#he loves his brother and miss him so much

[robbysreaders]

I had a thought for the ex!co-parent Jack story.

1) Did Jack get sad or upset when you dated Chris? Like I can picture Beau letting it slip that you had a movie date with Chris after pickup, and Jack just going what? 🥺 I can also see him having beers with Robby and Jack is just like ‘I’ve really lost her this time’ because he always held out hope that he could prove to you that he is worth a second chance.

2) Did Jack ever go on a date after you split? Or was it more of a I’ve lost the love of my life, and it wouldn’t be fair to any woman that tries to follow her since I am still in love with her.

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader word count: 1.4k notes: Part ? of ex!reader and babydaddy!jack i really need to update my masterlist and reconfigure my parts lol -- this is between the Prequel and Part 1! Thank you for this prompt in my inbox!!!! sorry it took me so long to get to! I mixed both together since i felt like the worked -- hope you enjoy!!!

The last thing you’re thinking about in the months after you and Jack officially split is dating.

You barely have time to fold the laundry, let alone entertain the idea of starting over. Your kid is growing at lightspeed. You’re juggling a full-time job. Jack—while frustrating in a hundred little ways—has always been a reliable co-parent. From the moment you separated, he never missed a pickup or check-in. He’s there when he says he’ll be. That’s more than a lot of people can say.

Still, the whole thing stings because Jack makes single parenting look easy. Natural. Like he was always meant to do it on his own.

And you? You’re exhausted. Every time you scroll instagram and see someone posting a date night selfie, you close the app. Not because you miss dating, but because you miss being someone who wasn’t running on fumes.

You would never admit it, but sometimes it feels like Jack is happier co-parenting with you than he ever was being with you.

But the truth is… he’s not. Jack’s a fucking wreck.

He’s throwing himself into hospital shifts like he’s allergic to free time, offering advice to  every resident who so much as breathes in his direction, and texting Robby at 2 a.m. on his days off just to talk about the latest ER policy update. He’s working himself into the ground because he still thinks this is temporary. That if he can prove to you he’s changed—if he cooks enough dinners and shows up to enough pediatrician appointments and keeps the fridge stocked with the yogurt tubes Beau likes—you’ll come back.

Three months. That’s what he gave it.

Three months for you to get it out of your system. The space. The clarity. The breathing room.

Then, month four hits. And Jack starts to unravel.

Robby finds him on the roof after handoff, leaning against the rail like it might hold all the weight in his chest.

“Haven’t seen you up here in a while,” Robby says casually.

Jack doesn’t look up. “You forget this was my spot first.”

Robby nods. Waits. “Tough shift?”

“Tough life.” Jack quips.

“Was waiting for that shoe to drop.”

Jack drags his hands down his face. “I had a plan. Thought I could show her I’d changed. I’m cooking. I’m present. I’ve read five goddamn parenting books. And she still barely looks at me like I’m anything more than a—”

“Co-pilot?” Robby finishes.

Jack nods. Miserable.

“I think I really lost her.”

Robby claps a hand on his shoulder. “Go home. Sleep. Do not come back tonight. I’ll get you coverage. And when i’m off tonight I’m dragging your ass out for a beer.”

Jack gets to their usual dive bar by 7:45, already knowing Robby would show up at his front door if he didn’t.

“You know,” Robby says when he sees him, “I was fully prepared to have to break in.”

Jack shrugs. “What can I say? The love of my life left me and I’ve matured.”

“This is worse than I thought.”

Jack grunts into his beer. “She was, though. Still is.”

Robby sighs. “Brother, you gotta snap out of it. She’s made her choice. You gave her space. You figured out a routine that works for Beau. Now you gotta figure out what works for you.”

“This is working for me.”

“Running yourself ragged and using your kid as an emotional flotation device? Sounds sustainable.”

Jack shoots him a look.

“I’m not saying you gotta run off an marry some girl from an app or whatever,” Robby says. “Just… reevaluate. Figure out what fills your cup. Hell, maybe even go get your rocks off now and then.”

Jack flings a fry at Robby.

Robby grins. “Just saying. A good orgasm never hurt anyone.”

“Alright enough about my dumpster fire of a life” Jack shifts. “Now i get to psychoanalyse you.“

The next day, Dana corners Jack by the trauma board. Jack could kill Robby.

“I have this friend,” she says. “Amy. Divorced last year. Bit of a rut. Not looking for anything serious, just trying to get back out there. Hasn’t dated in over a decade and I told her I knew just the guy.”

“No.”

“She has your number. I told her to wait a couple days before texting you. You’re welcome.”

Jack groans, but two days later, the text comes.

Amy is… fine. They go out a few times. She’s smart, warm, has a killer laugh. But there's no pull. No spark.

Eventually, they both admit it.

“Jack,” she says over tapas one night, “I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. But I don’t want to do this just to do it. I hope you understand.”

“I do,” Jack says, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “You’re great and if you ever need someone to beat up your ex, you know where to find me.”

Amy smiles. “You’re gonna find your forever, Jack. I think you already have. She just needs more time.”

Jack starts therapy.

One of his Army buddies had given him some resources a while back, but it’s Dana’s offhand comments about “emotional constipation” that finally gets him to make the call.

It helps. Not all at once, but piece by piece.

He starts saying no to extra shifts. Makes room for sleep. Finds himself laughing more when Beau does something ridiculous—like trying to microwave a fruit snack “because it was cold.”

And when Beau mentions a guy named Chris for the third time, Jack doesn’t spiral. He breathes. Notes it. And waits for the right moment to ask.

Jack’s cooking dinner at his place, your typical handoff routine. Beau is sprawled on the floor with a cartoon, crayons everywhere. Jack pulls the roasted veggies from the oven.

“Never thought you’d be a regular Martha Stewart, but I could get used to this”

He chuckles “It’s just one of those meal delivery things. I got a month free from Ellis for my secret santa and just stuck with it – made a joke that Beau and I couldn’t survive on MREs.”

“Beau talks about how much he likes your food so it must be working”

“Hey… before we eat,” he says, awkward, “Beau’s mentioned someone a few times. Chris. And that’s totally fine. I just thought maybe we could talk about giving each other a heads-up before introducing new people to him.”

You freeze, hand stilling over the plates. “Shit.”

“It’s okay...really. I don’t need details. Just a heads-up next time would help.”

“No, you’re right,” you say quickly, and Jack actually blinks like he wasn’t expecting that. “Jack, I’m sorry.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly. Not unkind—just surprised. Like he’s trying to remember the last time you admitted fault without a qualifier.

“It all just got a little muddled,” you continue, rubbing the back of your neck. “He’s the dad of one of the kids in Beau’s music class. Recently divorced. Having a hard time keeping his kid entertained on his off days, so I offered up a few playdates. That’s the only time he’s really been around Beau.”

Jack nods slowly. “So you’re dating this guy?”

You exhale through your nose. “We went on a couple dates, yeah. But it fizzled out a few weeks ago. Nothing serious. Beau might still bring him up—playdates for the boys are still happening—but I promise I’ll keep you in the loop moving forward. It’s only fair.”

“I appreciate that,” Jack says, voice low, steady.

He lets out a breath then, like some invisible pressure just eased off his chest.

You hesitate, fiddling with the corner of the napkin on the table. “Any updates on your end? Your love life?”

Jack smirks, eyes twinkling. “What happens between my hand and the shower drain is strictly between me and God, thank you very much.”

You bark out a laugh, caught off guard. “I really struggle to believe that a hot doctor DILF can’t find someone willing to help him take the edge off.”

His face turns bright red. “Well, contrary to popular belief, I’m not exactly rolling in spare time. I’m busy co-parenting the best kid ever, saving lives four nights a week minimum, and publishing in not one but two medical journals—practically in the running for a Nobel Prize.”

You raise a brow. “Oh, is that all?”

He grins. “I keep a full calendar.”

Before you can volley back, a small voice cuts in from the living room.

“Dad, I’m hungry.”

“Hi Hungry, I’m Dad,” he says with a straight face, setting the serving dishes down on the table like he’s done it a hundred times.

You shake your head, smile tugging at your lips.

Same old Jack. Still infuriating. Still too charming for his own good.

[cimtee]

Actually. Here’s a thing.

Below: all canon physical descriptors of the characters. That I remember. And likely some that are made up bc my brain doesn’t have a working file system.

If any of them are incorrect please do let me know! And if there is anything significant I missed out, let me know that too! It will be very helpful as I finalize their designs 🙏

To be clear, my intention is NOT to be canon patrol. I love love love seeing all the different interpretations of characters. They are all so wonderful and distinctive and personal.

My own design development has been based on given details + incorporation of my own ideas, imaginings, etc. (Oft they are self-indulgent too. Always fighting the urge to put freckles and diastemas and prominent noses on every single person I ever draw)

Without further ado. A masterpost of sorts.

Blue

Race/ethnicity unspecified (personally imagine her with Desi roots, through Maura ofc. Artemus is her Welsh half. Presumably. His DNA may just be chloroplasts…)

Short (5’?)

Brown eyes

Short dark uneven hair, often held in place with clips

Doesn’t shave

Weirdo clothes (affectionate). Lots of self-made or secondhand items and layering.

Gansey

Anglo-Saxon poster boy

Average height I think

Brown hair

Hazel eyes

Contacts mostly, gold wire-rims otherwise

Straight nose

Straight teeth

High cheekbones. I think he’s even described as having a “regal” face structure but I could’ve pulled that outta my ass

Tanned and fit

Good hair (usually styled)

Not very hairy, Ronan makes fun of him for not being able to grow a beard and Blue remarks as much at toga party

Golf club clothes fr🪦 boat shoes🪦🪦 fancy watch

Adam

“White trash.” Really he is just some Creature

Tall and slim

He’s beautiful but it’s unconventional enough that he refuses to believe it

Dirt/sand colored hair that he cuts on his own. Perhaps he is the Sandman (google just told me the Sandman controls dreams. Idk what fucked up esotericism I just unearthed. Haha ‘earth’ like Adam’s hair. I am sleep deprived)

Blue eyes

Tanned

“Barely there” eyebrows

Prominent cheekbones

Long delicate hands (thnx Ronan)

Straight teeth (thnx Ronan?)

I genuinely cannot recall any instance of him being described with freckles. Did we all just collectively decide this

Secondhand uniform. Washed out/frayed. Always wears a cheap watch until he gives it to Opal in TRK. In TDT he has a dreamt watch that shows the time of wherever Ronan is

Casual: basic tees (infamous coca cola,, I think he looks so good in red tho) and jeans and maybe cargos? Unsure on the last one. Has been described wearing boots. Probably sneakers too but I don’t remember a specific instance

Work: mechanic overalls for the most part. He’s often streaked and greasy from fixing cars

(These three descriptors highly influence how I draw him: elegant, gaunt, sepia)

Ronan

Irish ancestry (again, presumably. He wasn’t exactly bred)

Tallest of the bunch

Dark brown hair. Buzzed. Naturally curly

Icy/shark blue eyes

Pale skin

Thick brows

Misses one shave and looks like he crawled out of the backrooms (also affectionate)

Back tattoo (later: left arm)

Scars on forearms

Niall clone. They look the same

I believe Declan has been described with a Roman nose, and the Gray Man notes some of the brothers’ facial similarities, including their noses. In conclusion Ronan’s nose is arched in some sense

Mostly black clothes. Tanks and jeans and boots and leather jackets. Leather bracelets that used to be Niall’s.

Incapable of wearing uniform properly. Loose tie, untucked shirt, just imagining him in the suit jacket is an atrocity

Noah

Czerny is a Slavic surname

Short

Pale. Light hair, eyes, and skin

Small eyes

“Smudge” over his left cheekbone

Timid disposition, often slouching/making himself smaller

Perpetually disheveled Aglionby uniform

My guy wears Topsiders… (this makes sense but it also makes me uneasy. He’s a Vans kid in spirit. Is it even possible for him to change clothes, I have no idea. Weekends wearing Aglionby uniform would raise questions, but then again many other things should’ve raised questions too)

When he’s feeling particularly ghosty he becomes transparent/blurred/difficult to focus on

Close to the end he starts lookin dead dead without Blue’s amplifying. I think bones n rotting flesh n stuff? Though I think what Blue perceives to be a terribly dead Noah is mainly metaphysical

Henry

Korean

No idea about height. I imagine him somewhere between Gansey and Adam

Spiked hair. But in a very deliberate Aglionby way idk

Wears showy clothing/accessories

Has been caught in HD in a Madonna tshirt

g’bye now

[arachnidseyes]

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

KISSES AND PROMISES

A/N: Previous. Next. Reader & Damian are 20. Ignore the shitty title, pretend it's good. More batfam nonsense! wc: 2.2k

Damian Wayne x Constantine! Reader

The crowds’ applause is too loud.

The seats are uncomfortable.

The lights are too bright.

Of course, he's handled worse but Damian briefly wonders why he came at all.

“Ladies, Gentlemen, Distinguished guests. I am very pleased to announce, we have a brand-new act for you tonight!”

Right, that's why.

The audience eats up Zatanna’s showmanship as she ends her first act of the night with her usual dramatic flair.

“Please give a roaring welcome to my niece—"

Damian scoffs. Niece? What a lazy cover story.

"—The Amazing, The Magnanimous, The enchanting, Miss Constantine!”

In a poof of smoke, you appear right next to Zatanna. Your outfit looks much like hers, Magician's hat, white cloves, white top and all, except you have on boots instead of heels, a skirt over the trademark fishnets and a velvety cape. You give a little bow, tipping your hat.

“Helloooooo Gotham. Nice to meet you.”

The crowd is alive with anticipation. Hoots and hollers ring out. A few wolf whistles as well, to which Damian rolls his eyes. He shoots a harsh glare at Jason when he lets out his own whistle.

He knows he only came to see one act, and he hates that he knows that but he especially hates that his family also know that. His family, who completely coincidentally were also planning on attending Zatanna's big show tonight.

They could at least pretend not to take joy in his suffering, with how they all grin at him the moment you poof onto stage. At least his father and Pennyworth do a better job at hiding their amusement.

“Before we begin, a quick disclaimer: I am a professional animal handler.”

Damian scoffs. You wish, you simply have magical persuasion over demonic entities that can look like animals. Damian has seen you play with Titus, you have absolutely no handle over real animals.

“Under no circumstances should any stunts or tricks involving animals be attempted without a professional present… Now, may I have a volunteer?”

The crowd bursts into shouts and raised hands. You point towards a little girl in the second row, maybe around ten years old.

“You, with the pigtails, would you come on up please?”

The little girl sprints up to the stage at alarming speed. You reach behind your back and pull a microphone from thin air, holding it up to the grinning girl.

“What's your name, Sweetie?”

“Lizzie.”

“Lovely, Everybody welcome Lizzie.”

The crowd applauds and whoops. Lizzie’s grin grows wider as she fiddles with her dress bashfully.

“Now, What's your favourite animal, Lizzie?”

“Sharks!”

The little girl answers immediately.

“Oookay, I can’t do that one. Liz, can you pick another one?”

The crowd chuckles as Lizzie makes a thinking face.

“Ummmmm”

“Like…a rabbit, maybe?”

“Uhhhhhhh.”

“Perhaps a dove?”

The crowd keeps chuckling at your attempts to goad the kid into an easier option. Lizzie’s face lights up,

“A bat!”

“A bat?!”

The crowd cracks up, as you look at them with genuine bewilderment.

“Is that a Gothamite thing?”

They give you a few hoots and hollers in response. Damian rolls his eyes again as his brothers (and Stephanie) cheer louder than necessary with Cass quietly laughing at their antics.

“Ok, ok. I can work with that. Hold this.”

You pass the completely unnecessary mic to Lizzie and take off your magicians cape, placing it on a round table behind you so the velvety red fabric covers the table and reaches the floor.

You place your hat down on the table and start digging around in it, after a second you pull out a beautiful white rabbit.

Lizzie gasps and the crowd claps but you just tsk.

“No, That’s not right.”

You pass the rabbit to Lizzie and reach into your hat again, deeper than should be possible.

It’s clever, Damian thinks, placing the hat on the cape covered table gives the audience the impression that they know the trick, but of course they don’t know it's actual magic. After some searching, this time you pull out a dove.

“No, Not that.”

You pass the dove to Lizzie’s shoulder and keep searching the confines of your hat.

A pigeon, mouse, squirrel and parrot are all pulled from the hat one after the other and placed on a giggling Lizzie’s shoulders.

“Oh, a robin!”

Damian can’t help the hitch in his breath when your eyes meet his from where he sits in the elevated box. It’s only for a moment but apparently it lasted long enough for Dick to notice as he nudges Damian with his elbow and wiggles his eyebrows like an idiot.

“Is this close enough?”

You ask Lizzie, showing her the little bird and she shakes her head with a toothy grin as the robin perches on her head, due to her shoulders being occupied already.

“Alright, fussy kid.”

You peer down into the hat and then scoff, placing the hat back on your head.

“Ah! Lizzie, we forgot the magic word!”

“Please?”

“No, Love. Abracadabra!”

With a swift lift of the table cloth, a rush of bats burst from where the table should have been. Shrieks, laughs and applause ring out from the audience. Lizzie squeals so loud, the ‘animals’ perched on her all conveniently flee backstage. The flurry of bats make their exit stage right as you give the praising audience a bow.

Damian's seen you smile plenty of times before but he's not sure he's seen you smile so wide. You look like you're glowing under the stage lights, soaking in the applause like you're made to be praised by an adoring audience.

─⋅⋆⁺.

You release a heavy breath when you get to the door of your dressing room. Zatanna, having walked you there after the last curtain call, huffs a laugh,

“Y’know for someone who’s just getting used to crowds, you really do a good job once you’re up there.”

“Yeah, well that’s cus no one can tell I’m shitting my pants the entire time.”

Zatanna laughs,

“It gets easier, more comfortable. The crowds, I mean.”

“Thanks… Aunty.”

Zatanna cringes and it’s your turn to laugh.

“Ugh, I told you to stop with-”

She stops herself looking over your shoulder,

“Looks like you have a guest.”

You already know who it is from her tone, exactly who you were hoping. Zatanna giggles rather childishly as you shoo her away.

“Constantine.”

You resist the urge to smile at the same monotone greeting he always gives you, turning to him,

“Wayne.”

You stare at each other. You both look quite different from the last time you spoke in person, even if that was only a few months ago. Obviously your stage outfit makes for quite a difference but he’s dressed rather out of the ordinary too, in a well fitted suit that Bruce no doubt had to force him into, rich kid problems.

“I think you usually have to pay for backstage pass.”

You open the door to your dressing room and motion him inside.

“I should at least get a discount considering I’m the reason you’re here.”

You halt in your tracks.

“What?”

“If you hadn’t come to me that night, you wouldn't have taken my advice to stop fighting demons and almost dying all the time.”

Straight to the point. So matter of fact. You cross your arms, not really believing the audacity.

“I made the decision myself. You were just the catalyst. And I'm still fighting demons by the way, just less often.”

You sound childish but to be fair, he started it.

“I'm alright with just being the catalyst, I suppose.”

You scoff and turn around, checking your makeup in your vanity mirror, fixing the dark shade of lipstick you have on. He watches your reflection in the mirror and clears his throat after a minute.

“That's one hell of an intermission act”

You look at him through the mirror.

“Is that praise?”

You only noticed now how he's inching away from the door and closer towards where you stand. He clicks his tongue,

“Yes, it was an impressive performance.”

You turn around now to face him, grin lighting up your face.

“Careful Dames, I might get the impression you're flirting with me.”

He grumbles something unintelligible and shoves his hands in his pockets, looking to the side. He stops within reaching distance, looking at your face now, still with that frown. Like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

You lean against the vanity, the look in his eye has you nervous and you're not sure why. You decide to dissolve the situation in the only way you know how, being a cheeky bastard.

“And If you keep looking at me like that, I might think you want to kiss me, Wayne-”

Before you can finish your irritating comment, he makes the split second decision to stop dancing around like a boy and be a man.

He kisses you. Simple and to the point, just like him. It's stiff and completely unexpected on your part.

You're still in shock when he separates, wide eyes looking into his unsure ones. He looks away, eyebrows furrowing like he's chastising himself and he backs away.

He doesn't get very far before he feels some magical force pull him back and you grab his stupid fancy jacket and kiss him again.

It's deeper, you pull him in and he accepts it. A hand on your back, his lips moving against yours. You can feel him ease into it more when you run your fingers through his short hair, palm grazing his cheek.

He huffs lightly against your lips, pulling away slightly, bringing your hand away from his cheek. You still a little, worried you did something wrong, but the way he looks you in your eyes says otherwise. He tugs on each finger of your glove and pulls it off, placing your hand right back on his cheek before working on your other glove.

You let out a breath, more like a wheeze, and bring him into another kiss. He holds your hand in his and brings you even closer with his other hand on your back. He’s leaning in so close, pushing you against your vanity. It's not rushed or desperate at all, but there's a shared feeling of deep need. A wanting.

You pull away to breathe, he tries to follow your lips, much to your amusement.

He's too busy staring into your oh-so-pretty eyes to notice the shit-eating grin on your face,

“You like me.”

You whisper to him, an accusation, a taunt. He sighs, tilts his head to the ceiling and says,

“Despite my better judgement.”

Not being one to waste an opportunity, you lay a kiss on his newly exposed neck. To which he flinches and touches the area like you've pinched him.

You laugh and lean back against your vanity. He moves back just a bit, so he’s not right on top of you. A shame.

He fixes his already neat tie, taking a deeper than necessary breath before asking,

“This is your last night in Gotham. The show, I mean.”

You hum in confirmation, not feeling the need to hide the way your eyes roam anymore.

“Where are you going next?”

“Metropolis.”

You answer simply, smug smirk still prominent. He clears his throat a little and nods.

“I can be there.”

To his annoyance, your grin widens.

“Oh, can you?”

You tilt your head a little,

“You could just call me. You remember I can teleport, right?”

His scowl has returned, sitting on his face like it never left.

“I’d like to avoid you being at the manor at all. Those imbeciles still won't let me live down the last time you showed up.”

You chuckle at his expense, to which his scowl deepens and his face warms. You very much did not help with that whole situation.

“So, It’s a date then? After the show, we can go somewhere nice…together.”

You shrug and he nods while fiddling with his cuffs, who knew Damian Wayne could be so fidgety?

“I’ll be there.”

With that he makes his exit and when the door shuts you both let out twin sighs of relief.

—⋅⋆⁺.

Damian spots Alfred waiting for him next to the limo the rest of the family are huddled in. As soon as he and Alfred are inside, the limo is off. He realizes how unusually quiet it is and only then notices how every one is looking at him.

Stephanie and Tim look like two school girls, trying to stifle their laughter. Jason is just giving him a wider than usual smirk. Duke and Cass do a better job of hiding their amusement, covering their grins, pretending to look out the window. Even Alfred and Bruce share a knowing look.

Dick, not known for subtlety, has his phone out and is taking pictures with the flash on, the dumbest grin on his stupid face.

“You got a little something on your face there, D.”

Damian’s eyes widen and his shoulders tense.

You got your lipstick all over him.

Jason, Tim, Duke and Steph all burst out laughing as Damian kicks Dick's phone out of his hands and tries to rub your lipstick off his mouth with his sleeve.

“A wet wipe, Master Damian?”

Alfred offers, the saint. Damian snatches it up with a small thanks.

“You got some over here too.”

Jason remarks, pointing to his neck. The smarmy bastard couldn’t look more pleased with himself.

“Shut up, Todd.”

He hisses with as much venom as he can muster.

He knows exactly where you kissed him, he can still feel it, like it happened a second ago. Though he’ll keep that observation to himself, much like the soft smile he notices on his father's face.

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

[qcoded]

new spn fan, still on season 1 so idk if this changes but. I find it so funny how sam and dean can't be away from each other at ALL 😭

During the scarecrow episode, Sam is so set on leaving Dean behind, but eventually he's ringing Dean's phone over and over again (and when Dean doesn't respond that's enough for him to just go back LMFAOOO) 💀 Same with Dean, he was just thinking about Sam the whole time.... lord the coffee shop scene took me OUTTT

[sereia4skz]

Hi! If your #1.5KStarsForYaya event is still open, I'd like to request for any of the members, secretly in love with one of the members' noona. I don't know what direction I'm looking for, so if it's not too much, can you decide for me? If you can add an appearance of the member being an overprotective younger brother/cousin, that'd be fun too.

Prompt: Something along the lines of, "You know that age has never been an issue for me, right? Love is love."

It's alright if I've missed the deadline, though. No pressure, please!

1.5k Followers Event | maybe it's weird

pairing: seungmin x noona!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: reader is Jeongin's older sister

event masterlist: #1.5kStarsForYaya

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

You can feel his eyes on you before you even turn around. Seungmin stands a little too close by the living room doorway, his hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets like he’s trying to disappear. 

Jeongin’s been teasing him all day, calling him “the bonus little brother you never wanted,” but you don’t mind, because you’ve known Seungmin longer than any of the other members of your brother's band, and lately, you’ve caught something different in his gaze.

He’s quieter than usual, while albeit is almost impressive.

You smile gently, crossing the room toward him. “You know that your age has never been an issue for me, right?”

His eyes flicker up, wide and a little vulnerable. “I just... I’m worried, noona. About Jeongin’s reaction. And maybe what you think too.”

You tilt your head, curious. “What do you think I think?”

He bites his lip, hesitating. “That I’m too young. That maybe it’s weird.”

You step closer, resting a hand lightly on his arm. “Seungmin, you're not that much younger.”

He swallows hard, but the way his lips twitch upward shows you he’s relieved. “I know you’re older, and more experienced. And Jeongin, he’s my best friend. Sometimes I wonder if he’ll think I’m trying to take his noona away.”

You laugh softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “He’d probably just get overprotective. Like a younger brother, huh?”

Seungmin shrugs, but you catch the faintest blush creeping up his cheeks.

“You are a lot cuter than that menace,” you say warmly.

His breath catches. “Really?”

You nod, meeting his gaze steadily. “Really. You don’t have to be afraid.”

He smiles then, the kind that reaches his eyes and makes your heart flutter.

“Can I be honest?” he asks softly.

“Always.”

“I’ve liked you for a while now."

You laugh again, a little breathless. “I know.” You reach out, intertwining your fingers with his, warm and sure.

Seungmin grins, the nervousness fading. And this time, you feel like maybe, Seungmin is meant to be more than just your little brother's friend.

The quiet comfort doesn't last long because soon after Jeongin comes in complaining, "Seungmin-hyung! Off my noona! This is so not what I meant when I said she loves you too! Ya!"

"Leave me alone! He's so cute!" you whine playfully, holding Seungmin like a prize, as Jeongin tries to pull him away from you. Seungmin can only smile flustered, cheeks ablaze as you and your brother start getting into it again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght

[wendichester]

Hiiiiii!!!! I love your stuff- you’re a really amazing writer!!! I was wondering if I could request a Cas x Reader, where he’s confused about reader’s relationship with a friend or one of the Winchesters and is disheartened about his feelings for R. Take all the time you need, and make sure you’re drinking water and eating regularly.

Lots of Love- Ophelia xx

₊˚⊹♡ you mean more,

summary. castiel gets jealous of the way you interact with dean.

pairing. castiel x reader genre. slight angsty, slight fluff

wordcount. 469

notes / warnings. jealousy/confusion, unspoken feelings, emotional vulnerability, bittersweet tone with a soft resolution // thank you so much for requesting sweets 🩷

Castiel watches you laugh.

It’s not a new thing—he’s watched you laugh before. He’s watched you laugh with Sam, with Dean, with Charlie, with a coffee cup in your hand and a sunbeam across your cheek. But this laugh—the one echoing through the map room now—it’s different.

Because you’re laughing with Dean. And you’re leaning into him. And Dean is leaning back like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal.

And maybe it is.

Cas’s hands stay folded behind his back, rigid. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. (Not that he needs to.) But there’s a sharp, stinging twist in his vessel’s chest that he’s learning to associate with something frustratingly human.

Jealousy.

He doesn’t understand why it’s happening again. He’d thought, maybe foolishly, that things between you two had meant something. The late-night conversations. The way you’d look at him when he didn’t understand a joke, then explain it so patiently, grinning like it was cute. The way you’d casually brush your fingers against his when passing the salt, or when your knees knocked his under the war table and you didn’t pull away.

But now? Now you’re laughing with Dean like the world only exists in that little space between the two of you.

Castiel turns quietly, the trench coat swaying around his calves, and disappears down the hall before he can watch any longer.

Later, you find him in the library, standing between the stacks, staring at a book he isn’t reading. His eyes don’t even flick to you when you approach.

“Cas?” you ask softly.

“Yes.”

“You okay?”

A long pause. Then, “Why are you with Dean?”

Your eyebrows lift. “What?”

“I saw you laughing with him,” he says, as if the observation explains everything. “You seemed… very happy.”

Your heart dips—then stutters.

“Oh,” you say, the realization settling. “Cas… I’m not with Dean.”

He turns his head slightly, confused. “You’re not?”

You step closer, voice softer. “Dean’s like a brother to me. He was telling me about this time he got stuck inside a port-a-potty during a hunt and tried to use holy water as mouthwash. I was laughing because—well, you’d laugh too, trust me.”

Castiel blinks. His shoulders lose some of their tension. “I see.”

You study him for a second, then ask gently, “Is that what’s been bothering you?”

His silence says enough. You reach out, fingers brushing against his—intentionally this time.

“Cas,” you whisper, “I care about you.”

His eyes meet yours. Blue, stormy, full of questions.

“You’re the one I look for in a room. The one I talk to when I can’t sleep. The one I miss when you're gone.” You offer a small, hopeful smile. “You mean more.”

His voice is soft. “You mean everything.”

And this time, when your fingers curl around his, he doesn’t hesitate.

Not even a little.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[luvyuuma]

Welcome to writing for &team!! I hope you enjoy it and remember to have fun 🤭

I can’t get over how much Nico would def say “you’re legally obligated to keep holding me” like that sounds so baby girl of him! What are your thoughts my love?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: thank u!! yes! he definitely would say something like this HAHAHA thinking of making this into a full ass fic IDK anyways hope u enjoy this one <3

SYNOPSIS / when you break your arm, your ex-best friend nicholas is the one who shows up to the hospital and sits by you for hours. then, he confronts you about the distance you were in between the two of us.

TW / none

WC / 1.1k words

PAIRING / nicholas x gn!reader

touch-starved &team prompt list

Nicholas + “you’re legally obligated to keep holding me” + "I can't remember the last time I did this with someone"

“Are you okay?” he asks for the umpteenth time.

You sigh exaggeratedly. Had you not broken your arm, you would’ve attacked Nicholas by now.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly, eyes growing wide.

“I told you already, Nicholas. You should go home. I’ll be fine here,” you tell him.

Nicholas shakes his head profusely, “I can’t leave you like this.”

“You’re killing me, you know that?” you deadpan, looking down at the bed tray in front of you. Jelly-like pudding stared back at you, reminding you that hospital food is indeed food cooked in Hell.

“I won’t be able to sleep if I stay home, knowing I could’ve stayed with you longer.”

You look up again.

He’s staring at you, all innocent-like but you can read between the lines. Being friends with Nicholas for three years gave you a deep insight on who he really is. Smart, kind and takes care of you in a way you had never expected anyone to. It’s the fact that you wouldn’t have to ask either—he just does things around you while you simply existed.

It didn’t stop there.

It got intense at some point.

Brief touches—holding your waist to get past you, patting your head, hugs that lasted an eternity and night of sobriety at a party that felt like drunkenness. You swore that night you were about to kiss, Nicholas was about to tell you something but it slipped away.

It’s been months…

You’d distance yourself from him since. It was turning into something you weren’t sure you wanted.

He’s your best friend. He’s like a brother to you.

Then, you started craving his presence. It’s true, what they say. You only want something when it’s gone; when it was there, you had no trouble using it and now that it’s gone, you walk around forever craving it.

However, you were lucky.

You’d broken your arm and you needed someone to get your toiletries for you. Nicholas is the only one with a spare key to your apartment. The only one who would care enough to bring it to you.

So that’s why you’re sitting here—you on the hospital bed with unappetising dinner and he’s dragged a chair next to you. You’ve been like this for hours, catching up on what you missed out on the last few months.

But neither of you mentioned the distance you had.

Someone had to.

“What—“

“What happened to us?” he interrupts you.

You’re flabbergasted.

Nicholas sees it in your face. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you respond. 

It’s easier than bringing it up yourself. Confrontation was not your strongest suit. Acting like everything is okay? You’re the most confident.

“Yes,” Nicholas says. “You do.”

“Nicholas, you should really go home now,” you murmur, putting your head down.

A beat and a half of silence saunters slowly past the two of you. The faint shuffling of the nurses getting by, the buzzers in the background and the cold, sterilised hospital air renders you still. As if breathing even a little louder would dirty the air.

You feel your heart beat out of your chest when Nicholas lifts your face up. Gently. He does everything so gently. Oh, how you missed that.

He forces you to look into his eyes.

And, you can tell. You can tell how much this scares him. After all, the line between friends and lovers is so thin and blurred and who would know better than the two of you?

“Please. Talk to me, Y/N,” he pleads with you, eyebrows sewing in.

You can’t find your voice.

“I miss you. I miss us.”

You’re shattered.

“I…I miss you too, Nicholas,” you finally speak.

His eyes light up slowly as he tries to fight back a smile. Ultimately, he fails. 

Nicholas pulls you into a bear hug.

“Hey, my arm is broken!” you yelp.

He’s careful of your arm, of course but you had to put it out there.

“No!” he exclaims. “You’re legally obligated to keep holding me—broken arm or not.”

You scoff. But you can’t argue. Your face is in his chest, taking in the scent you weren’t around for for so long. You missed this, you missed him.

You’ve felt so lonely in your being that you didn’t realise how much you needed this. All those months of isolation. Sure you were around people, but they didn’t compare to him.

“I can’t remember the last time I did this with someone,” you utter.

“Me too.”

Pulling away from him, there’s a new expression on his face. 

Reverence.

He hesitates, like he’s weighing everything. Then he speaks.

“Let me take you out, Y/N. Just once. I’ll make it worth your while,” Nicholas says. He says everything like he’s pleading you, begging for permission.

Your heart skips a beat, “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

“You don’t believe me?!” he asks, offended.

“Mmm, let’s say that,” you tease.

“Oh, you better be ready when your arm is healed.”

“Can’t wait.”

[stellargh0ul]

I've been thinking about Copia and Perpetua giving each other nice gifts for their shared birthday. If you wanna write something like that, it'd melt my heart, thank you <3

oh this is such a cute prompt!! thank you for sending it, this was really fun to write.

-

his birthday is, all things considered, an awful occasion. it’s not something to look forward to, nor something to be celebrated- in fact, if everyone forgot all about it, Perpetua would be far happier just letting it pass in quiet mundanity.

but he’s Papa now. so that doesn’t happen.

Haze knows his preferences, of course, so her gift- a hand-crafted mirror with a spelled backing that will let him see himself and make putting his paint on easier- is given to him in the anonymity of his bedroom.

but that’s the only peace he’s afforded, because a Papa’s birthday is a special occasion that the whole church needs to celebrate. there’s a party planned later that he needs to preside over, and a ritual sacrifice of some of the unholy goats they keep, and the whole thing just makes him want to go back to bed and miss it all.

his birthday was never celebrated in the orphanage. and when it was, it was the older children mocking him for ever thinking someone would go through the trouble of getting him a gift.

so there’s really only one reason Perpetua hasn’t put his foot down and shut himself in his chambers, and it’s the fact that it isn’t only his birthday.

he’s standing in front of Frater Imperator’s office with a small wrapped package in his hands, having knocked at least a minute beforehand and gotten no reply. hesitantly, he knocks again, a bit louder.

“Frater? do you have a moment?”

there’s another long pause. Perpetua is sure he’s in there- he can hear the scribbling of a pen across paper and someone breathing- but perhaps he’s too busy to take a visitor. or he just doesn’t want to see this particular one.

both seem equally likely.

he’s turning to go when Copia’s voice comes from inside the office, barely audible.

“come in.”

Perpetua pushes the door open and enters, noting that his brother looks like he hasn’t slept in a few days. there’s dark circles around his eyes that rival those of his facepaint and a specific sheen of grease in his hair that means it’s been a while since Copia had a shower.

he knows because his own hair does the same thing.

“forgive the interruption,” Perpetua says, and Copia looks up at him with a start, as if he hadn’t realized who had entered his office until that point.

“it’s you.”

“…it’s me.”

they stare at each other for a long moment.

“I thought you would be celebrating,” Copia says eventually, glancing away.

“I could say the same of you.”

“bah-“ his brother tosses his head. “too much to do.”

Perpetua chuckles.

“always.”

silence between them again. Copia’s gaze falls to the wrapped package in Perpetua’s hands and he squints.

“is that…”

“it’s just a little thing” he hurries to say and goes to put it on Copia’s desk. his brother reaches out for it after a moment, as if it might bite him. when it doesn’t come to life, he takes it in his hands and carefully undoes the wrapping.

the wooden box inside opens to reveal the head of a cane: a rat with teeth bared, carved from wood, with eyes inlaid with star sapphires.

Copia just looks at it for a long moment before he looks back at Perpetua, face unreadable.

“…it’s lovely.”

he thinks there’s a note of genuine thankfulness in his brother’s voice and feels a smile break out across his face.

“i’m glad you like it. I won’t keep you long, we’re both… busy.”

Perpetua turns on his heel towards the door, nearly back out into the hallway before he hears Copia call out after him. he stops, looking back at his brother, to find that there’s yet another plain wrapped package sitting on the desk.

“…Frater?”

“it’s just a little thing,” Copia mumbles, looking away again. Perpetua has to stop himself from running across the room to take it.

inside is a bottle of lotion, expensive looking, with a label in french that he cannot read. he looks up at Copia, questioning.

“it’s for your skin,” Copia explains, unable to look Perpetua in the eye. “the paint, it… dries out your skin. if it’s- if yours is anything like mine, anyway. this is what I use. used.”

“thank you, fratello.”

he can’t stop the word from crossing his lips, though it makes them both flinch.

is this what it was to have a brother? someone whose hair greased in the way yours did when they went too long without a shower? someone who wondered if you had dry skin after painting your face night after night?

someone to get you a gift on your birthday?

Perpetua wouldn’t know. he’d never had one before.

but this was nice.

[justanoasisimagines]

Quest Completion

Summary: Aemond doesn't want anyone flirting with his wife. He'll tear them limp from limp, but first he'll lure them into a trap... Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female Reader WordCount: 538 Prompt: "I'm territorial, I don't share what I worked hard for that easily." Warnings: Possessive Aemond! A/N: 30 Days of 30 Drabbles for my 30th Birthday Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

Aemond stalked through the crowd like a tiger hunting its prey. Observing you manage the court as if you’d been born into it was remarkable. You were a testament to him; you’d proved a quick learner, adapting to each unique situation. You held your head high, observing everyone’s every move, every word, ready to report back to him at the end of the night.

You were his second set of eyes in court. Aemond had never believed he could love. Never felt it for another living person, until you. You’d set his heart aflame. From the moment his eyes fell on you. He’d worked tirelessly to ensure you were his betrothed. You were not from a particularly well-standing family, and Aemond didn’t care. He’d brought it to his drunken fool of a brother - his mother had tried to disapprove, but the King’s word was final.

From that moment, Aemond wormed his way into your life, proving his strengths and abilities. The bond between you was like a flower slow to blossom, but many moon cycles later, you two were the strongest and most stable couple within the Seven Kingdoms.

Which is why Aemond’s blood ran hot as the Lord ahead of him so blazently flirted with his wife. His pace quickened as he reached inches from you. His fingertips ghosted your back as you glanced up, smiling when you saw your husband’s usual glare.

“I’ve called for Eleana, we should show a united front as a new family.” Aemond smirked as the Lord in front visibly gulped. “Doesn’t my wife look radiant after giving birth to my daughter?” Aemond glanced down at the man’s trembling hands. He should be afraid. Aemond wrapped an arm around your waist, not caring if others decided to gossip. You were his to touch. The way you leaned into his touch only reiterated the fact.

“I’ve missed her, will you stay close to my side, husband?” A small twitch of your lips told him everything without a syllable. You’d picked up on the man’s inappropriate behaviour. As you’d picked up Aemond’s sly new game.

It was one of the things he loved about you. You were sweet, kind, gentle and everything a perfect wife should be. However, underneath the surface, you could be devilish, and cunning. You could lure people into a trap without them realising it.

Aemond had found his equal. A person to match his intelligence, his interests, his abilities.

“Of course. We’ve spent so much time today away from her. I intend to be a more present Father. Unlike my Father.” The Wetnurse brought baby Eleana to you, and your eyes lit up as you pressed kisses to her forehead. With you so preoccupied with your daughter, Aemond took the opportunity to lean forward into the Lord’s face.

“You see, M’Lord. I’m territorial, I don’t share what I worked for that easily.” The foolish man's eyes lit up at the possibility of a night with you. The man was a fool. “Look at my wife again, and I’ll slowly dissect your body, feeding you piece by piece to Vaghar. I’ll make you beg for your death.” The front of the man’s trousers darkened. Aemond smirked

His quest had been completed.

[ashlinxsloves]

Omg the Uncle Dante fic is so sweet and made me think up something amazing!

What about in that same AU. Single Dad!Vergil and Single Mum! Reader with a daughter who bond and end up falling in love cause their kids are best friends (maybe same school?)

I just think it could be so tough rottingly sweet

A/N: AHHHHH ANON, yes! I'd be glad and willing to write this! This idea is so sweet, I'm gonna get a cavity lolol. I'm depicting Nero here being 5-6 years old! I hope you'll like this as much as the Dante fic, and thank you for the request! 💗💗💗 I'm also probably gonna make this a one-shot series hehe 🤭

Warnings: none! Aside from maybe a bit of swearing, but not much! Fluffy and sweet as fuck though :]

"Sweetie, Nero's here! Come on downstairs!"

You called out to your daughter, who was upstairs getting ready for her play date with her newly made friend from school. It was a lazy Saturday, with you having nothing much to do, and she had begged you to call Nero's parent—Vergil, if you remembered correctly—for a play date today.

"I'm coming, mommy!"

She called out to you as you let your guests in. Nero politely waved with a smile, while Vergil gave you a curt nod. You've met him once or twice during PTA meetings, and you found him... interesting, to say the least. A lot of the moms ogled him during those meetings, and you couldn't really deny that he did look good.

"Could I get you guys anything? Water? Apple juice?" "Water is fine." "Okay, what about you, Nero?" "Oh-! Apple juice is okay, Miss."

You smiled at how polite Nero was, getting two glasses and pouring their drinks before your daughter came rushing down, squealing excitedly when she saw her friend.

"Can we go to the park? Pretty please, mommy? Nero and I would love to play in the park!"

Your daughter pleaded, Nero nodding along as they looked up at you. Chuckling at their adorable antics, you nodded, Vergil not saying much as the four of you got ready for the park.

When you got there, the sun was shining brightly and it was hot out. You put sunscreen on your daughter and Nero, the two of them not complaining much before running off towards the sandbox with their toys, leaving Vergil and you not too far away on a bench under the shade.

"So.. I've, uh, noticed that you're the one who's always going to those parent-teacher meetings. Does your wife–" "I don't have a wife." "O–oh."

You were gagged at his blunt admission, face flushing slightly at your own assumption of him having a wife before he spoke up on his own.

"I have been taking care of Nero on my own since he was two. His mother left him under my care. My brother—Dante—helps me with him sometimes, but he has been a good kid overall."

His face softened a smidge while talking about his son. It was a strange sight if you were being honest with yourself. His expressions were usually a frown or a cold, stoic guise.

After an hour or two, Nero and your daughter got bored with the park. You decided to go out for lunch at a nearby cafe, ordering some food for the kids. When you were about to reach for your wallet, Vergil stopped you, paying for everything instead.

"You didn't have to do that–" "It's fine. I do not mind it, after all, you're the mother of my son's friend."

While the kids ate their sandwiches, you and Vergil got caught up in a small conversation again. It was about you and why you were raising your daughter alone. It wasn't really a sore topic for you since it's been a couple of years since your husband left.

"So, I've noticed the lack of a fraternal figure." "Oh- uh, yeah.. my husband left me a few years ago when she was a baby. I've been dealing with it, and we've been managing so far.. she's been a lovely daughter, and she knows her mama loves her very much."

You smiled at your daughter, wiping off a bit of the Nutella on the corner of her lip as Vergil slightly frowned at the news of your husband leaving you to take care of your daughter all by yourself.

"Incompetent prick.." "What?" "Oh, nothing. So, you have been single for the past.. few years now?"

When that question left his mouth, you almost choked on the cream cheese bagel you were eating, causing your daughter to hand you her juice.

"Mommy, are you okay?" "Oh, yes- I'm sorry, baby, mommy just got caught off guard by Mr. Sparda's question." "Please, call me Vergil. We've met each other enough times for you not to need to call me with such honorifics."

Calming down from your initial surprise, you decided to answer his question, clearing your throat while running your fingers through your hair.

"I, uh.. yeah, I've been single for quite some time now. Why?" "Nothing, just mere curiosity on my end."

A few days after the play date between your daughter and Nero, you kept in contact with Vergil, sometimes offering to help with his son.

Another play date was planned a few weeks later, and your daughter begged you for Nero to stay over for the night for a sleepover.

"Mommy, please?" "I'm not sure, baby... if Nero wants to and his Dad lets him, then maybe."

It was already late when Vergil came to pick Nero up. It surprised you that he was bruised and.. was that a cut on his arm?

You immediately let him in, concerned as to what had happened. The kids were upstairs in your daughter's room, where she was showing Nero her rock collection. Vergil groaned slightly from his injury but sat down when you led him to your couch.

"What happened?" "A mishap at work.. it's nothing for you to worry about." "Well, you're clearly beat up– what job makes you this bruised and injured-?"

Questioning him, you got your first aid kit from one of your kitchen cabinets. He stayed quiet for a while, making you worry that he passed out, but he was still conscious, his katana close to his side as he held his injured arm.

Vergil didn't say anything as you sat close to him, inspecting his cut and wincing from how deep the gash was.

"That's gonna need stitches, you know?" "It'll heal." "Will you let me at least patch it up..? I kind of don't want you bleeding out on my couch.." "If you have to."

He let out a soft grunt, but his expression didn't show any discomfort as you started to stitch up his wound after disinfecting it. Your movements were careful and gentle, Vergil, unfamiliar with the feeling of being taken care of, frowned, which caused you to stop mid-stitch.

"Does it hurt–?" "No. Continue."

Once you finished patching him up, you threw away the bloodied-up bandages and crossed your arms, clearly wanting an explanation from the man in front of you. Vergil knew it too, which caused him to sigh.

"I'm a demon-hunter. I'm sure you've heard of the shop Devil May Cry around here.." "Oh. So– so you hunt demons?" "Precisely. I know it's.. uncommon, but we do it for the safety of civilians or when we're requested to."

He explained, and you listened. Vergil was a complex man, but that intrigued you. It made you more curious about him, and you couldn't help but feel drawn to him and his personal life.

It made you wonder what he was like as a person, under his stoic expression and cold exterior. What type of man he was, deeper than just a father of one and a demon hunter.

You wanted to know what made him tick, what he liked—

Snapping out of it, you shook your head mentally, smiling after a short while. You called out for your daughter and Nero, but there was no answer, which made you frown.

"Baby? You guys okay here– oh.."

The view in front of you made your heart melt a bit. Nero and your daughter were fast asleep inside the fort you made for them earlier that day. You didn't have the heart to wake them up, so you went downstairs to see how Vergil was holding up and explain the situation to him.

"They're fast asleep.. and I don't think you're in good shape to leave, so how about you stay for the night..?" "I don't think it's proper of me to—" "Please, don't try to decline my offer, Vergil, I really don't mind."

He sighed, looking into your eyes as if to read if there was any hint of hesitation in them before reluctantly agreeing to stay.

You had the guest bedroom ready while Vergil decided to look around your home. He found it... fitting, for someone like you and your child. A lot of photos of you, your daughter and your ex-husband.

He frowned at the sight of him, but the expression diminished as soon as it came. He just thought it was rather unsuitable for the pictures of your ex to be littering your home after leaving you.

Other than that, the home was—as all homes could be—cozy. The atmosphere was warm. Toys and trinkets decorated the space, along with the magnets on the fridge in your kitchen. He saw the drawings of your daughter pinned on the fridge, an amused huff leaving his lips when he saw a drawing of him and you holding hands with the words "Mommy and Mr Vergel" written on top.

A small clear of your throat cut through the air, bringing Vergil's attention to you. You had some clothes in your hand, which made him raise an eyebrow, puzzled.

"I'd rather not have you sleep in.. that." "My coat?" "Yes. I'm sure it's uncomfortable, and it's covered in blood. You can wear these clothes in the meantime—" "Are they your husband's?"

He cut you off before you could finish, making you sigh and shake your head.

"No, these are– these are mine. I used to wear oversized clothing while I was pregnant.. I didn't keep any of my husband's clothes after our divorce." "Ah.. apologies, I didn't mean to.. jump, to conclusions."

He took the clothes from you as you led him to his room and pointed to where the bathroom was. When you were about to head to your bedroom, Vergil caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks, and turning around to face him.

"I.. I would like to thank you. For your hospitality. You didn't have to go through all this trouble."

He looked at you with an expression you'd never seen on his face before. It was earnest. Vulnerable. As if Vergil was letting his guard down for once. A small smile graced your lips, eyes softening before murmuring gently.

"I wanted to. My daughter enjoys your and your son's company, and if I'm being honest? I do, too." "...You do?" "Well– I– yes, of course I do! You've been kind and patient with me and my daughter, I'm kind of surprised.." "How so?"

He questioned, his hand still gently holding your wrist. Lingering, not daring to let go for some reason. You noticed but didn't pull away. You didn't want to. The touch was warm, and the contrast between his calloused palm and your soft skin was evident.

The question hung in the air for a while, your brain not being able to focus on anything but the feeling of his hand enveloping your wrist. Once you realized, you cleared your throat, letting out an awkward chuckle.

"Oh, er, well– my first impression of you was quite different from how I see you now..." "Hm? And what would that first impression be?" "Well, you seemed.. I don't know—cold. I guess. The permanent scowl on your face, the way you'd brush the other moms off when they tried talking to you. You just seemed really..." "Unapproachable and uncaring?" "Yes—but! I don't think that anymore."

You were a little out of breath, feeling compelled to explain yourself to Vergil. Somehow, it struck something inside the man in front of you, a feeling buried so deep in him that he thought he'd never feel it again.

A soft 'ah' left his lips, letting go of your wrist, which made you panic inside.

"I didn't mean to offend you in any way, I'm sorry—" "Would you like to go out for coffee with me?"

The two of you said at the same time, but his words dazed you more than you'd like to admit.

"Wait— come again?" "I asked if you would like to go out for coffee with me." "Like– like alone? Without the kids?" "...yes? If that is okay with you." "You're asking me out? On a date?" "If that's what you want, then yes, I am asking you out on a date."

Dumbfounded was the word that would describe what you were feeling the most. Surprise, sure, but you were mostly dumbfounded. Vergil Sparda—the cold, stoic, seemingly asshole-ish man you knew—was asking you out. You.

A smidge of a frown painted Vergil's features when you looked at him as if he said something outlandish. Recovering from the shock, you shook your head, taking a small breath in.

"I– I would like that, yes, sorry, I'm just- I'm just a bit taken aback by your question." "I asking you out is.. baffling?" "No, but—kind of? I don't know, it's been a while since I went out on a date."

You felt insecure, wrapping your arms around your torso and glancing away from him. It was Vergil's turn to shake his head, placing the clothes you gave him on a nearby console table before gently reaching out to your shoulder with his uninjured arm.

"We can take this as slowly as you want. I'm one to be patient, and I will gladly wait if it means courting you."

His voice was unbelievably soft, trying to coax you out of your thoughts, and it was working. The way he put his words made you snort, earning a confused hum from him.

"No, nothing, it's just—you sound really old. Nobody uses 'courting' anymore.." "Ah, well, I am quite old-fashioned—or whatever my brother drivels about."

Vergil grumbles, rolling his eyes, which causes you to let out a gentle laugh, the thoughts of uncertainty dissipating.

With that, you decided to take his offer, going out for coffee with him at a nearby cafe, near your office job, a few days later.

You ordered your usual drink, along with a pastry on the side. Vergil ordered oolong tea before paying for everything, and you sat down at a table by the window.

It was quiet for a bit; the atmosphere was kind of awkward, as you were used to having your kids around when you spent time together. You took a sip of your drink before Vergil decided to break the silence with a small clearing of his throat.

God, the two of you didn't know what to talk about. Your daughter was usually the chatterbox, asking the randomest of questions and making the atmosphere light.

"I take that you don't do this type of thing often?" "Huh— oh, uhm, no.. is it that obvious?"

Chuckling awkwardly, you looked at your beverage before glancing back at him, a small reassuring smile found on Vergil's features. Seeing him smile was a rarity, but you wouldn't mind if it were directed at you more often.

"If it eases your worries and doubts... I, myself, am not accustomed to dating either." "Ah.. so, you haven't dated anyone since Nero's mom..?"

You decided to ask, and he nodded as an answer. You weren't a fan of silence, so it was you who decided to break it this time.

"What do you like doing in your free time-? Like, outside of demon-hunting."

A short hum left Vergil's lips at your question, contemplating how to answer you. He took a sip of his tea and placed the cup down on the table before speaking up.

"I usually meditate or hone my swordsmanship, but.. I've been taking up reading and playing the violin more often these days. Of course, when I'm not busy taking care of my son."

He talked about himself for a change, and it was... really refreshing. You got to know him, learning the things he liked, and saw him in a different light. He wasn't just Vergil, Nero's dad anymore. He was Vergil, a man you could see yourself with.

After the initial rocky start of the date, the two of you managed to build up from your conversation, talking about what you liked doing with your free time and getting to know each other a lot more than just being the parents of your children's friends.

The date ended with both of you picking up your daughter and Nero together, the two children curious as to why their parents were so close.

"Dad, is she going to be my new mom?" "Mommy, is he going to be my new dad?"

Both of them asked in unison, your daughter was ecstatic, while Nero showed it a bit more subtly. Your face flushed at their question while Vergil let out a small cough, his ears tinting a soft pink hue that'd be unnoticeable to anyone passing by.

But not to you.

Distracting the kids with popsicles on the way home (your brilliant idea, which Vergil seemed to let slide), Vergil walked you back to your place in a comfortable silence.

You thanked him with a small peck on the cheek, to which he reacted with a reserved hum. Yet it was evident in his gaze that there was a softness to it than his usual glower.

It was rather odd, yet pleasing in a way, to go out with Vergil for dinner. It had been about three months since you started dating, mostly taking it slow, and not wanting to rush into things. Your kids have gotten used to the new relationship budding between you and Vergil, and you couldn't have been any more happy with the outcome.

Your daughter was in the hands of Nero's uncle, Dante. You trusted Vergil enough to entrust your child to his brother, even if your first impression of the man a month ago was... colourful, to say the least.

Getting wined and dined by Vergil was the best time you've been wine and dined in a long time since your divorce. Soft laughter filled the air. The restaurant he picked out was fancy, but not fancy enough to make you feel uncomfortable, and everything was perfect.

By the time you got home, you were pulling him in, shoes taken off, coat tossed by the door, and the rest was history.

You only realized you'd fallen asleep when you felt Vergil playing with your hair, his body close to yours under the messy sheets of your bed.

"Shhh.. did I wake you?" "What time is it?" "Just about after midnight. Do you want any water?"

Shaking your head at his question, you snuggled closer to his body and sighed peacefully. This was a thing you could get used to. Having someone close in bed, someone who could have your back.. you craved it.

"Vergil..?" "Mmm?" "I think I'm... I'm falling in love with you."

Annnnd, that's a wrap everyone! I hope you liked it, and as always likes & reblogs are always appreciated! ˙⋆✮

[koshkamartell]

No One But Me

notes: this is the final instalment for this series. It has been my greatest writing achievement so far as a writer in this fandom and I am proud of it. Thank you to the readers who have always commented and engaged with me and given me the inspiration to keep going. I hope this was worth the wait for you.

*Six months after the events of the final chapter*

According to the guards manning the radio towers, the extensive perimeter bordering Jackson appears undisturbed by any threats or danger. Since the stand off with the band of raiders and the shoot out there hasn't been a hint of trouble in the air. Joel himself has not come across any sign of the infected or raiders in the last six months but he still takes his patrol duties seriously. He embarks on his own survilence walk every day and reports his findings via radio twice a day, once in the morning and once at night. He likes being useful, to still be able to fulfill an important role for the community while not living inside the gates.

The only time Joel ever sees another person is when Tommy makes the trip to the cabin to deliver Joel's monthly supply of rations. Joel never quite realises just how much he misses human contact until the moment he spies his younger brother approaching through the woodland.

Tommy has been his saviour, the only thread holding his life together; if he had been left alone at the raider's cabin that day he would have remained there in the snow alone and weeping until he collapsed, left to succumb to the elements and for his body to eventually rot into the earth. It was Tommy that stayed with him and held him until all his tears had dried, all while you were transported back to Jackson with the group of patrolmen who had accompanied Tommy.

It was Tommy who had made sure Joel was close enough to town to keep an eye on. Tommy who had given his older brother another chance at life, the only one who had refused to let him be swallowed by the self destructive and poisonous shadow that has plagued him since the day Sarah died.

The two still hadn't talked much about what had happened - perhaps both men were too ashamed, or maybe because there just wasn't anything more to say, for the salient points were the most simple. Joel kidnapping you had been repugnant, inexcusable. Oscar had loved you and he had died defending you, a tragic outcome that Joel could not have foreseen. Maybe Tommy did not see the need to punish Joel any further, for his state of suffering seemed punishment enough to endure; in a dreadful twist of irony Joel was reliving the pain of once again losing that which was most precious to him.

The brothers unload the wagon together now, Tommy handing Joel supply items one by one which he stacks on the porch. Tommy hauls a sack of flour and passes it over to Joel when he clears his throat and speaks.

"So, uh, Ellie told me somethin' last night," Tommy says in an offhanded, casual sort of way. Joel's hands tighten around the sack at the mention of Ellie's name and his head snaps up to look at the other man.

"Ellie?" He rasps, eyes flitting over Tommy warily. "What happened? She okay?"

"She's fine, just said she wants to see ya." Tommy turns to grab a basket of fruit from the wagon. "Didn't say why, though, so don't ask me."

Joel's breath catches in his throat at the same time his heart skips a beat. Did he actually just say Ellie wanted to see him? He gawks at Tommy, mouth parting in disbelief, uncertain if his bad hearing was playing tricks of him.

"What?" Joel murmers weakly.

"Yeah, she said so last night after dinner," Tommy gives a slight shrug. "Asked me to organise a meetin'."

Joel dumps the sack of flour onto the porch with a grunt and sets his hands on his hips. He frowns and blinks rapidly, nonplussed and unsure how to process the news. He's been dying to hear any news of Ellie, always swift to inquire with Tommy about how she's doing, but this is completely unexpected. Nervous excitement begins to bubble inside his guts, but along with it is a troubling mix of trepidation and alarm.

Joel stares down at his boots with a contemplative scowl on his face, his mind already slipping into a silent state of deliberation. He cannot forget how Ellie looked that fateful night, the way heart wrenching way her youthful face twisted with anger and betrayal. In that moment his world had shattered, just as Ellie's trust in him had been shattered, and he truly believed that she would hate him for the rest of her life.

What has changed within this last six months? What could have happened to persuade her to want to see him?

"You can come back to town, meet her and hear what she has to say. If ya want, ofcourse." Tommy tactfully suggests, placing the fruit basket next to the flour. The action snaps Joel out of his thoughts and makes him shift his weight between his feet.

Joel runs his hand over the lower half of his face and clears his throat. "Uhm, yeah, alright. Sure."

Tommy leans against the porch column and crosses his arms. "How's about you come into town tomorrow afternoon? Have your meetin' with Ellie and see what happens after that."

Joel's eyes sweep over Tommy skeptically. He honestly thought Maria and the council would never let him in through the gates ever again. He deduces that Tommy must have omitted some pretty big details about just what had gone on out there at the raider's cabin, about the relationship dynamics with you and he. If Maria had known he had raped you and abused you there's no way in hell she would agree to let him anywhere near Jackson.

If she had known, Joel reckons she would have even come to the cabin on her own just to confront him, gun in hand ready to shoot his face off.

As much as he dislikes Maria, Joel cannot fault her for her zealous protectiveness for her community and it's members. Joel had always recognised why she was so vigilant and defensive, but it is only now that he feels he properly respects her for it. She's a fierce and strong woman, someone Ellie would probably aspire to be one day. Maybe he's always been too jealous of Maria to really appreciate her, too resentful of her importance in Tommy's life to give her the esteem she deserves.

Despite all this, the long standing bitterness comes through in the biting, almost sarcastic tone of his voice. "Maria's gonna let me in?"

Tommy seems to ignore it, not rising to the bait. "Yeah. But you gotta hand in your guns and any other weapons at the gate, still follow the rules like everyone else."

Joel rolls his eyes. "I know. I ain't stupid, Tommy."

As much as he detests the thought of relinquishing his guns, he knows he has to toe the line. He cannot take Tommy's diligence personally. Besides, he would be more than willing to forfeit his weapons for a chance to see Ellie again, to finally be able to speak with her. Hell, he would do just about anything to stand before her and tell her how sorry he is. Even if she were to roll her eyes and flip him off and stomp away, he would still be grateful to spend even a minute sharing the same space as her.

His mind buzzes with the potential scenarios that could be awaiting him back in Jackson. Maybe Ellie would forgive him and welcome him back with a hug. Does she miss him? Perhaps she is open to hearing his side of the story and wants to understand why he did what he did. Or maybe she just wants an opportunity to unleash her anger and disappointment, like you did when he last saw you.

You.

Oh.

He's finally going to be back on mutual territory, going to be stepping foot back in the town where his life changed forever that moment he first cast his eyes on you. Fuck, what if he sees you?

While Joel cannot predict what your reaction to seeing him might be, he isn't even sure what his own reaction may be. Would he have the courage to try talk to you? Would he still feel intense shame or would his desire to touch you and breathe in your scent eclipse all his instincts of self preservation? Would he grovel at your feet and beg for forgiveness?

"And you can't go causin' trouble with that girl."

Tommy's stern tone catches Joel completely off guard, slicing through his internal musing like a knife. He hadn't mentioned you, had given no indication that he was even thinking of you, yet somehow Tommy could tell what was going through his mind. He isn't sure what pisses him off more - the fact that Tommy seems to know him so well or the authoritative tone he just used.

Joel exhales an irritated sigh and crosses his arms across his chest, not caring to hide his annoyance as he stares down Tommy. "Didn't say shit about her."

Tommy appears unperturbed by Joel's show of intimidation. He narrows his eyes at his older brother and shakes his head. "I ain't kiddin'. I don't wanna hear that you've gone to her house or where she works. You leave her alone and let her get on with her life."

Joel shifts his gaze to the ground and kicks at the dirt with the tip of his boot. Even though he hates the way Tommy is speaking to him right now, Joel knows he cannot argue with him. Joel knows he is being offered a precious opportunity, a second chance to live a stable life, and in order to accept it he must foresake old habits and feelings.

He also feels undeniably indebted to his little brother; it was Tommy who advocated for him to be a guard at the cabin, Tommy who hadn't given up on him, Tommy who saved you and ultimately gave both of you a second chance at life. He owes his younger brother an unmeasurable amount of grace and respect.

"I'm trustin' you, Joel," Tommy then whispers, his voice sounding much softer, almost pleading. "Please don't mess this up."

"I won't," Joel murmers, mustering the courage to look up and meet Tommy's eyes. "You have my word."

The following afternoon Joel saddles up Tex and makes the journey to Jackson. Tommy will meet him halfway at one of the checkpoints. The whole ride Joel's stomach is knotted with anxiety and his palms feel clammy. He feels sweat drip from the nape of his neck down his back, making his shirt stick to his skin uncomfortably. He curses under his breath.

Thoughts of self doubt crawl inside his head, taunting and snide and full of hatred.

You don't deserve this. You're a failure. You're a piece of shit. No one needs you.

He almost decides to abandon the whole plan and turn back when he spots Tommy's figure in the distance, his arm raised in a wave.

Ellie asked to see you. You gotta do this. Joel's inner voice of reason speaks. He rides on to where Tommy waits and the two brothers continue on together.

••••••

It is a surreal and dizzying experience for Joel to ride through the gates of Jackson once more, back into the town that had become his home with Ellie for the last five years. It is like a dream, one loaded with a sense of foreboding that conjures an angst to swirl low within his guts. He does not know how his return will be received, if he will be met with disdain or ridicule or something worse; the unknown only compounds his shame and he feels incredibly self conscious. He holds tightly to the reins of his horse in an effort to ground himself, to summon the courage to continue on through the massive gateway that guards his home. That guards Ellie. And you.

Joel senses the eyes of the gate guards on him the whole time, gawking at him with tentative intrigue like he's a wild animal liable to snap and attack. It makes him intensely nervous and uncomfortable but he forges on, taking slight comfort in the fact that Tommy rides beside him.

They ride to the stables and leave the horses to pasture then they walk back to Tommy's house. Joel feels even more conspicuous walking through the main streets; he hates the obvious stares from the townsfolk that mill about the paths and houses, and although he can't hear what they whisper to each other he can guess what they are saying about him.

He's dangerous.

He's the reason Estrada got killed.

He's nothing but trouble. Once a raider, always a raider.

When they reach Tommy's house Joel is inwardly grateful to trudge through the threshold and escape the exposure of being in public. He feels like a monster.

Maybe that's what I am.

"Go on and take a seat." Tommy shuts the door behind them. "I'll get us somethin' to drink." He shucks off his jacket and hangs it on the coat hook while Joel wanders into the living room. "Ellie's gonna be by later after work."

A glass of whiskey sounds perfect right about now, Joel thinks. He collapses onto the couch with a heavy sigh, his joints screaming in relief as he sinks into the plush cushion beneath him. He tilts his head back and shuts his eyes.

That evening Ellie returns to Tommy's house after work duty at the barn. When Joel hears the front door open and close, the scuffed sound of boots being haphazardly toed off, his whole body becomes rigid where he sits on the couch. When he hears the long awaited sound of Ellie's voice singing out to Tommy, his breath hitches in his throat. His hands fidget nervously by his sides and his heart hammers in his chest. This is the moment he's waited for for six months.

There's shuffling and the hushed murmur of voices coming from the hallway and Joel has to remind himself to relax some, to let his lungs inhale and exhale. The seconds tick by agonisingly slow as he waits for Ellie and Tommy to walk into the living room. When they do, Joel immediately hauls himself up from the couch, springing to his feet like a soldier. He locks eyes with Ellie's large brown orbs and feels like he might be sick.

"Ellie," the whisper falls from his mouth, anguished and desperate. On instinct his hand goes to reach out to touch her but he quickly stops himself, dropping his hand back to his side.

"Joel." She gives a cool nod of acknowledgement and crosses her arms, back straight and proud, demeanour assertive but not hostile. She looks older, more mature. Her posture is confident and self assured. Joel's gaze flits all over her face, feeling uneasy as he absorbs the expression on her face - neutral, almost impassive. There's no fire, no anger. Not yet, at least.

How on earth did she change so much in just six months? Joel wonders. And despite their adopted roles of father and daughter, Joel does not feel like the much older adult right now. In fact he feels small and sheepish under her gaze.

"Well, I guess I'll leave you two to talk," Tommy chimes in, breaking through the awkward tension of the room. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on one of the arm chairs before turning back to the hallway. "Maria and the boys'll be home soon, so ya'll try not to kill each other," he calls out.

Now alone in the living room Ellie and Joel continue to stare at one another in silent suspense. The longer Ellie remains unspeaking the more Joel's discomfort grows. Out of habit he props his hands on his hips and clears his throat, but there are no words for him to say. His eyes eventually fall to the floor, ashamed and unable to bear the weight of his daughter's piercing gaze.

After what seems like several minutes, Ellie's voice cuts through the air around him like a knife.

"You lied."

Joel flinches, shutting his eyes against the impact of her harsh tone, as if it were a slap to his cheek. His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. His eyelashes flutter open and he looks up at her.

"I did," he agrees in a whisper. He sees her chest expanding underneath her forearms as she takes a deep inhale. He realises she's trying to keep it together, trying to stay composed.

"You fucked up, Joel."

"I did. Please let me explain," Joel blurts, unable to hold back the desperation that has been building up for so long in her absence from his life. "Sit down and hear me out, Ellie."

She doesn't move; she stays firmly planted on her feet, a flickery fire of obstinacy now dancing in her eyes. He sighs and motions to the couch with the sweep of his large palm.

"Please," he pleads, soft, beseeching. She keeps him waiting for another few seconds in limbo, eyeing him with mistrusting indecision. Joel is about to utter another plea when she acquiesces and flops down on the armchair opposite the couch.

Joel has to restrain the exhalation of relief that bubbles inside his chest. He takes a seat on the couch directly facing Ellie and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Thank you for askin' me to come--"

"You lied," she repeats bitterly, her large round eyes still piercing into him. "You fucking lied to my face, Joel."

"I know," he mumbles, wringing his hands together nervously. "But I had to. I did it to save you. I did it to keep you alive."

"It wasn't your decision to make," Ellie hisses, tears pooling in her brown eyes. "You did it because you're selfish."

"I did it because I love you," Joel counters with a hoarse croak, the overwhelming emotion inside his chest threatening to burst as his own eyes flooding with glistening tears. "In a way you can't understand. And I would do it all over again. I'd do anythin' to keep you safe. I just...I hope you can forgive me."

The hardness in Ellie's eyes soften slightly. "I don't know if I can forgive you," she utters tearfully. "But I'd like to try."

She urges Joel to explain his side of what happened, and so he does. She listens with minimal interruption as he recounts what transpired with Marlene and the Fireflies, trying his best to be as clear and concise as he can, and by the end of his speech he feels utterly exhausted. With tears streaming down his face he apologises for concealing the truth for so long. Ellie ultimately accepts his apology but says she still needs some space; she'd like for him to come back and live in Jackson but it'll take time for their relationship to mend. He immediately accepts the new conditions, nodding to indicate his understanding, unable to speak without tears continually leaking from his eyes and trickling down his cheeks.

I haven't lost her forever.

The two of them stand up at the same time, awkward and stiff, unsure of where to really look. But then, with a mutual understanding that doesn't need spoken words, they move closer to embrace one another - Ellie slips her arms around his middle and Joel instantly envelopes her small stature with his own, his body eager and needy for the physical contact, for the confirmation that this isn't just a figment of his fantasy.

He stifles the beginnings of another wave of weeping, repressing it so it clogs his throat, and presses a light kiss to the top of her head. It is a simple gesture, a token of paternal affection that seems unremarkable, yet for Joel it signifies so much; it declares not only his obvious love for Ellie but his gratitude for her grace and acceptance. He feels so peaceful, so content that he could luxuriate in this moment forever, and it is all because of Ellie that he's been allowed such a feeling.

And when she detaches herself and pulls away from the hug it feels like a piece of Joel's soul is being ripped away from him. He hides the crestfallen reaction from his face as best as he can, trying to kill the slight wave of panic that rears inside his core. He has to remind himself that she is still a teen after all, still made uncomfortable by charged displays of emotion, but most importantly she's still here, alive and in the flesh and wanting to forgive.

A few seconds later Tommy wanders back into the living room to check in on them, an apron tied around his waist and a carving knife in hand. He looks pleasantly relaxed, his face serene in a way Joel hasn't seen for a long time.

"Jesus!" Ellie exclaims, startled by his appearance. "Were you listening from the hallway the whole fuckin' time or something?"

Tommy barks out a laugh. "No, I wasn't. As a matter of fact I was preparin' dinner for you two knuckleheads."

Joel glances between the two of them, trying to gauge Ellie's reaction. He worries that it'll be too much for her to stick around for dinner, that she has already exhausted her capacity to be around him. He anticipates that she will feel too awkward to stay and will instead make a quick escape to her friend Dina or wherever she goes these days. He wouldn't blame her, either.

But Ellie surprises him.

"Good," she quips to Tommy, a grin spreading across her face, her mood relaxing into something more jovial and cheeky. "Cos I'm starving and I missed that thing you do with the cabbage and potatoes."

"Well get your ass in the kitchen and I'll show ya how to make it," Tommy chuckles in response. "Ain't that hard."

Ellie groans and rolls her eyes dramatically. "Do I always have to do everything?"

"You don't do half as much as you should," Tommy corrects, grinning. "Now getcha ass in the kitchen." She slinks toward the hallway, every bit the contrary teenager, and points to the knife in his hand.

"Hey, you may rule the kitchen, but don't forget who kicks your ass at axe throwing," Ellie teases playfully. Tommy lets out a rumble of laughter as she passes out of the living room, oblivious to how Joel silently watches their interaction with profoundly sad envy in his heart. Tommy shoots him a small smile.

"Come on, brother, come help peel some potatoes," Tommy tips his head to gesture toward the kitchen. Joel discreetly wipes an errant tear leaking from the corner of his eye with a knuckle and follows his brother.

Later that night he walks back to his house alone, his limbs heavy and his belly full, but with significantly less weight burdening his shoulders. When he first enters through the front door the deathly quiet and still darkness within the place is unnerving - it triggers the deep seated paranoia that something could be lurking around the corner. Something poised and ready to pounce on him and tear his throat out. Or someone waiting to debilitate him just enough to steal all his belongings.

Checking over a place before bunking down was a habit of self preservation Joel developed early on in the outbreak. Despite Jackson being the safest place imaginable in this world, the habit had never quite died out. He slowly reaches a hand out to flick on the light switch in the living room, the yellowish light illuminating the room instantly. He squints, eyes swiftly surveying the area; there is no sign of life and everything is within its place, untouched and abandoned.

He sees one of your books laying ontop of a strewn blanket on the couch, a remnant of the life you once lived with him. The casual domesticity of it sends a pang of longing through his guts.

After checking through each room on the ground floor Joel drags himself up the stairs, his knees creaking with each step. Once he's satisfied that there is no sign of danger in the house he shuffles to the main bedroom, shedding his jacket and tossing it on the solitary chair in the corner. He sees the bed, still unmade as it was the night he left it, sheets in a tangle at the bottom of the mattress. There's an empty mug on the night stand, as well as your hair brush.

He collapses onto the bed and presses his face into one of the pillows. He catches the smell of your shampoo on it, the faint scent of *you*, and he inhales deeply in an attempt to chase it. Fuck, how he wishes you were here right now, your body curled against his and your face nestled into his neck. The space feels so empty with your absence that it feels unnatural to lay there without you.

Joel sighs heavily and wraps his arm around the pillow to clutch it tightly to his chest. He needs to have a shower and change his clothes, but he's so worn out. The bed is so comfortable, too - so much so that he can't really muster the will to get up straight away. He closes his eyes, intending to rest just for a few minutes, but he ends up drifting off to sleep for the rest of the night.

Now that he has officially returned to live in Jackson, Joel stands by his word and does not seek you out. He does not show up on your door step to coax his way inside your home with either apologies or force. He does not accost you like he has done in the past, pouncing on your unaware form to catch you off guard. He leaves you alone to carry on with whatever daily routine you've established without him.

It an exercise in torture for Joel. But as fate would have it, it only takes a few days of him being back in Jackson before he runs into you.

It is late in the afternoon and he's on his way to the stables to check in on Tex and talk to the stable hand about getting new shoes for the horse. He crosses the street and turns onto the main road, planning to stop in at the leather store on his way to get a new belt for himself. He's too preoccupied with his thoughts to realise that he's ventured nearby the library.

He glances around at the trickles of people wandering around the street as he walks, secretly hoping he might run into Ellie. He hasn't seen much of her around - once at a family dinner at Tommy's and a couple of times at the mess hall - and he's desperate to spend some time with her, even just to be in the same room as her.

Joel doesn't find Ellie's face amongst the residents on the street, but there is a figure that appears familiar to him, just 20 yards to his left. He throws a casual glance in the person's direction, then his head swivels comically in a double take when he realises it is you.

Joel feels like he's been struck by a thunderbolt. He freezes and his eyes go wide in shock. You are turned away from him but he can recognise it is you; he knows your body and your movements so intimately that he is adamant he could recognise you anywhere, from any angle.

There's a pastel green ribbon tied in the loose pony tail gathering your hair together. You're wearing a simple blue cotton dress that falls just past your knees. A light sweater covers your shoulders and arms. Your clothes are new, for he has never seen them before.

When you whirl around to face him Joel's breath gets caught in his throat. Your body is turned toward him but you don't look up, too focused on tucking the stack of books into the crook of your arm while juggling a set of keys. It's a small mercy for Joel, for he thinks if he made eye contact with you he would surely die on the spot.

You look just as beautiful as you did when he first laid eyes on you more than five years ago. There's a healthy glow to your skin and your cheeks are no longer hollow. Your hair looks thicker. You've put on weight. You look radiant.

Once you've tucked the keys in the pocket of your dress you start to walk away from the library. Joel panics and quickly darts back around the corner of the grocery store. He feels pathetic cowering against the wall of the store, hiding like a cowardly fool, but he's utterly shaken by the coincidence. He just isn't ready to face you again, not when he's so ill prepared, not so unexpectedly.

And anyway, you hate him. Who knows what your reaction would be if you saw him? You could scream and run away. You might slap him right there in the middle of the street and tell him to get fucked. He wants to keep a low profile for as long as possible now he is back, and having a public confrontation is the last thing he needs.

But like a moth to a flame, Joel needs to see your face.

He peers out from around the corner to watch you cross out into the main street and walk down to the cafeteria. As you advance closer toward the grocery store your features become more distinct. With your eyes glued to the mess hall in the distance, you are oblivious to his hidden presence. He tracks you like a hunter, as still as a lion stalking an unsuspecting gazelle.

It is only when you pass by the store, when your side profile comes into view, that Joel recognises the most noticeable difference in your appearance. He sees the prominence of your rounded stomach pushing against your dress and the realisation hits him with a nauseating force that threatens to bring him to his knees.

You're pregnant.

You're fucking pregnant.

Joel's heart suddenly constricts in his chest and his head instantly feels dizzy. The world around him becomes slanted and he has to grip the edge of the building to stay upright. His lungs feel tight, as though all the air in his body is being squeezed out. He screws his eyes shut and blindly unbuttons the top of his flannel to loosen the material from around his neck.

Shit, fuck, just breathe. Breathe. You're okay.

You're pregnant.

How the fuck are you pregnant?

You've moved on - you must have. You've found someone else and now you're having another man's baby. You've forgotten all about Joel, about everything you shared together.

Joel feels as though a thousand knives have been plunged into his belly. He wrestles against the hysteria as bile rises in his throat and he has to fight to swallow it down.

Breathe, goddamnit, breathe.

He endeavours to focus on inhaling long, measured breaths through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. He stays like this for several minutes, disconnecting from his surroundings until the distress begins to ebb and he has regulated his breathing.

Once his blurry vision has cleared and he is able to take a breath without choking, Joel makes his escape. His feet feel so heavy, like his boots are made of lead, but he tries to move as stealthily as possible through the spaces between the stores. He ambles through the bushes to make his way to the residential areas, his brain buzzing like a live wire.

How could you have moved on so fast?

Who is your new man?

Are you happy?

He isn't sure how far along you are but he guesses atleast 6 months. Are you in good health?

Joel takes the back streets until he reaches Tommy's house. His hands fidget nervously by his sides as he waits for someone to answer his thundering knock on the door. He knows Maria is out organising things with the committee, but Tommy should be home; he has been on night patrol lately so he's probably still in bed, or atleast still in the house.

Joel waits as patiently as his panic stricken heart allows before urgently knocking again, even louder and harder this time. "Come on Tommy," he calls gruffly through the door.

He hears a series of thuds coming from inside the house before the front door swings open. Tommy blinks sleepily from behind the door, his curls tousled. Joel doesn't bother to exchange any pleasantries, instead trampling through the threshold and shouldering his way past Tommy.

"Well good afternoon to you, too," Tommy quips as he shuts the door closed. Joel strides into the living room and Tommy shuffles after him, scrubbing at the corner of his eye with a balled fist. "Ya want coffee, or somethin'?"

Joel drops down onto the couch with a heavy plonk and covers his mouth with his hands. He's momentarily robbed of speech from the shock of his discovery, unable to utter a sentence with the lump of emotion that has formed inside his throat. Tommy doesn't realise anything is wrong until he comes to stand across from where Joel sits and sees the older brother's broken expression.

"Joel?" Tommy utters, frowning with worry. "You alright?"

He can't answer, too stupefied by what he had just witnessed, and only manages to shake his head. He closes his eyes for a few seconds and takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the imminent confrontation. He drags his hands away from his face and lets them drop between his legs, gripping them together as if he is trying desperately to restrain himself from moving.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Joel's voice eventually croaks out, strained and broken. He opens his eyes and stares up at Tommy, tears swimming in his eyes, unable to disguise the hurt and betrayl he feels so deeply within his core. "You knew all this time and you didn't tell me?"

Tommy knows exactly what Joel is alluding to - ofcourse there could be only one reason for Joel being so emotional. Tommy had purposely kept this aspect of your life a secret from Joel out of respect for you, but he knew Joel would find out sooner or later. He sighs wearily and rubs the back of his neck, his face scrunching into a wince.

"Why?" Joel challenges, louder, more demanding.

"She's gettin' her life back together," Tommy states resolutely. "Ain't anyone else's business what she's got goin' on right now. I only found out a little while ago, anyway."

"Who...whose the father?" Joel asks, his voice thick with emotion. Twin rivulets of tears have broken free and begin to trickle down his cheeks but he makes no move to brush them away.

"I don't know," Tommy lies, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I want you to leave her alone, Joel. You gotta let her get on with her life without you. After what you put her through, she deserves whatever peace she makes for herself."

Joel bows his head down between his shoulders and sniffs. It's true - he's put you through so much undeserved suffering and he certainly has no right to disrupt your chance at a happy life, one free from the repercussions of his destructive obsession.

But fuck, what if it is his baby?

It could be, couldn't it?

Maybe the 20 something year old plan b didn't work. Maybe there was a time when he wasn't quick enough to pull out before he came. Maybe he had been too careless.

Joel knows he cannot disturb your life, but if it *is* his baby, he also knows that there is no way he would let you raise the child alone. He still loves you with a fierce possessiveness that he will never truly be rid of. No matter how much introspection he does or how much he changes his behaviour, a flame of greedy desire to own you will always exist within him.

And now just the thought of your baby potentially being his has rekindled that possessiveness he had managed to keep smothered these last few months.

"And what if it is mine?" Joel challenges heatedly, angling his face to look up at Tommy. "Just how am I supposed to let her alone if that's my baby she's carryin'?"

"Because if that's the case then it'll be up to her whether or not you are gonna be involved, Joel," Tommy retorts evenly. "She will reach out if she wants to. And until then - if that even happens - you're to stay the hell away from her, you hear me?"

"Yeah, Tommy, I fuckin' heard you," Joel scoffs and slumps back onto the couch, his body sagging dejectedly into the cushioning. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, wishing for a reprieve from the exhausting buzzing inside his mind, but all he can picture is you in that blue cotton dress cradling your swollen belly.

When Maria had told you that Ellie asked to see Joel and that he would be visiting her in Jackson for an indefinite period of time, you were surprised but not displeased. As a matter of fact you were gllad that Ellie initiated contact with Joel. You could only imagine the misery the two of them have suffered through for the last six months without any closure or discussion about the Fireflies. They are father and daughter, for all intents and purposes, and it would be a tragedy if there were no attempt to repair their fractured relationship.

"Okay," you replied, feeling a bit odd and stiff. "I mean, that's good. They need to talk."

Maria eyed you dubiously. "You sure you're okay with it? Because if you're not, you just say the word and we can arrange the meeting another way. Maybe Ellie and Tommy can go to the cabin--"

"No," you stopped Maria, "it's okay. Really. He can meet her in Jackson."

Maria's lips pulled in a tight line as she scrutinised your face, searching for something that could indicate that you were hiding your true feelings. You gave her hand a reassuring pat.

"It's okay - I promise, Maria. It's a good idea for them to meet."

"He's been told to stay away from you, just so you know," she declared. "If he approaches you or does anything to threaten you, you need to come to me or Tommy."

"I will," you had vowed.

That was two weeks ago.

Joel has supposedly been back in Jackson for two weeks and you have not seen him once. He has not made an appearance at the mess hall when you have been there for dinner almost every night. You have not seen his head of chocolate curls within the sea of people at the communal movie night in the town hall. You haven't spied his imposing figure stalking around town on an errand, or with Tommy.

You wonder if he's laying low and holed up inside his house, or if he actually listened about staying away, purposely avoiding you at all costs. Did Tommy threaten him? Or maybe Joel did not care about you anymore? Maybe he is over whatever your relationship was, finally broken from the spell of obsession. It seems unfeasible that Joel, a man so fanatical about maintaing control of a situation, would follow another person's orders to refrain from doing something he wants to do. So perhaps he no longer feels any emotion toward you.

Perhaps he doesn't want to see you at all.

You don't know why but you find the thought physically painful; it sends an unexpected pang of disappointment and rejection shooting through your heart down to your guts, a twisted pull of your insides that cannot be attributed to a contraction.

Do you no longer matter to Joel?

It would be easy to get lost in the endless ocean of questions and contentions about the past, about the codependency and complexity of emotions that so defined your relationship with Joel - but somehow you find the willpower to correct the trajectory of your thoughts.

You shouldn't care at all about how he feels, you caution yourself. All you need to worry about now is you and your baby.

You repeat this mantra inside your head. You try your best to honour yourself and your worth by not dwelling on memories of Joel. You go about your day to day tasks and try not to think of Joel, but the possibility of running into him on the streets is in the back of your mind every time you step out of your cottage. You are not afraid - you know you're safe here in your community and cannot be hurt. You don't think you would run from him, just as you don't think he would try hurt you.

You don't want to admit to yourself that you actually do miss Joel at times. You're so horny from the hormonal changes these days that you regularly fuck yourself on your fingers to memories of him pounding into you or devouring your pussy. You cum hard each time, your skin sticky with sweat and your limbs twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You luxuriate in the short lived bliss, loving how your mind goes hazy and your body feels like it is floating.

It doesn't last long enough, though, before the shame starts to creep in like a dark cloud over your head. Are you that fucked up? You must be - because fantasising about the man who abducted you just a few months after first raping you is sick, perverted. Depraved.

Your face flushes with guilt and disgust. How can you crave the touch of such a horrible man? How much you possibly miss him in any way, after everything he has subjected you to? The spiral of shame plagues you after each time, yet somehow it does not end up deterring you from masturbating the following times. The urge for gratification is too strong, overriding your righteousness to the point that you cannot resist the high that comes from your carnal satiation.

Tonight you lay in bed amongst a nest of pillows, wallowing in the familiar feelings of guilt when you feel an abrupt kick to the underside of your ribs, pulling your attention from your thoughts, stealing the breath from your lungs for a split second. I'm here too, the kick seems to convey. Don't forget me.

A smile curls at your mouth and you rub your hands over the expanse of your middle.

What Joel did doesn't matter anymore, not when you are holding your future in the palms of your hands. Having children and a family of your own had always been a dream of yours, an aspiration you were never entirely sure you would ever experience in this life. Yet here you were with your belly round, hair thick and lush, your face slightly puffy, breasts swollen. You were going to be a mother. And it was Joel who gifted that to you; he was always going to be a part of you, a part of your life, and such a truth no longer pains you to admit.

You have no idea, but Joel has been watching you every day. He doesn't stalk you (no, not really, he tells himself) but he finds himself drawn to the centre of town more and more, particularly on the days you work at the library. It didn't take long for him to decipher your new work duty routine; you work at the library Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays, then the school Thursdays and Fridays.

It surprises him that you are so active within the community these days; your Saturdays and Sundays are busy with a range of different ventures, from volunteering in the mess hall kitchen to helping facilitate activities for the children in the town hall or at the school.

You were never so...involved before. He watches the way you interact with those around you, how your face radiates such a serene, joy filled energy, how free and easy going you look when you toss your head back and laugh. He cannot recall ever seeing you like this. Witnessing you so happy, glowing and round, makes his stomach flip.

You are so beautiful that it almost hurts Joel to see. This had always been you, who you were as a person - kind and caring and wanting to do good. But your light had been so dull while you were with him, eclipsed by his overbearing disapproval of you partaking in anything he deemed unnecessary or a waste of time.

Joel feels a tendril of shame crawl up the back of his neck at the realisation. He had deprived you of the right to be your own individual, crushing your autonomy in the palm of his hand, and in turn had deprived himself of knowing this beautiful version of you.

Fucking idiot. Any man would be proud to have you as their woman, would happily walk down the street holding your hand and supporting you in doing whatever your heart desires. It should've been him. He should be the one by your side encouraging you. He should be your partner.

And through his furtive surveillance Joel quickly comes to the conclusion that you don't actually have a new partner in your life. There is no man showing up at your doorstep to spend the night at your cottage. He doesn't see you visit any strange houses that he doesn't recognise as one of your friend's. You're alone or with your gaggle of girlfriends, occasionally Maria.

There seems to be no room in your life for another man - perhaps there is no room in your heart, either, after all that it has endured.

Joel hadn't actually considered this until one day when he followed you to the town cemetery. He had been confused at first, wondering why you would be stepping foot in the depressing plot of fenced land used as a burial ground for the town.

And then it belatedly struck him that you were there to visit Oscar's grave.

Truthfully, he had not given the dead man much thought in the last six months. He had witnessed so many people die infront of his very eyes that he had become desensitised to death, particularly of those he had no connection to. And Oscar had been one of the people he had no reason to mourn. He was a decent man, sure, but he was no more special than any one else.

Joel watched you awkwardly descend to your knees and place a small bunch of flowers against the humble headstone, a d he felt the first niggling pang of guilt hit behind his ribs. And when you began to weep into your hands, your shoulders quaking as you mourned, Joel felt so uncomfortable that he decided to abandon his shadowing for the day. It felt wrong to spy on you during such a private moment of grief, yet in Joel's heart of hearts he knew the real reason was because he couldn't bear to see you so sorrowful. He couldn't stand to see you mourn a loss that he was instrumental in creating.

For the rest of the day Joel's mind was plagued by the sight of you crying beside the gravesite. The guilt remained inside his ribcage, an unrelenting and dull stabbing sensation chipping away at his sternum. Ofcourse you were still in mourning for Oscar - for the friend you had lost, for the man who had loved you so much that he sacrificed his life to rescue you. He felt like an asshole for not realising it earlier. Ofcourse you haven't found another man to be with - how could you possibly give yourself to another man when your heart is still broken?

It also means your baby cannot be anybody else's but his.

That you're carrying his child.

The conscious recognition of this is like a lightbulb being switched on; it stirs that familiar swirl of hot possessiveness in Joel's belly and his heart swells with pride at the thought that you are swollen with his seed, forever marked by him. It makes his cock twitch and weep with precum at the thought.

But along with the burning need to possess also comes the need to safeguard you. How could he possibly stay away from you now? It is simply impossible for him to just leave you alone when you're carrying his baby. What kind of man would he be if he were to neglect his duty as your baby's father?

Fuck Tommy, he thinks.

Nothing can keep Joel from minding what belongs to him.

Every day he observes you from afar, always from the safety of the shadows, trailing a good distance behind you as you walk to work in the mornings. He weaves between houses and bushes to remain discreet in his spying, not once risking complacency incase you sense his presence. He takes advantage of the crowds of people that mill about the streets, using the anonymity the throngs offer to watch you leave in the late afternoons.

Clandestinely escorting you to and from work becomes a daily routine for Joel. With the restrictions Tommy has placed on him, it is the only way for him to make sure you are safe and healthy - seeing you with his own eyes, trying to judge from your appearance and gait if you're tired or struggling to move with the added weight of your belly. God almighty, what he would give to be able to hold your hand and guide you himself, to keep you protected by his side, to stand proudly beside you.

Joel returns to his patrol shifts but insists on the night duty so he can continue keeping his eye on you. He pushes through the patches of broken sleep to maintain his routine, for his brain seems to crawl with thoughts of you every minute of the day, even while he sleeps. You haunt him like a ghost, the image of your face and body burnt into his very soul, the memory of the sound of your voice whisperings inside the shell of his ear. His palms itch and his legs are restless. He has no respite from the the internal pull toward you, the invisible string that tugs deep within his belly, urging him to go to you. You wants to ravage you, to cradle your face within his large calloused hands, to kiss your soft lips and claim you for himself again.

He feels like a starved man - starved of you. He hasn't heard your beautiful voice for six months. Six months without your delicate fingertips grazing over his skin, making him prickle with goosebumps. Six months without your voice purring his name, sensual and needy, intoxicating him with its sweet lilt. Six months without your body pressed against his, without the weight of your soft breasts and the hug of your thighs on his rough, scarred skin.

There are so many things Joel needs to know, so many questions only you hold the answers to. Will you let him provide for you? Will you let him be there for you and your child? Do you miss him? Is it possible you could ever feel love for him again, even in the most miniscule capacity?

How much longer can he go on like this, skulking in the shadows like a phantom, tormented with the knowledge that you're the mother of his unborn child and he is forbidden from even speaking to you?

Joel's heart is restless. It cannot be still, cannot be at peace, under the weighty reality of his circumstances, and he fears he cannot possibly endure such torture for much longer.

You're locking up the library one late afternoon when your body is suddenly struck by an excruciating contraction. You gasp in pain, dropping the set of keys at your feet, totally overcome by the intense wave of cramps that sieze your insides. You've never felt such a thing before and it leaves you breathless.

Another hits you almost immediately after the first and causes you to cry out. Your knees buckle and you collapse again the door, unable to support yourself as you slide down to the ground. Your arm curls around your middle and you screw your eyes shut against the pain. You try to breathe through stuttering hitches of gasps but your mind panics.

Oh my god what is happening? Am I going into labour?

You've got to get to the doctor. This can't be it, can it? You're around seven and a half months - that's what Dr. Amber said at your examination just a few weeks ago. Where's Maria? You've got to get some help, crawl out onto the main street or something, yell out---

Your thoughts are interrupted by the gentle yet firm weight of someone's hands on your shoulders. Your sagging body is lifted slightly upright, then you feel the warmth of a palm press against your cheek. You feel boneless, unable to move.

"Baby, are you okay?"

The voice that speaks is one you know well but have not heard for many months. You know the masculine timbre and rich accent intimately, and despite having not heard it for so long you are still sure that you could recognise it anywhere.

"Joel?" You whisper, slowly fluttering your eyes open to gaze at him. Joel is crouched down on one knee infront of you, his deep brown eyes searching over your face with worry. He keeps your face cradled in one large palm, the other cupping your shoulder.

The sight of the man before you doesn't scare you or make you want to scream. You aren't scared at all. But being so close to him and feeling his warm touch in such a vulnerable moment is still startling, still makes you recoil slightly inward.

"It's me," Joel murmurs, "I ain't goin' to hurt ya. I just saw you fall and came runnin'. What happened, baby?"

You don't have time to analyse the probabilities of just how Joel could have been so close by at the exact time of your current emergency before another contraction squeezes your insides. You cry out and your face contorts into a grimace.

"It's okay," Joel cooes quietly, "it's okay, you don't have to talk. I think you're havin' a contraction. Is this your first time feelin' 'em?"

You nod your head and whimper, eyes still shut. "Please get Maria, I need her, I need the doctor."

"We don't have time to go lookin' for Maria," Joel murmers. He strokes your cheek with his thumb and hums soothingly. Although you can't do anything but allow him to, your instincts don't scream for you to escape. It feels strange, yes, but not entirely unpleasant. You gradually lean into his touch, in desperate need of some kind of comfort, his skin like a cool balm against scorching heat.

"You're gonna be alright, baby. Listen to me - I'm gonna get you to the doctor, gonna take you to the clinic and get you checked out, hear me?"

"I don't, I don't...think I can stand," you choke out, tears beginning to leak out from the corners of your eyes. The residual throbbing from the contractions continue to invade your insides. Getting on your feet and walking even a few steps seems impossible.

"Don't cry, honey," Joel utters, soft and calm. "We're gonna do it together. Just hold onto me, get your arm around my neck."

Unless you choose to crawl on your hands and knees to the clinic you have little choice but to go along with the plan. This could be an emergency. You could be in labour, and giving birth on the stoop of the Jackson library isn't how you were planning on delivering your baby.

"O-okay..." you whisper shakily. Joel carefully manoeuvres one of your arms to slip around the back of his neck, then slides his arm around your back. His hold is not tight but supportive, strong.

"On the count of three I'm gonna lift you up, okay? Open your eyes for me, baby, look at me." Joel all but pleads, tone supplicating and needy. You bring a shaky hand up to your nose and swipe at the moisture that has collected there, then you slowly open your eyes and look up at him.

Joel watches you intently, with so much tenderness and sadness in his eyes that you wonder if he himself will start crying too. He nods, encouraging you to listen.

"On the count of three - one, two..."

He guides you to stand up from the ground when he utters three, his movements cautious yet confident as he practically lifts all your body weight up himself. Your head swims with dizziness and you sag against his chest on instinct, swaying slightly on your feet, your arm still curled around his neck. He holds the back of your head in his hand and presses you delicately against his front.

"Good job, baby," he whispers, tilting his head down to press a feather light kiss on the top of your head. He can't help but breathe in your sweet scent, a mix of your usual smell along with something faintly floral and milky. "Now we gotta get you to the clinic."

"Can't walk," you mumble into his shirt, the familiar sandalwood and pine scent filling your nostrils. Another contraction swoops over you, constricting your uterine muscles in a squeezing hold that robs your lungs of breath. "F-f-fuuuuck!"

"Shit," Joel whispers to himself, starting to feel the crawling tingle of anxiety begin to sizzle throughout his brain. He cannot bear the sight of you suffering like this. His head swivels around as he tries to piece together the quickest route to the clinic. With the pain you're in even the short cut past the barbershop will be too far for you to walk.

He's going to have to carry you there himself.

He stoops down slightly to whisper into your ear. "I'm gonna pick you up," he strokes your head. "So you just hold tight to me--"

"Joel, no," you protest, shaking your head weakly. "No, I'm too heavy."

"You ain't," he counters firmly. "Trust me." He takes a breath, then whispers softly, amending his tone. Please, trust me."

You hesitate, whimpering in pain, your hand coming up to fist at his collar. You have no other choice if you want to actually get to the clinic.

"Okay," you respond in a defeated whisper.

It's all the confirmation Joel needs to hear before he bends his knees and suddenly scoops you up into his arms like a bride. He grunts with effort to stand back upright and jiggles you slightly to adjust you in his arms. You keep your eyes shut tightly and nestle your head against his chest, so overwhelmed by the dizziness and pain that you fear you may faint.

"I got you," Joel mumbles as he takes the first couple steps with you in his arms. "Don't gotta worry 'bout a thing."

He carries you through the main street and around the corner towards where the clinic is located, a small building sandwiched between the pharmacy and the infirmary. He whispers words of reassurance to help calm your nerves, to let you know you aren't alone, that he is here to help. He hopes that his presence can help alleviate even the tiniest bit of pain you have to endure. You don't speak in return, only bleating weak cries every so often, and it makes his heart crack.

Joel's lower back throbs and his joints ache with each step but he pushes on. He is so conscious of the weight of your round belly across his torso, so mindful that he doesn't rock you too hard. My baby is there, he thinks. That's my baby.

He ignores the stares from the townsfolk around him and keeps his head held high, resolutely focused on his duty to get you to the doctor as quickly as he can, as safely as possible. He doesn't give a fuck what anyone thinks; you are in crisis and you need him, it's his job to taken care of you. Both of you.

He bursts through the door of the clinic with his chest heaving. The doctor and nurse on duty rush over to you and hurriedly lead Joel to lay you on one of the examination beds. Your eyes snap open as you're lowered onto the flat surface, the warmth of Joel's body stolen away from you all too soon.

"Joel," you whimper, eyebrows saddled together and sweat beading along your forehead. You look so scared, so distressed by this unprecedented and unknown turn of events. Seeing you so fragile like this tugs at his heart strings, makes him want to cradle you in his arms like a small child and keep you cuddled into his chest for as long as he lives.

Joel crouches down so he is level with you and clutches your hand reverently in both of his. "I'm here, baby." He answers, one of his thumbs brushing over the back of your hand. "Ain't got nothin' to worry about."

He is so ready to finally to be able to prove himself to you, to show you that he is capable of change, that he can be the man you always wanted him to be. He is going to be right by your side to give you everything you need, to do whatever he can to make you comfortable and content and happy. God, how desperately he wants to be the reason for your happiness.

The nurse in attendance hovers at the back of Joel, her features pulled into a stern frown. "Excuse me," she cuts in, "the doctor will need to do an examination. You will need to leave now."

Joel is about to shoot her a glare over his shoulder when your voice pipes up, small and dainty from where you lay on the bed. "Please go get Maria. As soon as you can," you implore him. "I need her here."

It makes him a few seconds to process your request; he stares at you dumbly, blinking, mouth parting slightly in shocked confusion. Maria? Then it hits him, the delayed understanding like a stinging slap across his cheek.

You want Maria - not him. You're telling him to leave, to go away and send Maria in his place. Why don't you want him here with you? He just helped bring you here, carried you in his arms, to get you help. It is his baby inside you. Why would you prefer Maria here next to you and not him?

The raw ache of rejection pierces Joel's heart and travels down to the pit of his stomach. He has been so excited about your pregnancy that he didn't even remember the glaring fact that he remains undeserving of simply being in your presence.

Why had he been so stupid to think you would've welcomed him back into your life?

Joel tries to school his features to hide just how devastated he feels, trying with great effort to keep his expression neutral and nonchalant, to swallow the thick lump of disappointment lodged within his throat. Okay, he thinks, if that's really what you want, he will give it to you.

The doctor asks you something, the beginning of a series of questions about your pain, stethoscope already poised above your belly. You turn your head away from Joel to answer her question, simultaneously retracting your hand from his hold. It feels too sudden, too wrong, the way you slip from his grasp so easily. He wants to protest, to reach out and take your hand back and assert his presence, but everything happens in a blur.

The nurse quickly ushers him from the room, briskly escorting him to the door and gesturing outside like she is banishing a pathetic stray dog begging for scraps. Joel slinks out of the clinic in a daze, head hanging heavily with shame and dejection.

That's it? That is all? After six months of pining for you, of dreaming of you, dying to finally touch you and hear your voice - you push him to the side like you don't give a shit about him, like he's a stranger.

A fucking stranger. Like you had never bared your body and soul to him, like he had never tasted the salt on your skin or woken up with your limbs intertwined with his. Like you and he had never shared a sacred kind of intimacy that left his soul shattered and destroyed once you walked away.

••••••

Maria has been inside the clinic for the last hour. Joel has been waiting outside the whole time, pacing restlessly along the stretch of pavement outside the door like a caged tiger stalking from one end of its enclosure to the other. She had barred him from marching in with her, a firm shake of her head as she warned not now, Joel before disappearing inside the doors.

Now all he can do is wait. His body courses with nervous energy, all the muscles in his body tense and primed to face whatever potential catastrophe could be lurking around the corner. His traps are raised and rigid, fingers twitching by his sides.

If anything has happened to you, if that doctor and those nurses haven't done their goddamn job properly and you are still in pain, he'll tear the whole place apart. He will whisk you away from their incompetence and take you home and take care of you all by himself. He will make sure you're comfortable and well looked after.

Joel is so lost in the echo chamber of his thoughts that he almost does not hear the sweep of the door when Maria exits.

"Maria-" he begins but she quickly cuts him off.

"Joel, she's okay," Maria says firmly, leveling him with a direct stare that tells him she means business. "False labour. She will be kept in under observation for a few more hours before they release her to go back home."

Joel expels a heavy, ragged breath of relief and drags a hand down his face and over his mouth. The news alleviates the invisible weight of stress from his shoulders that has threatened to make his knees buckle for the last hour.

You are healthy, you are safe, you are okay.

"You were the one who brought her in." Maria states flatly, her dark eyes piercing into Joel. "Pretty interesting coincidence that you just happened to be in the right place at the right time, huh?"

Joel glares back at her, the tired features of his face suddenly hardening with icy irritation. He should've expected some kind of interrogation for helping you, like he's committed a goddamn crime or something.

Undeterred by his gruffness Maria maintains her assertive composure, crossing her arms under her bust and giving a slight shake of her head. "You were told to leave her alone, Joel. What will it take for you to let go?"

His jaw clenches. He hates the tone of her voice, the knowing condescension of her rhetoric question, everything about this whole damn situation. But he has to abide by these new rules and expectations, including giving due respect to someone in a senior position of authority like Maria. He huffs a scoff and turns his head away, unable to bear the weight of her stare any more.

"Go home, Joel." She utters before turning on her heel and stalking away from the clinic. He remains glued to the spot, his jaw ticking, both thumb nails digging into the bones of his forefingers. He stays in place for a few minutes internally deliberating with himself over whether to stay or go. He eventually accepts defeat and settles on going to see Tex at the stables.

••••••

That night Joel tries not to think about you. He tries to occupy himself with chores around the house, little tasks that he's neglected to keep up with since he's been trailing you, but it is impossible. His mind constantly wanders back to you laying on the clinic bed, wisps of hair matted to your sweaty forehead, your face strained by the pain and scary uncertainty of what you now know was false labour. His heart aches to imagine you in such a state without him. It makes him angry to think it, in fact.

Joel cannot suppress the deeply rooted instinctual need to be close to you, to ensure you are safe. No matter how much whiskey he drinks, no matter how much aimless cleaning he does or mindless pacing of his kitchen, he cannot quieten the beast rattling within him. When he glances over to see your blanket and books on the couch, still untouched during all this time, like he couldn't bear to pack them away, he knows what he must do.

Joel shoves his feet into his boots and hurries out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him. He can't stop himself now. He has to open the cage and release what's been imprisoned inside him all this time - all the love and guilt and regret, the yearning and dreaming, the infinite sadness and infatuation he still feels.

He keeps his head held high throughout the walk to your place. He stalks through the middle of the streets, not bothering to hide in the shadows now, no longer caring to keep himself hidden. His long legs carry him with purpose and determination, and before he knows it he is already setting foot into the front yard of your cottage.

Despite how bold and self assured he was on the walk over, Joel feels the courage slowly begin to deflate from his body as he ambles up the stone pathway to your porch. His boots have tread this track more times than he can count, through rain and snow and sunshine, yet the familitary of the surroundings offer no comfort to soothe the nerves that now begin to bubble in his guts.

Shit. He's really doing this - going in gung ho to confess his love and devotion without even knowing just exactly how you feel. For all he knows, you could tell him to get lost and slam the door in his face.

But he has to try. He has to atleast see you. There's too much at stake not to.

Joel feels like he has not crossed the path up to your porch for many years, and now with the uncertainty of how this spontaneous visit will go, there's a split second of hesitation before he raps on the door with the back of his knuckles.

The porch light flickers on almost instantly, illuminating him in warm dull yellow light, then he hears the click of the lock turning. Then the door creaks open.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion and the sound of his heart pounding floods through his ears. When you pull the door open wide and Joel lays his weary eyes on your sweet face, he feels the insides of his belly turn a somersault.

You stand at the door blinking rapidly for a moment, clearly preturbed at finding him to be the one disturbing you at this time of the evening. Despite the bags under your eyes, your face appears youthful and fresh. Your hair, loose and flowing, looks soft and shiny, the way it always does when it has been freshly washed and dried. You've obviously had a shower and washed the stress off the day away.

You're wearing an oversized grey sweater with the word HARVARD written on the front in red block letters, along with a faded pair of pink sleep shorts. Joel can't help how his eyes drift over your bare legs, marvelling at how clear and supple your skin looks. His gaze then roams all over your body, drinking in the sight of your belly and swollen breasts bulging against the grey fabric of the sweater.

He's always found you attractive regardless of what you're dressed in, but there's something about the simplicity of the casual clothes you wear at home that has always turned him on. He remembers how sexy you looked whenever you'd slip into one of his flannels, how sultry he found you in a pair of baggy shorts and a ratty old shirt you'd borrowed from his closet.

Joel wishes he was close enough to smell you again, to properly savour your scent, to properly gauge just how much it has changed with the pregnancy. He wonders if you taste differently, too - an image flashes in his mind of him kneeling before you, face buried between your thighs, lapping and sucking at your core. He bets you taste even juicier and sweeter than before.

That familiar tug of lust filled ownership pulls at his belly and makes his cock twitch in his jeans. He suddenly realises he has been gawking at your body while you stand before him at the threshold of your door, your eyebrows raised expectantly. His cheeks heat with embarrassment and he clears his throat, planting his hands on his hips in his signature serious stance.

"So, uh...," he begins dumbly. "Uhm, you're home..."

"What are you doing here?" you whisper, sounding tired, already too drained to deal with whatever reason he has for appearing on your doorstep at this time of night.

"I, uh...I wanted to check in on ya, see that you're okay," he responds quietly, his gaze roving over your face. "After everything that happened today."

"I'm okay," you answer with a mumble, self consciously pulling your sleeve cuffs over your hands. "The doctor said it was something called Braxton Hicks. They feel like real contractions but they aren't."

"Okay," he nods and looks down at his boots, chewing the inside of his cheek.

Fuck, what was he planning to say? What should he say? Joel know he has never been great at conversation - or really communication in general. He knows it was a big reason why you could never connect with him as well as you could with Oscar. He has spent the last six months dreaming about you incessantly, about the things he would say and all he would do to express to you his true feelings; but now the chance has come to fruition, Joel feels stupefied, as if he could not vocalise a single sound or thought.

After a prolonged silence, your gentle lilt breaks through the stillness of the dark night.

"I'm tired," you half sigh, half yawn. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

His head snaps up in panic and he reaches a hand out to you. "No, wait!"

You instinctively flinch away from his touch like he's going to strike you, and the sight of you huddling back against the door causes that familiar pang of shame and regret punch into his guts. He quickly drops his hand back to his side but doesn't look away from you. The chance to articulate and redeem himself is quickly slipping out of his grasp - he needs to speak before it is lost entirely.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out urgently, sincerity softening his puppy dog eyes. "'M sorry if I scared you today, comin' outta nowhere like that. I know I was s'posed to be keepin' away from you." The dam breaks and now the words seem to tumble from his lips easily; he has to takes a breath to steady himself. "I just couldn't...I couldn't stand by when you were in so much pain."

You look down at your rounded belly and nod. "Thank you," you murmer. "For helping me and taking me to the clinic."

Joel sighs softly and runs one of his hands through his greying curls. "Don't thank me," he asserts gently. "You never have to thank me for anythin'. I'll do whatever you need me to."

He watches as you silently absorb what he's said, how your eyebrows crinkle into a slight frown and your lips press into a tight line. Emboldened by your lack of words, he continues to spout out the thoughts that now seem to flow freely from his brain to his mouth.

"I'll do whatever," he repeats, desperation creeping into his voice. "You need anythin' and I'll do it, I'll help you. I mean it - anything."

"Why?" You challenge bluntly, now lifting your face to meet his gaze. There's a hardness in your expression now, and something like anger swimming within your orbs. The terse change momentarily startles and confuses him.

"What do you mean?" Joel questions, almost sheepishly.

"I mean why?" You ask again sharply. "Why are you acting like this? So kind...like you really care? Is it just so you can control me again?"

His posture loses some of its rigidity, his shoulders sagging. He's suddenly aware of how dry his throat is. "No...I just...I want to be there for you...," he mumbles lamely. "With the baby and all..."

You sigh heavily, frustration evident in your voice. "I've managed this far along without you."

"I know," Joel swallows thickly, adams apple bobbing in his throat.

"So I don't need your help," you snap with irritation. "Even though I'm tired and my back hurts and my feet are sore, I don't need your help."

"But--"

"No," you interrupt Joel sharply, now scowling at him reproachfully. "After everything you did, after all you put me through - you think you can come back now and try to take over my life again?"

He shakes his head, eyebrows saddled together sadly. "Baby I swear that ain't it."

"Just go," you grit out. He hears the slightest warble cracking in your voice, the vague sheen of unshed tears misting your eyes - a glimpse of vulnerability that makes Joel want to pull you into his arms and cradle you tenderly.

He should go. You've told him to. He should drag himself back to that big lonely house that you no longer call home and leave you alone. He should wallow in your cold rejection and lick his wounds in the solitude of his loneliness. He wants to defy your command and fight for you, but he's so scared pushing you away any further.

All Joel can do is nod his head and whisper okay. He'll have to let you go for now - atleast for tonight. You're probably overwhelmed from the events of today and the unpredicted arrival of him at your doorstep. You need to rest, to perhaps think about what he's said a bit more.

Joel resigns to letting you go. You're starting to retreat back inside your cottage, back to the cosy safety of your space, but he is abruptly struck by a pressing need to ask you the question that's been rattling around his brain since his return to town.

"Wait, please," he croons. He steps closer to the threshold and presses his hand against the door frame - it is a gesture to get your attention rather than to intimidate you, but it still alarms you. You let out a little gasp and curl back against the door, a hand quickly shooting out to settle protectively on your belly.

As if he would ever fucking hurt you with his child growing inside you, Joel thinks indignantly.

"I'll go, I'll leave you alone, I swear. But just please... tell me," he pleads, staring into your eyes with such delicate intensity that it looks like he may weep. "I need to hear it."

"What?" You whisper, timidly peeking out at him. Joel swallows thickly, his pulse thrumming in his neck.

"Is that baby mine?"

He watches you intently, how your lips press into a tight line and the way your eyes close shut as soon as the question leaves his mouth. You take a shaky breath through your nose before opening your eyes again to stare back at him. He watches helplessly as a lone tear begins to trickle down from the corner of one of your eyes.

"It is," you whisper back, voice cracking.

A sound escapes from Joel, something between a gasp and a choke. His hand clamps over his mouth as if his breath has been snatched directly from his lips. All you can see is the woeful knit of his eyebrows and a film of tears reflected in his chocolate brown eyes. You stare at one another for what seems like an eternity, neither of you speaking a word.

So much has happened between the two of you, so much tragic history intertwined with passion, and none of it can ever be forgotten or revised. The culmination of it all now resides in your womb.

"'M sorry," Joel's baritone voice eventually croaks out. He slowly removes his shaking hand from his face. "'M so sorry for everythin' I ever did to hurt you. For all the bullshit I put you through, how I treated you. You didn't deserve any of it."

You're crying now, tracks of tears streaming down your cheeks, your nose tinged pink and your bottom lip quivering. Joel shakes his head gently and sniffs.

"Don't cry, darlin'," he whispers, his own voice thick with choked emotion. "Don't ever wanna see you cry again."

You drag your sweater sleeve over your eyes and sniffle. You look so small, so fragile. Joel can't control himself - he comes closer to you, boots scuffing over the door saddle so that he is on the precipice of entering your cottage, and reaches out to cup your cheek in one of his rough palms. To his surprise you do not resist him. You stare up at him with large eyes and wet eyelashes, and Joel swears he can feel a charged current of energy pass the air between you both.

"Please," Joel whispers hoarsely. "Give me a chance to redeem m'self. To be a part of my baby's life, to give you everythin' you deserve."

His thumb strokes the apple of your cheek tenderly as he gazes down at you, unbridled adoration and passion twinkling in his orbs. God, how he wishes he could kiss your sweet lips, all salty and damp, so that he can finally taste you once again. He imagines slipping his tongue into your mouth while his hands explore the expanse of your soft, ripe flesh, touching what is his.

"I....," you whisper back breathlessly, staring at him with languorous intensity that almost seems as if you're becoming bewitched by his presence. "I don't...I'm not sure if I can..."

"Let me try," Joel insists in a hushed murmer. "It'll be different - I'll be different. Let me take care of you both."

You're so close to saying yes, he's sure of it. He can sense your resolve waning with the way your cheek nestles heavier into the palm of his hand, in the way your body leans just the slightest bit closer to him. Just say yes, he wants to urge you.

But then you're blinking away your tears and taking a shuffling step back from him. He watches you, confused, as you straighten your spine to stand more self confidently. The dreamy fragility disappears from your eyes with the fluttering of your lashes, the spell broken.

"I can't trust you, Joel," you say to him simply. The emotionless and robotic quality to your voice makes his stomach clench. "I can't trust you not to lose control again and hurt me."

You retreat to slip backward behind the door, disappearing from him like a ghost. When the door closes shut in your wake Joel does not raise his voice to argue in protest; he does not pound on your door demanding to be let it, or break it down with his fists like he may have done in the past. He is not disheartened or angry.

Instead, he leaves your cottage without uttering a single word and begins the lonesome walk back home with a renewed sense of hope cocooning his splintered heart.

One week later

You just can't seem to get comfortable. The cramps inside your ribcage and the aching of your lower back are incessant, offering no reprieve no matter how many times you readjust your position in bed.

It's the same every night. You are constantly swapping sides, or switching from laying on your back to propping yourself upright against the headboard, trying to find the best arrangement to soothe your reflux as well as the pressure on your bones.

You usually end up finding a position that works, atleast for a little while, but lately the pursuit of sleep has been an arduous task. You read each night, long enough to try distract yourself from your discomfort and to lull your mind to sleep, but it's just not working very well. You're up to relieve your bladder so often that even if you do get comfortable you have to forfeit your new found peace just so you don't wet the bed.

Tonight is no different. You heave yourself onto the right side of your body, grunting with effort, but the pressure on your sciatic nerve only makes your discomfort worse. You whimper and try to knead your hip with the palm of your hand in an attempt to lessen the pain.

Shit. You'd kill for a massage right now, or atleast a couple extra pillows to cushion your hips. Your current pillows seem to have lost their bulk and feel far too flat, no matter how much you fluff them. You're in dire need of a pillow with more volume to support your bones, and it looks like you'll have to trade some goods to acquire a decent one. You really should've done that sooner, you lament to yourself.

You remember what Maria had said one time when you visited her and Tommy - how she would have him rub her back every night when she was pregnant with their boys, how he would hunt high and low around Jackson to source whatever she was craving at that point in her pregnancy. He had encountered her hormonal wrath several times, Maria told you while laughing, but Tommy took it all in his stride like the dutiful husband he always was. He had been her biggest support all throughout those months, Maria confessed. And he remained so as the boys got older.

You were happy for your friend, but as you listened to her recount the fond memories of her pregnancy you couldn't temper the wistful sadness bleed into your smile. It must be so comforting to always have someone by your side, to be there in the late night hours to talk to you when you can't sleep, to be there in the morning when you wake up ravenous and needing food in bed. To have a partner to weather the good and the bad.

Would Joel have done the same for you as Tommy did for Maria? you wonder. Would he have traded whatever he could for the endless loaves of bread loaded with jam that you so craved? Would he have gently pressed the span of his large calloused hands all over your back and legs and hips to try grant you some ease?

You really don't know, but you can't forget how gentle his touch was when he swooped you into his arms and carried you to the doctors clinic. You can't forget the care he took in every one of his steps, the low pitched praise he uttered into your ear.

It's been a week since that afternoon, a week since he turned up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, apologising and asking for a second chance, and you haven't been able to forget how he looked.

Sorrowful hooded brown eyes full of hope and desire and shame. The downturned curl of his lip as tears rolled down his cheeks and onto the scruff of his facial hair. The greying locks of his hair looking tousled, as if he'd been running his hands through them in distress.

His face was still as handsome as you remembered. He looked older though, despite less than a year having lapsed. Bags hung heavily under his eyes and the crinkles around them seemed more prominent. His hair was longer, curling down the nape of his neck, silver threaded through it; he hasn't had it cut for a quite time, probably since before he left Jackson.

You still remember the smell of him, too. That alluring mix of pine and sandalwood and Joel's distinct scent, masculine and heady, both calming and intoxicating. It seemed even more potent to your enhanced sense of smell. It had engulfed you as you laid in his arms on the way to the clinic, and then again when he had stood on your cottage porch. A single sniff had conjured memories of his naked body ontop of yours, his thick arms bracketing you as he fucked you with slow, steady rolls of his hips. It made your clit throb and your pussy clench.

You growl with frustration and roll over to the left side, facing toward your bed side table and lamp. You've been so horny, too, but bringing yourself to orgasm never truly satiates your appetite. Why did you still feel that niggling tingle of lust when you saw Joel, when you smelled him? Why did your body still respond to him in such a primal way?

It must be the pregnancy hormones, you guess. That's got to to be the reason.

But how could you explain the tugging of your heart strings when he had begged for a second chance to take care of you and your baby? Why had you felt so tempted to fall into his arms right there and give in to his pleas, to let him hold you and stroke your hair once more and whisper sweet things to you?

Another wave of acid reflux suddenly bubbles up your throat, causing you to dry wretch. You grimace at the burn and quickly reach over to the bedside drawer and slide the top shelf open. Kate had kindly procured candied ginger from someone in town just for your reflux and thankfully it proved to be an effective remedy. You blindly grope around for the small round tin strewn amongst the random items inside the drawer.

"Come on," you mumble to yourself.

You shuffle over to the edge of the bed to peer inside the drawer. You really need to organise it sometime - there's pencils scattered amidst loose sheets of paper, bits of string, a lone winter mitten and streams of different coloured ribbon. You sift through it all but when your eyes land on two particular items, your hand suddenly pauses.

You had purposely hidden them away out of sight months and months ago. You had even managed to forget about them.

But now they spring out at you, still partially hidden by the other random things in your drawer, like buried treasure peeking out from amongst ruins.

The tiny glint of the pendant stone catching on the light of your bedside lamp - the necklace Joel had gifted you. Beside it sit Oscar's small round spectacles, the reflective sheen from the glass lenses twinkling.

Your fingers carefully take hold of the spectacles and set them down on the top of the drawer. You do the same with the necklace, curling the chain in a coil before setting the stone ontop of it beside the glasses. You reach back into the drawer and retrieve the candied ginger, greedily popping a piece in your mouth as soon as you open the little tin. As you chew you stare pensively at the objects beside you.

Tommy was kind enough to give you the glasses before they buried Oscar, as well as one of his sweaters. He figured you would appreciate it, that owning something belonging to Oscar would bring you a small sense of comfort.

He was right.

You still think of Oscar. Not a day passes by where you don't. There is always sadness in your heart when you do, but the passage of time has allowed the sorrowful regret to ease slightly. You're able to recall happy moments with Oscar more clearly now, able to recognise pockets of joy with more appreciation.

You find the memory of him in the simplest of things - in the twittering song of the morning birds outside your window, in the first moist bite of a freshly baked muffin, in the cosy touch of your fuzzy blanket on a cold night. You think of him when something funny happens at work and you know he'd laugh along with you. You think of him when they serve his favourite soup at the cafteria, when you catch the scent of something cinnamon in the kitchen.

You lay your head down on your pillow and hike the blanket up over your shoulder. The ginger seems to have quelled the severity of your reflux and your chest feels less constricted. You sigh softly and your eyes close, starkly aware of just how depleted of energy your body feels.

You drift off to sleep with the sound of Oscar's voice in your mind, gentle and silken.

"I love you. Always have. Always will."

Joel comes for you again, the following Sunday afternoon.

You're returning home from the community kitchen at the mess hall. There's a town dance on tonight and you volunteered to help bake the cakes and scones on offer. Your weary feet drag you along the street, soles throbbing inside your shoes. You can't wait to get home and settle into bed with a cup of tea.

You round the corner and make your way down your lane, unrushed and waddling. You admire the clusters of buttercups dotted along the sidewalk - they remind you of the pretty pastel yellow baby blanket Rhi knitted you just the other day, and it makes you smile.

Then something catches your eye when you approach your home.

Your pace falters a few steps and your heart skips a beat when you spot a tall figure standing on your porch, their back facing you.

Who could that be?

You ask yourself the question, but deep down you know.

You know it's Joel.

Even before you see his face, you know it's him. There's no mistaking it's him, from the outline of his broad shoulders under his flannel shirt, from the length of his long legs and the silhouetted curly crown of his head.

You urge yourself to ignore the rapid beating of your heart and to continue walking to your cottage. He remains with his back to you until your shoes scuff over the pebbled ground leading to your home -  and then, like he's sensed your arrival, he turns around. He's momentarily startled by the sight of you, as if he's been caught off guard while doing something secretive, but he quickly recovers. As you come up the porch he shuffles to the side to give you a respectable amount of space.

"Hello," you greet him, flashing a tight smile. Joel gives you a reserved nod in return, his hands fidgeting by his sides, his eyes darting from you to the ground nervously.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, eyeing him with an air of wariness. He opens his mouth but before he can answer your question your gaze drops to something half hidden by his body. "What is that?"

He moves another step to the side, unceremoniously revealing what he was concealing - a rocking chair made of dark brown wood, elegant yet simple, not large yet not small.

You let out a gasp of surprise, your eyes widening.

It is clear from the second you see it that the piece of furniture is stunning. It is sturdy, made from a fine quality wood, though you have no idea what kind. The backing is comprised of four thick vertical slats that attach to a solid curved square seat. The chair legs are similarly thick, while the arm rests and rockers are long and tapered. It looks newly hand crafted, the surfaces expertly sanded and varnished.

It's a work of art.

"It's, uh, it's a rockin' chair," Joel needlessly explains, sounding both bashful and nervous as he sweeps some imaginary dust from one of the arm rests. He avoids your gaze, his eyes roving over the chair instead.

"Oh my," you murmer in awe. "This is...Joel, this is beautiful."

Joel nods, sitting his hands on his hips. "Thought it might come in handy for when you need to settle the baby, or rest, or whatever."

You can't help the flutter of butterflies that materialise inside your belly at his words, or the heated blush that involuntarily creeps over your cheeks. With a hand resting on your stomach you take a step closer to get a better look at the chair. "Where did you find it?"

"I made it," he answers simply, his jaw ticking contemplatively. "It's maple wood. 'S the best I could get."

You don't know anything about the distinctions of different wood or what constitutes a good quality wood, but you have no doubt the kind Joel used is superb. It looks sophisticated with its rich, dark tone and it looks strong, able to bear the weight of someone much bigger than you.

You trail your fingertips over one of the arm rests and admire the lacquer finish on the wood, how smooth and polished it feels on your skin. "You really made this for me?"

"Mmhm."

Joel made this chair for you. With his own hands, he made it for you. You knew he had made a guitar for Ellie once, and she had mentioned he used to whittle, but actually seeing one of his creations in person was breath taking. Words couldn't adequately describe how impressively beautiful Joel's work was. You're stunned, for no one has ever done something so extravagant for you in your whole life.

"Thank you," you say quietly, words weighted with sincereity. You feel brave enough to peer up at him now, this formidable man with such complex emotions held behind his brooding facade. "That's... really so thoughtful, Joel."

He glances down at you to finally meet your gaze. His expression is tender, and you notice a pink tinge spread over the apples of his cheeks. "Don't gotta thank me," he murmers. "Do you like it? I do okay?"

"Like it?" You smile warmly up at him before looking back at the chair. "I love it."

Joel huffs out a little noise, something sounding like relief. He swipes his hand over his mouth, trying to hide the elated grin cracking over his face. "Good. Go ahead. Sit, try it out."

He rests his ass against the porch railing and folds his arms, watching as you shuffle to sidestep to sit down in the chair. You lower yourself into the seat and lean back into the backrest, a quiet groan of satisfaction spilling from your lips.

"Oh my god," you purr, stretching your arms over the arm rests and curling your hands around the edges. "It's so comfortable."

"That was my aim. You know, for it to be comfortable for you." Joel watches you intently, the corner of his mouth turned up into the slightest smile. "Wasn't sure if it would have been better to upholster that seat or leave it be, but then it would've taken longer, and well, traditionally a rockin' chair doesn't really have one, anyway--"

"Joel," you interrupt him calmly, "it's perfect how it is."

His dark eyes flicker over your face, seemingly searching for something, then he gives you the smallest of nods and a hushed okay.

You press your foot into the porch wood and push your weight backwards, giving the chair an experimental rock. You hum appreciatively as it rolls smoothly back and forth, enjoying the soft creak of its weight shifting with each rock.

"I probably won't even sleep in my bed anymore," you joke, grinning at Joel.

"Whatever makes you comfortable," Joel concedes casually. "As long as you and the baby are safe."

You hum in response and continue to move to and fro lazily, shamelessly relishing the gift he's given you. Joel remains in place watching you, his eyes lingering over your face and your round belly.

"Where do you want it?" He asks you, voice soft. "You can keep it out here for when you want fresh air. Or maybe you want it in your bedroom?"

"Bedroom, I think." You let out a loud yawn and cover your mouth with the back of your hand. "Speaking of which, I'm going to take a nap."

You stop rocking and move to get up out of the chair, but before you do Joel quickly moves to your side to help you; he places one hand gently on your lower back and holds his other out for you to take. You're a little startled at first, but when your hand slips into his bearish palm you swear you can feel all the tension in your body vanish.

"Easy now," he murmers as you heave yourself up to your feet with his support.

"Feel like I have a bowling ball for a stomach," you quip, feeling a little self conscious with how heavy your body feels.

"Ain't much longer to go now. Just gotta rest and take it easy." Joel's thumb rubs gently over the back of your hand, the light touch of his calloused digit causing a pleasant shiver to run up your spine. "Mind if I move that rockin' chair inside for you?"

It's a good idea - there's no way you could shift it yourself. You unlock the front door and let Joel into your cottage, allowing him passage into your private world that he hasn't seen for so long. He nimbly manoeuvres the chair inside and carries it to your room without saying a word. You follow behind him, unable to stop yourself from admiring the view of his strong shoulders and back, and the way his jeans hug his ass.

Joel sets the chair in the corner of your bedroom and steps back to assess how it looks. You stand in the door way and lean against the frame, one hand stroking along your belly as you watch him.

"That okay?" He asks, casting his eyes to you. "Figured you'd get some light closer to this side of the window."

"Yeah," you agree, trying to stifle another yawn with the back of your hand. "Thank you. I better sleep now, before I have to go back to the hall."

Joel frowns, puzzled. "Why do you have to go back to the hall?"

"I'm going to the dance tonight," you answer wearily.

Joel's mouth falls open like he's going to speak, but all he does is stare at you dumbly, like he's struggling to comprehend what you've just said. His heart beat has swiftly kicked up and his mouth suddenly feels dry.

You're going to that dance, the one he heard Tommy mention the other day. You're going to that town dance, probably with your friends. You always loved dancing - and fuck, you always looked so damn good doing it, with a carefree grin on your face and a delighted sparkle to your eyes. And here you are now, standing before him looking so tired with wisps of hair mattered to your forehead and splotches of flour printed on your dress, your middle protuding and your feet swollen, and he thinks you're the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

Joel loves you, unconditionally and ardently. He wants to see you bouyant and light hearted and doing what makes you happy. He wants you to dance and laugh with your friends.

And he wants to be a part of it, too.

"Will you go to the dance with me?" Joel blurts out suddenly, brows knitted together above his hopeful puppy dog eyes. His adams apple bobs nervously in his throat as he stares at you.

Your face pinches into a frown, clearly wondering if you had misheard the question. Did Joel Miller really just ask you to go to a town dance? "What?"

"I asked you to come to the dance. With me. Please."

You tilt your head slightly and eye him with dubious uncertainty. "Joel, you hate dances..."

"I want to go," he asserts adamantly, his gaze still locked on you. "I want to take you. You can dance with your friends, with whoever you want, I won't stop you. You can be there all night, if you want. But I just wanna be there with you."

Joel is trying his hardest not to sound too insistent or forceful. He wants you to understand that he knows you still have the automony to refuse him, even if he's begging on his knees. He wants you to know that he isn't trying to control you.

But now you are chewing your bottom lip, looking increasingly anxious the more he talks, and he can't help but panic that he's scaring you off.

"Joel," you begin slowly, cautiously, "last time..."

"Won't ever happen again," Joel promises solemnly. "I won't ever hurt you like that again, I swear to you. I just...I want to be close to you, that's all."

He takes a tentative step toward you, his fingers restlessly flexing as he tries to tamper the instinctual urge to reach for your hand. To his relief you don't move back from him or flinch away - you stand your ground and hold his gaze, and he swears there's a slight softening of your expression now.

"I love you," he confesses, sadness staining through his hushed, sober tone. "And I know you probably feel like you can't ever trust me...but please..."

"Joel," you sigh, "I already told you..."

"I know, I know," he interrupts, holding his hands out like you're a skittish animal. "I know you can't trust me not to lose control - I understand that. But I want you and our baby in my life. So I'm askin' you to...to start over, as friends, or somethin'...maybe just go to this dance and see how you feel..."

Fuck, he scolds himself internally, I sound like a fucking dumbass.

You remain standing at the doorway unmoving, watching him with an expression he can't quite read. He feels ridiculously self conscious now, vulnerable and idiotic in his inability to articulate the complex jumble of thoughts and desires inside his heart. For a fleeting moment he considers abandoning this whole thing and high tailing it out of your home with his tail between his legs.

Then you speak.

"Okay." You say simply.

Joel gawps at you, dumbfounded. His stomach flips a somersault. "What?" His voice comes out in a decompressed breath from deep within his lungs, barely audible.

"I said okay," you repeat yourself plainly, giving a little shrug. "But if I feel unsafe at any time, or I don't want to be around you--"

"Yes, I'll leave, right away," Joel nods vigorously. "I'll do whatever you want."

"What if I ask you to carry me all the way home when I'm too tired to dance any more?" You joke, shooting him a silly little grin. Joel laughs at that, unable to hold back the smile that spreads over his face.

"Darlin', for you I'd break my damn back carryin' you around."

He means it, and from the way you're looking at him, he thinks you may believe it, too.

"I'll be ready at 7."

Joel closes the gap between you with a few short strides of his boots. He stands before you, tall and rugged, the features of his handsome face soft with adoration as he gazes down at you.

"I'll be here to pick you up at 7 sharp."

There's a magnetic energy surrounding the two of you in this intimate moment, a pulling force that neither of you can resist. It is an emotive kind of synergy borne of soulful connection and physical attraction, something neither of you quite understand but of which you cannot deny.

So when Joel leans in and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, you don't move away or protest. And when you unexpectedly grab hold of his hand and place it carefully over the middle of your pregnant stomach, he doesn't dare say anything to ruin the fragile moment.

It's the beginning of something new, something bright and full of hope for you both. And this time it feels safe.

It feels like home.

tag list- @sofiparallel @harriedandharassed @kewwrites @romanarose @fan-fiction-floozy @anoverwhelmingdin @unknownsuser101 @shesarealcarpentersdream @sheeeeeppp-blog @uncassettodiricordi @axshadows @puduvallee @gossipgirl-03 @oldenoughtoknowbetter @mandoloriancookie @missannfairy @bean-security @kewwrites @mrszdjarin

[queenofmoons67]

Monthly Rituals: A Warriors Fic

Fandom: Legend of Zelda; Linked Universe

Summary: Trans Warriors deals with the fact he still gets his period.

WARNING: I wrote this fic to be affirming of transmasc people, but Warriors is on his period and he does think about past and potential instances of transphobia.

Notes: Happy Pride everyone! I wrote this for @legendoflinkficfight. Many thanks to @confuzzledment for the prompt and to @bookdancerfics for betaing.

Warriors hissed under his breath when he sat up in his bedroll, wrapping an arm tight around his stomach. It was late enough in the morning, the sun’s pinks and purples giving way to blue, that almost all the other Links were awake and getting ready for the day. The one exception was Sky, which earned Warriors multiple curious looks from his brothers. Usually, the soldier was up at dawn.

Another cramp wracked Warriors’ stomach, making him groan and curl tighter around himself. If not for the cramps, he also would have been wondering what kept him sleeping, but they were a dead giveaway: His body was exhausted from the monthly ritual it had decided to surprise him with.

“You’re an entire week early,” he hissed at his stomach.

“Captain? Everything alright?”

Warriors looked up to find Time staring down at him.

“I’m fine,” he lied, waving the old man away. No one in his current company knew about his monthly affliction.

During the War, Tune had known that Link and Linkle had swapped names, but Wind had a few years yet before he’d start growing Tune’s beard. Warriors might have told Mask if the boy had asked, but he never had—probably too young to spot the monthly signs like Tune had.

And now… Warriors grimaced, but rolled out of bed to start prepping for the day. Now, he’d need the special underclothes Proxi had spelled for him, and herbs for the cramps. He’d love to take a red potion, but that would just be a waste of a good potion—the magic in it didn’t see the inner workings of his body as anything to be healed.

“Wars.”

Warriors turned, one hand drifting towards the sword hilt next to his bedroll. Time sounded serious, his voice sharp, but when Warriors laid eyes on him, he let his hand drop. Time’s good eye was round with worry.

“Is that blood?”

Ah, Hylia. Warriors looked down, and sure enough, there was a red splotch right in the middle of his bedroll. Not enough to make him recognize the wetness when he woke, but enough that Time could see it from a standing position.

“It’s nothing,” he said, trying to wave Time’s worry off. “I just need to go change—”

But Time just came in closer, arms grasping Warriors’ biceps and eye looking him over.

“Were you hurt yesterday?” Time demanded. “I thought you said the ‘blin missed you!”

“It did,” Warriors said, exasperated, but before he could pull away, Time spun him bodily around and then froze. For a moment, his fingers dug into Warriors’ arms—then he relaxed and let go.

“Wars?” Soft. Understanding. Warriors’ heart tightened, but he turned around. Time peered down at him, his one eye seeming to look into his soul.

Their relationship had been so much clearer during the War. Link was the big brother, Mask the little. Simple.

Now, Warriors looked at Time and saw his little brother all grown up, but there were times like now when the old man looked at him and he felt like a small boy standing before his father again.

“Malon has the same problem. If you need anything, let me know. Okay?”

Malon has the same—oh. Time recognized what was happening because he helped his wife when she bled through her clothes.

Warriors’ cheeks burned, but he nodded and took a step.

All the blood rushed south at the same time his stomach cramped again, harder than before, and he swayed, dizzy. Arms encircled him and lowered him down on something soft.

“Wars? Wars, can you hear me?”

Yes, he tried to say, but his tongue fumbled the word and all that came out was a moan.

He hurt all over. Cold sweat covered his skin, but it didn’t help the heaviness of his head or the aches wracking his whole body.

“What’s wrong with him?” Wind sounded scared. Warriors didn’t want him to sound scared, but all his energy was focused on squeezing the pain out of his stomach. He couldn’t think of anything else.

“He’ll be fine. Wild, hey, can you make this into a tea? Thanks.”

Rustling. Arms guided his body down, and then someone’s body pressed up against his back.

Warriors moaned, and Time shushed him.

“It’s just me,” Sky whispered. The body pressed closer to him, arms hugging him close, and warmth seeped into Warriors where they touched.

He’d thought Sky was asleep. Had he—had he woken Sky? And now the first knight was getting blood all over him.

Warriors wanted to cry. Sky’s body heat reminded him of when Artemis concentrated all her magic to her hands and set them on his stomach, the two of them curled so close together their heads touched while they whispered secrets under the safety of the queen’s guards.

“Here, Wind, get him to drink this.” Time again. Then a ceramic cup at his lips, steam tickling his nose, and hands lifting his head and petting his hair.

Warriors took a sip. The familiar, bitter taste of his ritual herbs burned his tongue, and he gulped it down faster. A red potion could heal his tongue and throat if needed. These herbs would take the pain.

“There ya go, Cap’n,” Wind said. The boy’s voice shook. “Old Man, yer sure—?”

“I’m sure,” Time soothed. Then, raising his voice, “We’ll camp here today. Wars’ll be fine, but he needs the rest.”

If Time said anything else, Warriors didn’t hear it. With the steady knowledge the others weren’t going anywhere, he let himself fade into a doze, existing only in moments and feelings: The cramping of his stomach slowly easing under Sky’s massaging hand; a cold cloth on his face wiping sweat away; Hyrule’s worried hazel eyes and Legend’s downturned mouth.

When Warriors finally came back to himself, the sun marked high-noon and Sky’s hand had stopped moving, arm instead resting heavy on Warriors’ side and snores soft in his ear. In front of them, Time and Legend sat with a map between them and strategized in quiet voices.

Warriors cleared his throat, and they both looked up. Nothing about them had screamed tension to the captain, but when they met his eyes, the air eased.

“Hey,” Time said.

“D’you need more tea?” Legend asked.

Tea. Warriors licked his lips, scrunching his nose at the dry feeling. He shook his head.

“Water? Please.” He didn’t think it’d been too long since the last herbal dose. No need to rush another; his stomach settled during the doze. “And, uh. Wind? Is he…?”

Legend scoffed. “In pain till you pass out, and you remember Wind. Course you do.”

“I didn’t pass out,” Warriors muttered mulishly. It was a small difference, considering his collapse, and he didn’t need Legend’s eyebrow raise to know it. “But really. Is he okay?”

“He’s worried, but fine. We’ve sent him to fetch firewood,” Time said. The old man eased to the ground next to him, holding a water skin, and reached out to shake Sky’s shoulder.

The first knight startled awake, arms tightening around Warriors. “Hm? Wars! You’re awake!”

“Can you sit him up?” Time asked, waving the water skin in explanation.

Normally, Warriors would argue he could sit on his own, but though the pain had gone, his body felt limp as a droopy flower. Grunting, he maneuvered himself upright, Sky’s hands on his shoulders keeping him steady, and took the water skin from Time.

As steady as Sky kept his body, the first knight couldn’t do anything about his hands. They shook while he drank, only the water skin’s small spout keeping Warriors from spilling, and when he was done he shoved it back at Time, eager to be rid of it before he dropped it.

“Thanks,” he said. He shifted, awkward, then froze at the damp wet he felt below him. “Um.” Warriors flicked his gaze to Time, who seemed to understand right away.

“You and Sky both need a bath,” the old man said. “It’s okay, Warriors. It’s a normal bodily function.”

Warriors flushed. His monthly ritual might be ‘normal,’ but from the first time it happened, his mother told him not to speak of it with others. It was ‘unclean’ and ‘women’s business,’ no matter that the whole world had known him as a man since he first ran away from home to become a squire.

In the time since, only four people had discovered the sex Warriors was born with: Tune, who had seemingly known from the beginning but had probably known since this very day; Artemis, who had found Link doing his reports curled up in bed with gritted teeth; Proxi, who he told everything to; and Linkle, who hugged him goodbye the day he left home and they gave each other their birth names. Not even Impa knew.

And now, not only did the entire Chain know, but Sky was covered in Warriors’ blood.

Before Warriors could spiral further, though, there was a shout: “Wars! Waaarrrrs!”

Warriors looked up. Wind was hurtling towards him as fast as his legs could carry him, Wild running along behind him. Neither of them had the firewood they’d been sent for, and only the cook seemed to be slowing down.

In the second he had, Warriors braced himself—then Wind slid to his knees and collided with him and Sky, arms wrapping around them while they fell backwards.

All of Warriors’ breath whooshed out of him on impact. Underneath him, Sky deflated, limbs falling from where they’d embraced him, and on top of them, Wind laughed and chattered.

“—knew you were gonna be okay! Granny taught me alllll about menstruation in prep’ration for when it happens to Aryll. I didn’t know it could happen to boys, too, but Wild explained. I can’t believe you bleed every month! I’d be exhausted.”

Wind finally took a breath and looked down, his blue eyes meeting Warriors’. The captain didn’t know what surprised him more: That Wind seemed to have taken everything in stride, or that the fourteen-year-old pirate knew the word ‘menstruation.’

“Well,” Warriors finally said. “I am exhausted. But Sky and I need to bathe, and—” his nose wrinkled, taking in the stinky mix of body odor and stale copper “—you probably do, too.”

Wind opened his mouth, an obstinate expression on his face, then sat back and looked at himself. He’d landed right where Warriors had been dozing, which wasn’t exactly clean.

“Fine,” he sighed.

They made quite the party, trooping into the woods to the nearest river. Warriors managed to walk on his own and pretended he didn’t notice Sky and Wind hovering just steps away—or the rest of his brothers, who made excuses ranging from ‘filling the water skins’ to ‘also needing a bath.’ No one looked at Warriors weird. No one said he should cover the bloody stains on his own clothing or apologize for holding up their quest or explain why he thought he was a boy instead of the girl the midwife had declared him.

No one said a thing until Time joined him on the riverbank, clean and dressed after the bath. The old man sat beside him, then reached out with one arm, slow enough that Warriors could say ‘no’ if he wanted.

Warriors didn’t. He let Time pull him in, forehead to forehead, and listened: “We all have our transformations, whether they’re because of magic items or because they’re soul-deep. None of us have any right to tell you who you are or what to be. And if anyone else tries—” Time looked Warriors right in the eyes “—you have family on your side. Okay, big brother?”

Warriors didn’t have the words to answer. He just pulled his little brother in for a hug.

[incorrect-green-lantern-quotes]

Father's Day with the Green Lanterns

Alan Scott is old enough to remember a time before Father's Day. It wasn't declared a national holiday until 1972, and by then the prejudices of the world had led him to believe that he would never have the full experience of family, let alone children of his own. He figured the only legacy he'd leave behind was that of the Green Lantern name. But then Jennie and Todd had found him, followed in his footsteps as heroes. He'd missed out on their childhoods, hadn't even known they existed, but they wanted him all the same, and he is so very, very proud of them. So every year on Father's Day, Alan holds his children tight and whispers his thanks to the universe for the gift he'd never expected.

For Simon Baz and Jessica Cruz, Father's Day is a day not that different from most others. They'll send cards to their dads by mail or call them over the phone, chat about how life has been and sit through the inevitable "so when are you going to settle down and have kids of your own?" Simon's father knows he's a Green Lantern, and though he is proud, Mr. Baz also knows how dangerous that life is. Jessica hasn't told her dad that she's a superhero, she thinks he worries about her enough as it is. And though Simon and Jessica do love their fathers, they can't help but breathe a sigh of relief after they hang up the phone.

Kyle Rayner usually forgets about Father's Day until it's already over, if he even remembers at all. When he was a boy, it was a day where he especially missed the parent missing from his family. As he grew up, it became an annual bitterness to endure, a reminder of what he lacked. After tracking down Gabriel Vasquez though, Kyle has found a measure of peace. They're not close, and probably won't ever be. But what was once a deep and aching wound has become just another scar amongst many.

When Jo Mullein accepted a post in the Far Sector, she'd left Earth behind without so much as a goodbye to even her family. She'd a few messages back during that year on the edge of the cosmos, but the vast distance between Earth and the City Enduring meant that communication took months, and then she'd been called to her next mission by yet another crisis that shook the Corps, and has been too busy to come home. At least, that's the excuse she gives. In truth, she knows she could've tried harder. Mr. Mullein had always pushed everyone around him to strive for better. She fears that she's disappointed him, and that's why she's let two Father's Days pass without seeing her dad. But there will not be a third because she is a Green Lantern, and fear is just another obstacle to overcome.

Years ago, Guy Gardner and John Stewart had met in the same bar by coincidence and ended up drunkenly commiserating over their shitty abusive fathers. It turned into a yearly tradition of getting beer and takeout and yelling at the football game. They invite the other Lanterns of course, but it's almost always just the two of them. Sometimes Kyle will turn up, though he'll usually tune out and start doodling idly during the game. This year though, it's Keli Quintela who's sitting between John and Guy on the couch, screaming excitedly at the other kind of football playing on the television. She's not so much a daughter of the Lanterns as she is the youngest sibling of their family, but watching her grow and thrive in the home that they've all built together makes the ghosts of Roland and Henry weigh less heavily upon their sons.

Every year on Father's Day, Hal Jordan goes to visit his dad. In previous years, his brothers would usually be there too, but after Jack died and Jim had his own children, it's just Hal who makes the trip to Coast City's cemetery. He sits on the grass and talks about what adventures he's been on in space, the troubles he's been having readjusting to life on Earth. He tells his dad about Carol and Sinestro and Kilowog and the unorthodox family he and the other Earth Lanterns have cobbled together. Sometimes he wonders if this life is what Martin Jordan would've wanted for his son. But he knows his dad is proud of him regardless. And every year, Hal Jordan gets up as the sun sets, dusts off his battered old jacket, and tells his father's gravestone "See you next year, dad."

[secretlysimpash]

Fluffy Father Day Stuff ft. 141

Character(s): Price, Gaz, Soap, Ghost

Warning(s): None, its straight up fluff, reader is portrayed as fem/AFAB (wife of the given character, mother of the kid/kids), y'all have kids here, pregnancy mentions

MDNI

Price

“Love, do you want any help? I could take over the grill.”

“John, today is your day.” You reminded your husband, who hovered over your shoulder with his arms banded around your waist. “I’ll do the cooking, and you just go and let the kids appreciate you.”

In response, he grumbled and rested his head on your shoulder as you tended to the assortment of meats and skewered veggies on the grill. You tried your best to ignore the scrape of his beard against your skin.

“Their brand of appreciation is making my knees hurt, lovey.” He complained, though you could hear the overcurrent of love behind the words.

“Well, who’s fault is that? You made sure they loved footy as much as you before they were even born.” You helpfully reminded him. 

As if on cue, your eldest daughter came sprinting over as her little brother toddled in tow while kicking a blue and white football.

“Daddy! Hey, we gotta finish the game!” Astrid chirped to him. “And Finn keeps kicking it into the bushes. Is the time-out over? Come back and play, daddy!”

John lifted his head from your shoulder, his eyes begging for a lifeline. You simply shook your head and laughed when Astrid came over and started pulling on his leg.

“The sooner you finish up the game, the sooner you get to sit down.” 

Before he could respond, your toddler, Finn, sent the ball skittering toward the grill. Quickly, John released his grip on you and stopped the ball from hitting the edge of the grill.

“Alright, you hellions…! Away from the grill, your mum’s working her arse off here!” He called out to them, herding them away after swiftly kicking the ball toward the goals you set up earlier. And the ringing of overjoyed squeals tells you that he picked Finn up under his arm while Astrid was flung over his shoulder.

___

Gaz

Kyle loved his job, truly. He loved helping others, working with his teammates, and just about everything else that came with the territory. But what he didn’t love was being away from you for too long. It was something he hated even before you gave birth to your daughter, who’s birth he almost missed and just about collapsed when he realized he was just in time to hold your hand through the ring of fire. 

Kyle managed to be there for little Charlie’s first birthday right before shipping out, but now it was Father’s Day and he’s miles away from his girls and he already missed the both of you. After meetings, training, hours and days of only seeing and hearing his own teammates and other personnel…He finally had the time to call you up. Before he could call, you somehow read his mind and came through with a video call request of your own. What kind of husband and father would he be if he didn’t answer it?

“Babe, I’m sorry I couldn’t call sooner…” He began, seeing your teary-eyed but smiling face concerning him. “Babe? Hey, are you okay? Oh, god I’m sorry, it’s been–”

“No, no it’s okay!” You said quickly, letting out a weepy laugh. “But I had to call, I need you to see something…Hear something, hold on.”

Kyle adjusted himself so he could see better, getting himself in the frame more in the process. His confusion melted away when you came back into the frame, this time holding the precious 12 month old girl. As soon as Charlie registered who was on the screen, she smiled and tried lunging at the phone.

“Hi, baby.” He said, his tone gentle as it always was when it came to Charlie. “Daddy misses you, Char–”

“Dada!”

Kyle was in stunned silence for almost a minute, mouth agape. Charlie’s first word was ‘dada’.

“Holy shit.” Came his whispered response before his brain caught up with the excitement of the moment. “Oh my go–Baby, did you say dada? Charlie, did you say dada?!”

You were full on laugh-crying again while Charlie repeated herself a couple of times to confirm that yes, she did say ‘dada’. And she’d prove it again and again, speaking her entire one-word vocabulary while Kyle called his mates into the room to hear it. 

Yes, he’s crying, and it’s the happiest he’s been since the wedding, or since he first held little Charlie for the first time.

___

Soap

Getting a two year old to not spoil a surprise is harder than it should be. Because Lila came close to blurting out the big Father’s Day surprise to Johnny more than once…More than twice. But thankfully, Johnny didn’t catch on. 

So once the big day came, you did everything you planned for him with Lila. It started with going out to his favorite spot for breakfast, then going to a football game (it was just your luck that his favorite team was playing), and the rest of the day was spent together. Just the three of you, Lila clinging to her papa and hanging off of his arms. You made sure to tell him that he still had presents waiting at home. He tried to insist that he didn’t need presents earlier in the week, but you refused to hear him out. 

“Hen, can ye at least tell me what’s waiting on the other side of that door?”

“No can do, Johnny.” You said, your smile almost evil as you took your sweet time fishing the keys from your pocket.

“I saw Simon’s car peeling out of here before we parked…Lila? What’d you two plan?”

Lila’s only response was a maniacal laugh that she definitely inherited from you. 

“Och, you’re killing me…” He groaned, following you inside with Lila when you finally unlocked the front door. 

Inside were at least two dozen balloons, all in varying shades of blue. On the table sat a beautifully decorated round cake, the words “HAPPY FATHER’S DAY” written in loopy, red script on the top. And beside the cake were some presents. 

Johnny set Lila down, and she quickly waddled over to the table excitedly. 

“Da! Da, open this! This one!” Lila squealed, the Scottish lilt in her voice unmistakable. She carried the small, blue box over to him, her tiny body trembling as if she could barely contain herself any longer. “This…Open this.”

You were honestly proud of her for not blurting the big surprise out. And even if you planned for that particular gift to be opened last…You decide to let it slide. Change of plans. 

“Okay, okay…I’ll open it, lass.” Johnny said, amused at your daughter’s persistence. He lifted the lid, picking up the card that laid on top of some blue and white tissue paper. “To my soulmate, father of our children. You’re the best daddy to our Lila, and an incredible husband. Tha gràdh cho mòr agam ort.” He read it again, eyes squinting slightly. You could tell that he read the ‘children’ part again. 

“Go ahead.” You said softly, urging him to see what was under the tissue paper before Lila combusted from the excitement of the incoming reveal.

Without another word, he removed the crinkly paper and stared at the contents. A positive pregnancy test. Those blue eyes of his widened as he looked at it. 

“You’re serious…?” He asked, not looking away from the test. “Bonnie…?”

“I’m serious…We’re having another.” You said, smiling as you placed a hand on your stomach. “Second one for the MacTavish clan.”

Johnny’s surprised face morphed into one of pure elation as he set the box down, moving quickly to gather you and Lila into his arms.

Finally, Lila said what she’s been waiting to say all day: “I’m gonna be a big sister! I’m gonna be a big sister, da!”

“Aye…I know, and you’ll be an amazing one.”

___

Ghost

Simon never thought he would be a father. Hell, he thought he would just end up like his own old man. But he couldn’t be more wrong, he was nothing short of amazing with how patient he was with your daughters. Penelope and Lily were both absolute daddys girls as a result of how doting and loving he is. You loved it, loved how he was there for every milestone, every birthday, every scraped knee. Even if he was out on deployment, there would be a voicemail, call, or FaceTIme whenever he could…Just to see his girls. 

This time around, Simon was set to come home on Father’s Day. So of course, you did everything you could to help the girls get ready. The older of the two, Penelope, wrote a bunch of dad jokes in her card to him and filled a comically large “best dad” mug with his favorite candies. Meanwhile, Lily was dressed up in an outfit that Simon bought for her that ended up not fitting for a while (she had just been born, but he couldn’t help but get the size 4T skull dress) with matching skull bows. 

The three of you went to the airport, the girls working together to hold up a bright bluesign for him, “WELCOME HOME, DADDY” written in big letters. It was decorated with hearts and tiny skulls that they drew on themselves beside their handprints. The two of them stood on their toes, trying to see as best as they could. 

Finally, you spotted him after the girls asked about a dozen times if he was there yet. “Here he comes, girls. Hold the sign up high!”

Penelope, being a bit taller than Lily, had no problem following that instruction. But the moment Lily caught sight of her dad, still in his balaclava and gear, released the sign and ran as fast as her tiny legs would allow. 

“Lily baby! Wait!” You blurted out in surprise, laughing softly when you saw your rugged husband. Simon didn’t stand a chance, his eyes stony until they spotted Lily and the rest of you. 

His icy Lieutenant facade melted away as he dropped to a knee and let Lily barrel into his arms. When you took the sign from Penelope, she followed suit and tackled her masked father. 

After watching them for a few seconds, you finally decided to go over and watched as he rose up with one girl in each arm. 

“I’ve been waiting to see you three. This is the best Father’s Day gift I could ever ask for.” He said, his voice just slightly rougher than usual. Rough, but with softening edges for his girls.

“You didn’t even see your presents yet, Si.” You said, placing your hands on his cheeks. Your fingers began moving his balaclava up, just enough so you could press a kiss to his lips. The kiss chased away what remained of Ghost, all that remained was your Simon.

While you two kissed in the crowded airport, Penelope made some over-exaggerated gagging sounds worthy of an Oscar, and Lily tried kissing his cheek while laughing at her sister.

[theseinfernalangels]

New Horizons - Aaric Graycastle

Synopsis: You left Cam in the early night during July. Now, you return to him battered and bruised in Aretia, right when he needs you the most.

Includes: A plethora of Cosette lore, Little Brother Cam, angst, slight Garrick x Cosette mentions, ughhhhh I love their relationship so much your honor. Second part serves as a Part 2 to THOMH. Takes place in Iron Flame.

You splay a hand on the gilded door, bracing yourself for what is going to be the first of many challenges you’ll face in the coming years. If you live that long, that is.

He doesn’t deserve this. You should have told him sooner.

But you couldn’t. He’d try to stop it himself, to protect you in all the ways he knows he can’t but still tries, anyway. 

You’ll just have to settle for now.

Your hand hovers above the wood hesitantly, the image of his pain-filled eyes, usually filled with mischief, making your stomach sink with guilt.

He deserves to know.

Fingers shaking, your hand dips and raps on the wood once before pausing and resting on the surface. Time moves slower with apprehension, you find, because seconds mysteriously slide into minutes and hours within one twitch of an eye.

And then it all resumes once you hear Cam’s voice sound quietly from his room. “Yes?”

You swallow, smoothing your hand down until it grips the handle with a tightness that could only suggest something neither of you want to acknowledge. But, life won’t wait for you to throw a fit about it, so you straighten and school your face into one of neutrality. You can’t show your little brother your fear; that would be a death sentence in this place.

Quietly enough so as not to raise suspicion, you push the door open and slip inside. As you expected, Cam is at his desk. He’s not even in his pajamas, although the clock says it’s 10:32 and he likes to be asleep by 10:45. He must be pulling a late-night study session since he missed his tutoring earlier. The poor boy looks so disheveled, his eyes flitting up and down in confusion as you pull up a chair to sit by his side.

“What are you wearing?”

A quiet cough covers up a laugh. “Is that any way to say hello?”

His lips flatten dryly. “Hello, dear sister of mine. Now, what are you wearing?”

A genuine, tired smile creases the skin around your eyes. There’s my Cam.

You lean in a little, allowing yourself to mull over the words you’ve already rehearsed a thousand times within the last week. In and out. You have to breathe, or you’ll never be able to force the words out.

Your name, laced in careful concern, has you pulled out of your thoughts and meeting your little brother’s gaze. There it is — the look of carefully-regulated anxiety that always makes your heart ache. Cam has no business in looking like that at you, not when you’ve been the one protecting him for his entire life; but he can’t help it anymore. You may be older, but you don’t get the same treatment as him.

“Okay,” you finally begin. “I’m going to preface this by apologizing. I should’ve had this conversation with you sooner, but there was never a good time.” A lie. “So listen up, alright? This is important.”

He immediately discards his pen and turns to you fully, his usually immaculate posture folding in a bit. “Talk to me.”

You can’t offer him anything else but obligation.

“I know I said a long time ago that I’d always be here when you needed me. That I’d always wait for you to catch up to me so we could keep moving forward together.” You ease yourself forward a little more to grab one of his hands gently. “And believe me, I always will when I can. But I can’t anymore. Not for a long, long time.”

Cam just blinks, his brows furrowing in pure confusion. “…I don’t understand.”

Of course he doesn’t. He probably won’t for a while, or until you tell him directly. Part of you wants to hide it, but that would just be another thing he’d never see coming — and Cam hates surprises.

“Cam.” You say his name gently, carefully, like when you held his hand and pulled him alongside you as children. Three years younger, he was always clumsy on his feet but determined to follow you wherever you roamed — which, by the time you turned 12, was everywhere. That’s how it always was, though; you, marching out to play with friends or go to lessons that you knew you had no business attending, and then Cam, running to catch up even if he wasn’t allowed.

“I’m entering the Riders Quadrant, and I’m leaving tonight.”

Immediately, the soft concern fractures into panicked horror, leaving your brother to flinch away from you as if your touch burned him.

“What?” he breathes. “No. You can’t…No.”

He shakes his head, staring down at the floor. “No, Alic is joining the quadrant. He leaves in two days. Not you.”

A sharp pang of guilt shoots through you, but you remain calm, for both of your sakes.

“Cam,” you reiterate softly. “I’m sorry—“

“No.” His head jerks back up, jade green eyes fiery with that determination that he never learned from your brothers. “I’ll tell Father. You can’t leave.”

Your hand squeezes his once, the only way you can keep yourself from falling apart right here and now. “You can’t, actually. It’s a direct order.”

“It’s a direct death wish!” he argues, clenching his free hand and starting to rise to his feet. “I’m sure if I say something—“

“Cam.”

“No, seriously,” he insists. “Give me time, I can—“

“Cam.”

“Stop!” he shouts. “If I go now—“

“Camlaen.”

He goes still. You never call him that. No one does. Not in that tone, at least — firm, grim, and full of command.

Your hands find his shoulders to settle him back down into his chair like you would a child. He still is one, really. A seventeen year old would never know the world like you do. Especially if that seventeen year old happened to be the prince of a very, very fucked up kingdom.

“Listen to me.” You repeat your own words. “There is no getting out of this. There is no escaping. I have been preparing my entire

life for this, and it is an order. If I don’t go, I will die.”

He blinks, his disbelief turning to hesitance. “What do you mean?”

You stare out his window, open and flooding his room with glowing moonlight. Perfect, really, as if the sky had somehow known that you needed it on a night like this. “You’re smart. Think about it.”

And he does. He sits back a little, his nose scrunching like it did even when he was a kid. You can practically see the gears turning in his head.

You’ve been training in combat since he can remember. You train harder. Faster. Stronger. More than him or Alic or Halden could ever claim to. And if it’s an order, if there is no getting out of it…

The moment the realization sets in is also the moment pure, flaming hot fury breaks his gaze.

“He set you up for this.”

You don’t reply. You don’t have to. You know your face gives it away — a small, awkward little smile. 

“He did, didn’t he?” he whispers. “Because you’re—“

“A bastard,” you finish quietly, automatically. “And bastards have no place in this family.”

“But…” His hands start moving randomly, as if he’s trying to manually place his thoughts. “That makes no sense. If he wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Very true. “Yes,” you reply. “Have I ever told you about the circumstances of my birth, Cam?”

You don’t know why you asked. He knows, but he doesn’t. No one knows what happened other than the people who were there at the time.

“Yes?” It sounds more like a tentative question than a confirmation. “You were born, and your mother left you on the steps to the palace.”

You nod. “Right. And then after?”

No answer.

You offer him a smile. “Okay. After my mother gave me up, she died of a disease that was ripping through the city at the time. The guards found me and brought me in, and there was no hiding me from Mother. Father wanted to either give me up or kill me, but he felt so guilty about his affair that he promised her that he would give her one thing that she wanted more than anything, and he wasn’t allowed to object.”

Cam’s eyes widen. “And that was…”

“Me,” you finish. “She had two sons, but she always wanted a daughter. So they kept me, but that doesn’t mean that Father wanted me alive any more than before.”

“So that was always the plan,” he whispers, his fingers twitching in what you know to be him holding himself back from reacting strongly. “To have you killed in there since Father couldn’t order it.”

Your hands drop to his and lightly squeeze them again, a silent comfort. “Yes. I’m the reminder of a mistake he’ll never be able to take back.”

Your little brother goes silent for  a moment, probably trying to sort everything out like the little brainiac he is. It’s overwhelming, you know, and it pains you to watch him take in all of this information all at once…but someone has to know. He has to know the truth, especially if you don’t make it out alive.

Finally, you clock the moment something inside him succumbs to defeat, and he sinks a little, his grip on you faltering as his head dips.

It only rises once you tentatively speak his name, and you have to keep yourself from jolting when you see him barely suppressing hot, unshed tears.

“That’s not fair,” he whispers. “He can’t just…do that.”

When his eyes finally meet yours, he breaks and sags forward with a choked cry, pulling you against his chest with a tightness that shatters something in you.

“He can’t,” he repeats softly, his head resting against your chest. “He just can’t.”

Your arms circle around him, one looping around his back and the other reaching up to stroke the back of his neck soothingly. If you feel around, you can find the scar he got as a child when he took a twig-filled snowball to the head. That memory gives you a semblance of comfort, but nothing can wash away the echo of his sobs from back then, and certainly not the ones in front of you right now.

“Easy,” you murmur, holding him like you would glass. “Breathe, Cam. That’s it. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he shudders, clutching you tighter. “I can’t — How am I supposed to keep going without you, huh? I don’t know how to do anything without you.”

Part of you yearns to tease him, but given his state, you don’t know if he could take that.

“That’s not true,” you correct him. “You’re capable of so many things, Cam. And I don’t plan on dying. If things turn out, then you could see me on Reunification Day.”

“Of next year!” It’s probably meant to come out as an argument, an insistance that he wants to call you out on, but it really comes out shakily. “That’s not enough.”

It’s not. Not at all, really — not when he’s always been three steps behind you. Now you’ll have a good hundred miles between you, and he physically can’t follow you — not at his age.

“I know.” You stroke the back of his neck softly. “I know, Cam.”

“What am I supposed to do?” His head pops up, his eyes wide and helpless. “I can’t protect you from here. I can’t help.”

I can’t help. 

Oh, how he twists your heartstrings.

“…You can,” you tell him after a moment. “You just need to listen to me.”

He’s instantly at attention, backing up a bit and facing you intently. Almost absentmindedly, you reach up and wipe at his face, reddened a bit from his crying. You won’t reprimand him for it; you never have, unlike your brothers.

“First of all,” you begin, wiping your now-wet hand on your pants. “Have a little faith in me, yeah? I’m not dead yet, you know. At least, I don’t think I am.” You look down at yourself. 

Cam coughs a little, but you can hear the faint laugh behind it. You suppress a smile. At least you got that one out of the way.

“I’ve been training for this my entire life,” you continue. “Literally. I’ve been fighting since I was six, and I’ve been practicing for the parapet in my free time. I could do it blindfolded in the rain.”

His face falls. “Please don’t.”

You swat at him gently. “That was figurative.”

You settle back into your seat but allow him to cling to you. “Secondly, what you can do is keep studying and training. You are the most precious thing in this palace, and I need you to finish out your education. You alone are smarter than the three of us combined. Use your mind, Cam. Your brain is the best weapon you have, and you need to keep it sharp.”

“Gods,” he whispers. “You sound like Mother.”

“Good,” is all you say. “Because she’s right.”

You lean in a little again, ignoring the strain on you and letting Cam lean on you easier. By now, he’s mostly stopped crying, sans the stray tear or two that slide down his cheeks insistently.

“Third,” you say after a moment, “and this is the most important, Cam: Use your head, but follow your heart. I don’t care if it sounds stupid or corny, and you can make fun of me for it all you want when I’m gone. You know by now that Father doesn’t lead with either. He acts with his best interests in mind and ignores the things that force him to acknowledge corruption. Don’t turn out like him.”

“I’d never,” he says fiercely. “Not when he thinks treating you like this is okay. I’d rather die.”

“Well, don’t,” you reply, gripping his arms tightly. “Halden will make it out unscathed, probably, but Alic and I are in the hands of fate, and I have no doubt that he’ll come after me once we’re over the parapet. At least one of us won’t come home, Cam. If it has to be me, then fine. If it’s one of the twins, then someone has to be here to help Mother and Father cope and find their footings. Deal?”

He frowns but nods anyway. “I don’t like how much certainty is in your tone.”

“That’s how it is, sometimes,” you remind him. “You just have a way of knowing sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, it sucks. But I’d rather know now than find out the consequences later.”

Finally, Cam leans back and away from you, albeit reluctantly. Suddenly, he looks tired. Smaller, akin to a younger boy, when he asks, “…Are you leaving now?”

You glance back out the window. “I could. I just want it to be dark out when I leave.”

His fingers curl around your wrists lightly, and you understand his unspoken request instantly.

“You want me to stay for a little bit?”

He looks down and nods.

A smile twitches on your lips as you lean back and take him in, wiping under his eyes idly with your thumbs.

“Gods, Cam,” you murmur. “When’d you grow up so fast, huh? Where’d my little shadow go?”

“I still am,” he says softly. “I’d follow you all the way there if you’d let me.”

For the first time tonight, you feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed. “Yeah?” you wonder thoughtfully. “I’d take you with me if I could. I bet we could bond ten dragons between the two of us.”

“We’d be fucking unstoppable,” he agrees. “Better than General Melgren or Sorrengail. Maybe you’ll be a general someday.”

You hum. “General Camden has a nice ring to it.”

He blinks. “Camden?”

Oh, shit. You forgot to mention that. “I’m not using the Tauri name while I’m there,” you tell him. “I don’t want unnecessary targets on my back.”

“But…Camden?” he repeats, still confused.

“My mother,” you explain. “Her name was Calla Camden.”

He tests the name on his tongue and then nods after a second. “General Camden sounds way cooler than General Tauri.”

You snicker. “Way.”

You sit there, hand in hand, for what feels like hours before Cam goes still. “I should probably give you your birthday gift now, then.”

Caught off-guard, you raise an eyebrow. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Of course I do,” he replies, almost chidingly. “You’re my sister, and I love you, and you’ve been eyeing this for a while.”

Huh. You’re not a very materialistic person, so it’s not like you’ve set your heart after much. When could Cam have seen you be interested in something like that?

Well, he’s always been observant.

He dips and pulls out a drawer in his desk, fishing around for a few moments — when was the last time he organized that thing? — before he pulls out a small, long box.

He hands it to you carefully. “For your collection.”

My collect— Oh.

With light hands, you loosen the tie on it and flip the top off, and then hold back a sharp gasp at what you find.

A small, ornamental knife lays within the wood, it’s golden hilt just light enough that it looks more like the sun than it does actual gold. It’s not very big at all, probably used for throwing more than sparring, but what really catches your attention is the bright green gemstone inlaid in the center, right where the hilt stops and blade starts.

“I dunno,” Cam manages. “You were looking at it, and I thought it was cool, and it looks kind of like my eyes, so I thought it would be like you were fighting with me even if I wasn’t there…”

He trails off when you don’t say anything, your eyes fixed heavily  upon the new blade. Just before he can sit in the silence, or start wondering if you don’t want it, you exhale shakily and carefully put it back in the box.

“Dammit, Cam,” you huff, setting it back on his desk and wrenching him into a tight hug. “Don’t do this to me right now.”

“What?” he protests, accepting the hug but frowning at your words. “I thought it was cool.”

He’s cut off by a quiet, almost imperceptible sniffle, and then he understands. His arms move up, circling around your waist as he tucks your head into his neck.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Happy tears,” you correct him. “Only happy tears.”

“Sure,” he teases. “Whatever you say.”

You don’t bother saying anything back. This silence, with the two of you holding on to each other like stubborn roots, is the only manageable thing you can help about tonight. You don’t need words to tell him that he’ll be fine without you, or that you’ll miss him, or that you’ll do your best to live for him — because deep down, he already knows, even if he can’t quite understand it yet.

On the flip side, he doesn’t need to tell you much, that he needs you to stay alive and do it well and bond a damn dragon, because you can see it in his eyes just fine. They don’t leave you for the entire night; not when you talk, or go over his homework that he’s not quite down, and not when you bid him goodbye and ruffle his hair like you’re about to play a game of chase with him.

They don’t leave you as you climb out his open window and jump onto the scaffolding like you’ve done hundreds of times at this point, sliding down and moving silently across paths worn and faded from years of sneaking out behind your family’s backs. They don’t leave you as you turn away one last time, finding him half-leaning out the window and shooting him a small, tentative two-finger salute — which he, with shaking hands, promptly returns.

And they still don’t leave you, although they’re blurry with tears, once you finally disappear in the darkness for what he can only hope won’t be the last time.

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Unlike now. Now, his head doesn’t even raise to meet yours, even as you quietly shut the door to his room behind you. It’s so unlike that night three years ago, when you’d snuck into his room and he immediately watched for anything wrong. He doesn’t pay attention this time.

No, he does. He always does. He’s just too scared to look up, you realize. Probably because the last he’d seen of you, you’d been bleeding and unconscious in Bodhi’s arms after your trip from Montserrat a week ago. You could have very well died on him. There’s also the fact that he never told you about his conscription. 

He must think you’re mad at him.

You take a moment to look at him, so different from the little seventeen year old Cam you watched in his window. He’s older now, a man instead of a little prince. He’s taller, his shoulders are wider, his hair shorter, his skin scarred from sparring. Instead of formals, he wears riders’ black, scarily similar to his older brother.

But it’s still him. Still your little brother. He still clenches a pen in his left hand, albeit shakier now.

So, tentatively, you move forward. One step. Another, until you reach a good few feet away from him.

He still won’t look at you.

Okay, you think. This is fine. It’s just like handling a kid.

He doesn’t budge as you kneel down next to him, just on one knee, so you can see him a little better. You lean in a little, trying to catch onto his gaze. With the little space you can see, you watch his eyes dart away.

A small snort leaves you. “Okay, you’re being absolutely ridiculous now.”

He doesn’t answer, but a flicker of movement catches your eye: the twitch of a thumb moving against his index finger repetitively — a self-soothing gesture he picked up to stop him from sucking on his thumbs.

Yep. Still your brother.

“I’m offended, really,” you continue. “What the hell, Cam?”

He stiffens by just a fraction, his shoulders tensing into a straight line.

“I mean, c’mon.” You stand back up, your hands splayed on your hips. “You’ve grown, like, five extra inches. Save some for the little guys, will you?”

That’s when you hear it — a quiet exhale, either a breath of relief or a terribly disguised laugh. It’s enough to spread a tired grin across your face until you finally hear him speak.

“I’m sorry.”

You lean against the table, unsure if he’s okay with you touching him. “What for?”

He’s quiet for a few seconds, contemplative. His voice is so soft — like he’s sharing something deeply personal.

“I don’t want to see you disappointed in me.”

A part of you breaks a little, but it only serves as motivation for your efforts. With your feet planted firmly on the ground, you slide your hand right in front of his line of vision, causing him to blink.

“Camlaen Aaric Tauri. Look at me.”

He can’t argue with that tone. It’s new, but not unlike you. It must be your Lieutenant voice. Slowly, his head lifts, and for the first time since you left the palace, his eyes find yours. There’s something different about them now; they’re heavier, like they carry the water weight of too much, and a touch more schooled than you’re used to.

A slow, melancholy smile manages to spread across your face. “There he is.”

You lower yourself a little, gripping his shoulders lightly and keeping your gaze directly trained on his. “Is that what you think? That I’m disappointed?”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to.

You surprise yourself with the laugh that’s pulled out of you, sharp and quiet.

“Gods, Cam,” you murmur. “Are you out of your mind? I’m so fucking proud of you.”

He blinks, his eyes widening a fraction in surprise, before he takes a deep breath in to settle himself. All at once, though, the dam within him breaks, and his lip starts to quiver a bit. His eyes dart all over the room before meeting yours once more, and then you’re being pulledinto him, like he’s a giant magnet.

You don’t mind. You never do. Not when it’s him, at least. 

His head finds its way into the crook of your neck, just like when he was small enough to fit in your arms, and you take your chance to wrap him in your embrace, rubbing his back soothingly while he shivers.

“I could never be disappointed in you,” you tell him softly. “Are you kidding? Look at where you are. Look at where you started. You’ve gone and grown up on me!”

He just continues to shake, and although he is silent, you know for a fact that he’s crying. You probably are, too, but you’re so focused on him that the theoretical tears don’t register in your mind. 

“So, no,” you add. “Not disappointed. Not even surprised, really.”

He sniffs quietly. “You looked surprised.”

You barely even remember those flashes of vision before you fainted a week ago. “To be fair, I was actively bleeding out. I’m sure I looked like a lot of things.”

You pause to think about your words for a moment. It’s not necessary — you’ve never had to worry about that with your brother — but something in you feels the need to fill that gap between you. Three years, in age and conscriptions.

Three steps behind.

“You know,” you say thoughtfully. “When you said you’d follow me everywhere, I didn’t think you meant including the death college.”

At this, Cam lets go of you and backs away, scrubbing a hand over his face as if that would wipe away every emotion that happens to pass over it. He’s gotten better at it, you can tell — but he’s still no match for your discernment.

“Of course I meant it.” He frowns at his own voice and then clears his throat. “I mean, I have other reasons, but I’d follow you anywhere. Where else am I supposed to go?”

You mull over that for a moment before shrugging. “Good hypothetical. Too bad I don’t have an answer.”

He laughs — a tiny, soft little thing — before he goes silent again, back into his thoughts like the same boy who used to get lost in his own daydreams for hours. Everything is so different, yet the same. It stings a little, but it’s also comforting.

He just shakes his head. “I’m…not very sure what to say right now. I have so many questions, so many things I want to know…”

You slide your hand over the table, palm up — a no-pressure move. “I’m sure you do. I’m the same. Dive in. Ask me anything. Tell me every detail about this year. I want to know everything.”

Cam hesitated for a moment, just staring at your hand before sliding his own on top of it, squeezing it tentatively. You go back and forth with questions for what seems like hours.

(What’s your dragon’s name? “Seachran. Yours?” “Molvic.”)

(Do you know? “About?” “What you’re actually doing here.” “Of course.”)

(Do you still have that knife? “Of course I do.” You pull it out of your pocket. “I never go anywhere without it.”)

(Any secret romances? “…It’s complicated.”)

(Any secret marriages? “Oh. I, uh…wasn’t going to bring that up until later.” “You didn’t have to. Garrick never shuts up about you being his wife.”)

(Does Father know you’re here? “You’re my only family that does.”)

(What’s your signet? “I’m a light-wielder. Have you manifested yet?” “No.”)

(How are classes? “I’m one of the ones at the top.” “I expect no less.”)

(Do you still go by Camden? “Yes. Violet said you also use a different last name?” “…You don’t want to know.”)

You inhale, smoothing a hand over your face as you try and fight off the obvious smile that wants to etch itself into your skin.

“Okay. I can get behind the middle name. But…Graycastle?”

Cam hangs his head. “I panicked.”

At the sign of his defeat, you allow the laughter to bubble up and shake your body gently. “What do you mean, you panicked?”

He doesn’t look up. “I was all confident at the parapet, and I was planning to say Camden, too, but then it felt insensitive. I didn’t know Violet would be taking names, and I got nervous and saw Basgiath right behind her…”

You don’t let him finish. “And it’s a gray castle, basically. Aaric Graycastle.”

He groans as you cackle again, tossing your head back. “Yes. Delight in my misery. I love you, too.”

So dramatic. You sigh and shake your head fondly. “Well, it’s over with. Between us, though, I wouldn’t be offended if you went by Camden. It’s my last name now, and what’s mine is yours.”

He blinks, taken aback. “Really?”

You don’t let him stew in silence. “Really. But, for the comedic effect—“

He cuts you off with another groan. “Stop. I might have to ask you for all your marriage details in excruciating specifics.”

Cam rests his forehead against the table with a thunk when you just shrug. “Bet, little brother. If you want details, I’ll give you details.”

“Get me the hell out of here,” he declares. “Not those details.”

“You’re in no place to order me around,” you retort, crossing your legs. “I outrank you now, actually. You get the hell out of here, Cadet Graycastle.”

Your little brother doesn’t even skip a beat. “Aye, General Camden.”

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[secretly-tword-obsessed]

The Perfect Plan

HIIIII! This is a Hwang brothers fic as requested many times by many people including @stay-123 . I love writting for these two, it gives me so much joy ahshshs. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Jun-Ho wants to put In-Ho in his place, but In-Ho wants to put Jun-Ho in his place. All of this place-putting gets a little complicated, so there's only one logical solution.

Waring: This is a TICKLE FIC.

"Come in"

The door creaked open, Jun-Ho hesitantly stepping into the darkly lit room. There was his brother, his face bare and genuine without the mask, yet his gaze dark and distant. He sat in a fancy armchair by the fire, taking sips from his rich flask of whisky. The office practically smelled like money. And, ordinarily, Jun-Ho would have been delighted that his brother had come across such wealth. But this situation was far from ordinary.

"Take a seat", In-Ho gestured, as if Jun-Ho were merely one of the VIP's and not the blood brother he had given his spare organ to. Jun-Ho sat down on a couch opposite him, slowly and grudgingly, his eyes narrowed. He had finally found the island - found his brother again. He'd been looking everywhere for him for years, trying to save his victims from this awful place. And him of course - Jun-Ho wouldn't dare picture his own loving brother rotting in prison. The brother who had supported him every step of the way, who had taken time out of his busy high school and college schedule to play with him and chat to him instead of studying. Who had taken out his bullies with his strong, menacing demeanor. In-Ho was like a bear - terrifying to some but adorable and affectionate to others. For Jun-Ho, he was the latter.

In-Ho had invited his brother for a 'chat', hoping to clear things up before they decided what to do next. Of course, Jun-Ho knew his brother had zero intention of agreeing to give up the games, but a conversation was needed more than anything. Jeez - he'd been waiting to speak to his brother for years, and he couldn't have imagined a worse circumstance.

"Your nervous", In-Ho commented nonchalantly. That bastard could always tell. He chuckled - "It's cute".

Jun-Ho groaned, "What do you want?"

In-Ho's sinister smirk widened, "Wow, is that anyway to address your elder brother? Manners Jun-Ho, manners".

"Cut the crap, what are you hoping to get out of this?"

In-Ho frowned again, his eyes once more going distant.

"Firstly, I'd like to apologize for shooting you".

Jun-Ho noticed a slight quiver in his voice, as if In-Ho had been dwelling on this for quite a while. As if it had legitimately been keeping him up at night. Jun-Ho knew his brother just as well as his brother knew him - even though he was trying to sound put together, he was scared too.

"You won't tell ooma, will you?"

Jun-Ho jolted forward, lifting his fist, "I swear to god, you better cut this bullshit right now or I will-"

"You'll what? You'll punch me? Well, go ahead. I shot you. An eye for an eye I suppose-"

Jun-Ho just snickered sarcastically and shook his head, "I won't punch you. I'm not like you".

In-Ho shook his head in return. Seeing his little brother like this, threatening to attack him even though he was much smaller and weaker, reminded him of many times in their childhood. In-Ho knew he was still stronger than Jun-Ho, even though they had both trained at the same academy. But Jun-Ho had always been a bit too feisty. It was never actually violent, but they often got into play fights. Or, rather, Jun-Ho would start play fights he wouldn't win. And it would always end up with the younger on the floor, screaming for mercy as his evil big brother skittered his fingers up and down his sides and ribs, where he was devastatingly ticklish. In-Ho's eyes sparkled a bit at the memory.

"What the hell are you thinking?"

Shit, the Frontman had dozed out for a second. He cleared his throat, but couldn't help the slight tremor in his voice. These memories made him sad - he really missed his carefree times with Jun-Ho, when the younger was a kid or teen and he was a teen or young adult.

"I was just getting a sense of Deja Vu, darling brother. From when we were kids".

Jun-Ho's face dropped a bit. In-Ho couldn't help but squeak and chuckle at that. It always amused him how his little brother could go from being headstrong and determined to confused and disorientated in the split of a second. He noticed Jun-Ho pouting at him, clearly annoyed that his elder brother found his demeanor amusing. That just made In-Ho laugh more.

"Shut up!", Jun Ho yelled, lifting his arm again to punch. That just made In-Ho throw his head back and laugh even louder. This was all too amusing. His body was shaking with laughter, his chest rising and falling as Jun-Ho just glared at him.

"Snap out of it!", Jun Ho punched In-Ho's shoulder gently, as if threatening to do more.

"Owww", In-Ho whined, rubbing his shoulder. The punch may have been gentle, but it was still sore, "What was that for?"

Shit. Jun-Ho couldn't help the smile forming on his face. It was impossible not to grin when his big brother got all goofy like this, even in situations where it was very much unwanted. It was as if In-Ho's menacing side had switched off and his affectionate side had come to the forefront - all triggered by the sight of Jun-Ho.

Luckily In-Ho was too busy chuckling to see Jun-Ho's smile, which he quickly suppressed. His elder brother opened his mouth to say something, but Jun-Ho interrupted him with another punch, this one a bit harder.

"Ahh!", In Ho cried, catching Jun-Ho's arm in a firm grip. Jun-Ho tired to pull back, but couldn't. The menacing Frontman returned instantly.

"I was about to say something", In-Ho glared, pulling Jun-Ho's arm in tighter, squeezing it so it almost hurt.

Jun-Ho was starting to get seriously worried now. He tugged at his arm, but the Frontman wouldn't budge.

"You'll pay for that", In-Ho said, his voice dark and expressionless.

Jun-Ho shut his eyes, anticipating pain. That was when he felt his arm being pulled in the air, catching him slightly off balance. In-Ho steadied him by pushing his opposite side a bit with his hand, before digging his fingers right into the hollow of Jun-Ho's exposed underarm.

This was the last thing Jun-Ho had excepted. He reflexively tugged his arm, but was horrified when it wouldn't budge. Luckily, his training as a cop had taught him to hide reactions in sudden situations like this. Well, not exactly like this, but the skills were transferrable. He bit his lip hard, looking away from In-Ho, hoping to god he wasn't smiling.

In-Ho saw how Jun-Ho bit his lip, the widest grin on his face. He felt both accomplished and affectionate. Brutal and loving.

Jun-Ho, on the other hand, would not let himself break. He couldn't think straight with the tickly sensations under his arm, but he had to try and form some sort of coherent plan. The last time he'd been anything close to tickled was a few months ago, when he'd had his regular checkup and the stomach exam came along.

"Oh no", In-Ho frowned, "Why aren't you laughing? You used to be so ticklish, whatever happened?"

In-Ho than stopped. Jun-Ho, relieved, and completely oblivious to his elder brother's sinister plan, caught his breath. He stepped back but than realized he couldn't. In-Ho still had his hand in a firm grip.

The Frontman smirked, "Don't think your getting away that easy. If that didn't break you, this sure will-" In-Ho started wiggling his fingers dangerously close to his sides. Oh shit. Oh no. Not there. Anything but there. Jun-Ho felt his skin prickle, biting his lip even tighter. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to hide his reactions now.

In-Ho's stern smirk finally cracked, and he couldn't resist his authentic grin coming out. Goodness gracious this was adorable! He hadn't even stated touching his little brother yet! It brought back so many memories.

"Oooo, tense are we? Don't worry, this ought to relax you-"

With that, in-Ho dug all ten of his fingers into Jun-Ho's exposed sides, hitting all the spots that he knew his little brother HATED.

Predictably, Jun-Ho burst into laughter.

"NOHOHOHO! IN-HOHOHO! STOHOHOHOHOP! PLEHEHEHEHEASE!"

God, he was begging already. Where had his pride gone.

In-Ho tutted, "Not until you promise to leave this island and never come back". Damn, the words stung even as he said them. But he was the Frontman now - he had to keep the games going. The VIP's depended on him. And he had to get his brother off this island to somewhere he'd be safe.

The word's stung for Jun-Ho too, but he couldn't dwell on them for long with his damn sides being attacked.

"NAHAHAHAHA! IHIHIHI HAHAHAHVE TO DO MY JOHOHOHOB! EEEE! *SNORT*"

In-Ho beamed from ear to ear, "Was that a snort I just heard? Oh how I missed that sound. I think you might just be too ticklish for you're own gOOD-"

Jun-Ho had escaped. He didn't know how, but he'd escaped. Probably because the Frontman's grip on him had loosened, due to the fact that he'd been getting so distracted admiring and melting at his younger brother's cuteness. And, the moment Jun-Ho had escaped, he had jabbed his brother's side back. And kept his finger there, and wiggled it. But, instead of trying to escape, the Frontman just collapsed backwards in his armchair, collapsing into low, firm giggles.

"Ahahaha shihihit!"

Jun-Ho was shocked at himself. Why the hell was he tickling him? Why wasn't he doing something more violent, or at least less stupid?

"Eheheheh! Okahahay! Yohohou wihihihin!"

Jun-Ho felt a rush of exhilaration at that. He'd won! Hooray! Wait, no, they weren't kids anymore. Snap out of it Jun-Ho.

Jun-Ho tried to put on a stern face, "What were you saying about me being too ticklish, In-Ho?"

The Frontman just kept giggling, "Okahahay okay! You wohohon! Stohohohop!"

In-Ho felt amazing. He hadn't been on the receiving end of affection in forever. He was too overjoyed to feel embarrassed about how quickly he'd dropped the whole menacing act, how quickly he'd submitted to his brother's influence.

"Only when you promise to let me stay, report these games, and come home with me", Jun-Ho smirked.

"Yohohou knohohow I cahahan't!"

In-Ho squealed as Jun-ho hit a bad spot on his upper ribs, kicking a leg out. He kicked Jun-Ho, making him lose his balance and tumble backwards. In-Ho seized the opportunity, his lightning reflexes making him pounce on top of his brother.

"Oh, you will regret that so much-"

With that, In-Ho started squeezing Jun-Ho's sides. If the fingers had been bad, the squeezing was ten times worse.

"OHOHOHO GOHOHOHOD NOHOHOHO!"

NOW Jun-Ho's ticklishness was working in his favour, because his desperate squirms led to him flipping his elder brother over, almost accidentally. Standing up In-Ho was stronger, but on the floor their strength matched. Shocked at himself, he didn't miss the opportunity to go for the kill - scribbling at In-Ho's neck.

Instead of tossing his head back in laughter, the Frontman pinned it to his chest.

"NAHAHAHA! YOHOHOHOU SHIHIHIT!"

In-Ho fought back of course, reaching up and tazering Jun-Ho's sides. That made Jun-Ho burst into cackles, but he still wouldn't stop on In-Ho's neck.

AAAA! NOOO!", Jun-Ho squealed, skittering his fingers up and down In-Ho's chin and poking at his nape.

"HAHAHAH!", In-Ho grabbed Jun-Ho by his back and tipped him over. They were a big bundle of flying limbs at this point.

"STAHAHAHAP!", Jun-Ho begged.

That made In-Ho dig his fingers in harder, feeling his little brother's body shake against him.

"NOHOHOT UNTIL YOUOHOU STOHOHOHOP!"

"NEHEHEHEVER!!!"

This went on for a few moments, the two of them struggling to get the upper hand but failing miserably.

"OKAHAHAHAY, TRUHUHUHUCE?!?!?"

Jun-Ho considered In-Ho's request. He wasn't thinking straight because of how ticklish he was.

"OHOHOHKAY! 3,2,1"

Jun-Ho took his hands off In-Ho's neck, excepting to get the same relief in return. His eyes widened in betrayal as In-Ho continued. But the Frontman wouldn't make the same mistake he'd made before. He wouldn't keep tickling his brothers sides, he would attack his knees with squuezes instead. That way Jun-Ho wouldn't be squirming enough to break free.

Just as In-Ho had predicted, Jun-Ho collapsed into brethless giggles, the widest smile on his face, his chest rising and falling"

"You know, you are far too gullible darling brother-"

"Fuhuhuhuhuck yohohou!"

God, Jun-Ho was too cute. The Frontman was too in awe to respond.

That was when there was a bang at the door. In-Ho jumped up, reaching into his pocket and grabbing his gun. He turned around, pointing it at....Gi-Hun, Hyun-Ju and Dae-Ho.

The three men just stared at him, their mouths hanging open in awe. Uh-oh, they'd seen it, hadn't they. He noticed that they had rifles on them, obviously planning another coup. Too dumbfounded to move, Jun-Ho stood up and pinned his brother's arms behind his back.

"Good job guys", he said.

In-Ho was shocked, "Wait, you knew about this?!"

"He planned it", Hyun-Ju said, stepping forward. Although there was a slight giggle in her voice. Oh boy, this was humiliating.

"You-"

Jun-Ho just smirked at him, "Come on big brother, I made these guys promise they wouldn't shoot you. But they might get riled up, so be careful what you say".

God, he was screwed.