#him that's what they've always done if no one knows you're safe. not too close to be a lover not an enemy someone would kill to gain favor-

[familyvideostevie]

the meaning of it all

joel miller x reader

summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help. 

word count: 13.6k

warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.

a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.

___

Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.

And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.

You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.

Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.

Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable. 

You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.

Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.

You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets.  You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.

"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.

"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."

It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.

"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."

He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --

"Quit harassin' her."  Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.

"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"

"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"

"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.

"Joel Miller," he says back.

You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.

It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.

"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."

"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.

"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"

Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"

Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.

You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."

Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.

You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.

Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.

And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.

"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."

You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.

Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."

It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.

"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.

"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.

"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."

It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.

"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.

The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.

"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"

Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.

"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."

You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."

"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"

"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.

"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.

Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."

You didn't know, actually. "Really?"

Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"

He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.

Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."

Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"

He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."

"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.

He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.

"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."

Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.

"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."

The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.

"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"

"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.

"Good," he says. "Good."

You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.

Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Joel says your name and you turn around.

"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."

You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.

Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."

___

Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.

But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.

Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.

But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.

Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.

"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"

You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.

"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"

"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."

This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.

"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.

"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.

"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."

Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"

You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.

"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"

"I--what?"

"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"

You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.

And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.

Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.

"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"

You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."

Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."

Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.

She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"

"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.

He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.

___

You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.

Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.

"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.

"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."

"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."

"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."

Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.

It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.

It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.

Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."

You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."

He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"

You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.

"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."

That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.

"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.

"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"

That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."

His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"

You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.

It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.

It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.

But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?

"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."

You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"

"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"

"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.

"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"

He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.

Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.

"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.

"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.

___

You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.

The doors in your house open and close silently.

Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.

Until you have a bad patrol.

It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.

You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.

Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.

A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.

"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.

"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"

"Yeah. Can we go home now?"

Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.

Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.

The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.

You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.

You could only be so lucky.

You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.

But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --

You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.

"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."

The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.

Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.

Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.

Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.

Something in your chest tightens.

Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.

"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.

"Couldn't sleep."

He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."

Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.

"Sorry," you say softly.

"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"

You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.

He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.

His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.

"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.

"Heard that one before."

He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."

"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.

"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."

"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.

"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.

"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."

Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?

"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.

His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."

The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.

You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.

"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"

You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.

The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"

"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."

A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.

"Sorry."

Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."

"I don't think I feel any better."

He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.

"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."

"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."

"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."

Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.

You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.

"I might," he says. Neither of you move.

That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.

"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"

"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"

"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.

"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."

He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.

__

Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?

"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.

"Am I?" you say lightly.

She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"

Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.

"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.

"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"

"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."

"Am not," you mutter.

Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.

Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.

Well. It's thank you at the very least.

And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.

And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.

The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.

Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.

"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."

The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"

Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."

He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.

"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"

"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?

"I...what?"

"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."

"Joel--"

"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"

He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.

"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."

"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."

There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.

So did you. You didn't dream.

"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.

"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."

A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.

You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?

Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."

The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.

"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"

"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."

This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.

"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."

Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."

You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?

But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.

"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.

He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"

"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."

Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?

Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."

He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.

"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."

It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.

"Joel--"

"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."

The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.

He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"

"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."

You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.

Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.

You'll never stop wanting him now.

His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.

It's very possible that you gasp a little.

He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.

"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."

"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.

Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."

Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.

You're so fucked.

But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.

You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.

"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."

"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.

You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.

"And thank you for--"

He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."

You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.

"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.

He turns. "Countin' on it."

___

You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.

"Fucking amazing," she says.

You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.

As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.

Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.

It goes to shit fairly quickly.

The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.

He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.

You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.

"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.

"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.

"What happened?"

You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.

"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."

"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."

"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"

"But the rules say --"

"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"

"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"

"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."

You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.

Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.

"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."

Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.

You're going to need a lot of help.

You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.

The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.

What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.

A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.

There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.

Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something. 

Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.

"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --

Joel.

A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.

Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.

"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.

"Joel --"

"Sit."

You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?

"How are you here --"

Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.

"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"

The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.

"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"

"No, I don't think so --"

"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."

He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.

"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"

Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.

Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."

You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.

"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."

"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.

"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.

And then he's back crouching in front of you.

Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.

"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."

"I told him to."

"Can't believe that either. You know better."

"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"

He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."

Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"

His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."

For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.

"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.

He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.

You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."

"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."

This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.

He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.

"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."

You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.

"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.

He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.

He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.

Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.

"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."

The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.

"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"

Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.

"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.

You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"

"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"

"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.

"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."

We.

"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.

And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.

"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."

He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.

The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.

You sniffle.

Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.

But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.

And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.

You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."

"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."

There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.

You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.

"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.

"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."

You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.

"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."

"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"

"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.

"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.

Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.

You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.

"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.

"For my sake or yours?"

You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."

He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.

You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.

You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.

"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[evilminji]

I got distracted, BUT I REMEMBERED!

The Dr.'s Fenton? Would ABSOLUTELY fight a child.

Specifically, Hatsume Mei. Future CEO of Hatsume Industries! And ENGINEERING RIVAL of their's! They may be new to this whole "support industy" business, but they are SEASONED weaponry makers! And that brilliant little upstart is good! Audacious! A THREAT!!!

COME GET SOME!!! D:<

See, they needed to Move. Things were getting a bit... spicy. They may have made so unfortunate choices, back before they knew the truth about their Son and Ghosts in general.

Ignorance, bigotry, and academic bias are curses in their house for a REASON, after all. They never thought... after all the DECADES of facing it themselves...

Well...

Needless to say, they were, are, and will always BE horrified by how they acted. There may have be a whole host of reasons behind WHY they acted that way. But those WHYs aren't good enough. They should have been better. Done better. They don't offer any excuses, but but they can give an explanation, if it's wanted.

And, together, as a family, they got through Maddie n Jack's horrifying mistakes.

God they don't deserve those kids. Love them to pieces. The things they don't warn ya about parenthood, you know? The mistakes you might make. You think you're ready. Think everything's alright. Then your life's work KILLS your son and brings him back.

And you don't notice.

......what sort of parents DONT NOTICE?

They still have nightmares. Feel sick. God, if they were working in ANY other field. With ANY other materials! If it wasn't SPECIFICALLY ectoplasm? He... he wouldn't have come back. Oh god.

........

So.... so, yeah.

They're working on some things! As a family! Seeing a therapist from the Zone. Lovely... Them? They're a tree person. Neither Jack or Maddie is quite certain what gender pronouns, if ANY, they are supposed to use. They've been defaulting to They/Them just to be safe. Still! Alien therapist! Neat!

But, of COURSE. The BABIES in White throw a FIT. "Wah, wah, wah you've been compromised blah blah blah" oh PLEASE! Just because they've had a little personal growth! And stopped shooting at Phantom in public! And in general! You shoot ONE little Goverment agent for trying to shoot your baby and suddenly YOUR the bad guy!

He didn't even die!

So, yeah, BIT spicy.

Honestly? Feels like a long time coming. They were never very popular. This ultimately just feels like the ends of a road that began in college. Them, the two "crazies" with their backs to the wall, as the government closes in, trying to tear them down for knowing the TRUTH and refusing to shut up about it. Their reputations so deep in the mud, they're tasting bedrock.

At least they are together.

And thank god they've had years to plan for the inevitable.

So? They have the kids grab their go bags and head off too stay with Danny's new celebrity friend from another dimension, Mr Wayne. Nice man, little dim, but since he's willing to open his home to the kids in case of emergency? Perfect. And frankly, as long as Mr. Pennyworth is there, everything will be fine.

Besides! Lil Damian is a very respectful and responsible young man. Tim and Danny may get up to mischief, but they can trust the youngest to put his foot down.

THEM on the other hand?

Not so lucky. THEY have to stay with the house. It's not exactky like they can move the portal after all, it's built in. And this is where the kids grew up! Where Jack and her scrimped and saved, lived out of cars and off nickle noodles, to afford! This is their HOME! And no jack booted THUG is going to take that.

So the kids go first. They go to the command center. Jack takes pot shots while she fires up... THAT machine. The one they wired into the house itself, right along with the Ectoplasmic Shielding. It was all theoretical, once. But not anymore.

Now they have The Zone.

It's been collecting energy runoff from the open gate ever since it opened. Siphoning them into the sub-basment mega batteries. Enough to run two-thirds the planet for the next half a millennia. If only the damn patent office would LET THEM PATENT THEIR WORK-!

But that doesn't matter anymore. No, what matters is checking how full the battery banks are. Decently. It HAS been a while since they've done a controlled drain. Good, that means they have more then enough.

So, with no kids to witness things getting nasty? She pulls out her keys and unlocks the parental commands, flips the the shields to "strobe-kill". Let's see you crowd us NOW fuckers. With Jack freed up to help aim the house? They set to work.

It's... not EXACTLY an exact science, as much as they'd prefer it to be. More of a controlled jump. Set preferences, power jump, hop sideways an unknown distance. Land. Look around.

Is it what you want?

Habitable?

A zombie apocalypse?

Jump again. And again. And again. Until the battery runs out. Then sit... or float...or drift, there, until the batteries refill. You have to be mindful, of course, that you don't lose Shield coverage. Because it keeps the House air tight and together. If you jump and immediately lose power to the shields because you misjudged the energy left in the batteries?

Better HOPE you land somewhere with a breathable atmosphere and no zombies!

And Fentons don't rely on HOPE! They rely on good ol firepower and hutzpa!

Also advanced ectoplasmic scientific engineering! But that was a given.

It... takes a while. They run out of canned peaches. Have to stop TWICE to help cure a zombie plague, since they are the only ones with a still working lab. They were actually sort of joking with the kids about the zombies. Oof. Good thing Ectoplasm eats EVERYTHING. One specialized ecto shot and that disease is TOAST.

Granted, the surviors are all limnal now. But they don't seem to care in the slightest.

Then there was the whole "oop! Planet's gone." Couple of worlds. The one with the crabs. The ocean one. The ice age. The robots. The cartoon horses. The inappropriately dressed high-schoolers with weapons fighting God. The boring one. The one with ninjas...

I mean, they are just NOT having any LUCK!

Okay, next moderately stable world, they are doing a groceries run! A Man can not live off freeze dried meals forever! Well, you CAN. But it's making Jack sad, and frankly that's a war crime. Plus she's run out of tea! AND coffee! A life of no caffeine? She can't endure that.

She's started to eye her son's God awful energy abominations in a can, for God sake! Desperate time's and all that...

Zyeyooom!

Thunk!

Which? Is how? The ENTIRE class of 1-H? Turns to stare in ABSOLUTE HORROR at the cackling, head thrown back, hands clawed, mad scientist "it's alive! It's aliiiiiiive" type insanity that is Hatsume Mei and her "this green goo I found from some guys Quirk" powered teleport anchor.

It MADE A HOUSE.

On SCHOOL FUCKING GROUNDS. An ENTIRE house! Is... is that a blimp? That's English right? What's it say?! What the FUCK is that sh- OH MY GOD ARE THOSE PEOPLE!? MEI!!!!!

So begins... the Fentons Beef With A Child™.

Because! Mei will forever more claim! That SHE brought them to this universe with HER magnificent machine! But Maddie and Jack? At first, trying to be nice about it, helpfully point out, actually? No. THEIR house can and does reality jump. THEY brought themselves.

Mei ignores them.

Crows about her magnificent machine. Scoffs about them thinks they haspd anything to do with it.

Oh... oh it is ON, you tiny pink haired little shit!

Does the Japanese Government want to take control of the situation? Of course they do. They want these scientists and they want that house. Local Nedzu's say? "It's nice to want things" :) *sips tea mockingly*

They landed on HIS school's grounds. Finders keepers!

You may say "threat to national security" but HE says "free support gear for the students and security for the school"! Not to MENTION all this delightful FREE clean energy! They are a delightful couple. With a portal to the fabric between realities in their basement!

Not found of the laboratory, but that's a personal issue. The ZONE however? Oooohohohohoho~☆

It? Would DRIVE THE HPSC and Japanese government BATSHIT INSANE that they can't get at the portal? That threats and stealth Heros and every other method? Just... hits a brick wall. A big ol "lol nope!" Meanwhile Nedzu and occasionally random teachers or students are popping in and out of this house they can get into?

Nedzu especially standing just on the other side of the shields going >:3 neener~ neener~ neener~ Ha ha! I could be mature about this but am CHOOSING NOT TO BE!

@legitimatesatanspawn @mutable-manifestation @hdgnj @hypewinter @babbling-babull

[tenwhiteandalusians]

olivia rodrigo get him back! dot mp3. so you’re telling me tenax ARRESTED his boyfriend while he was emotionally at his lowest for a trick they used to pull together in order to convince him to come back to him. it’s not like you could’ve just asked or anything.

and then no one said anything about the fact that if i watched ONE MORE episode tenax pulls a "i'm not angry i'm just disappointed i'm hurt" about scorpus signing with the white faction.

[merakiui]

Kink and orgasm for the eels, please🌷

>:) many thoughts for those two.......

(nsfw asks)

kink — what are their kinks? do they have a primary kink? are there any kinks they’d be interested in trying? are there any kinks they don’t like or aren’t interested in trying?

I like to imagine both eels operate under the notion that they'll try everything at least once, especially kinks that they've never even heard of (like the ones that are most common amongst land-dwellers and may be impossible to achieve or unheard of in the sea). It's mostly a curiosity and a source of entertainment.

For Jade, I think he adores shibari and bondage. Anything that involves a level of clinical patience (which Jade definitely has). There's something beautiful in having you tied up with all kinds of pretty rope patterns. Even better if he has you squirming while you're bound, entirely at his mercy hehe. Of course it goes without saying he's a feet guy. I feel like the trio admire feet and legs to an extent, but Jade's more unhinged about it than Floyd and Azul are. <3 humiliation is another big one. Jade is a Freak (affectionate) and he loves it whenever you insult him or talk down to him or humiliate him in any way. Please bully him! orz

Also,,,, he'd love to try knife play at some point. Perhaps he'd even be willing to try bottoming just to know what it feels like. Something something reverse predator-prey play, in which Jade plays the prey role. Jade's mostly flexible when it comes to trying new things, but he (like Floyd) will be firm in the things he isn't interested in. I feel like he'd love to enjoy food play, but with his voracious appetite it's difficult to not just devour all of the food decorating your body and so for that reason it isn't a favored kink of his. He'll still be willing to do it with you if you ever wish for it, though. Jade will never say no to two of his favorite things: you and food.

He wouldn't be outright open with kinks he thinks are too extreme or dangerous (by human standards,, but also he isn't an easily read book), but if you're willing to try them (and genuinely trust him and yourself) he wouldn't be opposed.

For Floyd,,,, what hasn't he tried? Floyd never truly settles on any go-to kinks just because his tastes are prone to change, and he enjoys doing new and exciting things in the bedroom. But if you pay close attention you'll notice a pattern. If you're smaller than him, he loves the size difference and uses that to his advantage. Sometimes he likes it when you play more dominating roles in bed; other times he has you lie back and he'll do all of the work. Floyd isn't picky.

A big lover of oral sex and cunnilingus. That tongue of his works wonders. He loves being between your thighs. Loves having you sit on his face. Loves licking your tears away. I think he's the twin with the bigger breeding kink. It doesn't matter if you can't get pregnant; Floyd just loves the idea of starting a family with you, and it's mer instincts that compel him to cum inside every time. Depending on his mood, he'll cum anywhere on your body, but nothing can beat doing it inside.

As much as he wants to like it, he just can't get into choking you. >_< he doesn't like the idea of hurting his shrimpy, even though he knows it can be okay if it's done safely and correctly. He can't bring himself to inflict lots of pain, even if said pain might be hypothetical or it's more psychological than anything. Now if you wanted to choke him..... say less because he is SO READY. He also doesn't like to be on the receiving end of restraints. Maybe he'll try it once or twice if he loves you (and he does, wholeheartedly), but he'll squirm a lot. The last time you gagged him he chewed through the leather. T_T Floyd has to be patient if he wants the pleasure you've promised him, and you always provide. <3

He wants to try it all, so please experiment with him!!

orgasm — how would their partner(s) know if they orgasm? what is their orgasm reaction like? are they sensitive after having an orgasm? what is the most effective way to get them to quickly orgasm?

Jade isn't very loud unless he wants to be and then he might consider exaggerating it for the sake of his own entertainment. I do think his voice goes up ever so slightly in pitch and he sounds just a little more breathless. Jade's brain turns to mush when he cums and so he's dazed and silly in the aftermath. The façade falls away and he's just Jade, sweet and clingy and soft. It took him some time to get accustomed to the sensations of sex in his human form. Perhaps he's just a little more sensitive in mer form than he is in human form, especially when it's breeding season.

I like to imagine Floyd has a tendency to bury his face in the crook of your neck or in your chest (anywhere that's warm, where he can hear and taste your heartbeat) when he cums. Sometimes he's a gasping, panting mess and other times he'll grunt or moan lowly. It really depends. Floyd loves to lose himself in sex with you. In the aftermath, though, he's quiet and more subdued, choosing to bask in the silence with you as both of you come down from your highs. He clings as he usually does, but his recovery time is notably fast. Within minutes, he's up and ready to fetch whatever it is you might need. He's far more sensitive in mer form than he is in human form. Floyd thinks the sensations are duller in human form.

[ariesize]

emmrich x rook: and i'll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands)

A/N: I definitely did not write an 8k word fic about Rook going crazy insane over Emmrich's hands. You definitely can't read it on ao3 here or below the cut.

TW for smoking, drinking, blood.

It’s not something she notices when they first meet. She’s a little busy stopping the end of the world and her priorities are in other places at the moment. It takes a little while, a few weeks after he is officially a member of the team and settled in. After Weisshaupt and Minrathous and all of the other horrors they've experienced recently. 

It happens during a game of Wicked Grace, of all things. 

Rook isn't playing but is happy to sit, enjoying being surrounded by a few members of her team Varric’s team - you're just a placeholder baby. Harding brought the cards, Lucanis picked the wine, and Davrin and Emmrich were all too happy to join in on the game Harding proposed. 

It's a good thing Rook didn't take a hand of cards for herself, as her concentration has wandered to one subject in particular. One person, completely oblivious to where Rook’s thoughts have ventured over the course of the evening. All he’s doing is holding a few cards, passing them back and forth and it's not special in any way - truly a perfectly ordinary moment during a perfectly ordinary evening. She barely even knows him, but all Rook can look at, all she can think about, are Emmrich’s hands. 

All of him is pleasant to look at. He looks good, presents himself in a confident way that she noticed immediately upon their first meeting in the Necropolis, but what's taken her aback are his hands. The rings adorning his long thin fingers glisten just so in the candle light, the delicate way he holds the cards and the way he picks up his wine glass, the bangles on his wrists that make the most pleasing sounds. Rook is entranced. Hypnotized. She has never wanted anything more than she wants those hands on her, in her, anywhere near her as often as she can have them. 

And he has no idea, is none the wiser to the turn of Rook’s thoughts. She knows this is completely inappropriate; he would absolutely never want to fraternize with a girl young enough to be his student would he? She tries to snap out of it, tries to pay attention to the game in front of her but her eyes keep catching the glint of his rings, keep noticing the way he fiddles with which card to place down, how he organizes them just so with fingers skimming the top until they land on the perfect card. She wants to know how those rings would feel caressing her face, her body. Would they be cold? Would they leave marks if he pressed down with a little force on her throat or hips? Would they sting if he slapped her across her ass? Would he keep them on even when-

She snaps out of it, drinks the rest of her wine, abruptly stands up and excuses herself while quickly mentioning that she needs to clean her knives, enjoy the rest of your game, goodnight everyone. Turns heel and all but sprints out of the dining room. It's rude, she knows, and will explain herself properly tomorrow if asked. I just can't have them getting rusted or dull - old crow habits, you know. It's a flimsy excuse but still perfectly reasonable if anyone were to pry. 

When she's safe behind the closed door of the meditation chamber, she does not continue to think about her teammate. She does not sit on the green velvet chaise lounge and think about his hands on her, his voice so rich and smooth and gentlemanly. He's always ready with a compliment and oh, how she loves it when he tells her nicely done, Rook! Would he have such compliments ready if she got on her knees, ready to do as he said? 

Rook tells herself she can do this once, get it out of her system, look him in the eyes tomorrow and claim she's never touched herself to thoughts of him. How improper. Where is her sense of decorum!

But tonight she uses her own hand and pretends it's his. She digs out the two rings she has in her pack, little trinkets she’s picked up here and there, places them on her fingers and grips her throat just so and there, just faintly are two little indentations. Tonight she can pretend there's more and the hand who gave them to her isn’t the one between her legs but the one that is currently across the courtyard and far away from where she wants it to be. 

Tomorrow she’ll set her head straight. Tonight she comes with his name on her lips and knows immediately she's absolutely fucked. 

-

Rook’s lounging on the couch in the library, comfortable as the day is long. There was no reason to leave today so she's taking time to relax - the fact that she protested for a long time when this was suggested by Varric even though her body was screaming for a break notwithstanding. She's not planning, she's not preparing, she's not strategizing like she knows she should be. Instead, she's laying on the couch, an apple in one hand and a knife in the other. She's cutting pieces and eating them, snapping the slices with audible crunch while her attention is on the scene in front of her. 

Standing at the bookshelf are Lucanis and Emmrich. She’s fully staring at them, watching them pick books off the shelves and return others to their spots all nice and neat. What they're searching for, she hasn't a clue, and truly couldn't care less because that's not at all relevant to her train of thought.

No, she's staring at Emmrich’s hands again. Moving across spines, flipping through pages, tracing lines on the page and softly reading them out to Lucanis. Rook cuts the apple, puts the slice in her mouth, closes her lips but doesn't bite. No, that would be far too rational and her brain is not functioning at the moment. She gently pokes and prods it with her tongue, swirls around it a few times and pulls it out with a gentle pop, a small trail of saliva still connecting her to the fruit.

The men in front of her are none the wiser, still speaking in hushed tones about demons and spirits and gods. They have no idea that Rook is daydreaming not of an apple slice, but a certain necromancer’s finger in its place. She gently bites the apple, pulls the slice away from her mouth, thinking that instead maybe this is what it would be like to pull one of his rings off his fingers. He might hold his hand out, ready for her to spit it back into his palm. She would do that with each ring if he asked her to.

She'd do anything for his hands to be on her, his attention turned away from the book and his gentle voice, a little deeper and a little darker perhaps, could be teaching her instead of Lucanis. 

She's completely lost in thought that when she goes to cut another slice from the fruit she misses completely. The knife, thankfully a slightly dull one from the kitchen and not one of her blades, goes directly across her palm and not right through it like it could have. Blood seeps out the cut, not deep enough to warrant any real worry but enough for Rook to gasp in pain loud enough to rouse the interest of her two friends. 

“Rook? Everything alright?” Lucanis asks, seemingly noticing her for the first time since she sat down over half an hour earlier. He and Emmrich walk over to her, see her bloody palm, and leap into action. 

“It's alright, please there's no need to worry. I just cut myself by accident. It's not even that deep,” Rook protests. She stands up, begins walking away to go clean and wrap her hand, when Emmrich steps in front of her. 

“Mind if I lend a hand?” he asks, and oh how Rook would have begged to hear those words in any other context but this. He gently takes her hand and examines her palm, says “Come upstairs with me, if you want. I can clean and wrap it for you,”. 

“No, it's alright, thank you, I don't want to interrupt-” she starts, fumbling her words as she looks at her hand in his. More blood is rushing out, threatening to drip down her arm and onto the floor, but she doesn't care. She needs to get out of this situation before she embarrasses herself even further. 

“Rook, please, I wouldn't have offered it if I didn't want to help. It'll only take a moment.” Emmrich says, and well, she might as well let this cut be worth something. She grumbles in agreement, allowing him to pull her along up to his rooms. 

On the stairs, she glances down at Lucanis. He’s regarding the two of them with squinted eyes and a smirk on his face, that bastard. 

“Crows know better than to cut their hands while slicing apples, Rook.” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“If you tell Viago about this I'm sending you back to jail.” Rook deadpans. 

At the top of the stairs she follows Emmrich into his study. He points at his desk and tells Rook to take a seat, it'll only take him a moment to gather supplies. She sits on top of it, not sure if that's what he meant but not wanting to be trapped behind the piece of furniture either. Oh how she's thought of this scenario many times since the Wicked Grace night. In none of them was she bleeding, however, but she's still slightly shocked to have even gotten to this point. 

She makes a note to pull herself together when he emerges into view, sleeves rolled up and carrying a tray with bandages, cloths, and what she assumes is some form of antiseptic. His rings and bracelets, she notices, are still on.

“I apologize, but this might sting a little,” Emmrich says as he takes a piece of cloth and motions for her to place her hand in his. He gently starts wiping away the blood from her palm, careful not to put any pressure on the cut. It’s a little messy, more blood seeping from her palm with every swipe of the cloth. He’s gentle and diligent and so concentrated that she can't help it if her heart rate goes up. Being the object of his attention is too much. Her face is flushed, she’s shaking a little, and worst of all she can feel the heat between her legs building all too vibrantly. 

All because he’s touching her, and her blood is on his hands. There's a few smudges on his fingers, barely any at all really, as he holds her hand with her palm facing upwards. Rook didn’t know she had a thing for blood until this moment, but she’s so flustered by this sight that she wishes the cut was deeper, more bloody, covering his hands while he patches her back up. He’s so gentle but still maintains perfect control over her, flipping her hand around and moving it this way and that. Emmrich could tell her to pick up a book and start reading it outloud right now and she would listen, do exactly as he said. 

“Please be more careful next time you decide to eat an apple. We wouldn't want our fearless leader to chop off a finger,” he says, his tone light and humorous and miles away from where her own thoughts have wandered.

Rook smiles, laughs a little, says she promises to save the injuries for the battlefield. He presses a different cloth, this one soaked in antiseptic, to her hand. He was right - it does sting a little, but her blood is still on his fingers and she wants to offer to clean them for him, bring them up to her mouth and indulge in her fantasy from earlier.

The hand holding hers moves up her wrist just a tad, but it's enough to clue him into her current state. He presses down gently, furrows his brows a little. “Rook, your heart is racing. Are you sure you're feeling alright?” he asks. 

No, she wants to say, I am feeling quite troubled and am in need of your assistance. It wouldn't take much to bring his hands up to her face, mouth, throat, or down to her chest, her hips, between her legs. He's staring at her with concern written clear as day across his face and not realizing the position they are in. She’s fully sat on his desk while he stands in front of her close enough that when they look at each other she has to tilt her head up a little. He's not quite between her legs but a little repositioning and that could be fixed. It's the perfect set up. It's all of her fantasies mixed into one. 

“I'm just still a little distracted these days,” the rational part of her brain that is luckily still connected to her mouth supplies. “It's been a difficult few weeks. I haven’t been sleeping that well,” she adds, hopefully convincing him that that's truly the only thing in her mind. 

He hums in agreement, now slowly and methodically wrapping up her hand. The blood is seeping through the bandage but only just so. Not enough to make a mess. Not enough to, say, get on any other surfaces, any other present parties who have no idea what they’re doing to her. Rook sighs, closes her eyes a little, wills away these thoughts in favor of trying to have a normal conversation and not thinking about getting bent over this desk and fucked into next week. 

Her eyes snap open and she prays that she didn't say that out loud. 

“Well, I’m no healer, but if you have trouble sleeping you are more than welcome to stop in for a chat and a nightcap,” Emmrich says while letting go of her hand and cleaning up the bloody rags. She isn’t surprised by the invitation. She knows he enjoys a few vices in life, he knows his wines and she’s smelled the smoke from a pipe he keeps stashed away on more than one occasion. 

“That's incredibly kind. Thank you, Emmrich.” she said, still looking up at him through her lashes. She knows exactly what she's doing when she bats her eyes, once, twice, lets her mouth rest into an easy smile and tries to look as innocent as possible. The eye contact they’re making is full of tension. He looks down at her lips, only for a moment but it's enough for Rook to notice.

A-ha, she thinks, I got you.

He looks back up at her, his mouth slightly agape in what can only be the realization of their predicament hitting him all at once. He’s again holding her bandaged hand between them, their eye contact unbreaking and it would be so easy to move her legs, spread them slightly so he’s properly standing between them. She could nudge him forward with her foot and wrap her legs around him, so simple then for him to take her face in his hands and kiss her until her brain is quiet. The desk behind her is clear of anything breakable and all she would have to do is lay back and-

Emmrich clears his throat, breaks their eye contact first, steps away from a position that seems to be closer to her than he was a moment ago. Was he as wrapped up in the moment as she was? Drifting into her space, compelled by the same force that’s been driving her mad for weeks on end? 

“Well!” he says, a little loudly and a little too forcefully, “Lucanis and I were in the middle of some terribly interesting research and I should be getting back-” 

“Of course!” she interrupts,  “I’d hate to take up any more of your time!” Rook states, sliding off of his desk and walking over to the door. She pauses, her hand gently pushing the door open. “Thank you again, Emmrich. I just might take you up on that nightcap soon.” 

She leaves, doesn’t look back, but doesn’t hear him move to go downstairs either. She claims that as a win. One small step in the right direction.

-

Rook has upped her flirting significantly since she cut her hand. He has to have noticed, there can’t be any way he hasn’t. There have been some moments, none of them confirming or denying anything other than the fact that he likes to be around her as much as she likes to be around him. 

Moments in his study, in the kitchen, in passing in hallways or on their long treks across the various areas of Thedas where their help is needed. He comes with her almost everywhere now. She's not sure when that started but now it's an unspoken rule that if she's heading off towards danger, Emmrich is by her side. If anyone has noticed they have kept it to themselves, bless them. 

This night is one of those where she is reminded just how much she cherishes her crew. They’ve all gathered for family dinner as Taash has started calling it. Dinner has since ended, Lucanis and Neve are in the kitchen under the guise of cleaning up but really just wanted an excuse to talk away from prying eyes and ears. The wine is flowing freely and quickly, smiles are on everyone's faces, conversations are loud and everything is perfect. 

Rook is sitting with Bellara and Davrin, the three elves swapping silly stories from their previous lives. Davrin is telling a story from his childhood that has Rook and Bellara in absolute stitches. Davrin seems more calm and cool than other Warden’s she's met before. He’s serious when he needs to be, don’t get her wrong, but he knows how to unwind and how to spin a tale so interesting that you can’t help but give him your undivided attention. 

Rook goes to take a sip of her wine and notices the glass is empty. She looks around for the current open bottle and spots it next to Emmrich. At that moment he catches her looking from her glass to the bottle and raises his eyebrows in a silent question, gesturing to the bottle and then to her. Rook nods and smiles, holds her glass towards him slightly to show him the poor, empty state of it. He smiles and gets up, grabs the bottle and wanders over to the group, first topping off Bellara’s glass and filling up Rook’s.

“Oh! Thank you Professor!” Bellara says with a smile that could light up even the darkest, dankest cavern in the Hossberg Wetlands. If anyone was the physical embodiment of the sun and all things nice, it was Bellara. Her happiness was infectious as always, and heightened by the alcohol, Rook found herself to be terribly happy as well. 

Rook never addressed Emmrich by his title. Of course she recognized his profession outside of this team was a prestigious one, but she wasn’t his student or colleague so it never felt right to say it. Not to say she hadn’t thought about it. She’s definitely let her mind wander to a world where she’s sitting in the audience at one of Professor Volkarin’s lectures. She’s seen him get heated in debates with Lucanis and Bellara before and knows how passionate he can be when talking about the subjects he’s devoted his life to. She knows that focus would only come across even more intensely in a classroom setting. 

And so what if she gets a little turned on by that? He would be her authority figure in this situation. Maybe she could have studied under him, been his star pupil, the student he was most proud of. He would be ready to go with compliments, and she would get to watch him cast all day. The way he moves his hands while performing a ritual is exactly that, a performance. He takes on the role not of Professor or Necromancer but Conductor, his hands instructing a music unheard and unseen by Rook.

So, what if she sees a way to use this to her advantage. 

Emmrich is already correcting Bellara, asking her to please drop the title in a setting like this, amongst friends and not in the halls of the Necropolis, when Rook pipes up from next to her,

“Yeah, thank you Professor,” she says. Her cheeks are red from the wine, her lips slightly parted as she raises the glass and  takes a sip. She doesn’t let the moment linger any longer and turns her attention back to her companions, but she hears his sharp intake of breath next to her. 

He recovers smoothly, leaving the bottle with them and returning to his previous spot. Rook glances at Emmrich out of the corner of her eye and sees him grabbing his glass and bidding his companions farewell for the evening. Harding and Taash quickly follow, and Rook knows now is her best shot. 

After a few minutes she too picks up her still full glass, apologizes for interrupting the story but she simply can’t sit up straight any longer and needs to go to her room before she passes out in the dining room. She leaves before anyone can respond and call out the fact that minutes ago she was wide awake and conversing just fine. 

Rook’s not exactly sober, but she’s sober enough to consider the possibility that he doesn't want her like that, sees her only as a friend, is repulsed by her even. She thinks it through, and by the time she's approaching the library she's made up her mind and decides there's no turning back now. She heads up the right staircase in the library and knocks at Emmrich’s door, and hears him yell a “Come in!” from the other side. Rook slips in and gently closes the door behind her. Emmrich is at his desk, striking a match and lighting up the contents of the pipe hanging from his mouth. 

“I had a feeling that might be you at the door. Please, come in!” he says, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose. It’s unreasonably attractive, seeing him like this. It’s a perfectly normal activity and yet he makes it look so elegant that Rook can’t help but find herself staring openly at him. 

“Thought I’d drop in for that nightcap and conversation you promised me a while back,” she says, trying to make her voice as smooth and steady as possible. They've had countless late night conversations and drinks together since he gave her permission to seek him out on sleepless nights but she's hoping this reminder evokes the memory of their almost almost kiss. She approaches his desk and leans her hip up against it, taking a sip of her drink. 

This is definitely one of the more relaxed states she's seen him in. His vest is off, his glove is missing, his shirt unbuttoned (only the top one, but she’s never seen it unbuttoned at all before) and lacking the usual skull collar pins, but his hands and arms are still covered in his gold jewelry.

He takes another drag from his pipe, says “Well there’s no better time than the present. Is there something on your mind?” on his exhale, not blowing the smoke directly at Rook but letting it waft around them, creating a haze in the room. 

“Not particularly,” she says, carefully enunciating each syllable. She thinks for a moment and then backtracks, tapping thoughtfully against her temple like an idea just came to her. “Actually, there might be one thing,” she says, letting the pause sit between them like the smoke in the room. 

“You see, Professor,” she says his title just to see if he would react. And he does, his eyes widening and his face going a little red, coughing slightly as he exhales more smoke. 

“Rook-” he starts, she tries to interrupt him but he talks over her, adding “Rook please, I have to insist that you do not call me that.” he says, the mood shifting from flirty to serious in an instant. Rook’s smile fades and she moves to stand up, already spewing apologies that she’s taken this too far, she’ll drop it instantly, let him get back to his evening when he reaches out and lays a hand on her leg to keep her still. 

Instead of kicking her out like she expects, he stands up and circles the desk, coming around to face her. It’s a familiar moment, exactly the one she wanted to recreate, just now with less blood and more heat and all Rook can do is look up at him, take a sip of wine and set her glass down next to her. Emmrich's pipe is burning away, seemingly forgotten about in favor of this moment between them. He’s not quite leaning into her space, but his height compared to her causes her to lean back against the desk, bracing herself with her hands behind her. 

“I apologize if I’ve gotten this all wrong, and I’ll stop calling you…that. I promise it won’t happen again,” Rook is saying, her eyes following his hands as he moves the one from her thigh and presses them together in front of him as he often does. Breathing deeply, her fears start singing full force in her head. She swears what they’ve been doing is flirting, and she doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable by her advances, especially using his title and their age difference as fuel. 

She’s worrying, clearly it must be plain as day on her face, because what happens next is something straight from her imagination. Pinch her, she might be dreaming. 

She’s about to apologize even further when she feels his finger under her chin, shutting her up more effectively than anything else ever has. He tilts her chin up just slightly, and she knows she looks like a mess right now. Rook feels her cheeks burning and knows her eyes are wide and glassy. 

“I’m not asking you to stop it because I don’t want you to leave me alone, and not even because I don’t like it,” he elaborates. “I only mention it because I’m finding that I do like it, maybe a little too much.” 

Rook is at a loss for words. She’s completely shocked, elated but caught way completely off guard.

“I have never had such a…relationship with a student before and I don’t intend on crossing those lines now. However, I have noticed the increasingly flirtatious way you act around me and I can’t pretend I'm not equally as affected by your presence any longer.” Emmrich says, his finger moving from under her chin, gently caressing her face as it travels up to her cheek. The rest of his hand rests against the side of her jaw, his fingertips just brushing her cheekbone. His thumb swipes gently over her lip, and Rook has to stop the moan threatening to escape her throat with all of her might. 

“There is quite a distance in the years between us, my dear, so please tell me if I’ve overstepped and taken this too far.” he says, his voice soft and low and she doesn’t feel real right now, doesn’t know if this is just the most realistic dream she’s ever had and she’ll wake up hot and flustered and aching with her need for him. 

To answer him she does exactly what she’s wanted to since that day she watched him play cards. She tilts her head down ever so slightly, opens her mouth and takes his thumb in her mouth. Looking up at him she gently sucks before releasing it, effectively rendering him absolutely stunned. Eyes blown wide, mouth hanging open, and she knows the walls between them are officially dust. 

“No, I don’t think you’ve misread the situation at all.” she says, her own hand coming up to grab at the one he has against her cheek. She takes it and brings it in front of her, and loses all sense of self control. Never breaking eye contact with him, she takes his pointer finger and licks a stripe up it, her tongue catching on the ring at the base (cold, she notes, just like she hoped). 

And that's the end of any distance between them. The end of the what if’s and the maybe, maybe not’s she cycles through daily. He gets his hand into her long, wavy hair, the other falls to her hip and he's pulling her head back, exposing her neck and trailing the gentlest series of kisses up to her jaw. He nips at the skin there, just a hint of teeth and tongue and Rook’s mouth is completely open now, the smallest exhale turning into a full on whine at the feeling of his lips against her skin. 

“Please,” is all she can manage and she's absolutely begging now, turning her head to chase his mouth with her own. His face is right there, a millimeter of distance between them. Emmrich laughs, not because this is funny but like he too can't believe what’s happening, before finally pressing their lips together.

Rook wants to shout from the rooftops. She wants to set off fireworks and pop champagne and celebrate. She's finally got him exactly where she wants. 

Instead she adjusts her position so that she's fully sitting atop his desk. Her legs are spread wide and he's standing between them, their bodies pressed together like they can't stand even being an inch apart any longer. 

And the kiss is better than she ever could have imagined. He tastes faintly of wine, more so of smoke and something clean and sweet and oh how she's never going get enough of that. His hand at her hip is gripping her tightly, fingers roaming closer to her backside and she can feel the metal of his rings so clearly and it's so much better than she ever imagined. 

Rook pulls away to get a breath of air and he's there immediately again, kissing her like he's a man starved and she's the sweetest thing he's tasted in so long. He pulls away and she's chasing him just as intensely, just as hungry as he is. It's filthy, all tongue and teeth and she needs him everywhere. His hands, his mouth, she'd make a million blood sacrifices just to stay in this place. On his desk with his hands holding her down with just enough force to keep her steady. 

He's everywhere now, in her space, his tongue in her mouth and his hands, his hands!, finally grabbing at her in almost all of the places she's yearned for him to be. They're on her hips, her waist, slowly moving up and over her breasts and pausing briefly on her throat. He's studying her, mapping out her figure with the scholarly dedication he saves for the greater mysteries of the fade and the undead.

She’s never wanted anyone as badly as she wants him. This wonderful man whose path she never would have crossed were it not for their fight against the gods. How funny it is to find something so precious, perfect and passionate at what could very well be the end of their lives. Well, if I'm going to die anytime soon it might as well be after I learn what pleasure truly feels like, she thinks as his hands continue roaming her body. Nobody has ever made her feel like this nor has she felt such intense desire for any of her previous partners. 

She moves to undo the buttons on her shirt, thanking the Maker she had the foresight to leave off the belt she usually wears for the evening, ready to grant him more access to her skin. He accepts this eagerly, pushing the shirt down her shoulders and taking a step back to look her over. 

And look her over is exactly what he does. Emmrich takes his time, letting his eyes trail over her like she is his most prized possession, a piece of art he'd been looking for all his life. She knows she must look slightly crazed and disheveled, her breaths coming fast and hard as she tries to regain her composure. Her blonde hair is pushed behind her pointed ears, swept off her shoulders to give him a view of as much skin as she can with her pants and bandeau still on. 

And it must all hit him at once, the reality of the path they’re headed down, because suddenly his expression is sober, not shocked but curious as if he doesn't know how this could have possibly happened. 

“Maker’s breath,” Emmrich whispers, turning away from her with one hand on his hip and the other rubbing the back of his neck. She is starting to get worried now, maybe this was too good to be true, maybe he changed his mind and doesn't want her after all. 

“Emmrich?” Rook calls out, fear and worry taking over. “Is everything alright?” 

He spins back around to face her, stands with one arm crossed over his chest and the other propped against it, his hand at his mouth with a deeply serious expression on his face. Every trace of want is gone from his features, and if it weren't for the red in his cheeks and a single strand of hair out of place no one would ever have known that only a minute ago he was kissing her silly and stupid. 

He breathes once, twice, opens and closes his mouth as he searches for the right words. All he ends up saying, however, is simple, cutting right to her nerves and her fears.

“Why?” he asks. Rook’s heart drops, all color draining from her face. 

“I'm sorry?” she asks. She's stunned. She thought he wanted her as much as she wanted him, but clearly that couldn't be any less true. He's looking at her like she's a lost child, a girl who doesn't know what she's doing. 

“Rook,” he starts, with such a softness in his voice and finally reaching out to touch her again. He steps in closer, not as close as they were earlier but close enough to cup his hand around her cheek. She leans into the touch, wanting to press her lips to his palm but holding back the urge. 

“Rook, please forgive me. I don't mean any insult - you’re absolutely marvelous, but I have to know. Why me? The gap between our years is almost as much as your own age. You wouldn't feel more comfortable with one of the others?” he's saying, and of course Rook should have expected this. 

“I don't want any of the others. I want you.” is all she can say in return, her hand coming up to press softly against his which still rests against her cheek. “I don't care that you’re older than me. In fact, it's kind of a turn on.” she says, a smile slowly returning to her face. “I wouldn't be here right now if I didn't want you, Emmrich.”

She takes their intertwined hands and starts slowly moving them down her throat, down her chest until they reach her tits. She grabs his other hand and brings it to her hip, tugging him slightly closer in the process. 

“You don't even understand how much I want you, how I've daydreamed of your hands on me since we met.” she says softly, grabbing onto the lapels of his shirt and pulling him closer. “How badly I want to please you.” Rook says, swiftly unbuttoning his shirt halfway, exposing more skin than she's ever seen on him before. “How badly I want you to please me.”

And finally, finally, his mouth is on hers again. It's gentler this time, not so rushed and urgent. He sets a slow but deeply satisfying pace, takes his time to rebuild the passion from earlier. She wants to go fast, wants his hands to stop roaming everywhere but towards her pants buttons, how badly she wants to show him just how ready and wanting she is. 

Emmrich must sense where her thoughts are because he's pulling away from their kiss, but this time he's grabbing her hands and tugging her along across his study to the bed he has tucked away in a corner behind the spiral staircase. 

Rook sheds her shoes and pants fairly quickly while walking across the room. As soon as he's back within arms reach she starts tugging his shirt untucked and unbuttoning the rest. She’s standing there in just her smallclothes now but there's something about the way he’s looking at her, looking so affected by her want for him that makes her feel stark naked. She pushes up onto her tiptoes and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him back in for another searing kiss. He bites her bottom lip, so gently and softly but Rook wishes it was harder, wishes he would draw blood and kiss it away. She tucks that fantasy in a drawer in her mind, saving it for later - perhaps another time she can bring it up but now, today, is just about beginnings.

He takes a few steps backwards and sits on the edge of his bed and she's all too eager to join him, sitting down on his lap with her knees on either side of his thighs. His hands are on her waist, almost covering her entire midsection, and she slowly, slowly starts rocking her hips back and forth and the gasp he lets out is the most treasured sound she’s ever heard. She can already feel that he is enjoying this as much as she is, but she’s rewarded even further by his praise. 

Emmrich tells her that she’s exquisite, and doing such a good job, and it just about sends her over the edge there and then. His praise in their everyday interactions always flustered her but here, now, with his lips brushing her ear and his hands on her naked skin it’s otherworldly. He can tell she’s getting too restless, too antsy for this to move forward quickly so she can release this tension building inside of her, and does what Rook always hoped he would. He takes the lead, takes control, instructs her on exactly what to do.

“Darling there is no need to rush tonight,” he says. “Just relax, I promise I’m not going anywhere,” and how she melts, how she sighs and drapes herself over him like her body has turned to liquid. He’s rock hard under her and she’s wetter than she's ever been in her life and he still hasn’t moved his hands down further, rather opting to stroke up and down her sides, occasionally coming up to brush her face, her chest, or gripping hard onto her thighs. It’s driving her absolutely mad, and the more friction she seeks the harder the pressure with which he holds down her thighs becomes. It's hard enough to bruise now, and Maker how she hopes he leaves her covered in marks that only they know exist. She’s in ecstasy, in agony, in everything in between and is seeking a deeper sensation with great fervor. 

Emmrich’s kisses begin venturing down, moving from her lips down her throat and eventually to her chest. His hands move up to slowly unclasp her bandeau and expose her tits. He leans back just slightly, taking in her appearance slowly, savoring each new patch of skin, each scar because she truly is littered with them. Being a crow is not an easy life for multiple reasons but vanity gets dismissed almost immediately when wounds heal poorly, quickly, and the reminders of what once was stays in thin white lines. 

“Gorgeous, absolutely perfect,” he whispers like he physically can’t stop the words from leaving his mouth. Rook’s had enough - she’s writhing in his lap like a pathetic lovestruck fool and needs him to do something now. As much as she’d rather this sped up to the main event, she’s glad he’s so insistent on taking their time, reminding her she’s something to savor and not a quick fuck to pass the time.

She takes his hand, slowly moving it down from her waist to between her legs, only a thin strip of fabric separating her from his hand now. He raises his eyebrows at this, kisses her once, and finally lets his hands wander past her underwear, tugging them down and practically ripping them off of her. She shimmies out of them, kicks them to the floor and she’s finally, gloriously naked atop him and he's still almost fully clothed but the disheveled state of him is just as obscene. 

Emmrich brings his hands between them and starts to remove his rings but Rook intercepts, asks, “Please, can you keep them on a while longer,” and he smiles, laughs softly and says “Any particular reason why?” 

Her skin is burning, her face must be redder than the wine she was drinking only an hour before. “It’s just,” she starts, sighing and grabbing his decorated hand and kissing his palm, running his fingers across her lips. “Your hands, your rings, they’ve caught my attention once or twice,” is all she can provide before her embarrassment overtakes her arousal. 

“Oh do tell,” he says, enjoying this indulgence into her private fantasies. She can’t face him and say this so she does the next best thing, buries her face in his neck as he strokes her back, gently persuading her into telling him what’s on her mind. 

“I just…you have incredibly attractive hands,” she explains. “I may or may not have…frequently…fantasized about them,” she adds, her face absolutely burning with embarrassment. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Rook. If you tell me what exactly my hands are doing in these fantasies, I’d be more than happy to turn them to reality,” he says against her ear, kissing the tip of it and slowly running his finger along the edge of the other one. 

And the dam is broken, her brain has short circuited and everything is flowing freely. “Touching me, choking me, fingering me,” she blurts out, “Holding onto me tight enough to leave marks. Sometimes letting me remove your rings with my teeth.” 

“You spend that much time thinking about my hands?” Emmrich questions, not in a demeaning or accusatory way, but with lust and wonder and pure want drenching his words. 

“I told you. You have no idea how badly I want this, how badly I want you,” Rook says.

“Well, who am I to deny you of such an innocent request,” he says, letting his hands wander back down her body, rings still firmly in place. He lets one hand grip her hip, the other continuing to move south until finally reaching its destination, finally making small circles around her clit, so confident in his knowledge of her despite this being the first time he’s touched her. It’s like all those times she’s touched herself and imagined it's him, his deft fingers not even second guessing where to go because he just knows exactly what to do. 

The moment his fingers find that already throbbing bundle of nerves she’s absolutely done. Head tipped back, moans and sighs freely escaping her throat, it takes everything in her not to come on the spot. She holds on as long as possible, letting his fingers work their magic. Slowly he thrusts two digits inside of her, saying, “You’re being so good for me, taking my fingers so nicely,” and it's too much, not enough, she needs all of him immediately. 

And to think only a short time ago she had no idea what tonight held in store for her, had no idea what his hands felt like inside of her, what his voice sounded like as he talked her over the edge. 

It doesn’t take long to get there. Rook was already soaked through her smallclothes when Emmrich kissed her for the first time. One of his hands is in her hair, the other expertly coaxing her towards her release, his praise ringing through her ears. His rings are cold against her entrance, his lips are on her neck saying her name, telling her she’s amazing, and finally the waves of pleasure are crashing over her brain, her hips stuttering on his hand as his fingers trace circles around her clit and move back and forth within her. 

This time, when she comes with his name on her lips, he’s actually around to hear it, to kiss it out of her and tell her how wonderful she is, how perfect she feels, how good she did. 

She spends one moment, two, breathing and regaining control over her senses. He’s still hard beneath her and she immediately feels bad for neglecting him, for making this evening all about her. Her hands move to his waistband, trying to undo the buttons and pleasure him just as he did her, but his hands stop her from moving any further. 

“You don’t need to worry about me, Rook. As far as I’m concerned this night is about you,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over hers as she’s still catching her breath from earlier. 

“I need you, all of you,” she whines, the heat building up inside of her again at breakneck speed. She’s been thinking about this encounter for so long that she’s not going to let it be over that fast. 

“Then I am more than happy to oblige, my dear.” 

-

If the rest of the crew wasn’t wrapped up with their own affairs or actively trying to save the world, maybe they would have noticed the little glances between Rook and Emmrich. They don't see the stolen kisses in an empty kitchen, his hand gently resting on her thigh after family dinner when they're all still gathered around the table, grateful for a slow evening with each other. 

They don’t seem to notice Rook entering and exiting Emmrich’s study at odd hours in various states of dress and undress. They don’t see her pressed up against his bookshelves, or on her knees with his hands in her hair. They absolutely don't hear her moans and cries of joy, don't hear his steady voice talking her through her orgasms or the sweet nothings he whispers into her skin in the early hours of the morning. 

They definitely don't notice the time he bent her over the couch in the library, both of them slightly thrilled with the knowledge that anyone could walk in and see them. He had to keep his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet (which only wrecked her further). 

If they see the little bruises on the base of her neck, her collarbones, her arms that look suspiciously ring shaped and are only a finger's width apart, they don’t ask questions. 

It’s Neve who figures it out first, unsurprisingly. She and Rook are walking back to the eluvian after a meeting at the Cobbled Swan when she asks, 

“So, care to share what’s been going on with you and Emmrich?” She’s got a knowing look in her eyes and a friendly, teasing tone in her voice. 

“There's not much to say,” Rook says, knowing she looks incredibly guilty at the moment. She can feel her cheeks and ears heating up. She shrugs and continues, “He just…is so knowledgeable. About the fade, I mean. And I’ve been learning a lot from his instruction.” she continues futilely. Neve can see right through her if that smirk is anything to go by. 

“Oh I'm sure,” Neve says, smiling and elbowing Rook softly on the arm, detouring their route while Rook is distracted. They arrive at Neve’s favorite fried fish stand and as they get in line she adds, “You’re telling me everything while we eat. Spare no details; I want the full story.” And Rook is laughing, butterflies are fluttering in her stomach and she feels like a schoolgirl giggling about her crush. She obliges and tells Neve everything, secretly excited that they've been noticed, all too happy to gossip with her friend about this aspect of her life. 

Later, when they've returned to the lighthouse, Rook makes no excuses and heads directly up to Emmrich’s room, sparing a mirthful glance at Neve who shakes her head and laughs. She's giddy to tell him the ruse is up, that Tevinter’s finest detective has figured them out.  He's seated at his desk when she opens his door, reading over his correspondences from colleagues at the Necropolis and the latest updates from Myrna and Vorgoth. 

“Give me twenty more minutes to finish up and respond to these and I’m all yours,” Emmrich says as Rook walks over to his desk. “Maybe thirty, but no longer than that.” he adds as she walks behind his chair and wraps her arms around his neck, gently placing a small kiss on his cheek. 

“I just wanted to let you know I’m back from Minrathous. And that Neve has figured us out.” she says, savoring the way he immediately loses concentration on the materials in front of him. 

“Come again?” he asks, brows furrowed and mouth open in that delightful, flustered look he used to get when she first started flirting with him. 

“Turns out we haven't been as sneaky as I thought,” she says, moving to lean back and rest against his desk. Her arms are crossed over her chest but her voice is light, the smile she's had since her lunch outing is still plastered on her face. 

“It was bound to happen eventually with all of us living in such close proximity to one another,” he responds, much more carefree and accepting of the situation than his initial reaction was. “As much as I enjoyed this being our little secret I can’t find it within myself to care too much about the others knowing,” he adds. 

“Well, that’s all I wanted to share. I’ll leave you to it then,” Rook says as she pushes off his desk and makes for the door. She pauses when she feels Emmrich’s hand reaching out and grabbing hers, stopping her in her tracks. She turns back to face him, her eyebrows raising as he reels her back to him. 

“I thought you needed twenty or thirty minutes to finish up what you were working on,” she teases, her voice dropping to an imitation of his from earlier. She jokes, but is all too ready to go along with whatever plan he’s concocting for the rest of their afternoon.

“Well,” he says as he leans back in his chair and she settles down on his lap, knees on either side of his thighs and arms circling around his neck. “I’m sure Myrna and Vorgoth will be fine if I take a little longer than usual to get back to them.” 

“Whatever you say love,” Rook sighs as his lips meet her neck, his hands already gripping onto her hips. The world will keep turning outside of this little bubble they’ve created, the questions from their companions will start immediately once Neve confirms everyone's suspicions. 

They’ll start to really notice the glances, the touches, the private conversations in crowded rooms. But for now it's just them, alone, and Rook finds she doesn’t mind one bit. She’d follow him anywhere, do anything he asked, just to have these moments of peace at his side.

[user2772636]

Douzième Fille

12th girl

××《☆》××

××《☆》××

Years have gone by. It's now 1971. You've peaked in your career. You've become well known. But what happens when an all too familiar face returns, now more drawn to you?

===

Joseph Descamps x Reader

Warnings: steamy ASFF???, angst, swearing, alcohol consumption, shlut shaming (fuck that old man), implied smut in the end (i didn't write smut yall im nervous)

===

===

Chapter nine: You belong to me

===

You and Joseph called consistently. Phone bills got higher, but both of you could care less. Both of you sent letters, pictures, and postcards like you promised.

Joseph often sent you pictures of him and George. He sent you postcards from Italy, Germany, and some cities in France.

You often send pictures of yourself, Callum, and photoshoots. You sent him postcards from Milan, New York, Copenhagen, and more. Mostly fashion capitals in the world.

Every letter you'd send each other would contain your days, food you tried, people you met, places you've been. But in the end of each one, there'd be the same sentence.

"I love you. See you soon."

It always said that.

Years pass, the calls get less consistent, the letters talking about your days now talk about your weeks, then they start talking about your months.

You talk about college now, parties you've been invited to, alcohol you tried.

Less and less postcards. Only three to five would come in a year now, the only thing written in them is the place they've been to.

Seven years have passed. It's 1971 now. You're 23 years old. The phone ringings have stopped. The letter boxes are empty.

Joseph was now merely a memory. Something you've locked inside you. He's beginning to collect dust.

You write in your notebook about your day. You sit on your matress, only an underwear on and some sheer shirt. Your hair is up in a messy clip, bangs blown on your forehead.

Safe to say you're famous. You've been in countless magazines, influencing famous celebrities. For example, Jane Birkin with your full bangs. You actually have her number. It's in the room... somewhere.

Life in Paris has been... alright, you could say. Sure, it smells like piss, and sure, it's filled with rude people, but you grew up here, so might as well accept it.

Callum's been a big help. He's a famous photographer and car enthusiast now. He's done almost all of your photoshoots. There were some rumours that developed about you two being an item, but you quickly shut that down.

A knock is heard on your flat's front door. Callum walks in, a paper bag in hand, and a lit cigarette between his lips.

"Pretty girl," a nickname he never seemed to want to let go, "your wine is here."

You get up from your place, strutting down some steps and kissing Callum's cheek in greeting. You head to the bag placed on the kitchen counter.

"Fuck yes. Thank you, Callum. You're an angel." I place them in a gift bag, saving them for a future event.

In three days' time, a gala was to happen. It would be filled top to bottom with riches, designer clothes and items, jewels, and anything else that screams luxury. And what you're most excited about is the fact that it's a masquerade.

You, for one, were invited to this gala. The people who were invited are sort of a VIP. Only close friends of the host would be there, and knowing the host, they were luxurious as well.

Your dress was ready. Your gift was ready. Everything was ready. Even your plus one, who is very obviously Callum, was ready. Everything would be perfect.

But you were nervous. Something deep inside your gut was telling you something would happen, and you couldn't tell whether it was a bad sign or a good one. You were hoping for the latter.

It crawled through your skin. You weren't one to get nervous, especially after all the exposure to the media in the past couple of years. So this wasn't exactly normal.

Your heart was exhilarated. Your mind was all over the place. What if you didn't look your best? This was a question you haven't asked yourself in a long while. You've been so self-assured, but what changed it now? That gut feeling sucked.

You take your mind off it. You'd rather talk about your plans for that evening.

The dress you, Callum, and your stylist picked was an archive of Audrey Hepburn's 1956 film Funny Face. It was fluffy around the bottom, the end cutting off in the middle of your calf. It was off shoulder, drop waist, coloured white with accents of pink and blue for the flowers imprinted.

Some things to add on were long white silk gloves, your mask that covered anything but your eyes, along with a pair of white kitten heels, pearl earrings, and hair pieces. It reminded you of when you were young. You, in high school with your puffy skirts, pearl jewellery, and kitten heels.

There was something bugging you. Something you're missing. It was a nostalgic memory. It's something you were trying to figure out, but before you could, Callum's arm wraps around your shoulders.

"You alright, pretty girl?" He asked, worry etched in his tone.

You simply smile at him. "Yup. All good."

××《☆》××

You were riding around Paris in your vespa, the wind blowing through your hair and messing it up. It was an hour before midnight, the air colder, and the streets lit up with lights.

You wanted some air. Something about what happened earlier made your mind jumble over what it could've been. You needed to stop it from running around. It would've kept you up all night.

Your coat was on, keeping you warm. You had borrowed it from Callum, using the excuse of the fact that it was bigger, meaning it would keep you from the cold. Which was true.

He barely even used it anyway. It didn't even smell like him. Callum smelt like new cars, cigarettes, and hair gel. This coat wasn't too far, but it wasn't that close. It smelt like cigarettes, yes, but also expensive cologne. Callum doesn't wear that type of cologne.

It got your mind running again. You roll your eyes to yourself. You thought this would help. You speed your Vespa up, making it around l'Arc de Triomphe, turning to a road and going straight ahead.

The wind blew harsher, your nose getting irritated from the cold. You guess Callum's coat wasn't enough. You make some turns again till you get to Pont d'léna, now making you ride face to face with the sparkling Eiffel Tower. You got here in time for it.

Your awe for the tower never really faded even after seeing it almost every day for the past several years. Many people wish to see it for the first time again, but you, it will always feel like the first time.

You turn your head back to the road when you go right, on your way back to your flat. Your neck hurts a bit from craning it to the tower, but most of the time, it's worth it.

Again, you feel nostalgic. There's a tall figure standing on the side of the road looking up at the tower. His hair was messy, so as yours, and he was smoking a cigarette. He had something wrapped around his head. You couldn't quite focus on what he looked like exactly from the speed you were going.

You turn your head to the road again. What was that? It was probably a man you've seen around the streets, or somebody you worked with. You shrug it off and continue your ride home.

××《☆》××

It was the morning of the gala. It would start somewhere around six in the evening for dinner. You woke up early for the day.

You're outside a café with Callum, sipping on piping hot coffee and eating your pastries. Every once in a while, a flash is seen in the corner of your eye. Fans or paparazzi, you pay it no mind.

"Is there anything else we need to do or get before we prep for the gala?" You say, putting your cup down gently onto its plate.

"Nope. You seem a lot more nervous than usual. Is there something you wanna change up?" Callum asks, taking a puff out of his cigarette. You shake your head.

"Yeah, I don't know. I've been feeling it since yesterday. There's just... I think something's gonna happen. Something big." You shrug, crossing your arms and leaning on the table. Callum nods, leaning forward too, mirroring you.

"Ah, well, is it good or bad?" He questions, butting of his cigarette. You think for a while, reminiscing on the feeling.

"Actually, it might be good. That's why I'm nervous, you know? I don't want anything to get messed up. Because if something bad were to happen, well..." I shrug, hissing. Callum chuckles.

"Well, alright. We'll double-check everything so it goes smoothly for you, pretty girl." He pats your arm, reassuring you. You grab a hold of his hand, squeezing it and saying "Thank you."

It was afternoon now. You began to prepare for the gala. Your team came in a few minutes ago, and they begin working on you. You're sitting in your chair with your makeup artist fixing you up when the phone rings.

"Callum, can you get that, please?" I shout towards him. He comes out of the kitchen and into the living room we were in. He picks the phone up. You had a clear vision of everything. He leans against the wall, greeting the caller.

Then, his face shifts. It morphs into something you can't read, but Callum seems to hold in a smile. When he notices you looking at him, he turns his back towards you. Instead of speaking in a normal volume, he began to whisper.

What the fuck was that? Who could the caller be? It's probably one of his hookups, for sure. You let it slide. You'll ask about it after.

When Callum hangs up, you immediately call after him.

"Callum, who was it?" Callum turns around, hands in his back pockets and lips pursed. He does this when he's trying to hide something. You raise your brows.

"Just... someone special." He flashes a quick smile and then runs out of the room. Oh. You were right.

"Someone special" was a code name for one of the boys he fell in love with during your time here in Paris. You both were still in college. He was from the architecture department. Things happened, and things fell apart.

But then, you weren't so sure. Every time someone special called our place after their relationship, Callum was always sad after. Maybe something new happened?

When the clock hit five, everyone was on their way down stairs. You were fully prepped now, in your makeup, and dress with your jewellery and heels. Your mask was on, and you put on a large white fur coat.

Upon exiting your apartment complex, bunches of paparazzi blocked by barricades took pictures of you with their bright flashes. Callum and your team huddled around you, trying to get you safely in the car.

You get in your vehicle, and Callum had made an arrangement that he was to drive it. Nostalgia has filled your senses these past few days. You wonder what would come next.

When you arrived at the venue, wlaking through high ceiling halls and large oak doors, the room was filled with masked people, all dressed in various colours. They stood, laughed, and talked, all while drinking their preferred drinks.

It was a bit chilly in here, and you started to regret leaving your coat in your car. You didn't want to ask Callum to go with you to get it, seeing him already in conversation with the guests. You decide to go to the bar area instead.

You get your drink, fiddling with your hands as you wait. The ballroom was elegant, so much more brilliant than you thought it could be. Though, it felt rather lonely. You shake off the feeling once you receive your poison of the night.

Then, an announcement was heard. Everyone was to grab a partner to accompany them to dance. You promised Callum to enjoy the night, and you guess a dance could fulfil that.

You opted to a man who was sitting in the same bar you were in. He brought you a sense of familiarity for some unknown reason. He was slouched in his seat, ash brown hair a bit messy. He was turning his glass in circles.

"Hello." You greeted. When he turned to you, your eyes widened in wonder. He only had one eye hole, the rest of his face covered like yours. He blinks, and you could slightly hear him breathing.

"Hi." He says simply. You scan him, and there's a feeling in you that you definitely knew who this was, you just couldn't pinpoint it.

"I know I'm not in the position as a woman in this economy," you roll your eyes, "but, would you like to dance with me?"

His back straightens, and you think you've made him uncomfortable.

"Oh. I'm so sorry for even think-"

"Yes." He cuts in. He offers you a gloved hand as he stands from his barstool. You're surprised. He's taller than you imagined.

You take a hold of his hand. It's warm. Familiarly warm. He leads you into the middle of the ballroom, other guests already forming into formation. He gently takes your risks into his hold, moving up to his chest. Again, it's so familiar.

He drifts his hands to your sides and clutches it a bit. You feel as though you knew these hands. Like you've memorised the lines on the palm, the way the fingertips swirl, or how the muscles twitch and the joints move.

The orchestra starts to play, and you start to move. There's a flow you follow, and it feels so easy. You hadn't even known there was choreography, but the man you were with did. And he showed you through it.

You couldn't stop looking. Even if your neck started to hurt from looking up, even if you twirled, even if your eyes started to dry. You couldn't stop. And you didn't want to.

His eyes stayed on you all throughout the dance. The way he held you, the way he felt. He was so warm even if his body was covered in multiple layers of fabric. You could feel it. Like you've sunk into his skin.

When the dance ended, and he asked you to go with him, you agreed. You didn't know what he looked like. You only feel like you knew him, but you weren't sure. But even with that running through your head, you agreed.

The outside was cold but warmer than inside. You still shivered as you did before. Just then, a coat is wrapped around your shaking shoulders. You look up at the masked man. He took his coat off, now only dressed with a white button-up and a vest matching his pants. His already messy hair messes up even more now. It's in perfect condition to run your hands through.

You both make your way to the large railing of the balcony, taking a seat on it. It viewed the beautiful Eiffel Tower, its lights sparkling in the night. The wind blows once again. It's peaceful.

You turn your head to the man, and you almost fell over the rail. Sitting in front of you, his face finally unmasked, was Joseph Descamps. Out of all people, you didn't expect your first love to be sat in front of you. Seven years have passed, and he's still beautiful.

Your eyes began to sting as you lifted your hands to your face, discarding your own mask. He smiles, his pretty pink lips curving upward. He looks down, fiddling with the inseams of his pants. Again, it's familiar.

"Hi, Y/N." He whispers gently, taking a hold of your shaking hand. He takes your gloves off, putting them aside. He connects the tips of his fingers to yours, then encapsulates it in his warmth.

You can't speak. You can't breathe. You can't stop your heart from beating the way it was now.

"Seven years, and I finally see you again." He shows his teeth in his smile, and again, you can't stop looking.

"Still not talking?" He asks with a teasing tone, tilting his head.

"Did you know?" You asked, your voice so low you were surprised he even heard. Of course he did. He payed the closest attention to you.

"Know what?" He raises his eyebrows, anticipating your next words.

"That it was me?" He chuckles and shakes his head.

"Of course I did. I mean, I recognised you with one eye. I think I'd recognise you blind." He moves closer, bringing your hand up and placing a kiss on your knuckles.

You laugh. You lift your free hand up and cup his cheek. He leans into it, head laying heavy on your palm. He looks up at you, his eyelids heavy. Fuck.

He closes his eyes, taking his other hand to clasp at your wrist. He kisses your palm, leaving some wet patches from his open mouth. He trails his kisses up to your pulse, and you can't help but grab on his hair.

"Y/N, I've been looking-" Callum says as he runs towards the entrance of the balcony, stopping in his place at the sight of you.

"Oh, you finally met." Finally? You furrow your eyebrows, trying to figure out what he meant. Joseph pulls away from your hands, keeping his eyes on Callum. You turn my head back to the man in front of me, raising an eyebrow.

"What does he mean finally?" You ask Joseph. Callum walks towards us slowly, hands clasped behind his back.

"Uh..." Joseph looks to Callum. Callum raises his hands up. Joseph looks back to you, licking his lips before answering. "I planned it... sorry?"

"Planned it? Sorry? Joseph, why are you saying sorry? This is the best thing ever." You exclaim, and the two men just look at eachother.

"Not to ruin whatever the fuck you guys were doing just then, but the host wants some pictures, so..." He gestures to the door. You purse your lips in disappointment but nod. You get up and straighten your skirt, wiping off any wrinkles.

"I better go." You take your gloves and mask from where you were seated. "Can I see you after the gala?"

Joseph nods. "I was already planning on it." After prepping fully, you just stand there. You then lift your hand. "Bye."

Why was that so awkward? You'll save your self-beating bit later. Before you could even walk a step, Joseph takes your wrist again. You turn around to be met with a kiss on the corner of your lips.

"You look as gorgeous as the day you left." He whispers and presses another kiss on your cheek. They're beet red, you can feel it. He walks away, waving a bye to Callum, too. Callum slowly turns his head to you, then ushers you to go with him.

"What was that?" There's a cheeky smile on his face, and you try to hide your growing one.

"I don't even know."

××《☆》××

He was... clingy. The host, you meant. He was tall and built, but he was honestly so annoying. He kept bragging about his riches and talking about himself. The only time he shut up was when he took a sip of his whiskey.

You look around subtly, trying to keep yourself from rolling your eyes in front of the man, even though he could barely see them from your mask. Speaking of, he didn't wear one. This might've just been a party to make him somewhat the centre of attention for standing out.

"Dance with me, darling." You grimace. You're very glad for these masks. That nickname will be the death of you. And in a bad way.

"I don't feel like dancing. My feet are starting to hurt." I shrug, pointing to my ankles. You thought you were so smart, but he was just so insistent.

"Well, why don't we go upstairs? My office is free, and, you know," He comes disgustingly closer. You can smell his bad breath from his rotting yellow teeth. "I can help you with the aching."

Before you could retort, an arm wraps around your waist, keeping you still. You would've pushed away if you hadn't recognised his touch or his scent.

"Excuse me, sir. I must bring Ms. Pardine home immediately. She is busy tomorrow. And most definitely busy tonight." He turns his head towards you. He felt so tense. Like he was keeping something within him. A feeling so strong.

The man huffs like a child. "And who are you supposed to be?" He crosses his arms. He looks so immature, even with that saggy and wrinkley face.

"A close... friend." Joseph's hand slid down to my hips, clutching it slightly. He tugs you in closer, making you lose balance and place a hand on his chest. You refuse to look his way, or even anyones.

The other man scowls, disgust now visible in his face. "What a slut." He mumbles, finally leaving you alone. Joseph's grip on your hips tightens, and it starts to hurt you a bit.

"Joseph." You say, trying to gently push his hand away. He immediately lets go, turning to you worriedly.

"Shit. Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." He rubs your hip to relax it, but you don't relax one bit. Your heart hammers in your chest, and there's a feeling deep in your stomach.

"It's alright. Just take me home." I caress his neck before grabbing his hand, moving through the crowds of people. You try to look for Callum, but when you find him, he's talking, or quite literally eye fucking some guy he was conversating with. He can get home, you guess.

Joseph takes you home in his car. This felt weird. Not badly, just that you've never been driven by him. It felt comforting. You could get used to this.

You tell him the directions to your place, and when you make it, you pause.

"Come in?" You turn your head. Your masks were already long gone, and all you could see was his beautiful face again.

"Are you sure?" He asks, voice shaking. You can't believe he's still nervous with you, especially with that stunt he pulled with your wrist on a public balcony. You'll tease him about it soon.

"With you? Always." So then you went up to your room, and as soon as you did, his hands were on you again. He backs you up until your back hits the wall behind you. You're both breathing so heavy it's the only thing you could hear in the entire flat.

"I missed you. And I need you. So fucking much." He whispers, one hand cupping your face and the other roaming your waist. Your legs go wobbly, so you take your heels off, making you shorter than you already were standing in front of him.

"Fuck." You mumble. "Kiss me already."

He smashes his lips against yours feverishly, and you could taste everything he had that night. Wine, whiskey, cigarettes, and even strawberries. His tongue swipes your lips as he lets out a groan.

He pulls you closer, kneeling a bit to grab your thighs, then carrying you with ease, all while he loses his breath from kissing you. He lets go of your face to let his hands roam the area, not wanting to accidentally hit your wall.

"Bedroom?" He asks, parting for only a millisecond before placing his pretty pink lips on yours again. You have to fight the urge not to drown in him.

"To the left." He nods, continuing to kiss you as he reverts his way to the left side of your flats. You bump a few things on the way, like some side tables and magazines.

You finally make it to the bedroom, and he lies down gently onto your bed. He slows his lips, savouring the way you tasted. It makes you squirm in anticipation, and you feel a smirk on his lips as he continues. He parts away, a small string of saliva accentuating it. He pants before he speaks.

"I wasn't lying. I really fucking need you. Please. Please, tonight." He whimpers, arms wobbling from where he placed it to hover over you. You just can't say no.

One nod sealed the deal for him, and his lips were on you again. This time, it's on your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your eyes.

He pecks down to your neck. Everything inside you feels so fuzzy, especially when he kissed and sucked on those sensitive parts. He lowers down to your shoulders, and you can feel the bruises forming. You love the way it feels. You love the way he feels. You love him.

××《☆》××

End - Chapter nine: You Belong To Me

Next - Chapter Ten: I love you

××《☆》××

WHAT'S UP GUYS??? So, like this is nice (i need him so bad OMFGGGGG) totally can still breathe after that last scene (i can't i want him pls omg) so like hope you enjoyed THAT cliffhanger. It's better than my old cliffhangers, right? But overall, i hope you enjoyed THE WHOLE chapter bcs its real nice, and it's all me. ONE CHAPTER LEFT!!!

[thezombieprostitute]

The Arrangement - Part 8

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Warnings: Bad parents, Implied abuse. Let me know if I missed any!

Part 7 -- Part 9

Series Masterlist

You and Jake share a look of terror as you hear his father's voice followed by your own father's. You quickly grab the dishes out of Jake's hands and whisper, "you have to go greet them" before running to the kitchen. Jake is hurt that you're ditching him but then realizes how it would look if he was doing the housework. It's in the contract that he has to behave so his greeting them would be part of that.

"Hello Father, Mother, Montgomery, Carol," Jake greets coldly. "We weren't expecting you to visit."

"Of course not," Montgomery replies, chuckling.

"We decided, last night after the two of you had left, to meet up at your place for breakfast," Cordelia explains.

"And none of you thought to let us know? A text? A phone call? Anything?" Jake tries to argue without sounding out of line.

"Why on earth would we do that?" Carol chimes in.

"Well, we are kinda on our honeymoon," Jake sputters. "What if...what if you had walked in on us?"

All four of them laugh before William, placing a firm hand on Jake's shoulder, explains, "it's an arranged marriage, Son. We're not expecting the two of you to get into bed right away. Especially with how awkward the two of you are."

"We were comparing notes on the two of you," Montgomery clarifies. "Neither of you is particularly good with people. It's why we decided to go with one bed in this entire place, to help the two of you out!"

"I see," Jake seethes, his face going red. "Well, we just got done eating breakfast, so I hope you don't mind if I don't eat."

He steps aside and gestures for them to head to the dining area. As they sit down, Jake's parents on one side, your parents on the other, Jake can smell that you're already cooking up something. Again, he wishes you could be the one to deal with them but he can kind of appreciate that you're helping in your way.

"Have a seat, Jacob," William tells him. "We have a lot to discuss with regards to your future."

"I was just going to get everyone drinks first," Jake argues.

He's met with mocking laughter from everyone before Montgomery tells him, "that's your wife's job as hostess! My daughter is quite the cook, though, isn't she? She'll be bringing out drinks and food for everyone. You sit."

"Maybe this will finally teach her the value of having servants to do the menial work so she can actually host," Carol sneers. Jake has to bite back a comment about that.

"Oh it was always for the best that she hid herself away," Montgomery gently chides. "She never had your social skills. Would've embarrassed us to no end if she hadn't picked up a skill or two." Carol rolls her eyes as she nods in agreement.

Unable to take any more bad talk about you, Jake turns to William, "so, my future?"

"Ah yes," William started. "Obviously you have the skills and work history to be the CIO of our family company. However that would reek of nepotism and we don't need that kind of bad press or ill will in our employees. Goodness knows they've been close to unionizing more times than I care to admit! However, with your marriage so recent, we can set you up as CIO in Montgomery's company and people won't realize until it's too late and you've settled yourself in."

Jake nods and turns to Montgomery, "okay, yes. CIO is higher up in the rankings than expected but it is up my alley, skill wise. What's the actual work going to look like?"

"Well, as we've said before, we know that networking isn't your forte so you'll likely end up doing a lot of actual work while the rest of us executives do the talking." Jake nods in agreement. "But you'll still have a corner office and a pretty, little secretary all your own."

"But we will be building up your social skills," Cordelia chimes in. "Carol and I have accepted invitations on your behalf for the two of you to attend some parties, get your faces out there, and all that."

"What kinds of parties?" Jake's voice is strained with effort to keep calm.

"Most of them of charity events that will make you look good for attending," Carol explains. "Little things that no one actually cares about but they're good for your image."

Conversation is momentarily interrupted as you bring plates of food out for everyone. Crepes for everyone, fruit crepes for the mothers and savory ones for the fathers. "I'll be right back with drinks for everyone," you murmur before running back to the kitchen. Jake is grateful for the break from talking as everyone starts eating. He wants to ask if you need help but given the reaction he got earlier it's probably better for him to sit quiet.

As you're setting down the drinks in front of everyone the talking starts up again. You take your spot at the table, opposite of Jake, close to the kitchen.

"And now that you're both here, we can talk about the upkeep on this place." Your mother gestures to all of the decorations, the ones you know she picked out. "These all require a lot of regular cleaning so you're likely going to want to hire a maid service or something."

"I was actually wondering if we could get rid of some of them," Jake broached. Your eyes widened in shock and your mother's smile drops. "It just...it looks really cluttered, to me."

Carol slams her drink onto the table and turns to you. "Did you tell him to say that?! I know you've never liked my decoration choices! How could you be such an ungrateful child! Do you know how much time and money I put into making this place look stylish and perfect?!"

She grabs your arm but lets go when Jake slams a fist on the table.

"SHE has nothing to do with it! I'M asking because I don't like the decorations. Leave her out of this!"

"YOU don't get to tell me how to treat my daughter!"

"She is also my wife and I won't let her be harassed in such an unwarranted manner!"

Your mother turns back to you, "do you see what your doing? Do you see how much you've already poisoned my son-in-law against me?! Why can't you be the good, obedient daughter we worked so hard to raise you to be!"

"She hasn't done anything!"

"Carol, Sweetheart," Montgomery intervenes. "Let the children be. We should expect some growing pains with this new union."

Your mother huffs but turns back to her food. You're fighting the tears that want to fall, fear and embarrassment filling your mind, making it difficult to breathe.

Your father turns to Jake, "I have to say, a display like that would certainly do wonders to legitimize your relationship."

Cordelia adds, "maybe we should set something up at one of the charity events. Plant an actor to harass her or something."

"Yes, that would also tie in with his military history making him seem much stronger, like a real man of action," William considers. "Could be good for getting the trust of investors."

"Oh, and I'll bet we could use it to get the attention of those 'family first' politicians. Or at least their base," Carol chimes in, her previous anger seemingly forgotten.

The parents end up commandeering the conversation for the rest of breakfast. No one even asks you or Jake anything, even though they're discussing your future. You work at silently removing plates and refilling drinks, used to this kind of treatment. Meanwhile Jake keeps looking redder and more frustrated with each passing minute. It really drives home how out of his element he is. He even tried to stop your mother from yelling at you. No one's ever done that before.

As you refill the drinks you make sure to grab Jake a mug of coffee and you give a gentle squeeze of his hand as a silent thank you. He looks up at you and for a moment you're caught off guard at how much he looks like a scared puppy. You can't help but lean in and whisper, "you're going to be okay."

Part 7 -- Part 9

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn;

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

[mikaela-the-slut-expert]

Hi! It's me again ;)

Now I have two, maybe obvious, thoughts...

1. How will Hua Cheng and Xie Lian react if the reader (assuming that the reader is a demon... Or demon and a god at the same time, for example) presents them with a paired jewelry with his ashes inside, as Hua Cheng did for Xie Lian, and reader not gonna say that the ashes are in there... Reader is just like "yes it's yours now" (personally, i see it as earrings... One is more modest for Xie Lian, and the other is brighter for Hua Cheng)

and 2. About the statues... Did Hua Cheng make statues for the reader as he did for Xie Lian? Or would he have expressed his love for him in some other way? 🤔

if you like ideas if you like the ideas, choose any of them and it doesn't matter it would be as headcannons or you write it as a story.

With love 💙💙💙

Ashes and Statues

Hua Cheng x gn!reader x Xie Lian

Ajsjsjsjns I have rabies. Are you in my head? I've been thinking about this a bunch! So I hope you like my thoughts on it. I'm sorry if the earrings one isn't exactly what you were thinking because I'm slow 😔🙏

I'm using small details of my OC simply for the fact that Xie Lian and reader are very close and always have been close

____________________________________

When Xie Lian receives your ashes it's kind of like how he received Hua Cheng's. One day he woke up and there was an earring dangling from his ear

It was only one earring

The earring wasn't gaudy or flashy. Just a clear gem hanging from his ear. It was still beautiful though

When Xie Lian asks you about it, you only say "it's yours now"

Xie Lian has known you for a long time so of course even though you're a god he knows you're a ghost too even if you don't mention it often

So he's not dumb he knows it's your ashes

Just like Hua Cheng's ring, he keeps the earring fastened in his ear and keeps it safe all the time.

Most of the time the earring is hidden behind his long hair, but he keeps the earring in anyways.

The next time he sees San Lang he isn't expecting for him to have a new earring in his ear either.

That explains why Xie Lian only has one, Hua Cheng has the other one.

While Xie Lian's earring is simple, Hua Cheng's earring is bright and has red gems.

They look similar in shape so it's obvious they're a matching set.

Apparently you said the same thing to Hua Cheng, "It's yours now, do whatever with it"

And of course like Xie Lian, Hua Cheng keeps it fastened in his ear.

They didn't know ashes could be split up, they've never seen it before until now

Now Hua Cheng is trying to figure out how to split up his ashes too, he doesn't want to leave you out after all.

All in all they love the meaning of the earrings you've given them and they're glad you trust them enough to handle them.

♡

I definitely think Hua Cheng has made statues and art of the reader too!

There are a lot of things Hua Cheng does that has to do with art so I would imagine he would include reader in that too.

I think different readers also call for different circumstances but I definitely think Hua Cheng would make statues of the reader regardless out of admiration and love

Statues have been made of you before of course, so you're no stranger to seeing them. This many though all in one place?

When you guys find the hundreds if not thousands of statues of Xie Lian. Mu Qing isn't happy when they start finding statues of you too.

The deeper you all go the more you all find.

Some statues are you by themselves, some are paired with Xie Lian.

There are many statues that depict you throughout your life.

So while Mu Qing and Feng Xin are freaking out calling out stalker stalker

You and Xie Lian are really liking these statues. They're done so well...

You guys can't help but admire them.

____________________________________

I know it's short but I hope you like it😭🖤

I haven't read the book in a long time so I don't quite remember the statue arc details.

[dre6ming]

Christmas tree shopping

The delicate beginning rush

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Austin Butler x singer/actress fem reader

Warnings: smut, sex, explicit content, mentions of blood, crying, bad family relationships, fluff

Word count: ~3000

Plot: Christmas tree shopping puts a small dent into your heart considering the past, so when Austin asks that you do it together, you have some holdbacks.

I love Christmas! And that's that. I've always loved it, ever since I could understand the concept of it. I adore the buzz of the crowd searching for gifts, the smell of Christmas foods, the decorations, the songs, the movies. I mean you'd have to have a big lump of coal for a heart to not like Christmas. But with all my love for this time of the year, this year I'm just not feeling it.

As I walk the crowed streets of New York all on my own, with my big fluffy scarf covering most of my face, I look around at the stores wondering where I could go next, dreading going home, where Austin waits for me so we can go Christmas tree shopping. When he proposed the idea that we go together, I just nodded and smiled, but in my heart a big hole was being uncovered. I used to go Christmas tree shopping with my dad, some of my favorite memories with him, are of us choosing a tree, setting it up in the living room and decorating it together. Those were some of the best hours in the whole year. But then the divorce happened right before Christmas, no one bought a Christmas tree, I didn't even bother decorating that year, I stayed over at Timmy's house, then the year after that, was mine and Austin's first Christmas together, but he was with his family and I went again to Timmy's house.

This year though, he wants us to have a Christmas together together. He suggested that we spend it over at his LA home, but Christmas is supposed to be cold and wet and snowy, not sunny and hot, so we are going to have a small party at my apartment on the 25th, until then he wants all the Christmas stuff to be done. Which I'm more than happy to do, but I was hoping we'd get a fake tree from Amazon or something.

I feel my phone vibrate in the pocket of my coat and I know I can't ignore him, or he will get worried, so I sigh, taking the phone out and answering the call. "Hi, Aus! I'm still looking at a few shops, they've got really nice things out here, I bought some stuff." I lie, having not bought even a single thing. "Don't worry darling, I was just checking in, what do you say, I come get you with the car and then we go to the Christmas tree market?" He asks so sweetly, it hurts my heart. "Um actually I don't know, I don't think I'm gonna be much longer, so just wait for me back at the apartment." I hate the anticipation of the disappointment in his voice. "That's fine Y/n, just be safe, I love you!" I close my eyes and rub my temple with my free hand, feeling a headache creep it's way to me. "Love you too!" I cut the call short and keep walking, smiling as I spot the rusty old sign from Frank's record store.

As I enter the smell of cinnamon and chocolate, hits me, soft jazz playing in the background. The store looks empty today, except for Frank, sitting behind the counter, reading a book. As the door bell rings he looks up from his book and smiles at me, getting up to come hug me. "Hey kid, haven't seen you in a hot minute. Though I've heard plenty of you. I never knew fruitcake makes you sick" he laughs, referencing my latest album, a Christmas ep called fruitcake. "Very funny!" I giggle, unwrapping the scarf from my neck and undoing some of the buttons on my coat.

"Well I've been busy, but I'm home for the holidays." I say, looking around, skimming through some of the new records he has in store. "Hm I bet you're busy, touring arenas and all. Hey kid look what I have here." Frank says as he goes to the back and brings out a mysterious vinyl. "It's a first edition. A mix done on vinyl in the 90's, all your favorites are on here." He explains, replacing the vinyl he had one with the new one he brought. "Last Christmas I have you my heart.." the song starts playing and I start singing along.

"Want some hot cocoa?" Frank asks, putting the closed sign on the door, as I take of my coat to be a bit more comfortable. "Of course I want some, extra-" "-Whipping cream, I know" he finishes my sentence, making both of us laugh. As Frank goes to make the hot cocoa, I take my phone out and text Austin.

Me

Hey, something came up, I'm over at Roxy's place. Can we reschedule?

Austin

Sure, hope everything is alright. Love you 💜🧶

Me

Ofc, love you too

I hate lying to him, but I just don't feel like having a therapy session right now. "Hmm perfect!" I smile taking the cup from Frank and drinking some of the delicious hot beverage. "So any big plans for Christmas this year?" He asks, and I start telling him all about the dinner me and Austin are hosting for friends and family.

Before I knew it I had spent a few good hours over at Frank's store and then I had to call Matt to come get me with the car and drive me back home, as it had gone dark outside. So now I'm in the elevator, watching the buttons of each floor light up, until we get to number 10. I walk in and the whole place is quiet, no sight of Austin or any cats, so I guess that he must be sleeping. Tiptoeing to my room I find Austin sleeping on the bed with Simba and William cuddled up to him. Walking into the closet I try to make as little sound as possible and I start to take off my clothes.

I feel a pair of arms wrap around me and I let out a small scream, startled for a moment. "Shh it's me" Austin whispers against my ear, kissing down my neck, I lean into him and reach my hand back, to comb through his thick hair. "It's ok.." I moan as he sucks the skin right above my collarbone. His hands travel down my abdomen and unbutton my jeans, his right hand sliding down between my legs, into my underwear. "Austin.." I sigh, putting all my weight on him. "Shh, don't talk." Austin says

He's skilled fingers work me like magic, his left arm tight around my waist holding me up, as he plugs a finger into me. I gasp, fisting his hair, as he moves slowly inside me. "Shh no talking." He repeats, after I try to moan his name again. This is something we've never done before, he usually likes me talking during sex, and he encourages me to be vocal, but this time he wants me to be quiet.

I'm lost in my train of thought and don't realize the moment he pulls his hand away and picks me up, taking me to the bed. "Aus?" I ask concerned as he removes my jeans but not my panties. He looks at me, but there's no tenderness like before, he looks mad? "No talking." Is all he says, as he takes off his clothes and puts on a condom, getting on top of me. "Aus baby, is something wrong?" I ask touching his face. A faint smile crosses his face and a glimmer of something sweet shows up in his eyes. My heart beats at a thousand miles per hour and I'm aroused as ever, but something is off.

"Nothings wrong, I just want to feel you." He says, kissing me, his hands going back to their ministrations. We move in sink and I reach behind me to unclasp my bra. Austin's hands go immediately to my breasts, kneading and pinching my nipples. "Fuck!" He grunts as I sneak my hand down and pump his cock, touching his tip to my covered pussy, wishing right now there was no thin layer of cotton between us.

"Please!" I beg as his head nudges at my wet pussy, brushing against my clit, sending electric shocks up my spine. "Fucking hell!" Austin curses, guiding his hand between us, to push my panties to the side, quickly sliding into me. I wince in pain, as he usually takes his time opening me up, but this time he seems to be in a hurry. His lips find mine and he swallows my whimpers. When he's all the way in, he stills and waits for me to give him the ok to move. After a few moments of sitting like this conjoined, with my legs around his waist, my hand in his hair and his around my waist, something changes, something in him, he starts feeling warm and soft, unlike the cold stiff feeling he was giving me before, it's like he melts into me.

His hands moves up my body, wrapping tightly around me. "I'm sorry!" He says in a broken voice. "It's ok, doesn't hurt anymore, please move." I say caressing his cheek, encouraging him to pull his hips back. When his pelvis meets mine again, fireworks sparkle behind my closed eyelids. Austin starts a slow pace, each time going deeper and deeper if that were possible. The room is filled my muffled moans and skin slapping noises, as both of us feel closer and closer to the sweet release. "Shit Austin, I need more, please!" I beg arching my back to give him a new angle.

Austin groans in my ear and picks up the pace, placing one hand behind my head on the pillow and the other on my clit, rubbing slow circles. "I love you! I love you so much!" I say, feeling closer to my orgasm, my walls spasm around hid twitching cock. "Fuck!" His voice sound strangled and he moves faster, sloppier. "I love you I love you Iloveyou!" I say over and over again and over again. He keeps his moves fast and rhythmic, I curl my toes and pull on his hair, my orgasm wrecking through my body, tingling head to toe. Austin keeps moving until I feel him tens and he cums moaning into my shoulder.

We sit a few minutes tangled together, breathing in sink, his heart thudding against my chest. The  without a word, Austin pulls out, leaving me empty, getting up and going to the bathroom. I'm left staring at the ceiling, wondering what this whole experience was just weird. I sit up in bed and wrap myself in my fluffy robe, getting up, going to the kitchen to drink some water.

I keep thinking what just happened, I can't imagine what must have happened to make Austin act like this. It's not that the sex didn't feel good, it did, but it felt like he was somewhere else, or at lest trying to be somewhere else. "Are you hungry ?" I jump at Austin's voice, dropping the glass of water on the floor. Without thinking I try to reach for the broom, to clean this up, but I step on a shard of glass. "Aw, fuck fuck!" I let out, holding onto the counter, lifting my leg up to see if the cut is bad. It's only a small shard, so the cut is barely a graze, but blood is already coming out of it. "Don't move!" Austin warns, walking around the broken glass and water, coming next to me. He puts both hands on my waist and lifts me up on the counter, the going to clean the mess I made.

We sit in silence, as he cleans and I feel the blood dripping down my foot. When he's done, he goes away and I start thinking if he just left me here, which I know is stupid, but my brain can't stop making weird scenarios up. "Show me your leg!" Austin says, kneeling down in front of me, cleaning my wound and putting a bandage over it. "All done!"

"Are you mad at me?" I ask at the same time as he speaks and he blushes, looking the other way, avoiding my eyes. "Where were you today?" He asks and as I open my mouth to answer he interrupts me. "Don't lie, Roxy came over, thinking you were here." I sigh and jump off from the counter, ignoring the pain in my leg. I wobble a little bit, despite my best effort, so Austin puts his hands up around me, ready to catch me if anything were to happen. I look him up and down, thinking about what I could say, I could just tell him the truth, but I haven't really told him much about mine and my dad's relationship. He waits patiently for me to answer and the way his arms are still around me, like waiting for a hug, makes me want to melt right into him, but I choose the childish part of me, pushing him away and walking past him.

"Did something happen?" His voice sounds like an echo and for a moment I feel like he didn't even speak and it was all my imagination. I turn around slowly, looking at his face, his eyes are read, teary. "Aus-"

"I know you weren't at Roxy's place, you didn't answer your phone, you were out shopping all day and yet, came back with no bags or nothing." Austin's hands are shaking, so I walk up to him slowly, taking his hands in mine, but he takes a step back, pulling away, which breaks my heart. "Can we sit down? I can explain everything." He shakes his head and I close my eyes taking a deep breath, preparing for the things I'm about to say.

"I was at Franks store, I did go out to buy somethings, but my head was somewhere else so I didn't get anything, just walked around." I start saying and he fiddles around with his hands. "Why?"

"I wanted to go Christmas tree shopping, but it just it hurt to much. I haven't gone shopping with anyone other than my dad, it was our thing, but I'm no longer a part of his life and it's, it's like slowly learning how to breathe again." His face saddens more, but this time, the sadness is pointed my way, and I appreciate his empathy, but I'd like if he'd stop. "I'm sorry I really am, it's just been hard on me to.." my voice breaks down and I lick my lips, tasting the salt of my tears.

Austin closes the distance between and hugs me tight. "You should have told me, I'm sorry, we don't have to go if you don't feel like it, baby" he says rubbing my back, holding me close to him. "I think if you go with me , I could do it. " he chuckles, kissing the top of my head and we stand hugging for a moment.

"Aus?" I ask softly something still on my mind. "Yeah?" "Is something wrong, you felt a little cold, you know, earlier." I feel him stiffen a bit, so I wiggle out of his arms to look up at him. "Well I was worried about you and my sister told me that she and the kids are down with some virus and can’t make it to Christmas, so I was just filled to the brim with worry." I smile at him, touching his hair lightly, placing some flyaway hairs back. "Oh my baby, want some hot cocoa? And how about we bake something?" I say, walking back to the kitchen counter and getting things ready for a feel better night. "Your butter cookies? With orange?" He asks puppy eyed, making me giggle. "Well I did just buy some oranges yesterday, so why even ask?" I say putting milk on the stove to warm up and already measuring the right amount of flour and sugar.

Between finishing the hot cocoa and adding the flour to the dough, someone decided to start a fight with flour, so we're now laughing, picking flour from our hair, as the cookies rise. "You're such a child." I chuckle, wiping his nose. "I just couldn't help myself" he shrugs, smirking at me.

The next morning we wake up as late as we can and now we're enjoying a shower together. His hands wash my skin tenderly, massaging all the stiff spots. "I don't think I'll ever get bored of washing your hair!" He admits, bubbling the shampoo between his hands, then applying it to my hair. "Well I'll never get bored of you washing my hair, so lucky for you!"

After what must have been the slowest start of day in months, we finally enter the Christmas tree market, hand in hand. Being here does feel weird without my dad, but not as bad as I thought. Austin squeezes my hand three times and that calms me a bit, so I take a deep breath, looking at all the trees. "Can we get a huge one?" I ask already having my eye on one. "I was thinking smaller, but whatever you want." He says, looking the opposite way the trees that are way too small for my liking. "How about two trees?" I suggest, smiling at him.

"Honey I don't think we'll fit in the elevator with this." Austin says, as he pull down the tree that's almost twice his height, from the roof of my heel. Driving around New York with this on top of the car was of course something out of a comedy. "So up the stairs?" I ask hoping he'd say "no"

"I think so." He sighs, looking with dread at the staircase door. "Ok then.." I say defeated, locking the car and getting ready to help him.

Around the 2nd floor it feels like I'm dying, we decided that best way was for me to go up pulling and him pushing form down. "I think we're going somewhere." I encourage, already cursing myself for not going to the gym enough. Austin laughs, form somewhere behind the tree branches. "Yeah the North Pole!" He jokes

On the 10th floor we  stop at the door of the apartment, him in better shape than me, but still just as tired. "You have no idea how lucky you are I love you!" Austin says, kissing my cheek. "I love you too!"

"Is it straight?" Austin asks from under the tree, trying to place it in the tree stand. "A little to the left!" I instruct. "My left? Or your left?" He asks, out of breath. "Mine, ugh no, yours. I don't know, can you get out of from there?" I ask and he comes to sit next to me. The tree is still very much crooked, but I think I like it this way. "I think I like it this way!" Austin says, rubbing my back. I snuggle into his side and stand on my tippy toes to kiss him. "I think I agree!"

"I think I love you!" He says, picking me up and spinning me around. "Did you notice that you kinda picked a tree looking like me and I picked one looking like you?" Austin jokes again, but as I look at the two Christmas trees, now realizing that the very obvious height difference does resemble the one me and Austin have between us. "I think we just did the funniest thing." I admit, going to the boxes on the floor and taking an ornament out, placing it in the smaller tree Austin chose. "Merry Christmas, y/n! I love you!" Austin says, placing and ornament in the tree I picked. "Merry Christmas Austin, I love you too!"

Tag list: @galaxygirl453

@rainydayz101

@samaraannhan20

@marlowmode

@myradiaz

@areuirish

@micaelainthe60s

@homebodybirkin2003

@pennyroyalcreep

@purejasmine

@strokesofstokes

@lanasfloridakiloss

@denised916

@kibumslatina

@macey234

@melodixs-blog

@shantellescrivener

@chewiethecatus

@guacala

@fangirl125reader

@father-of-2cats

@lucid315

@ashtag6887

@ilovehobi101

@richardslady121

@jensmithin

@julie181

@chrisevansgirl34

@ranaissingle

@onecrazydirectioner

@maria-1287

@austinbutlerssimp

@kingdomforapony

@acoolnight

@tarot-sybarite

@goldenmarygio

@frozenhuntress67

@anonyboo63478338

@littlewhiterose

@thefallofthedamned

@1eminicookie

@rose-deathman

@iheqrtaustin

@desitravelsblog

@prompted-wordsmith

@austinsvlrslut

@crystallizedth0t

@hertvgirl

@peanutbutterinacup

@austinswhitewolf

@saniyahgordon

@thatgirlthatreadswattpad

@slowsweetlove

@jaqueline19997

@formulapierre

[starlightshadowsworld]

Just the teens of the Agency being taken care of by the others.

Because yeah maybe Junichiro and Atsushi aren't that much younger than say Dazai and Kunikida. But to them and the rest they're still kids.

And this job can be a lot.

If no one else is injured, Yosano seeks them out first after a mission for a check up.

She's made sure they know her door is always open, to come to her even if they don't think a wound is serious.

Atsushi and Kyouka have to be told this more than anyone else. They still hesitate but Yosano always smiles when they approaches her, letting them know it's okay.

Atsushi's childhood and Kyouka's time in the Port Mafia taught them to show weakness. But somehow that rule falls aside when their in Yosano's office.

Because they trust her.

Naomi rarely ever needs to go to the infirmary. But she's had too and what she's seen terrified her. Yosano has ushered her in and listened, comforted her that she's safe now.

Kenji and Atsushi spend a lot of time in the infirmary.

Kenji is always sweet and bright but there's times even he feels scared and hurt. Junichiro holds it together but he breaks down when their alone.

Yosano stays by their sides, a kind presence in the chaos and hugs them close.

Ranpo always knows when to take them off a mission.

When Junichiro has a test coming up, when Kenji needs to rest after using his ability. He won't have them overworking themselves, no way.

Ranpo will instead having them guide him to his cases or get him snacks.

Or just straight up tell him to take a break. He's even used his ability to save them time on cases when there's too much going on.

"There you're done, now go take a nap."

Ranpo's memorised which snacks and sweets they like, and periodically drops them on their desks. Reminding Atsushi that it's a gift, he can have it and that it's okay.

Kenji gets the most, especially when he's had to use his ability a lot. Ranpo's not letting him go without having something to eat.

After the guild incident Naomi gets a huge bag of her favourites dropped on her desk.

Kunikida despite his schedule always makes time for them. He's lenient on paperwork (that doesn't apply to you Dazai!)

Junichiro hesitantly asks for his help on some homework and it turns into a full midday study session. And Kunikida wouldn't let him apologise for it.

He's contacted Kenji's family and gotten their permission to sign off on anything Kenji needs his parents permission on.

Kunikida comforts Atsushi when he makes a mistake. He reminds Kyouka that she made the right decisions.

He takes them out for dinner or cooks for them, and makes sure everyone's well fed and has enough food.

Kunikida had made himself all of their emergency contact. He has told them to call him whenever they need him. Rain or shine he will be there for them.

Dazai knows just what to say to lighten the mood. He reminds Kyouka that people like them can change. He will actually do his paperwork if he senses Atsushi's overwhelmed.

Reminds them all that one mistake doesn't destroy all their hard work. He'll praise their efforts and remind them of how far they've come.

Dazai notices when Kenji's smile isn't as bright and sits by his side. He shares stories that'll make them laugh and grins when he succeeds.

He's a calming presence when things get rough. Ruffling Atsushi's hair and patting Junichiro's head. Smiling kindly at Kyouka and Kenji.

He reminds them all that the world doesn't rest on their shoulders, they've got others to carry the weight.

And he'll break into their dorms to drag them out if he notices any of them isolating themselves.

Fukuzawa keeps an eye on everyone, but the younger members in particular.

He took Kyouka in and is her legal guardian. He signs off on anything that requires a parent or guardians permission.

He reminds Kyouka that people like them can change. Divulging into parts of his past to comfort her and Atsushi that he understands how they feel.

And doesn't see them any differently.

Makes sure Kenji can regularly vists his family. He's in close contact with them and keeps them updated.

Fukuzawa let's them nap in his office or take a breather in there.

His office is a safe space, tells them nothing and no one can harm you here. He checks up on them all whenever they're in the infirmary.

He has Junichiro's latest report card on the fridge and has told him on many occasions he's proud of him.

Fukuzawa keeps an eye out to ensure Atsushi and Kyouka are settling into the dorms okay. He has given them all his personal number for emergencies.

He checks on Naomi, especially after the incidents she was involved in and makes sure she's okay.

Doesn't allow any of them to overwork themselves. Has taken them to cat cafes on breaks when things get rough.

Because the Agency are family and they look out for their own.

[lovelyflowers-world]

Remember Me

Angsty angst angst

Tw: mentions of death

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Remember me

A girl of only the age of four sat on a man's lap while he brushed her hair and sang her a small tune it's only safe to assume it was her father as things seemed happy and calm. Well they say there's calm before a storm

Though I have to say goodbye

As the man stood with the girls in his arms to set her back into bed she didn't know this would be the last time she'd ever see her sweet father. He laid her oh so gently onto her bed pulling the covers just under her chin he stroked her hair and kissed her head

"You know I'll always love you dearly my little flame"

The girl nodded her head with a big smile on her face she loved her father more than there was stars in the sky and nothing could have changed that

"I love you too!"

The man smiled sadly at his daughter knowing this would be the last he'd ever see her it pained the man to leave his princess all alone to not be able to see her grow to a beautiful young woman but it whats done is done.

"Good night my little flame I'll see you again soon"

The girl giggled at her fathers choice of words and wished him a good night and as the man shut her door he was brought to tears he was never an emotional man but this hurt him deep to his core knowing he'll never hold his dear flame close to his heart ever again

Don't let it make you cry

The next morning when the small girl couldn't find her dad and saw her mother looking at her in pity it clicked in her head that she'd never see her dearest father again

"daddy's gone..?"

Her voice crack and big eyes filled with tears brought her mother to her knees to hug her only daughter oh so tight

"(Y/n) I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"

For even if I'm far away, I hold you in my heart

That was twelve years ago that little girl is now sixteen and a counselor at camp half blood one would think she despised her father but she could never blame him he was a god after all he wasn't going to stick around forever. Plus she had a pretty cool brother thanks to him

"(Y/n) get in your own bed!!"

"BUT I GOT A NIGHTMARE NICO!"

I sing a secret song to you each night we are apart

As (Y/n) laid on the floor quietly singing the song her father sang to her when she was small she sighed and looked out the window watching as everyone walked around happily conversing with one another a few passed waving to her and she gladly waved back.

Remember me

One would think the girl was happy with her life she had everything she could ever need but it seemed the lack of a father seemed to eat her alive she looked back into her cabin and sighed sadly

"Do you ever think of me dad?..probably not"

She got up and walked out with the biggest smile on her face and went to sword training.

Each time you hear a sad guitar

Now we see our protagonist alongside Percy Jackson and Nico di angelo fighting off a monster. The protagonist giving it her all to make sure her companions get out alive even if it cost her life. As she looked to check on her brother's state she felt a sharp pain in her gut and she looked down she saw the red seeping out her shirt. Just then her brother and Percy seemed to be celebrating their success.

"Guys.."

They looked over in time to see her fall to her knees the pain becoming unbearable

Know that I'm with you the only way that I can be

They run to her side pleading her to hold on a bit longer that they'd find a way to help her. They couldn't lose her not now when they've done their hardest when they were almost home. Tears were shed and she laughed and cupped her brothers cheek

"it's alright..I'll be with dad now I'll be okay.."

Just then a figure appeared over them towering and as they looked up he slowly took the girl out of the boys arms and held her close humming her a oh so familiar tune holding her head to his chest he nodded to the two boys and walked away

Until you're in my arms again

"It's time to go home now little flame"

The girl smiled and closed her eyes

"Okay daddy.."

And with that she took her final breaths

Remember me

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

A/N

heyyyyyyyy do you all still love me?

I love you guys <3

[emma23]

The echoes of loyalty 1:

Poe dameron x reader

————————————————————————

The stars flickered like distant memories in the vast expanse of space, each one a reminder of the countless lives torn apart by the war that seemed to have no end. The Resistance had made its stand against the tyranny of the First Order, and Poe Dameron had been at the forefront of that fight. But tonight, as he returned from yet another skirmish, his thoughts weren't on the next battle but on the person waiting for him.

The small, hidden base of the Resistance was buzzing with activity as Poe made his way to the quarters he shared with Y/N. They had been together for years, their love surviving through the darkest times. But as he approached the door, a familiar weight settled in his chest—a heaviness that had grown since the day they realized their loyalties were not as aligned as they once believed.

The door slid open with a soft hiss, and there she was, standing by the small viewport, her silhouette framed by the galaxy beyond. Her presence was a comfort, a reminder of all that was good in the universe, even when everything else seemed lost.

"Y/N," Poe called softly, his voice thick with emotion.

She turned to face him, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You're back," she said, her voice warm and soft. But there was a tension beneath the surface, one that neither of them could ignore.

Poe crossed the room in a few quick strides and wrapped his arms around her. For a moment, they just held each other, savoring the fleeting peace between them. But as much as they tried to hold onto it, the reality of their situation pressed in on them like the cold void of space outside.

"We need to talk," Poe finally said, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes.

Y/N nodded, knowing this conversation was inevitable. "I know."

They moved to the small couch in the corner of the room, sitting close but with an unspoken distance between them.

"Another attack?" she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral, but the concern in her eyes betrayed her.

Poe nodded. "The First Order is relentless. They won't stop until they've crushed the Resistance completely."

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. "Poe, you know I care about you, about this... but Kylo Ren, he’s—"

"Kylo Ren is a monster!" Poe snapped, his temper flaring before he could stop himself. The words hung in the air between them, sharp and bitter.

Y/N flinched but didn't back down. "He's not the man you think he is. He’s... he’s complicated. We grew up together, Poe. He’s not just some villain to me."

Poe closed his eyes, trying to rein in his frustration. "Y/N, I know you have history with him, but he's not the boy you once knew. He's led the First Order in committing atrocities across the galaxy. How can you defend him?"

"I’m not defending what he’s done," Y/N said quietly, pain evident in her voice. "But I can’t just abandon him either. I believe there’s still good in him, Poe. I have to."

"And what about us?" Poe asked, his voice breaking. "What happens to us if we’re fighting for opposite sides? I’m risking my life every day to stop him, Y/N. How can I keep doing that, knowing you’re hoping I fail?"

Y/N looked down at her hands, tears welling in her eyes. "I don’t want you to fail, Poe. I want this war to end. I want you safe... but I also want to save Kylo. I can’t let him go."

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the unsaid words and the choices neither of them wanted to face. Poe reached out, taking her hand in his. "I love you, Y/N. But this... this is tearing us apart."

Y/N squeezed his hand, her tears now flowing freely. "I love you too, Poe. So much. But I can’t choose between you and what I believe is right. I won’t."

Poe felt his heart shatter, the weight of the war and their conflicting loyalties crashing down on him all at once. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers. "Maybe... maybe we’re not meant to be on the same side, Y/N. But I need you to know that I’ll always love you, no matter what happens."

Y/N’s breath hitched, and she pulled him into a fierce kiss, trying to pour all her love and desperation into that moment. When they finally broke apart, they both knew that things could never be the same.

"I don’t want to lose you, Poe," Y/N whispered, her voice trembling.

"You won’t," he promised, even though he wasn’t sure it was a promise he could keep. "But we have to face the reality that this war might end up taking us in different directions. And if that happens... we have to let each other go."

Y/N nodded, though her heart screamed in protest. "Just... promise me one thing, Poe."

"Anything," he replied, his voice raw.

"If we end up on the battlefield... don’t hesitate because of me. Do what you have to do. I’ll understand."

Poe’s chest tightened, and he pulled her close again, holding her as if it was the last time. "I promise," he said, even though every part of him wanted to say the opposite.

Later that night, they made love with a desperation that bordered on frantic, as if they could hold off the inevitable by staying in that moment just a little longer. Their bodies moved together with an intensity that left them breathless, seeking comfort and connection even as they both knew it wouldn’t be enough to bridge the divide that had formed between them.

Afterwards, they lay in each other’s arms, the silence now filled with the echoes of what they couldn’t say. Y/N traced patterns on Poe’s chest, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

"Poe," she began, but he hushed her with a gentle kiss.

"Let’s not say anything," he murmured against her lips. "Just... be here, with me. Just for tonight."

And so they lay there, clinging to each other, knowing that the dawn would bring with it a new battle, both on the field and within their hearts. They had no idea what the future held, or if their love could survive the war that was tearing them apart. But for now, they had this moment, and that would have to be enough

[princessozera]

"Would you mind being a nude model for me?"

Completely Safe for work! No smut or other shenanigans here!

Prompt: MC asks them to model nude. The royal/brother/Solomon get embarrassed and doesn't know what to make of it but MC is actually just a very tired artist that needs anatomy practice.

GN MC (They/them) 3rd ppov as always

Word count: 990

Levi

"Of course you have abs, why wouldn't you?"

"I don't think I've ever met anyone that hates abs," Levi chuckles, but he's trying very hard to not run off and find a hole to die in. He's fully nude, being glared at, and his Henry just scoffed at the only feature of his that he's confident it. “You do know that ‘Grand Admiral’ isn’t just a title, right?”

"No, I- it's not- HMMM," MC hums angrily to themself, tapping their pencil to their head. "It's fine that you have abs Levi. You are attractive. I just wanted to practice drawing different body types, you know? If I wanted to draw more abs I would have gone to the museum and stared at some sculptures."

"And you just assumed I was chubby?" Levi’s snark died out as MC began to circle him slowly. Why had he chosen such an open stance? Why couldn’t the vortex be merciful and swallow him whole? The broom stick in his raised fist was a pathetic excuse for wielding a sword, and he even with the sheet loosely draped around his waist Levi was acutely aware of how close he was to flashing MC.

"Cut me some slack, I’ve never seen you lift anything heavier than an akuzon box of manga.” MC doesn’t notice Levi fall silent, but they see his shoulders tense up. They ignore it, more focused on looking for a good position to sketch from before deciding to sit to the far left- back muscle practice it is. “Anyways, you’re much better company than some stone statue.”

A bonus of live figure drawing is the conversation, although it was a balancing act with Levi. Something interesting enough to keep him from running off or fidgeting too much, but it also couldn't be something he was passionate about because he'd lose his concentration and break the pose. So they spent the better half of the next two hours doing a spontaneous media analysis and ranking list of the movies they've seen in the last couple of years.

Levi carries the conversation when MC falls silent, squinting and tilting their head this way and trying to figure out how to work out the shading onto their paper. He kept peeking over his shoulder to look at them work; serious and so deeply focused that they didn't notice Levi staring at them. He's never seen them put this amount of concentration on something that wasn't a life or death situation. Levi couldn't help how his heart skipped a beat to think they were focusing so hard on him.

"Okay, I'm done, want to see?" MC doesn't wait for Levi to respond, turning their sketchbook around for him. He tries to look away- he would rather not see all of the imperfections MC found on him after staring for so long- but MC is insistent, handing the sketchbook over to him.

"Woah," Levi gasped quietly, fingers running over the drawing. The expression from the side of his face was serious, that of someone wise and calm. His jaw was strong, and his shoulders were broader than he realized. The shoulder blades had such a strong shadow that he started to wonder if he had been unconsciously flexing this entire time. "You even managed to make someone like me look cool."

"I get what you mean, so thank you. But also, not really." MC turns away from him to start packing up their pencils and other sketchbooks. "When you see yourself in the mirror everyday it can be hard to be subjective. That's one of the neat little perks of being an artist- you can show others a new perspective. You're a cool dude Levi, so of course drawings of you are going to come out cool too." There's a small choking sound so MC looks to Levi again. He's holding the notebook to his chest with tears in his eyes.

"MC," Levi starts to run towards them, arms open for a hug.

"NOT UNTIL YOU PUT SOME PANTS ON," MC screams, diving across the tub to get some distance between themself and Levi. He runs to go throw on a shirt and sweats before coming back and hugging MC as tightly as he could. Levi wants to take a hundred pictures of the art but is only stopped by the thought that it might come off as something vain- something that Asmo would do. MC seems particularly slow in packing up their coloring supplies although they were left unused, so when their back was turned he snuck a few pictures to keep for himself.

Other tidbits:

-He resisted the urge to flip through the sketchbook, being handed the book was a sign of trust, not permission. He can remember all too well the times that Mammon had gone rummaging through his things and was caught red handed skimming through Levi's own sketchbooks.

-Levi would soon work up the courage to ask MC to draw together, and set up for a full day of drawing. They'd sit at opposite ends of his room in beanbag chairs, MC working by the light of the fish tank as they draw the underwater landscape while Levi sat closer to his computer, lofi music filling the quiet for a relaxing ambiance. He takes the time to repay the favor, drawing MC as they worked. His eyes on lingered on them, trying to memorize their face as he drew. Every so often MC would catch him staring and smile, lifting up their own sketchbook to show their progress. Levi's heart ran a little faster with that smile and he did the same- MC pretended not to notice that Levi only showed them the left page when he was clearly working on the right.

-Levi chickened out of showing them that day, but MC would find the picture tucked between dvd cases and a snack plate that had been left in front of their door the next time they were feeling down.

((Lucifer))

[bonny-kookoo]

will we ever find out why joon is so against hybrids? im thinking maybe he had a bad experience with one before… like maybe he adopted a hybrid but they didn’t trust him so they ran away and now he just doesn’t like hybrids?

It's quiet in his home, no lights turned on as he sits in front of his bedroom closet, box in his lap. The words Yoongi had thrown at him had punched him harder than the producer would've ever been able to.

"-and don't you dare try and contact authorities about this!" His friend's voice echoes in his mind.

Namjoon knows it's not all that simple. There's no way to just undo what has been done, no good option available to simply remove those hybrids from his friends lifes to spare them the hurt that might be inevitable. They're idols. Busy. No private life. Always in danger of being dragged into something that might end their entire career in a heartbeat. It's not only Jungkook or Yoongi he's scared for- but those hybrids as well.

"They're not pets for fuck's sake!" He hears both of his bandmates in his head, and he knows that. He knows it probably just as well as they do.

It's been two years almost. It's going to be next month, on the thirteenth. And yet he still can't look at the green metal tag in the box, one he's seen Jungkook's hybrid wear as well. It's the international standard color for category 3 hybrids- it's not a surprise they're similar.

The design isn't the same, Jungkook's hybrid probably having received a newer version at some point, since the tags have to be renewed every year.

"But- you told me that I'd still be able to at least see her once in a while!" He'd argued with his management, having asked for where they'd brought you after workers had picked you up a few days prior.

"Namjoon-ssi, it's better this way." They'd explained to him. "With everything going on right now, it'll be easier to handle it all without the added burden of a hybrid." They'd told him.

"Thats not for you to decide!" He'd yelled, panic setting in as the reality slowly became too apparent to him. He hadn't just given you into temporary care. He'd given you away. He'd promised you, as you'd been crying the day before they took you, that it wasn't how it seemed. That he would always come see you. That he would get you back full time as soon as he could manage.

To you, it now must've seemed as if he lied. He himself at least feels as if he did, even if he didn't even know that what he said wasn't true.

Do you hate him now?

Surely you do, if you even remember him these days. He'd searched every shelter for your name, your ID number, everything, and nothing ever came of it- so you must have a new home at this point. He hopes you're happy.

He just wants to protect his bandmates from all of this.

Jungkook is easy to manipulate in his eyes. He would definitely fall for the same lies they've told the bandleader back then as well- and he doesn't want to imagine how devastated the youngest of the group would be if his hybrid, his partner, was to be taken away like that.

And with Yoongi, it's even worse, since he wouldn't even have a choice. If he wasn't to give his hybrid up voluntarily, there would be other options to get her taken by the system itself with just a call.

Namjoon closes the box again, burying it in the corner of his closet where he keeps it safe. He knows he'll come back to it just like tonight, whenever he feels like he needs to at least remember a little bit when it was all alright. When things were okay.

Maybe he should change his ways. Maybe he should start to try and protect both or his bandmates from this not by doing the same his management had done to him in the past- but by trying to be an example of what not to do. But at this point, with Yoongi clearly angry at him, and Jungkook more or less equally hostile, he's not sure if that's even an option any longer.

Maybe he's just doomed to lose.

[sezja]

Gone

Everything aches - Thaffe feels like he ought to have gotten used to this by now, after his first week in the mines, but every muscle protests at day's end... and all the more when he wakes up again in the morning, stiff after a night's fitful rest. He trails behind his fellow miners, enduring their jeers and teasing with a weary smile; he's the newest and youngest fellow on the team. A little ribbing's only to be expected.

"You'll get used to it, lad." Guthjon, his mentor, claps a friendly hand on Thaffe's shoulder. "You're young and strong, and fit to grow stronger still."

"I just wish it'd happen faster." Still, Thaffe's grateful for Guthjon's rare compassion and patience; gods know the other Ronso miners won't cut him any slack. They all say he's got no business in the mines - a sentiment he hasn't argued against. It's not work he enjoys... but it's the only work left in Twine, even if it's not much, and Thaffe's done living off the charity of Jeryk's family, who hardly have enough for themselves. He's old enough at fifteen summers to start working for a living, and Guthjon's a good teacher - even if it does make Jeryk's mother fret.

They'll likely have to close up their inn and leave town soon, Thaffe thinks, not for the first time. Just like everyone else. Twine's been dying a slow death since the Stoneworks finally packed up and left - people either giving up and heading for greener pastures, or being forced to do so when they were unable to scrape together the money for basic necessities.

For now, Jeryk's family's scraping along, but barely. His mother takes in laundry; his father handles odd repair jobs - it's not enough, though, and soon...

Thaffe tries to imagine Twine without Jeryk, and can't. It makes his heart twist. All the friends they've said farewell to over the past few years... at least they've always had each other; that's the important thing. Another year or two, and maybe it won't matter anymore; long enough for Jeryk to be old enough to stay behind when his parents leave... but that's praying they stay that long, when things are running dry now. They should move on, Thaffe knows; they deserve a better life than this, and Jeryk too.

There are no trolleys, not even defunct ones, anywhere else in Norvrandt, though, and Jeryk will be miserable - like trying to make a flower bloom in the Empty.

"Don't get so lost in thought you fall off the rails," Guthjon teases, startling Thaffe from his brooding. They walk along the old trolley tracks, a relatively safe route back to Twine - if one doesn't trip over a spar and go tumbling down fo break their neck, anyway. Thaffe shakes his head.

"I wasn't-"

"Hold," Guthjon says, pausing. Frowning. "Something's..."

Something tugs at the edge of Thaffe's hearing. Screaming. A woman's voice, raised in a wordless wailing shriek of grief.

It's then that Thaffe really looks at Twine, near enough now to make out evidence of some struggle - tremendous gouging scrapes on the walls, buildings damaged or collapsing...

And the bodies of sin eaters, slowly dissolving into glowing aether.

While they'd been safe in the mines, Twine had been attacked.

"Wicked white," Guthjon breathes, his voice unsteady. "Come on, Thaffe; they'll need help-"

Thaffe doesn't need encouragement. He runs, all his weariness forgotten; the woman is still screaming, her keening driving a spike of fear deep into his heart. Raw and anguished as it is, he's recognized her voice.

Jeryk's mother.

In town, things are worse. The damage is done; the eaters have moved on, but the carnage is enough to steal Thaffe's breath away. Twine's not safe, exactly - no town cowering at the foot of the Flood could be - but they rarely see more than one or two stray eaters, easily avoided until some hunter drifts through. This, though... there must have been a swarm. Healers are already hard at work; someone must've already gotten word to Mord Souq - they hurry from person to person, tending what wounds can yet be tended... and checking, always, for signs that the aether of their patients has been tainted with Light.

Five bodies lie in the shade beneath the trolley scaffolding, covered by clean sheets. Those the healers couldn't save. Thaffe tries not to wonder who they might be; tries not to look too closely; he hears Guthjon murmur a prayer for the departed. The other miners have all scattered, looking for friends and loved ones among the survivors, trying to tally their losses - Guthjon, with no family left of his own, follows Thaffe, as though he knows the boy will have need of a shoulder to lean on.

He recognizes the wailing woman's voice, as well.

By now she's wept herself hoarse, but her cries still carry far enough to lead Thaffe right to her. She appears unharmed - thank the gods for small favors, Thaffe thinks - for all she's distraught, sitting in the dirt with her arms wrapped tight around herself, pouring out her misery. Esmena Motplowe is a tiny woman, seemingly too delicate for life in rough-and-ready Twine at the best of times, but never before has Thaffe thought she more resembled a heartbroken child: a pain too big for words, too vast for comprehension, and all she can do is scream and cry until it runs its course.

"Thaffe. Guthjon." Esmena's husband, Ardin, raises hollow, reddened eyes to greet them. He sits on the ground beside his inconsolable wife, his arm in a hastily-made cast: the only injury Thaffe sees, another small miracle. But his wife's grief is etched deep on the man's face - he looks as though he's aged ten years since Thaffe saw him just last night.

Fear roots Thaffe to the spot.

Guthjon steps forward, gently patting Esmena's shoulder. "There now, lass, what's happened?" He need not have wasted his breath; the woman doesn't even so much as stop for breath.

No. Gods, no.

Thaffe makes himself stumble forward, kneeling before her. "Ma," he says, as gently as he can, around a throat grown too tight. He draws her hands into his, squeezing. "Ma, where's Jeryk?"

Hiccuping between sobs, she stares through him, her green eyes (So like her son's. Always glittering with some private joy. Always bright with curiosity; with eagerness.) red and raw. "Thaffe," she manages, a whisper... and then a pained groan, as though she's been stabbed through the heart-

Or as though her heart's been torn out.

"We were on the tavern roof," Ardin says, his quiet voice steady. Too steady. Numb. "Jeryk and I. Patching it up. When the eaters came, I... I sent him down first - told him to find his mother, to stay with her..." He drags his good hand down his face, shaking. "When I went to follow him down, I slipped. Fell. Knocked myself senseless, broke my arm." His eyes close. "When I came to, it was over, and Jeryk was gone."

Gone. Gone?

Guthjon lets out a long, slow breath. "Gods. The poor lad. There was no...?"

No body.

Ardin shakes his head, eyes closed. "I looked. Asked everyone. Looked at all the dead, just in case..."

But it would've been easy to recognize one small body among the dead. No body meant a fate far worse than death, and agony every moment of the change. Thaffe watches Esmena's face twist in grief again, and his hands slide away from hers, falling limp. She buries her face in her hands, muffling her cries, but to Thaffe, they sound a thousand malms away - as though he's gazing out at the world from a long, dark tunnel.

Jeryk.

He'd seen his friend just that morning as he left the house - Jeryk still sound asleep where he'd climbed into Thaffe's bed, as usual. They'd stayed up far too late talking about... gods, what had they even talked about? Silly things. Jeryk had gone on about wanting to restore the old trolley cars, as if they knew the first thing about such things, and Thaffe had drowsily humored him - knowing all the while that he had to wake up absurdly early to get to the mine, but not quite being willing to kick Jeryk out...

He'd ruffled Jeryk's tousled blond hair as he left.

He stares at his hands, remembering with strange sharpness the way Jeryk's hair felt against his fingers. The sound of his voice, half-hushed, cracking with all his fourteen-summers' eagerness as he talked about restoring the trolley and tracks. The living warmth of him in the bed at Thaffe's side.

Gone.

Not like this, he thinks, thoughts colliding and tumbling over one another. Not like this. I knew I'd need to lose him soon, but never this, not this, not...

He'll spend the rest of his life peering at every sin eater, wondering. If the gods are merciful, it'll be a short life.

He's dimly aware of Guthjon speaking to him, but the words slide off. The tone is comforting, commiserating. The miner pats his back, speaks once more to the grieving parents, and leaves. There are others he can help. Others who can yet be helped. This... this, Thaffe supposes, only time can heal.

He tries to imagine Twine without Jeryk, and can't.

Closing his eyes, he tortures himself with thoughts of how it must have happened. He'd been safe in the mines, hammering blithely away, complaining about his shoulders and back aching, and all the while...

Jeryk, realizing his father had fallen; wasn't moving. Jeryk would've panicked. Where would his mother have been? The other side of town? It would've seemed like the other side of Norvrandt. Jeryk never thought clearly when he was spooked; he wouldn't have thought to find somewhere to hide. No, faced with danger, Jeryk would've run...

Jeryk would've run.

The idea fills his mind like a diamond unearthed in an old seam. His breath catches. It's an impossible hope; wild and desperate, but if he's right -

He gets to his feet and runs at a dead sprint, heedless of the shouts that follow him.

Thaffe runs along the tracks as fast as his feet will carry him, just as he's told Jeryk not to do a thousand times. He tries not to think about how much open sky there is above him, or how tempting a target one scrawny, terrified teenage hume would've been; hope is all he has left, and he'll need it to carry him to the end. If he's wrong, he fears it might just kill him.

The empty railyard at Mount Biran's abandoned mines, littered with the ruins of long-abandoned trolleys left to bake beneath the Amh Araeng sun and the blistering Light.

Thaffe's not even certain what compelled him to come here, what made him think this might be where Jeryk ran, only... only that this is where they've been spending their days, lately; looking out over the rotting tracks and thinking about what used to be. Jeryk chattering on about the trolleys and their heyday as if he'd lived them, going on and on... Thaffe's not sure he hasn't come to take an interest in trolleys by force, at this rate.

"Jeryk!" His voice echoes over the yard, cracking with desperation. "Jeryk! Where are you!?"

Silence. Stillness.

Doubt gnaws at his gut, making his breathing ragged.

If he's wrong... if he's wrong...

He calls again, eyes darting around as though he might catch any hint of-

There.

He's moving before he even recognizes what he's seen: the slightest twitch of a shadow beneath one of the intact trolleys. It's a small space, narrow... but not too small for one scared boy.

"Jeryk," he says, all but throwing himself to the ground, peering into the shadows.

Relief so strong it leaves him breathless washes over him: there, huddled between the tracks, still trembling with fear and adrenaline both...

"Jeryk," he manages again, choking on emotion. "It's safe now, you can come out. Let's go on home-"

But Jeryk shakes his head, inching further back; in the darkness, his eyes are wide and dark with terror. "No, no-"

He's always so skittish when he's frightened. Thaffe supposes he could wait here until the boy is ready to come out on his own; barring the occasional stray coyote, there's not much to fear here. Were it not for the memory of Esmena weeping herself into hysterics in her grief...

And his own need to be sure he's not looking at some phantom dreamed up by his own grief. That, too.

"Jeryk," he says, a third time. Gentle. He reaches out a hand. "It's me; it's Thaffe. I'd never hurt you. You know I'd never hurt you."

A whimper. A shiver. And something human resurfaces in Jeryk's eyes.

"Thaffe..." The boy drags himself forward, seizing Thaffe's hand, and letting himself be pulled back out into the Light.

Thaffe didn't mean to pull Jeryk into his arms, but he finds he's done it anyway, clinging and weeping like a child. Jeryk clings back, though, burying his face against Thaffe's shoulder, sobbing, blubbering about sin eaters. They sit together in the dirt beside the tracks, too overwrought to stand - Thaffe finds he can't string two thoughts together; only an endless rush of disbelief and gratitude, and the fear that if he lets go, even if only for a moment, Jeryk will simply evaporate: an illusion brought on by grief.

So he holds on, so tight he's certain he must be hurting Jeryk after all.

"Gods," he says, after what feels like hours. Jeryk's parents must be certain he's gone off and gotten himself killed in a fit of grief-fueled madness. The best apology he can make is to restore their son to them. "We... we should get home-"

Jeryk stirs, lifting his head from Thaffe's shoulder for the first time since he'd emerged from under the trolley. His face is smudged with tears and dust; his eyes are red and raw, so like his mother's. "Did... did you see my dad?"

"He's-" Wicked white, I should've said something sooner. "He's fine. Busted his arm, that's all. He's worried sick about you." He leaves out the fact that Jeryk's parents had been convinced he was dead or worse; that'll only distress him further.

Jeryk squirms guiltily in his arms. "I just-"

"I know." He gets back to his feet, pulling Jeryk up along with him. Reluctantly - and feeling foolish for it - he releases the boy, who doesn't vanish on the spot. "Let's get home, shall we?" He ruffles Jeryk's hair, already mussed from scrambling under the trolley, and tries not to think about how certain he'd been that he'd never do so again.

I can't imagine Twine without you.

He tries not to think about it.

Jeryk smiles - a little wobbly at the corners, a little more sniffly than usual, but it'll do. They begin the familiar walk back to Twine, their feet falling steadily on the old tracks, watching for loose boards beneath their feet.

"Hey, Thaffe?"

"Hm?"

Jeryk smiles again, and Thaffe knows what he's in for. "Do you suppose there might be some way to use the trolley to protect Twine from sin eaters?"

Gods, what would I ever even do if I lost you? "Well-"

But Jeryk's already in a world of his own, spinning a tale of trolleys opposing the Light.

Thaffe shakes his head, smiling.

Thank the gods.

[azuremliam]

Been in the mood to write! An exploration of this specific scenario from this, this one is pretty long, so of course under the readmore 👍

Scarab couldn't stop his trembling hands and his teeth gnashing together underneath his mask.

He couldn't tell if his reaction was from anger at the whole ordeal or worry.

It had happened again after all.

He had been called to make yet another report of Liam's progress by Orbo, fixing up a long drawn out list of things they've done and what not. It always happens when he's off writing his report, to the point where he dreads when he leaves them for it. To the point where he always expects the worst when coming back to the trio.

And without fail, it always seems to turn out that way.

He returned to discover Liam and their brothers literally in the jaws of those gigantic Beasts that run amok in their world. AGAIN. How in the world did they keep on getting themselves in these situations when he was away!? It was infuriating! It was ridiculous!

It…

It made him worry about them immensely.

He clenched his hands open and shut.

Open. Close. Open. Close.

Yes, they made it out fine. Yes, Liam's sword jabbed into the Beast's mouth and had kept it from closing down on them- and their brothers had escaped its mouth without a scratch. His…friend was able to slip away shortly after from the Lizard Beast's distraction at the sight of their brother's running away.

His hands clasped together and he rubbed them, trying to soothe his nerves.

Liam was able to do a significant amount of damage to the Beast before he arrived, with its hide all tattered and torn. When he arrived on the scene the creature had no chance against the two of them, their team work had led to it being swiftly slain.

Now they were resting at the rundown abandoned house the Beast had been lurking in.

He had been quick to claim a room for a place to stew in his thoughts. …Speaking of stew, the smell of meat roasting wafting in distracted him from his brooding.

Liam must've been done carving and organizing the Beast's parts if they fixed up a fire to cook some of it.

The source of his worries peeked through the doorway, and they finally creaked open the door entering the room to meet him as per his request. "Jake and Finn are taking care of the cooking. So um, you, uh, wanted to talk to me, Scarab?" From the way their hands held and rubbed at their arms- they were anxious.

He could tell that they were expecting a rant from him. And they were absolutely right with that assumption.

"What do I have to do to make you stop nearly dying when I'm away. Do you always have a damned death wish!?" "Huh?"

He stomped towards Liam and stopped right in front of them, glaring down at their bewildered face. "Every single time I go to make my report- You throw yourself into danger! Its as if you like trying to get yourself killed!"

Their baffled look was soon replaced by annoyance. "I'm not doing this on purpose, Scarab!"

He hisses and clicks his tongue. "On purpose or not, it doesn't change the fact that you put yourself in danger, right when I can't help you! It's my job to keep you safe. So I'd appreciate it if you'd just stay put in one place until I get back so I can do so properly!"

Liam returns his glare with one of their own. "So you just want me to twiddle my thumbs and wait in a Hive for who knows how long it takes for you to finish your report? I have a job to do too you know!"

Had he not been so irritated right now, he would've been impressed by their gall. They continued, "Scarab, I've been dealing with Beasts since I was a child. And while I truly appreciate you for saving my hide with that bird, I think I can handle dealing with them even when you're not around."

Scarab could feel his teeth pry apart his mask, baring them with a low growl, "Can you really? The last two encounters makes me doubt that." Their eyes glimmered gold and he could tell he struck a nerve.

"Yes I can, Scarab! I'm not some bumbling fool in distress! I've lived like this my whole life and even been trained to hunt them! And I had that Lizard all handled even before you arrived!" They stepped up- standing up on the tip of their toes- to him and craned their head up to match his leering. "I can fight my own battles, with or without you, and you know it!"

"AUGH!" He threw his arms up in the air- this frustrating, foolish human of his! "YES! I know!"

Liam frowned at him now, "Then why are you so up in arms about this!?"

Oh for the love of Glob. This was getting nowhere.

He barged past them, ignoring their calls out to him. But he stopped at the door, hesitant, shoulders sagging as he took a deep breath and letting out a long tired grumble about how ridiculous this was.

How in the world did they manage to get under his carapace and make him care about them so much?

Scarab felt their gaze burning into his back, waiting for his answer.

"Because I don't want to lose my first friend to some stupid, preventable reason, alright!?"

…

Nothing but silence.

If they had nothing to say to that, then there was no point in lingering here. He was about to leave, hand gripping the door's handle, but their quite voice made him pause. "…Then meet me halfway with this."

Scarab turned to look at them, skeptical of what could possibly remedy this situation. "How so?"

Liam was rubbing at one of their arms, but instead of nervousness, they still looked peeved. "When you go off to make your report, I'll wait at least three days for you before taking a job- so you'll have more time to make it back."

His eyes narrowed at them. "Make it a week."

"No. Five days. That's the most I'll do, and that's final." He grumbled a complaint, but reluctantly nodded in agreement.

"Fine." "Good."

Suddenly the air between them felt awkward.

He finally pushed open the door and sauntered out, "I'm going to my room."

They followed him, quirking a brow at him, "This is your room, Scarab."

Glob damn it.

His stride quickened, "Right. I'm going to help your brothers then." It smelt like the meat was starting to char anyways.

"Yeah, okay. I'm going to go store the Beast parts." With that said, they stiffly walked away from each other.

… Later that night they sat on opposite sides of the campfire from one another.

Being smack dab in the middle of their camp the two brothers were quick to notice their awkwardness. Finn and Jake had exchanged looks. Especially after seeing how engrossed they were with doing little tasks instead of talking to each other.

Scarab was sharpening Liam's weapons, while their sibling was busying themself with sorting the Beast's claws and scales into their proper containers. The two hadn't even bothered to make a gesture of acknowledgement like they usually did on the occasion they walked past each other.

"Tmmhis ish silly." Finn mummbled to Jake with a mouth full of food. "Mmwaht-" He coughed and sputtered, catching Liam's 'don't talk with your mouth full, Finn' while Jake patted his back, "What got them so upset, Jake?"

"Dunno," Jake shrugged, nibbling on a piece of a leaf, "But it kinda reminds me when Mam got mad at Mom when she nearly got chomped by that near dead beast she was studying."

Finn tilted his head, "Hmmmmmmm…" He glanced over at Scarab.

The God Auditor was carefully inspecting Liam's sword, running his finger along the sharpened edge. Satisfied with it, he moved on to their hunting dagger and got to work maintaining it- not before stealing a quick glance in Liam's direction unbeknownst to his sibling.

He turned his attention to Liam now, who had neatly packaged up the Beast parts and now set about carefully storing them in their pack. Just like Scarab, they paused briefly with their work- and spared a brief look over at him, before shaking their head and continuing with their business.

Finn took a gulp from his water canteen, "Yeah you're right. How long do you think they're gonna be like this bro bro?"

Jake yawned, "Aaaahmm, I give it till tomorrow mornin' this time." Leaves finished, he laid down and tucked his head underneath the ridge of his pronotum, "Mmm sure they'll be all chummy together after simmering down for the night."

Setting his empty bowl down, Finn grabbed his pillow and sleeping bag- setting them down right by Jake so he could lean against him. "I hope so."

'They couldn't possibly be that stubborn with each other,' both him and Jake said good night to the two, and he grinned at Li and Scarab's synchronized "good night"s back at them. The warmth of the sleeping bag was lulling him to sleep, 'Jakes right, they'll be back to being friends tomorrow.' …

They had vastly underestimated how stubborn the two could be.

It had been four straight days of Liam and Scarab awkwardly avoiding each other and giving one another the silent treatment.

Finn and Jake were tired of it, deciding to finally take matters into their own hands! They were gonna get those two dorks to apologize to each other one way or another!

So while they were traversing between the Hives, the two put their plan into action.

Liam was trailing behind them, Scarab leading far ahead from them as they made their way down the path. The duo were right in the middle, the perfect opportunity to initiate plan, "Get the Goofballs Talking Again!"

"I'll talk to Liam," Jake whispered, "You talk to Scarab, 'kay?"

"'Kay!" Finn was full of determination and ran on over to Scarab, while Jake buzzed back to Liam.

"Scarab!" Scarab slowed his stride, letting Finn catch up to him, "What is it, Finn?" Despite him slowing down, Finn still had to slightly jog to keep up with him. "Why are you and Li not talking right now? I thought you two were finally friends?"

The God Auditor nearly tripped on a root, his attention completely frazzled at Finn's bluntness.

Recovering, he scoffed and picked up his pace again, "That isn't any of your concern." "Nuhuh!"

Finn could show him that he could be just as stubborn as the both of them! "You and Li got upset with each other about the Beast, huh?" Scarab snorted and ignored Finn's smug look.

"You know, our mom's acted like this too, when fighting Beasts. It was 'cause they were both worried about each other-" Scarab slowed his pace again, and Finn went on, "You got mad at Li, 'cause they could've gotten really hurt."

"They could've died." "Yep."

Scarab looked down at him, despite his mask not being too expressive, Finn could tell he wasn't expecting such a simple answer from him. "Our entire family knows we could just get snapped up and get turned into Beast turds any day."

Scarab was very quiet for a while, looking ahead with tired eyes.

"…and that's why I hate that I can't always be there to help the- all of you." "Then you two should stop being dorks and make up! You care about Li, right?"

He grunted and looked away from Finn. "I don't…" Scarab's carapace rippled, "I was annoyed at the thought of them getting killed over stupid reasons. Its just my job to keep them safe."

"Liaaaar." Finn wasn't at all bothered by Scarab's glare, "You care about Li, me, and Jake! And Li cares about you. They're your friend, and you're their friend, and you were worried about them! So tell Li you're sorry about what ever you said, you'll both be really happy when you do!"

Scarab scoffed, "You know, you can be really annoying." Finn grinned, "Sure can!"

The Auditor was about to say something else, but he froze in place- "Oof!" Finn bumped into his leg, "Why'd you stop- oh!"

Liam was shouting and heading towards them- well, they were shouting at Scarab mostly. "Hey, Scarab! I need to tell you something!"

Jake was following close behind them, stopping to gesture to Finn to get over to him. He gave Scarab a thumbs up, "Good luck Scarab!" and ran on over to his brother, passing by Liam who gave him a weary smile.

Now they just hope for the best with the two.

… Liam stopped right in front of Scarab, shifting from foot to foot. Scarab cracked the knuckles of his fingers one by one. Both of them were avoiding the other's gaze, the tension between the two growing.

Scarab started tapping his foot- Liam rubbed at their neck.

… ……

""I'm sorry."" They said in unison.

…… …

They were quite again, and Scarab didn't know how to go on from that. Until-

"Pffft-"

Liam's face broke into a smile and they started laughing. "Oh Glob, we're pieces of work!" Scarab huffed and crossed his arms. "We haven't spoke to each other for days and that's the first thing you say?"

Scarab tried to ignore the feeling of delight at the sound of their laughter. But he couldn't stop a toothy smile of his own from forming. He was glad his mask hid it away.

Liam had a bit of tears in their eyes from their laughter. "Geeze. I missed talking to you, you know?"

Scarab tensed up, looking away from them. "…I did too." Scarab flinched, not noticing their approach and felt their arms wrap around his waist, Liam's warm cheek pressed against his cool chitin. His own arms were awkwardly hovering above Liam's back, unsure on how to react to their sudden display of affection.

He had given them permission to hug him, but that didn't mean he was used to it.

"Thanks for caring, Scarab. Sorry for making you worry so much."

Scarab grumbled, "I wasn't worried." He felt them smile against him, "Yeah, I know, you stickler." Their God Auditor sneered, but he finally returned their hug- as awkward of a bend it was to do so.

"I'm-" His carapace rattled, he wasn't used to this. They looked up, and he balked at how softly they stared at him.

He forced himself to rasp out his apology, "I'm sorry that I implied that you couldn't take care of yourself. You're the most competent person I've had the pleasure to work with in eons."

Liam laughed again and patted his back, "Heh, thanks Scarab, that means a lot coming from you." …

Scarab chose to turn a blind eye at the sight of Finn and Jake high-fiving.