Krul does totally ship it lol)

[roublardise]

1, 8 & 11 for the writer asks 🐈

THANK YOU 💕💖

this is about The Way Home which is my destiel fic that everyone should read imo

1- Start to finish, how long did it take to plan and write? Did you take breaks during the process?

I had pinpoint May 2nd 2021 as a starting date, as in when I wrote down the first notes about the story. and I posted the last chapter on ao3 on Feburary 26th 2024 so.... almost three years!! this is just like my master thesis except I'm actually more proud of this story somehow

I did take breaks, that's the main reason I write so slow. summer 2022 was the first break, I know I barely worked on it. and then it went through periods depending on my free time.. but basically everytime i was on days off/unemployed that's when the writing was going. let's bless my winter 2023-2024 unemployment era for getting the fic out there finally!!

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8- Did you cut something out of the outline or an early draft? What was it and why did you decide to cut it?

yeh.... i work with both outlines & drafts, and let me tell you there are times the first draft is smth else entirely 😭 chap 1 stayed pretty solid and just got polished with each draft, but chap 3-4 is nothing alike and well, chap 5 simply barely existed in the first draft as i knew it was gonna change. the ending would have be SO different it wasn't even worth getting into it in rough details

little break down of things that got cut:

most of what was cut is jokes & little scenes of Cas at Jody's... big rip ngl!!! i had notes of a whole thing of when Cas basically brought Meg into Jody's uninvited, like "here's my demon bestie :)" and Meg getting stuck at the doormat (in parallel to chap 4 wink wink).

again at Jody's: they used to play board games..... but it wasn't fitting with Cas's development anymore, and also didn't quite fit with the place I wanted the women to have in the story. Claire got a bit too close to the destiel drama when I wanted her OUT like what does she care she has daddy issues to work on!!! big disservice to every character involved so. they can play board games post-chap 5 :)

the side characters also lost a Meg/Claire (& Alex & Patience) convo in the car in chap 4 (a bi to lesbian communication with Meg mentioning Bela that was SO cute) but turned out they were both too in their own head for this to happen

destiel wise I don't think anything was cut, except a moment where Dean was sharing pictures of Amara in chap 3........ everything to me. you also had the awkward "ahah fuck there's my ex on this pic ignore that 👍" moment that i love. again, the characters weren't there yet so bye bye. we still got exes in that scene anyway <3

voilà!!! besides that it was details here and there, or well maybe i forgot smth major honestly sometimes i don't even remember which lines actually make the finale cut. there's a throwaway canon trans dean line somewhere i could NOT tell you 1/ if it's actually still there 2/ in what shape it would be i rewrote it like ten times

.

11- What was the most challenging aspect of writing it?

bringing the plot home!!!! i am NOT used to write actual plot and tho it is a pretty simple one, well, there are dynamics at play to make it interesting that is not my usual thing. making it all click into place with a good ending when it's 55k was quite challenging, i've never written anything that long before!

i'm gonna cheat and say two things: getting the characters right and do them all justice. i wanted to have all three: cas is actually cas / get dean (that boy is self-aware!!) / women are respected 🙏

.

this was quite long but i hope it was interesting!! i love talking about my fic so at least i had fun, thank you for the questions 💖💕

now eveyone stream THE WAY HOME, there's a little cardd with more info and little fun things 😊

[wildemaven]

Betty! This whole reblog had me in tears last night!! 😭💞 It prompted me to go back through and read this chapter again, I tend to never read things once their posted so I don’t over analyze or tear it apart— and I’ve been so on the fence with this whole series that I’m constantly debating whether I delete it after I’ve posted. So I appreciate your kind words.

I can definitely agree with you, Ellie is still in that weird adolescent stage— breeching that line of thinking she’s mature enough but still not quite there. I think I’m her mind it doesn’t register instantly like it would for others, taking into account each little piece of their reunion and knowing the aftermath to come once there’s realizations of things and that “this is a heavy moment, I should give them space”. I thought back to Joel and Ellie at the dining hall, and Joel “parenting” her. She still is needing that guidance a 14 year old. And then obviously annoyed that this random woman who is nothing to her is now coming into her space, she feels pushed to the side— which I don’t think Joel meant or had any sort of ill intent by it, his brain just not functioning properly for obvious reasons.

The hope for Sarah to be apart of her reunion was such a rough thing to tackle. She’s still in that weird place having just lost Steve to then seeing Joel alive and trying to process that new information. I really struggled trying to make it through that whole scene. She’s happy to have him, but she’s still fucking sad. And now let’s layer on the wanting to now reunite with Sarah— the mixture of some sort of excitement and sadness that then turns into a mournful moment was so rough for me.

Her firsts and her last, kind of broke me too. All these little moments as a parent that you treasure so deeply being, now just memories of what was. That regret of wishing you did more, things different, the guilt all surfacing at once.

I remember when I was talking with @gnpwdrnwhiskey in the early early stages of this whole thing, I was telling her that I could see her in the bath, just completely vulnerable and wrecked after everything. Then imagining Joel being Joel and just wanting to protect and save her from her thoughts— him not even taking the time to undress or questions his actions, he just gets in there without a second thought, they’re both curled into each other in the tub both grieving. Of course when it came to the scene and writing it, I was like it would make more sense if it was a shower because she doesn’t have time to draw a bath and wait for that.

I love that you say that about that line, because I was like they could either dive right into this conversation or it could be saved for another time— and I think saving it felt right after their emotional release. He already knows she holds so much on her shoulders, clearly something that hasn’t changed in their years apart. It was a subtle way of them falling into their old ways, while still trying to make it seem like they’re both very aware of this being fresh. In the back of his mind he doesn’t want to push her into anything she’s not ready for, but he also knows when she’s trying to take on to much and needs to be pulled back a bit.

I appreciate your comment so much. It’s definitely not a typical take on Joel, so I get in my head about it the more I write it— thinking because it doesn’t have specific tropes or immediate relations that it’s just a boring take. Thankfully there’s a few of you who are enjoying it and that makes it worth it 💞

I think I want to dive into some happy for a second, then come back with a refreshed brain to continue on.

Thank you for taking the time to read and share 💞💞

Fall Apart, Again : Chapter Three

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC!Genevieve

WC: 4322

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Loss of child, Talk of death, anxiety, panic attack, heavy emotions, grief, Ellie’s wild mouth, reader has a name but has zero descriptive features/is a blank slate

A/N: I don’t have a ton to say. It’s all just heavyX and I didn’t anticipate to feel so many things when I started this fic. But I think things will feel less heavy moving forward. I’m going to take a small break from this, just to let it be for a minute. There will be a small interlude I’ll put out before Chapter 4. I appreciate all the love and support through this! Big thanks to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for being the best and constantly helping me work through things when I was feeling stuck.

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You’re frozen, standing in front of the man you had come to accept was gone. 

Your life. Your husband. 

You mourned him. Cried for him— for years while navigating through a post apocalyptic world. 

The grief ate away at you as the years ticked on, further and further from that September day, where you both stood together in front of the home you had built a life in. The pain festered at the fact that you were alive and your family was not. 

A selfish twinge of guilt swirled, so deeply embedded within, the shame you felt by allowing yourself to fall in love with another man, a man who was not your husband. 

But now you’re here, safe with the confines of this settlement, no more threats to out run or hide from. 

Here, in this home that is unfamiliar to you, your husband, Joel, standing merely feet away— alive. 

Joel is alive. 

“Joel?” 

“Eve?”

Your movements are slow, borderline hesitant, as you take the few short steps needed to bring you closer to him, your brain still registering this new version of him— seasoned with many years, years that lacked your existence. 

A single tear cascades down his face, sadness and surprise cloud his features. Breathing becomes difficult, his chest tightening with each passing moment, lungs constricting with each pull of air— vision beginning to blur as he tries to focus on you standing in front of him. You’re alive. 

The first touch is surreal, the cool-wetness of the tear beneath your thumb as you wipe it across his warm cheek— his eyes closing as he leans into your hand. 

A sob wrecks through your lips as you throw your arms around him, chests knocking against each other as you scramble to get as close as possible, gripping him tightly— the proximity not enough to elevate the fear of him disappearing the moment you let go. 

Words fail you. 

Joel tucks his face into the curve of your neck, his arms securing you to him, body vibrating as he weeps along with you. 

“Wow, that’s quite the welcome you're giving her there, Joel. He threw me against a wall and pointed a gun at me the first time we met.”

A low chuckle ripples through his chest, unwrapping himself from your arms, using the sleeve of his green plaid shirt to wipe his watery eyes, then taking it upon himself to wipe your face— his callused hands rough to the touch, but forgiving in their efforts. 

“Ellie, this is Eve—.” His eyes are fixed on you, a smile slowly emerging on your face. 

“Got that, already been introduced— Genevieve, Eve or whatever. By the looks of it, you seem to know each other pretty well. What— are you guys, ex-lovers or something? Clearly something more than whatever Tess and you were.” Ellie snarks. 

There’s a pause, Joel wincing at the mention of Tess. “Whatever Tess and you were.” Even now he doesn’t think he can find the words to define what they were to each other, never feeling like he could fully give himself to her the way she wanted, needed or deserved. 

You were his wife—then, now and forevermore. 

Joel reaches for your hand, still wet from your tears, wrapping it around your own. 

“Eve— Eve is my wife.” He notices the ring still on your finger the minute he says it, the pad of his finger smoothing over the small diamond, you never took it off after all this time. 

“No shit! Can’t believe you convinced someone to marry your grumpy ass. Ha! Wait, when did you have time to get married?” Ellie’s brain is already working through the timeline of events to see where she missed this union between Joel and you. 

“Umm… before, everything— Eve and I were married before the outbreak.” He feels a knot forming in his throat, thinking back to that last time he had seen you— the last goodbye that turned into the last time he’d ever hear from you again. 

You squeeze his hand, pulling his attention back up to you. Knowing Joel, you can only imagine the amount of anguish he dealt with over the last two decades. 

“Dang! And this whole time you thought she was dead and she probably thought you were dead— fuck.”

“Ellie, don’t!” Joel sees where her thought process is going. 

“Wait, so that makes you— Sarah’s mom? Oh, damn!” 

“Ellie!” 

Sarah. 

You were so caught up with seeing Joel alive after 21 years, it had slipped your mind to ask where Sarah was. Your heart skips at the thought of being reunited with her, your sweet little girl now a grown woman. 

It’s been a never ending stream of tears today, the thought of embracing your daughter only adding to your endless weeping. 

Breathing her in, reacquainting yourself with an older version of her, being on the receiving end of that bright smile, again. Your mind runs through every single thing you wanted to say to her, ask her so many questions, just sit and listen to everything she has to share. 

You want your daughter.

Sarah. 

“Where’s Sarah?” Your eyes scanning the rooms, how could you have missed seeing her?

“Eve—“ Joel barely manages to get your name out. 

Every turn you’re met with an empty couch, an empty kitchen, Sarah nowhere in sight. The staircase catches your attention, another floor of rooms, Sarah must be tucked away and unaware of your presence. 

“Sarah! It’s me— mom! I’m here!” You shout up to the second level of the house. 

“Eve—“

Your heart is pounding within the confines of your rib cage, ready to burst the second she reveals herself. 

As the minutes continue to pass by, the silence becomes deafening. Your vision begins to soften, it’s a battle to try and pull air into your lungs, tiny little tingles dance across your skin 

“Sarah— J-joel, where’s Sarah?” Stammering over your words, staring dolefully at the top of the empty staircase. 

“Eve, we should talk about everything— about Sarah.” 

He didn’t need to say anything more. You don't need a slew of words and sentences to confirm what you already know. 

You can feel yourself slowly breaking, piece by piece your heart shattering at the realization that Sarah isn’t here— not just in Jackson. 

You need to be alone, to process through this loss— again. 

“Is there a shower in the garage? Or is there one in here I can use? I’d like to freshen up…” You ask as you turn to Joel, his eyes filled with tears again knowing you have already come to the conclusion on your own. 

“Uh, yeah—  upstairs. The room on the right is mine, you can use the shower in there. Do you need me to get you anything?” He remembers how you always used to say a hot shower always made you feel better after a shitty day, this felt like one of those days. 

“Just— just my bag. Maria said she was grabbing it for me.” You say flatly before heading up the stairs in the direction of Joel’s bedroom. 

“Okay.” He utters at your retreating form. 

It’s a quick journey from the living room to the bathroom tucked in the corner of Joel’s master bedroom. 

The minute the door clicks closed, you steady yourself against the bathroom counter, knuckling tight against the cold tile as you try to muster up the energy to move. 

You’re met with your reflection again, the second time in a 24 hour period. Puffy eyes staring directly back at you, taking in your worn appearance, in desperate need to wash the grim and sweat, hoping it will wash the despair and heartbreak right along with it. 

It’s a fumbling mess as you try to rid yourself of your clothes, the fabric feeling claustrophobic and uncomfortable. Your hands work against each other as you attempt to undo each tiny fastener of your top, resulting in tearing it off as quickly as possible and buttons flying across the room. 

Boots, jeans and undergarments thrown off in an arduous mess. 

Goosebumps litter your arms and legs, the cool air of the stale bathroom wrapping around your exposed skin. 

Bare. 

Your mind. Your body. Your heart. 

Flashes of light prick at your sight, narrowing your vision, a dizzying feeling as you stand in the small room unable to move as your mind wanders through the darkness that’s haunted you— that small voice that has never been kind, a relentless force that creeps in when you’re at your lowest. 

This is your fault. You should have never left. You tore your family apart. If you were there you could have saved her, she would still be here. Sarah would be alive. This is your fault!! Sarah! Sarah! Sarah!

The walls groan the second you turn the shower on, steam looming over the plastic curtain. The water stings as it hits your skin, just the right amount of heat to wash away the pain that began to settle in your body. 

Your gaze fixed at the ceiling of the shower, blinking away the tears that so desperately need to be shed, your lips trembling as the memories begin to fill your mind. 

First cry, so tiny and beautiful tucked into Joel’s strong arms. 

First steps, her little legs waddling across the living room floor to you and Joel. 

First day of school, so eager to meet her teacher and new friends as she bounced into the classroom, leaving you and Joel, both a mess, at the door. 

First concert, singing at the top of her lungs as Jewel sang her top hits, Joel standing behind you with his arms wrapped around your shoulders quietly serenading you throughout the show— You were meant for me, And I was meant for you. 

First day in middle school, a teen waving you both off as she walked towards her first class located across campus, your little girl no more. 

It’s the final memory that wreaks havoc on your already depleted soul, eyes closing as a surge of tears cascades down your face merging with the scalding water, shoulders shaking with each choked sob, head falling into your hands— finally allowing yourself to fall apart, again. 

Last goodbye, her not so bubbly self annoyed at her parents for their lack of communication, trying her best to put on a brave face when the separation had been secretly affecting her, a goodbye hug and kiss with a promise to see her in a weeks time, her reflection the last image of her as you drove away. 

*

Joel finds himself frozen in place. Tears crystallized and his heartbeat slowly returning to a normal state. He’s staring at the top of the now empty stairs, muffled sounds of the shower pulsating through the air. 

He’s still processing the events since walking through the front door. Seeing you alive has him stunned. Spending the last two decades broken and marred over the loss of his family— his life. A pain so deep, it’s forever etched into his fractured heart. 

A part of him wants to run up those stairs, pull you into his arms and never let go. The rational part decides he should let you ease into this space, the less overwhelming the better. He knows a talk will have to happen at some point, one he’s not sure he’s ready to endure, but you deserve to know everything. 

“Well, that was fucking awkward. Geesh! Like your past is coming back to haunt your old ass or somethin’?” Ellie stated, breaking Joel from his growing thoughts. 

“Ellie, knock it off.” He spits out, knowing she means well, but her timing is usually off. 

“What? It’s not everyday your wife shows up, her husband gets shot and dies—“

“Her husband?” Joel says in disbelief at Ellie mentioning that you had come here with a husband.

You weren't alone? Your Husband?

“Only to find he’s not her husband or he is, but you are too? Then she’s wandering through the house calling for a ghost!” Her filter is doing a terrible job as she continues to push his buttons. 

Joel turns, brows pinched and eyes boring at where she’s still sitting at the dining table, smirking to herself at how wound up he’s getting. 

“So, I’m assuming she put two and two together about Sarah then?” Ellie adds, her tone less nagging than earlier, sensing Joel isn’t in the mood for her antics. 

“Yeah…” He breathes out, his fingers pinch at the bridge of his nose, he feels the slight twinge of a headache beginning to settle in. 

There’s a knock at the front door that grabs Joel and Ellie’s attention. Joel opens the door to find Maria standing on the front porch with a canvas backpack in her hands. 

“Hey, Joel. I’m just dropping off Genevieve’s things.” Handing the canvas pack to Joel. “There’s a letter in there you should probably read— I didn’t mean to snoop, it had fallen out. Tommy read it too— he told me, she’s your wife. Once things have settled a bit, he’d like to come say hi. Maybe we can do a family dinner or something— if you’re up for it.”

Joel hears a mention of a letter, the rest of what she says blends together, he’s too focused on the bag in his hand. It’s not heavy in weight, filled with pieces of you and your life that you carried around, a burden he wishes he could have taken on himself.

“Yeah, sure. Oh, umm— no need to worry ‘bout setting up another house, she’ll stay here in the guest room—“ Joel explains to Maria. 

“What! Why can’t she just shack up with you, she’s your wife? That’s my room— where the fuck am I gonna stay?” Ellie’s chair scrapes across the floor as she stands up and shouts to Joel and Maria. 

“You can stay out in the garage, plenty enough space for ya. I'm not gonna force her to do something she might not be ready for just yet. We’ll see how things go.” Joel tries to reason with her. 

“This is bullshit! She shows up and gets the royal treatment and I’m kicked out like I’m nothing!” Ellie blurted as she side-stepped between him and the front door, passing Maria to make her way out of the yard. 

“Ellie! Where are you goin’ kid?” Joel protested. 

“Out!” Ellie doesn’t look back as walks further away. 

“Shit! Sorry ‘bout that. I should have waited until and talked to her about it first before makin’ that call myself. After everything we’ve been through— this is all a lot to deal with.” Joel apologizes. 

“Give her some time. I’ve never raised a teenager, yet, but I come from a family of girls and we always needed a little reassurance when it came to change or major life events. I wouldn’t worry too much. Plus, teenagers love their own space, she’ll come around to the idea.” Maria tries to make him feel better about his decision. “I’ll get out of your hair. Don’t forget— dinner in the next day or so.” 

“Got it. Thanks, Maria.” Closing the door hastily. 

Joel sits on the couch, your bag resting on the coffee table in front of him, chin propped up by his hands with his elbows on his knees. He can still hear the shower going, making the house feel less empty than it should. 

He cautiously opens your bag, the letter Maria had mentioned is sitting on top of your other belongings. As he carefully pulls the folded paper out, he notices a picture tucked into an inside pocket. An old faded Polaroid, it sits heavy between his fingers. He stares at the image, a distant memory of him and Sarah on a summer afternoon trip for ice cream— you had insisted on taking their picture. It was your favorite and you always carried it with you in your purse. A soft whimper falls from his lips, eyes welling up as he takes in the worn photo— it’s been so long since he’d seen her smile.

Joel reads your words through his tears. The lump in his throat building with each word, thick with a longing to be close to you, hold you in his arms, make up for lost time and lost intimacy you once shared. 

My Sweet Joel,

I hate that this is the only way I can talk to you. You’d think it would get easier as time goes on— it probably would if I allowed it. But I can’t seem to let go of you and how much I love you, no matter how many years have passed— you’re too ingrained within me. 

I miss our mornings together, quiet sunrise talks in bed were my favorite way to start my day— even if it took us forever to untangle from each other. What I wouldn’t give to be in your arms right now. I miss your warmth, always so warm. 

I miss the way your eyes lit up when Sarah would finally join us for breakfast. I think we spent most mornings missing her when she was only down the hall from us. She was such a light, gentle and loving— she got that from you. 

Her birthday is in a few weeks— her 35th. I wonder what she would be into now? I’m sure she would still hate the way we always tell the restaurants it was her birthday, those cheesy songs always embarrassed her so much. 

I miss her so much Joel. I miss our family. I miss you. 

Sometimes I wish I could start this life over. A redo. I’d still choose you. But we’d do things differently— no stress, no fighting, no separation. And there would be no fucking apocalyptic bullshit to tear us apart. Live somewhere in the country, away from the busy world, just us— our family. 

We passed what looked like it was a small farm at one point. It made me yearn for normalcy. Where we could settle into the small farmhouse, drink our morning coffee on the wraparound porch while we watch the sun rise…

It’s a blurred rush of movements as he fumbles up the stairs to his room. Your bag tossed into a corner of his bedroom, items spilling out onto the floor, a problem for a later time. 

He runs through the reasons why he should wait, giving you space until you’re ready to talk as he stares blankly at the closed bathroom door. It’s when he hears a muffled cry coming from the other side of the door that his vow to protect you from any harm physically or emotionally, to keep you safe from all the things happening in your mind. 

Joel is grit and determination when he needs to be, a hard exterior presence that has been a staple feature of his, especially in the midst of this apocalyptic world. But even with his austere backbone, he’s an equally broken and fragile man. 

When he pulls the shower curtain back and sees your grief-stricken body, he’s immediately stepping into the shower with you, fully clothed and shielding you from the hot spray of water as he wraps himself around your shaky frame. Your hands instinctively grabbing onto his drenched flannel for support as your knees give out and he slowly guides you both to the shower floor. 

“It’s okay— I got you sweetheart— y’er okay, I got you!” His hold on you is unwavering, keeping you tucked in close to his chest, doing his best to lessen the impact on your heavy heart. 

“I-it’s my f-fault! I-I s-should have n-never l-left!” Your words thick with guilt and gasping for air as you weep against Joel’s sodden shirt. 

“Shhhh— none of that. I won’t let you do that to yourself!” He says between pressing purposive kisses to the top of your head. 

“I s-should h-have b-been t-there! I-it s-should h-have b-been m-me!” 

A pair of heavy wails crash into the air, your bodies convulsing against each other, no longer suffering in a grievous purgatory alone.

Your lashes flutter over your cheeks, eyelids heavy and swollen. Tears dried long after the shower had run frigid prompting Joel to turn the water off, a respite from the sadness—but too weak to find the strength to remove yourselves from the cramped cold space. 

Joel shifts his body, the rubber sole of his boots squeaks against the porcelain tub as he tries to alleviate the pressure of his worn knees. He adjusts his grip on you as he moves, his hands brushing across your skin sending shivers down your spine. 

“You’re shakin’. Let’s get you outta here— you can borrow one of my shirts. We can go down to the mercantile and pick up some new clothes tomorrow.” Joel manages to get you both to your feet. 

“Joel, your clothes— you’re soaking wet.”

“S’fine. Need to get you warmed up. I’ll worry ‘bout myself afterwards.” He says rubbing his hands over your shoulders, hoping it’s giving you some sort of warmth. 

Your hands tremble as you begin to slowly pluck at the buttons of his shirt, his large hands halting your movements wrapping around your wrists, pulling your attention to where he’s already looking at you. 

“Let me— let me help you, please.” Your whispered words float through the air, and he lets you continue to work your way down the line of buttons, sliding the flannel off his broad shoulders on the floor. 

Gathering the hem of his drenched white undershirt, you peel it up and off his body, his now exposed upper half littered with faded markings. Each scar is a new layer in his story, an indication of risks and challenges he faced. 

Your fingers trace over the ridges of what you assume is his most recent one on his lower abdomen, no desire for the details of how he got it or how it almost cost him his life, at least not right now, grateful that the bunched and distorted skin is proof of his survival. 

“I missed you so much, Joel. I’m scared this is all a dream, that I’ll wake up and none of this was real.” You say with your lips pressed firmly over the space where his heart lives, its thrumming cadence a calming force. 

“This is real, very real. I thought I lost you, but you’re here, we’re together, again.” He murmurs softly, cradling your face in his hands, his gaze consuming your hesitant eyes. 

His eyes land on your lips briefly, the gesture feels so natural, he doesn’t want to pressure you, he’d wait forever— he already has. For you it’s an easy decision, closing the distance between you, your lips slotting over his, in no real rush to make up for lost time at the moment, just needing to convey your love for him. 

“I love you so much, Eve. I never stopped.”

He kisses you now, a little deeper and a little more confident and all-encompassing. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance again to tell you how much I love you, how much you mean to me, Joel— and now that it’s here, words don’t feel like they’re enough. I love you!” 

Once in his room, Joel finds a shirt and a pair of boxers for you to wear, promising again to take you to find some new items tomorrow when you’re ready. 

“Umm, I guess I’ll head into the garage then.” Your fingers play with the hem of his shirt, a musky scent of him already drifting from the woven threads, eliciting a nostalgic fluttering. 

“No— you sleep here tonight. I’ll go sleep downstairs tonight, then Ellie can get off my back for volunteering her room to you.”

“It’s fine, I don’t want to be a bother—“ You protest. 

“Eve, you’re not a bother. And I’m not arguing with you over it. I would feel better if you were here, so stay— for me.” His protective side takes over, asserting that this isn’t up for debate. 

“Okay. I won’t argue— I’ll stay here.” Sitting yourself down on the edge of the bed, you look up to where he’s standing in the doorway still only in his boxers, hands secure at his waist— his features soften at the way you agree to stay. 

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me—“

“Joel, stay— here with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Are you sure? I can wait until you’re—“

“Joel, please stay with me.” 

“Okay.”

It doesn’t take long for your body to find him once you’re both tucked under the sheets, nestling into his side. Your head resting on his shoulder, fingertips slowly draw shapes over his bare chest as he stares up at the ceiling. 

Sleep feels close, the long day catching up to you as you relax further into Joel’s side, but there’s so much you want to say, not really sure how to approach any question you have for him, knowing he probably has an array of his own. 

“You’re thinkin’ too loudly.” The low husk to his voice interrupts your busy mind. 

“I just— there’s so much to talk about. Things I want to ask, things I know I’m not ready to hear but need to know.” There’s a slight wobble in your throat. “And I’m sure you have things you want to ask too. It feels like I have to learn so much about you, while I’m still trying to cope with this still being real and true. That you’re alive and I’m lying here with you—“

His lips on your forehead soothe your bubbling anxiousness, a warmth washing over you instantly. 

“How ‘bout we don’t talk about any of it tonight. We save all that for tomorrow— we’ll figure it out then.” You’re grateful he makes the decision for the both of you. 

“Okay— tomorrow.”