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giuliettagaltieri · 5 months ago

Text

Not Her Man

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Childhood friend!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Feathers fall gracefully slow

Warning: Girlrotting

Word Count: 3193

Part 1 • Part 3

You were always scared to do drugs.

You saw Rafe at his highs, you were with him, keeping him from doing anything stupid like when he was so sure he could backflip from Tanneyhill’s rooftop and land on the grass perfectly.

But you also wondered how difficult it was for him to get clean. To suffer from withdrawals. And as you lie on your fur carpet, staring at the glimmering crystals of your chandelier, with your closet half emptied and scattered all around your room, along with rolling wine bottles on the polished hardwood floor of your bedroom, you think you might have understood just a little.

Blocking him was the hardest thing you have ever done in your life, especially when it was your routine to giggle over whatever interaction you had through text that day. The itch to open his account for any update made you want to bind your hands together.

Your parents are out of the country, busy overseeing their business, forgetting to oversee their daughter. Your maids were there for you, at least they try to be. They bring you food on schedule, even sliding in a few scoops of ice cream every now and then in your room when your sobs start to echo around the halls.

Rafe tried to contact you multiple times. First, through your phone, but you blocked him. Next, he tried to throw pebbles at your window, but your seventy-six year old gardener fired a shotgun at him, thinking that he was a burglar. Next, he tried a different approach, he was sending you gigantic bouquets of your favorite flowers, making the hallway leading to your room look like a wedding set up, the flowers perfumed the entire house too, drawing a concerning amount of bees. One epipen to your chef’s thigh later, Rafe stops sending them.

He never really does anything right. All he does is mess up, create more problems for himself. You almost wanted to give in, but you remind yourself of the things he said. Anger and hurt quickly replaces pity.

A familiar chime of your phone had you groaning. Your friends are probably going to have another attempt of making you step out of your room, like inviting you to have your nails done or shop, just to get your mind off of Rafe.

You just let the ringtone end and you go back to staring at the chandelier, wondering if you’ll be quick enough to get out of the way if it somehow falls. Before you can plan a strategic roll, your phone rings again.

Blindly reaching underneath the scattered pillows, you finally locate the buzzing device. You answer without looking at the caller ID.

“Y/N speaking.” You mumble lazily.

“Hey, girlie.” There goes the high-pitched voice of your friend. “Sooo, the girls and I-hush!” You hear a bunch of girls giggling behind the line and your brows crease together in annoyance. “We’re going on a party tonight and we’re thinking that maybe you’d liketocomewithus?”

You play with the lace of your dress, eyes just following the patterns when you hear your name being called again over the phone.

“I’m not in the mood for parties.”

“You are never in the mood for anything anymore.” She whines behind the line. Her tone prompts you to sit up to pick up the stale wine you left out in the open for too long. Taking a sip and ignoring the thin coat of dust it caught after you ransacked your closet for something that made you look confident, only for you to end up squeezing in the dress that Rafe got you as a present for your 13th birthday. He didn’t pick it out for you, of course, but it still made you all fizzy and bubbly and excited inside.

You put down the wine to scratch at the waistband that is digging on the skin of your under bust, the fabric being stretched beyond its capacity.

“I know.” You tried to sound apologetic. “I just can’t, okay?”

She sighs, making you let out a grateful sigh. There’s still some ceiling viewing you had to get back to.

“I’m picking you up at seven.” She speaks with finality and before you can answer, she continues. “Please don’t let that awful man get the satisfaction of knowing that he has this much effect on you.” You can hear her begging behind the phone. She and the other girls are just looking out for you.

With an unwilling heart, you decide to get on your feet, your socked foot nearly slipping the moment it touches the wooden floor. Cursing, you finally crouch on the piled up clothes you threw earlier.

“Fine, I’ll come.” You roll your eyes. “Dresscode?”

You hear an airy chuckle and you can imagine her pinching your cheeks if you were within her reach. “Party’s open to all, Kooks or Pogues. In the community beach house. You dress however you like. I’ll match your vibe, if you’d like.”

This makes a smile creep on your lips. She’s definitely on the top 10 list of the most annoying people you know but you thank God everyday for a friend like her. “You know I love you, right?”

She snorts before bursting out in a fit of laughter. “Duh. I love you too.”

“See you later.” You grin. “Tell the girls I’m coming too.”

“Sure, see you!”

You hang up and get started on searching for the right outfit. Well, there’s the classic white flowy dresses, but everybody wears them. You could wear a short and a cute top, show some belly? Blech, you’re not exactly in one of your maneater moods. But perhaps if you covered it with that oversized white pinstriped polo, it could work? Yeah, something casual yet put together. It’s not like you’re dressing to impress anybody, or somebody in particular, you’d prioritize comfort over fashion tonight.

A knock on your bedroom door pulls you from your thoughts. With a shrug, you throw your chosen clothes on your bed.

“Coming.” You call while trudging over to open the door. There stood your maid, she was looking anxious, wringing her wrinkly hands. “What is it?”

She glances at your odd choice of clothing before she looks away so as to not make you uncomfortable. “Well, uhm, Sir Cameron is here again, miss. He’s waiting for you downstairs, in the drawing room.”

You press your lips in a firm line. “Tell him I’m not here.”

Your maid smiles apologetically. “He…he saw you in your bedroom window before he came in, miss.”

Huffing, you tap your feet impatiently. “Just tell him I’m busy.”

“He said you’ll say that.” She mutters, amusement in her tone. “And he asked us to tell you that he can wait.”

You close your eyes to keep them from rolling. “Whatever, he can stay as long as he likes, but I’m not coming down to meet him.” You push the door a little wider and your maid’s eyes widen at the state of your room. “I’m sorry, I know you’re busy but can you help me clean up?”

The rest of the afternoon was spent tidying up your room.

It was dark out, a couple of minutes past seven when your phone buzzed. Knowing that it’s your girlfriends, you pick your bag, filled with the usual party necessities and head downstairs. It’s a habit, assigning yourself as the responsible friend who stays sober to look after the others.

You are slipping in the pearl bracelet your grandmother got for you last Christmas when you hear your name being called and in instinct, you turn around.

“Oh, right.” You say with a tone that is drier than the Sahara desert. “You’re here.”

Rafe’s standing just outside your drawing room, his hands falling to his side.

“Yeah.” He spoke awkwardly, his eyes glancing at your outfit, familiarity crossing them before he looked at your eyes again. “I was waiting for you.”

You exhale softly and he just stood there, waiting for your reaction.

“I know.” You say simply. “Gotta go.” You start walking again to your door.

“Wait, Y/N.” He easily catches up. “You’re…you’re coming to the party, right?” He asks hopefully.

“Yes.” You respond without looking at him.

Rafe smiles but it quickly dissipates when he sees a different car waiting for you. “Hold on, I can drive you there.” He says quickly, his hand gripping yours just to get you to listen to him. “I can drive you to the party.” He says in an uncharacteristically sheepish way.

For a second, you look at him, really look at him. His smile grows wide. He missed having your eyes on him. You’re his best friend, and he’s used to doing everything with you by his side. He also liked how dependent you were on him too, always asking for his approval. You have a bit of an overbearing attitude but he would be lying if he’ll say that he doesn’t miss you doting on him too. Perhaps you’re not the only one who’s dependent on this odd friendship you both have.

“No, thank you.” You say before pulling your hand away with a sharp look thrown his way. He watches you walk away to greet your friends. He’s still stuck there, staring, even after the car drives away.

He doesn’t understand it.

You’re the emotional one, why are you doing so well without him? You never go to parties with other people, it was always him that you stick close to. Clinging on him, pulling him to the dance floor when he’s about to do a line of coke, or accidentally knocking his cup when he’s had too much drinks.

Running a hand through his face, Rafe decides to hop on his car and follow you to the party. You’ll be in the same space as him in the next few hours. He’ll get another chance there. He’s certain of it.

He didn’t get the chance.

With you by his side all the time, you memorized his set of activities at parties and you evaded him perfectly. Rafe decided that it was best to stand by the punch table. You’d get thirsty eventually, and he’ll be there waiting if you do.

On the other side of the house, farthest from Rafe, there you sit by the porch swing, admiring the push and pull of the waves. The party was at its climax and everybody was cramped inside the house, dancing and drinking, or doing unholy activities. You don’t know how you managed to slip away from your friends but you’re glad you did. You needed the fresh air.

You’re just starting to get comfortable when a man stumbles out the door. You watch him struggle to keep himself up. He looked lost? Or just flat out drunk. You watch in amusement as he scratches his blonde head, he must be having a whiplash from all the blinding neon lights inside and suddenly his vision switches to the bright light provided by the LEDs.

His feet twist and he starts to fall to the side, your head tilting to follow his fall. You wince when you hear the loud thud of his body hitting the floor, followed by his muffled but loud groaning.

“Motherfu-” He sits on the floor, his legs sprawled out in front of him as he shakes his head like a dog.

“You alright, JJ?” You chuckle.

He whips his head to you, cursing again when his vision spins. “Y/N?” He drawls out while rubbing his eyes. “You saw everything?”

Still laughing, you get up to crouch next to him. “I did.” You smile when he groans out again. “Are you okay?”

He props up a knee and rests an arm there, he looks buzzed, his eyes are heavily lidded as he stares off into the ocean.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He glances at you. “Well, this is a strange sight.”

“What is?” You mumble as you look away from him, deciding to play dumb.

He shrugs animatedly, hands gesturing to you and the entire space of the porch. “Usually, wherever you are, your boyfriend is not that far behind.” He points a thumb behind him. “And if I wasn’t imagining it, I’m pretty sure I just saw him brooding over the drinks.”

You chuckle dryly as you bring your knees to your chest. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

JJ looks at you with an unimpressed face. “That’s all you heard.”

Playfully punching his shoulder, you sigh. “We fought.”

He frowns, back straightening immediately. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” It’s kind of sweet how your words seemed to have sobered him really quick.

“No! No, he didn’t.” You reply right away. “Well, at least not physically.”

You watch him grimace. “Outside physical fights, I have little to no idea how to respond.”

“That’s okay, JJ. I don’t wanna talk about it, anyway.”

He gives you a boyish grin, as if to reassure you before scratching at his jaw, your eyes mindlessly follow his movements and you see a scratch.

“You’re hurt.” You tell him, pointing at your own jaw.

“Huh?” He touches his jaw and winces. “Ow! Must’ve scratched myself when I…uhm.”

“When you decided to attack the floor.” You finish for him and he clears his throat. “You’ll have to disinfect it.”

“Pfft, it’s fine.” He shakes his head. “It’s just a scratch.”

But you are already grabbing your bag by the swing and you return with a small kit.

“I forgot to bring wipes.” You mumble before crouching down in front of him. He swallows at your close proximity. “Come on, JJ. It’s just antibacterial cream.”

He hesitantly shows you his face and you gently apply the cream, tutting when he dramatically pulls away.

You grab his face and tilt it slightly and JJ squeezes his eyes.

“It fucking stings.” He nearly whines, making you roll your eyes.

“Don’t be a baby!” You huff and he stays still for a second, allowing you to smear the cream evenly and he rolls away from you as soon as you’re done.

JJ was muttering about God knows what while you’re busy putting your stuff away. When you sit next to him again, he’s much calmer, a lazy smile back on his face again.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

You throw him a playful glare. “You’re welcome.”

He touches the scratch and you almost tell him off but he quickly pulls his hand away.

“Why didn’t Cameron make you his girl?”

You blow out a big sigh. “He doesn’t like me.”

“Bullshit.” He laughs but he clears his throat when you look at him unamused. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You smile at him genuinely before averting your eyes. “I wouldn’t blame him. I mean, you saw how I can be.” You chuckle this time but there’s no humor on JJ’s face, he’s looking at you rather sadly. “I care too much and everybody suffocates around me.”

“I don’t.” He says quickly. “I was just being dramatic earlier.” He rubs his nape. “I’m not used to having people tend to me, I mostly just do it myself.” He seeks your eyes and you finally look at him.

You hear a creak behind you but before you can look, JJ cups your face to keep you from breaking your eye contact, making your breath hitch.

“I liked being taken care of like that.” He whispers and your lips part slightly.

“JJ.” You say breathlessly and he grins, his face leaning dangerously close to you. “You’re drunk.”

He gently bites his bottom lip and you have to look away from his blatant flirting. “I’m sober enough to kiss, I promise.”

This…this isn’t right.

You gently push him away and his lips immediately form a pout. “You’re such a kid, JJ.”

He clicks his tongue and angrily stoops as he glares at the ocean. “You had no idea how long it took me to build the courage to do that.”

“Five minutes?” You jokingly bump his shoulders, making his act break at the edges, a smile threatening to crack on his lips. “Seriously, J, I can’t kiss drunk guys. It’s unethical.”

He mimics you in a childish voice and buries his face on his palms harshly. He turns to you again, with his hair disheveled and sticking to his forehead and red blotches appearing on some areas of his face. “I’m not as drunk as you think I am.” The way he glances at your lips had your throat drying up. “I really wanted to kiss you.” Aside from Rafe, you have little to no experience with the male attention and frankly, you don’t know what to do.

You place a hand on his shoulder and stiffly pat it twice. “You’ll get over it.”

JJ looks at you exasperatedly. “You’re taking this too lightly, this is my feelings we are talking about.”

You stifle a laughter. “Oh, so you have feelings for me.” You raise a brow at him and he nods his head enthusiastically.

“Every guy on this island has a thing for you.” He says animatedly. “If it wasn’t for your bodyguard, we would have made our move long ago.”

You are deeply flattered, you can’t resist the girlish smile from tugging on your lips, your cheeks slowly heating up.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He looks deeply offended and places a hand on his chest.

“You’re the ultimate dream girl, stupid!” He dodges a punch from you. “You’re like the total package. You’re sweet, and smart, you’re also very pretty, you can be funny too when you let loose.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you and this pulls a laughter from you, a real, genuine laughter that had your shoulders shaking.

“When are you gonna get serious, J?” Wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes, you get up. “Wait here, I’ll get us a drink.”

He gives you a two finger salute before lying smack down on the floor, with his arms spread out. You shake your head, chuckling when you open the door.

And your hair stands on end.

There stood the very person you have been avoiding the entire night.

But for once, he isn’t wearing a scowl or a condescending cocky smile.

He was looking at you like a man defeated and broken.

“Rafe.” You whisper as you reach for him but you stop yourself before your skin can touch. He looks at your hand and then your eyes. You don’t know if it’s the trick of light but you could have sworn his eyes are glassy.

“Hey, Y/N, everything alright?” JJ calls.

Rafe glances at JJ and then back at you, he nods slowly as he takes a step back. Your heart aches as you watch him take another step away from you but you will yourself not to follow. He runs a hand on his mouth and he turns away from you.

You stare at his back as he leaves, torn between choosing your own pride or running after him. For what seemed like hours, you stood there, frozen. Still lost in the onslaught of emotions that surged through you.

Not Your Girl • His Girl

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #outer banks #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #rafe angst #rafe outer banks #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe obx

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inkskinned · 2 years ago

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for a while i lived in an old house; the kind u.s americans don't often get to live in - living in a really old house here is super expensive. i found out right before i moved out that the house was actually so old that it features in a poem by emily dickinson.

i liked that there were footprints in front of the sink, worn into the hardwood. there were handprints on some of the handrails. we'd find secret marks from other tenants, little hints someone else had lived and died there. and yeah, there was a lot wrong with the house. there are a lot of DIY skills you learn when you are a grad student that cannot afford to pay someone else to do-it-for-ya. i shared the house with 8 others. the house always had this noise to it. sometimes that noise was really fucking awful.

in the mornings though, the sun would slant in thick amber skiens through the windows, and i'd be the first one up. i'd shuffle around, get showered in this tub that was trying to exit through the floor, get my clothes on. i would usually creep around in the kitchen until it was time to start waking everyone else up - some of them required multiple rounds of polite hey man we gotta go knocks. and it felt... outside of time. a loud kind of quiet.

the ghosts of the house always felt like they were humming in a melody just out of reach. i know people say that the witching hour happens in the dark, but i always felt like it occurred somewhere around 6:45 in the morning. like - for literal centuries, somebody stood here and did the dishes. for literal centuries, somebody else has been looking out the window to this tree in our garden. for literal centuries, people have been stubbing their toes and cracking their backs and complaining about the weather. something about that was so... strangely lovely.

i have to be honest. i'm not a history aficionado. i know, i know; it's tragic of me. i usually respond to "this thing is super old" by being like, wow! cool! and moving on. but this house was the first time i felt like the past was standing there. like it was breathing. like someone else was drying their hands with me. playing chess on the sofa. adding honey to their tea.

i grew up in an old town. like, literally, a few miles off of walden pond (as in of the walden). (also, relatedly, don't swim in walden, it's so unbelievably dirty). but my family didn't have "old house" kind of money. we had a barely-standing house from the 70's. history existed kind of... parallel to me. you had to go somewhere to be in history. your school would pack you up on a bus and take you to some "ye olden times" place and you'd see how they used to make glass or whatever, and then you'd go home to your LEDs. most museums were small and closed before 5. you knew history was, like, somewhere, but the only thing that was open was the mcdonalds and the mall.

i remember one of my seventh grade history teachers telling us - some day you'll see how long we've been human for and that thing has been puzzling me. i know the scientific number, technically.

the house had these little scars of use. my floors didn't actually touch the walls; i had to fill them with a stopgap to stop the wind. other people had shoved rags and pieces of newspaper. i know i've lost rings and earring backs down some of the floorboards. i think the raccoons that lived in our basement probably have collected a small fortune over the years. i complain out loud to myself about how awful the stairs are (uneven, steep, evil, turning, hard to get down while holding anything) and know - someone else has said this exact same thing.

when i was packing up to leave and doing a final deep cleaning, i found a note carved in the furthest corner in the narrow cave of my closet. a child's scrawled name, a faded paint handprint, the scrangly numbers: 1857.

we've been human for a long time. way back before we can remember.

#idk if it's still tradition but the kids at the local school next to walden when I went there #used to have a tradition where u had to pee in walden pond before u graduated or otherwise you'd fail one of your classes #as someone who did not do this im happy to report i did fail a class so maybe they had a point #they've torn the school down tho so who knows #i hope this makes sense #i think we've been human longer than we've been writing #ps this land was taken over by hostile combatants and colonialized . let us not forget that part of the reason #our 'history' is so short. is that we have systematically slaughtered the people who had history here before

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joelsrose · 25 days ago

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Good Neighbours: Chapter 2

previous chapter

no warnings - slow burn, joel is a major tease and flirt

The kitchen was warm, the smell of melted chocolate lingering in the air as you wiped a bead of sweat from your forehead, glancing down at the recipe in front of you. It was one you’d made a hundred times before—a rich, decadent chocolate cake that had won over countless friends back in Chicago. Even your ex had loved it.

You grimaced at the memory, shaking it off with a shudder before dipping a finger into the bowl for a taste. The sweet, velvety flavor spread across your tongue, momentarily satisfying.

Uncle Ray had mentioned earlier that he’d invited Sarah and Joel over to watch the game. Your heart gave a nervous thud at the thought of Joel being in your house. He had this way of commanding a room with his quiet confidence, and you weren’t sure you were ready to be in such close proximity to him for an entire evening.

Ray had promised to take care of dinner, leaving you in charge of dessert. A fair trade, you supposed, since cooking wasn’t exactly his forte. You focused on the cake, pouring the batter into the pan, when the doorbell rang.

You wiped your hands on a towel and walked to the door, smoothing your hair nervously before opening it.

There he was—Joel. His hair was damp and slicked back, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. His patchy beard was trimmed just enough to keep that rugged edge, and his brown eyes held a quiet warmth, deep and rich like coffee.

The scent of him hit you next—clean and woodsy, mixed with a faint trace of something spiced that made your knees feel a little weaker.

"Hey, sweetheart," he greeted, his voice warm and familiar, that unmistakable Southern drawl curling around the word and sending a shiver straight through you.

"Hi, Joel," you managed, your voice softer than you intended as you stepped aside, opening the door wider. "Come on in."

He stepped inside, his boots clicking softly against the hardwood floor, the sound grounding you as you tried not to stare too long.

His eyes roamed the hallway, pausing on a framed photo perched on the console table. Reaching out, he picked it up with a curious smile.

"Who's this cutie?" he asked, holding the picture up slightly.

You moved closer, your shoulder nearly brushing his as you glanced at the image. It was an old photo of you as a kid, sandwiched between your dad and Ray.

The memory bubbled up faintly—how you’d been wearing an oversized life jacket, grinning despite being terrified of the fish your dad had caught.

"Oh," you said, a small laugh escaping as you brushed your hair back nervously. "That’s me. My dad and Uncle Ray took me fishing that day. I remember being scared out of my mind when Dad reeled in this huge fish—it was flopping around everywhere."

Joel chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked back at the photo, his thumb brushing over the glass as if committing it to memory.

"Damn cute," he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. Then he glanced at you, his smile softening into something deeper, something that made your heart stutter in your chest. "Still are," he added, his eyes holding yours for just a moment longer than necessary.

Your cheeks burned, the compliment settling into your chest like a warm glow. "Thanks," you said, barely above a whisper, unsure of what else to say under the weight of his gaze.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

You weren’t sure how much longer you could stand being alone with Joel.

His presence was magnetic, and every look, every word he said, felt charged—but was it? Was he flirting, or was this just how he was with everyone?

Maybe it was just some Texas charm you weren’t used to. You needed to steady yourself, needed to change the subject.

"So, uh," you said, forcing a casual tone as you cleared your throat. "Where’s Sarah?"

Joel’s lips curved into a faint smirk, like he knew exactly what you were doing, but he let you have the out. "She’s runnin’ late," he said, placing the photo back down on the table with care. "Still finishing up work, but she’ll be here soon."

You nodded, swallowing hard as the reality of the situation hit you—you were alone with Joel. The thought made your pulse quicken, a nervous energy buzzing under your skin. "Uh, well," you said, gesturing toward the living room. "Ray’s out grabbing dinner. You can, um, make yourself comfortable until he gets back."

Joel tilted his head slightly, his gaze lingering on you for a beat too long. It made your breath hitch, the intensity in his eyes somehow grounding and overwhelming all at once. Then he gave you that crooked smile, the one that made your stomach flip.

"Alright," he said simply, moving toward the couch with an easy confidence that only made the room feel smaller. You watched him settle in, his broad shoulders stretching out as he leaned back, completely at ease while you stood there, feeling anything but.

Joel sat down with a sigh, his broad shoulders sinking into the couch as he leaned back and ran a hand through his damp hair, the motion pulling your attention to the way his shirt clung to him just right.

"It’s damn hot today," he said, his voice low and rough, like the heat had taken the edge off his usual drawl. His legs were spread comfortably, his presence filling the space with an effortless ease that only made you feel more out of place.

"You’d think after all these years, I’d be used to it."

You hovered near the doorway, arms folding across your chest as you tried to decide whether to sit or stay standing. The indecision made you feel awkward, and you cursed yourself for being so flustered around him.

"It’s even worse upstairs," you finally said, forcing a light tone. "The fan in my room stopped working a few days ago—it’s like a sauna in there."

Joel straightened a little, his brows knitting together in concern. "Really? You poor thing." His gaze softened as he looked at you, and the way he said it made something twist low in your stomach. "I could take a look at it for you, if you want."

The offer caught you off guard, your mind scrambling as you processed his words.

Oh, right—Ray had mentioned Joel was in construction. Maybe he knew how to fix a fan.

It made sense—the truck, the boots, the rough calloused hands that had clearly seen their share of hard work. The thought made your throat tighten.

Your mind stumbled at the thought of Joel in your room, his presence alone enough to make your pulse race. "Oh, you don’t have to—" you started, your voice higher than usual, betraying your nerves.

Joel stood, cutting you off with that low, smooth drawl. "Don’t want you spendin’ all night awake, hot and bothered," he said, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The insinuation in his words wasn’t lost on you, and it hit you like a jolt of electricity, your breath catching in your chest. "Not when I could help ya out," he added casually, his tone as warm and rich as molasses.

You felt the heat bloom across your cheeks, spreading down your neck as you stammered, "Uh, sure. It’s upstairs."

You turned, leading him toward the staircase, but the sound of his boots following close behind only made your heart hammer harder. You tried to focus on anything but him—your hand brushing against the banister, the quiet creak of the steps beneath your weight—but you could feel him, warm and solid at your back, his quiet presence filling the space.

Joel’s eyes, however, weren’t on the stairs or the hallway ahead. His gaze drifted lower, lingering on the way your hips swayed naturally with each step, the curve of your ass accentuated by the snug fit of your jeans. He swallowed hard, biting back a low curse.

Lord help me, he thought, dragging his hand through his hair to distract himself.

You reached the top and glanced back over your shoulder, catching the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—something that made the air feel heavier between you. "Here we are," you said softly, pushing open the door to your room and stepping aside to let him in.

Joel brushed past you as he stepped into your room, his presence warm and grounding, sending a faint shiver down your spine. His gaze wandered, slow and deliberate, taking in every detail—the photos of friends and family pinned lovingly to a corkboard, the necklaces and rings strewn across your dresser in a charming, haphazard way.

You were sweet, Joel thought, and that sweetness radiated from the room itself, from the cozy blankets draped over your bed to the faint, familiar scent that was uniquely you.

But then, his eyes caught on the bed—more specifically, on the pile of clothes you’d tossed there earlier. A flimsy thong rested on top of the heap, the delicate lace catching the soft light from the window.

Joel’s throat went dry, and he dragged a hand over his jaw, his mind racing with thoughts he had no right entertaining. He forced himself to look away, jaw tightening as he focused on the fan across the room, pretending he hadn’t seen it.

"Shit," you murmured, suddenly noticing his brief hesitation. Your cheeks flared with heat as you rushed to the bed, scooping up the pile and clutching it against your chest. "Sorry for the mess," you said, your voice tight with embarrassment.

Joel shook his head quickly, schooling his features into something easy and reassuring. "No problem," he said, his voice steady but a little rough around the edges. He let out a small chuckle, hoping to ease your nerves. "You should see Sarah’s room sometimes. I swear that girl keeps it a mess just to piss me off."

You forced a laugh, still mortified, as you hurried to stuff the clothes into your closet. Joel kept his gaze fixed on the fan now, determined to act normal, but his mind was spinning. The image of the lace had seared itself into his thoughts, and he had to fight to push it away, to remind himself to focus.

Clearing his throat, Joel gestured toward the fan. "Alright," he said, rolling his sleeves up further, exposing his strong forearms. "Let’s see if we can get this thing workin’ for ya." His voice was calm, even gentle, but his thoughts were anything but.

Joel crouched by the fan, examining it with a thoughtful furrow in his brow. His calloused fingers brushed over the edges as he fiddled with a few screws, testing the rotation. After a moment, he straightened, wiping his hands on his jeans and glancing over at you.

"Looks like it’s somethin’ electrical," he said, his voice calm but reassuring. "I got a buddy who’s an electrician. I’ll have him come by and take care of it for ya—free of charge."

Your cheeks warmed at the thoughtfulness behind his words, but it was hard to focus with the way the sweat on his brow glistened in the afternoon light, his shirt clinging just a little to his chest and back. "Oh," you managed, nodding dumbly. "That’d be great. Thanks, Joel."

"Anytime, sweetheart," he said, his voice softening. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer before the sound of the front door opening downstairs broke the spell.

"Hey!" Ray called, his voice booming through the house. "You up there?"

You cleared your throat, straightening slightly. "We should head down," you murmured, your voice quieter than you intended.

"Yeah," Joel said, his tone low as he turned back to you. His gaze lingered for just a moment, his eyes flicking to your bed before a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, like he was filing the scene away for later, a thought he wasn’t quite ready to share.

"Let’s go," he said, his voice steady but tinged with something unspoken.

As you led the way downstairs, Joel followed closely, his presence a warm and steady weight just behind you. The quiet tension from upstairs hadn’t dissipated—it still hummed faintly between you, palpable in the air. Every step down felt slower, more deliberate, like the atmosphere itself was thick with the unsaid, pressing you closer to something neither of you was ready to name.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The game was in full swing—football, of course, a local rivalry that had Joel and Ray glued to the screen. Every so often, one of them would groan or cheer, depending on how their team fared, their voices loud enough to rattle the windows.

You and Sarah exchanged amused looks from your spot on the couch, shaking your heads as the two grown men acted like teenagers.

"Do they always get this intense?" you whispered to Sarah, biting back a laugh.

"Every. Single. Time," she replied, rolling her eyes with a grin. "It’s like watching kids at a theme park—if theme parks had beer and yelling."

You giggled, leaning back against the couch as Sarah launched into stories about her dad and Ray’s past football antics, complete with dramatized impressions. But even as you laughed with her, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of Joel’s gaze on you.

Every so often, when the others were too distracted by the game, you caught him sneaking glances your way—subtle, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. He’d quickly turn back to the TV each time, but the ghost of his gaze lingered, making it impossible to ignore.

When the game finally ended, Ray threw up his hands in frustration. "Ridiculous," he grumbled, leaning back on the couch. "They should’ve benched that quarterback weeks ago."

Joel nodded in agreement, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "If they’d just gone for the run in the third, it could’ve turned things around."

"Right?!" Ray added, shaking his head. "Some people just don’t know how to coach."

"Oh, darling," Ray started, his tone fond as he suddenly perked up, pointing a finger in your direction. "You made a cake or somethin’, hey? Just remembered. Don’t tell me you’re hiding it from us!"

You blinked, suddenly remembering the cake you’d carefully baked and iced that morning. "Oh, right! It’s in the fridge," you said, standing up.

"You guys wanna try it?" Ray asked, grinning. "She’s a hell of a baker."

"Um, yes," Sarah replied enthusiastically, already sitting up straighter.

Joel leaned back, his eyes still on you. "Would love to," he said, but the way he said it, low and tender, made your breath hitch. His gaze didn’t leave yours, and the warmth in it sent a flush creeping up your neck.

You nodded quickly, escaping to the kitchen to grab the cake. Balancing it on a stand with a few plates and forks, you returned to the living room, feeling all too aware of Joel’s eyes following you. Placing the cake on the coffee table, you carefully cut everyone a piece, the rich chocolate scent filling the room.

"Hope it’s alright," you said nervously, watching as everyone took a bite.

Sarah’s eyes widened dramatically as she chewed, muffling an enthusiastic, "Oh my god, this is the best cake I’ve ever had!" through a mouthful of chocolate.

Ray nodded in approval, already going in for another bite. "You’ve outdone yourself, kid. This is damn good."

Your eyes flicked to Joel, waiting anxiously for his reaction. He had already finished his piece, leaning back in his seat with a satisfied sigh. Then, slowly, he brought his hand up, sucking the remnants of chocolate off two fingers in a deliberate motion that felt… intimate.

"Well done, angel," he said, his voice low and smooth. "That was amazing."

Your thighs squeezed together instinctively and you felt your panties growing wet under the watch of his gaze. He knew exactly what he was doing, the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth a telltale sign of his awareness.

That bastard.

"Th-thanks," you managed, tearing your gaze away and focusing on cutting yourself a piece of cake to distract from the wildfire spreading through you.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

As the evening wound down, you walked with Ray to see Sarah and Joel to the door. The air outside was cooler now, a gentle breeze rustling through the trees as Sarah looped her arm through her dad’s, yawning dramatically.

"Thanks for having us," she said brightly, giving Ray a quick hug. "Dinner was great—and the cake was unreal."

Ray chuckled, patting her back. "Always good to have you two over. Don’t be strangers, now."

Joel lingered a step behind, his eyes on you as you stood quietly to the side. "You’re welcome anytime," Ray said, shaking Joel’s hand firmly. Joel nodded, murmuring his thanks, but his gaze flicked back to you almost immediately, softer now in the dim porch light.

Sarah yawned again, tugging her dad toward the footpath. "C’mon, old man, I’m beat. Let’s go."

"Alright, alright," Joel said, chuckling. But before he followed her, he turned back, his hand brushing lightly against yours in a way so subtle it could’ve been accidental—but it wasn’t. His fingers lingered for the briefest moment, his touch warm and deliberate.

Joel took one step closer to you, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "Save me another piece of that cake next time," he said, his eyes holding yours. "I’m already thinkin’ about it."

The way he said it made your breath hitch, the words laced with something unspoken. Then, with a small, knowing smile, he turned and headed to his house, leaving you standing on the porch with your heart pounding and your mind racing.

Ray didn’t notice anything, but you did—and so did Joel.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

You and Sarah were halfway through The Longest Ride, laughter bubbling up as you playfully tossed popcorn at each other during one of the slower scenes. She had texted you a few days after the game, asking if you wanted to hang out, and you’d eagerly agreed.

The warm, golden glow of the living room lamps mixed with the soft flicker of the TV, wrapping the room in a cocoon of cozy chaos that muffled the storm’s furious howls outside. The rain lashed against the windows, but you hardly noticed, caught up in the moment. You were so absorbed in the film, neither of you heard the door creak open or the unmistakable sound of boots hitting the floor.

"Fucking hell," a deep voice growled from the hallway as the door slammed shut, caught by the gusting wind.

Both of you turned instinctively, startled, to find Joel standing in the entryway, drenched from head to toe. His hair was plastered to his forehead, stray raindrops tracing along the sharp line of his jaw.

Water trickled in rivulets down his neck, soaking into a shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders in a way that made your breath catch. His boots, caked with mud, squelched audibly as he yanked them off with a sharp, frustrated tug.

"Dad, are you okay?" Sarah asked, sitting up straighter. "I thought you were going to Uncle Tommy’s."

"I was," Joel grumbled, shaking out his jacket and tossing it over a nearby chair. "Got halfway there and had to turn back. It’s like a goddamn monsoon out there."

Joel hadn’t even glanced toward the living room, too preoccupied with muttering under his breath about the weather and hastily mopping up the puddle beneath him with a towel. His broad shoulders tensed as he wrung out the fabric, each motion deliberate and rough.

But when he finally looked up, his movements stilled. His expression shifted, the hard edges of his frustration melting away. His gaze softened as it landed on you, curled up on the couch beside Sarah, a blanket tucked over your lap.

"Hey, darlin’," he said, his voice low and smoother now, the rough edge from moments ago replaced with something calmer. He ran a hand through his soaked hair, pushing it back from his face as droplets fell to the floor. "Didn’t know you were comin’ over," he added.

You managed a small smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yeah, we’re just watching a movie."

Joel’s eyes lingered on you for a second longer before he nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. You didn’t miss the way his gaze flicked briefly to the blanket draped over your legs—the same couch he’d no doubt spent countless nights on.

Something about the thought made your stomach flutter.

Sarah broke the moment, turning to you with a wide grin. "You should just stay over tonight. Ray wouldn’t mind, right?"

You blinked, startled by the sudden suggestion. "Well, I don’t think so, but—"

"Yeah, stay," Joel said before you could finish, his tone leaving little room for argument. "Don’t want you headin’ out in this storm."

You thought again about how your house was literally right next door. But the way Joel said it, his voice firm but edged with quiet concern, left you nodding before you could think better of it.

"You girls eaten?" Joel asked, heading toward the kitchen. The fridge door swung open, giving you a view of his back. His soaked shirt clung to him, highlighting the broad line of his shoulders and the muscles shifting beneath the fabric.

You caught yourself staring, heat rising to your cheeks as you quickly redirected your gaze to Sarah, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

"Yeah, pizza," Sarah said through a mouthful of popcorn, her attention already back on the TV.

Joel glanced back over his shoulder, his damp hair falling into his eyes as he gave you a brief nod. "Good," he said, his voice rumbling softly. "Storm’s supposed to last a while. Y’all need anything, just let me know."

You managed a quiet "thanks" as he closed the fridge and leaned against the counter, running a hand through his wet hair. The domesticity of it all—the three of you here, Joel casually moving around his kitchen—felt oddly intimate.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he noticed the way your eyes kept flicking toward him, if he felt the same quiet pull that had been buzzing between you since the moment you’d met.

As Joel left the kitchen, heading upstairs toward what you assumed was his room to dry off, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The rain outside was relentless, hammering against the windows with a steady rhythm that made the night feel darker, heavier. You lay in Sarah’s bed, her soft snores filling the room, a gentle counterpoint to the chaos of the storm.

You’d texted Uncle Ray during the movie to let him know you were staying over, and his quick response—No worries, kid. I’ll see you in the morning—had put you at ease, but sleep still evaded you.

You turned onto your side again, then your back, cringing at how much noise you were making on the mattress. The last thing you wanted was to wake Sarah, but restlessness clawed at you. The glowing red digits of the alarm clock on her bedside table mocked you: 12:43 a.m.

With a soft sigh, you pushed the blanket aside and stood, the borrowed pajama shorts and singlet clinging to your skin in the stifling warmth of the room. The storm outside raged on, yet the living room felt almost oppressively hot, the flicker of the TV adding to the heavy air.

The house was eerily quiet as you made your way down the hall, the muffled sound of the storm your only company. You hesitated for a moment when you passed a door—the one you assumed was Joel’s.

It was shut, the faint light spilling out from beneath it casting a soft glow on the hardwood floor. You stared at it for a beat longer than necessary, your breath catching at the thought of him just on the other side.

Shaking your head, you tore your gaze away and continued down the stairs, the old wood creaking softly beneath your steps. The kitchen was dimly lit by a single light above the stove, and you found yourself drawn to the soft hum of the refrigerator. Opening it, you grabbed the carton of milk and poured yourself a glass, the cold liquid a small comfort against the heaviness of the storm.

Leaning against the counter, you sipped slowly, letting the chill settle in your chest as you stared out at the rain streaking the darkened windows. The quiet of the house wrapped around you, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the stillness, the way the chaos outside felt so far away.

You turned to put the milk back in the fridge when a shadow moved in the corner of your vision, a figure emerging into the dimly lit kitchen. You squealed, nearly dropping the carton, your heart lurching into your throat.

"Shit!" you gasped, clutching your chest.

Joel lingered in the doorway, his broad frame outlined by the faint glow spilling in from the hallway. His hair was still slightly damp from the earlier rain, tousled in a way that made your heart flutter. He’d changed into a plain t-shirt and sweatpants that clung to him in a way that felt almost unfair, the casual simplicity doing little to downplay his presence.

"You scared me, Joel!"

He raised his hands slightly in mock surrender, a hint of a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his gaze warm and just a little apologetic.

"Sorry ’bout that," he said, his voice rough from the late hour. "Didn’t mean to sneak up on ya. Thought i heard someone down here, you alright?"

"Yeah, sorry I didn't mean to wake you," you said, still a little breathless. "I couldn’t sleep. Thought maybe some milk would help." You gestured toward the glass on the counter, feeling oddly self-conscious under his gaze.

"Don’t apologize," he said, his voice softer now, almost tender. There was a sweetness in the way he said it, unhurried and deliberate. As you leaned against the counter, sipping your milk, you noticed his eyes lingering on you, the shadows of the dimly lit kitchen casting an almost imperceptible veil over his gaze, but you didn’t miss it—the deliberate way he looked at you, slow and assessing.

Your pulse quickened as you suddenly became aware of yourself—the borrowed pajama shorts and singlet you were wearing, the way the hem of the shorts brushed against your thighs, and how the fabric of the singlet clung just a little too snugly in the humid air. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you feel exposed under the quiet intensity of his eyes.

You shifted awkwardly, the cool countertop pressing against your palms as goosebumps prickled along your arms. "Couldn’t sleep either?" you asked, breaking the tense quiet. Your eyes followed Joel as he poured himself a glass of water, his movements unhurried but purposeful.

"Nah," he replied, his voice low, almost distant as he leaned against the counter opposite you, crossing his arms. "Storm’s loud as hell. Plus… hard to turn your brain off sometimes, y’know?"

You nodded, the weight of his words settling over you. "Yeah. I know." And you did—too well, in fact. Your curiosity flickered: what kept him up tonight? What thoughts chased him through the storm?

Joel broke the stillness first, his voice softer now, almost careful. "Glad you stayed over tonight. Safer that way," he said with a small nod, as though reassuring himself as much as you.

There was something in his eyes—concern, perhaps, or something deeper—that made your chest feel impossibly tight.

"Thanks for having me," you murmured, your voice quieter than you’d intended, unsure why the words felt so necessary to say.

Joel shook his head slightly, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. "Anytime," he replied, the simplicity of his tone somehow making it feel more sincere.

His gaze flicked toward the empty glass in your hand, and he nodded toward it. "You think that did the trick?"

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "Nope. Not even close."

Joel’s smile widened slightly, and for a moment, you thought that might be the end of it. But then he glanced toward the dimly lit living room, the faint glow of the TV still visible from where you stood.

"Wanna watch a bit of TV?" he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "See if that helps?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the offer. There was something about the way he said it—so casual, yet laced with something else—that made your stomach flip.

"Sure," you said softly, setting your glass in the sink before following him into the living room.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Joel grabbed the remote and settled onto the couch, the faint creak of the cushions breaking the quiet. He stretched out, one arm draped lazily along the back of the couch, the other resting on his thigh.

When he motioned for you to sit, you hesitated only for a moment before sinking down beside him, careful to leave just enough space between you to keep it comfortable—or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, his presence impossible to ignore. His arm rested along the back of the couch, strong and relaxed, the effortless way he stretched out only drawing more attention to the empty space at his side. The thought crept in unbidden—how easy it would be to slip into that spot, to feel the solid warmth of him against you.

Your gaze drifted downward, almost of its own accord, settling on his thighs. They were spread apart in that effortless way he always seemed to sit, relaxed and confident, the fabric of his sweatpants stretched over them.

You swallowed hard, the sheer size of him suddenly overwhelming, the way his presence filled the space making you acutely aware of how small you felt by comparison. The thought sent a rush of heat to your face, your cheeks burning as your mind betrayed you with images you quickly tried to push away.

You shifted slightly, pressing your palms into your lap as if to ground yourself, but it didn’t help—his casual ease, the way he seemed completely unaware of the effect he had, only made it worse. Your heart thudded unevenly, and you forced your gaze back to the screen, praying he hadn’t noticed your flustered state.

He flipped through the channels before settling on an old movie. The name escaped you, but the grainy black-and-white film felt fitting for the quiet hum of the storm outside.

Joel started explaining something about the movie—how it was one of his favorites growing up, or maybe something about the actor. You nodded along, murmuring the occasional "oh" or "yeah," though your attention was split between his voice and the way his presence seemed to fill the space beside you.

Somehow, over the course of the movie, the space between you and Joel had disappeared. Your knees brushed at first—a light, fleeting touch that neither of you acknowledged. But as the minutes ticked by, your thighs pressed together, the warmth of him seeping into your skin in a way that made it impossible to focus on the screen.

You tried, though—eyes fixed on the TV, even as your heart raced. When you let out a small yawn, Joel’s attention shifted to you. He smirked, tapping your thigh lightly, his touch lingering just a second too long.

"Careful there, sweetheart," he teased, his voice low and warm. "You’re gonna miss the best part."

You blinked your eyes open wider, determined to shake off the haze of sleep. "I’m watching," you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction.

His knee pressed against yours a little more firmly, the gesture subtle but deliberate. The proximity, the teasing, the quiet intimacy of it all—it was enough to make you forget the movie entirely.

Eventually, the warmth of his voice, low and steady, became a gentle lullaby, weaving its way through the room. The steady patter of rain against the windows only added to the softness of the moment, a rhythm that seemed to synchronize with the deep timbre of Joel’s voice.

Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing second, despite your best efforts to fight it. You blinked hard, forcing yourself to stay present, but it was no use.

Joel didn’t even notice at first when your responses faded, replaced by the soft, uneven rhythm of your breathing. It wasn’t until he felt the faint pressure of your head against his side that he froze.

His arm, which had been draped lazily along the back of the couch, went rigid, his fingers curling instinctively as his gaze dropped to you. There you were, nestled against him, your head resting lightly on his side, your face softened in sleep. The sight pulled something taut in him, a mix of tenderness and hesitation that he didn’t quite know how to navigate.

Joel swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he grappled with what to do. The warmth of you against him was inescapable, the steady rise and fall of your chest matching the slow cadence of your breathing. It made him acutely aware of every inch of space between you—or rather, the lack of it.

He flicked his eyes back to the TV, but the movie had long since blurred into the background. His thoughts were consumed by the quiet intimacy of the moment, by the way you’d drifted so trustingly against him, unguarded and close in a way that made his chest ache.

Slowly, carefully, he let his arm relax, resting it just behind you, close enough to shield but not too close to wake you, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

What the hell are you doin’, Joel? he thought, his heartbeat louder than it should’ve been. He could’ve moved you, gently eased you back into your spot—but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Instead, he let himself sit there, unmoving, his body tense with the awareness of you. He told himself it was nothing—that it didn’t mean anything—but the way his gaze lingered on the curve of your face, the way his breath hitched when you shifted slightly against him, betrayed him.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The soft light of morning filtered through the curtains, golden and warm, casting a serene glow over the room. The storm from the night before felt like a distant memory now, the quiet chirping of birds outside replacing the relentless drum of rain. Joel stirred, his body reluctant to wake, comforted by a rare warmth that made him hesitate to open his eyes.

For a moment, he stayed still, his mind caught in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness.

Something felt… different.

His arm was draped across something soft, and the faintest scent of something sweet—was it your shampoo?—lingered in the air. His brow furrowed slightly, his body stiffening as he became aware of the gentle weight pressed against him.

When Joel finally opened his eyes, blinking against the soft morning light, the realization hit him.

There you were, curled into him, your head tucked against his chest, one arm draped across his stomach like it belonged there. His arm, despite his best efforts to keep his distance the night before, had somehow found its way around your back, holding you close. Your legs were tangled with his, the blanket half draped over the both of you.

Joel froze, his heart thudding loudly in his chest as he tried to process the situation. How the hell had this happened?

Christ, he thought, his jaw tightening as he glanced down at you. The sight of you like this—so unguarded, so peaceful—did something to him he couldn’t quite name, something that gnawed at the edges of his carefully constructed walls.

His chest tightened with a mix of emotions he wasn’t ready to face, a part of him feeling uncomfortably exposed in the stillness of the moment.

Guilt crept in, sharp and biting. What the hell are you doing, Joel? he thought bitterly. Here he was, a man two decades older than you, sitting frozen while you rested so trustingly against him. He felt like a damn pervert.

This wasn’t just friendly. He knew that. And it wasn’t about the warmth of your body against his or the way your head fit so perfectly in the curve of his side. It was something deeper, more dangerous, something he couldn’t ignore anymore.

Joel’s gaze lingered on your face for a moment longer than it should have, his throat tightening as he took in the way the morning light danced across your features. He swallowed hard, his hand twitching as if to pull away, but instead, his fingers brushed lightly against your back, a touch so soft it barely registered.

The sound of birds chirping outside pulled him out of his thoughts, and he finally forced himself to shift. The movement was small, careful, but enough to jostle you slightly.

Your brows furrowed, and for a moment, Joel thought he’d woken you. But then you murmured something unintelligible, snuggling closer into him, your hand tightening its hold on his shirt.

Joel let out a quiet breath, his lips pressing into a thin line as he stared up at the ceiling. He was in trouble—he knew that much. Whatever mental line he thought he’d drawn had been obliterated in the span of a single night.

But as the morning light filled the room and your soft breaths continued to lull him, Joel couldn’t bring himself to move. Not yet. Not when the weight of you against him felt like the one thing he didn’t want to let go of.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

You woke on the couch alone, the soft morning light streaming through the curtains and warming the room. Rubbing your face, you reached for your phone on the coffee table and checked the time—8:30 a.m.

You must’ve fallen asleep during the movie. Stretching your legs out, you glanced around.

Joel was nowhere to be seen, and you figured he must’ve gone upstairs sometime during the night. Hell, you thought, I must’ve been a heavier sleeper than I realized.

Footsteps thudded softly on the stairs, and Sarah appeared, her hair tousled and her eyes still heavy with sleep. She yawned as she shuffled into the living room. "Where’d you go last night?" she asked, rubbing at her eyes.

"Couldn’t sleep," you replied with a shrug, stretching your arms above your head. "Ended up watching some TV for a bit."

She nodded, yawning again as she glanced out the window. "Oh, look at that—storm’s gone, and it’s gorgeous out. Feels like it never even happened."

Her gaze shifted toward the stairs. "Where’s Dad? He’s usually run a marathon or something by now. "

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. "Haven't see him this morning. Maybe he decided to sleep in."

Sarah snorted, making her way toward the kitchen. "Yeah, right. That man doesn’t know how to sleep in. I bet he’s already up and out doing something."

She walked over to you, balancing a bagel in her mouth while rifling through a cabinet with one hand. "I’m gonna head upstairs to shower," Sarah said, her words muffled around the bite she’d taken. With her free hand, she pulled out a neatly folded set of towels and handed them to you. "Here—so you can use the downstairs one."

"Sounds good," you replied, taking the towels from her with a small smile. She flashed you a quick grin before heading upstairs, the sound of her footsteps disappearing as she retreated to her room.

You lingered for a moment, glancing at the towels in your hands, before stepping into the bathroom. The soft click of the door shutting behind you felt strangely loud, the space quiet except for the faint hum of the water pipes as you turned on the shower.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The hot water cascaded over your body, soothing the restless ache left from the night before. The heat seeped into your muscles, loosening the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Steam curled around you, fogging up the glass as you closed your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of the water drown out everything else. For a moment, it was just you, the warmth, and the faint sound of droplets hitting the tiles.

But your thoughts wouldn’t stay quiet. They wandered back to last night, to Joel, to the way you’d both sat on the couch, your legs pressed against each other in a way that felt so natural, so easy.

The memory of his warmth beside you, the slight weight of his presence, made your chest tighten. You wondered when he’d gone upstairs, and a pang of regret settled in your stomach.

A part of you wished you hadn’t fallen asleep, that you’d stayed awake just a little longer—stolen a few more moments with him.

Those moments with Joel always felt fleeting, precious, as though the world conspired to keep them rare. The thought lingered in your mind until a faint sound jolted you back to reality—the distant buzz of your phone ringing.

"Shit," you muttered, realizing you’d left it on the kitchen counter. The water continued to run over you as you hesitated, your hands hovering mid-air, water dripping from your fingertips as you debated.

Leave it? The logical side of you argued it’d probably stop ringing by the time you turned off the shower, got out, and threw something on. But then again… what if it’s important?

You groaned softly, torn. The steam curled around you, the bathroom growing warmer as your mind raced. Finally, you turned off the water with a decisive twist, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around yourself hurriedly. Better safe than sorry, you reasoned, stepping out of the shower and heading toward the kitchen, water trailing in your wake.

If Joel’s still asleep and Sarah’s upstairs, it’s fine, you told yourself as you cracked the door open, peeking out.

You stepped into the kitchen, your footsteps soft against the cool tiles, and immediately froze.

Joel stood at the stove, his broad frame dominating the small space, one hand gripping a spatula as he expertly flipped something golden and round in the pan. Pancakes. The rich scent of butter and batter filled the air, making your stomach tighten despite the whirlwind of emotions lingering from the night before.

His t-shirt stretched snugly across his shoulders, every shift of his muscles evident beneath the soft fabric. The hem lifted just slightly as he moved, revealing the faintest glimpse of tan skin and the subtle indent of his back dimples. It was such a small, fleeting detail, but it struck you like a lightning bolt, your breath catching as you took in the sight.

Your stomach dropped. Fuck. The phone had already stopped ringing, making your rush utterly pointless. You froze in place, gripping the towel tighter around yourself as your heart hammered in your chest. Just turn around, you told yourself, get back to the bathroom before—

But before you could move, Joel turned.

“Good mornin’—” he started, his voice low and easy, before his words died on his lips as his eyes landed on you.

His eyebrows shot up, his expression faltering for a split second. His gaze dropped, flicking over your body in a way that wasn’t intentional, but you caught it anyway. The towel was just a little too short, revealing more than you would’ve liked, your damp hair clinging to your shoulders.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, so quiet you almost didn’t catch it, the roughness of the word sent a shiver through you anyway. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the spatula like he was trying to steady himself.

You tightened your hold on the towel, your cheeks burning as you felt his eyes dart back to your face.

Say something, you thought desperately, your voice coming out uneven and breathless.

"I—I thought you were asleep," you stammered, shifting on your feet. "My phone was ringing, and I thought I’d just…" You gestured vaguely toward the counter, the words falling flat under the weight of the moment.

Joel turned back slightly, his movements slow and deliberate as if he was trying not to startle you—or himself. His gaze stayed polite now, carefully fixed on your face, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Something dark and unspoken that made the air between you feel heavier, charged.

“Oh, no worries,” he said finally, clearing his throat and reaching to rub the nape of his neck. His fingers lingered there, the movement almost nervous—a rare sight for someone usually so steady. His voice was lower than usual, gravelly, like it took effort to keep it even. "Hope you slept alright last night."

"Yeah," you said quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I did. Thanks."

The silence stretched for a beat too long, the tension thrumming between you like a current you couldn’t escape.

You stepped forward, snatching your phone off the counter as quickly as you could, your hands trembling slightly. "I’ll just… grab this and get out of your way," you murmured, your voice thick with embarrassment.

Joel didn’t move, but you could feel the weight of his eyes on your back as you turned to leave. "Alright," he said softly, almost too softly, his voice carrying something you couldn’t quite place.

You bolted back toward the bathroom, your heart pounding as you shut the door behind you. The steam from your shower still clung to the air, but it did little to cool the heat rising in your chest.

Pressing your phone to your chest, you let out a shaky breath, your mind replaying every detail of the encounter. The way his eyes had lingered, the rough edge to his voice, the tension that had filled the room like a tangible thing. You tried to shake it off, telling yourself it was nothing—but the way your pulse refused to settle betrayed you.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Joel stood in the kitchen, one palm pressed flat against the counter, the other rubbing at his eyes as he let out a slow, measured breath. The room was quiet now, save for the faint sizzle of the pancake batter still cooking in the pan, but his thoughts were anything but calm.

You’re gonna be the death of me, he thought, his jaw tightening as he leaned into the counter.

Joel could still see you, the image burned into his mind no matter how much he tried to focus on the task at hand. Fresh from the shower, the towel clinging to your damp skin, outlining every curve in a way that left very little to the imagination.

The dip of your breast where the fabric didn’t quite meet your skin, the faint sheen of water droplets catching the light as they slid from your shoulders down to your thighs—it was impossible to look away, even as he forced himself to.

And then there was the way you’d stammered, your voice breathless and soft, tinged with embarrassment. It made his cock throb - a mix of guilt and desire that he couldn’t quite shake.

He shouldn’t have looked as long as he had, shouldn’t still be thinking about the way your hair dripped onto your shoulders or how your cheeks flushed pink under his gaze. But damn, it was all he could think about.

Joel had always prided himself on his self-control, on his ability to keep things steady and measured, but you were shaking the foundation he’d built so carefully.

"Christ," he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face, his jaw tight with frustration. He should’ve known better—should’ve stopped his thoughts from spiraling the moment they started.

But here he was, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he strode upstairs to his room, his hand already working at the button of his jeans before the door even clicked shut.

The strain in his pants was unbearable, every ounce of tension caused by you.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Tag List:

@pedritospunk @ickearmn @nrreads @76bookworm76 @pastelpinkflowerlife @shantellorraine @spooky-sculder @merm4id5lut @brittmb115 @rosebuds-and-moonlight @joelscowgirl @spacemamax @locked-ness @bensonispunk @pal3rmo @mystickittytaco

#joel miller #pedro pascal #ellie tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller one shot #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller tlou #tlou joel #joel tlou #joel and ellie #joel the last of us

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gladiatorcunt · 9 months ago

Text

summary: rafe cameron x afab maid!reader

cw: titfucking, rimming/ass eating, collaring, power imbalance/dubcon, no real face slapping but reader gets rafe’s rings pressed into their face, gun mentions, rafe talks about wanting to do a line off reader’s tits, throwaway implication that his dad saw you, general rafe-esque warnings 💀, very plotless & possibly ooc (i’m new to the show but i’ve been lurking for a bit), rafe spits on reader, slight dumbification/objectification, hate sex coded but that's more bc i have a love/hate relationship with rafe, he calls reader a bitch once and a also a slut once, use of good girl

block & move on if uncomfortable !!

do not translate, repost, or give ai my work

kinktober masterlist

This stupid carpet is hell on your knees. Not that there was any time to pull a pillow down under them, you were pulled into the room and shoved down so fast you got dizzy. You’re brought out of your ruminations by a rough palm seizing your face in its grasp and squeezing.

Rafe huffs, leaning forward to make sure he didn’t miss the way your eyes widened as his fingers tightened. His gaudy rings are going to leave impressions on your cheeks but it’s hard to care about that right now. One second, you’re dusting off the son of your employer’s bedroom, and the next you’re getting a wad of split slung on your face.

Your pussy decides to be a traitor and clench in response.

“Sorry ‘bout that………” Rafe trails off, flicking the spit off your cheek like he was picking at a persistent hangnail.

The apology is as insincere as it could be but something about the bored inflection in his tone gets you wet.

“It’s fine.” Your “ice princess facade” as he’s called it falls apart a tad, an embarrassing heat blooming throughout your face.

He seems satisfied with his attempt at amateur art and scoops the rest up with two of his fingers. He doesn’t ask you to clean them off, just shoves them in between your plump lips without a word.

“You’re so fuckin’ messy, being such a shitty maid right now, you know that, babe?” He hums, giving your face one final squeeze.

You’re not even sure he knows your name, he sure doesn’t act like it. All he does is coo at you condescendingly as you suckle on his fingers, telling you how much better you are at this. Once you’ve done an adequate job of polishing them off, he pulls the digits away and gives you a weak love tap. Rafe’s obviously wanting to wring something else out of you.

You hate that your first instinct is to say “Yes, sir?”

You also hate that it’s what actually fucking comes out of your mouth.

The grin that splits his mouth reminds you of the only time you’ve ever successfully caught a mouse in an old fashioned trap. A vermin that used to disgust you until it stayed and you gave it a name. And then your mom has to turn you away from the sight of Jacque’s tiny body cleaved in two.

“Get those fucking clothes off, now.” He orders you, palming himself through his khakis. "And toys don't talk back."

You roll your eyes and comply. You ignore Rafe's ramblings about how he wished his dad made you wear one of those skimpy made costumes without underwear, that he way he could stare at your pussy whenever you bent over. The door is wide open, you know you could just make a break for it if you wanted. But you kind of like how the humiliation twists your stomach in a knot. The air in the room gets so much hotter when you focus on the large bulge in front of your face.

As soon as your uniform is lying on the hardwood floor in a rumpled heap, your tits are being squished together. Rafe takes several moments to weigh each globe of flesh in his hands.

"Pretty tits, always wondered what they looked like under that stupid uniform. Wanted to make a mess of you so bad but you had to be all fuckin' stuck up and prissy." He hisses, digging his nails into your breasts.

He massages them in circular motions, forcing them to press together like he could cum untouched to the sight of it alone.

You obediently stay silent as you watch Rafe stagger to his feet and wrestle his leather belt out of his pants. His bottom lip is being toyed with to the point that tiny drops of blood are peeking out of the skin. The leather makes a thwack! sound as it passes through the final belt loop and flops around. Rafe continues to eye your tits like a hawk as he wraps the belt around his hand and kneels down to your level.

He tilts your head up with one finger under your chin, "This is going around your neck, okay? I don't have a leash to go with it, but I'll get one for next time."

You open your mouth to speak or maybe to moan at the vision of the expensive leather tensely coiled around your vulnerable neck like a snake about to strike. The warning look he gives you shut you up, but your damp panties made you want to push him further.

"Don't move a muscle."

The belt was warm to the touch, probably because of all the hours Rafe had spent on the golf course or wherever his "business" takes him. You stay perfectly still as he curled it around your neck, having to wrap it around you again due to the length. The metal belt buckle clicked as he fastens it, tugging it firmly to test how tight it was. It definitely feels like a weight baring down on you, but you seem to be able to breathe so he steps back again.

"There we go, pretty bitch just for me."

His pants fall to the ground unceremoniously, revealing the cock you may have had a stray wet dream or two about. Crowned by neatly and clearly obsessively trimmed hair, it looks about 7 inches and thicker than your forearm. His cock has a slight left curve, with a couple prominent veins and an almost reddish-pink colored tip that puffs out at the sides a bit.

Rafe's cockhead catches the drool that embarrassingly leaks out of your mouth, and you kitten lick the slit as you stare up at him through your lashes. You want to smile at the punched-out groan emanating from above you, but he might slap you for getting cocky, it wouldn't be unwelcome.

"You like it, babe? Yeah, I bet you do."

He brings your hands up to your tits and you pick up on what he wants you to do. Anticipating Rafe Cameron's needs is part of your job after all. You scrape the sides of your chipped painted nails against them as you softly cup and squish the globes together, creating a perfect pocket for him.

"Good girl." He chuckles, ruffling your hair like you were his pet.

He savors the wet slide of his cock through the valley of your breasts. You hold them impossibly closer together, ignoring the discomfort by getting lost in the game of peek a boo his tip is playing with you during every thrust. A near constant stream of precum is flowing from the silt and ending up all over the tops of your tits.

Rafe pants as he speeds up his thrusts, his pupils expanding as he takes in the spectacle of you hot dogging him with your tits. For how preppy he likes to act sometimes, he sure does seem to enjoy painting you with his bodily fluids. He weaves his hands down from their deadly hold on your hair to pinch and flick your nipples.

" 'G-gonna cream all over these gorgeous tits, get them messy, then snort some coke off your nipples after.”

It doesn't take as long as a man like him would prefer before he's spilling all over your heaving chest with a sound so inhuman you'd think he was possessed.

You're past caring if he sees you hungrily open your mouth as wide as possible in the hopes of catching some of his cum in your mouth. You grind your sopping wet cunt against the floor when you do, and fuck it tastes better than it has any right to.

A quiet 'shit' rings out and the room spins as you're swiftly flipped on your stomach. Rafe crowds behind you and yanks your hips up. You don't think much of it until you feel warm breath on your ass. You jolt in surprise, and he gives you a light smack on both cheeks before spreading them with his thumb.

"Bet you thought I wanted your pussy, huh? Well, this tiny hole right here looks much cuter, you can't blame me. We'll get you some cute plugs." Followed by a flat tongue licking a stripe over your rim. He gives your hole a strangely soft peck and then teases the tip of his tongue past the entrance.

You squeal, which you'd be mortified by if the sensation of Rafe's tongue filling up your ass didn't feel so good. The way he curls it and jabs it deeper between your cheeks in short busts is running a huge risk of causing you to go insane. It's like he's exploring every nook and cranny, you should be laughing because the man that treats you like a back-alley whore is up to his ears in your ass. His groans and grunts are muffled but they give you the confidence to be louder.

He drags his face away and hangs his tongue over you until a load of saliva drips down onto you. You shiver when it meets your hole. A high-pitched moan comes out when he massages it into the puckered skin with his thumb.

He dots sloppy open-mouthed kisses up and down your rim, nipping the flesh as he goes.

"I would say it's gonna be too tight, but sluts like you can take anything, right?"

You're too busy nodding to notice the sound of shoes hitting the floor in their rush to get away, or that the person wearing them softly closes the door behind them.

505 notes · View notes

dancingtotuyo · 9 months ago

Text

Part I

High Infidelity | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: Tommy gets himself into more trouble than he can get out of.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: US justice system (it don't work, probably bad understanding of how it operates), mention of drugs & weapons, alcohol consumption, let me know if I missed anything

Notes: when I planned this out, I didn’t realize I’d scheduled the first chapter to drop on Pedro’s birthday! So happy birthday to him!

Shout out to @janaispunkfor beta reading and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me scream about this endlessly and shaping this world. Finally, @saradika-graphics for sustaining our fic writers with an endless supply of dividers!

Words: 4396

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

You’re asleep, or at least you should be except the phone is ringing and the bed is cold next to you. That’s a bad sign. It always is.

A small grunt echoes from your gut as bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor. You can’t find the phone before it stops, buried under clothes you haven’t folded, scribbled crayon drawings, and bleary eyes. It starts back almost immediately.

“Tommy?”

“He called me.” Joel’s voice echoes through the line. “It’s bad this time.”

“How bad?”

“He asked for a lawyer.”

You press your palm to your forehead. “Shit!”

“The sitter is on her way to yours. I’m getting Sarah up now. We’ll be there in 10.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

“Of course. See you soon.” Joel hangs up.

You roam through the laundry basket for a clean pair of jeans and an acceptable t-shirt. You run a toothbrush through your mouth to freshen your breath. You do your best to push back all the possibilities running through your brain.

You crack open the door to Nathaniel’s room. Your two-year-old son sleeps tightly, his mop of black curls spread out on the pillow. You want to run your hand through his curls and kiss his cheek, but he’s the world’s lightest sleeper, just like his daddy.

The sitter is there 5 minutes later, all too familiar with this routine for your liking. Joel ushers in a bleary-eyed minutes later. He tucks her into the spare room bed. Sarah doesn’t ask questions. She’s asleep before he can kiss her head.

You move like the well-oiled machine that you are. He grabs your purse, ensuring the checkbook is there while you say a few words to the sitter. Joel hands you the small black bag and a light jacket.

Doors open before you and close without you touching them. You and Joel are riding down the highway. The windows are cracked, the breeze playing through your hair as street lights play off the windows, growing bigger and brighter as your eyes fill with tears. You chew on your thumb as the thoughts finally begin to take over.

You’ve felt Tommy slipping these past few months. You’ve tried to ignore it, excuse it. He’s had a hard time adjusting. This is hardly the first time he’s been in jail. It feels like a weekly occurrence at this point, but he’s never needed a lawyer. He’s never been held longer than overnight.

“Did he say what they got him for?”

“No… he asked me to come alone.”

“Fucking hell.” You run a hand over your face. Tommy’s antics are aging you prematurely.

“He’s going to be okay.”

“Says who?” You snap. “We’ve been doing this dance for months, Joel! I know he’s having a hard time adjusting, but maybe we’ve been giving him too much room.”

Joel sighs, letting silence fall over the truck cabin. His blinker clicks as you turn into the familiar station. You wonder if the night shift is actually going to fulfill their punch card offer this time.

Joel has barely pushed the truck into park before you’re out of the vehicle, flying through the front doors. Joel is hot on your heels, not bothering to lock his beat-up pickup.

Your ID is already on the desk, you don’t even have to say a name. The officer at the front desk doesn’t need your license. He barely looks at it. It’s all a raging formality. They escort you to a room, not a holding cell as you’re used to.

Tommy sits at a table talking to a tired-looking public defender. His head snaps up, eyes jumping from your face to Joel’s behind you. “I told you to come alone.”

“The fuck you did Thomas James Miller!” You say before Joel can defend himself.

Tommy stands to his feet, the chair skidding back. “You’re not supposed to be here for this!”

“I’m your wife! You call me!”

“Or maybe you should be home with your child!”

“Oh, I should be home with our son? And what about you?”

“I’m not having this fight with you right now.” Tommy throws his hands in the air moving his attention to Joel who leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “You were supposed to come alone!”

“What’re you in for?” You ask, not giving Joel a chance to answer. Not that he was going to. He knows not to let Tommy deflect to him when you are around.

Tommy sighs falling into the chair like a rag dog. Stress lines engrave themselves deep into his forehead.

“Tommy…” A pit drops in your stomach. “What did they get you with?”

“A gun-“

“Without a permit.” The Lawyer speaks for the first time. There’s a roll to Tommy’s eyes.

“And?”

Tommy can’t meet your eyes. He shuffles in his seat.

“Tommy,” Joel says, voice low and gruff. It’s automatic, parental even.

“A couple grams of coke.”

“Fucking hell, Tommy.” Joel hits his head against the wall.

“I didn’t- I never took it. I promise.”

You take a shaking breath, trying to calm your worn nerves. “So what are we looking at here?” You ask, eyes trained on the lawyer.

You see Tommy out of your peripheral vision using his pleading puppy dog eyes on you. You square your shoulders determined not to fall for it. They’re the reason you’re in this boat in the first place.

“Babe-“

You hold up a hand cutting him off, eyes trained on the lawyer. “What are we looking at?”

“Probably Jail time. DA’s office has been cracking down on these kinds of cases the past few months.”

“Is he getting out tonight?”

The lawyer shakes his head. “We have to wait until tomorrow for arraignment and bail.”

“Then, I’ll see you two tomorrow.” You give them a firm nod, exiting the room in a flash.

The Texas air wraps around you as you exit the stale police station. Joel’s pick-up is cool under your fingers, anchoring you to something.

This can’t be happening. You’ve felt him slipping through your fingertips for months, but you wonder if this is it if this is the moment you lose Tommy for good.

Firm arms wrap around your waist. It’s a warmth you’ve become way too familiar with over the last couple of years. You turn around, letting your tears soak Joel’s shirt as they have so many times before. You twist his shirt in your fists as he cradles your head against his chest. There’s a slight sway in his movements, soothing your wrenching soul.

“We’re going to get through this.”

“He had cocaine!”

Joel sighs. “I know.”

“I can’t keep doing this. It’s going to kill me.”

“Let’s get you home. Get some sleep.” Joel squeezes you and then guides you into the passenger side seat. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

“What time is-“

“Lawyer said about 11. Wants us to meet them at the courthouse at 10.”

You nod, clearing the tears. “Okay.”

The drive home is quiet. You’re used to Tommy throwing out every excuse in the book, promising he’s going to change. The silence makes you want to scream. How do you go forward? How do you explain to Nathaniel that Daddy won’t be home for a long time? Jail Time. It bounces off the walls of your brain like a gong over and over.

You’ve done this before. Raise your son alone. Tommy was overseas when Nathaniel was born. You did the first 3 months on your own- or sort of alone. Joel and Sarah spent many nights at your and Tommy’s home those first few months helping you through the learning curve of being a new parent. If you’re completely honest, you’re still doing it alone, but now with a shell of a man to look after as well.

Joel hands the sitter cash and she’s gone without a word. Your purse and jacket are forgotten on the chair as you collapse onto the couch, holding your head in your hands. The weight of the night threatens to finally break you.

“Here.” The cool weight of a bottle presses against your jeans.

“Thank you.” You take it, tipping the bottle back in unison with Joel in a quiet ritual.

“I think I’m just gonna crash on the couch tonight.”

You nod, a humorless huff leaving your chest. “Just like the good ole days, I guess.”

Joel looks over your profile, catches the wear in your frame, the silent tears slipping from your eyes. The rattle in your chest changes from sarcastic to sorrow and then a sob slips from your lips.

Joel sets his beer on the coffee table, arm slipping around your shoulders. He pulls your loose body into his side. For the second time that night, your face burrows into his chest.

“Shhh, I’ve got you, Darlin’. We’ll get through this.” His voice is soft and soothing. His fingers brush softly over your head down to the back of your neck. You fall asleep like that, lulled by the steady beat of his heart.

You wake up to the morning sun, your body stiff from sleeping on the couch against Joel. He’s up, the smell of coffee wafting toward you. You hear him talking to Sarah and Nathaniel in the kitchen.

You stand, stretching out your sore muscles in wrinkled clothing following the promise of caffeine. Sarah and Nathaniel sit at the kitchen table with syrupy smiles.

“Mommy!” Nathaniel yells.

You force a sleepy smile, kissing his sticky cheek. “Morning, sweet cheeks.” You dip your finger in the syrup on his plate, licking it off your fingertip making him and Sarah laugh. “Morning, Sarah Bear.”

“Morning, Auntie,” She says. “Your clothes are wrinkled.”

Joel’s hand lands on your back and a cup of coffee lands in your hands, sending warmth through your body. The hum in your body is automatic. “Thank you.”

Joel only nods, returning his attention to the pancakes sizzling on the stovetop. You sip on the hot coffee. Joel prepared it exactly how you like it, just like he always does.

“You hate pancakes.”

“Yeah, but the gremlins love them.”

“That they do.” You grin, sipping on the coffee again. “Ugh, it’s infuriating the way you come into my home and make better coffee than I do.”

Joel chuckles, flipping two fluffy pancakes onto a plate. He tops them with cut-up strawberries and whipped cream handing them to you with the biggest shit-eating grin. “And pancakes.”

For a minute you forget it all, the impending arraignment, your husband in jail for unregistered weapons and drug possession, the two children sitting mere feet away. It’s just you and Joel and a stack of whipped cream-covered pancakes. Joel who held your hand through labor and helped you with midnight feedings. The man who got you through Tommy’s deployment. The one who always calls the sitter and drives you to the police station when Tommy gets himself in trouble. You and your rock.

The shattering of glass echoes through the kitchen. “Uh-oh!”

You spin around, taking in the broken glass on the floor. Orange juice leaks over the table, dripping over the edge. You and Joel spring into action, pancakes forgotten. “Both of you stay in your seats,” You say.

Joel grabs the broom before you, sweeping up the shards, his feet already protected in his boots. You turn off the stove, keeping an eye on both children to ensure you don’t add bloodied feet to your morning agenda.

“Sorry, Daddy,” Sarah says, keeping her feet crisscrossed beneath her. She looked up at you. “Sorry about your glass, Aunt Bonnie.”

You smile at her, handing Joel a towel to soak up the spilled juice. “It’s okay, Sarah bear. I just want you to be okay.”

She nods back, curls bouncing around her face. “I’m okay.”

You sigh, staring at the pancakes on the counter. The whipped cream has melted into a lopsided mound, half of it turned back into cream that soaks through the pancakes. You take a bite, the flavors settling nicely over your tongue even if the texture of the pancakes is slightly off. For a man who claims not to like them, Joel Miller sure knows how to make a mean pancake.

Your mind plays back to the nickname. Not many people call you Bonnie anymore. Just a few years ago, it had been a constant. Stemming from Tommy’s group of army buddies, they declared you Bonnie for always stealing Tommy away from their group cookouts and whatnot, and Tommy was Clyde due to his propensity for getting into trouble. For whatever reason, probably just to annoy you, Tommy had introduced you to Sarah as “His Bonnie.” So that’s what she calls you.

Joel empties the remaining shards into the trash can. Several high-pitched clinks sound off until the shards settle. Your fork stirs the whipped cream and syrup together.

“Pancakes are usually best eaten, not played with.” Joel teases, picking his coffee up to take a sip. His fingers graze your arm as he sets it back down, returning the broom back to its rightful place.

”You don’t even like pancakes.” You furrowed your brow, taking another bite. Whipped cream marks your upper lip. You take another bite. “God, one day you have to tell me your secret.”

Joel chuckles. He leans across the counter, elbows resting against the granite much like yours. He sips on his coffee, eyes watching as you stuff another bite into your mouth. “I’ve got many secrets, Darlin.”

You laugh, mouth full of fruit and cream. “You’re an open fucking book, Miller.”

”I think I could surprise you several times over.” He chuckles. Something sparks behind his eyes like he’s actually keeping something from you. You’ll figure it out. You always do.

“These are delicious, Joel, but if I take another bite, I’m gonna be sick.”

Joel frowns. “You feeling okay? You don’t have a fever do you?” He presses his fingers to your forehead before you can roll your eyes.

“Anxiety.”

Joel nods. “You’ve got a little-“ He motions to his mouth.

You cock your head to the side brain not picking up on the obvious signals. He sighs in mock exasperation. Reaching forward, he wipes the whipped cream from your lip with his thumb, pressing the excess to his mouth. The moment catches you off guard, something stirring in the back of your mind as you zero in on the thumb pressed to his lips.

“You should go get ready.” He says as if nothing happened, taking your plate. “We need to leave in an hour.”

You nod, pushing back from the counter. The weight of the day at hand keeps that moment from playing over and over again on a loop.

”Daddy,” Sarah says. “Isn’t it time for school?”

”You’re going to stay here with Nathaniel and Miss Lacy today. Your aunt and I have some things we have to do.”

”Oh,” Sarah nodded. “Uncle Tommy things?”

You stop, sharing a look with Joel. You’ve tried your best to keep Tommy’s troubles from the kids, but it’s inevitable. Sarah is almost 6 after all. She’s always been incredibly perceptive and observant.

“Daddy?” Nathaniel asks, looking around. Your heart breaks a little bit.

Your mind wanders. When will he get to see Tommy again?

Joel takes the lead when you arrive at the courthouse for which you’re grateful. You’re both dressed in nice clothing. High heels clack beneath you. A tie reaches around Joel’s neck. You hold Tommy’s suit in a garment bag as a guard leads you to an office-like room. Tommy sits at a table with his layer from last night and another man you don’t recognize. They seem to be deep in a serious conversation.

All three men turn as you enter, making you feel like you’re in the wrong place. You can’t tell if Tommy is relieved to see you or not. A pit forms in your stomach, like you’re not going to like the outcome of this meeting.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

The door clicks shut behind you as Joel’s scent creeps around you.

”We’re talking.” Tommy says.

“About?” You press.

Tommy sighs, unable to meet your eyes. “A plea deal.”

You bite your lip, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. This is easier. It’s probably better in the long run, but you’re not ready to face the music. You prepared for court, not a plea deal. Not for Tommy to admit guilt with a stroke of a pen, not a judge in sight.

“What’s in it?”

”Baby…” Tommy pleads like he wants to make amends right now.

“What are you signing us up for, Tommy?”

“Two years and a half years. Probation after that.”

You inhale sharply.

“It’s a good deal,” The man you’ve never seen says. “He’s looking at at least twice that if this goes to court, and he will be convicted if this goes to court.”

You look to Tommy’s lawyer for confirmation. He doesn’t make it obvious but gives you a solid nod.

“You were about to sign it.” You look at your husband. It’s not a question.

“Yeah.”

”I’d have appreciated it if you had talked to me first,” you say.

“You’d have told me to sign it.”

You nod, barely keeping the tears at bay. “Yeah.”

The DA holds a pen out to Tommy. Tommy looks back at you for final permission. You give it, watching that expensive ass pen glides across the paper with Tommy’s chicken scratch of a signature. Your heart breaks with each stroke, crumbling a little more as he dots the I and crosses the T.

Joel places a hand on your shoulder. The heat spreads, anchoring you to the moment, keeping you afloat as you stare down the barrel of being a single mother yet again.

Tommy slides the paper back to the DA. He looks them over, tapping them against the table with a satisfied nod as if a family hadn’t been torn apart.

“You have about 30 minutes before they come to get him.”

”That’s it?” You ask. “We can’t even take him ourselves?”

The DA shrugs like he’s being generous, igniting a deep hatred of him inside you. You don’t even know his name. He holds up the papers before sliding them into his briefcase. “Terms of the plea deal.”

You clutch your fists as he walks out of the room. Tommy’s lawyer slips out with him, and then Joel, leaving just you and Tommy.

He stands and you finally realize it’s all happening again. You’ll be alone, worrying about your husband though this time for different reasons.

“Baby, I-” He steps towards you. You don’t move offering zero indication that you register Tommy’s movements.

He reaches for your hands, but you pull them back. “You weren’t supposed to take the Bonnie and Clyde thing seriously.”

You fight back tears, turning so he can’t see them. “Pretty sure they both died.”

A humorless laugh leaves your body as you collapse onto a couch, holding your head in your hands.

Tommy kneels in front of you, slowly peeling your hands from your face, taking them into his. Despite it all, you feel yourself melting into his familiar touch. It only confirms what you are beginning to fear. It doesn’t matter what Tommy does, you’ll always be here waiting for him. He is the love of your life and you would burn the world down to look into his sweet brown eyes and feel his skin against yours.

You look at him through blurry eyes, sniffing back the congestion gathering in your sinuses. He gives you that crooked smile you love so much, and you feel better despite the weight bearing on your shoulders. The past three years have aged him ten. You suppose time has done the same to you.

Slowly, he presses his lips to your hands. “I know I fucked up. If-” He pauses, swallowing. His thumb plays with the thin gold band on your left hand. “If you’re not waiting for me when I get out I understand.”

You squeeze his hand. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Tommy snorts. “Easily? Just last week you were yelling at me for putting you through hell.”

“Yeah, well…” You run your fingers through his black curls as you sniff back your tears. “You kinda hold my heart in your hands, Tommy Miller. I don’t think I could get it back if I tried.”

He smiles at you. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his. His hands creep up your thighs as he rises to his feet. Your back collides with the plush back of the couch as your fingers tangle in his long hair. Tommy presses his tongue into your mouth, a smile growing across your face. This is the first taste of your Tommy you’ve had in months, the one you fell in love with.

The door opens, and before Tommy can pull away, Joel’s gruff voice echoes through the room. “Prospect of going to jail really puts you two in the mood, huh?”

Heat surges to your cheeks. You’re not sure why. You and Tommy had been caught in much more compromising positions throughout your relationship.

“Gotta get what I can while I’m still a free man.” Tommy grins at his big brother, pressing another exaggerated kiss to your lips. Joel’s eyes move to the corner of the room. Your smile feels a little more forced after that.

Your thirty minutes fly at lightning speed. They take Tommy before you’re ready. Any energy you gain from Tommy’s affection is drained the moment he’s led out of sight. You barely catch the look he gives Joel.

”Take care of them.”

Joel nods, gripping his brother’s shoulder. There’s a silent exchange between them. “Take care of yourself.”

A clerk goes over everything with you and Joel. You’re given a strict list of items you can drop off for Tommy at the prison. You don’t process a word, the weight of it all falling on top of you. You came to the courthouse today expecting an arraignment and bail, not to be kissing your husband goodbye for the next year and change. It feels unfair like something was taken from you.

Joel is the one who keeps it together. He always keeps it together. He asks the questions and makes note of the important things. He secures the horde of important documents held limply in your hands.

When the clerk says your name for a second time, or maybe a third, you’re not sure, it snaps you out of the fog. Joel’s eyes are sympathetic as he holds out a pen. His single nod tells you he has all the information in his head. You can sign. You don’t have to think. You sign as flashes of Tommy doing the same filter through your vision.

The pen drops to the table as you push back headed straight for the nearest exit. You feel like you’re in a dream. Joel catches up, tucking everything you forgot under his arm. He grabs your elbow, steering your aimless body in the right direction. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He knows the answer.

You feel like a toddler, wandering and lost, relying on Joel’s firm grip to get anywhere. He opens doors and boots you into his pickup, patting the door once it’s closed. The car is warm from the sun. You fumble with the seat belt, but Joel’s calloused hands are there, guiding your weary bones.

The ride is silent. You basket in the warm sun, head pressed to the window with your eyes closed. The world feels so far away, but you’re extremely tuned into the heat of the sun, the rumble of the truck on the shitty roads, the blinking indicator light, and Joel’s listless tapping on the steering wheel when the vehicle draws to a stop from time to time, toeing the line between consciousness.

This is just a dream, right? You’ll wake up soon and Tommy will be behind you, drawing random patterns around your stomach hip, or thigh. The past year of your life and the past 12 hours have just been the world’s longest nightmare. That’s all.

The truck lurches to a stop. The engine turns off with a distinct click. Your eyes blink open slowly. Your stretch out, toes curling in your dress shoes. Joel’s tie lays haphazardly on the dash. His cuffs are unbuttoned, pushed to his elbows, and the top couple of buttons of his dress shirt are undone. He still looks out of place in his dress attire, but a little more like himself. He hadn’t dressed this nicely for your and Tommy’s courthouse wedding.

Your eyes drift out the windshield. A neon light reflects off your irises. This isn’t home. You look at Joel. “Why are we here?”

His seat belt comes undone with a click, snapping back. “We’re going to go in there and get drunk off our asses.”

”It’s the middle of the day.”

Joel raises an eyebrow at you.

”Can we just go home?”

”No.”

”Why the fuck not?”

“Because we have a sitter all day, and you deserve a night before the weight of the world falls back on your shoulders.”

”Joel.” You want to go home and crawl in bed.

”This is three times longer than his deployment.” The statement hits you square in the chest. “You need this. Give yourself today. If you don’t do it now, you never will.”

You sigh, staring down the flickering neon in front of you. He’s right. You know he is. You might be exhausted, but it’s tempting. When was the last time you let go? Maybe that one good month you had after Tommy got back? When it was all making up for lost time and shit.

“We’ve got a sitter for the whole day,” Joel says. “My treat.”

You inhale deeply, allowing the memories of drunken nights past to fill your brain. You can feel the thrum of alcohol already. You haven’t cut loose in a long time unless you count the nights spent at home alone drowning away the world after you’d tucked your son in for the night.

Your fingers press the red release button of your seat belt. The metal buckle hits the window. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

Joel smiles, dragging you inside.

Taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love @justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal

#the last of us #joel miller #tommy miller #tlou hbo #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tommy miller x reader #joel miller x reader #pedro boys #ppcu fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro stories #high infidelity (joel miller)

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bettysupremacy · 11 months ago

Note

another request for finnick, just a lil bit of angst as him and her get into a fight and then they make up. angst and then some fluff

love letter to finnick. maybe this is like the before of this

It’s dark in the large bedroom you cave yourself in, and it seems even darker post argument.

Your eyes ache dully, even closed they beg to be soothed. You can’t believe the contents of the last hour, they play behind your eyelids as you pray for comfort. This is the worst. The worst. The watch sitting on your bedside table reads midnight when you pick it up gently.

“Fuck,” it’s cold in your hand, pulling you closer to the real world you’d tried desperately to escape with sleep.

At home in district four, you hear the waves of a homely sea outside your window. Finnick is out there, for sure, swimming in the seas he knows you don’t like him in after dark. Some of the things he said were hurtful, but he said them out of fear. Fear of what would happen to you, to the peace he’d created at the shoreline of district four.

It’s quiet until the creek of your door alerts you. It’s slow, obvious the person behind it wants you asleep, and you know it’s Finnick by the way his feet fall on the hardwood floor.

“Baby?” He whispers. The name feels good at a time like this. You hardly fight, and when you do, it isn’t even really an argument. More of a disagreement.

“Are you awake?”

You contemplate lying and the good that will come from it. Ultimately nothing, but you wait a second anyways, listening to the air in your room shuffle in his wake.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, voice cracking. You can hear him bring his hands up, rough palms pressing into his eyes, staving away the tears he knows bound to come.

You turn, hearing the crinkle of the crisp sheets as you face him. He flinches, he didn’t think you were awake.

“I’m sorry,” He says for a different reason now. “I thought you were asleep.”

“No,” You say quietly, for no reason other than a little shame. “can’t sleep alone.”

He steps closer daringly, pulling his shirt off before he crawls under your covers. His hair is wet and smells like salt. Any other day you’d fret over your clean sheets, but now you pull him closer, tangling your hands in his wet hair. You brush it away from his eyes, letting them roam over your face.

“We’ll be fine, Finnick.”

He lets out a strangled breath, burying into your chest. His shoulders shake miserably as he grasps you desperately.

“You heard Beetee,” You’re referencing the phone call you’d gotten after the announcement of the quarter quell. “he’s got a plan.”

You let him cry, never quieting the tears he wish he could quiet himself. It’s scary, definitely, and you can’t imagine how he feels going into the arena with you.

“It’s me and Mags.” You say definitively. “And I’m not letting her in that arena.”

He pulls up, glossy eyes terrified. “You can’t.”

She’s old, nearing the end he wants to say, but he knows it’s not right, he loves the woman.

“I’m not letting her in that arena,” you push slightly. “I can survive, see the plan through, but she’s old, Finnick, she can’t last the games again.”

He nods, defeated. “I’ll keep you safe.”

You say nothing, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. Then, “I know.”

He chases the feeling of your lips, kissing you softly. “Me and you.”

“And Beetee, and wiress.”

“Me and you.” He repeats.

“And katniss, and Peeta.”

He laughs quietly, nosing at your cheek. “Stop it.”

“I’m sorry,” you preen. “Me and you.”

#finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick angst #finnick fanfiction #finnick x y/n #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #finnick fanfic #finnick odair #hunger games finnick #finnick odair x y/n #the hunger games x y/n #the hunger games fanfiction

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ulltraviolences · 7 months ago

Text

let the light in | haymitch abernathy

pairing: haymitch abernathy x fem!covey!reader

synopsis: deciding to indulge in old habits after a particularly hard night & glimpses of his past life, haymitch doesn’t expect to be comforted by the voice of a beautiful songbird in the hob of 12.

warnings: mentions of war, canon violence, ptsd, alcohol, mention of blood, flirting, age gap (reader is in early 20s), slight sexual themes, kissing, fluff-ish, sweet haymitch

song included: the ballad of lucy gray baird

a/n: this is something I’ve had for so long in my drafts & now that we’ve got the prequel announcement, what better time than to post it! <3

Maysilee’s loud screeches echo through the trees, the mockingjay’s repeating the blood curdling sound as they start to encircle him. Haymitch’s feet moving fast beneath him against the dirt trail in order to lose the career pack behind him. His movements beginning themselves before his mind can process them and the fact that she’s gone. The wind being his sole helper in drying the tears that threaten to keep flowing, catching a glimpse of his hands still stained red from the way he held her before she passed.

The only thing on his mind now being that he survives this, for her, for his family, for his district, and more importantly so he can show that they don’t control him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sound of glass shattering against the hardwood floor is what finally pulls his consciousness out of the nightmare of the arena. Flailing his arms around as if to protect himself from ever being touched again, haymitch is quick to his feet to stand up and surveil the empty dining room for the slight hint of the ghost of a past tribute looking to attempt to take his life once more.

He stands completely still as he finally takes into account his surroundings, his heart still pumping out an extra beat per minute and silently waiting as he catches his breath. it’s just a dream. you survived. you’re here. you’re home. He repeats the mantra in his head over and over again till it hopefully sticks this time.

It isn’t until he feels a slight trickle drip down onto the table that he sees the fallen glass shatter all over the floor and mixed with the hint of crimson from the shards stuck to his palm.

It feels like a cruel joke almost, a reminder. The blood that he’ll forever have stuck to his hands. The mess of blood that no matter how hard he tries to clean up will just keep flowing in an endless cycle no matter what he does to prevent it from happening again.

A bitter chuckle escapes him at the thought. Amused by his own misery and the situation he’s found himself in. He backs up and slowly treks himself to the kitchen sink to turn on the faucet, relishing in the slight sting that the lukewarm water elicits from his wounded hand.

A small price to pay for the families he thinks about every waking moment that he’s, no doubt, wounded for life by surviving the games against their children. Their loved ones that they’ll never get the chance to see again. Yet, whose faces and names haunt him every night since he’s stepped foot out of that arena.

The pain of not only them but his parents. His sisters. His girl. And Maysilee. Her family. People who he couldn’t save even here at home and after the games. All because he wanted to show them, the capitol, that they couldn’t control him they way they did everyone else.

The growing pit in his stomach now feeling inescapable the longer he stands in front of the running faucet. Shaking his head, he slams the faucet switch off, grabbing the alcohol beside him to disinfect the wound. Hissing and banging his leg against the drawer beneath his sink when when the liquid hits his palm. He slowly bends down to open the drawer and finds the bandaging wrap that he keeps for instances like these, which have happened to become routine for him. He bandages up the rest of his hand until he looks down and hums in slight satisfaction at his work.

As soon as he’s finished, his mind is already preoccupied with what the next choice, or beverage, of distraction he is in need of. It can’t be here though. Anywhere but the empty, cold house in the almost unoccupied, lone victor’s village.

Walking towards the front door, he quickly shrugs on a light coat and his boots. Stepping out into the cool, autumn night out in district 12. He continues down the path towards the main part of the district. Letting the sound of the wind be the only thing present in his mind before he decides to sit down at the hob and think more about his decisions in life so far.

As he nears the hob, he can hear the slight sound of music making its way through the open doors to the outside. Both young and old residents of the district out tonight and drinking, the only semblance of fun and normalcy you’ll find them indulging in despite the circumstances of their situations.

He walks in, immediately making a straight beeline towards the bar. Trying as hard as he can to ignore the lingering stares and pointed whispers of those who recognize him. The only lone alive victor of district 12. Eyes filled with both curiosity and pity as they follow his frame to the bar. All were surprised that he had decided to grace them with his presence for once. As his absence was growing long enough for him to almost be forgotten till the painful reminder on reaping day each year.

Haymitch settles onto the stool near the end of the bar, ordering whatever scarce brew is available for the night. Once it’s placed in front of him, it’s almost gone just as it was full. Already raising his hand to catch the attention of the bartender for another glass. Opting to ignore the judgmental stare and low warning given to him before the bartender hesitantly slides another glass his way.

Lost in thought of the nights earlier events and his second helping of beer, his mind is pulled away by the loud cheers of the people in the hob. Still nursing his beer, he takes a small peak from the corner of his eye to where everyone else’s attention is on to the girl twirling her way onto the stage with guitar in hand.

He’s a bit taken aback for a second, not ever having seen much of her before around the district or even hearing of her name. Yet, he might be the only clueless one as to who this girl is, he thinks. Spotting even, off duty peacekeepers who’ve decided to join in once they see the young woman take the stage.

“Well hey y’all!”, The girl beams, “Now just how might all of you fine folks out here in district 12 must be doing tonight?”

The crowd roars in excitement at the question. Never had he ever seen in life someone command the attention of a majority of a district in such a way that wasn’t related to the games. In a joyful way, nonetheless.

“Alright! Alright! Settle down y’all, I hear you all quite clearly, no need to go rupturing my ears now!”, You say as you playfully roll yours eyes at the crowd, “For those of you who may not know, or have been living under a rock, my name is Y/n Ivory!”

As the crowd around him laughs at the charming display of your personality in full force, Haymitch finds out he’s not immune to the power of your charisma either. He finds himself, still secluded in the dark corner of the room, cracking a small smile at your undeniable stage presence.

Pale white dress flowing freefully over your body landing just right above your knees with flowers woven through your hair and all. You’re the purest untainted vision of beauty he’s ever seen dancing in a place that has seen so much violence and pain as 12. It’s a wonder, he thinks to himself, how he’s gone so long without ever seeing or hearing of you.

He doesn’t know if he should be mad at himself for not getting out more or grateful for the fact that he chose to leave tonight. By having it lead him right here tonight as he watches you illuminate the room with every step you take and smile never breaking off of your face for even a second.

“Now don’t you worry, I’m gonna sing y’all a special one tonight,” you say, strumming the guitar as you continue to speak, “this one is a little tune some of you might know, a ballad we’ve all heard passed down, figured something slow is fitting for a nice night like this”

Haymitch watches you slightly clear your throat a little as you strum the chords on your worn leather guitar. He marvels at the intactness of it, such a prized possession to be in hold of that he’s sure has seen so much in its time. Figuring to himself that it has to be some sort of heirloom, as he knew at least no one, not even him, could afford such a luxury except if you lived in the capitol.

“ When I was a babe I fell down in the holler

when I was girl I fell into your arms

we fell on hard times and we lost our bright color

you went to the dogs and I lived by my charms ”

Your voice is sweet, he thinks. Melodically beautiful, just as he expected, yet it doesn’t take away his surprise nonetheless. The glide of the strings paired with your voice forces him to shake his head a bit just to make sure he wasn’t dead yet from the alcohol and your voice was mistaken as angel from above.

He concludes that regardless, there’s not much of a difference. As he takes in your frame, almost floating above the crowd as high as the sound of your lungs can take you, he figures that you might as well be an angel.

“ I danced for my dinners, spread kisses like honey

you stole and you gambled, and I said you should

we sang for our suppers, we drank up our money

then one day you left, saying I was no good

well, all right, I’m bad, but then you’re no prize either

all right, I’m bad, but then, that’s nothing new

you say you won’t love me, I won’t love you neither

just let me remind you what I am to you

‘cause I am the one who looks out when you’re leaping

I am the one who knows how you were brave

and I am the one who heard what you said sleeping

I’ll take that and more to my grave ”

The lyrics are familiar, he concludes to himself. He remembers the ballad well, one his mother would often sing to him & his sisters when they were younger. It would be a way for her to calm them down each night before a reaping.

He remembers the stories she would tell along with it, of how before the rebellion, there were these people who’d call themselves, “covey”, traveling from district to district singing to their hearts content for the enjoyment of others. She knew them well, she’d tell them. Telling them how the covey eventually settled into district 12.

His mother would talk about the nights where she would go to the hob and dance away. Making great friends with the girl who sang these infamous songs that had been passed down. The girl who also coincidentally introduced his mother to his father one night. Pushing his father until he asked his mother for a dance.

She would end each story by telling Haymitch, “well, now you know that you have someone to be thankful for making sure that you exist”.

The story seemed so mythical to him then, as it still does now. To think of a time when there was so much free will that people once held, especially outside of the Capitol’s restraints. To how something so frivolous as singing was enough to be one’s way of survival. A life of fulfillment and light melodies sung with no threat or existence of the games to ever ruin them.

The sound of Y/N’s voice sweetly coaxes him out of his thoughts. It is then, as he hears her, that he does believe in the stories. That if he continued to hear her voice for the rest of his life, it would be enough to ensure his survival for good. Not even the games would be enough to take him away from her. Not if he could help it.

This line of thinking scares him as it does entice him. He hasn’t felt this way since his first love, the one that they took away him. He feels like a teenager once again, heart practically bursting at the sight of the girl in front of him.

Her eyes roam the crowd as she continues singing, before they eventually catch his awe stricken expression. She smiles slightly, lightly fluttering her lashes at the attention. All before closing her eyes, swaying and losing herself in the music once again.

Not one for ever caring about appearances, he suddenly feels hyper aware of himself. He’s not used to feeling like this, he’s not quite sure how to process it. Just desperate, hoping that when her eyes linger a bit longer on him that she hopefully is feeling what he is too.

When she eventually looks away, he finds a part of himself chasing the high that she had bestowed upon him. Thinking how nothing could ever compare to the way he’s feeling now, not even the smooth liquor that would soothe his mind enough to make him forget things that have happened to him.

Now abandoning the half drank pint in front of him, he finds himself wanting to remember this night. This moment where he doesn’t need anything stronger than your presence to tell him that everything is okay.

The song ends, much to his dismay. The last few chords of your guitar lingering in the air before the hob breaks out in a harmonious applause, praises & hollers being shouted out your way. He watches you graciously thank the crowd, letting the band behind you take over. His eyes linger on you as you exit the stage, watching you laugh & thank everyone who meet on your way through the crowd.

It isn’t until he sees your frame slowly getting nearer that he suddenly feels shy, quickly diverting his attention down to his drink. Hands getting slightly clammy as he registers your sweet voice beside him, asking the bartender for a pint for yourself.

“Well my, my, to what do I owe the pleasure of dragging a victor out to one of my shows tonight?”, you say while letting out a slight giggle at the sight of him.

He’s a bit bewildered at first. Not exactly not knowing how to respond out of fear of embarrassing himself. His mouth slightly opens, letting out a playful scoff at the nickname victor, before replying back in the same playful manner you had.

“Just had to come down to hear what all the yapping around the district was about a pretty girl singing her heart out here each night”, he lightly flirts, hoping it lands well with her.

The action is thankfully welcomed as her laugh floats through the air. He wishes he could bottle the sound up so he could hear it over and over again.

“Now you’re just a peach aren’t you? Trying to butter me up .. hm?”, she says. Poking fun at his attempt of flirting before adding on, “And? Did I meet your expectations?”

His heart flutters at the question, chuckling to mask his nervousness that she so easily seems to trigger.

“That you did, sweetheart. Better than I could’ve thought”, he says, relishing in the way her wide eyed expression lights up at the praise he gives to her.

He feels himself mirroring her contagious smile. Nerves still present, but easing themselves when he sees her relaxing into his gaze.

“You’re a very sweet man, Haymitch Abernathy”, you tell him. Warmth slightly flooding your cheeks as his eyes remained fixed on you.

Quickly, taking the opportunity to glance away from the intense eye contact to take in the details about him. You take notice of the way his hair falls around his face, carefully framing it in a way that was too-professionally done to be of his own doing as the rest of the men in the district. A small testament to his time back and forth between his home and the calling of the Capitol. His slightly rugged appearance combats this, a small show of rebelliousness in the appearance the Capitol attempts to smooth over in a Victor, yet still seeming so distinctively him.

To anyone else, his demeanor would have been enough to ward off lingering stares here in the district. To you, it radiated a rare aura of comfort & warmth around him that you had never felt around another man before. You had wanted to get lost in it, envisioning yourself spending late mornings, running your fingers through his locks and humming a secret tune just for you both.

He chuckled dryly, swirling around the ale in his pint before glancing back up at you, “Sorry to disappoint sweetheart, tell anyone else here that and you might get a different answer”.

He watches as you cock your head to the side, a sly smile on your face, “Well good thing I wasn’t planning on asking anyone else”, sternness lacing your tone before scooting closer towards him, “Anyways, I think I like that I might be the only one in this damn district that can tell the difference”.

Haymitch could feel the way the way his heartbeat practically sped up, his hands fidgeting around the handle of the pint in front of him. Taking a deep breath before turning his attention back to the way your wide eyed gaze is fixated on him, eyes slowly analyzing him as if he’ll run right off. The thought crossed his mind for a minute, more so out of fear of embarrassing himself.

Taking a leap of faith, he brings his hand up to run his hand through a lock of your hair, tucking it behind the flower adorned between your ear. He hums at the pretty detail before plucking it to hold out in his palm, “A primrose?”.

You can feel your body still at the motion, warmth pooling in your chest at the feel of his hand. Carefully eyeing his expression, something that reads as a mixture of wonder and adoration at you. You remember to let out a small breath in the midst of the intimacy this situation, softly smiling as he hums in notice of the flower that lays against your hair.

“It was one of my mama’s favorites”, he can feel the wistfulness in your tone as you recall her, “She used to tell me stories of how my grandma and her great aunt would collect different flowers from their travels in the covey to use to bathe her and her cousins, since the borders between districts closed in the dark days, she gathered primroses here from the fields instead for me”.

He takes notice of the way you softly grasp onto his hand, your smooth palm contrasting with his hardened one and its tiny scars littered that hold unspoken memories of the arena. Your finger lightly traces the petals he holds in his palm, he watches as the mixture of nostalgia and sadness battle in your mind as you recall these memories.

Haymitch feels his own heart twinge, thinking back to what he can remember of his own mother, her voice, her stories, her mannerisms, anything. There’s a thick layer of understanding in the air between the two of you, unspoken feelings and experiences of loss and familiarity. The scattered chattering of the hob and instrumentals seem far away as the two of you take in each other’s presence.

He makes the first move to break the stillness between you two, bringing his hand back up to place the flower in your hair once again. You sigh softly as you feel his hand go to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb softly tracing back & forth on your skin. Haymitch feels the ghost of a smile threatening to overtake his lips as he feels your nestle your face further into his grasp before asking, “Would you wanna get out of here?”.

You softly nod at his question, not trusting your own voice to betray you and tremble at the delicateness in which he’s treating you. Standing up, you envelope your hand into his as his other finds it’s way onto your waist to lead you through the crowd. A motion so easily done as if it is second nature to you both. There is nothing but comfort and safeness in the act.

The cold air hits you both as you walk out, not feeling quite sure if the goosebumps forming on your skin is a result of that or the proximity of the man that still has a firm hold on you. You don’t seem to mind either way. You take a small peek over to him, watching the internal battle with himself as it plays on his face, eyebrows creased in deep thought. Yet still, he holds onto you, as if it’ll ground him.

You stop walking after a minute or so, watching the confusion in his expression as he snaps out of his thoughts. You pull him over to the small alley way, taking his face in both of your hands and forcing him to look into your eyes. His eyes trace over your questioning expression, taking a hard swallow before he speaks, “I .. I haven’t done this in a long time, sweetheart”.

“And what exactly are we doing?”, you say while lightly laughing.

He feels his nerves dissipate little by little at the sound of your amusement, still battling with the lingering fear in the back of his mind. He hesitates in his action, slowly leaning in to rest his forehead against yours, hands tightening their hold around your waist.

He can feel your breath hitch, your nose slightly touching against his own as your lips part, begging for him to make a move.

“If I do this, I don’t think I’d want to ever have another day where you’re not near me, at least to where I know you’re safe”, he whispers gently as his lips begin to ghost above yours.

“You won’t have to, I’ll be right here”, you whisper back. Your voice filled with reassurance and desperation, willing to give almost every part of you to him if it takes.

You feel the wind knocked out of you, as if you’ve forgotten to know how to breathe once you feel his lips against your own. Your mouths molding perfectly against one another as if this is what you’ve both have been waiting for your entire lives.

You whine softly as he deepens the kiss, his mouth claiming you with purpose. Whether it’s his way of subconsciously ensuring to himself that he won’t let anything happen to you or to convey his own worthiness to you, he can’t tell. The only thing taking up space in his mind being the way you sound as he familiarizes himself with you, tongue exploring yours while his hands grasp at your body.

You both finally break apart after what feels like an eternity, your heart racing as you try to catch your breath. Unable to shake the burning feeling of that his lips left against yours in their wake. Your lids flutter open, already finding his gaze with what reads as both love and protectiveness staring back at you.

“I …”, he clears his throat before finding a way to gather the right words he wants to say to you. He goes over every possibility of what this could mean between the two of you, of letting you in. It would be easier if he could just act like this was meaningless, that he could walk away now and never think of it again. But as with everything else, he knows that you will ruminate in the back of his mind forever with no avail. Not now that he already has you in his arms.

“I won’t be able to give you much”, is all he is able to choke out. A twinge of disappointment lacing his words.

“That’s okay, I’m not looking for much anyways”, you hum. You tip your head up slightly to look at him, “Just want you, it’ll be enough for me”.

“Yeah?”, he says softly. His eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, relief blossoming in his chest when he doesn’t find any. The only thing staring back him being the firmness in your vulnerability as you hold him in your palm. He pulls his hand from your waist to grab ahold of your hand against his face, bringing your knuckles to his lips, before leaning back in to press another kiss to your lips.

A part of him knows that it’ll always never be this simple. He will do his best to make sure he can protect you from what he can, if it ever comes to it. But right here, right now, in this moment. It’s not something even, Snow himself, can ever take from him.

#haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x reader #the hunger games #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg #thg series #sunrise on the reaping #lucy gray baird #maysilee donner #maude ivory #coriolanus snow

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blogport · 5 months ago

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lostbookmark · 4 days ago

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MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Finding Masterlist here

Summary: After a failed engagement, you move back home and reconnect with your friends. Maybe, just maybe you can find love with someone you never expected.

Pairing: Yoongi x F. Reader

Warnings: Explicit Sex, Swearing, Cheating (Not Yoongi), Fighting, Unprotected Sex, Protected Sex, Toxic Past Relationship,

Genre: Enemies(?) to Lovers, Neighbors to Lovers, Small Town romance. Hurt-Comfort, Slight Angst, Romance

A/N: The first few chapters will be just plot. Smut lovers need to wait until chapter 5. Also, a couple of readers that wanted to be tagged I couldn't tag you. Your name wouldn't pop up for me to click on.

“Last box,” Hobi said, bringing in the last of your belongings and placing it on your kitchen table that you pulled out of your parent’s dusty storage unit earlier in the day.

As much as you love Hobi, you couldn't live with him forever in his small two bedroom apartment anymore. Jungkook had texted you about a house that he had recently renovated on a plot of land that they owned near the neighboring Tannie Farms. He had offered to rent it to you before putting it out there for the public. He said he would rather have family in it and not some stranger that he can't trust. You quickly accepted his offer and started packing your clothes the same day. Hobi begged you to stay a little longer, but you know that you were holding him back. Your social butterfly of a best friend started to cancel plans and dates to stay with you because you wanted to become a hermit and not leave your bed. It wasn't fair. You wanted him to happily live his life, and you knew he wouldn't if you were still there.

Your mother and father, thankfully, offered to let you raid their garage and storage unit for anything that you wanted to take for your new home. It was mostly junk that they were glad to get rid of. This way, they didn't have to worry about how they were going to throw it away. You came away with an old dark oak table and a couple of matching chairs that both wobbled a little bit. You are going to need to shove something under the legs to stabilize them. You also took a lumpy couch that used to be white in color but has since turned a dingy gray color after being stored away for so many years. Your old mattress from high school that you're almost positive will kill your back but is better than sleeping on the floor and a dresser whose drawers won't open without a fight. You did, however, pass on a large area rug due to the fact that it smelled like something had died in it. They weren't the best, but it was better than having nothing at all. You'll be able to save up for better furniture later for your new house at a later date.

The two story white farmhouse with black rustic looking shutters was absolutely beautiful, and you fell in love as soon as you saw it. It was tucked away on a back road that was pure dirt several miles out of the main town square where it sat on perfectly manicured green grass. The wrap-around porch was decorated with various potted flowers, both big and small, in a range of beautiful colors. Large black solar powered lanterns lay scattered along around the perimeter of the dark wooden porch that emits a warm glow after sunset, setting a cozy and welcoming atmosphere. A large porch swing sat on the back of the porch has a perfect view of Tannie Farms in the far horizon where their crops seem to go on forever. Where the stalks of corn sway in the breeze around the various tractors and other farm equipment that sat in their cornfield. It was a picture-perfect view.

The house itself had large floor to ceiling windows with french doors that have matching black trim all encased in brand new white siding. Inside, the new hardwood floors and freshly painted beige walls were perfectly clean and crisp looking. He was able to give it the perfect blend of modern and cozy at the same time. However, the best part was the quiet. It was so serene and peaceful that you were afraid that the silence might scare you after being away from it for so many years. You never got to have serene or peaceful when you lived in the city in a busy apartment complex along the main street of a popular area. Sirens, honking cars and yelling were a part of your everyday life. After a few months, they just became background noise that blurred into your daily life. Changkyun also always preferred to have friends over at all hours for drinks and music. He didn't care if you needed to sleep or if you had to get up early. He only cared about impressing his friends. You couldn't even complain, or it would start a fight. He told you all the time that you were not on the lease, so it wasn't your decision. It was miserable, and looking back, you don't know why you stayed as long as you did.

There was, however, just one thing that Jungkook seemed to have forgotten to tell you about until after you had signed the contract and handed it back to him. That your one…singular neighbor, who you also have to share a large driveway with happened to be Min Yoongi. You thought it was a well thought out move on his end. Kook said that you wouldn't even see him since he is pretty much at the farm most of the day. It didn't really help put you at ease, but it didn't scare you away either. It was time to grow up and move forward. Like Hobi has said. You were adults, and it's time to put all the bullshit away.

“Coming through,” Jungkook called out as he and Tae came through your door carrying your super old double mattress from high school.

They head up stairs carrying it above their heads as you follow behind them and enter your bedroom. They toss it on the floor, and you can see a cloud of dust fly out of it. The particles linger suspended in the air. You'll have to figure out how to clean it later. The guys look at each other and then around the bare room in confusion. You ignore them and push the mattress into the corner of your room with your foot and give them a smile.

“What?” You ask them as you watch them as they continue to look around the barren room. “What's the matter?”

“Don't you have a bed frame?” Tae asks, scratching his head.

“Or a box spring?” Kook added a second later.

“No, I didn't see them earlier. I think my mom might have gotten rid of them. It's not a big deal. I’m just happy I don't have to sleep on the hard floor or the lumpy couch,” you say with a shrug. Down stairs, you hear a crash and something break.

“I'll buy you a new one,” Joon called up the stairs.

You sigh and head back downstairs to see what your loveable but clumsy friend broke. Thankfully, it was just a vase used for decoration that you had bought on sale and held no sentimental value. Shooing him away from the mess, you take over the clean-up carefully, avoiding cutting yourself of the sharp shards of colorful glass.

You couldn't be more thankful for them than you already were. You were thankful for Jin when he dropped off dinner for you since you haven't gotten geroceries yet. You were thankful for Jungkook for offering you the house. Also, for everyone else who helped you move things from your parent's storage unit and garage to the house doing all the heavy lifting for you. You really did love them. They were here. They never gave up on you.

“Are you going to be okay here alone? What if it's haunted?” Hobi asked, giving you wide, scared eyes. “You can always stay one more night with me if you're scared. You know I don't mind.”

“It's not haunted,” Jungkook said, rolling his eyes.

“Besides, she’s not completely alone,” Jimin said, looking at you with a knowing smirk and a wink. “Yoongi is just right over there.”

You curse yourself for letting it slip to Jimin one drunken night bar hopping in college that you may have found Yoongi attractive. You distinctly remember him and Kook playing darts in one of the darkened bars that your group frequented. You remember the way he bit his lip in concentration as his fingers held the dart, his dark hair falling over a red headband around his forehead. You just blurted it out loud without thinking as you sat with Jimin at a little table against the wall. The little shit never let you live it down when the two of you were alone. You are actually surprised, though, that it still seems to be a secret between only the two of you. You guess you can be thankful for that.

“I'll be fine,” you tell him, dismissing his concerns. “You guys can go. I have the first day of school tomorrow, and I need to get things around.”

Namjoon had agreed and helped round everyone up by the kitchen door. After a round of goodbyes and thank yous, you waved from your kitchen door as they dispersed. Kook, Tae, and Jimin went next door to Yoongi’s and the others left in their cars. You collapsed on your lumpy couch with a sigh. Closing your eyes, you tell yourself you'll unpack tomorrow. Laying there, you take in the quietness of the house. It was something that you would have to get used to. There was no extra body puttering around and making background noise. No, Hobi, singing early in the morning as he got ready for work. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock were the only things that could be heard. For the first time, it was just you. You had never lived alone, but you felt excited to see how you were going to do. It was going to be a welcomed new adventure, and you couldn't wait to see how you'll do.

You stand on the sidewalk in front of the school with your students smashed together in a yellow square that was taped off just for them as you waited for their parents to pick them up. Your first day of school went surprisingly well for the most part. When Joon found out you were back in town for good, he offered you a teaching position at your old elementary school where you had once attended. The exact same one where Jin and Hobi became your best friends. Where Jin shared his sandwich with you when you forgot your lunch in the third grade. Where you had to beat up some little boy for making fun of Hobi's shoes when you were six. You don't even remember his name now, but you gave him a bloody nose, and your dad had to pick you up early. It was a lot smaller than what you remembered. It always seemed so big when you were younger and playing on the playground, running around laughing, playing tag. When you all were so innocent and free back then.

You were initially excited that you didn't have to job hunt in the surrounding school districts, but you went into panic mode when Namjoon dropped the bomb on you. It was for Pre-K. You never taught such young kids before. You always had fourth graders in the past. Ten year olds. Ten year olds who could, for the most part, listen when they wanted to and take care of themselve. They didn't need to be taught to walk in a straight line or to raise their hand if they needed something. They knew how to zip their coats, put on gloves, and tie their shoes. These were some things that you never thought about having to teach, but yet here you were.

You didn't know anything about four year olds. All that you knew was that they were loud and sticky, and their bathroom habits were iffy at best. Thankfully, Joon, pretty much did your entire months worth of lesson plans for you, mostly to bribe you into saying yes to his job offer. All you had to do was follow his directions until you got the hang of it for yourself. Coloring, writing their name, singing, and dancing it all seemed pretty simple. Seven hours of playtime, easy, peasy.

Not quite. A few things you learned today were that they like to run and you need better antiperspirant. Do not..... repeat..... do not wear heels again. No matter how short you think the heel is….it's still too tall. You will need to buy several pairs of comfy flats and tennis shoes. Always do head count because you might have thought you lost one child between the art room and your classroom. Turns out he was just hiding under a table in the corner of the room. However, when it was all said and done, there were no tears from either you or the kids. You will take it as a win.

“Bye, Jae,” you say, waving at your last student that was picked up by her parents. You let out a sigh of relief as you watched them walk away as she held their hands, skipping between them. Good riddance, and now you get to do it all again tomorrow.

“Y/n,” a voice said your name, making you turn toward it. You smile slightly when you see the school’s music teacher standing behind you.

“Yes, can I help you…” You trail off, clearly not remembering his name.

“Shinwon,” he said, holding his hand out for you to shake. You politely shake his hand and look at him expectly. “I just wanted to check in and see how your first day was. I know a new school and new city can be intimidating.”

“Oh, no,” you say, shaking your head. “I grew up around here so…not new. I know this place very well.”

“Oh,” he said with a surprised smile, and he tilted his head to the side like he was amused. “I was going to offer to show you around our little sleepy town, but I guess you know it better than I do, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you say with a shrug and look around, trying to find a way to get out of this conversation when you spot Namjoon, who was walking to his car. When you finally catch his attention, he just waves at you happily before getting into his car. You think you see him laughing. Jerk.

“Well, then maybe you can show me some hidden gems around here,” he says and hands you his phone. “Here, put your number in, and I'll text you mine.”

You take his phone and input your information very reluctantly. You consider giving him a fake number, but that would probably make things super awkward later. You hand it back to him, and he smiles brilliantly at you, his perfect teeth on display. You watch as his fingers fly across the screen before he looks back up to you.

“I sent you a text,” he tells you. “Maybe we can hang out someday. We could possibly go into the city and do something?”

“Listen, I just got out of a relationship,” you started to tell him, but he cut you off.

“No, problem,” he said, still smiling. “It doesn't have to be a date. We can do something just as friends. Friends have dinner all the time. Maybe we can even see a movie one night.”

“Maybe, if I can find the time,” you say with a tight smile. “I should go, but it was nice meeting you.”

You turn on your heel and quickly walk away as fast as your aching feet can carry you, leaving him standing there alone. Yup, definitely tennis shoes from now on. You will be able to keep up with the kiddos better and, more importantly, run away from men faster. Perfect.

Getting out of your car, you grimace as your aching feet hit the hard cement of the garage floor. You didn't mean to slam your car door so hard as you begin to limp and waddle your way up to your house in a desperate need to soak your feet in your tub. You can almost sigh in satisfaction at the thought of the hot water surrounding you as you lie there in the clawfoot tub until your fingers turn pruny. As the hot, steaming water relaxes your muscles, taking away the ache from your feet as you drop a bath bomb that fizzes while listening to music and maybe…probably drink some wine.

“Bad first day of school?” You recognize Yoongi's voice behind you, causing you to freeze. You're embarrassed that he caught you walking like an idiot.

“No,” you answer truthfully as you give him a surprised look when you turn to look at him.

“It is the first day, right?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you before popping the hood of a side-by-side that sat on his side of the driveway. “Joon mentioned something about it yesterday.”

“Yeah, umm… it was pretty good. I might have a blister and an unwanted admirer, but hey, no one stuck anything where it didn't belong. So, good day.” You explain not expecting the conversation to go much further.

You were surprised when he actually started laughing. You don't think you have ever made Min Yoongi laugh. It was a good look on him. You wouldn't mind if he did more around you.

“Please tell me it's not some single dad?” he asks once he stops laughing. He uses the wrench in his hand to tinker around with mechanical things that are beyond your knowledge. You can drive a car but that's about it. You just pray that you never get a flat tire in the middle of nowhere. Triple A is a thing, right?

“Worse, the music teacher. He offered to show me around town,” you say with a nod of your head. “Like what was he going to show me? Jin’s cafe?”

“I mean. We do have a new hardware store in town,” he informs you while he concentrates on his task. “Maybe he can show you where the screws are.”

A small silence falls between the two of you as you look around in contemplation.

“Is that..” You start but pause for a second, and you feel your face heat up. “Is that supposed to be sexual?”

“I don't know what you are talking about,” he said innocently and smirked at you as his eyes met yours through the fallen blonde hair in his eyes. He shakes it out of his vision and continues with his task. You shake your head at him, limping and waddling your way up the stairs to your house. “Wait, I have some of your mail. Let me go get it.”

You lean your hands against the railing of the porch as he disappears in his house. You take turns lifting each foot off the ground behind you and giving it a little wiggle, hoping to find some sort of relief. He better hurry because all you want to do is sit down. You continue your little foot routine when you hear the squeak of his screen door open and Yoongi walks across the driveway to you. Reaching up, he hands you a singular piece of mail over your railing that you take from him, and he retreats back to the side-by-side. You sigh in annoyance when you see what he gave you.

“To the current resident….” You say loudly. “Do you need to lower your cable costs? You really felt the need to give me this junk mail?”

“It would have been a federal offense if I hadn't,” he answered while not even looking at you.

“Well, thanks,” you say sarcastically and turn back toward the house. You pull out your mess of keys that jingle and jangle with too many keychains as you unlock your door.

“Y/N,” Yoongi calls out again, making you look over your shoulder at him once again. “I would have helped…you know….yesterday when you moved in. I just figured that you wouldn't want me there.”

That made you feel horrible. You felt like a horrible human being who is still acting childish over some weird grudge from college. If what Hobi said was true, it was only one-sided on your part. Your shoulders slump just a little bit before you turn back to him once again. His hands are fiddling with that wrench looking a little nervous as he tries not to stare at you for too long. The wrench makes quite the clicking sound as he turns it over and over again as he twirls it with his finger. He glances up at you quickly before turning his eyes back to the silver tool in his hand.

“I appreciate it,” you tell him as you tap that piece of junk mail on the palm of your opposite hand just as nervous. “Maybe, if you want to, that is. Maybe we can start over again and actually try to be friends for once.”

“Yeah, sure, sounds good,” he rambles, agreeing with you, trying to nod his head nonchalantly. “Hey, are you going to help out at the Farmers Market again? The guys think you will bring more business in.”

“I highly doubt that, but yeah, I can come and help again,” you answer with a nod of your head. “Have a good evening, Yoongi,” you say with a small smile on your lips.

“You too,” he says, eyes watching you until you unlock the door.

Finally, getting into your house, you close the door and lock it behind you. You reach down undo the straps of your shoes and proceed to kick them off with a careless fling of your foot, not caring where they land as you hear them hit the floor with a thump. You waddle your way to that old dirty couch and flop down unceremoniously with a groan. You think your aching feet hurt more now than they did in the heels. Your nice hot bath with your wine and the bath bomb is going to have to wait until you get enough motivation to stand up, and that might not be anytime soon. You might have to put off unpacking one more day.

You turn your head and look out your living room window. You can see Yoongi with the top half of his body bent over and working away on the vehicle on his side of the driveway. You never thought in a million years that you would be friends with the cute, popular basketball player turned handsome neighbor. You smile a little as you continue to stare at him, and you think you might feel a little fluttering in your stomach. You're going to have to squish those butterflies. That flapping, flitting feeling that you haven't felt in years makes your body tingle in excitement. Your heart was not ready for that feeling. It wasn't ready at all.

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dutiful-wildcraft · 11 days ago

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Life's Sweet Bells

A COD Farm Sim AU with omegaverse splashed in!

Not a long fic (I hope) but just a series of little stories surrounding Paloma, a soft and sweet omega who's recently earned a farm from a long lost inheritance. Paloma begins cultivating her new life, embracing the rewards and challenges of her new town and it's eccentric strangers.

Poly 141 x F!OC

Link for all the "Villagers"

Introductions

Paloma nearly ignored the old ratty letter she'd received in the post. A hand written thing, outlining her inheritance from a long lost relative.

An inheritance she stands before now.

Alejandro, the mayor, a tall alpha with a bright smile, had been incredibly apologetic about the state of the old farm. Rudy, his partner, had explained that the old place had been vacant for some time, and it had only been recently that they discovered the old man’s nearest next of kin.

Paloma, however, was hearing none of it, gazing at the lonely plot of land with stars in her eyes.

The place was beautiful, a humble little cottage nestled in the middle of a quiet rolling forest. Its overgrown, vines crawling up the cobbled stone chimney, weeds taking over the empty field, but she can hear a brook nearby, and the little plot had not only a barn, but a greenhouse to boot. It was all worn, in disarray from by the elements, but it's hers. ‘Paloma Hadley’ now legally scrawled on the deed in swirling black ink.

Alejandro and Rudy had been kind enough to assist her with the small chest of her belongings, and with a promise to check in tomorrow to finalize the last of the paperwork they had left her to her own devices.

The next day passes quickly, with Paloma up to her elbows in dust and grime, scrubbing years of dirt off of the fine hardwood floors. She’d nearly slipped twice, trucking around her little cottage with bright red wellies to spare her socks. Had gone to war with what appeared to be a small village of spiders living in her bathroom, dutifully capturing and tossing them outside in a cup, and nearly fell down her front steps trying to drag the old heavy rugs outside to wash and beat on an old drying line. But compared to how it was before? She would catch spiders every day. Happily.

She didn't have much to her name when she left, just a small bedroom’s worth of items that she’d kept while she’d lived with her parents. She’d had no problem with leaving, and it wasn’t like her old job was paying her enough to have a place of her own anyway. Despite the increasing list of fix-ups and chores, Paloma had already started to cultivate a sense of pride over her new little home.

A home, with lovely rugs and quaint wood furniture.

She’s still cleaning, bopping around her kitchen while a pop song blares on her meager little radio when she just barely catches the knock on her door. She fumbles with the volume, dusting off her hands on her already dingey apron and scuttles toward the door, swinging it open to find perhaps the most handsome man she has ever seen in all her years of life.

He’s almost too pretty, dark curls cropped neatly, with a roguish little scar across his cheek. He’s dressed in a simple button up, short sleeves rolled a few times to highlight the toned curves of his arms, well worn belt with an assortment of tools slung heavily around his hips.

“Evenin’ miss” he greets with a nod of his head, pearly white fangs on full display as he smiles down at her, warm and bright. Pretty and an alpha. He must have been working hard today, having sweated through his blockers if the way his scent rolls through her is any indication. It’s warm and floral, tonka and citrus, with a hint of spice that would have her tail wagging if she had one. It wasn’t every day that she got a whiff of alpha, really anyone for that matter. Most designations kept their scent muted or gone entirely, especially in the city where she’d grown up. It was considered polite work culture to keep one’s scent from intervening from day to day activities, which was more a way for designations to avoid bias in the hiring pool. Only bonded pairs stopped blocking their scent.

Her eyes flick to his neck for a quick confirmation, only to see it covered conveniently (and charmingly) with a soft blue bandana. A new mystery to solve.

Paloma realizes she must have been staring a little too long when he clears his throat softly, making her flinch. Way to be cool Paloma. She has a hard time getting her words out, smiling dumbly as the alpha on her porch chuckles awkwardly. Extending a hand.

“Kyle Garrick, y’can call me Gaz.”

She reaches out without thinking, her fingers brushing against his wrist in her haste to wrap her soft hand around his. If Gaz notices the small social faux pa he doesn’t say anything, simply gives her soft a squeeze before letting go politely.

“Sorry! Wasn’t expecting anyone else today.” she attempts, tucking the loose strands of her hair behind her ears nervously, introducing herself in return as an afterthought.

“‘Course not, didn't mean to intrude. It’s not often we see a new face around here, let alone one moving in. Wanted to bring by a little house warming gift, figured you’d have your hands full with all this.” he gestures.

Gaz presents her with actual tools, a decent sized shovel, hoe, and axe, he even tosses in a small toolbox, and a handful of varying seed packets.

He rubs the back of his neck, “Not sure if you wanted to actually keep up with the old farm, but if you did, these'll give you a start.”

She looks it all over with absolute glee.

“No! This is perfect. Thank you Gaz, really. I don't know what this place used to look like, but I want to pick up where it was left off.” she says proudly, hands on her hips.

She'd already hoarded up all sorts of books and manuals on farming and caretaking. Determined to be as self sufficient as she could.

It was a pipe dream maybe, thinking she could make a living selling produce and cute jams, and she tells him so, shoulders falling ever so slightly.

“It's really not. Been missing someone like you around here since the old man died. The general store and village market's been suffering for it. I think you're just the person we needed around here Paloma.”

His words are so genuine it nearly makes her misty.

“I've got my work cut out for me, but I intend to do my very best” she promises, meeting his eyes with a bold resolve.

“I've got no doubt you will.” he chuckles. “Just so you know, I run the carpentry shop just up the road. If you need a hand, come see me, yeah?”

“Will do!” she waves, watching her first kind stranger take his leave.

–

Paloma takes it easier the following days.

Well

A little easier.

Rudy had explained the old shipping bin on her property, and with her cottage finally, less spidery and grim she had resolved to at least do a little foraging in the bountiful area Alejandro had been sure to remind her of. The move in general had taken what little savings she'd had. And if selling off a few things would garner her some pocket change then she had to do all she could.

It was at least a start.

She was pretty pleased with her bounty around the mid afternoon, having already filled her basket full of varying mushrooms and wild vegetables. At least the ones she thought were edible. She hopes Rudy at least looks it over before taking it.

She's plopped on her rear, fingers stained blue as she works over a healthy looking berry bush (popping a few of the prettiest ones in her mouth in between) when a new voice startles her.

“New to town and already riflin’’ through other folk's gardens I see!”

The loud scottish lilt has her nearly jumping out of her skin. She whirls, eyes falling to yet another handsome stranger.

He's another big boy, white tank top smudged with dirt and loose sprigs of hay, his hair is cropped into a short mohawk, a rabbit's foot charm dangling from a loose chain around his neck. A farriers apron hugs his thick thighs, a fine layer of sweat glistening against his sun kissed skin.

Good heavens, they build them different in the country.

She sputters, trying to haul herself up “I didn't mean to- I didn't know?? I'm-”

“Easy lass, just yankin’ your chain” he laughs, extending a hand to help her up, his grip is firm, and he must overestimate how much strength he needs to pull her soft body up out of the dirt because he hauls her right into his chest.

Her brain reels, getting a nose full of sweet alpha musk, a fun mix of buttery shortbread and soft rose that seems odd clinging to such a macho looking alpha.

His freehand catches her, warm broad palm against the small of her back as she flails again, trying to get distance between them, nearly tripping over her own boots when he settles her again, a warm palm on her shoulder to hold her in place.

She's grateful she grabbed a healthy supply of her own blockers before leaving, at least she wouldn't be perfuming all over the place like a fool. She was embarrassed enough that her encounter with Gaz the day before had her snuffling at his scent on her hand all evening like a lonely puppy.

“Easy there” he says good naturedly, giving her a pat not unlike a horse before pulling his hand away. “Was wonderin’ when you'd come by and see me.” he beamed, pretty blue eyes bright with mischief.

She rights herself, dusting the dirt from her knees. “Is this your property? I didn't mean to intrude, I didn't realize someone was so close…”

She admittedly hadn’t strayed too far from home just yet, she wanted to get at least a little settled before meandering into town. She feels a little bad for not even bothering to see her new neighbor.

He introduces himself as John Mactavish, Soap for short. Explains that he minds the livestock just up the way, ducks and chickens and cows and horses, and that she was indeed on his property.

“Not that I mind of course. Alejandro told me we had someone new, didn't know you'd be such a bonnie thing, s'good to finally have a new face ‘round here.” he teases as they walk together. Soap had insisted he walk her home, had even snagged her basket of berries, holding them hostage, claiming she had too much to carry already with her backpack already sagging heavily against her shoulders.

Soap was a talker, rambling animatedly, introducing her to new names of fellow townsfolk she’d yet to meet, too many names lost on her as they made they’re way down the worn dirt path to her home. Talking with him was as easy as breathing, and while Gaz had been friendly she didn’t feel quite the same nervousness with Mactavish, and soon enough her own chattery energy came out to match his own. It wasn’t long before the pair were laughing and giggling their way under the afternoon sun, swapping stories of past awkward moments and old jobs.

Just from the way he talked, she could tell Soap was well liked, referring to most everyone in town as his friend. It was incredibly sweet how he only had good things to say. And if what Soap was saying was true, Paloma would have no issue getting to know everyone in town, well, mostly, everyone.

“Ach, Ghost, you’ll like him, he’s a tough nut to crack, but he’s good people, my best pal.” he says warmly, setting her basket down beside her front door. He starts to continue before he pauses, taken aback. She guesses in their chattering Soap hadn’t noticed their arrival until she’d let him right to her door.

“My days” he sighs, baby blues surveying her little farm, he doesn’t say anything as he steps off her porch, beelining it for her old barn, making her half run just to keep with his longer strides. He takes it upon himself to survey the building, making a couple rounds around the foundation before wrenching the old doors open with a grunt of effort. She follows him inside, mimicking him by putting her own hands on her hips as they both look around. Paloma isn’t quite sure what she’s looking for, but Soap does, and if anything she’s here for support.

“Ya know, I’ve never been out here before, the old man kept to himself, ya got yourself a good little setup here, hen. Little bit of patching here and hammering there and this’ll do just fine!”

“You think so? I would love to have a few animals, nothing too serious, but the company would be nice.”

“I know so, and tell you what.” he turns to her, a mischief Paloma suspects is permanent in his eyes, “ you come ‘round my place, help me tend to mine, and I’ll teach you a few things, even throw in a few coins for your trouble. That way we both have some company, aye?”

“You’d really do that?”

“‘Course! Just a little while, once you get this place all neat and tidy you’ll have your hands plenty full, and then you’ll be askin’ ole Soap for help.” he teases, clapping her on the shoulder once more, broad palm dangerously close to the tender gland at the juncture of her shoulder.

Paloma nods her head at the charismatic alpha, cheeks burning at the innocent contact. She wasn’t going to turn a prime opportunity down, and hands on contact would be much better experience than fumbling around with a book. It’s not like she was imposing, he offered after all, like good neighbors do, and she’d admittedly grown fond of the playful scot after their little walk together.

“Excellent, I’ll get out of your hair for now bonnie girl, but do me a favor would ye?” he asks seriously, looking her dead in the eye. “Stay out of trouble, your lucky I was alright with you pilferin’ my berries like that but-”

A loud snort tears from her at his teasing, one she attempts to cover half heartedly as more snorts follow, making Soap laugh too, she punches him in the side playfully, trying to catch her breath as Soap’s giggles make her laugh even more.

“And now you’re assaulting me! I’ll have you know I wont tolerate nefarious behavior like this, I’ll let it slide this time girlie, but it won’t happen again.” he proclaims, waggling his finger at her, only making her laugh harder. They part ways in giggles, Soap waving pleasantly as he trots back off into the distance, his sweet rose scent wafting around her in a pleasant cloud.

Paloma’s cheeks hurt from smiling, and for once the heavy weight of carrying on feels like nothing at all.

#they may accidently sound southern #but i do think the english and southern accents follow a similar pattern #sorry in advance #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty #farm sim au #wildcraft writing #Life's Sweet Bells #oc: paloma hadley #poly 141

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decentwritings · 13 days ago

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Chapter 3

Summary: At twenty-six, you never expected your life to look like this: a veteran, a college dropout, now running drugs to cover your late father’s debts. The military took you away for a brief moment, but now you're back in your hometown, keeping family at a distance to keep them safe. Your simple plan to clear the debt, one job at a time, unravels the moment Mabel steps into your life.

previous part <--> next part

You check your mailbox again, sighing at the lack of mail. Nothing but advertising which is beginning to upset you. All this wasted paper–oh look, a new Chinese buffet is opening this weekend.

Your stomach growls of the thought of the restaurant, but you stuff it back into the mailbox with a groan. You don't plan on leaving your place for the rest of your life. You shut the mailbox shut and enter back into your place, the dark room a stark contrast to the bustling world outside. You flick the light on, illuminating the cluttered but cozy space. Your shoes squeak on the hardwood floor as you step inside, kicking them off in a corner. The familiar scent of takeout containers from last night still lingers, but you ignore it, sinking into the couch with a heavy sigh.

The silence feels oppressive, a constant reminder of the choices you've made to keep to yourself, avoid getting caught up in things outside your control. But lately, that isolation has been harder to bear. As you stare at the blank TV screen, your mind drifts back to the mailbox. Even a stupid coupon for a Chinese buffet feels like a reminder that the world keeps moving, even if you don't.

It's times like this when you wish you had given in when you saw those puppies for sale at the nearest grocery store. You'd have a dog that would force you to go out during times like these. You just want to crawl into your bed and sleep your life away.

You pause.

"That's death," you mumble, throwing your head back with a loud groan.

The realization hits you harder than expected. You've been avoiding the world for so long, sinking deeper into isolation, that it feels like you've hit a wall. The emptiness isn't just in your apartment—it's creeping into your life, seeping into the corners you thought you could ignore.

It's been three days since that swim for that shipment and you have managed to avoid having to go out. No sale has been made for those weapons and you, shamefully, lied to your sister about being sick so you didn't have to pick up your nephew at school. Mabel even texted you, apparently Rudy gave her your number. You were too busy freaking out about her having your number to be pissed he gave your number out. In the end, you told her the same lie you told your sister.

You sit up, staring at the clutter around you. Takeout containers, unwashed dishes, laundry half-done. It feels like a reflection of how you've been living—putting things off, hiding from the inevitable, from the people and choices you know you need to face.

With a frustrated sigh, you push yourself up from the couch. "Alright," you mutter to yourself. "I'm not doing this anymore."

You walk over to the kitchen, grabbing a trash bag and starting to clean up the remnants of your quiet retreat. As you toss old containers and forgotten leftovers, you feel a small sense of relief. It's not much, but it's a step.

Your phone buzzes on the counter, pulling your attention away. You unlock it to see a message from Mabel.

Hey, your uncle sent me to bring you some soup.

You freeze, the bag in your hand dropping, spilling all the contents in it on the floor. "Oh fuck."

Your heart races as you stare at the message, trying to process what's happening. Your uncle sent Mabel? You weren't prepared for this. The lie you spun to avoid facing everyone has come back to bite you—and now Mabel is about to show up at your door with soup, of all things.

You quickly glance around your apartment. It's a mess—takeout boxes everywhere, laundry half-finished, dishes piled up. There's no way you can let her see this, let alone face her with the lie hanging between you.

"Shit, shit, shit," you mumble, scrambling to pick up the trash you just spilled on the floor. Your mind races with excuses—maybe you can pretend you're asleep, maybe you can text her back and tell her not to come—but it's too late.

A knock on your door echoes through the apartment, sending your anxiety into overdrive.

It can't be Mabel. That was too quick.

"Who is it?" You call out, waiting for a response.

There's silence before, "Mabel?" she sounds confused. "Did you not get my message?"

You grit your teeth. You should have pretended you weren't home. Now its too late for that.

"Uhh," you clear your throat. "Just leave it at the door. I don't want to get you...sick," you grimace, your words coming out too slow and hesitant.

"Open the door."

She figured you out. The pound she hits on your door just serves as proof.

Your heart races as you stare at the door, the weight of the lie pressing harder with each second of silence. Mabel knows. There's no hiding it now.

You can almost hear the impatience in her voice. "Come on, I'm not leaving until I see you."

You let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through your hair. There's no escaping this. You pick up the trash you dropped early then move to open the door.

Mabel stands there, arms crossed, her brow furrowed in concern. "Seriously? Sick?" she says, her voice softer than you expected. She steps closer, peering into your eyes like she's searching for the real reason behind your avoidance.

You shift uncomfortably, looking away. "It's... complicated," you mutter, trying to dodge her gaze. "And you lied too. Where's my soup?" you shoot back.

Her eyebrow raises. "Seriously?" She huffs and you step aside, allowing her entrance. She walks in and her eyes examines your place. "I knew you were faking. I asked your uncle where you lived since he told me you were most likely hiding like the natural hermit you are–his words, not mine," she adds quickly, raising her hands up in defense.

You huff, shutting your door then leading her to your kitchen. You pick up as much as you can in your kitchen as you do, glancing over your shoulder at Mabel. "Well, he's not wrong," you mumble, tossing a takeout box into the trash. "But it's not like I wanted to be this way."

Mabel leans against the counter, watching you clean up with a knowing look. "So, why are you?" she asks, her voice steady but gentle, like she's trying to pry without pushing too hard.

You pause, hands gripping the edge of the sink, the weight of everything threatening to spill out. The weapons. The lies. The guilt gnawing at you. But you swallow it down, just like you've been doing since that swim. "I'm just... dealing with a lot," you admit. "And when things get too overwhelming, I shut down. Or go for a swim but..." you trail off, frowning because your past time has been ruined.

A silence fills the space between you two and when you look at her, really look at her, you remember Charlie's words. I'm not risking her getting hurt again. Again.

You don't want Mabel getting hurt at all.

"Makes sense why I haven't seen you at your usual spot," Mabel breaks you away from your thoughts. You lean against your kitchen counter, crossing your arms as you avoid her eyes. "You said you would teach me how to swim, remember?"

Right. That's backfired on you.

You feel a pang of regret at her words, the memory surfacing like a distant wave. "Yeah, I remember," you reply, your voice low. "I just... I haven't felt up to it lately."

"That's fine," Mabel shrugs, taking a seat at your kitchen table. You rub your temples, missing the way she looks at you.

The way she's waiting for you to confess. She went out to look for answers on how you managed to stay under the town's radar, avoiding the rumor mill this town always has spinning. She found little because she knew if she wanted to find out more, she had to go to some people she swore she would never interact with again.

You can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers fidget with the edge of the table. It's like she's waiting for a confession to slip from your lips, but all you can muster is silence. The truth hangs between you, heavy and unyielding, but you can't bring yourself to share it—not yet.

"Look, I get it," she says finally, her voice softer but firm. "You don't want to talk about it, and that's okay. But I want you to know that I'm here for you. You don't have to handle this alone."

You have a feeling her offering help to people she barely knows got her into whatever mess Charlie was mentioning before. That thought lingers in your mind, making you hesitate. Mabel's willingness to help people, to care for them no matter what, could be what got her tangled up in a dangerous situation before. And now, here she is, offering the same to you.

You search her eyes, the guilt already creeping in as you think about how to push her away. If she won't leave on her own, maybe you can hurt her enough to make her back off. It's cruel, but if it keeps her safe, then it's worth it.

"What are you doing?" You ask, your tone switching to a much firmer one. She's stunned, the sudden raise of volume catching her by surprise. "You talk about knowing what real mess is, so what are you doing? Offering help to strangers–is that the same way you met Charlie?"

Mabel's eyes widen at your sudden change in tone, and she flinches slightly, but quickly recovers, her gaze hardening as she processes your words. "What does Charlie have to do with this?" she asks, her voice steady but edged with tension.

"You said it yourself," you continue, pushing forward despite the guilt creeping up your spine. "You're always getting mixed up in other people's messes, trying to fix things that aren't your problem. It got you into trouble before, didn't it? So what's stopping it from happening again? What's stopping me from being the next one to drag you down?"

Mabel's jaw tightens, her arms folding defensively across her chest. "That's not fair," she says quietly. "You don't get to make assumptions about my life, about the things I've been through. And you definitely don't get to use Charlie to push me away. You don't even know the half of it."

You feel the sting of her words, but you press on, hoping she'll see the danger before it's too late. You scoff, rolling your eyes. "The half of it, please," you shake your head, "fine, maybe I don't, but I know enough. You get involved, you get hurt. Why can't you just walk away from this?"

Mabel stares at you, her eyes searching yours for a moment before she speaks again, her voice trembling just slightly. "Because I care about you. And I'm not going to walk away just because things are messy. You might think you're protecting me, but shutting me out isn't going to help us either."

Her words hang in the air, and for a moment, you're torn between pushing her away and pulling her closer.

That word lingers in your mind—us. It feels foreign, like it doesn't belong in the mess you've created. But hearing it from Mabel... there's a part of you that aches for it to be true.

You want to believe there could be an "us," but you know better than anyone that dragging her into your chaos would destroy whatever hope there is for that. You can't risk it, not when she's already been through enough.

If she's been hurt once, you don't want her to get hurt again. You wouldn't be able to live with yourself.

But she's stubborn, you don't need to be a genius to figure that out. Not when you turn your back to her, to avoid her eyes because you felt yourself wanting to give in.

Mabel steps closer, her voice firm but filled with that same stubborn determination that both frustrates and captivates you. "I'm not trying to save you. I just want to be there. If you push me away now, you're making that choice, not me."

"Maybe it's the right choice," you whisper, gripping the sink, knuckles turning white.

Mabel lets out a quiet chuckle. "Then it's time I make the wrong one," you glance at her, eyebrow raising, and she shrugs. "I've chosen what I think are the right choices–what I believe was the right thing to do. Maybe it's time I do the wrong thing." She finishes, her voice soft but unwavering.

You're out of fight, at least when it comes to her. You want to be selfish for once. Pick yourself–by choosing her. Fuck the consequences. You'll worry about it later.

So in one swift move, you turn and grip her waist, bringing your lips to her, connecting them. Mabel freezes for a moment, caught off guard by the suddenness of your kiss, but then she melts into it, her hands finding their way to your shoulders. The tension that had been building between you two seems to shatter in that instant, replaced by something raw and undeniable.

You don't know what's going to happen next—if this is a mistake, or if it's the right kind of wrong. All you know is that in this moment, being with her feels like the only thing that makes sense.

When you finally pull back, both of you are breathless, her eyes wide as they search yours. Neither of you speak, but the silence says everything. You've made your choice, and so has she.

Mabel smiles softly, her forehead resting against yours. "Guess we're both making bad decisions now," she whispers, and despite everything, you find yourself smiling back.

"You're going to regret it," you tell her, some teasing in your voice but she can hear how serious you are.

She shrugs, her fingers brushing your hair gently. You practically melt, haven't experienced something like this in a long time.

"I'll take my chances," she murmurs, pulling on the back of your neck to bring your foreheads together. You shut your eyes at the connection, feeling her fingers continue to play with your hair. "Quit with the mystery. I'm not going anywhere. You can't scare me away."

You open your eyes to meet her eyes, and just the thought of her getting hurt because you infuriates you. You make a promise with yourself to make sure she stays safe, no matter what. Even if it means keeping her closer than you'd originally planned. She's not going anywhere, like she said, and you find yourself grateful for that.

You nod wordlessly, lifting your hand to her cheek. You run your thumb over her cheek, inscribing every detail of her face in your memory. Not like it's difficult. This photographic memory thing really comes in handy.

I won't let anything happen to you, is what you want to say but instead you connect your lips with her again, but in a slow, deliberate kiss. It's not just about the desire anymore—it's about the promise you're making, even if it's one you'll never speak aloud. She deserves to know, deserves to feel that you're not just pulling her closer to push her away later.

When you finally pull back, you linger there, foreheads still touching, both of you breathing the same air. Mabel opens her eyes, her lips curving into a small smile, like she understands what you're trying to tell her without words.

"You don't have to say it," she whispers, reading you better than you thought possible. "I already know."

That's the thing about Mabel—she always knows. And maybe, just maybe, that's why you can't seem to push her away, no matter how hard you try.

"Wanna go for a swim?" Mabel asks, dimple on her cheek appearing. You chuckle, but nod, brushing your thumb over her dimple. She bites her lip then takes your hand, dragging you into your room to get your stuff ready.

\\\\\

"Think you can go in a few more steps?" you ask, a hint of teasing in your voice as you stand a few feet away, watching her carefully. She eyes you, a mix of determination and hesitance crossing her face, and you can't help but chuckle.

It's not just the apprehension that you find amusing; it's the sight of her in your old high school gym shorts and that tattered soccer jersey hanging loosely on her frame. It makes her look small, almost adorable, but definitely small.

"Come on, this was your idea," you say, splashing her lightly. She jumps back slightly, her glare shooting daggers at you. "At least let the water hit your waist," you encourage, standing tall as the waves lap at your chest.

Mabel hesitates, her determination flickering, but you can see her resolve slowly building again. You bend your knee, letting the water hide half your face, and you wait patiently for her to take the leap. Another wave crashes against you, and you duck under, mentally laughing as you hear her call out for you.

"Mabel! Come on, you can do it!" you shout, surfacing to see her still standing at the edge, glancing back and forth between you and the water.

"You scared the shit out of me," she exclaims, once again, glaring. You wipe your face, laughing gently. "The waves are bigger than last time. Are you sure it's safe?"

You forget the teasing and joking, noticing the genuine worry behind her words. You walk over to her and take her hand, pulling her into you carefully. Her arms go around your waist, like a habit, naturally, and you feel a sense of warmth radiate between you.

"It's safe," you say softly, meeting her gaze. "I won't let anything happen to you."

You finally say the words out loud to her. A smile is on her lips, probably figuring out you mean it more than just right now in this moment. She pecks your lips and you wish she had kissed you longer. But she turns and looks at the water with determination, and you don't want to break her concentration.

"Okay, I can do this," she mumbles, mostly to herself but you hear her loud and clear. She tugs on your hand and you take it as your cue to walk further into the water, hoping she follows.

You wade deeper, the cool water rising to your chest, glancing back to see Mabel right behind you, her expression a mix of excitement and resolve. The gentle waves lap against you, and you feel the rhythm of the ocean pulse around you.

Soon, she's in front of you, shivering slightly but still grinning ear to ear. You take her in your arms and kick your feet to have you both floating. She stills, but only for a moment, relaxing as the waves appear to settle around you.

Her arms wrap around your neck, practically clinging onto you like a lifeline. For a few minutes, she just rests her chin on your shoulder, the sound of the ocean filling the silence between you two.

You admire the sun in the distance, still hanging high, giving you a positive outlook for the rest of the day. How your day started is completely different from how it's going. You didn't expect for it to go like this at all.

"Who taught you how to swim?" Mabel ends the silence, but her voice is above a whisper. In the distance, you can see some fishing boats and some teenagers who most likely skipped school since the school year is almost over.

You turn your head slightly to catch a glimpse of the fishing boats bobbing on the waves, their silhouettes framed by the sun's golden glow. You smile, the warmth of the moment wrapping around you like the gentle waves.

"My dad," you reply, your voice barely above the sound of the water. You watch the boat disappear, sort of like you did whenever your father went away on a job. "He took me out here every summer. Said it was important to know how to swim, especially around the ocean."

Mabel nods, her fingers playing with the ends of your hair. "I wish I had someone like that. I just...never really learned. Was always too scared, I guess."

You smile sadly, tucking your face into her neck. You hide your face for a moment before you decide to share a little more.

"I was terrified," you admit it, chuckling at the memory of your first swimming lesson. "My dad bought those above ground pools, and as soon as it was full of water; he tossed me in there–no warning."

Mabel pulls back slightly, an amused smile on her lips. "Seriously?"

You shrug. "Forced me to learn," you say, as if it's no big deal. And it wasn't. Because it was a great first lesson. "I knew how to doggy paddle which saved me from drowning but then he further advanced my skills. Once I learned, they had to drag me out of the pool."

Mabel laughs, the sound bright and infectious, echoing against the backdrop of the gentle waves.

You chuckle, the memory warm and nostalgic. "Yeah, my mom hated it, because I wouldn't come out until my hands and feet were pruny. I went from being terrified of the water to begging to swim every chance I got. By the end of the summer, I was diving off the side of the pool and having battles with my water type Pokémons." You nod proudly, unashamed.

"Water type...Pokémons?" Mabel raises an eyebrow, her expression a mix of disbelief and amusement.

"Well, yeah, I'm not going to use my fire type Pokémons in the pool," you say, like it's obvious.

You don't see the amusement until you hear her laugh again. You raise a brow, unsure what's so funny.

"Oh, my god," she covers her mouth, laughing in between apologies. "You're secretly a dork." She says and your jaw drops.

You splash her gently and she splashes you right back, giggling.

"I'll take that as a compliment," you shrug, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.

"Well, Sergeant Dork," you tilt your head, deadpan at the joke. She cracks up even more before continuing. "I hope you know our fingers are pruny, so..."

You look at your fingers and hum. "Not pruny enough," you say, pulling her into you. She laughs but doesn't argue, returning her chin back to rest on your shoulder.

Time appears to slow down, and you find yourself lost in the warmth of her presence, the gentle sway of the water cradling you both. The sun shines down, casting golden rays that dance on the surface, illuminating the moment.

Mabel's laughter fades into a comfortable silence, and you breathe in the salty air, the sound of the ocean providing a soothing backdrop. It feels as though nothing else matters—no worries, no past mistakes, just the two of you suspended in this perfect moment.

That's why you love the ocean. It made you forget about what was happening on land. So what you did a few nights ago? It was like your two worlds colliding. The only way they collided before was when the waves crashed into the sand, so it hurt that it was you crashing into the ocean.

"Hey," she whispers, breaking the stillness. "What if we just stayed out here forever?"

You wish. No, literally. You wished for that as a kid.

"I think we're better off leaving the city than staying in the ocean," you say with a huff, your words coming out tiredly. That was another one of your wishes—to leave the city without having any guilt.

Mabel pulls back slightly, studying your face. "What do you mean?"

You take a deep breath, the salty air filling your lungs as you weigh your words. "When I was little, I used to imagine running away to live on a beach somewhere. No responsibilities, just the sound of the waves and the warmth of the sun. I thought if I could just escape my reality, everything would be different. But then I grew up, and... well, life happened."

You laugh gently, recalling a specific moment in your childhood. "I actually packed a bag and took some pillows and blankets from the closet to build myself a fort out here," you say, turning your head to look for the spot where you planned to make the fort.

"What happened?" Mabel asks, watching you search the shore.

"My parents caught me," you mutter, frowning as Mabel laughs at your expression. "I mean, I couldn't exactly sneak off. I had a giant suitcase with the blankets and pillows; it was just easier to carry. Plus, I think my sister snitched on me. That's what I get for inviting her," you huff at yourself.

Mabel laughs again, her fingers returning to play with the ends of your hair. Her mouth opens to say something, most likely to tease you, but then you hear a pop in the distance. To anyone, it could just be some random noise. But with your knowledge of what was picked up a few nights ago and your training, you're on edge.

"You okay?" Mabel asks, feeling how stiff you are. You look to where the sound came from, your jaw tightening; you hope Nick's friends aren't dumb enough to sell in broad daylight.

You hum, Mabel's question processing in your mind. "Oh, yeah," you answer, but the unease lingers. You were trained to trust yourself and your instincts, and right now, they're screaming.

In the Army, you had your team with you, who looked out for you while you looked out for them. But here, you just have Mabel to protect, and she doesn't have your training.

"Let's head back," you say, placing your hands under her thighs to pick her up. She gasps in surprise but quickly wraps her arms around your neck, her laughter fading into concern as you carry her back toward the shore.

As you wade through the water, you can feel the tension coiling in your chest. You scan the beach, looking for any signs of trouble, your senses heightened. Mabel notices your demeanor and leans closer, her voice low. "What's wrong?"

"Just... a noise I heard," you reply, keeping your tone casual but focused. "Let's not stick around to find out what it was." You push through the waves, feeling the cool water lapping at your legs, but your mind is elsewhere, concentrating on getting both of you back to safety.

As you reach the sandy shore, you set her down gently, scanning the beach once more. Everything seems normal, but that unsettling feeling still lingers. "Stay close to me," you say, taking her hand and leading her further away from the water's edge.

Mabel squeezes your hand, her eyes darting around as if sensing your unease. "Was it that popping sound?" You glance at her, closing in to where you left your towels. "I know you were at war and all that, but...this is still America. People shoot their guns randomly when they're bored."

"Near the beach?" you ask, trying to keep your tone light despite the tension in the air. You don't want to scare her, but the instinct to protect kicks in fiercely.

She shrugs. "People are idiots," she says as she reaches for your towel, then hers. She hands you yours, then uses her own to dry herself. However, she looks at you, not even acknowledging the towel in your hand, scanning your surroundings. "Hey—"

You flinch, her touch surprising you. A mix of regret and guilt crosses your face when you see her stunned expression.

"Sorry," you stutter out, exhaling a breath. "I didn't mean to... You just caught me off guard."

Mabel's brow furrows, her expression softening as she studies you. "It's okay," she says gently, placing a hand on your arm. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

You take a moment to breathe, the warmth of her hand grounding you. "I'm fine," you reply, forcing a smile. "Just... instinct, I guess. I'll let my guard down in a second."

Mabel nods, then reaches for your bag and hers. "Let's grab a bite to eat," she points down the street, and you already know where she wants to go. "Your uncle's place is actually pretty good. Come on," she squeezes your hand.

She gives your hand an extra squeeze, and it's like someone lowered the volume of your surroundings. You still feel the need to protect her, but it isn't as over-heightened as before. You're on the lookout while you walk to your uncle's diner, keeping her at arm's length as you scan everything and everyone around you.

Despite your vigilance, you manage to listen to her as she talks. You can tell she's trying to settle your nerves, sharing little anecdotes about her day and making jokes about random things she's seen around town. It isn't until she mentions her classes for the fall do you decide to join in.

"And it's my third semester, still no major declared," Mabel sounds resigned, almost disappointed in herself. "I'm on my last two prerequisites, and I've taken random intro classes like psychology, business administration, and music appreciation, but I just don't—"

"Hold on," you plant your feet, stopping both of you from moving. Mabel looks at you, probably surprised you were paying attention. "You do understand it's totally okay not to have it figured out yet, right? I mean, that's what college is all about."

Mabel nods, but there's still a frown on her lips. "Yeah, but," she sighs, "all the people I've had classes with all have their majors declared or know what they're working toward, but I'm just... taking it one class at a time." She shrugs.

"So what?" you say back with a shrug. "You got financial aid, right?" She nods, and you nod in return. "Good. I mean, they usually have a timeline for you, but they also can't control if you have a major declared or not. You could decide on... marketing today, but you could always change your mind and switch to... law—I don't know," you add when you see her facial expression.

Mabel laughs, but you can tell she's taking your words seriously.

"Look at me," you say, gesturing to yourself. "I had my major declared, but I dropped out a semester later. Figure out what you want to do on your own time, and if financial aid or the world has a problem with that, tell me; I'll deal with them."

A small smile begins to form on her face. "You really would?"

"Absolutely," you reply, feeling more confident now. "I'll even call them up and say, 'Hey, Mabel's doing just fine figuring things out. Back off!'"

She chuckles softly, shaking her head. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe," you admit, "but I'm serious about this. You don't have to rush into anything. Everyone's path is different, and just because they seem ahead doesn't mean they have it all figured out."

Mabel's eyes soften as she considers your words. "You know, I think I needed to hear that. Thanks," she replies, her voice sincere.

You shake your head, realizing you've settle down from earlier. Your heart rate has slowed down and that disturbing feeling in your gut is gone. It's a dangerous world but you know and feel that Mabel is safe right now.

"Thank you," you say, and she only nods, pulling on your hand to lead you both to your uncle's diner.

As you walk, the familiar scent of your uncle's diner begins to fill the air, a comforting reminder of home. The noise of the street fades as you focus on Mabel, her laughter echoing in your mind like a soothing balm. You feel a sense of ease settle over you, grateful for her presence.

When you finally reach the diner, you hold the door open for her, and she walks in with a smile. As you follow her inside, you can't shake the feeling of being grateful for this moment—of being here with her, where laughter feels lighter and worries seem a bit further away.

Rudy and Jodie greet you both, loud as always; so loud, you miss more gun shots pop off in the distance.

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #finestkind #mabel (finestkind) x reader #mabel (finestkind)#lighthouse

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lyfeofbilly · 2 months ago

Text

Old Thing Back

warnings: angst, angst, angst!

summary: due to riri's infidelity, the two of you have been divorced for months. what happens when unresolved feelings surface?

author's note: this was saurrrrrrr fun writing, maybe a LIL trifling but fun writing. i been thinking about this for a week before i actually wrote it. now i don't condone cheating or taking cheaters back but ya'll know i love angst! enjoy pretties.

taglist: @koffeesfancy @bubbleblowinggirl @pvnks0ul @solanaszn @onyxstones-world @blacksapphhicmaddonna

"You gotta be fucking kidding me bro!" frustration ran through you as your car refused to crank for the sixth time this week. You ran a hand down your face before grabbing your phone and pressing on the contact of the last person that you wanted to hear from, Riri. Although the two of you were recently divorced, the woman was a damn good mechanic, and spending an unfathomable amount of money on your vehicle was not appealing.

The phone rang once before she picked up, the sarcasm in her words irritating you further, "Oh so we back on speaking terms now?"

You sighed, God knows how much you'd rather sit naked on a hot grill than talk to her, but being stubborn wasn't going to fix your problems. "Ri I'm not in the mood for this right now, can you come look at my car real quick?"

"Damn I'm only of use if it's about your car, that's fucked up." The woman feigned hurt.

You rolled your eyes at the statement, letting her get all the jokes she had out now knowing you wouldn't be in the mood for banter when she arrived at your house. After a couple more seconds of silence she finally agreed to help you, "I'll be over, just give me fifteen minutes princess."

The line hung went dead and you cringed at the pet name she called you. If Riri had one thing it would be some nerve. As if her infidelity being the reason for the fall of your marriage wasn't enough, she would always find some way to try and weasel back into your good graces. The affair lasted for three months- with some woman who she had serviced before. You beat yourself up for months for not figuring it out sooner, not noticing before, but there were no signs to pick up on. You were still woken up to sweet kisses every morning, taken on dates often, and overall taken care of. She was still the same woman you married all those years ago.

What felt like an eternity your doorbell finally rang. Beyond the door stood Riri, cornrows draped down her back and shoulders while she sported her greased stained t-shirt and jeans that she worked in. A smirk was plastered across her face as she held up her toolbox, "You rang sweet thang?"

"Took you long enough!," you turned to head towards your garage. "What happened to fifteen minutes?"

The shorter woman kissed her teeth as she shut the door behind her and followed you, "Aight, maybe I got a lil' backtracked, no need to yell." As you two walked further into the house she took time to admire how the home you two once shared looked completely different. "Like what you did with the place too, you always had a thing for decoration."

When it came to settling the divorce, Riri agreed to you keeping the house. It was your absolute dream home. A two story, Victorian style house with a wrap around porch, and the biggest backyard. The day you two closed on it was a dream come true. When the affair was revealed to you, you had the nagging thought of them fooling around in the house you shared. No matter the amount of cleaning or reassurance Riri gave you that nothing happened between the walls of your home, you couldn't believe a word she said. Nine months and thousands of dollars later, the entire space was transformed. Carpet swapped for shiny hardwood floors, the wood for the kitchen cabinets and counters were changed, and every room had a fresh new layer of paint.

"I called you to look at my car, not my house."

She shrugged you off and began to do what she did best, immediately popping the hood. You took this time to go back inside and try to dead the strange sensation in your gut. There was no doubt in your mind that being in the same vicinity as Riri made your skin itch, but some part of you still felt safe in her presence. No matter how much you tried to shake it, there was still this longing feeling that lingered inside you.

An hour had passed before Riri strolled back in, covered in even more gunk that she arrived in, "It'll get you going, but c'mon ma, you gonna need a new car sooner than later."

She was right, the old jeep wrangler that you drove was on its last leg but you couldn't bring it in you to buy another one.

"I wish you would stop calling me that." You took time to glance at her attire, "And you dirty as hell, don't touch nothing."

She held her hands up in a defensive pose and chuckled, "Well can i at least shower here? I don't want all this oil on my car seats."

The question hung in your mind for a few minutes. Having Riri in your house wrecked your nerves enough, but deep inside you didn't want her to leave. You knew having her stay longer than her intended stay wouldn't be a smart decision at all. Alas, you allowed your once lifetime partner this one favor.

"Fine, but make it quick."

You sat at your vanity, finishing up your skincare routine when the door to your connected bathroom opened, revealing a half naked Riri. The big towel you gave her sat on her hips, giving you a clear view of her chiselled v-line. You couldn't lie, the sight was a heavenly one to say the least. Her braids that draped over her shoulders were now tied in a bun, and droplets of water dribbled down the valley of her breasts. The tattoo of your name that was placed just under her left one on display. Seeing it was a shock, after everything was settled you got yours lasered off. Eight sessions later and the tramp stamp that once said 'Rianna' was gone.

"Yes i still have it, you?" Riri's voice snapped you out of your trance.

"That tattoo is the least of my worries." You plainly stated.

A chuckle escaped the woman's lips, "So you still enjoy seeing me naked?"

You turned to face her, "Please don't flatter yourself, but if you must know, I got it removed months ago."

"That's crazy, I never wanted to get rid of mine."

You pursed your lips, "Yea, let me know you fucked another bitch with my name tatted on you, that's exactly what I wanna hear."

The idea of even getting matching tattoos was your idea, the placement however was Riri's. The two of you made the decision after one too many drinks on your honeymoon.

She started to dress in the old sweatpants and tank top that you let her borrow, "Aight I deserved that- that came out wrong."

"You deserve a lot actually."

"Like what?"

"My foot up yo' ass for starters." You snapped.

Throughout the divorce process you did your best to stay calm and graceful even though you had the right to lash out in every way possible. Resentment and anger festered in you for months as you never had a proper outlet for them. Thoughts of bleaching clothes, keying her car, and causing Riri physical harm crossed your mind plenty of times for a number of days. In the end, you could never bring yourself to act on them.

It grew quiet between you two, the tension in the air growing by the second. Riri stood in place, a guilty expression sprawled on her face. From the moment you found out about the wretched affair she tried her best to prove that it was a mistake. Constant calls and texts of her professing her love for you, flowers getting sent to your doorstep, and frequent attempts to try and smooth things over. If you let your heart take control of things, you would have taken her back. Every bone in your body so desperately wanted to pull her into your arms and believe that she meant it, believe that she regretted the choice she made.

"I was wrong, I know that but baby it was a mistake. You know I love y-"

You held your hand up, "Don't tell me that. Just don't." Your fists balled at your sides, the emotions that you never wanted to display in front of her threatening to spill over. "You don't.....you don't get to cheat on me and tell me you love me. Dead that shit right now."

Riri ran a hand down her face, her eyes meeting yours. Deep down she was sorry, and she beat herself up about it every day. "I do though."

Tears began to well up in your eyes. Your skin grew hot with anger and embarrassment. The emotions you were feeling felt like a whirlwind stirring inside of you. "You so full of shit. You dont cheat on people you love Rianna."

And there they were, the salty drops that you tried to hold back finally cascaded down your cheeks. The lump in your throat grew as sobs filled the room. At the moment you didn't care about being vulnerable, or seen as weak.

"We were together for six years! We made vows, bought a fucking house together!" Your voice cracked as more tears fell, "H-how.....how could you do this to me? I fucking hate you!"

Riri stood in silence, the outburst you were having hit her like a truck. Your feelings never went farther than your journal. All the obscenities, yearning for her, and blaming yourself for her infidelity. The guilt she was feeling made her stomach knot up, seeing you just standing in front of her bawling your eyes out made her feel terrible. "I know you do baby, I know you do."

Without skipping a beat, Riri took you into her arms, engulfing you in a warm embrace. It felt so familiar, so warm, as much as you wanted to resist you couldn't do anything more but melt into her arms. Your head rested on her shoulder letting the tears hit her skin. The moment made you feel so nostalgic, and you couldn't muster up the strength to snatch away.

"I hate how I still miss you, how much I feel safe in your stupid arms." You choked out, lifting your gaze to meet hers, "I hate how much I still love you." You never thought you'd see the day that you would ever admit that you still loved Riri. The thought ate at you inside, racked your brain every way to Sunday trying to figure out how and why those feelings were still there.

Riri's thumb swiped across your cheek, wiping away the stray tears that wet your face. Neither one of you were sure of a way to properly respond to your newfound confession. You'd put on this tough facade for so long, resisting any and everything that could put you in a position like this with her again, but here you were.

"We both still love each other, why can't we try again?"

"I wanted.....I wanted to take you back so bad Rianna." You bit your lip hesitantly, "But I knew if you did it once you'd do it again."

Riri took your chin in her hand and brought your face closer to hers, "Well forget allat for a second, what's your heart telling you?"

Your faces got closer and closer, lips centimeters from brushing one anothers. Your body grew hot all over, the pit that formed in your stomach was a sinkhole by now. And as much as you wanted- needed to feel her lips just one more time.

"Ri I can't promise what'll happen if you kiss me." Her lips got even closer before you put a hand to her chest, stopping her. "But what I can promise is that I won't let you hurt me like this again. You need to leave."

The look of hurt and disappointment that flashed across her face did satisfy you a bit, but you knew going through with it would open an entirely new door of confusion and disappointment yet again. Her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth as she nodded, understanding your sentiment. She loosened her grip on you and collected her things before heading towards the door, but not without taking one more glance at you. A desperate glow filled her eyes, almost as if she wanted to tell you one more thing. As the front door shut and the headlights of her car faded off into the distance, you couldn't help but think about what being with her again would feel like.

#riri williams #riri williams x reader #dominique thorne #ironheart x reader #ironheart #dominique thorne x reader #riri williams fanfic #riri angst #riri williams angst #billy’s books 🦦

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lvnleah · 21 days ago

Text

welcome to the world.

find the series masterlist here!

November 2032 | 7 & 3 years old.

40 weeks.

The nursery was ready, and every inch of the house was as clean as anything, but your baby girl was taking her time. Leah was now officially past her due date, and it was clear to both of you that she was beyond frustrated. She tried everything: spicy food, long walks, even bouncing on that damn birthing ball for hours on end.

Nothing seemed to work.

“Why doesn’t she want to come out?” Leah muttered, her voice tinged with exhaustion and a hint of desperation as she paced around the living room, one hand pressed to her aching lower back.

You glanced up from your spot on the couch, where you were trying to fold tiny onesies for what felt like the hundredth time. “She’s just taking her sweet time, I guess. You know, making a grand entrance.”

Leah groaned, rolling her eyes. “I swear, if she doesn’t come soon, I’m going to lose my bloody mind!”

You stood up, walking over to her and wrapped your arms around her waist as best as you could with her swollen belly between you. “She’ll be here soon, love. Just a little longer.”

“I’m so over this,” she whispered, her forehead resting against your shoulder as she fought back tears. “I just want her out.”

You held her close, gently swaying back and forth. “I know, love. I know. It’s rough when you’re so uncomfortable but I promise you that feeling when you first hold them is so worth it.”

“Mumma!” You heard Ellie say, followed by the sound of tiny feet running. “Look at my drawing!”

Ellie was now three so she was at that age where she and Finley could finally play together and their favourite thing to do together was colour. You’d set them up earlier in the kitchen with some snacks, paper and pencils while you and Leah tried to fold baby onesies.

Leah forced a smile, though you could see the strain in her eyes as she turned to face Ellie. “What have you drawn, bubba?”

Ellie proudly held up a piece of paper covered in a riot of colours, shapes, and squiggles. “It’s us, Mumma! ‘Ou, me, Finn, Mummy, and baby sister!”

Leah crouched down slowly, her face scrunching with discomfort as she tried to get on Ellie’s level. Her hand pressed against her belly, and you noticed her wince slightly as she bent. “Wow! It’s beautiful, Ells. Look at all those colours!”

Ellie beamed, her eyes shining with pride. “‘Ou like it?”

“I love it!” Leah assured her, reaching out to ruffle her daughter’s hair. “You’re so talented, baby girl.”

Ellie’s smile faltered as she took in the sight of Leah struggling to get back up. “Mumma, are ‘ou otay?”

Leah’s face softened, and she nodded quickly. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just a bit tired from carrying baby sissy.”

You stepped in, scooping Ellie up into your arms, your heart aching as you watched Leah try to stand. She used the armrest of the couch for support, and you knew how hard it was for her, how much she hated feeling so restricted, so helpless.

“Why don’t we put your drawing on the fridge?” you suggested to Ellie, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “It’s too good not to show off!”

Ellie giggled, wrapping her arms around your neck. “Okay, Mummy!”

As you carried Ellie into the kitchen, you glanced back at Leah. She was standing now, her hand still on her back, her eyes glazed with tears she was trying desperately to blink away. You knew how much it hurt her to not be able to pick up the kids, to not be as physically involved as she wanted to be. Leah had always been hands-on, wrestling with Finley and Ellie in the backyard, carrying them around the house, making them laugh. Now, even bending down was a struggle.

You stuck Ellie’s drawing to the fridge with a magnet, and she clapped her hands excitedly. “It looks so good!”

“It does, bubba,” you agreed, brushing a stray curl away from her forehead. “You’re amazing!”

Ellie grinned before wriggling out of your arms and running back into the living room, her little feet thumping on the hardwood floors. You followed, finding her tugging at Leah’s hand, trying to lead her to the couch.

“Mumma, sit! ‘Ou need rest!” Ellie declared, her tone far too serious for a three-year-old.

Leah let out a soft laugh, her eyes brimming with affection as she allowed Ellie to guide her to the couch. “Alright, bossy boots!”

Leah sat down with a sigh, her hand instinctively going to her belly, rubbing slow circles. You sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your thumb brushing over her shoulder.

She leaned into you, her head resting against your shoulder. “I’m just… I feel so useless,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “I can’t even pick up my own kids.”

“Leah, you’re not useless,” you said firmly, “You’re growing our baby girl. That’s not nothing.”

“I know,” she whispered, blinking rapidly. “But it’s so hard. Ellie doesn’t understand why I can’t play with them like I used to. Finley does though, he’s a sweet boy.”

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability in her voice, the pain she was trying so hard to hide. “They do understand, love. And they adore you. Just look at Ellie fussing over you, telling you to rest. You’re still their Mumma, and they love you, bump and all.”

Leah smiled weakly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I know. I just… I miss being able to be there for them.”

“You are there for them,” you insisted. “In every way that matters. And once our little girl is here, you’ll be back to chasing them around in no time.”

“I hope so,” she murmured, her gaze dropping to her belly, where your baby girl was currently giving a rather forceful kick. “She’s already so active. No wonder I’m exhausted.”

You chuckled, placing your hand over hers, feeling the strong movements beneath her skin. “She’s definitely eager to meet her big brother and sister.”

Leah’s expression softened, her hand covering yours. “Yeah… I just hope it’s soon. I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

“Mumma! Mum!” Finley’s voice called from the other side of the house, and moments later, he appeared, his face flushed from playing, his hair tousled.

“Hey, buddy,” you greeted, reaching out to ruffle his hair as he climbed onto the couch beside Leah. “What’s up?”

“I made something for the baby!” Finley announced proudly, holding up a carefully folded piece of paper. “It’s a card!”

Leah’s eyes lit up with genuine joy as she reached for the card. “Can I see, bubs?”

Finley nodded eagerly. “It says, ‘Welcome, Baby Sister! We love you!’ And I drew all of us together, like Ellie’s picture but more detailed

Leah unfolded the card, her eyes scanning the childish scrawl and the drawing of your family, complete with a little figure in Leah’s arms labelled “Baby.” Her breath hitched, and she blinked back tears.

“It’s perfect, Finn,” she whispered, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to his temple. “She’s going to love it.”

“Do you think she’ll come soon, Mumma?” Finley asked, “I want to meet her.” He muttered.

Leah’s voice was thick with emotion as she nodded. “I hope so, bubs. I hope so.”

The night passed in a haze of discomfort and frustration for Leah, her restlessness keeping you both up after putting the kids to bed. It was past midnight when you finally managed to coax her into bed, your fingers running soothing circles over her back as she drifted into a fitful sleep.

A few days later, you woke to find Leah sitting up in bed, the lamp beside her flicked on as her eyes filled with worry. She was holding her belly, her brows furrowed in concentration as she poked at it.

“Leah?” you murmured, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you sat up. “What’s wrong?”

You glanced over at the clock, it read 4:45 am which was too early to even be awake.

She glanced at you, her face pale. “I haven’t felt her move in a bit,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “Not since last night.”

Panic flared in your chest, but you forced yourself to stay calm for her sake. “Okay, it’s okay, let’s not panic. Maybe she’s just having a quiet day. Have you tried drinking something cold? Or lying on your side?”

Leah nodded, her hands still cradling her belly protectively. “I did, but… nothing.”

Your heart thudded loudly in your ears as you reached for your phone, quickly dialling Amanda’s number. “It’s going to be okay, Leah. I’ll call your mum, and we’ll go to the hospital just to be safe, alright?”

Leah nodded, tears welling in her eyes as you pressed the phone to your ear, listening to the ring. Amanda picked up almost immediately, her voice concerned. “Hello?”

“Hi Amanda, it’s me. We need to go to the hospital. Leah hasn’t felt the baby move for a while, and we’re worried. Can you come over and look after the kids?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Amanda said without hesitation. “Just keep Leah calm, alright? I’m on my way.”

You hung up and turned to Leah, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “Your mum’s coming over. We’ll get to the hospital soon, okay?”

Leah nodded, but the fear in her eyes was unmistakable. “What if something’s wrong?”

You kissed her forehead, trying to keep your anxiety at bay. “We’ll get checked out, and whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

Amanda arrived quickly, her face drawn with worry as she stepped into your bedroom. She hugged Leah gently, her hand resting on her daughter’s back. “It’s going to be alright, bubba. Go on, I’ve got the kids.”

“I’m so scared, Mum,” Leah whispered as a tear slipped down her face. “What if somethings is wrong with her?”

“No, don’t think like that, Le.” Amanda told her firmly, “She’s okay, she’s a strong girl just like her mummies. She’s probably just sleepy.”

“Thank you, Mum,” Leah whispered, hugging Amanda once more before standing up.

The drive to the hospital was tense, both of you silent as you gripped the steering wheel, your knuckles white from the pressure. When you finally arrived, Leah was quickly whisked away for monitoring. You stayed by her side, your heart pounding as they hooked her up to the machines, the rhythmic beeping of the monitor filling the room.

The midwife frowned slightly as she studied the screen, then looked at both of you. “Her heart rate is a bit lower than we’d like. We’re going to get the doctor in, just to be safe.”

Leah’s grip on your hand tightened, and you leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. “You’re doing amazing, love. Just breathe.”

The next few minutes passed in a blur as the doctor came in, checking the readings before glancing at you both, her expression serious. “We’re going to have to do an emergency C-section. The baby’s heart rate is dropping, and we need to get her out quickly. She seems to be in distress for some reason.”

Leah’s eyes widened, panic flashing across her face. “What? Is she… is she going to be okay?”

The doctor nodded, her voice calm but firm. “We’re going to do everything we can. But we need to get her out as soon as possible.”

You felt like the ground was slipping away beneath you as they prepared Leah for surgery. You were quickly dressed in scrubs, your hands trembling as you tried to stay strong for her.

“Hey,” you whispered, leaning close as they wheeled her into the operating room. “I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

Leah nodded, tears streaming down her face as she reached for your hand. “I’m scared,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

You pressed your forehead to hers, your own eyes burning with tears. “I know, love. But she’s going to be okay. You’re both going to be okay.”

The surgery was a whirlwind of movement and noise, the sterile smell of the operating room filling your senses. You stroked Leah’s cheek, your heart in your throat as they made the first incision. It felt like hours, but it was only minutes before you heard the doctor’s voice.

“Alright, almost there… and… she’s out!”

There was a brief, heart-stopping silence before the sound of your baby’s first cry filled the room. It was weak but unmistakable, and you felt a sob of relief tear from your chest.

“She’s crying, Leah,” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. “She’s okay.”

Leah’s eyes were closed, tears slipping down her cheeks as she nodded weakly. “Can I… can I see her?”

The nurse brought your baby girl over, her tiny face red and scrunched up as she let out another thin wail. You glanced at Leah, your heart swelling with love and relief as you saw the way she looked at your daughter, her eyes filled with wonder and exhaustion.

“Hi Amelia, hi baby girl,” Leah whispered, her voice trembling as she reached out a shaky hand to touch the baby’s cheek. “Oh, she’s perfect. She looks so much like Ells.”

You kissed Leah’s forehead, your tears falling freely now. “You did it, love.”

Leah let out a shaky laugh, her eyes never leaving the baby’s face. “We did it.”

The nurse took Amelia to get her cleaned up before bringing her back. She carefully placed Amelia on Leah’s chest, and you watched, your heart swelling with love as Leah held your daughter for the first time. She was tiny and fragile, her little fingers sprawled out on Leah’s chest.

Leah looked up at you, her eyes shining with tears and love and so much relief. “She’s here,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “She’s really here.”

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to both of their foreheads, your heart feeling like it might burst. “She’s here,” you agreed, your voice thick with emotion. “And she’s perfect.”

After Leah was stitched back up, the nurses took you both to the recovery room where you settled into a rhythm with Amelia. Despite her being your third baby, you both still felt like clueless new parents.

A few hours later, Leah cradled Amelia gently against her chest, her fingers trembling as they traced the delicate curve of your daughter’s cheek. The tears she’d been holding back finally spilt over, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.

You pulled her into your side as you lay on the bed with her. “It’s okay, love,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “You’re okay. She’s okay.”

Leah nodded, though her breaths were shaky, her eyes locked on the tiny face peeking out from the blanket that covered them both. “I was so scared,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “I thought… I thought something was wrong and we were going to lose her.”

“I know,” you murmured, your heart aching at the raw vulnerability in her voice. “I was scared too. But she’s here, and she’s healthy, and you both did so well.”

Leah’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, “I felt so helpless,” she admitted, her thumb brushing over Amelia’s soft skin. “All I wanted was to keep her safe, and I couldn’t even do that on my own.”

“You didn’t have to do it on your own,” you reminded her gently, your thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of her hand. “It’s okay to need help, Leah. You’re carrying so much already, and you’ve been so strong.”

Leah sniffled, her free hand wiping at her eyes as she let out a shaky laugh. “I hate feeling like I’m not enough,” she whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of her words. “Like I’m not strong enough to protect our kids.”

“You are enough,” you said firmly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her temple. “You’re more than enough, Leah. You’ve been carrying so much on your own, and it’s okay to lean on me. It’s okay to lean on your mum, on anyone. We’re all here for you.”

Leah closed her eyes, her body sagging against you as she let out a breath she’d been holding for what felt like months. “I’m just so tired,” she admitted, her voice small and broken. “I’m so tired of trying to be strong all the time.”

“I know,” you whispered, your heart breaking for her as you held her close, your fingers threading through her hair. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, love. You can let go.”

Leah nodded, her breath hitching as she buried her face against your shoulder, her tears soaking through the fabric of your scrubs. You held her as tightly as you could without disturbing Amelia, your own tears mingling with hers as you both let the fear and relief wash over you.

After a few minutes, Leah pulled back, her eyes red and swollen but shining with love as she looked down at Amelia, who had fallen asleep against her chest. “

“She’s so tiny,” Leah murmured, her fingers brushing gently over the tiny bit of hair on your daughter’s head. “She’s perfect.”

“She is,” you agreed, your heart swelling with pride and love as you looked at the two of them together. “And you’re amazing.”

Leah gave you a watery smile, her eyes still brimming with unshed tears. “I couldn’t have done it without you, pretty girl.”

“You don’t have to do any of it alone,” you reminded her softly, your hand finding hers again and squeezing gently. “We’re in this together, every step of the way.”

Leah nodded, her grip on your hand tightening as she looked down at Amelia again, her expression soft and awed. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking with the force of her gratitude. “For everything.”

“Always,” you promised, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Leah whispered, her eyes fluttering closed as she rested her forehead against your shoulder. “So much.”

You stayed like that for a long time, the three of you cocooned in a moment of quiet, shared love. The fear and anxiety of the past few hours slowly ebbed away, replaced by the soft, undeniable warmth of your family. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. But it was real, and it was yours, and you knew that, no matter what came next, you would face it together.

The next morning, the hospital room was quiet except for the soft sound of Leah’s breathing as she rested in the bed, exhausted but peaceful. You sat beside her, holding your baby girl in your arms, staring at her tiny features. She was perfect.

She was here, finally here after wanting her for so long, and you were overwhelmed with love and relief.

Leah stirred beside you, her eyes fluttering open. You smiled down at her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Hey, love. How are you feeling?”

Leah blinked a few times, then her gaze shifted to the baby in your arms. A soft smile spread across her face, her eyes filling with tears. “Tired… but she’s worth it.”

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “She is. You did amazing, Leah.”

Leah’s hand reached out, her fingers brushing over Amelia’s cheek. “I still can’t believe she’s here.”

You nodded, “Me neither.”

The door to the room opened slowly, and Amanda peeked in, a bright smile spreading across her face as she saw you both awake. “Hello, bubbas. I’ve brought some visitors.”

Leah’s face lit up, and you felt your heart swell as Amanda stepped inside, followed closely by Finley and Ellie. Finley’s eyes were wide with excitement, and Ellie was clinging to Amanda’s hand, her gaze flicking between you and Leah confusedly.

“Hey, you two,” you said softly, shifting Amelia carefully so the kids could get a better look. “Come and meet your baby sister!”

Finley was the first to approach, his face full of wonder as he peered at the tiny bundle in your arms. “She’s so little,” he whispered, his eyes wide.

You chuckled, nodding. “She is, isn't she? That's your baby sister, Amelia.”

Ellie followed, her thumb in her mouth as she peeked over the edge of the bed. “So tiny,” she whispered around her thumb, her eyes wide.

Leah reached out her hand to them, her smile soft and tired. “Come here, guys. Meet your little sister.”

Finley climbed up onto the bed carefully, his eyes never leaving Amelia’s face. “Can I hold her, Mumma?”

Leah nodded, her eyes bright with tears as she glanced at you. “Mum will help you, okay?”

You gently placed Amelia in Finley’s arms, supporting her tiny head as you guided his hands. He looked down at her, his face full of awe and a little bit of fear.

“Hi, Amelia,” he whispered. “I’m your big brother, Finley. I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

Your heart felt like it might burst as you watched Finley hold her so carefully, his love for his new sister already clear. You glanced at Leah, who was watching them with tears streaming down her face.

Ellie climbed up onto the bed beside Leah, her little hand clutching her mother’s. “Mumma, she’s so cute!” she exclaimed, her voice full of excitement. “What name?”

“Her name is Amelia,” Leah said softly, her hand stroking Ellie’s hair.

Ellie scrunched up her face, thinking hard. “Amewia…” she tried, her brow furrowing in concentration. Then, a smile broke out on her face. “Mimi! Call her Mimi?”

You and Leah exchanged a glance, both of you smiling at Ellie’s enthusiasm. “Mimi?” Leah repeated, her voice full of affection. “I think that’s a beautiful nickname, Ells.”

Ellie beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “Mimi! Mimi our baby!”

Leah leaned over, pressing a kiss to the top of Finley’s head then Ellie’s. “You’re both going to be amazing big siblings,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Mimi is so lucky to have you.”

Amanda stepped closer, smiling as she watched her grandchildren meet their new sister. “She’s absolutely perfect,” she said softly, her gaze flicking to you and Leah. “You two did good.”

You smiled at her, your heart full as you watched your family together. “Thanks, Amanda. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

She waved off your words with a smile. “Nonsense. You two are incredible parents. And now you’ve got another little one to love.”

Leah reached out, her fingers tangling with yours as she looked at the kids, at Amanda, at your tiny daughter. “We’re so lucky,” she whispered, her voice full of love and gratitude. “We’re so, so lucky.”

You nodded, your heart overflowing as you watched Finley and Ellie gently stroke Amelia’s tiny hands, their eyes full of wonder and love. “Yeah, we are.”

You leaned over, pressing a kiss to Leah’s temple, your eyes misty as you looked at your family. “Welcome to the world, Mimi,” you whispered, your heart full to bursting with love as you stoked her nose gently.

#lvnleah #leah williamson #the williamson’s #finley williamson #ellie williamson

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arcadia-of-pluto · 2 months ago

Text

Divisa; One

Parings; LADS OT4 x reader

Word Count; 3,052

Themes; reality hopping, alternative universe (same universe, just things are a little different), doppelganger, multiple endings, slowburn

Warnings; swearing, maybe an existential crisis or two

Notes; Hey guys! Divisa is finally out!! This won't be following the original story at all. Just bits and pieces here and there. This is going to be different compared to “Twist of Fate”– it's also going to be shorter. I'd say possibly fifteen chapters? There will be five different endings; Four endings will be with each love interest and the fifth will be with all of them. The original MC will not be a white lotus (aka someone who seems sweet, but is actually a bitch) and certain things will be changed. This is based on the universe of LADS, but the whole in-game story doesn't mean anything– unless I mention it specifically! You'll see what I mean.

It’s gonna have a bit of a slow start, but I hope you stick around for it regardless! If there's any smut, it'll be in the endings. So, this is only rated as mature purely for all of the swearing! (ps I'm sorry for naming the reader's father, but I felt it was necessary to do so)

Also! This will have a sporadic upload schedule, so if I finish a chapter, I'll post it soon after. There's no specific day I'll upload this <3 Hope that's okay.

prev || next

☆ Masterlist ☆

Divisa

//Latin and Italian for: Divided//

||adj.||

Split into parts; separated

Not united; in disagreement

○o。. .。o○

“Seriously, how much shit does Grandma have up here?” Another box joins the stack of five and you wipe sweat from your forehead with your sleeve.

It was your day off today and while you'd love to spend it relaxing, instead you offered to help your elderly grandma clean out her attic— because “you're her favourite grandchild”, her words…You were her only grandkid.

You had already been there for well over an hour, cleared out five boxes so far, and grandma still wasn't home yet. She was at the farmer's market before you even arrived, so she should've been back by now, but you know your grandma is a chatterbox. She'd yap her whole life away if she could.

You take your jacket off and tie it around your waist, slinging your mini-backpack on once more– it's a habit to always have it on you. You never know when you might need something. Like your chapstick, hand sanitizer, a pen…It's almost a mystery how the bag isn't heavy as hell with how much junk is in it–

You head back up the stairs and glance around at the almost empty attic. You wondered what exactly grandma was going to do with the place after it was clean– maybe she'd turn it into a room for you? You shake your head at the thought and go back to moving boxes.

With a heavy box in hand, you head back toward the stairs. The box slips just slightly within your clammy hands and you bring your knee up to help keep a hold of it. This, however, causes you to fall. Your shoulder slams into the sharp corner of an even heavier box and something on top of the box makes a loud noise as it hits the hardwood floor.

You suck in a deep breath to disguise the pain in your shoulder and quickly roll over to check on the fallen object, internally hoping it wasn't something really valuable. But once you spot it, you're confused.

It was…a jewelry box?

Your grandma wasn't one to wear jewelry, so this was out of the ordinary. The wooden box also seems pretty…old.

You pick up the weathered box and lift the lid to make sure the hinge still works. That's whenever you notice something wrapped in a cloth.

You set the box to the side and pick up the cloth. It was hefty, so there must be some kind of jewelry wrapped up in it. Maybe a necklace?

You unwrap it and before you can look at the necklace, a signature at the corner of the cloth catches your eye.

It was your grandpa's name.

You have never personally met the man, but your grandma loved to tell stories about him. The stories were a little…odd, but you would blame that on her being old and the possible beginnings of dementia. She would tell tales of another time period entirely, how grandpa was a prince and she was wrongly deemed as a saint, how she had to run away with your mother and grandpa couldn't come back here with them…

While it was a beautiful story, you often wondered if it was just a coping mechanism and something bad had happened to your grandpa, but you didn't dare ask your mother.

It seems as if the men in your family were never present, so maybe…there's a curse that only affects the men? Seeing as your father wasn't present either, but your mom had so many pictures of him. You even kept a picture of the two of them in your wallet.

Those thoughts aside, it seems like grandpa was an actual person, at least…even though this cloth– handkerchief, you realize– appeared to be just as old as the box itself, but that can't be possible.

You shake your head and set the handkerchief back into the jewelry box, turning your attention to the necklace.

It was honestly a rather beautiful gemstone necklace. It almost seemed familiar somehow, like you've seen it in a Marvel movie or something. It was a deep red-wine coloured stone with silver wire coiled around it like a vine. It hung from a thin, silver chain.

It was pretty and you did love collecting shiny things, so maybe you could ask your grandma if you could keep it. You pocket the necklace for now and, as you go to stand back up, you spot a piece of folded up paper on the floor. You grab the paper between two fingers and open it up. The tiny scrap of paper only has four words written on it.

The Reality Stone || Aether

Aether?

That word seems…oddly familiar to you. Why– oh, right!

Your phone buzzes with a notification.

‘Rafayel is waiting for you’

A scoff slips from your lips and you shake your head. You did need to check up on your game today and do your dailies…and you did make a huge dent in the attic, so you're sure your grandma would allow you to rest for the remainder of the day. Then, tomorrow, she could help you with the rest!

With your decision made, you put your phone away and descend down the stairs. But then, your pocket feels oddly warm. Intensely so– It's like it was burning a hole through your jeans and you pause mid-step to grab the necklace from your pocket, but you miss a step with your heel and you feel your body fall forward.

Panic spreads throughout your chest, because you know this won't be a pain-free tumble. You'd be lucky to escape with just a sprained ankle or wrist. Your eyes squeeze shut on impulse and instead of your body slamming into hardwood, you felt a face full of…grass?

“What the fuc—”

As you sit up in a panic, your body freezes.

…how the hell did you end up outside?

You scan your surroundings, but you don't recognize where you are.

You're surrounded by jasmines. Beautiful, fragrant flowers as far as the eye can see. A couple of scattered cherry blossom trees, but you were not in a forest. You were just on the outskirts of a city.

With a sigh, you take the reason for your troubles out of your pocket. The necklace. You give the red gem the dirtiest look you can muster before reluctantly clipping it around your neck. If this is what sent you here, you might as well keep it safe, until you figure out how to get back home. Then, you grab your phone.

Maybe…it just sent you to the next city over and your grandma could come pick you up.

You take a deep breath and unlock your phone, but your thumb freezes before you can tap anything.

“The date…What in the..” You can't even finish your sentence. You were so confused and panic was beginning to sink in. “It's 2048?! This…must be a joke, right?”

You rake your fingers through your hair and rise to your feet. “It's fine. Let's try calling grandma,” you murmur to yourself. You try to keep your breathing calm, but you can already feel yourself beginning to panic as you hold the phone up to your ear.

It rings…and rings…and rings…

“This number is no longer in service—”

“Whatever. Seriously, whatever. This is fine. Great, even. Everything is a-ohhhkay. Perfectly normal.” You pocket your phone and rest your head in your hand for a moment, then you take a deep breath and nod your head.

“Alright, I should head to the city first. No use freaking out. It's not like that'll get me home any faster.” You clench your hand into a fist and desperately hope you'll at least be able to reach the city before nightfall…

…The good news is, the city wasn't far at all. Well, it was far, but not three-hours-away type of far! So, you made it well before dark. According to your phone, it was only 5pm so you still had time to find a place for the night. Hopefully whatever place you decide to stay will take your cash…but who knows maybe 2024 money is outdated in 2048.

“I'm sorry, we don't take this form of payment anymore.”

This was the third hotel you've checked tonight…You take a seat on a bench near a large water fountain and hold your head in your hands. Even if it's twenty-four years in the future, they should still take your cash! This is insane–

As you tilt your head back to wallow in your sadness, you notice a billboard in the distance and you can feel the blood drain from your face.

“No, no, no—”

You whip out your phone, making sure you have all your apps before you click on one specific one. You quickly tap the screen, murmuring, “Come on…come on..” And once the game finally loads in, you navigate to the guidance tab.

“The Chronorift Catastrophe of 2034…fourteen years ago. Fourteen plus 2034,” you nervously mutter as you chew on your thumbnail. “That's 2048…that billboard clearly said Linkon City.” You hold your hand over your mouth as dread fills your stomach.

You weren't in the real world…of course that's why your cash wouldn't work. Were you in a coma? Did the fall hurt your head?

No…if that were the case, you wouldn't have taken your bag with you, you wouldn't feel so panicky and cold right now…or could you? You could be self aware and in a coma. But you didn't want to be, so you decided to brush the most realistic thought aside.

“They recognized this money, so maybe…” In the real world, old money could sell for a lot. Especially when it comes to collectors. So maybe you could find someone who would buy all of your old cash. That would definitely work for now, but what about in the future? You'd need money for however long you're going to be here…ugh, does that mean you need to find a job?

Wait…

Wanderers and evols.

There were creatures here.

The thought sends shivers down your spine and you shrug your bag off to put your jacket back on.

As long as you didn't go into a rift you should be fine, right? You're almost positive wanderers never came out to terrorize people—

Your thoughts are cut off by a loud scream and your head jerks in the direction of it with wide eyes.

There was a big ass blue portal in the middle of the street and fucking creatures were coming out of it!?

What the hell was your luck today??

You sling your bag back on, getting ready to run before a bright light blinds you and you shield your eyes. Squinting them to try and see where the light was coming from.

Once the light faded, your heart stuttered in your chest.

A tall man stood in the center of the road as the blue rift dissipates. His wispy, ash-blonde hair blowing in the wind as he turns his head to the side to talk to his companion next to him. From where you are, you can just barely make out his blue eyes.

Xavier?

Then…who was next to him—

Y…You?

You slowly pull up your hood as you stare at the uncanny sight.

While she clearly didn't share the same hair or body type as you, everything else was…identical. Her eyes, her face…It was like looking in a mirror.

You were the main character, but you were not, at the same time.

“Y/n, are you sure you're not overexerting yourself?” You could barely hear his voice over the wind, but your breath catches in your throat at your name coming from Xavier’s lips.

“I'm fine, I promise.” You– She replies with a small, almost pained, smile.

“This is some bullshit,” you murmur under your breath, tapping your finger against your leg as you think about the unfairness of the situation.

Seriously!? You were brought here and you– gosh, you really need to come up with a name for her before this gets confusing. Gemini? Sure, that works.

You were brought here and Gemini was already here?? It's so unfair to have two yous in the same timeline, especially when one already had a head start!

The male leads would definitely sacrifice you for her. They'd probably even tear out your heart, thinking it would fix hers.

You tug at your hair with a small groan of annoyance.

Fuck. Fuck–

Deep breaths...

“Alright. I guess I'm staying up tonight.” You finally compose yourself and set your sight on a neon sign just across the road. “The Nest seems like a good place to start. I could sell this old cash and hopefully get enough for a room tonight.” You pull out a black face mask from your bag and put it on so only your eyes are uncovered.

You'd have to be careful since you and Gemini were identical. You really didn't want to get kidnapped instead of her. Being the main character of an otome game is tough work and, honestly, she can have it. You didn't want to get involved.

It's not like the male leads would ever spare a second glance at you, so you'd surely be fine…Right?

☆ミ

The bell overheard chimes as you step inside the dimly lit bar. The smell of cheap liquor and smoke hitting your nose through the mask and you hold back the urge to cough.

Act cool…

You take a seat at the bar, drumming your fingers against the marbled counter as an employee makes his way over to you.

Without saying a word, you slide a 2017 quarter toward him and he raises a brow before placing an embossed business card down in front of you.

Okay, so if you remember correctly, whatever you write on here will disappear and then, the bartender will take the card and leave. If you have someone who is interested, he'll be back with a drink for you.

You grab a pen from the table and quickly scribble down on the paper.

‘Anyone interested in old money’

Honestly, you should probably be a bit careful, but you had no other way to gain information besides taking a few risks.

The ink disappears and the bartender takes the card, nodding at you before making his way to the back.

You just hope the glass wasn't black, though you doubt it. If the glass was black, it would mean you'd need to pay a high price for information– Perhaps your life. However, since you were only looking for a potential buyer, the chances of the glass being black were slim to none.

The employee comes back with a dark green shot glass and sets it down.

You look up at him with a raised brow and the employee decides to take pity on you, tapping the counter next to the glass. “Green means someone is interested and they're willing to pay a lot.” Then, he jerks his head in the direction of the stairs– the same stairs you recall Rafayel walking up before the main character got caught in one of the more recent chapters.

“After you drink this, head upstairs and it's the first door on your right.”

You nod your head and turn your body as you pull down your mask. You can't afford to let anyone see your face. You quickly down the shot and pull your mask back up, the liquid burning as it goes down your throat.

As an extra payment, you give the bartender a 2008 penny– borrowing change from your grandma was good in times like this. You had so many old coins, though your cash was closer to 2024. Either way, you still be able to make some money since they'd be over twenty-four years old.

Then, you leave the bar and head up the stairs. Your hand lightly hovering above the railing until you reach the top, then you head into the room on the right.

It appeared to be a VIP room.

An angled couch lined one half of the wall with a short table in the center. A few unopened drinks and a suitcase sat atop the table and in the corners of the room, near another door were two men. Bodyguards, maybe?

You take your seat, putting your mini-bookbag on your lap so you could be ready to show off your cash– glad that your mask covered half of your face because you were starting to feel a little nervous.

After a few minutes of waiting, your nervousness turns to annoyance.

You roll your sleeves up and pull your hood down as if to show the bodyguard that you're safe and they can let their guy in now. Then, you lean back on the couch and cross your arms over your chest.

Seriously, how long would this dick keep you waiting—

The door across the room swings open and someone…familiar steps inside.

Well, that's just peachy, isn't it?

You try not to let your surprise show and sit up straight as the white haired man takes a seat in front of you and makes himself comfortable.

“You seem a little too young to be in possession of old money. Did you steal it perhaps?” As Sylus speaks with one hand, you can feel nervousness sinking in once more. You clear your throat and pull out your wallet, tossing it toward him.

“See for yourself.” You jerk your chin, hands resting on your knees. “I've even got old coins.” You take out your coin purse. “My family used to collect them, but since I've got nowhere to go…I might as well sell them now.” You shrug, doing your best to concoct a story on the spot.

“Hmm…” Sylus pulls the bills out of your wallet, holding them under a light, before he nods. Though his eyes do falter on something in your wallet.

You know it’s not your ID or anything, since you made sure to take that out beforehand, but maybe the picture of your mom and dad?

As if to prove you right, Sylus takes the picture out, holding it between two fingers as he flips it over to inspect the back.

“What's a Deepspace Hunter's daughter doing at the Nest?” His eyes flick toward you and he raises an eyebrow.

A…

Huh?

I hope y'all liked this chapter! It's going a bit slow, but it should be fine! I'm honestly not sure where to go from here, I'm just making it up on the spot. I have a loose plot from beginning to end, but I don't really have anything in the middle. So...

It'll be fine!

I'm sure y'all didn't expect your father to be from this universe! (I'll apologize again for giving him a name lmao) I'm also gonna say sorry beforehand if Sylus or anyone else seems a bit out of character— I'm doing my best.

Taglist; @ladyparamount , @the-love-of-my-life96 , @rui-drawsbox , @deputy-videogamer

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