#i did almost stop watching the show because of it

[joelsrose]

First Date? Part 5

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

My masterlist!

I KNOW CHRISTMAS IS OVER BUT ITS OK PRETEND ITS NOT i'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, i have split the last part into 2 because i wanted to give yall something - multiple crying emojis. I LOVE YALLLL AND AGAIN I APOLOGISE

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Maria had asked you to meet her at the greenhouse under the pretense of planting seeds, but you couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to her invitation than pulling weeds.

She knelt beside you in the soft earth, her hands deftly working to clear the tangled mess of weeds from the fragile seedlings. Her movements were steady and deliberate, but her sharp, watchful eyes weren’t focused on the plants—they were on you.

The silence hung heavy, thick with unspoken tension, until Maria broke it, her voice deceptively casual. “So,” she drawled, her tone light but her gaze cutting. “Tommy told me about yesterday.”

Your hands faltered for just a moment, the weeds slipping from your fingers before you quickly resumed, feigning nonchalance as her words hit their mark. “What about yesterday?” you asked, keeping your voice steady, though your chest tightened.

“You know,” she said, her tone deceptively casual, “in the dining hall. With Joel?”

“I already told you what happened,” you muttered, your focus dropping to the soil as if it could shield you from the conversation.

“Yeah, you did,” Maria replied, sitting back on her heels, her expression impossible to read. “But you left out the part where Joel nearly took some guy’s head off. For you.”

You exhaled, leaning back and brushing dirt off your hands. “Maria, it’s just… Joel being Joel,” you said, your voice quieter now. “He’s protective. That’s all.”

“Protective?” Maria’s laugh was louder this time, tinged with incredulity. She shook her head, reaching for another weed. “Honey, Joel doesn’t just get protective over people. Not like that.”

You busied yourself with the watering can, your fingers tightening around the handle as you avoided her gaze. “He does it for Ellie,” you said, your tone defensive. “And Tommy. And you. It’s not—”

“Not that special?” Maria cut in, her voice sharper now, though there was no malice in it. She leaned closer, brushing a hand against her knee to wipe off the dirt.

“This is different, and you know it. Joel Miller doesn’t make a scene unless it’s life or death. And yesterday?” She shook her head, her gaze unwavering. “That was a declaration.”

Your breath caught at her words, your hands tightening on the watering can as you tried to focus on the steady stream of water pooling at the base of the plants. “It wasn’t a declaration,” you said softly, almost to yourself. “He just… cares. That’s all.”

Maria’s brow lifted, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to puzzle you out. “Oh, he cares, alright,” she said, her tone softer but no less sure. “But this isn’t the kind of caring he shows for Ellie, or Tommy, or anyone else. This isn’t just Joel looking out for you. This is Joel claiming you.”

Your heart skipped, the word hitting you like a jolt. “Maria, stop—”

“I won’t,” she interrupted, her voice firm but gentle, her gaze steady as she gestured toward you. “Because someone has to say it. Joel didn’t just stand up for you yesterday. He didn’t just step in. He made it loud and clear to everyone in that room that you’re his priority. You think that’s nothing?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words tangled in your throat. Maria’s expression softened, her voice dropping just enough to make you listen.

“That’s Joel Miller’s language for ‘I care more than I know how to say,’” she said, her eyes locking on yours with quiet intensity.

You sighed, setting the watering can down and wiping your hands on your thighs, your gaze fixed firmly on the uneven soil in front of you. “It’s… complicated,” you murmured, the words heavier than you’d expected.

Maria didn’t back off. She shifted closer, her sharp gaze unwavering, her fingers pausing their methodical tugging at weeds. “So tell me,” she said softly, her tone gentle but edged with curiosity. “What’s so complicated about it?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, the loose thread unraveling under your touch as you tried to find the words.

How could you explain it? How could you possibly articulate the way Joel made you feel—like standing on the edge of a cliff, the wind catching your breath, thrilling and terrifying all at once? How every gruff word, every lingering glance, every unspoken act of care felt like something delicate and fleeting, something you were too scared to hold for fear it might break.

“I don’t know,” you sighed finally, the weight of your own uncertainty pressing down on you. “He’s… hard to read.”

Maria tilted her head slightly, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Even Tommy sees it. He brought it up last night, said he’s never seen Joel like that before.”

Your hands stilled, trembling slightly as her words settled over you, heavy and unrelenting. “What exactly did Tommy say?” you asked, your voice quieter now, betraying the nerves prickling at your skin.

Maria’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk curving at the corners. “He said, ‘Joel’s actin’ like a damn fool,’” she said, her tone light but her eyes sparkling with something deeper. “And when I asked why, he just shook his head and said, ‘Because she’s got him wrapped around her little finger, and I don’t even think she knows it.’”

You inhaled sharply, the words twisting in your chest, warm and fragile and terrifying all at once. “Maria—”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Maria said gently, cutting off your fumbling attempt at a response as she brushed the dirt from her hands with deliberate care.

Her gaze softened, though her voice held a quiet firmness that left no room for doubt. “But let me say this—Joel Miller doesn’t look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

Maria paused, a small, knowing smile flickering across her lips. “I think you made him soft,” she added, her tone light but carrying a weight that landed squarely on your chest.

“When I’m around him,” you said softly, your gaze falling to the soil as the words slipped free before you could stop them. “I feel… safe. Like nothing could hurt me. Like he’d do anything to protect me.” You paused, your voice faltering as your chest tightened. “I’ve never—” you stammered, swallowing hard. “I’ve never felt like that before.”

Maria didn’t respond right away, letting the weight of your confession settle in the quiet space between you. Her sharpness softened, her expression shifting to something tender, almost maternal, as she studied you. Finally, she spoke, her voice low but firm, carrying a truth you weren’t ready to face.

“Sounds an awful lot like love to me,” she said, the words landing with the force of something undeniable, wrapping around you in a way that felt both comforting and terrifying.

You shook your head quickly, the denial automatic, but it felt hollow, a reflex you couldn’t fully believe. The truth sat heavy in your chest, unspoken but undeniable, like a secret that refused to stay buried. You loved him. You had for a while now—longer than you cared to admit, maybe longer than you even realized.

You loved him with a yearning so deep, it scared you. A love that felt raw and all-encompassing, a love you couldn’t hide even if you wanted to. You loved him, you loved him, you loved him—and it was as thrilling as it was terrifying.

“Maria,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, as if speaking too loud might give too much weight to the feelings you were barely holding together. “Every time we get close, he pulls away.” Your voice broke, a tear slipping down your cheek before you even realized it. “Sometimes… sometimes I feel like he’s about to say something, or do something, to show me he feels the same way. But then he flips, like none of it ever mattered.”

“That man’s been through more than most of us can even begin to understand,” Maria said, her voice quiet but carrying a conviction that struck deep. “But listen to me—this isn’t about you being a risk he’s too scared to take. You’re not some passing thing. You’re the one thing he’s terrified of losing.”

Her words hit like a punch to the chest, knocking loose something you’d been holding too tightly. Because deep down, you knew she was right. Joel had told you himself—the words I’d die for you still echoed in your mind, raw and unshakable, like a vow you hadn’t asked for but couldn’t ignore.

“The other night…” you began hesitantly, your fingers twisting nervously at the hem of your shirt. “He came over.”

Maria’s eyebrows shot up, her entire face lighting with intrigue as she leaned in closer, the teasing lilt in her voice unmistakable. “Do tell,” she urged, her grin already forming.

You winced, immediately regretting opening your mouth. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” you said quickly, holding up a hand as if to fend her off, though the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed you. “He was just… making me dinner.”

Maria blinked, clearly caught off guard, before a slow, knowing smirk took over her face. “Just cooking you dinner?” she repeated, dragging the words out, every syllable dripping with disbelief. “Uh-huh. Because Joel Miller is the kind of guy who goes around playing chef for just anyone.”

Your face burned, and you groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”

“No,” Maria said with a laugh, shaking her head, her grin widening. “I think you’re not making enough of it. So? What else happened?”

You hesitated, your teeth sinking into your lip as your hands fumbled aimlessly with the nearest seedling. “Well… I… I gave him a massage.”

Maria froze mid-motion, her hand hovering above the soil, her eyes widening as her jaw dropped. “You what?” she asked, her voice pitching higher, loud enough to make you wince.

“Maria, keep your voice down!” you hissed, your gaze darting toward the greenhouse door as though someone might be lurking just outside, ready to overhear.

Maria’s hand clamped over her mouth, but it did nothing to hide the glint in her eyes. She looked ready to burst. Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, she leaned in closer, her expression a mix of pure disbelief and delight. “Hold on. You gave him a massage? Like, with your hands? On his bare back? Oh my god—did he take his shirt off?”

The words sent your stomach into a spiral. You groaned, your face falling into your hands, wishing the soil beneath you would swallow you whole. “It wasn’t like that,” you muttered, your voice muffled. “He was sore from patrol, and I offered because he looked like he was in pain. That’s it.” You paused, knowing there was no way to escape the next part. “And, yes… he took his shirt off.”

Maria’s mouth dropped open before morphing into the widest grin you’d ever seen. She let out a delighted squeak, clapping her hands together like a kid who’d just been handed the world’s juiciest secret. “So let me get this straight,” she began, her tone exaggeratedly slow, like she was savoring every word. “Joel Miller—Mr. Grumpy, Mr. Lone Wolf, Mr. Don’t-Get-Too-Close—was shirtless in your house, letting you touch him? Are you hearing yourself right now?”

You threw your hands in the air, the flush on your face deepening. “It wasn’t a big deal!” you insisted, though your voice betrayed you, rising in pitch as the memory of the moment came rushing back. “He was in pain, Maria. Pain. I was just helping him out.”

Maria leaned back, her arms crossing as she gave you a knowing look. “Sure,” she said, drawing the word out with enough skepticism to make you want to crawl under the nearest seedling. “That’s why your face is bright red and you’re stammering like you just got caught sneaking out after curfew.”

“It didn’t mean anything,” you muttered, barely above a whisper. “He probably didn’t even think twice about it.”

Maria snorted, “Oh, he thought about it alright,” she said, her voice ringing with certainty, “Hell, he’s probably still thinking about it.”

Your head snapped up, your brow furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Maria grinned, leaning closer like she was about to share some grand secret. “You know, late at night.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, her words loaded with meaning.

Heat flooded your face as her insinuation brought a wave of memories you wished you could forget—Joel’s visible arousal, the way his pants had tightened at the crotch, the strategic placement of the pillow he’d used to conceal it. You swallowed hard, determined not to let those thoughts, or Maria’s teasing, derail you. There was no way she was hearing about that.

“Jesus, will you stop?” you nudged her arm, heat prickling up your neck as the implications of her statement hit you.

“You’re so ridiculous sometimes, you know that?” she said, shaking her head as though she couldn’t quite believe the sight of you sitting there, a mess of nerves and denial.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you shot back, though your voice wavered, and the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you.

Maria leaned in, her elbows resting on her knees, her eyes sharp and glinting with mischief. “It means,” she said, her words slow and deliberate, like she was explaining something painfully obvious to a stubborn child, “that he was probably using every ounce of self-control not to flip you over on that couch right then and there.”

“Maria!” you hissed, her name bursting out of you, sharp and scandalized.

“What?” she said, feigning innocence as she gave a casual shrug. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. He’s a man, after all. And let’s be honest—Joel Miller probably hasn’t had a woman’s hands on him in years.”

You let out a heavy sigh, dragging your hands over your face in frustration. “Ugh, I don’t know, okay?” you mumbled, your voice muffled behind your palms. “I mean… if he did feel that way about me, wouldn’t he have done something by now? At least kissed me or—or something?”

The words slipped out in a rush, unguarded and raw, trailing into a whisper like they might disappear if you spoke them softly enough. But they didn’t disappear.

Instead, they hung in the air between you and Maria, heavy and unrelenting. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, pinned you like a butterfly under glass. Her voice, when it came, was gentle. “You really believe that?”

"Yeah," you murmured, the word brittle. "I mean… wouldn’t he? If he wanted to?”

"Sweetheart," Maria began, her tone steady but kind, "Joel Miller is the most stubborn, self-sacrificing, emotionally constipated man I’ve ever met. You really think he’s just gonna march up to you, bare his heart on a silver platter, and hope for the best? That’s not how he works.”

You frowned, shaking your head as frustration prickled hot at the back of your neck. “So what?” you asked, your voice sharper now, brittle around the edges. “He’s just… never gonna say anything? Never gonna do anything? I can’t just wait forever, Maria.”

“No,” she said gently, shaking her head. “That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is Joel’s spent most of his life believing that caring about someone—really caring—is a weakness. Something that gets you hurt or worse. And then you come along and, well…” She paused, her gaze warm and steady. “You make him feel things he thought he’d buried a long time ago. But that terrifies him, probably more than you realize. Because letting you in? That means tearing down walls he’s spent decades building. That means risking everything.”

Your voice came quieter now, uncertain and aching. “So… what am I supposed to do?” Your eyes found Maria’s again, searching her face for guidance, for answers, for something—anything—that might untangle the knot of doubt tightening in your chest.

“Be patient,” she said simply, her voice a balm to your frayed nerves. “Joel’s a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. He knows exactly what you mean to him. He’s just gotta figure out how to stop fighting himself and let it happen. And when he does?” Her smile widened, turning sly as she gave your knee a light squeeze. “Trust me, it’s not gonna be some half-hearted thing. That man will move mountains for you. Hell, he already does.”

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Winnie’s steady gait beneath you was a quiet balm, each step rocking you gently as you tightened your hold around Joel’s waist. Your hands rested over his ribs, rising and falling with his even breaths, the rhythm anchoring you more than you cared to admit.

The world here felt almost untouched, too peaceful for its harsh reality. Overhead, the canopy swayed like a living thing, the leaves whispering secrets to the wind. A bird trilled somewhere in the distance, its song rippling through the stillness like a pebble dropped in glassy water. It felt like the kind of day you could bottle up and save for when the world grew too dark again.

“So,” you started, your voice light, teasing, as you broke the quiet. “You’re really gonna teach me to shoot a deer today?”

Joel’s head tilted just enough for you to catch the edge of his profile—sharp, rugged, softened by the glow of the sun. “That’s the idea,” he replied evenly, his drawl as familiar as the creak of the saddle beneath you. “Long as you listen to what I tell you.” He paused, then added with a smirk, “For once.”

You gasped, overly dramatic, smacking his shoulder lightly. “Hey, I do listen.”

Joel hummed, a low, skeptical sound, and you swore you could feel his lips twitching even though you couldn’t see them. The small, almost imperceptible sound made something inside you warm, like you’d just struck gold.

Truthfully, you’d been surprised when Joel had offered. You’d been at the stables after patrol, brushing Winnie down when he approached and casually suggested you join him the next morning. Hunting, he’d said, like it was the most natural thing in the world to ask.

“Well,” you sighed now, letting the moment stretch as you leaned your cheek lightly against his back, “don’t get your hopes up. I have a feeling we’ll head back empty-handed.”

“Don’t matter,” he said after a pause, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “Good to be out here. It’s nice. We’ll make it fun.”

You froze, pulling back, your brows lifted, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Uh, excuse me? Am I having a stroke?”

Joel’s shoulders stiffened immediately, and he glanced back at you, brow furrowed, his tone rough with instinctive gruffness. “What?”

“Joel Miller,” you said, barely able to keep your grin in check, “talking about fun?”

His exhale was short, just shy of a laugh. “You’re a pain,” he muttered, the words carrying no real heat as he turned his attention back to the path ahead.

You laughed, the sound spilling out of you before you could stop it. It felt light and unburdened, a sound that didn’t belong in this harsh world but fit perfectly here, in this pocket of peace—where the trees swayed gently overhead and the sun filtered down to warm your face.

Joel didn’t say anything, but you could feel him relax in front of you, like the sound had smoothed out the edges of him, loosening a piece of the armor he always wore.

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Joel walked ahead, his steps deliberate, his boots barely making a sound. You followed, watching the subtle tilt of his head every so often as he listened for sounds you couldn’t pick up. He was watchful, always, as though the forest could turn on you at any second.

“Stay close,” he murmured over his shoulder, his gaze flicked to yours for a heartbeat before shifting back to the trail ahead.

You nodded, your own steps careful as you matched his pace. Twigs snapped faintly beneath your boots, the crunch of dried leaves mingling with the faint rustle of wind through the trees.

Joel stopped suddenly, his hand lifting to signal you to pause. You froze mid-step, holding your breath as he crouched low. Without a word, he gestured for you to do the same. You sank into a crouch beside him, the earth cool beneath your palms as you balanced yourself.

“There,” he whispered, his voice so quiet it was barely a breath, the heat of it brushing your ear. You followed his line of sight, your heart stuttering as you spotted it—a deer, grazing in the clearing just ahead. Its coat gleamed in the broken sunlight, rich and golden, and its ears flicked lazily as it chewed on the grass, oblivious to the two of you watching.

Joel turned to you, his expression calm but focused, “We’ll take it slow,” he said, inching closer. The warmth of him followed, settling like a weight around you as he crouched beside you. He reached for the rifle, his movements slow and deliberate, before he settled you against a fallen log.

His touch was gentle but firm as he adjusted your position, “Here,” he murmured, the word soft enough to almost get lost in the hush of the forest. His hands covered yours, guiding the rifle into place with a patience that made your pulse quicken.

“You remember, don’t you?” Joel asked quietly, his voice a low hum at your ear. “Keep your grip loose. Just enough to hold it steady. Like we practiced.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as your heart stuttered under the weight of everything—the rifle in your hands, the quiet between you, the solid feel of him so close. He leaned in more, his breath ghosting against your cheek as he tilted your aim slightly.

The deer grazed peacefully in the clearing, its movements unhurried, and you let your focus fall there—tried to drown out the way your skin burned everywhere Joel touched.

“Now,” Joel murmured, his voice softer still. “Take a deep breath. Steady. Slow. You don’t rush this.”

You inhaled, deep and deliberate, the air cool against the tightness in your chest. Joel’s hands stayed on yours, steadying, grounding, and you found yourself focusing not just on the rifle but on him—the way his presence felt like an anchor.

Your finger hovered over the trigger. The weight of the moment settled over you, a knot of nerves and something more twisting deep in your chest. “What if I miss?” you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

Joel didn’t hesitate. He leaned in closer, his voice steady and sure as if it held the power to undo every doubt in your head. “You won’t,” he said, the confidence in his tone like a balm. “You trust yourself. And you trust me.”

You blinked, your breath hitching as his words sank in. Joel didn’t pull away, his face still close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the rough timbre of his voice lingering like an echo.

“Breathe,” he reminded softly, the word curling through you like an unspoken promise.

You exhaled slowly, your shoulders relaxing under his touch as you centered your aim once more. Joel stayed still, his hands steadying yours—not pushing, not pulling, just there, like he always seemed to be when you needed him. The world felt smaller somehow, narrowed to just the two of you and the stillness of the forest.

You exhaled, slow and deliberate, your heart hammering in your chest. And then—click. The sharp crack of the rifle firing shattered the stillness, the deer collapsing instantly to the ground.

The forest went quiet again, as if it, too, were holding its breath. You stared, wide-eyed, your pulse thrumming in your ears as the reality of what you’d just done settled in.

Then Joel’s voice broke through, low and steady, laced with something proud. “Hell of a shot.”

You turned to him, chest heaving, a grin spreading across your face—wide, uncontainable. “I did it,” you breathed, the words tumbling out on a rush of disbelief and elation. “Joel, I did it!”

His smile was small but real, softening the sharp lines of his face. Pride flickered in his eyes, a quiet warmth that made your heart stumble. “Knew you could,” he said, his voice gruff but gentle, like he’d never doubted you for a second.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in—quick, impulsive—pressing a kiss to his cheek. It was fleeting, barely more than a brush, but it was enough to make him freeze. The world around you seemed to pause, Joel going stock-still beneath your touch, his breath catching as if the smallest movement might shatter the moment.

“Thank you,” you murmured softly, pulling back just enough to look at him. The words carried the weight of more than just this one moment, more than just a lesson with a rifle. “For helping me. For—” You hesitated, your voice faltering under the way he was looking at you. “For everything.”

Joel didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something there—something soft and unguarded that he rarely let slip. His eyes darted away for the briefest second, a faint blush creeping up his neck and dusting his cheeks.

“Uh—yeah,” he muttered, clearing his throat as his hand went to the back of his neck. “You’re… you’re welcome.”

The gruff awkwardness of it pulled a laugh from you, light and unrestrained, cutting through the tension like a sunbeam breaking through the trees. Joel Miller—this man who stared down raiders and infected with unflinching calm—was blushing because of you.

He began to rise, his hand already extended to help you up so you could see your catch, but you reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm.

“Wait,” you murmured, your voice quiet but sure. He stilled instantly, his gaze flicking to yours. Slowly, you set the rifle aside, your movements careful, deliberate. Then, you shifted, turning over to rest your head against the log, your eyes lifting to the canopy above.

The trees towered above you, their branches swaying lazily in the breeze, sunlight filtering through in golden streaks that dappled the forest floor. It was a moment that felt too perfect to disrupt, too rare to let slip away.

“Lay with me,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper, but the words carried weight, a quiet invitation that hung between you.

For a moment, he hesitated, and you thought he might pull back—say it was getting late or that you were being silly. But he didn’t.

Instead, Joel obliged with a quiet groan, sinking down beside you. He stretched out, his head coming to rest just near yours, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of him. His eyes followed yours to the canopy above, where the trees swayed gently, their leaves rustling in a soft, rhythmic whisper.

You stayed quiet for a while, letting the hum of the woods fill the spaces between breaths. Joel’s shoulder brushed yours with each small shift, a touch so faint it almost didn’t count—but it did.

“I have a question,” you murmured, your voice barely above the whisper of the wind through the trees.

Joel hummed softly, a low sound that felt like an invitation, steady and patient, as if he’d wait forever for you to ask.

You hesitated, teeth catching the inside of your cheek, unsure why your heart suddenly felt too big for your chest. “What was your first impression of me?”

Joel chuckled, the sound rough and warm, a quiet rumble that sent a shiver through you. You could feel his gaze shift toward you, even as you kept your eyes fixed on the swaying branches above. “First impression?” he asked, his voice carrying that familiar, low drawl.

“Mhm,” you replied, your lips curving faintly as you tried to sound casual, though your chest tightened in anticipation.

“Let’s see…” He dragged the words out like he was savoring them. “Lazy,” he started, his tone laced with teasing. “Chatterbox. Stubborn as hell.”

Your head snapped toward him, and before you could think better of it, you swatted his arm. “Hey! Be serious,” you protested, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Joel smirked, rubbing the spot like you’d actually hurt him, though his eyes had softened in that way they sometimes did when he wasn’t guarding himself so tightly.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, the teasing slipping away as he leaned back a little, his gaze drifting somewhere far off, like he was digging through memories he hadn’t let himself touch in a while. “I remember Tommy talkin’ about you before we were first partnered for patrol. Said you were a nice kid. Reliable. Good to have around in a pinch.”

He paused, his words settling into the quiet between you. You might have teased him for calling you a “kid” if it weren’t for the way his voice shifted then—lower, steadier, like he was choosing his words with care.

“But then… then I got to know you, and you’re... a hell of a lot more than that.”

“You’re a good girl,” he murmured, the words soft but heavy, landing squarely in your chest and taking the air right out of you. His voice dipped lower, roughened by something real, something unguarded. “Sweet… even when the world tried to take that from you. Didn’t let it. That’s somethin’.”

He let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his face like the next words were harder to admit. “You’re tough. Know how to stand your ground. Don’t let anyone push you around. But you’ve got…” His voice faltered, a slight hitch in his breath. “You’ve got a good heart. And that’s rare. You don’t see that much anymore.”

He turned his head toward you, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you,” he murmured, his voice low and weighted with sincerity. “You’re... different.”

“Different?” you whispered, your breath catching.

“Special,” he replied, the word lingering in the air like a quiet confession.

The weight of his words settled over you, pressing against your chest in a way that made it hard to breathe. You blinked up at the sky, pretending the ache you felt was just from the cool air brushing against your skin. You didn’t trust yourself to speak—not now, not when your voice would betray everything you weren’t ready to admit.

Joel shifted beside you, clearing his throat like the moment had gotten too heavy for him too. “’Course, you still talk too damn much,” he muttered, his voice gruff, but it lacked the sharp edge of his usual teasing.

You didn’t swat him this time. Instead, you let the silence stretch between you, the space filled with nothing but the sound of the forest and the quiet, steady rhythm of his breathing beside you. Your shoulders brushed again, and this time you didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

"What did you…" Joel started, his voice low and halting, like he was pulling the words up from some place deep inside. He paused, his throat working as he forced the rest out. “What did you think about me?”

You blinked, his question catching you off guard. Joel Miller, asking what you thought about him. The man who could silence a room with a look, who walked through life with his walls so high you were sure no one could climb them.

And now, here he was, his voice so quiet and uncertain it felt like the wind could carry it away. It was so uncharacteristic, so achingly vulnerable, it made your chest feel like it was splintering under the weight of it.

He stayed still beside you, his gaze fixed upward on the swaying trees, but you could feel the tension in him, as though the question alone had cost him more than he was willing to admit.

You swallowed hard, searching for the right words. A soft laugh escaped you, unsteady and a little raw, the memory rushing in before you could stop it.

“I remember Maria warning me before our first patrol,” you said, your voice light but tinged with something deeper. “She told me, ‘He’ll probably ignore you, or say something that might hurt your feelings—but that’s just Joel.’” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and he let out a huff of air through his nose, shaking his head like he’d heard that before.

“And sure,” you continued, your tone softening, “the first few times, we didn’t talk much. You kept your distance, and I figured that was just who you were. But you weren’t mean. Not once. Never did anything to hurt my feelings. If anything…” You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “If anything, you were… thoughtful.”

“You let me eat half your food,” you said, your lips curving into a soft, wistful smile as you held his gaze. “You carried my pack even when I argued with you about it.” A quiet laugh escaped you, though it trembled under the weight of your emotions. “And you… you brought me a damn Christmas tree.”

Your smile faltered, the ache of those moments flooding through you—the quiet, selfless things he did without ever needing to say why.

Each one was tucked away in your heart, little treasures you’d clung to, but now they came crashing down all at once, sharp and overwhelming.

You loved him. God, you loved him. And all you wanted to do was tell him.

Your voice wavered, trembling as you pressed on, your chest tightening with every word. “You… you make me dinner. You bring me firewood when it’s cold, even when I don’t ask. You…” Your breath hitched, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut. “You take care of me, Joel. In a way no one ever has.”

You swallowed hard, the words I love you hovering on the edge of your lips, too fragile to speak but too real to ignore.

The silence between you stretched on, heavy and endless, the weight of what you’d just confessed hanging in the air like the low hum of the wind through the trees. Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, each beat loud and uneven, as though it was trying to drown out the unbearable quiet.

For a moment, you thought you’d said too much, crossed an invisible line, shattered something that could never be put back together. And then, just as the ache of it became too much to bear, something warm and rough brushed against your palm.

You didn’t have to look down to know what it was.

Joel’s hand, strong and calloused, slid into yours with a gentleness that stole the breath from your lungs. His fingers intertwined with yours, hesitantly at first, as though he wasn’t sure you’d let him stay. But when you didn’t pull away, when your hand instinctively curled tighter around his, his grip steadied, solid and unyielding, like it was exactly where it belonged.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you dared to speak. The tension, the quiet, was no longer unbearable—like the spark of something long denied, long overdue. You didn’t look at him, and he didn’t look at you; both of you kept your eyes fixed on the swaying branches above, as if the fragile balance between you would shatter if either of you broke the spell.

The warmth of his hand seeped into you, grounding you, anchoring you to the moment. It wasn’t just a touch—it was an admission, a promise, a vulnerability he’d never offered anyone else. Joel Miller, who had spent years building walls so high no one could breach them, had just let you in. And it was enough to make your heart ache in the most devastating, beautiful way.

You lay there together, the forest whispering around you, the sky shifting above. His thumb brushed your skin, almost imperceptibly, as though he couldn’t stop himself, as though he needed to remind himself you were still there.

And you stayed like that, wordless, motionless, the world around you slipping away until there was nothing but him, and the way his hand fit perfectly into yours.

₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊

The ride back to Jackson was quiet, but it wasn’t empty. The sound of Winnie’s hooves hitting the dirt was familiar and steady beneath you, grounding in a way that felt almost intimate. Your arms were wrapped around Joel’s waist, and though the cool evening breeze brushed against your skin, the warmth radiating from him was enough to chase it away.

Joel was the first to break the silence, his voice low and soft, meant only for you. “Told you you could do it,” he said, and there was a thread of pride in his tone, so pure it made your chest ache. “Your shootin’s gotten real good.”

The words sent a blush rushing to your cheeks, and you were grateful he couldn’t see the way you were smiling like a fool behind him. “That so?” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away, and the pause felt heavier than it should have. Then, without warning, his hand left the reins and covered yours where they were clasped around his waist. His touch was steady, deliberate—a quiet reassurance that made your heart stumble over itself.

“Steady hands,” he murmured, his voice even softer now. “Steady heart.” His hand lingered there for just a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

Your heart was thundering now, and you were sure he could feel it where your chest pressed lightly against his back. You let your cheek rest against him, the worn leather of his jacket cool beneath your skin. “Guess I had a good teacher,” you said, your voice quiet but certain, the words carrying everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say outright.

Joel let out a huff of air—a sound that might’ve passed for a laugh if it weren’t so gentle. You felt the rumble of it beneath your cheek, a low vibration that seemed to settle into your very bones. “That right?” he said gruffly, but there was no edge to it, only something soft and unspoken.

The silence stretched on, soft and comfortable, broken only by the steady rhythm of Winnie’s hooves against the dirt. The world felt small out here, just the two of you and the trail ahead, cocooned in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“What were you like as a kid?” you asked, your voice soft, almost hesitant, like you were stepping carefully into a part of him he rarely shared.

Joel didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, you thought maybe he wouldn’t. But then his voice came, low and thoughtful, “Grew up in Texas,” he said. “Spent most of my time outside. Fishin’, climbin’ trees, gettin’ into trouble with Tommy.”

You smiled at the thought, the image of a younger Joel flashing in your mind—sun-kissed and wide-eyed, a boy too good for the world he’d been handed. “Were you the troublemaker?” you asked, teasing, but there was a softness in your tone.

Joel let out a huff, more breath than laugh, but warm all the same. “Nah,” he said, a hint of fondness creeping into his voice. “That was Tommy. Always gettin’ himself in a mess. I was the one cleanin’ up after him. Still am, come to think of it.”

The corner of your mouth tugged upward, and you shook your head lightly, even though he couldn’t see you. “Sounds like you had your hands full,” you said, your voice laced with quiet amusement. “But it doesn’t sound like a bad way to grow up.”

“Could’ve been worse,” he said simply.

“And you were in construction, right?” you asked, your tone light, almost cautious, as if not wanting to disrupt the delicate quiet between you.

“Yeah,” he said. “Took on whatever jobs I could—houses, repairs, sometimes just fixin’ fences. Wasn’t glamorous, but it was honest. Made sure Sarah had what she needed.”

There was something in the way he said her name, a warmth that softened the rough edges of his voice. It made your chest tighten, the weight of everything he’d carried alone for so long pressing against you. “Sounds like you worked hard for her,” you said softly, your words laced with admiration you didn’t bother hiding.

Joel glanced back at you briefly, his dark eyes catching the fading light of the trail. For just a second, his expression softened, the lines on his face easing. “Had to,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “She deserved that much.”

“And were you,” you started, hesitating for a moment as the words danced on the edge of your tongue. You glanced at the back of his head, at the way his shoulders shifted subtly with the rhythm of the horse. “Were you married?”

Joel’s posture stiffened at your question, just for a heartbeat, before he let out a quiet breath. “No,” he said, his voice low, deliberate. “Well… divorced.”

“Oh,” you murmured, the word soft, instinctive. You bit the inside of your cheek, suddenly wishing he could see you nod, as if it might somehow convey the understanding you didn’t quite know how to voice.

You hesitated, unsure whether to press further, but the curiosity wouldn’t let you stop. “And after the outbreak?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

It felt like uncharted territory—dangerous, intimate. You and Joel didn’t talk about relationships. Hell, you hardly talked about the past at all, and now here you were, asking questions you weren’t sure you wanted the answers to. Or maybe you did.

Joel shifted slightly in the saddle, his shoulders tightening under your arms. For a moment, you thought he might brush it off, deflect the way he so often did. But then his voice came, quieter than before, weighted with a kind of honesty that made your chest ache. “No one after that,” he said, the words slow and deliberate, like he’d been carrying them alone for too long. “Didn’t have the time. Didn’t see much point.”

Relief washed over you, unexpected and sharp, mingled with something darker, something you didn’t want to examine too closely.

You weren’t sure why you wanted him to say no—why the thought of someone else knowing him the way you did, maybe even more, made your chest tighten.

It wasn’t fair, but you couldn’t help it. You didn’t want anyone to know Joel like you did, to see the cracks in his armor he let you glimpse, the moments of tenderness he seemed to reserve just for you.

“Some of us just… don’t get second chances. That’s all,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was speaking more to the shadows of his past than to you.

Some of us don’t get second chances.

The phrase knocked the breath from your lungs, a sudden, raw ache blooming in your chest. Your heart stuttered at the thought—the idea that he believed that.

That Joel, with his quiet strength and steady hands, thought himself unworthy of something so simple, so human. The idea of him carrying that weight, that belief, settled in your bones, cold and sharp.

You wanted to tell him he was wrong. You wanted to reach into the silence and pull him back, tell him he deserved more than he could ever imagine. But the words caught in your throat, tangled in the unspoken feelings you weren’t ready to say out loud.

Because the truth was, you wanted to be his second chance. You wanted to be his, in every way that mattered. You wanted to show him that even in a world as broken as this one, he was still worthy of love and light and everything he’d spent so long denying himself.

“What about you?” Joel asked suddenly, his voice breaking through the stillness. He glanced back, just enough for you to catch the flicker of something in his eyes. Vulnerability, curiosity, maybe even hope. “You got someone waitin’ out there?”

The question sounded casual, almost offhanded, but you felt the weight beneath it—the way his words carried something deeper, something braced. Like he was preparing himself for whatever answer you might give, steeling himself for a name that wasn’t his. Boyfriend. Husband. Someone—anyone—out there waiting for you.

Your breath hitched, and you blinked, your brows lifting in surprise. A soft, startled laugh escaped before you could stop it, not because the question was funny, but because it was him asking. Him, who never asked things like this. Him, who you never thought would.

“Me?” you repeated, your voice higher, breathless with something you couldn’t quite place.

Joel’s shoulders stiffened slightly, his posture betraying the casualness his words tried to feign. “Yeah,” he said, quieter now, rougher. “You. Someone back home, or… someone out there?”

You could see it then, how much he wanted you to say no, how much he needed you to say no. The thought made your chest ache, the quiet yearning in his question making your throat tighten. You shook your head, slow and deliberate, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “No,” you said simply, your voice low, steady, but tinged with something you couldn’t hide. “There’s no one.”

Joel’s shoulders eased—just slightly, just enough for you to notice—and the sound that left him was little more than a hum, low and thoughtful. “No one, huh,” he murmured after a moment, the words quiet, like he was turning them over in his mind. Then, softer, almost to himself, he added, “I find that hard to believe.”

Your heart stopped for a beat, the words sinking into your chest like a stone dropped into still water. The quiet conviction in his tone, the way he said it like it wasn’t a compliment but a fact, left you breathless.

“Why’s that?” you asked, your voice quieter now, a whisper carried on the soft afternoon air.

Joel hesitated, his hands shifting slightly on the reins. “A girl like you,” he began, his voice low, unsteady in a way that made your pulse quicken. “Could have anyone.” He shrugged, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “You’ve practically got all the boys in Jackson lined up. Toby. That Levi guy.”

You shut your eyes, shaking your head in frustration at how blind he was—how this man, so steady, so stubborn, couldn’t see that you loved him with every fiber of your being.

Slowly, carefully, your arms tightened around his waist, the movement deliberate, your grip firm as though you could somehow hold him together in a way no one else ever had. A secret message in your touch—silent, desperate, saying all the things you didn’t know how to put into words.

“I don’t want just anyone,” you said, your voice quiet but steady, trembling only slightly with the rawness of it. The words carried every unspoken truth you’d kept hidden, tucked away in the quiet spaces between your moments together.

You didn’t know if he’d understand—not fully—but you had to try. You had to give him this, even if it was just enough to plant the seed of something he’d been too blind to see.

Joel’s breath hitched, sharp and sudden, the sound cutting through the tension like a lightning strike. You felt it under your cheek where it rested against his back, the way his ribs rose and fell in a shallow, uneven rhythm. He didn’t speak—didn’t turn or shift—but the tension in his shoulders gave him away, his body betraying everything his words wouldn’t.

You let your eyes drift closed, the warmth of Joel’s back beneath your cheek grounding you, his presence steady in a way that made your heart ache. Winnie’s sure, rhythmic pace felt like it could carry you both away from the world, from everything, into a place that was just this. Just him.

I could stay here forever, you thought, the words unspoken but so loud in your chest it almost hurt. My cheek against his back. My heartbeat pressed into his spine. Safe.

The silence stretched, soft and full, until the thought finally broke free, escaping as a murmur that carried with it something raw and fragile as you spoke, “I think we would’ve gotten along back then.”

“I think we would’ve too.”

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

It was Christmas Eve.

You perched on the edge of Maria’s kitchen counter, swinging your legs idly as she moved around the room, her hands busy but her sharp gaze flicking to you now and then.

A Christmas hat dangled precariously on your head—your Christmas hat, patched together from mismatched scraps scavenged over the past few weeks on patrols with Joel. The red fabric had come from a faded curtain in a half-collapsed house, and the fleece trim? From an old jacket no one could use. The stitching was uneven, one side slumping more than the other, but it had heart.

Joel had never asked about it. Not outright. He’d just given you those raised eyebrows of his, paired with that low mutter—“Don’t know what the hell you’re plannin’ on doin’ with that.” And yet, not once did he stop you from stuffing another scrap into your pack.

Maria glanced at you as she slid a bowl of something fragrant onto the counter. “So,” she said casually, a smirk already tugging at her lips, “how was shooting with your man?”

“Oh my god,” you said, your voice rushing out in a flustered tumble. “He’s not my man.”

Maria leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms as her smirk widened, sharp and teasing. “Yeah,” she said lightly, dragging out the words, “but you’re almost there, though.”

You opened your mouth to shoot back some half-hearted denial, but instead, a soft sigh escaped. The fight left you before it even started. “It was sweet,” you admitted, almost to yourself, the edges of your lips curling into a small, unbidden smile. “He’s… sweet.”

The memory of him holding your hand lingered, unshakable.

You wouldn’t tell Maria that, though. No way. She’d have a field day with it.

“You’re in loooove,” she sang, dragging out the word like it was some cosmic revelation.

Your jaw dropped, heat flushing your face as you scrambled for anything, anything, to shut her up. “I—”

Nope. Nothing.

So, you did the next best thing. Reaching over to her cutting board, you snatched up a slice of carrot and popped it into your mouth before she could stop you. “Whatever,” you said around the crunch, waving her off as if her words hadn’t just hit you square in the chest.

“Hey! That’s for dinner,” Maria scolded, her tone caught somewhere between irritation and amusement as she shot you a sharp look.

“Relax, you’ve got like fifty more,” you said, waving a hand toward the mountain of chopped vegetables she’d already prepped.

“Yeah, and I’m counting on you to ruin at least ten of those by sneaking bites,” she quipped, her knife hovering over the cutting board as she gave you a mock glare. “Seriously, get out of my kitchen. I’ve got enough to worry about without you slowing me down.”

“I’m here to help,” you protested, raising your hands in exaggerated surrender, your grin refusing to fade. “I could chop something. Or, like… boil water? I’m a multi-talented individual.”

Maria snorted, her eyebrow arching skeptically. “Oh, sure. And if I wanted someone to set the kitchen on fire, I’d call Tommy.” She waved her knife at you for emphasis, her smirk cutting through the threat. “Go. Living room. Now.”

“Fine, fine,” you sighed dramatically, sliding off the counter with an exaggerated slump of your shoulders. “But for the record, this is the last time I offer my expertise to this household.”

Maria didn’t even look up, her focus already back on the cutting board. “Expertise,” she muttered under her breath with a scoff. “God help us all.”

As you shuffled toward the doorway, dragging your feet for maximum effect, you couldn’t help but shoot a glance over your shoulder, your grin widening as Maria flicked a stray piece of carrot in your direction without looking. You caught it midair, popping it into your mouth with a crunch that echoed defiantly through the kitchen.

“Living room!” she barked, her voice sharp but laced with unmistakable warmth.

“Going, going,” you called back, retreating into the next room with a laugh, your heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

“Hello, baby,” you murmured as the living room couch came into view, the words half a sigh of longing. It practically called your name, and you didn’t hesitate, flopping onto it with all the grace of a potato sack. A groan escaped you, muffled by the cushion as you sprawled out, one arm draped dramatically over your eyes.

For a moment, you stared at the clock on the wall. 4 p.m. Two whole hours until dinner. Two hours until Tommy and Joel got back from patrol. Two hours of absolutely nothing to do but wait—and wasn’t that just the most unbearable stretch of time?

“Maria!” you called out, your voice loud enough to carry back to the kitchen.

“What?” came her sharp reply, tinged with her usual exasperation, followed by the rhythmic chop of her knife against the cutting board.

“Can I take a nap?” you asked, drawing the words out in a mock plea for permission, even as you settled deeper into the cushions.

There was a pause. You heard her muttering, low and unmistakable, and you caught just enough to know she’d said something like “lazy ass.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Love you too!” you called back, but you didn’t bother waiting for her retort. Sleep was already pulling you under, warm and heavy, the couch a cocoon against the fading afternoon light.

Whatever meddling Maria had planned for the evening—whatever teasing or remarks or too-knowing smiles she had up her sleeve—it could wait. Joel would be back soon, and for now, that was enough.

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

You woke with someone poking your face. Actually poking your cheek.

Your eyelids fluttered open, the haze of sleep blurring your vision as you struggled to make sense of the looming figure above you. It was Joel, his hand hovering suspiciously close to your face, like he was about to do it again.

“You drool when you sleep,” he said plainly, his voice gravelly and low.

“Joel?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep, your mind still caught between dreams and the dim reality of the room.

“No, it’s Santa,” he replied dryly, a faint flicker of amusement in his tone as he stepped back and crossed his arms.

You pushed yourself upright, blinking around the room to find the clock. The arms of the clock stared back at you: 6:15 PM.

“How was patrol?” you asked, your voice soft and thick with sleep as you rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand, still trying to shake off the lingering haze.

Joel chuckled, the sound low and warm, sending a quiet thrill through you despite yourself. He dropped heavily onto the couch beside you, his weight making the cushions sag. His arms stretched out across the back of the couch, his posture relaxed but his presence anything but. You shifted instinctively, making room for him.

“Fine,” he said with a shrug, his voice as casual as ever. But there was a flicker of mischief in his eyes as he added, “Though we got things done faster ‘cause you weren’t there yappin’ my ear off.”

“Please,” you huffed, throwing him a look as you leaned back into the couch, trying to ignore how close his arm was to brushing your shoulder. “You love it.”

Joel shrugged again, feigning nonchalance, but his lips twitched upward in a faint, unguarded smile.

“Can’t believe you were sleepin’,” Joel muttered, tilting his head toward you, his voice thick with a faint yawn. “Shouldn’t you be helpin’ Maria?”

You groaned, leaning your head back against the couch, letting your frustration bleed into an exaggerated pout. “She practically kicked me out of the kitchen,” you muttered, your voice laced with mock indignation.

Joel turned his head, and the faintest smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, how’d I forget? Can shoot a man dead, but can’t even bake a potato.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes as heat flushed your cheeks. Without thinking, you reached for the nearest pillow, brandishing it like a weapon. “Ha-ha. Very funny,” you shot back, tossing it at him with little care for accuracy.

The pillow bounced harmlessly off his shoulder, and to your surprise, Joel laughed—a real laugh, deep and unguarded, rumbling low in his chest. It wasn’t something you heard often, and the sound caught you off guard, striking something tender inside you. You wanted to freeze the moment, hold it tight, and keep it for all the days when he felt a million miles away.

When the laughter faded, a quiet calm settled over the room. Comfortable, warm, and charged with something you couldn’t name. Joel’s dark eyes lingered on you, softer than you’d seen in a long time, his smirk mellowing into a faint, almost shy smile.

You felt yourself staring back, your lips curving into an answering smile before you could even think about it. There was something about him like this—unguarded, at ease—that made your chest ache, your breath hitching before you caught it.

He shook his head, his gaze dropping to his lap for a moment before returning to you. “You’ve got—” Joel chuckled, pausing mid-sentence like he was trying to stop himself. But then he reached over, his fingers brushing against your lip, and your heart stuttered.

“Drool,” he said, his voice low, tinged with something you couldn’t quite pin down. “All over your damn face, you silly girl.”

His touch was fleeting, so light it might’ve been nothing, but it left sparks in its wake, the warmth of his fingers lingering long after he pulled away.

Joel leaned back, shaking his head like he was fighting off a grin, but you caught it—the quiet fondness in the way he looked at you, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long.

For a moment, it was just the two of you. The world outside the living room melted away, leaving nothing but the low hum of the fire, the faint scent of Maria’s cooking drifting in from the kitchen, and the feeling swelling between you.

“Dinner’s ready!” Maria’s voice rang out from the kitchen, cutting through the quiet like a sharp blade, snapping the two of you back to reality.

Joel’s hand, which had lingered just a second too long near your mouth, dropped abruptly, as if he’d only just realized it was there. He cleared his throat, the sound rough and awkward, his gaze darting away from yours. “Better get movin’,” he muttered, his tone gruff, like he was trying to pull himself together.

He pushed himself up from the couch, his movements stiff and purposeful, tugging at the hem of his jacket like he needed something—anything—to do with his hands.

You stayed where you were, watching him as your heart thudded in your chest, the warmth of his touch still ghosting over your skin.

“C’mon,” he said, softer now. “Maria’ll have my head if we’re late.”

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

The dining room was warm, cozy in the way only Maria could make it. The table was set with care, adorned with steaming bowls of vegetables, a mound of golden mashed potatoes, a basket of fresh bread, and little details that made the world outside feel miles away.

“Maria, this looks incredible,” you said as you pulled out your chair, the scent of everything making your stomach rumble.

Maria smirked, hands on her hips as she surveyed the table with satisfaction. “Look how much work I got done without you sneaking bites of my veggies,” she teased, her eyes twinkling as she shot you a playful glare.

“You’re a naughty one,” Tommy quipped, his grin wide as he turned to Maria, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. “You’ve outdone yourself, baby.”

Joel slid into the chair across from you, the scrape of wood against the floor almost lost in the hum of conversation. His gaze caught yours for just a beat—a quiet, fleeting connection—before he looked away, his attention falling to the food in front of him.

“So,” Tommy began, already reaching for the bread as if he hadn’t eaten in days, “Joel and I had quite the day on patrol.”

Joel huffed, his lips tugging into a wry smirk as he leaned back slightly in his chair. “If by ‘quite the day,’ you mean you spent half of it yappin’ and the other half tripping over your own damn feet, then yeah, sure.”

The comment drew a laugh from your lips. Joel’s gaze flicked toward you again, his eyes catching yours, and for a moment, his expression softened.

Tommy, oblivious as ever, was already grinning smugly as he tore into a piece of bread, slathering it with butter. “Hey, I didn’t hear you complainin’ when I saved your ass from that clicker,” he shot back, wagging the bread at Joel like a weapon.

Joel leaned back in his chair, shaking his head slowly. “I had that under control,” he said gruffly, his voice carrying just enough edge to hold back Tommy’s teasing.

Tommy barked a laugh, clearly enjoying himself, but the word clicker lodged itself in your chest like a thorn. The lighthearted chatter around you blurred into static as the weight of the word pulled your attention elsewhere. Your fork froze midair, the food on your plate forgotten as your gaze snapped to Joel.

“Clicker?” you asked, your voice soft but taut with concern, your brows furrowing as your chest tightened. All the humor drained from your face, replaced by something raw and unguarded. Your eyes searched his, desperate for assurance, for some unspoken promise that everything was fine.

Joel’s jaw tightened as he saw the worry etched into your expression. “Yeah,” he admitted after a beat, his voice low and steady, smoothing the jagged edges of the truth. “Just one. It was alone. Nothin’ we couldn’t handle.”

His gaze locked onto yours then, steady and insistent, and the intensity of it made your heart falter. It wasn’t just words he was giving you; it was something more—a silent plea for you to believe him, to let him carry this so you wouldn’t have to.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he added, his tone softer now, like he was trying to calm the storm he knew was already brewing in your mind. Joel wasn’t good at words, not when it came to things like this, but the way he leaned slightly forward, his shoulders tense, told you he felt it—the weight of your fear, your worry.

God, he thought, looking at you, his own chest tightening at the way you seemed to fold into yourself, worry so plainly written on your face. If he were half the man he wished he was, he’d reach across the table, take your hand, and kiss that fear right out of you. He’d tell you, I’ve got you, and make you believe it.

But he wasn’t, so he didn’t. Instead, his hand hovered over the table for a split second, as if it might defy him, before retreating to his lap.

You nodded slowly, but the tightness in your chest refused to ease. The weight of Joel’s words lingered, heavy and uneasy, the thought of him—your Joel—that close to danger settling like a stone beneath your ribs. “Okay,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as your fingers fidgeted with the frayed edge of your napkin.

“I’m fine,” he said at last, his voice softer now, almost tentative. His eyes, though, carried the weight of a promise, silent but firm: I’m fine. I won’t let anything happen to me. Not when it would hurt you.

The moment stretched between you, filled with something unspoken but undeniable, before Tommy, blissfully oblivious to the tension, jumped back in with a teasing grin. “Yeah, well, I’m the one who made sure he stayed that way,” he said, tearing into another piece of bread with all the smugness in the world.

“Anyways,” Tommy said, undeterred, turning his full attention to you with his mouth still half-full of bread. “Joel was tellin’ me you shot a damn deer. That true, darlin’?”

Your cheeks warmed instantly, the heat spreading down your neck as you ducked your head. You nudged the peas on your plate with the tines of your fork, suddenly unable to meet anyone’s gaze. “Yeah,” you mumbled, biting your lip. “But Joel basically did all the work.”

“Not true,” Joel cut in, his voice steady and firm, leaving no room for argument. He set his utensils down and leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “She did it all herself,” he said, his tone softening, a quiet pride lacing every word. “Too modest for her own good, as always. She lined up the shot, kept steady, and didn’t flinch—not once. Clean hit, too. Not many folks can say they’ve got that kind of aim, especially their first time.”

Your cheeks burned hotter under his praise, and you dared a glance up, only to find him still watching you, his expression warm and earnest. “Really impressed me,” Joel added, his voice dropping slightly, almost as if the words were meant just for you. “Takes guts to do what she did. Can’t teach that. She’s a natural.”

Tommy let out a low whistle, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, damn,” he said, grinning. “Sounds like you’ve got some real competition now, Joel.”

Joel didn’t even glance at Tommy, his focus still entirely on you. “She’s better than I ever was,” he said simply, the honesty in his tone making your heart ache in the best possible way.

Tommy let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair with an appreciative nod. His gaze flicked between the two of you, a teasing glint in his eye, but for once, he didn’t say anything about it. “Well, I’ll be damned. Good job, sweetheart,” he said, his voice warm, the smile he gave you full of pride.

You glanced up, catching Joel’s expression as he reached for his drink. His eyes lingered on you, softer than you’d ever seen, a quiet pride flickering in their depths. That’s my girl, you could almost hear him think, though the words never left his lips.

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

After dinner, the group drifted into the living room, the gentle crackle of the fire glowing steadily in the hearth lulling everyone into a comfortable rhythm.

Tommy and Maria claimed the couch closest to the flames, their silhouettes bathed in the warm amber light.

You lay sprawled out on the floor, propped up on your elbows, your feet swaying idly behind you as you flipped through an old scavenged recipe book Tommy had brought back for Maria on patrol. The room seemed to hum with an easy warmth, the golden light catching on the strands of tinsel Maria had strung up earlier in the week.

Across from you, Joel sat on the far couch, his posture deceptively relaxed, though the way his fingers curled around the glass of whiskey betrayed a quiet tension. The amber liquid swirled lazily as he tilted it in his hand, but his attention wasn’t on the drink—it was on you. You didn’t have to look up to confirm it; you could feel his gaze, steady and unwavering, burning into you with an intensity that made your skin prickle and your heartbeat quicken.

You swallowed hard, trying—and failing—to ignore the weight of his eyes, the way they seemed to see through every wall you’d so carefully constructed. Instead, you focused on the firelight dancing across the room, on the warm crackle of the wood burning low in the hearth, on the worn fabric of the book in your lap that you hadn’t turned a page of in far too long. Anything but him.

But it was impossible. He was impossible to ignore. His face, slightly pink from the fire’s glow and the remnants of the day’s sun, was achingly familiar yet disarmingly softened in this moment. His dark lashes, impossibly long, fluttered with every slow blink, as though time moved differently for him. You caught yourself wondering if he was thinking about you—or if he already knew you were thinking about him.

“Okay,” you said suddenly, breaking the comfortable lull in the room, your voice a touch too bright, betraying the nervous energy humming beneath the surface. You sat up straighter, tucking your legs beneath you, your arms crossing behind your back in a small, self-conscious gesture. “I have a surprise for everyone.”

Maria tilted her head, a flicker of curiosity lighting up her eyes. She raised a single brow, her tone a mix of intrigue and caution. “A surprise?” she echoed, drawing the word out like she wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.

“You’re pregnant!” Tommy blurted out, a mischievous grin splitting his face as he leaned back, clearly pleased with his own joke.

“Tommy,” Joel said sharply, his voice cutting through the moment like a blade. The single word carried enough weight to make his brother immediately hold up his hands in mock surrender.

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks, crawling up your neck and settling there as a stubborn flush. But you didn’t look back, didn’t dare meet anyone’s gaze, least of all Joel’s. Instead, you crouched near the corner, your fingers diving into the bag you’d carefully stashed earlier. The familiar texture of the fabric met your fingertips, grounding you as you grasped it.

You turned back to your bag and pulled out the Christmas hats you had made for everyone, holding them up triumphantly with a grin that spread from ear to ear. “Ta-da!”

Maria’s eyes widened, and then her hand shot to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Oh, God, you made more,” she said, though the amusement in her voice betrayed her words.

“Damn right I did,” you replied, your grin unstoppable as you shook out the cascade of red and white fabric, the soft material spilling over your arms like a dramatic reveal.

Tommy leaned forward, squinting at the hats like they were a personal insult. “Sorry, darlin’, but those are some ugly-ass hats.”

“Hey!” you shot back, clutching the fabric like they were precious cargo. “They’re not just hats.” You pointed a finger at him, your grin growing wider. “They’re Christmas hats. Festive, delightful, and mandatory.”

Before Tommy could even open his mouth to protest, you strode toward him and plopped one onto his head with an exaggerated flourish. The pom-pom flopped to one side, the whole thing slightly askew, and yet it was perfect—perfectly ridiculous.

“Maria, help me out here,” Tommy groaned, gesturing toward his head with his free hand like the hat was some great injustice.

Maria shook her head, her own laughter soft and warm. “Sorry, honey, but I think it suits you.”

You turned to Maria, handing her a smaller hat trimmed with red velvet and gold ribbon. “And this one’s for you.”

“Gosh,” she murmured, her tone half-teasing, half-genuine. “You shouldn’t have. Really—you shouldn’t have.”

Next, you turned to Joel. He was watching you.

The weight of his gaze was heavy, grounding, and it stole the breath right out of your lungs. Your steps faltered for a heartbeat, the oversized Christmas hat clutched tighter in your hands like it could shield you from the way his eyes bore into you.

The walk to the couch stretched longer than it should have, each step carrying the ghost of that night—the night of spin-the-bottle.

The memory slammed into you unbidden, vivid and searing: the heat of Joel’s lap beneath you, the solid weight of his thighs pressing against your own. You could still feel it, the way his breath had mingled with yours, warm and shallow, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own. You’d been so close. His breath had ghosted against your skin, and for one fleeting second, you’d thought—hoped—he’d kiss you.

“What you got for me, darlin’?” Joel’s voice broke through the haze, low and rough, his drawl curling around you like smoke. It was quiet, meant just for you.

Your heart stuttered, your fingers clutching the hat tighter as you stopped in front of him. His eyes hadn’t moved—not once.

“This one’s for you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling slightly as it escaped your lips. You hated the way it wavered, like a tightrope swaying in the wind, hated how exposed he made you feel. Like he could see everything—every soft, raw, guarded secret you tried so desperately to keep hidden.

Joel hummed low in his throat, a deep, quiet sound that thrummed through the room and settled heavy in your chest. His fingers reached up—not to take the hat, but to brush lightly over the fabric where it rested in your hands.

His dark eyes flicked from the hat to your face. Then, faint and almost reluctant, the corner of his lips curved into a smile.

It wasn’t the teasing smirk he reserved for Tommy or the polite, distant warmth he gave to Maria. This was something else entirely. Softer. Warmer. And it wrecked you because there was no hiding the truth in it—adoration, raw and unguarded, spilling from him like he hadn’t even realized it was there for the world to see.

From the other couch, Tommy leaned toward Maria, his voice low enough to think you wouldn’t hear. “Joel’d never be caught dead in somethin’ like that.”

But Joel didn’t flinch. He didn’t glance in Tommy’s direction or roll his eyes the way you expected him to. Instead, he set his glass down on the small table beside him with deliberate care, his movements slow and measured.

“Well then,” he drawled, his voice low and rough, laced with something that made your breath catch. “Go ahead.”

Your hands trembled slightly,“You… want me to—?”

He tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking just enough to send your heart tumbling in your chest. “I ain’t puttin’ it on myself.”

The space closed as you stepped closer, your hands trembling as you raised the hat toward him. You didn’t notice the ridiculous green felt or the uneven trim. All you could feel was him. The way his hair brushed softly against your fingertips, surprising you with its texture. The way his shoulders loomed in your vision, broad and unyielding, steadying you even as your heart raced so fast it threatened to undo you.

Joel didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back. He stayed perfectly still, his dark eyes locked on you, unwavering, as if this moment was as pivotal for him as it was for you.

Your heart pounded in your ears as the world around you disappeared entirely. All you wanted—all you needed—was to close the space between you, to sink down and kiss him, consequences be damned.

From the other couch, Maria’s hand darted out, smacking Tommy lightly on the leg, “Oh my God, look at them,” Maria muttered, her voice hushed.

When you finally stepped back, the hat perched crookedly on Joel’s head, you allowed yourself to take him in.

It was utterly ridiculous—the slouched green fabric and the pom-pom dangling lopsidedly made him look impossibly out of place, like he’d been roped into something far beneath his dignity.

But somehow, impossibly, it suited him. Or maybe it was just because he was him—Joel Miller, so rugged and handsome he couldn’t possibly look bad in anything.

Your lips quirked upward before you could stop them, the warmth in your chest blooming like the soft glow of the fire.

“Perfect,” you whispered, the word slipping out unbidden, your voice barely audible.

Joel tilted his head slightly, the faintest breath of a huff escaping him, low and rough. “You happy?” he asked, his voice gruff but quieter than usual, like the words carried a tenderness he wasn’t sure how to show.

“Yes,” you murmured, the word trembling as it left you. “Very.”

His lips pressed together in the faintest twitch of a smile, his gaze flicking away for a second before settling back on you. He shook his head, slow and deliberate, like he couldn’t quite believe himself. “Good,” he murmured, his voice so low you almost didn’t catch it.

And it ached—physically ached—because you knew. Deep down, in a place you rarely let yourself linger, you understood that there wasn’t a single universe where Joel Miller would wear something like this for anyone but you. It wasn’t for Tommy’s teasing or Maria’s amused approval, and it certainly wasn’t for the absurd cheer of the holidays. No, he’d done it for you.

Every glance, every quiet word, every second of stillness as he sat there with that ridiculous hat on his head—he’d done it because it made you happy. Because somehow, in a way neither of you dared to name, you mattered to him.

And it wrecked you. It wrecked you because Joel Miller—this man who had built himself out of iron and grit, who would rather face a swarm of infected or a pack of raiders than do anything to chip away at the unyielding, stoic image he’d crafted—had done this without hesitation. For you. The thought was staggering, dizzying, and when he looked at you again, his eyes softer than they had any right to be, you knew: he’d do anything for you. He’d endure anything. He’d die for you.

“Tommys gonna think I’ve gone soft,” Joel murmured, his voice low and meant only for you.

Your smile deepened, warmth pooling in your chest, and you tilted your head slightly, your voice just as soft. “Have you?”

You were still standing in front of him, looking down at where he sat on the couch, the firelight catching in his dark eyes, making them burn with something unspoken.

“D’ya think I have?” he asked, his voice rough, quiet, the rasp of it threading through your veins and anchoring you to the moment.

You swallowed, the tension tightening in your chest like a quiet ache, the words slipping out in a whisper. “Maybe.”

Joel’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile, though his eyes stayed on yours, unreadable yet devastatingly open all at once. “Then maybe,” he murmured, his tone dipping lower, softer, pulling you closer like a tide you couldn’t resist.

The heat in his gaze felt too much, too raw, and you turned, ready to claim your seat by the fireplace and retreat before it swallowed you whole.

“Hey.”

Joel’s voice stopped you mid-step, rough but not sharp, more like a tether than a command. Your breath caught as the word curled around you, pulling you back to him.

“Come sit with me.”

You turned slowly, the quiet invitation pressing against you like gravity. He was still sitting there, his hand resting on his knee, fingers loosely curled, the other gripping the armrest. His broad frame leaned slightly forward, like he couldn’t help but close some of the space between you—as if his body physically couldn’t bear the distance, even in the same room.

His expression was carefully unreadable, a mask you’d seen him wear so many times before, but his eyes—oh, his eyes—gave him away. A silent plea wrapped in his gaze.

“If you want,” he added, almost shyly, his voice dipping lower, like he didn’t want to push too hard.

If you want. The simplicity of it nearly broke you. Joel Miller, a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without complaint, who never asked for anything, was asking now—for you.

“Okay,” you said softly, your voice barely audible.

Slowly, you settled next to him on the couch, the heat of his body radiating toward you like a magnet pulling you in. Your thighs pressed together, neither of you daring to move away.

Joel shifted slightly, just enough to turn his head toward you, his dark eyes catching the firelight. “That’s better,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, each word like a warm ember slipping into the space between you.

The sound of his voice wrapped around you, soft but steady, and it seeped into your bones, settling somewhere deep in your chest. Your lips twitched, threatening a smile you couldn’t quite hold back.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath, but the words carried everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say. “Much better.”

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

One drink turned into two. Two turned into three. And before you knew it, the edges of the world had softened, the flickering firelight blending into a warm, golden haze that wrapped around you like a blanket.

You weren’t someone who got drunk—it wasn’t your thing. You knew your limits, knew when to stop, how to keep control. But tonight… tonight felt different.

Tommy, with his easy grin and mischievous glint, was no help at all. Every time Joel told him to quit—his voice low, tinged with irritation—Tommy would wave him off with a laugh, saying something about Joel having a stick up his ass.

“C’mon, Joel. Live a little,” Tommy drawled, pouring you another drink with all the flair of a showman. And you, caught up in the warmth and ease of the night, shrugged and raised your glass in a tipsy cheer, obliging without a second thought.

Somehow, the night unraveled from there. You’d gone from sitting beside Joel, close enough to feel the subtle heat radiating off him, to sprawling across the living room floor, your head tipped back, your arms stretched wide. Your voice—off-key and full of enthusiasm—belted out Last Christmas like it was your personal anthem, each wobbling note echoing off the walls.

Tommy was in stitches, practically doubled over on the couch as he slapped his knee in delight. Maria shook her head, her smile soft and indulgent as she sipped her drink, her eyes crinkling with barely-contained amusement.

But Joel—Joel stayed quiet. He hadn’t joined in the way Tommy had, hadn’t pushed the bottle toward you or filled your glass with a mischievous grin. He sat on the couch, his broad frame hunched slightly forward, one hand resting on his knee, his dark eyes fixed on you with a quiet intensity.

He wasn’t laughing. His lips were pressed into a firm line, his brow furrowed just enough to make your chest tighten if you weren’t already too clouded to notice. It wasn’t disapproval exactly—not the kind you might’ve expected from someone like him—but something closer to worry.

His dark eyes stayed on you, steady and unflinching, like he was trying to gauge how far you were from the line, how much longer until he might need to step in.

At one point, something small—a bottle cap, maybe—rolled under the coffee table. It didn’t matter what it was; in your tipsy state, it became an immediate priority. With all the single-minded determination of someone far too gone, you leaned forward, hands groping blindly under the table, muttering something about how “everything needs its place.”

You didn’t notice the sharp edge of the table creeping closer, didn’t feel the unsteadiness in your own balance as you reached further and further. But Joel did.

He moved before you even realized - his hand, warm and rough, settled over the crown of your head just as you were about to smack it against the edge of the table. The pressure was firm but careful, guiding you gently away from danger before you could even process it.

“Careful, baby,” he murmured, the words low and instinctive, slipping out before he even realized what he’d said.

You didn’t register it, your focus still entirely on the bottle cap beneath your fingers. “Got it,” you mumbled after a moment, your voice smaller than you intended as you pulled back, victorious and unaware.

When Tommy reached for the bottle to pour you another drink, Joel stepped in without hesitation. His hand closed over the neck of the bottle, firm and commanding, pulling it away before Tommy could even tilt it.

“All right, that’s enough,” Joel said, his voice steady but carrying an edge sharp enough to cut through the room’s hazy warmth.

Tommy blinked, caught off guard for a moment before his easy grin slid back into place. “Hey, man,” he started, his tone light but laced with the slightest edge of challenge. “The girl wants a drink.”

“Quit, Tommy,” Joel said, his tone dropping lower, heavier, leaving no room for argument. His eyes cut to his brother with a pointed sharpness that made Tommy sit back slightly, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Fucking child,” Joel muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch it.

Maria stood then, shaking her head as she picked up the nearest empty glass with a sigh. “Honestly, you two are worse than children,” she said, her voice exasperated but warm, her eyes flicking between the brothers like this was nothing new.

The haze in your mind started to shift then, softening into something weightier, more complicated. The room seemed quieter, heavier, and your cheeks burned—not just from the whiskey but from the weight of Joel’s eyes on you. He wasn’t laughing like Tommy, nor sighing like Maria. He was watching you.

You shifted slightly, your fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans as a quiet embarrassment crept in. Not because of him, but because he could see the truth you weren’t ready to admit—not even to yourself. That you weren’t drunk for nothing. That this wasn’t just another night. Joel saw it, as he always did, and somehow, that made you feel both more vulnerable and more understood than ever.

“You’ve had enough,” he murmured, his voice low and steady as he reached for your glass. Joel leaned back against the couch, his broad frame sinking into the worn cushions.

“I don’t… I don’t get drunk,” you mumbled, your voice unsteady, trailing off as you lay back against the carpet. Your eyes stared upward, fixed on the wall as if it held the answers you couldn’t find yourself. The words were soft, almost more to yourself than to him, but the slight slur in your tone betrayed you. “I’m not drunk,” you added, weaker this time, as if saying it aloud might make it true.

Tommy grinned from his spot on the couch, raising his hands in mock solidarity. “Me neither, sister.”

“Exactly,” you said, jabbing a wobbly finger in his direction as if he’d just made the most compelling argument of the night.

Joel’s voice broke through the room then, low and firm, slicing through the haze like a knife. “You’re drunk.”

Your head snapped toward him, narrowing your bleary focus on the man who’d barely spoken all night. Joel sat back on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely in front of him. His posture screamed patience, but the kind that was wearing thin.

“You’re grumpy,” you said, a weak jab, though the words stumbled on their way out. “And I am not drunk.”

Joel arched an eyebrow, leaning back slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Right. That why you’re lyin’ there like you can’t tell which way’s up?”

Your brows furrowed, defiance bubbling up despite the haze in your head. “Alright,” you said, preparing to stand up. “I’ll prove it to you.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed just slightly, his brow creasing as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “No,” he said, his voice low, steady, and firm. “I believe you. Don’t gotta prove nothin’.”

“See?” you huffed, crossing your arms like you’d just won an argument. “That’s what I thought.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand down his face like he was physically holding himself back from commenting. “Christ,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Maria stood then, stretching with a soft yawn and giving Tommy a light nudge. “Alright, it’s way past my bedtime,” she announced. Her gaze shifted to you, her expression softening. “You can stay here tonight,” she offered, her voice resolute. “No sense sending you out like this.”

You opened your mouth to agree, but Joel was already moving. His shoulders stiffened, his jaw flexing as he stood abruptly.

“No,” Joel said, the word coming out firm, final, leaving no room for debate. His voice cut through the room with quiet authority, drawing all eyes to him. “I’ll take her home.”

Maria blinked, visibly surprised. Her gaze flicked between you and Joel, her eyebrows arching slightly as her lips curved into the faintest hint of a knowing smile. “You sure?”

“She’ll sleep better in her own bed,” he said gruffly, the words deliberate but carrying a weight that was hard to ignore.

Maria tilted her head, her brow lifting as if to say Oh, really? But she didn’t argue, just exchanged a quick glance with Tommy, whose grin threatened to break across his face.

Tommy stretched lazily, his grin lopsided as he turned to you with a look that could only be described as fond mischief. “Night, troublemaker,” he said, his voice brimming with affection. His gaze slid to Joel, and the grin widened, his tone taking on a teasing edge. “Be careful. This one’s feisty when she’s drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” you mumbled, but the slur in your words betrayed you, and Tommy’s chuckle made your cheeks burn.

“Sure you’re not,” he said, ruffling your hair like you were a kid. You swatted weakly at his hand, your protest too slow to land, and he laughed again, shaking his head.

He clapped Joel on the shoulder as he passed, the weight of it friendly but carrying a knowing edge. “Good luck,” he added, the words laced with that unmistakable Tommy charm.

Joel sighed, the sound low and heavy, threading with both frustration and a quiet sort of resignation. He didn’t bother responding to Tommy, didn’t even glance his way. Instead, his focus was on you, his dark eyes sharp and steady as he stepped closer.

“C’mon,” he muttered, his voice gruff but softer than you expected. His large hands reached for you, settling gently at your elbows as he helped you up, his grip firm and steady. You wobbled slightly, your balance faltering just enough to make Joel’s hold tighten instinctively.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, almost like a coaxing whisper. His hands shifted, one sliding to your lower back to steady you as you leaned into him without realizing it.

Together, you made your way toward the front door, Joel guiding you with a patience that felt like it shouldn’t belong to someone as gruff as him.

The boots by the door stared back at you, almost mocking in their silent challenge. You blinked down at them, swaying slightly, trying to figure out how you were supposed to get them on when the floor seemed to tilt every time you moved.

“Alright,” Joel said, nodding toward the boots. “One shoe at a time. Think you can handle that?”

“Obviously,” you muttered, though your fumbling hands betrayed your confidence almost immediately. You bent down to grab one of the boots, determined to prove him wrong, only for the room to tilt ever so slightly, the lazy spin of the world throwing you off balance.

Before you could topple forward, Joel’s hand shot out, his grip firm and steady as it curled around your arm. “Thought you said you weren’t drunk,” he muttered under his breath, his tone low but laced with exasperated fondness.

He guided you upright gently, his other hand bracing at your side. “Hold still, or you’re gonna end up kissin’ the floor,” he added, dropping down to one knee in front of you with a quiet sigh.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as heat surged to your cheeks, spreading like wildfire through your chest. Joel Miller, kneeling in front of you, his broad frame grounded and steady against the backdrop of the room, sent your pulse into a frantic rhythm you couldn’t seem to control.

Joel laced the boot quickly, his movements efficient but deliberate, the steady brush of his fingers against the leather sending warmth up your spine. When he finished, his hand lingered for just a moment longer, giving your calf a light squeeze. It was subtle, almost absentminded, but achingly tender—like he couldn’t help himself, like the simple touch meant more than he could say.

“There,” he said softly once he finished, giving your leg another light pat before standing again. He stepped back with a groan, his dark eyes sweeping over you in a way that felt less like he was checking your boots and more like he was checking you, making sure you were steady, secure, okay.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, your face flushed, hair sticking out in every direction, a picture of tipsy disarray. Joel’s gaze softened despite himself, his lips pressing into a line that didn’t quite hide the tenderness creeping into his expression.

“You’re a mess, y’know that?” he muttered, shaking his head with a soft huff. But even as the words left his mouth, he leaned closer, his hand lifting with a careful steadiness to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“I’m fine,” you argued weakly, even as your feet betrayed you, slipping slightly on the uneven floor.

He turned, grabbing your coat from the hook by the door, shaking it out before holding it open in front of you. “Arms up.”

You blinked at him, your mind struggling to catch up. “What?”

“Arms up,” he repeated, this time with more insistence. When you still didn’t move fast enough, Joel sighed, muttering under his breath as he stepped closer, already lifting your arms himself.

“Jesus,” he muttered, tugging the coat snug over your shoulders with a final, purposeful motion. “You’re worse than dealin’ with a kid.”

“Don’t be mean,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze as your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, your voice carrying the faintest pout.

Joel’s lips twitched—not quite a smile, but just enough to send a flicker of warmth curling in your chest, cutting through the biting cold lingering beyond the door. “I’m not bein’ mean,” he murmured, his tone softening, though that familiar gruffness clung to the edges, giving his words weight. “Just tryin’ to get my girl home in one piece.”

The words slipped out so naturally, so effortlessly, that Joel himself didn’t even realize what he’d said. His focus remained on you as he adjusted the coat on your shoulders, his movements careful, deliberate, like you might catch a chill if he left even a corner undone.

You, too tipsy and too focused on fiddling with your gloves, didn’t seem to hear him. The weight of the moment passed unnoticed by you, but Joel froze for half a beat, his hands stilling against your sleeve as the thought settled into his chest.

It didn’t feel strange to him, calling you that—my girl—because somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

When you finally got home, Joel was all practicality. He unlocked the door with ease, nudging it open with his shoulder while keeping a steadying hand on your arm.

He turned briefly to shut the door, but when he looked back, you were gone. “Jesus Christ,” Joel muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the room until he found you.

You’d somehow made it to the living room, sprawled out face down on the rug like you’d decided it was the most comfortable spot in the world. Your muffled hums filled the quiet space, a nonsensical melody that made Joel sigh deeply, dragging a hand down his face.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, the words barely audible as he disappeared into the kitchen. A few moments later, he returned with a glass of water, his footsteps deliberate and steady.

“Hey,” Joel said sharply, his voice cutting through your tuneless humming as he stopped a few feet away. His hand rested on his hip, his broad shoulders framed by the soft glow of the kitchen light. “What the hell’re you doin’? Get up.”

You turned your head sluggishly, your cheek still pressed against the rug. Heavy-lidded eyes met his, and for a moment, you just blinked at him, the alcohol dulling the sharper edges of his tone. Despite his words, the concern etched into his brow softened the bite.

Joel let out a sigh, muttering something under his breath as he knelt beside you, the floor creaking faintly under his weight. He held out a glass of water, his hand steady and deliberate. “Drink this."

You reached for the glass, your fingers brushing his as you took it. You drank the water in a few large gulps, the cool liquid grounding you slightly.

“Alright,” he said firmly after you were done drinking, “time for bed.” He extended a hand toward you, palm open and waiting.

“I’m not tired,” you mumbled into the rug, though your traitorous body betrayed you with a yawn that slipped out before you could stop it.

Joel arched an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the faintest shadow of a smirk. “Yeah?” he drawled, his tone thick with dry amusement. “Tell that to the yawn you just tried to swallow.”

His voice softened then, the edge fading as something gentler took its place. He crouched slightly, his hand still extended, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “C’mon. Up. Now.”

You groaned dramatically, burying your face in the rug for just a second longer, drawing out the moment like a child protesting bedtime. “Ugh,” you said, dragging the sound out with exaggerated flair. Finally, with a sigh heavy enough to shake the earth, you reached for his hand. “Fine.”

You reached up, slipping your hand into his as he helped you to your feet, “Atta girl,” he murmured.

Without thinking, without hesitation, your fingers instinctively intertwined with his. The movement was so natural, so effortless, that it didn’t register at first—not to you, and not to him. But then Joel’s gaze dropped to your joined hands, his breath hitching as his mouth opened slightly, the smallest flicker of surprise crossing his face.

Joel swallowed hard, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, unspoken emotions swirling there. He didn’t pull away—he didn’t dare. His hand stayed firmly in yours, his fingers curling around yours like letting go wasn’t an option he’d even considered.

You blinked up at him, your mind sluggish from whiskey and the creeping warmth of exhaustion, but his steady presence anchored you. “What?” you asked softly.

“Nothin’,” Joel muttered, his gaze fixed on your joined hands. His voice dipped lower, softer, like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. “Just… don't usually hold hands.”

The quiet admission hit you like a ripple in still water, gentle yet profound. Your chest tightened, a wave of something achingly tender washing over you. “Oh,” you whispered, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m sorry.” You started to pull your hand away, the movement hesitant, reluctant.

But his grip tightened, firm but careful, like he was afraid to let go. “No,” Joel said quickly, his voice rough but urgent, his thumb brushing against your knuckles in the faintest, most deliberate motion. “Don’t.”

He didn’t look at you then—couldn’t—but the tension in his jaw and the quiet plea in his tone said everything he couldn’t.

“Alright,” he murmured after a beat, his voice softer now, gentler. “Let’s get you to bed.”

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

When you finally reached your room, Joel reached out with his free hand, twisting the doorknob and nudging the door open.

He led you to the edge of the bed, your hand still firmly clasped in his. You swayed slightly as you stopped, the whiskey and exhaustion making your balance unsteady, but Joel’s steady grip kept you upright.

He guided you gently to sit on the edge of the bed, his hand still wrapped around yours, steadying you. His grip lingered, his fingers flexing slightly as if testing the moment, like he didn’t want to break whatever fragile thread was holding you together.

“Time to let go, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice impossibly soft. Slowly, reluctantly, you let your hands part, the absence of his touch leaving a faint, lingering ache. You sank into the mattress with a soft sigh, your body sagging into the familiar comfort as Joel stood by your side, his presence steady and grounding.

His movements were careful as he reached for the blanket, pulling it up over you with the kind of gentleness that made your heart flutter even in your sleepy haze. He tucked it around your shoulders, his hand lingering for just a moment before he straightened.

“Go to bed,” Joel said softly, his voice gentler now, though still firm enough to leave no room for argument. As your eyes dipped shut, his hand moved to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, the touch so light it barely registered but sent a warmth blooming in your chest.

“You’ll feel better in the mornin’,” he added.

He turned toward the light switch, his hand halfway there when your voice cut through the quiet, soft and desperate. “Wait,” you said, the word tumbling out before you could stop it. “Don’t leave.”

Joel froze mid-step, his broad shoulders stiffening. He didn’t turn right away, but when he did, his expression was carefully guarded. “You need to sleep,” he said, his tone gruff, his walls snapping back into place. “No more games. Go to bed.”

“I will,” you promised quickly, your voice barely above a whisper but carrying an edge of pleading that you couldn’t hide. “I will, I swear. Just… stay. For a little while. Please.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking toward the door as though he was considering making a quick exit. But then his shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t catch. How could he possibly say no to you?

“Fine,” he said at last, the word carrying the weight of reluctant surrender. He moved toward the chair in the corner of your room, sinking into it heavily, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back. “But only for a little while.”

“No,” you said suddenly, the word slipping out before you could stop it. You sat up in bed, the blanket pooling around your waist as you blinked at him.

Joel frowned, his brows furrowing as he turned to look at you. “What now?”

“Not there,” you murmured again, your voice softer now, hesitant but insistent as you patted the empty space on the bed beside you. “Here.”

Joel blinked, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His brow furrowed deeply, his jaw tightening. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head like he needed to convince himself as much as you. “Not happenin’.”

You groaned dramatically, flopping back against the pillows with an exasperated huff. “Jesus, Joel. Do I have to beg?”

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended, his knuckles whitening as his hands gripped the arms of the chair like it was the only thing tethering him to resolve.

His gaze flicked to the bed, to the empty spot you’d been patting, and you could see the war raging behind his eyes. It was written in the way his lips pressed into a thin line, in the way his chest rose and fell with controlled breaths. The push and pull of wanting and resisting.

“Please,” you whispered, the single word soft, breaking through his defenses like a crack splintering through glass. Your voice wavered, your gaze locking onto his. “I’ll sleep better if you’re close. That’s all.”

Joel’s eyes softened, the fight in them faltering for just a moment. He sighed deeply, his head tilting back like he was asking the ceiling for patience. His shoulders sagged slightly, and you could see the exact second he gave in. Slowly, deliberately, he stood, his steps heavy as he crossed the room.

He stopped at the edge of the bed, his gaze dropping to yours. For a long moment, he just stood there, torn between holding his ground and giving in completely. His jaw clenched, his hands flexing at his sides, before he let out another long sigh and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

The bed dipped under his weight, and you watched him. He sat stiffly, awkwardly, like being this close to you was something he hadn’t quite prepared for.

“Joel,” you murmured softly, almost unsure, almost hesitant. “Lay down. Please.”

He sighed again, his shoulders sagging slightly as if the sound of your voice alone had unraveled him. “Alright,” he muttered, the word rough but softer than before.

With slow, deliberate movements, he shifted onto the bed, laying down beside you. His posture was stiff, his head resting on his folded arm, as if he were trying to take up as little space as possible. “You happy now?” he asked, his tone gruff but not unkind, a quiet exasperation bleeding through.

You hummed softly in response, a sound of contentment as you scooted closer, the blankets rustling softly around you. Without thinking, you rested your cheek against his chest, the steady warmth of him seeping into you like sunlight through a window.

Joel froze, his breath catching for just a moment. Christ, he thought, glancing down at you. His arm hovered awkwardly for a beat before it came to rest at his side, his hand brushing against the curve of your back like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“You comfy?” Joel asked finally, his deep voice breaking the quiet.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your smile soft as your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Are you?”

He hesitated for a second, his gaze lingering on you like he was trying to memorize something he couldn’t name. “Yeah,” he said eventually, though his voice was quieter now. He nodded faintly, his expression softening.

“Not gonna get much sleep with your eyes wide open, though,” he added, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You laughed, the sound quiet and airy. Tucking the blanket higher over your shoulders, you tilted your head slightly to look at him. “You know, for someone so serious, you actually have jokes.”

Joel shrugged, the faint smirk fading into something softer, quieter, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the compliment. “There’s more to me than bein’ old,” he muttered.

“You’re not old,” you said instantly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You shifted onto your side to face him more fully, your expression earnest, a small crease forming between your brows. “Quit saying that.”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, his gaze dipping away from yours like he was trying to brush off the warmth creeping into his chest. “It’s the truth,” he said simply, his voice low, though the rough edges softened when he glanced back at you. Got more years behind me than ahead,” Joel said quietly, almost offhand, his voice dipping low like it was just a fact of life.

The words hit you harder than he probably meant them to, sinking into your chest like a stone dropped into still water, rippling outward and unraveling the easy warmth of the moment.

You froze, staring at him as the ache that bloomed in your chest caught you off guard. Slowly, you pulled back just enough to see his face more clearly, your gaze searching his, the playful ease from before slipping away entirely.

“Don’t say that,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with a quiet urgency that surprised even you. Your hand moved instinctively, coming to rest lightly on his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm only deepened the ache.

Joel glanced down at you, his brow furrowing as he caught the way your brows knit together, your expression tightening. He hadn’t meant for it to land like that, hadn’t thought it would hit you so hard.

“I mean it, Joel,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to make him pause. “Don’t ever say that to me again.”

His lips parted, the words caught in his throat as he stared at you, unprepared for the way the emotion in your voice clawed at something deep inside him. The thought of him not being here—of losing him—was like a sharp blade pressing against the edges of your mind, and you couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t let him dismiss it so easily.

“Hey,” Joel murmured after a moment, his voice softer now, the sharp edges smoothed by the weight of your words. His hand lifted instinctively, covering yours where it rested over his heart, as if to anchor both of you.

Your hand fit perfectly beneath his, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm a subconscious reminder that this was real—he was real. He was here. He was alive.

Joel’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, the movement slow, deliberate, pulling you back from wherever your mind had wandered. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he murmured, his tone low, filled with a quiet kind of tenderness he rarely let surface. His dark eyes flicked to yours, holding your gaze with an intensity that made your chest ache. “It’s just… the way things are.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” you shot back, your voice barely above a whisper but laced with a quiet intensity.

Joel’s jaw tightened, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “Alright,” he murmured after a beat, his voice low and tender, stripped of the usual gruffness he used as armor.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gentle, grounding motion. “I’m sorry. Promise I won’t say it again—sorry, darlin’.”

You nodded, letting your head sink back against Joel’s chest, his hand moved without thought, slipping into your hair and threading through it gently.

“You gettin’ sleepy’?” Joel hummed, his voice low and soft, vibrating through his chest where your cheek rested.

“No,” you said quickly, your voice just a little too sharp, your body shifting slightly against him. You weren’t ready—not for the moment to end, not for him to leave, not for the fragile warmth that wrapped around the two of you to slip away.

Joel huffed a soft laugh through his nose, his hand pausing in your hair for a brief second before continuing its gentle rhythm. “Don’t sound so sure,” he muttered, his voice laced with quiet amusement.

You tilted your head up, your gaze finding his, and he glanced down at you, his brow furrowing slightly. “Quit staring at me,” he said, his tone gruff but devoid of any real bite.

“Can’t help it,” you murmured, your lips curving into a small, playful smile.

His brows knitted further as he looked at you, his lips parting like he was about to say something, but you beat him to it. “Pretty,” you whispered, the word barely audible, so soft it almost disappeared into the space between you.

Joel’s brows knitted further as he turned his full attention to you, his gaze heavy and intent. “You know I got a bad ear,” he said, his tone gruff but tinged with a faint trace of amusement. “Gotta speak up.”

You blinked up at him, lips parting slightly as hesitation gripped you for a brief moment. And then, as if the alcohol had burned through the last of your reservations, the words spilled out, clear and bold, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “I said… pretty. You’ve got pretty eyes and a pretty smile.”

Joel froze. You paused, your heart racing as a grin, small but sincere, tugged at your lips. “Handsome,” you added, softer but no less certain. “You’re handsome, Joel.”

Joel’s face dropped, his eyes widening slightly as he stared at you. His mouth opened, as if to respond, but no words came out. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his fingers flexing against your hand like he needed something—anything—to ground himself.

Joel finally shook his head, a sharp exhale escaping him as he muttered, “You’re drunk.” The words came out fast, like a reflex, a shield he threw up to deflect the blow before it could land. But his voice betrayed him, the rough edges fraying with a faint tremor that he couldn’t quite hide.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you leaned in just slightly, your gaze steady and unwavering. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” you murmured, your voice soft but resolute.

Before he could deflect again, you broke the silence, your tone softer now but still certain. “Joel, I have a question.”

Joel sighed, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to gather what little patience he had left. “What happened to sleepin’?”

“Joel…” you began, your voice quiet, fragile. “Why didn’t you kiss me? At Tommy’s birthday.”

The air shifted instantly, heavy and stifling, as if the room itself had stopped to listen. Joel froze, his body going completely still. The hand that had been absently stroking your hair stopped, his fingers hovering like they didn’t know where to go.

His other hand, which had been resting over yours on his chest, slowly withdrew, falling to his side as though retreating from the weight of your question.

The teasing light in his eyes vanished, replaced by something darker, something harder to read. His jaw tightened, the muscle ticking as he stared at the ceiling, his gaze fixed like he might find the answer buried in the walls.

He didn’t say anything, but the silence spoke volumes. It felt like a door that had been cracked open was now slamming shut, and you weren’t sure whether to step forward or back away.

“I—” he started, but his voice caught, faltering before he could finish. Joel wasn’t expecting this. The weight of your words hung in the air between you, pressing down on him like a physical force.

He ran a hand over his face, dragging his fingers through his beard, his shoulders stiffening as though he was bracing himself for a blow that hadn’t yet come.

“It’s okay,” you said, though the words felt like they were breaking you apart from the inside. “If you don’t… if you don’t find me pretty, or if you think I’m annoying, or if you just didn’t want to. I just…” You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it harder to breathe. “I just need to know why.”

Joel moved instantly, sitting up straighter as his arm pulled away from you. His head snapped toward you at that, his eyes locking onto yours with a sharpness that stole your breath.

They were brimming with something raw, something unspoken and fierce. “Don’t,” he said, his voice rough and firm, the single word cutting through the space between you like a knife.

Your brows furrowed, confusion and hurt twisting in your chest, the ache blooming into something unbearable. “Don’t what?” you asked, your voice softer now as you sat up, mirroring him, the distance between you suddenly feeling vast despite your closeness.

Joel’s fists flexed at his sides, his knuckles white as the tension in his body radiated off him in waves. His jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped for the briefest second before snapping back to yours. “Don’t put words in my mouth,” he said, his voice low and strained, trembling with the effort of holding something back. The look in his eyes was fleeting but sharp—like he was fighting himself, fighting you, fighting the weight of the moment.

“Shit,” Joel muttered, shaking his head as if trying to wrestle with the storm in his own mind. “Why’re you askin’ this now?” he murmured, his tone rough, defensive, but there was something else beneath it—something raw, like the weight of the question was almost too much to bear.

“Because I need to stop thinking about it all the time,” you said, your voice trembling as the words tumbled out, unguarded and vulnerable. “I need to stop replaying it in my head.” You hesitated, your breath hitching as you fought to steady yourself, but the truth burned too hot to hold back. “You said, ‘Not like this,’ and I—” The words broke off, catching in your throat as the ache you’d carried since that night threatened to overwhelm you.

Your eyes searched his face, desperate for something—anything—that might explain the way his words had stayed with you, carved into your heart like a scar. But Joel wouldn’t look at you. His gaze stayed fixed on some indeterminate point, his jaw tightening as if he were bracing himself for the blow he’d already dealt.

“What did that mean, Joel?” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of longing and hurt.

His head shook, sharp and almost violent, like he was physically trying to shake the question away, to shove it into some dark corner where he wouldn’t have to deal with it. “You’re drunk,” he muttered, the words rough and uneven, cracking under the weight of his own defenses.

“I’m drunk, but I’m not stupid,” you fired back, the frustration slipping into your tone, making it wobble. “I’m asking you what you meant.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his muscles twitching under the strain as his hand raked through his hair, his exhale shaky and unsteady.

“What do you think I meant?” he said finally, his voice low and hoarse.

“I don’t fucking know, Joel,” you said, your voice rising as your words cracked under the pressure. “That’s why I’m asking. You confuse the hell out of me.”

His hand flexed against his knee, restless and agitated, but his face remained locked in that tight, unreadable mask he wore when the stakes felt too high.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” you said, the confession tumbling out in a whisper that wavered on the edge of breaking. “I wanted you to kiss me so badly that night.”

Joel froze, his whole body going rigid as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Slowly, painfully, his eyes lifted to meet yours, and what you saw in them made your heart twist painfully. It was like he was searching for something—desperately, almost frantically—as though hoping to find some small lie buried deep in your gaze. Because if you were lying, if this wasn’t real, it would destroy him.

“You don’t know what you’re sayin’,” he said, his head shaking almost imperceptibly.

“Did you think,” you began, your voice softer now, quieter but no less resolute as your hand reached for his arm, resting lightly against the warmth of his sleeve, “maybe I got this drunk because it’s the only way I can tell the truth?”

Joel’s eyes followed your hand, lingering where it rested against him like he couldn’t decide whether to pull away or hold on. His jaw tightened, and he shook his head slightly, the motion almost imperceptible. “That ain’t somethin’ you’re gonna wanna say in the mornin’,” he said, his voice rough and uneven, frayed at the edges like he was already bracing for the fallout.

Why? The thought clawed at your chest. Why can’t he believe me? Why won’t he let himself accept that he’s worth loving? The ache swelled, raw and heavy, pressing against every unspoken word between you.

“But it’s true,” you countered softly, your tone steady, carrying none of the sharpness his did—only quiet, unyielding conviction. “Even if I don’t say it tomorrow, it’s still true tonight.”

“Stop,” Joel said, his voice firmer this time, but there was something in it—a thread of desperation, raw and unguarded. It wasn’t an order. It was a plea. “You don’t mean it. You’re just—”

“I do, Joel.” You interrupted him, your voice trembling with the effort to keep steady. Your hand tightened slightly on his arm, grounding both of you in the moment. “Look at me.” The words fell with quiet insistence, steady despite the tremor in your chest. “I mean it, Joel. I’ve always meant it.”

His breathing faltered, his eyes flickering toward yours like he wanted to believe you but didn’t know how. The silence was unbearable, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out, each one carrying a piece of the ache you’d held back for too long. “Fuck, Joel, I care about you,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “I more than care about you. I love—”

“Don’t.” The word came sharp and sudden, cutting you off like a knife. Joel’s voice was hoarse, rough, like gravel scraping against stone. It hit the space between you with the force of a blow, making your breath hitch.

His gaze darted to you, his dark eyes stormy with something raw and pained, before he looked away again, like he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. “Don’t say it. Because you don’t mean it.”

The words crushed something in your chest, the weight of his denial suffocating. “Joel—” you began, but he shook his head again, his hand lifting to run through his hair, his movements jerky, restless, like he was trying to hold himself together.

“You don’t mean it,” he repeated, quieter this time, his voice barely more than a rasp. “You can’t. Not about me.” His shoulders sagged slightly, and for the first time, you saw it—the cracks in the armor he always wore, the fear in his eyes that no amount of gruffness could hide. “Don’t do this. Not for me.”

Your breath caught, your chest tightening as if a fist had wrapped around it, squeezing until it was hard to breathe. The tears welled in your eyes, hot and stinging, but they didn’t fall.

Your mouth parted, a soundless gasp escaping as your mind reeled. You silly girl, the thought screamed. He doesn’t feel the same. He’s letting you down easy, and you’ve ruined everything. The silence between you stretched, suffocating, the weight of it pressing against your chest until you thought it might break you.

Then, slowly, Joel stood. His shoulders sagged, his head dipping low as though the act of leaving was as heavy as the words left unsaid. His voice, when it came, was quiet—so quiet it was almost a whisper, but it carried the finality of a closing door.

“I’m leavin’. I’ll lock up.”

You stared at him, frozen, the world tilting beneath you as his words settled in. He didn’t look back. He didn’t stop. And as the sound of his footsteps faded, the tears finally spilled over, carving silent paths down your cheeks.

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

yall do i have an angst kink?!

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[ropebunnykant]

alright, we're on the third and FINAL part of me picking the boat scene to bits. you can find part one here and part two here

where we last left off, kant was going towards jumping in the water but he stopped and then we get this question from bison.

and the thing that gives me chills about this moment, aside from the absolute terror and pain on kant's face, is how softly bison asks this. almost like it's a genuine question. like he's offering help because kant is in a tough spot. but it's not a genuine question because he's trying to help - it's a threat. he's telling kant if he doesn't jump, bison will push him.

however, it's also quite an interesting question when you think about it in the context of love and their relationship. i talked a little bit about the setting choice in comparison to the fadel and style confrontation scene already, but lauren @sunsetsover once again had some wonderful additions which you can find here. basically, the difference in locations represents a lot of things, like openness and their intentions, but it also has to do with wants. bison wants love, has always wanted love, and he wants kant to prove to him that it wasn't all fake - even if right now he believes it was. so the question of if you want to jump or fall, it can also go back to how this all started for kant. he fell for bison, against every one of his intentions and instincts, he fell for him anyways. no matter how much he fought it, no matter how much he tried to stop it, he couldn't stop himself from falling for bison. but now, in a way, he's getting a chance to actually choose it. he's getting a chance to jump into love, to let himself die and prove to bison he did love him.

and he's going to, god he wants to do this one final thing for him, but he looks at the water and all he sees is himself, drowning as a child, crying out for his parents. and you can SEE IT in the last screenshot, you can see that kant is not THERE, he's not looking at the water in front of him, he's seeing the water from when he was a child and was drowning and it's HEARTBREAKING. you have to watch the scene yourself again and look at the sheer terror and heartbreak on his face in those few seconds because got it's just. it's so painful.

but bison doesn't know, or he doesn't care, and he wants kant to jump, so he yells at him, he shouts at him to do it. he's so angry and hurt and he needs to see kant do this.

so kant goes again, but he hesitates again and he looks at bison, like he's begging for him to change his mind. but it only takes a second for him to know, to realize he won't. that he will have to do this. that doesn't have any other choice. that this is the only way to prove himself and to try and make it up to bison, if he even can.

there's a moment of silent communication where bison nods his head towards the water to once again force kant to jump in.

so kant braces himself, pulls every ounce of courage he has left in him, and he climbs up, bison still yelling at him, and he jumps.

i'm gonna link you to a giftset the last few moments of the scene here that jay @kantpattanawat made because i think everything with bison in it is MUCH BETTER seen in motion and i also don't wanna run out of image space again sdkjsfdf

but kant jumps. terrified out of his mind, he jumps. for bison, for himself, because he thinks he deserves it, because he doesn't think he can save himself anyways. because at least this way he can show bison he chooses him. that he does love him. because bison threw his heart into the ocean and kant is going to sink to the bottom with it.

but bison didn't actually think he would. you can even see it on his face, right before kant jumps, that he's questioning if he actually will. and when he does, you can see the panic in his body language because holy shit kant actually jumped. and he shouts after him, like he's an idiot for it, and maybe kant is! but he did it for bison didn't he? because bison asked? and isn't that what bison's always wanted? someone that loves him enough to choose him, to listen to him?

so bison will jump in and he'll still make kant prove himself again, but i think this is the moment bison really forgives him. this is the moment he realizes kant was serious back in the hospital. that maybe it wasn't all lies. this is the moment their love story can really start.

[nachrosas]

SLIDE TO LOVE | s.reid x reader

summary: you try to teach spencer how to roller-skate. pairing: spencer reid x reader content warnings: just spencer being a little drunk in this one! word count: 936 a/n: just a little fun day at park with spencer :)

It was a beautiful day. The park was especially alive there. Children's laughter echoed across the green fields, interspersed with the rhythmic sound of roller skates gliding across the asphalt. You were sitting beside Spencer on a bench shaded by a tree, watching the surrounding movement.

“Look at them!” you commented, pointing to a group of young people doing tricks on a small ramp. “I think they're competing to see who can get hurt first.”

Spencer adjusted his glasses, his curious gaze following their movements. “In fact, studies show that high-risk sports stimulate the release of adrenaline and dopamine, which can be considered a motivating factor. What's more, the likelihood of musculoskeletal injuries in sports like this is…”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't contain your smile. “Right. Dr. Reid, what about you? Have you ever tried skating?”

He blinked, clearly taken aback by the question. “Me? No, never. It seems… too unstable for me.”

“It's fun!” you insisted a little, standing up and tugging on his hand. “Come on, Spencer. It's time to add that to your list of extraordinary skills.”

He hesitated, but your piercing gaze made him stand up slowly, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “If I fall and hurt myself, it'll be your fault.”

“No problem! I'm a great instructor!” you assured him, guiding him to the small hut that rented out roller skates.

Spencer looked at the skates on his feet as if they were bombs about to explode. “Did you know that skating is responsible for approximately 100,000 injuries a year in the United States? About 33% of them involve the wrists, because when people fall, they choose their hands as a method of protection.”

You laughed, crossing your arms. “Okay, Dr. Statistics, but you're forgetting the most important fact: falling is part of the fun.” You took a step forward, grabbing his hands. “And besides, I'm here to make sure you don't become one of those 33%.”

He frowned, but you saw the corner of his lips twitch, almost forming a smile. “I can't be good at everything, you know?” he grumbled.

“Exactly! And that's why it's going to be so much fun to watch you stumble a little.” You winked at him and gently pulled him away from the grass, towards the asphalt.

As soon as the wheel of Spencer's roller skates touched the smooth surface, he staggered, his arms moving like uncontrolled propellers. You held on tightly to his hands, biting your lip to keep from laughing out loud. “Okay, okay, don't worry! Small steps, right? Let's try again.”

He nodded, his eyes fixed on his own feet, his expression determined. Every step was clumsy, and he stumbled a few times, but you never let go of his hands.

“You're thinking too much,” you commented, as you helped him regain his balance for the third time. “You have to relax, let the movement flow. It's like walking in sneakers! Only instead of sneakers, it's wheels.”

He looked up at you, his brown eyes shining with something other than frustration. “Relaxing? I'm not exactly good at it.”

You laughed, tilting your head. “Really? You don't even think so. All that genius and you can't take two steps without pulling me along?”

Spencer stopped, swaying slightly on his skates. “You know I'd do anything to see you smile like that, right?”

The world seemed to slow down. He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, but the sincerity in his voice made your heart soar. A shy smile took over his face.

“Well, in that case,” you replied, squeezing their hands tighter. “You'd better keep practicing. Because I'm still not satisfied.”

He smiled back, genuine and full of renewed confidence, and took another step. Of course, he stumbled again, but this time your laughter echoed together, filling the park with a light and contagious joy.

With you still holding his hands, Spencer was able to glide with more confidence — or at least what felt like confidence. His movements were still clumsy as if he was learning to walk again, and that's when you realized that he was really trying. For you.

For a brief moment, he took three consecutive steps without stumbling, and you both celebrated as if he had just won a medal. But the euphoria was short-lived. With his next move, Spencer lost his balance, tripping and pulling you along.

You both fell to the ground awkwardly, but the impact was cushioned by the laughter that escaped your lips. You looked at him, who was now lying on his back, trying to catch his breath as he laughed more freely than you had ever seen before.

“I told you,” he said between laughs. “that it wouldn't end well.”

“Finish well?” you repeated, sitting down and holding out your hand to help him up. “Spencer, that was perfect!”

He accepted your help, taking a seat next to you, still with his skates on his feet. “If that's your definition of perfect, maybe I need to revise my standards.”

You gave him a gentle push on the shoulder, smiling. “You know, I think you're starting to get the spirit of the thing.”

He tilted his head, studying you with that look that seemed to unlock secrets. “Maybe it's because I have the best teacher in the world.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile remained. “And you'll need more lessons! Next time, no falls, okay?”

“Next time…” he repeated, with a slight curve to his lips, as if the mere act of saying those words was a promise.

[revelboo]

the recent development with 'everything is alright' has me wondering about king starscream and how... lonely he seems. granted rattrap is there but hes... not much company in stars mind, i think. like dont get me wrong i knew he'd be lonely and a little on the right side of miserable, but that in tandem with the bit about 'dont you know you're home/his future/the one good thing in his life' bit from the last chapter has me!! chokign up a bit cuz damn he really wasnt kidding!!! he got what he wanted but at the cost of still being miserable bc its fuckin LONELY at the top when youre paranoid as all hell with VERY REAL justifications to back said paranoia up!!! god!!!

Yeah, King Star isn’t all that happy. I do like playing with different versions of the same character and just tweaking the circumstances. In Everything is Alright he’s alienated himself from his Trine due to his paranoia, in True Romance he still trusts his Trine and has that relationship, so he’s a lot less paranoid and lonely, in Overdone his Trine just drifted apart. He could have made more of an effort to connect and reach out, but he was so focused on his goals, he didn’t really notice that gap widening until they’re almost strangers to each other

Overdone Pt 2

IDW RID Starscream x Reader

• “You’re weren’t on earth, were you?” He asks when Rattrap gawks at the human in his grip. Striding past, he heads for his private habsuite. Hears Rattrap weakly call out about the reports and he ignores him. They can wait. But you? A human from nowhere plummeting to your death. Closing the door behind himself, he studies you as you cling to his servos. Timid for a spy. “Well?” He growls, depositing you on his desk. “Where did you come from?” Who sent you to spy on him? Wants to know so he can and deliver your broken body to them.

• Falling on your hip, you stare at the big monster and his wings flare out. Trying to say something, anything, when you’re too terrified to make a sound. You’d been driving and then crippling plain had slammed through you, feeling like being torn in two. And then finding yourself somewhere wholly different falling to your death. It’s a nightmare and you can’t wake up. Lip curling, he slams his huge palms down far too close to you and you scream and cringe into a ball. “Speak! Who are you working for?” He roars.

• Pretending at terror? No, venting softly as that acrid shift in your scent registers, he leans back. Not an act. “I don’t know! I don’t know anything!” You cry, little voice broken and terrified and his wings droop slightly. Maybe you’re telling the truth, but you came from somewhere. Humans don’t spontaneously teleport across space and time. Except you apparently had. Servos tapping on the desk, he glares at you and the problem you pose. If you are a spy? An autobot ally sent to undermine him? Why risk your death? If he hadn’t grabbed you, you would have died. Maybe whoever had dropped you meant to see what he’d do and you’re of no importance to them beyond as an expendable pawn?

• “Stop cowering and sniveling,” he growls and you risk a glance at that scowling face, see his optics narrow at you. “If you show your fear, others will use that against you.” Heart hammering against your ribs, you watch him pace around the huge room. And when he’s not looking at you, you can breathe. Try to get your bearings. You have no idea where you are or how you got here, but it had hurt worse than anything you’ve ever felt. Tracking him as he lifts a hand, murmuring, you realize he’s talking to himself at the same time it sinks past the fear that he’d caught you when you’d been falling. He’d saved you.

• Why had he saved you? Because you’re not a monster not matter how much you pretend you are, that annoying, little ghost whispers and he curls his lip. “You know nothing.” Refuses to look, to let his processor trick him with impossible things. Would think maybe you’re a hallucination, too. Except he’d felt your little heart beating against his servos, the warmth of your body in his hands. He’s not mad enough to imagine details like that, yet. Though for you to appear when he was considering not pulling up? Are you a punishment? Drifting back to the desk, his head tips with predatory interest as he rests a servo against your throat and you lay a soft hand on him. You feel real. “Tell me why I shouldn’t rid myself of you. Make me believe you’re no spy.”

Previous

[legalmente-loca]

Innocence

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Angel!Reader

Summary: Sam found something good and innocent in his dark life... Now he wants to destroy it, but not in a bad way.

Word Count: 2,327

Tags/Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, dirty talk, established relationship, corrupción kink, lost of virginity

Innocent, cute, tender, angelic…

That was you. An angel, not just as a personality, but a real angel. But you weren't a warrior or a soldier. You were an angel who existed to entertain others with your harp. Your melodious music that inspired every other angel to fight for their father and brothers and sisters.

Sam met you along with Castiel. It was noticeable that you didn't even know why you were there. This wasn't your job. Fighting. That was your brothers and sisters. When he first saw you, he almost melted from your beauty. Your tender confused look and your pity when Castiel called him what he called him. You were sweet, more than the other angels. You were always on his side and even played him some of your music. Dean expressed that you were like he had imagined angels to be, the typical stereotype of them; Sweet, fair, playing their music and with an invisible heavenly halo surrounding them.

So… Why did he want to ruin you so badly?

Sam thought that would be a more thing from his brother. Flirting with you at every opportunity to get you into his bed and show you how a human could ruin something as beautiful and innocent as you. But to his surprise, Dean showed no interest in you. And that was because he noticed his little brother's attraction to the sweet angel. If anyone were to ask Dean about it, he would say that after a life full of pain and suffering, a life like his little brother's, finding something as beautiful and innocent would be the same as wanting to destroy it.

When Sam started flirting with you, your shy look and your small smile, he just knew he had to have you. Have you in a way that he knew no one had ever had you before.

You started dating and every kiss was better than the last. You didn’t really know how to give them, but don’t worry, he would gladly teach you.

You two were lying on your side on the couch watching a movie. A blanket covered the two of you and he was behind you, his thumb caressing your hip where your cute shirt had ridden up a little, touching your skin. Your gaze rested on the TV and he looked over at you with a smile. You looked so cute, your concentration on the movie, your breathing calm, almost like you were asleep. Sam couldn’t help but slowly move his hand up, tucking it under your shirt.

The small gasp you let out caused Sam’s pants to get tighter. Your eyes looked down at his hand before raising it to him.

“What are you doing?” Your small voice came through, looking at him in confusion.

“Jus’ touching you, love.” He murmured, placing a kiss on your hair. “You know how much I love the feel of your skin.”

“Oh…” Your small nod made Sam’s chest sink.

He continued to run his hand over your skin until it spread across your entire stomach. Sam had big, strong hands. Sometimes you watched them and ran your small fingers over them. And this time was no different. You ran your fingers over his hand, feeling every vein, up his arm and jaw. You looked into his eyes and lowered your gaze to his lips. Sam knew you would never initiate a kiss, you never did. So he was the one who leaned in and kissed you softly.

You followed the kiss, your hand caressing his cheek. Sam couldn't believe how soft your lips were, how red he could make them. He ran the tip of his tongue over them and you parted them, his tongue taking advantage and invading your mouth. The movie was beginning to fade away, just a background noise that filled the air. His hand on your stomach continued to rise and stopped below one of your breasts. He had never touched you beyond that, your shyness never allowed it.

A moan escaped you as he nibbled on your bottom lip and pulled away from the kiss, your mouths connected by a thread of saliva.

“Oh, baby, you can’t make sounds like that…” He ran his finger along your bottom lip. “And expect me not to react.”

You placed a kiss on his finger as you continued to look into his eyes. You moved your hand down his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Baby…”

“What?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Why?”

Sam opened his eyes again and placed a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“Because I can’t control how my body reacts.”

And then you felt it. His bulge against the back of your thigh, almost your ass. He was firm against you.

“Oh…” That little word again coming out of your mouth. “So… What if… I do want to continue?” You looked away as you asked that question.

Sam was afraid you’d notice how his face lit up at your words. To give him that kind of permission, a permission he would use deeply, as deep as he wanted to be inside you.

He moved his hand to your chin, bringing your gaze back to his.

“Only if you want, baby.”

“Yes… I do.”

Sam suppressed a smile and instead kissed you again, the softness of the beginning rising in tone.

“Stop me anytime if you want.” He murmured against your lips before crushing them against yours again.

You moaned lowly into his mouth, Sam swallowing every sound. He felt like you were taking him to heaven itself. That you had held him tight and lifted him up to where you lived, But to do the most incorrect things, more appropriate for hell than heaven..

Sam continued kissing you and moved his hand up to your breast. You weren’t wearing a bra, you’d never done it in heaven, why would you do it on earth? He could feel your softness from the start and let out a growl, separating his mouth from yours.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He lifted your shirt up just enough to uncover your breasts. They were soft, perfect, and he wanted to bite them until they were red and had teeth marks on them. He leaned over your chest and took one breast into his mouth, licking and nibbling at your skin. The small sounds that came out of your mouth were like a melodious tune to his ears.

He nibbled on your nub and took it between his teeth, tugging on it lightly, causing you to let out a gasp and bring a hand to his hair.

“So pretty…” He murmured, letting go of your breast and moving to the other.

You moaned and gently tugged on his hair, Sam letting out a groan and leaving your breast red and with teeth marks, just like he wanted.

“I’m sorry…” You whispered.

He smiled and shook his head, caressing your cheek with a finger.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. I like it.”

He moved you so you were fully lying down and finished removing your shirt.

“God, you’re an angel.” He looked at you adoringly, touching your stomach and lightly running his nails along them, leaving a red trail. “You can touch me too.”

He took off his shirt, tossing it somewhere in the room. He took your hand and placed a kiss on it before resting it against his chest. Your shy gaze ran over his bare chest and your fingers trembled.

“You don’t have to be afraid.” He said as he noticed your shaking hand.

“I don’t feel afraid, just… Something an angel shouldn’t feel.”

“It’s okay, darlin’. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

He made a path with your hand, going down to the bulge in his jeans. You held your breath without realizing it and gave a small squeeze. Sam smiled and nodded.

“C’mon, be a good pretty angel and get rid of my pants.” You gave a small nod and undid his belt before unbuttoning his jeans and unzipping them. “That’s it, pretty angel.”

He lifted his hips so you could pull his jeans down. You left them bunched up at his ankles and laid back down. Sam was left in just his boxers and licked his lips.

“Good girl.” He caressed your cheek and positioned himself on top of you completely. “Now, I’m going to take off your pants, got it?”

“Yes…”

“Good, you’re doing great.”

He pulled down your white shorts with cherries on them. You were wearing cotton panties with a cute red bow and Sam let out a sigh, dying to destroy you right there. You looked at him, waiting for any reaction from him, any words. But Sam stayed quiet, sitting on your legs and running a finger over your panties. You bit your bottom lip and your hips reacted on their own, giving a little jump and being rewarded with Sam’s laughter.

“You’re so receptive, angel.” He slipped his fingers inside your panties and pulled them down. “God…” Your breathing became quicker and you gripped the couch beneath you. “Don’t worry, baby… I’ll take care of you.”

He pulled his boxers down to where his pants were and your eyes widened in surprise at the sight of him, standing tall and wet at the tip. He touched your bundle of nerves with his thumb and rubbed it gently. He longed to hear those cute sounds leave your mouth. He pushed a single finger in and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Hey, hey, no, open your eyes.” He clicked his tongue and rubbed his nose against yours. “I want to see those cute little eyes of yours.” You opened your eyes again, your brow furrowed slightly as you looked up at him. “Atta girl.”

He continued to push his finger in up to the knuckle and caressed that spongy part inside.

“Oh, my Father-” You gasped.

“I don’t think this is a good time to say his name, beautiful.” He smiled and kissed you.

His tongue swirled with yours, a dance. He began to slowly move his finger from the outside in as he swallowed all your moans. More juice was pouring out of you and he couldn’t take it anymore. His cock ached, desperate to be inside you right now. He pulled away from your mouth and pulled his finger out of you, taking it into his mouth and moaning at the taste of you. You looked at him in awe, your big eyes watching his dirty action worthy of a trip to hell.

“I need to be inside you right now.”

He lined himself up with your entrance and looked at you, thinking that maybe you had changed your mind and wanted him to stop. But you just nodded. With permission given, he began to push his big cock against your entrance and your hands gripped his arms tightly.

“That’s it, sweet angel, you’re doing so well.”

“Sam...” You whimpered, your beautiful eyes trying to take in your bodies connected.

“There you go, baby,” He said as he pushed further into you. “Not long now.”

He gave one last push and you moaned. It was like quickly pulling a band-aid off a wound. He stayed still for a few seconds as he cupped your face and kissed you. He moved slowly, his cock sliding in and out of your little hole. All the while you moaned and dug your nails into his skin. There was no pain, only pleasure. A pleasure that slowly invaded your entire body.

“My angel... You’re doing so well. Taking me so good.” He continued to move his hips against your ass. “God, you’re so perfect.”

He placed one last deep kiss on your lips and pulled out of you. You whimpered in disapproval at the feeling of emptiness and Sam laughed as he took you by the arms.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll be inside you in no time.” He flipped you over, placing you on your knees to your chest, your head on the couch. “I’m going to destroy you.” He said against your ear before he entered you again.

Thrust after thrust, Sam brought you closer and closer to your long-awaited orgasm, something you had never experienced before. His strong, large hands held you by the arms and saliva leaked from between your lips and spilled onto the couch. But that wasn’t the only thing that was spilling out. Your juices lubricated his entire cock, making it easier for him to slide into your pussy, which convulsed around him.

“I can feel you’re close already.” He reached a hand into your hair and gave it a tug, earning a mewl from you. “My beautiful angel… I’m your first and I promise I’ll be your last.”

Your ass was already red from the blows of his pelvis.

“Sam, I-I feel… I-I feel…”

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby. Let it happen.”

Your vision darkened as you felt the pleasure hit your body. Your eyes rolled back and you tightened around him. You couldn’t say a word. Sam's movements didn't stop, determined to destroy you and finish inside you. White flooded you and you swore you could see your father at that very moment.

Your tired body stilled and Sam turned you around.

“How do you feel, beautiful?” He asked as he placed a kiss on the corner of your lips.

“As if...” You tried to speak. “As if the bliss of God was washing over me...”

Sam smiled and shook his head in amusement.

“Well, I feel honored.” He wrapped his arm around you and placed a kiss on your hair. “You were perfect, baby.”

He placed a blanket over both of you and didn’t pull out of you. He wouldn’t do that for the world. He was just beginning to show you the different things lust could take one to. And he wouldn’t stop showing you until your angel innocence was tainted by his demon actions.

Sam Winchester One Shots

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[crime-scene-psychic]

I honestly think that the Nolan Batman trilogy was the best and worst thing to happen to the Batman franchise, because on one hand, it was the first live-action instance of trying to make Batman more gritty and serious (because while the Keaton, Kilmer, Clooney movies took the story much more seriously than the 60s television show, they were still goofy at times, which is why I honestly think they're the best rendition of Batman, because they were able to balance silliness with seriousness, which is what Batman is all about, but that's obviously an entirely different thesis) which then allowed for more people to take comic book movies serious, consequently leading to the rise of the DCEU and, obviously, the MCU (we would not have the MCU today and the actual good movies that came out of it without Nolan's trilogy, there's simply no argument there).

However, the Nolan trilogy also unfortunately made "dark, gritty Batman" the norm, meaning that once anyone tries to actually have some fun with Batman, they immediately get shit on by comic book dude bros. It also created the most annoying characterization of the Joker that everyone has been trying to replicate since and no one will be able to replicate, because they simply do not understand the character (I honest to God think the closest live-action actor who has ever made a Joker character work besider Heath Ledger was Cameron Monaghan in the Gotham television show, and he wasn't even really Joker??? but at least he didn't make it everyone else's problem and was a good mix of goofy and psychotic, not just psychotic) and will never be Heath Ledger (but they don't stop trying much to my forever annoyment).

And while I can recognize the cultural and significant impact on the comic and film community that Nolan's trilogy had, it is still by far my least favorite adaptation because of how serious it takes itself (and of course, the racism. The racism is actually the bigger one for me. Fuck Christopher Nolan for that. Ra's al Ghul is NOT a white man just because you want a plot twist, and you CANNOT just erase Bane being mixed race because you fucking FEEL LIKE IT because him being mixed race is extremely relevant to his origin). Batman has had serious moments in the comics, don't get me wrong, and I know things must evolve and change over time and that I cannot expect an 80 year old character to not be further developed throughout the decades, but it almost feels as if Nolan and Goyer (the writer) read a Sparks Notes version of the history of Batman, cracked their knuckles, and said "yeah, I think I got it."

Spoiler alert: they did not get it.

When I watch the Nolan trilogy (which I haven't in quite some time and I really don't want to, even to prove a point to people on the Internet) I notice how uninspired it feels, story-wise. While the action and cinematography is excellent, the story is lacking for me, and when you're telling a story like Batman, that has decades of content, you cannot just forgo storytelling for cool special effects.

I'd much rather watch a Batman adaptation that has the shittiest effects known to man with a writer who whole-heartily cares for the characters they're writing and has taken time to research. And that's honestly one of the biggest problems the comic book film industry is having now, both DC and Marvel. They're not hiring people who actually care about these characters to write them and they're focusing much more at appealing to everyone they can instead of who the movies should be made for: fans.

You're gonna have such a harder time convincing my mom, a woman who only cares about Wonder Woman, to watch the new Captain America film than you would someone who has read the Sam Wilson Cap comic run. And while this entire issue stems from the fact that the film industry is just that, an industry, and has become less about filmmakers making art and more-so how much money investors and producers can get out of ticket sales, it is still infuriating to see franchises you care deeply about be ruined by guys just there to cash their paychecks and be done with it.

And really, the film industry as we know it needs to be fucking demolished from the inside out, but that will never happen and now we're a bit off-topic. So, back to Batman.

I think another issue I have with newer live-action Batman adaptations is that they choose to forgo a VERY IMPORTANT character when it comes to Batman/Bruce Wayne's evolution as a character and story line.

Robin.

Since whatever the fuck the casting of Chris O'Donnell in 1995 was (why was he, like, a grown man?), people have been afraid to touch a live-action Dick Grayson with a six-foot pole (besides Titans, which I'm gonna get to in a sec). Which is ridiculous, because he is, like I said, an insanely important character when it comes to showing the growth Bruce Wayne goes through.

Bruce Wayne becomes Batman because he is so angry about his parent's deaths and the corruption of Gotham that he doesn't know what else to do. All the money in the world cannot change things for the better, his own father tried and died for his troubles, and he is left with no other option. Bruce Wayne works during the day to fight corruption via charity and his company, Batman works during the night and is able to do what Bruce Wayne can't (beating the shit out of people, mainly). The two are separate sides of the same coin.

And despite this seeming like a good arrangement, it's pretty obvious in most adaptations (at least they get THAT right) that beating the shit out of people in back alleys is not a good replacement for therapy. You're able to see the toll being Batman has on Bruce. He quickly becomes more occupied with being a vigilante than being himself. Bruce needs something to break through this internal struggle and help him balance both lives.

And so a boy named Dick Grayson comes along.

Dick's so important (and so are the other Robins, of course, but Dick being the first means I have to talk about him a bit more) because he forced Bruce to get his shit together. Here's a boy who's about the same age Bruce was when his parents died, who also just saw his parents killed in front of him, and is so full of rage he has no idea what to do. Sounds familiar...

Bruce is able to help himself by helping Dick. He gives him an outlet to vent his anger and frustrations while also looking out for him in the best way he can. While there are many issues with how Robin comes to be in various comic runs (and if this was real life it would be fucking ridiculous) Dick becoming Robin is extremely important. If he hadn't been taken in by Bruce Wayne, if he'd been allowed to let that anger continue to bubble up inside of him, he probably would have killed Tony Zucco and that would have been enough to set Dick down a terrible path he might not recover from.

The same goes for Bruce. If he were to set out and kill the person who shot his parents, he wouldn't be a hero anymore because that single event would shatter the entire point of Batman, which is that he is not meant to decide who lives and dies. If he were, how would he be any different than all the villains in Gotham that he fights as Batman? How would he be better than the corrupt businessman and politicians that he has to battle as Bruce Wayne? He wouldn't.

Batman needs Robin and Robin needs Batman, because they are yin and yang. Light within darkness, darkness within light. You cannot separate these characters and still tell an accurate story, it's impossible. I think that's a huge issue Nolan's movies have, on top of many others. You cannot accurately present to me a Batman story if there is no Robin, just as you couldn't give me a Robin story without Batman.

Every Robin is so important to how Bruce Wayne as a character is developed, and disregarding this as a creator is not only disrespectful to the character, it misses the entire point. I refuse to take your adaptation of Batman seriously if you can't figure out how important Robin is. He isn't just some kid sidekick, he isn't an optional side character, he is what makes Batman human. You cannot have gritty, Neo-noir Batman and forgo Robin just because you see him as the sidekick in tights. When Batman was silly and took itself less seriously, sure, there wasn't a lot to Robin nor Batman's troubling pasts. But now that you want to deep dive into Bruce Wayne's psyche and pick apart what makes him the way he is you wanna throw in the towel and erase the part that humanizes him? Fuck. You.

You can't make a complex Bruce Wayne and take away parts that help audiences understand his complexities, that's fucking STUPID!

Titans, for all its faults and problems, will always have my gratitude as it had the fucking balls to give, without a doubt, the best and most rounded live-action adaptation of Dick Grayson we have ever seen. Titans introduces Dick at a very important and rocky time in his character arch: him leaving Bruce.

If you're not in the know, there's a falling out between Bruce and Dick that's been written a couple different ways over the years, but all comes down to Dick being "fired" from being Robin and leaving Gotham. This is a bit of a newer story line in comparison to how long the character of Dick Grayson has been around, and eventually leads to Dick becoming independent from Bruce, signalling his evolution from "side kick" to his own hero, Nightwing. However, there's issues with Dick having to give up the Robin mantel, because it's something that is whole-heartily Dick Grayson. Robin wasn't something Bruce Wayne came up with, it was the nickname his parents gave to him. Even the colors are his, those were the colors of the Flying Graysons' uniforms. Robin is much more than just a vigilante alter-ego to Dick, it is the last link he has to his past and his parents. So when this is taken away from him and given to another, this causes a huge internal struggle for Dick, as he has to deal with the anger he now has for Bruce, a man he originally looked up to and idolized. This is Dick seeing how wrong it was for Bruce to do some of the things he did to Dick, despite at the time those choices being what both needed.

The way Titans is able to portray this extremely delicate time in Dick's story line in a way that not only makes sense for his character, but also allows for growth is really admirable. Like I said, the show isn't perfect by any means (can I PLEASE get a Romani actor to play Dick PLEASE) but it's the first time I feel that the character is wholeheartedly taken serious in a live-action setting. You can tell the writers have a better idea about how the characters should interact in a live-action setting and while some choices are questionable to me, the heart is there.

Nolan's movies in comparison feel soulless and devoid of all creativity and love. He does not care about these characters, no matter how much he tries to make you think that, and he never will. Christopher Nolan, you will NEVER convince me that you give two shits about Bruce Wayne. And if you, the director, can't bother to care, why should the audience? Why should I care about your adaptation if you can't even be bothered to put an ounce of individuality into it?

With Matt Reeves' Batman films underway, things are getting worse again. For a while, we only had to deal with the shitty Joker adaptations that tried to replicate Ledger's Joker, but with the Reeves Batman movies, the film bros are making themselves known again. I remember when the new design for the Riddler dropped and I said it was shit and people on Twitter and YouTube got SO PISSY at me and told me I just don't understand Batman and that I'm childish for enjoying the designs for Gotham Riddler/ Batman Forever Riddler and whatever and that I'm stupid, which none of those things are true, I hate to be confident in anything, but I think I know more about Batman than you do, Twitter troll.

The suit sucked and the character sucked. They just created a new character but gave him the Riddler's name. That's NOT the Riddler. That's honestly closer to Hush than Riddler, so just... do that? But of course, less people know about Hush than Riddler, and you're not trying to make a film for fans, you're trying to make money, so why would you ever be so silly as to do that! I'm not gonna talk to much about the new Riddler, just because it's super old news and it's not the point I was trying to make here, it's just something that continues to piss me off when it comes to gritty recreations of characters, because Riddler really never was supposed to be some Zodiac Killer wannabe, he's supposed to be a guy who leaves you riddles and makes you solve them and he's supposed to be a little silly about it. And I'm not saying you can't do a more gritty Riddler, because Arkham Knights did it super well imo! Just don't reinvent the wheel! Don't just make a new character and call him by another's name, that's a disservice to the character themselves and their creators.

This is a hard topic, because you have people who get the point of these characters (people who have actually read a comic before and paid attention to the story) but you also have insufferable film/comic bros who worship the ground Nolan and Reeves walks upon and who don't even take time to explore the rest of the Batfamily comics (his gang of vigilante children show up in the stand-alone Batman comics, though, so I don't know how they're missing this, unless they have the reading comprehension of a goldfish, which they probably do tbh). It's why I think a lot of these weirdos don't like Gotham Knights or Wayne Family Adventures, because they hate the thought of there being any semblance of fun in the Batman franchise. Not everything needs to be doom and gloom! Let Dick Grayson be bisexual and let Bruce Wayne have a PTA rival! You can have your cake and eat it too!

I know this seems like a silly sentiment coming from a person who just wrote an entire essay on this, but maybe don't take Batman so seriously? I don't mean, of course, that you can't care about these characters, I'm actually saying the opposite! I care very deeply for these characters, so much that I obviously spat all this out. I just think some people need to fucking chill when it comes to realistically portraying Batman. There's nothing wrong with taking a more serious approach to the characters and I have no problem modernizing them, but you can't just have action hero Batman, you have to have the human behind the mask too. And if you can't balance that, then I'm sorry, but you shouldn't be making Batman adaptations, because you obviously don't understand what the character is about.

I'm nervous to see where Reeves will go with the character, and only time will tell. I've heard rumors he plans to introduce Robin, I've heard rumors he doesn't. Either way, it's obviously out of my hands and I'll have opinions either way, but I really hope he has a better understanding of the history of the franchise than Nolan. While I appreciate, again, what Nolan did for revolutionizing not only the Batman franchise but the comic movie industry as well, I can still find faults in how he went about things. I truly don't believe we can have a worthy adaptation of Batman live action without Robin and without embracing the silliness of Batman's villains and I really hope producers, writers, and directors realize that soon.

Sorry if you read all that...

[galaxymagitech]

Grave Ghost

For @jasontoddweek2025 - Day 4:

Grave | Buried Alive | Immortal Jason Todd

Summary:

“I’m you,” Jason says, spreading his arms wide. “Don’t like what you see?” He snorts. “Don’t worry, I don’t either.”

Or: Jason visits his own grave and meets his ghost.

Characters: Jason Todd

Warnings: Referenced sort-of temporary character death?

You can read it here or on AO3!

Even on an early April afternoon, the cemetery grounds are cold and the sky is an overcast gray. It rains plenty in Gotham, but somehow, the water never seems to make it to the flora; the flowers are always wilted, and the grass is perpetually yellow and rough. On one of the cemetery’s mild hills, there lies a patch of freshly turned soil. Above this patch sits gravestone carved like an angel, her hands pressed together in prayer, and an empty coffin sitting six feet below the Earth.

Jay doesn’t how long he’s been standing here—whether it was since yesterday or for years—but he’s here now, an incorporeal hand resting on the stone folds of the angel’s dress as he watches a man approach his grave.

The stranger seems to startle when he sees Jay, but then his shoulders slump in resignation. “Hi, Jay,” he says. When the stranger speaks, Jay’s world seems to slide into focus.

“Who are you?” Jay asks, tilting his head to the side. He observes the stranger’s tired eyes—a blue so similar to Jay’s own, but tinged with the barest hint of green—and wild black hair with a streak of white at the front. Jay registers the hard lines of the man’s jaw, so similar to Willis’s, and the grimace that seems set into his face. Then, his gaze travels down to see the scuffed leather jacket, the muscles honed by years of fighting, the scars crisscrossing the man’s forearms.

“I’m you,” Jason says, spreading his arms wide. “Don’t like what you see?” He snorts. “Don’t worry, I don’t either.”

In a flash, Jay is sitting atop the angel’s shoulder, looking down at—at Jason. At himself, but older and stronger and harder. Even though his heart is nothing more than whisps of a memory, Jay feels his pulse pick up. “Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be here. This is my place.”

“Good question.” Jason steps forwards, casually treading on his own grave, and plucks one of the stones Bruce left off the base of the gravestone. Tossing it in the air and catching it, Jason grins. “I came to tell you that I’m going to make them pay.”

Them. Jay tilts his head again, trying to understand. Jay knows about revenge, knows the fire that flowed through his veins when he saw his mother’s dealer, when he learned that Two-Face killed his father, when he fought Garzonas. If the Joker stole someone he cared about from him, he would feel that same desire for revenge.

But the Joker didn’t kill someone Jason cared about. Just Jay.

Jason tosses the stone and catches it again. Toss. Catch. Toss. Catch.

“That’s mine,” Jay says, pointing to the stone. “Bruce gave it to me. Put it back.” It’s a silly thing, to be attached to a rock. But it’s one of the only things Jay has, these days. The jagged stones Bruce collected from the cemetery grounds, an empty coffin, and gravedirt. And this one is something Bruce gave him. A gift from his almost-father.

 “Bruce gave you a lot of things,” Jason says, continuing to throw the stone. Toss. Catch. “Including a funeral shroud.”

Jay still doesn’t understand. It must show, because Jason gestures to Jay’s torn, bloody uniform.

“Robin,” Jason clarifies.

“Robin is magic!” Jay shoots forwards, and then he’s standing in front of his older self, his pointer finger less than an inch from Jason’s chest.

Jason throws back his head and laughs.

“Stop it!” Jay stamps his foot, but he lacks the substance to make a sound, let alone shake the ground beneath him. “Stop it, Jason, stop it!”

Jason gasps for air. “Good one kid.” He shakes his head. “Robin is a death sentence. Because you know what? After everything the Joker did to you, Jay, he’s still there. Still in Arkham, laughing his crazy head off. Still in here.” Jason taps his temple with his pointer finger, then raises his thumb and pulls his hand away like the kickback of a gun. “Blam.” Jason laughs again. “Bruce never avenged you. He never even cared about you. You were nothing to him.”

Toss. Catch. “Then why are you still holding his rock?”

Jason drops the stone like it’s a hot coal, then kicks it away with his foot. Jay tries to pick it up, but his hand passes through it and he slumps in defeat. “I’m going to make Bruce pay,” Jason hisses. “Him and the Joker.”

“I don’t want that,” Jay says. “I never asked for that.”

Jason goes from one to a hundred in an instant, just like Willis always did. “You don’t get to tell me what to do!” Jay flinches away. “You’re just a figment of my imagination!”

“Actually,” Jay says quietly, “I think you’re just a figment of mine.”

“Like hell.”

Jay steps forwards. “You’re just a cheap copy of Willis, a teenager pretending he’s all big and strong and grown up. Laughing like the Joker. Going off about revenge, monologuing. You’re a caricature, Jason. You’re not real.” Jason tries to grab Jay by the throat, and for a moment, Jay’s heart freezes in terror. But then Jason’s hand passes straight through and Jay giggles. “Look at you. Attacking a child, like it’ll make you a real man.”

“Fuck you!” Jason shouts. His voice dissipates into the cemetery’s cold air. “We were never a child, we were a fucking soldier in Bruce’s fucking war and we fucking died for it!”

“We were Robin!” Jay screams right back. “We were magic!”

“You’re not even real!” Jason insists, covering his ears like it’ll stop him from hearing Jay’s voice.

Jay sticks out his tongue. “More real than you.”

“I’m Jason Todd! You’re just ‘Jay’! You’re in my head and I’m not crazy so go the fuck away!”

Jay crosses his arms and huffs out a breath of cold air. “Yeah, I’m Jay. The one with the nickname. The real person. Jay Wayne.” Jason lunges forwards again, but this time, Jay doesn’t even flinch. “I’m Robin. You’re just some kid playing dress-up.”

Jason screams wordlessly, then doubles over, hands on his knees, as he catches his breath. “I’m real. I’m real. Fuck you. I’m real.” He clenches his fists and looks down at Jay to meet his eyes. Jay shivers. “I’m going to give Bruce a choice between me and the Joker. And he’s going to have to choose. And then you’ll see how little we mean to him. Maybe then you’ll finally fucking die.” Jason’s fist flies at the gravestone, hitting it with a sickening crack. Fear shoots through Jay’s chest, and before he knows it, he’s behind the gravestone, peeking out at his older self. Jason’s face goes pale like the corpse that he is. “Wait. Kid. I didn’t—” He sighs. “I didn’t come here to argue with myself.”

“Why did you come here, then?” Jay whispers, still hiding.

“To read you a bedtime story,” Jason says. “You died today, after all. Figured you could use something to help you fall asleep.”

“That’s dumb,” Jay says, but he still slips out from behind the cracked angel statue and sits on the barren earth of his grave, crisscross-applesauce. 

Jason sits across from him, mimicking his position, and pulls a book out of his jacket. Bridge to Terabithia.

“Why that one?” Jay asks, eyes wide. “That’s a sad story.”

“Life’s a sad story, Jay,” Jason says. He sighs. “Because…because you said it yourself: Robin is magic. And magic never comes without a cost.”

“I want a happy story,” Jay pouts.

“Tough luck.” Jason opens the book to the first page. “This is what you’re getting.”

“But—”

Jason stands up gracefully, and for a moment Jay thinks Jason will leave him here in this graveyard, alone forever and ever and ever. But instead, the man—teenager, really—picks up the stone he kicked aside.

“You gotta use your left hand,” Jay says. “Bruce always uses his left hand.”

Jason sighs but transfers the stone to his left hand and places it back on the grave with a pointed look. Then, he sits back down and opens Bridge to Terabithia again. Jay doesn’t protest.

When he reads, Jason’s voice is soft and sweet, reminiscent of the boy sitting in front of him who hangs on his every word.

[sunnyie-eve]

52 | Tattoo

Series: Unexpected

Paring: Matt Sturniolo x OFC Brock!

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Tara knows secret, fans being annoying

| MASTERLIST |

"Should we prank Dani?" Matt asks Nick and Chris while they were live on Twitch, "Like do something to her room?"

Chris looks down at his phone to see Dani texting him, who was at Tara's place watching them, "Oh Dani says... If any of us go into her room... She will..." Chris reads the texts.

"Of course she's watching us right now." Matt looks at Nick.

"But she said she will kill us if we pass through her doorway." Chris finishes reading the text, "Her room is off limits. If we don't listen to her, we're gonna regret it big big big time. So she says listen to her." He tells the two.

"Don't worry Dani." Nick smiles, "I'll listen to you. I stay out of your room when you're home. Unlike these two, mainly Matt."

Chris looks down at his phone and it was Dani telling him that the food he asked for was arriving, "I'll be right back." Chris leaves to go get his food.

As Matt tries to read chat he laughs saying he thinks he needs glasses while Nick reads so too, "Dani was in a Loony Tunes photoshoot."

"Lola Bunny." Matt says making Nick look at him, "What?"

"Stop."

"What? That's who she was in that shoot." Matt says then goes back to reading chat and they start talking about tattoos, "Matt, tattoo tour."

"Give them one." Nick tells him, "You only have this one arm tattooed right?"

"Yeah, there's two I've never shown people."

"Which ones?" Nick leans in to hear him.

"I can show them." Matt laughs.

"Matching set?"

"No, I'm not showing that one off and I have to take my shirt off to do so." Matt explains.

"So you're showing only this one?" Nick looks at the tattoo, "I think they've seen it."

"No, they've tried too. They've almost seen it. They've taken guesses."

"I think they've seen it." Nick sticks to it so Matt shakes his heads.

"Nope, never seen it." Matt turns to try to show it off.

"Dani wants one similar." Nick says, as Matt has trouble showing it off.

"It's a gargoyle." Matt finally shows it, "And then the back of my shoulder has the matching set."

"Same spot as Dani." Nick adds.

"I'm not showing it off because I just don't want to. It's super meaningful to me." Matt explains to chat as Chris comes back.

"Did you show them the matching set?" He asks him.

"What are you about to eat?" Nick looks at his food.

"Dani order what I wanted." Chris shrugs, "But did you show the matching set off?" Chris asks again.

"No, I told chat I wasn't going to."

"Why?" Chris asks curious because Dani doesn't try to hide hers from being seen.

"Because I personally don't want to show it off. As I said, it's super meaningful to me. I will say that mine is the moon while Dani has the sun but I'm still not showing it off."

"I kind of get it since some people like to get matching tattoos with people they're fans of and yours is meaningful to you." Nick speaks up and they see some of the chat saying why is it so meaningful if it's just with a friend.

"It's just with a friend..." Matt reads and can't help but roll his eyes, "Not just any friend, guys. It's with Dani and she's family now. Plus she designed our tattoos so they are personal to us." Matt explains.

"She did? I didn't even know that." Chris was surprised and Nick was too.

"Yeah, that's why it's my favorite tattoo."

"Wow, more than our matching set." Nick plays around.

"Way more. The tattoo is like my baby that I'm protective of." Matt laughs, and Dani, who was still watching them laughs as well with Tara.

"Someone said matching tattoos is something to be serious about." Nick reads and rolls his eyes a bit as well. Yeah, that was true with most people but not   Matt and Dani.

"It is, that's exactly why we got them. Thank you for worrying. I know exactly what I was doing. It was my idea and she designed it."

Tara can't help but laugh muting the live for a second to look at Dani, "Why did he want to get a tattoo with you?"

"At the time he said he wanted to make our bond stronger and permanent so he came up with the idea of a matching tattoo." Dani explains to her then unmutes the live.

At the moment the topic slightly changed but she was still the main focus of chat. "Dani's a pick me." Nick reads, "I'm gonna start banning people like you. If I or any decent person sees hate towards Dani will ban who said it."

"Do you even know the definition of pick me?" Chris asks, "She has never seeking our attention. It's actually the opposite. We seek her attention." Chris laughs making the girls laugh as well.

"As we've said in the past... Dani isn't going anywhere so love her as well or leave. Because she's really not going anywhere at the moment and I don't plan on it either." Matt tells chat and Tara screams startling Dani.

"YOU GUYS ARE SECRETLY DATING!" Tara jumps up and down screaming. "That was such a dead giveaway to me. At the moment! He doesn't plan on it either! AHHHHH!"

Dani watches Tara run around the room happily, "Are you done yet?" Dani laughs at her.

"AND YOU AREN'T DENYING IT! AHHH YES!!!!" Tara rushes over grabbing her by the shoulders shaking her, "I'M SO HAPPY!"

Dani just laughs at her, "I can tell."

"How long? Tell me everything!"

"Late March, I slipped up and he asked me out. I told him that if maybe he asked me instead of Chris, my answer would've be different." Dani tells her and Tara screams.

"THREE MONTHS! Who all knows?"

"Marylou, Justin, Madison, and you now. I think we're getting to the point where me might tell certain people like Nick, Chris, Sam, my family, Jimmy, and their friend Nate. I just really don't want to tell Colby, you know." Dani turns off the live.

"Well, he's gonna have to get over it. I know he likes Matt but only dislikes him when you're around. Out of anyone, Matt is someone he doesn't have to worry about dating you. Matt is so sweet and truly cares for you."

"Honestly, I haven't spoken to Colby since our fight we had. And no, I don't want to get into it right now." Dani leans back on the couch.

"I'm sure once he sees you two as a couple it will finally hit him that Matt makes you happy and feel loved." Tara smiles, "Anything else you wanna tell me?" Tara gives her a look.

"Hey, knock it off." Dani laughs, "You don't need to know all the details of my relationship with especially private stuff."

"I know, I know." Tara laughs then types in chat hoping the guys will see it and they don't but fans let them know Tara said hi.

"I don't trust you Tara." Matt looks right into the camera so Dani texts him she knows as well now.

"Dani!" He shouts then leans closer to the camera, "What the hell?" He asks so she calls him.

"Oh look, she's calling." He shows the camera his phone and her poster for when she calls was her giving Trevor a kiss as they sat on his bed back home and her name also had a heart after it.

Most people wouldn't care about the picture but some had pointed out she was in his room, wearing his shirt, and tiny boyshorts.

"What do you want?" He answers the phone.

"Why are you yelling at me through a livestream?" She asks him and he laughs before putting her in speaker.

"Hi Dani, Hi Tara." Nick waves.

"HIIII!" Tara yells then sees some of the comments, "Guys, Dani's name in my phone also has a heart after her name. It's not a big deal." She adds leaning closer to Dani's phone to be heard.

"Look." Nick grabs his phone to show he also had a heart next to Dani's name as well, "It's nothing."

"Chat, even in my phone each brother has their favorite color heart next to their name." Dani ;ets them know, "Okay, I'm turning y'all off so we can watch a movie. Love you guys." Dani says then hangs up then turns off the live.

"Some fans are so annoying." Tara rolls her eyes.

"I know and you deal with a lot with you still being close friends with Jake."

[fluentmoviequoter]

Meet My Family

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!baker!reader

Summary: Street is ready to introduce you to his family. You become fast friends with his SWAT team, but meeting his mother is a difficult challenge. After she tries to scare you away from Street, he faces a tough decision about who he considers family.

Warnings: Karen is Karen, Jim Street is a flirt™️, brief angst, fluff, not proofread

Word Count: 2.1k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“Hey, handsome,” you greet before kissing Jim’s cheek.

“Hi,” he responds slowly, his eyes narrowed as he watches you. “What’d you do?”

“Why do you think I did something?” you ask, blinking innocently.

“Because you met me at the door with a kiss and it smells like cookies in here.”

“I am a baker.”

“And I’m a cop. I can read you, babe.”

“Babe?” you repeat with a smile. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Not until you tell me what you want,” Street stipulates, failing to hide his smile.

“You said you were ready to introduce me to your team. And I accidentally tripled a few trial recipes, so I have a ton of cookies right now.”

“You want to bribe them,” he concludes, nodding.

“Not exactly what I meant, but… yeah.”

“Are you sure? They can be a lot. They’re going to like you, probably more than they like me, but I didn’t say I wanted to introduce you to rush you into anything.”

“You’re not rushing me. I’m ready to meet them. They’re important to you, and I love you.”

“Enough to save some cookies for me?”

“Of course.”

Less than half an hour after arriving at the station, Chris inhales deeply and says, “I love you.”

You smile as Street asks, “Because of the cookies?”

“Really?” Hondo asks you. “Street?”

“I see why he hid you,” Tan says, reaching for another cookie. “We’re going to need the address of your bakery.”

“The cookies aren’t the only reason we like you,” Luca explains. “You’re great for Street.”

“He’s great for me,” you reply. “But I’m glad you like the cookies, too.”

“How’d you meet?” Deacon inquires.

“He stole a cake.”

“I did not steal it,” Street corrects, looking at you as if you just accused him of murder. “I accidentally knocked it out of her window.”

“How do you accidentally knock a cake out of a window?” Hondo asks.

“I’ve asked the same thing almost daily since we started dating and I’ve never gotten a clear answer,” you say.

“Did you start dating after that?” Chris wonders.

“The same day,” Street brags. “I apologized for ruining the cake, and when I saw her, I had to ask her out.”

Hondo looks at you for confirmation, and you shrug. It’s close enough to the truth. Street tried to salvage the cake, offering apology after apology until you laughed. He looked up at you, with cake and frosting up to his elbows, and couldn’t find any more words to say. He finally blurted out a proposal to buy you dinner, and you haven’t looked back since.

“You should come to dinner with us on Friday,” Hondo tells you. “We’re going to a diner that just opened on Wilshire.”

“I’d love to,” you reply. “I’m sorry if I overstepped by just showing up today with no notice.”

“Family can drop by anytime,” Luca assures you.

After you say your farewells and gather the now empty cookie trays, you exchange numbers with Chris and talk to her about some of your shared favorite recipes. Meanwhile, the guys tell Street you’re perfect for him and welcome anytime, whether you’re bearing baked goods or not.

“How long have you been together?” Deacon asks him.

“About a month,” Street answers.

“What does your mom think about the new relationship?” Hondo inquires.

Street looks at you, where you’re laughing with Chris, then admits, “She doesn’t know. I wanted to introduce her to my actual family first.”

Deacon pats Street’s shoulder and encourages him to do what he thinks is best.

“We are your family, kid,” Hondo promises. “And we’re here for you – both of you.”

Street stops outside his door. He begins speaking but doesn’t get past your name before trailing off.

“I know,” you whisper comfortingly. “I’m here for you, Jim. Not your mom. And if she doesn’t like me, that’s okay. At the end of the day, it’s your decision about who you love, not hers. You know that, right?”

“I do. Okay, let’s get this over with.”

Street takes your hand and leads you into his apartment. His mom is living with him temporarily while she gets on her feet again and figures out what exactly she’s going to do for the remainder of her parole – or so she says.

“Jimmy!” she greets warmly. When she sees you, her smile drops.

“Mom, this is my girlfriend,” he introduces. “And this is my mom, Karen Street.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Street,” you greet with a smile, offering your hand.

“You too,” she answers. She then turns to Street, wiping the hand she used to shake yours on her pants, and says, “I couldn’t remember how to use the coffee maker. Could you show me again?”

“I’ll just make you some right now,” he offers before asking if you want anything.

“No, thanks,” you answer softly. Sitting with Karen, you ask how her day is going so far.

“Let’s just skip all the niceties since Jimmy isn’t here,” she interrupts. “You know as well as I do it will never work out. My Jimmy is a cop, he’s handsome, and you’re… a baker? Do you honestly see that working?”

Your smile droops, but you’re unwilling to let Karen Street deter you or scare you away from dating the man who makes you happy.

“We can make it work,” you answer. “I’m sorry that you feel that way.”

“It would be in your best interest to leave,” she snaps.

“Here you go, Mom,” Street says, placing a steaming mug of coffee beside her.

Karen looks between you and Street, then asks, “Could I speak to you alone, Jimmy?”

“Mom,” he begins, shaking his head.

“I actually need to use the restroom,” you offer, standing.

Street nods, points you in the right direction, then takes your previous seat. He brushes his fingers against yours as you pass him and prepares for his mother to be back to her usual antics.

“That girl is not good for you, Jimmy,” she warns. “She’s rude, uncaring, and she told me that I was a bad mother! Can you believe that? She practically admitted to using you for your law enforcement ties and for money.”

“That doesn’t sound like her,” Street replies, knowing perfectly well that you didn’t say anything rude or about using him.

Karen gets desperate then, unwilling to lose Street because he’s her access to everything. Jim can get her everything she needs and wants, and she will not let you win him over and take him from her.

“I’m sure it doesn’t, not to you,” Karen continues. “She mentioned another man, so I’d bet she’s not loyal. And you, Jimmy, are the most loyal and caring person I’ve ever met. I don’t want to see her hurt you.”

You linger by the door and scroll on your phone in the bathroom. You’re going to give Street and his mom five minutes to talk, you decide. Smiling as you reply to a message from Chris, you don’t concern yourself with hypothesizing what Karen is saying about you. When you do return, Street stands and rises from his seat.

“Did Chris text you too?” he asks. “About coming over to help with the paint?”

“She did,” you reply, following his lead. Chris texted about helping her paint; that wasn't a lie, but she doesn't need help until next weekend. If Street’s taking it as an out, you’ll go with him. You’d go anywhere with him, you think. “It was a pleasure,” you tell Karen. “I made blueberry scones earlier and thought you might like them. They're on the counter.”

“Thank you,” she replies flatly. “Be safe, Jimmy.”

“I’ll be back later, Mom,” he assures her.

As the door closes behind you, Street sighs and wraps his arm around your shoulder.

“C’mon, homewrecker,” he murmurs.

With a laugh, you ask, “What?”

“I’ll tell you later. I need ice cream.”

“And cookies?”

“So many cookies.”

After arriving at your home, you share a plate of fresh cookies and homemade ice cream with Street. He stays close to you, stealing kisses between cookies, and makes you feel incredibly loved. As always.

“Now that you’ve met the family, what do you think?” he inquires.

“If you and Tan ever get tired of SWAT, you should do standup comedy,” you begin.

As you continue raving about 20-David squad and envisioning yourself staying friends with them for years to come, Street smiles. He knew his team would like you, but he’s glad you’re joining the group as seamlessly as he hoped you would.

“Oh, Deacon texted me yesterday,” you remember. “I’m making Sam a birthday cake.”

“Charge him double,” Street jokes.

“I said Deacon not Hondo.”

“You talk to my friends more than I do.”

“They’re great.”

“But my mom is insane.”

Your eyes widen and you sit up straight. Pulling your leg beneath you, you promise, “I was not going to say that.”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t a question,” Street assures you, tugging you closer. “You’re not going to see her again unless you really want to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. My mom… My mom isn’t good for me, I’ve known that for a long time. Today, she showed me that she isn’t good for you either, and, if she can’t be supportive of us, I’m done. She’s pulled me in too deep before and I’m not going to let her do it again.”

“She’s your mother, Street.”

“And I’m not risking what I have with you for her manipulative schemes. I think I have to cut that tie before I give her something I can’t get back.”

You nod, frowning sympathetically. You feel uncomfortable giving input on the situation because it’s Street’s decision. As you hug him, he knows exactly what he has to do. His mom was scared of losing him, but she was going to be the one to drive him away.

“Is that why you called me a homewrecker earlier?” you ask against Street’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, she thinks you’re seeing other men. Just using me for my loyalty, good looks, and SWAT money.”

“Please,” you scoff. “That order is way off.”

Street gently pries your arms off of him and shakes his head. “Apparently you also called her a bad mother and if she were a fraction less manipulative and self-serving I’d think she was finally engaging in some reflection.”

“I’m sorry that your relationship is the way it is,” you offer. “But I’m here for you, no matter what you need.”

Street looks at the last cookie, and you smile as you nudge him toward it. Someone knocks on your door, and you leave Street’s side to answer it.

“Uh, I think it’s for you,” you murmur as you open the door wider.

Deacon, Hondo, Tan, Chris, and Luca walk into your home and look expectantly at Street.

“She didn’t like her,” he answers with a shrug. “Hondo was right.”

“Say that one more time?” Hondo requests, raising his phone to record it.

“No.”

“It smells good in here,” Luca whispers to you.

“There’s cookies and a cake in the kitchen,” you tell them. “I still can’t get that cake right. The one time I made a passable version, someone knocked it out of my window.”

Street prepares to defend himself, but you whisper, “Luckily for me, I fell in love with him.”

“So,” Hondo begins as he returns from the kitchen. “How’d it go with your mom?”

“As expected,” Street says quickly. He turns to you and says, “I love you, too.”

A few weeks later, you wait at your open door for Street to arrive. His mom is going back to jail for a parole violation, and his entire team came by your bakery today after a stressful day of saving lives and arresting domestic terrorists. Now, you want to provide Street with the comfort he gives you daily.

“I love you,” Street says as he hugs you.

“I love you,” you reply, brushing your hand over his hair. “Come on in, I have something I want to show you.”

Street nods, catches your falling hand, and follows you inside. Sitting on the counter is a cake that looks nearly identical to the one that brought you together.

“I didn’t get to taste the first one, so I need you to let me know if this is a redemption cake.”

Street forces you to take several pictures with the cake before he takes a small bite. His eyes widen, and he nods rapidly.

“It tastes similar, but even better,” he says. “Can we have this at our wedding?”

“Sure,” you answer with a smile.

Street offers you his fork, and you admit it’s a good cake.

“Speaking of our wedding,” you say after taking another bite, “your future groomsmen invited us to dinner at Deacon and Annie’s tomorrow.”

“I don’t know if I should introduce you to Annie.”

“We’ve already been texting.”

Street shakes his head and kisses you before reminding you that he loves you. "And the cake," he adds as he pulls back and steals another piece.

[straightoutthehexcore]

Some Thoughts on Ekko (mainly TimeBomb centered)

I'm rewatching Arcane in its entirety right now and I'm on the episode "The Boy Savior." I'm about to spoil S2 a little bit for the sake of this, so leave now if you haven't watched. This is an unedited ramble btw so bear with me.

I just watched the part where Ekko was talking about the mural, the casualties that inspired it, and Jinx.

"Your sister doesn't work for Silco because she needs to, but because she wants to. That's just who she is now." (or something of the like, I tried my best.)

I think it's super heartbreaking when we hear that and then we see how he acts around her later. The fight scene with him and Jinx in S1 I feel symbolizes the way he still wishes he could, or possibly still does, see the innocence in her and the girl he fell in love with as a kid.

He even sees it in her eyes while he's beating the absolute shit out of her at the end of that fight. His eyes wide, and he stops hailing fists, and he sees Jinx's wide, almost fearful eyes. While he is distracted, she tries to blow them up, but within that moment, he got another glimpse of the girl he still somewhat thinks of fondly.

And now... for the spoilers.

HOLY SHIT THE ALTERNATE UNIVERSE FUCKED ME UP.

So basically he found a version of Powder who wasn't batshit insane and not a war criminal, and his true love for her shows, even if it's an alternate version. Even the song choice during that dance sequence stressed how much he wishes she were better and was still in love to an extent. We all knew that, but it's still so bittersweet.

I think that's so beautiful after this man tried to harden his heart, he ends up coming around to her. He says all of these things in S1 about how she cannot change, but then what Ekko goes through with the hexcore and the alt universe changes how he sees his Powder. He starts to have faith in her again and even tries to stop her from killing herself.

The feeling was never truly gone, he just had to save himself from grief and disappointment before it had a full hold on him. He did it so that he could move on with his life and did as he felt he needed to.

It's all about the thought of what could have been and the grief over someone you could have built a life with, had they been a better person. While he moved on from that for the most part, it resurfaces after the events in the alt universe. I suffer with this feeling on my own and the way it's portrayed with Ekko is so real and raw to me.

...

Anyway I fucking love him, headcanons coming soon Rosey <3

[mattsfavouritewhore]

Just Go part 4... The End - Chris Sturniolo

a/n: welcome to the end pookies!! enjoy

just go part 2 part 3

you felt like a stranger in your own skin as you pushed through the crowded party. The thumping bass of the music vibrated through your bones, but it couldn’t drown out the thudding of your heart. you had come here to escape, to forget, but now the weight of what happened earlier felt suffocating. Chris likes Harper. Not you.

Why did you even come? pushing past a couple of people laughing by the kitchen. But as you walked deeper into the house, your eyes naturally found Chris. He was standing in a small circle with some friends, but Harper—of course—was right there, leaning into him as if they were already in their own world.

The sight twisted something in your chest. It wasn’t just jealousy anymore—it was something sharper, like betrayal. seeing it now, in person, felt like salt in an open wound.

Before you could look away, Chris caught their eye. The flicker of recognition passed between you guys, and in that instant, everything seemed to stop. He excused himself from Harper and started making his way toward you. your pulse quickened, a mixture of fury and something else—something that felt uncomfortably like longing.

No. you couldn’t do this. Not tonight. Not after everything.

When Chris reached them, he was breathing a little heavier than usual, clearly flustered. “Hey,” he said, running a hand through his hair, his voice hesitant. “You made it.”

You crossed their arms tightly, feeling a rush of emotions you couldn’t process all at once. you forced a tight smile. “Yeah, I thought I’d come for the free drinks and the real entertainment.”

Chris winced at the sarcasm. “I know things have been weird... but I didn’t think it was this bad.” His gaze flickered toward Harper, who was watching them from across the room.

Chris’s expression faltered, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you, Y/N. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” you asked, unable to keep the edge from your voice. “You think you can just sweep everything under the rug, pretend like I don’t have feelings? Because here’s the truth, Chris: I’m not the one who needs to be protected here.”

Chris stepped forward, his voice dropping. “Y/N, I never meant to hurt you. You have to believe me. You’ve always been...” He stopped, looking lost for words.

“Always been what?” you challenged, your voice growing colder. “Your second choice? Your fall-back plan? Is that it?”

Chris’s face softened with regret, his eyes desperate. “No, you’re not that to me. I care about you. But...”

“But?” you repeated, cutting him off. “But what? You care about me, but you’ve been chasing Harper this entire time, Chris. How long were you planning on stringing me along? Because, news flash, I’m not waiting for you to figure it out anymore.”

Chris opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Harper suddenly appeared at his side, her voice dripping with sweetness, but with a dangerous edge. “What’s going on here, you two? Did you need a little private chat?”

you turned to face her, your pulse quickening. Harper’s eyes gleamed with a strange satisfaction as she looked between you and Chris. She wasn’t even pretending to hide the power she had over him. “I think Chris has been very clear about his feelings, haven’t you, babe?”

Chris’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes flickered briefly to you, almost like he was looking for approval, but he said nothing.

your heart felt like it was breaking, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you looked right at Harper, cutting through the tension. “You two are really something, aren’t you?” you said, your voice like ice. “You’ve been playing this game for months, pretending you care about me when all along you were just setting me up as some... rebound.”

Harper shrugged, unfazed. “Rebound? Maybe. But if the shoe fits…” She tossed her hair back with a smug smirk. “To be fair, I didn’t think he was going to fall for you. But he did. I guess it was fun while it lasted.”

you stared at Harper, anger and hurt crashing through you, but something deep inside clicked. you were done being the victim of this twisted little game. you turned to Chris, your eyes narrowing. “I’m done with both of you,” you said flatly.

But just as you turned to leave, something unexpected happened. Chris grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but gentle. “Wait,” he said urgently. “Y/N, please listen.”

you spun around, eyes blazing. “No. I’m done listening. I’m done with the lies, done with being a fucking second choice.” you yanked their wrist out of his grasp.

But Chris didn’t let go. He pulled you in, his hands on your shoulders, his eyes locking with yours in a way you'd never seen before. “Y/N, don’t walk away. I fucked up,” he said, his voice low but earnest. “I’ve been a coward, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept you in the dark. But it was never about Harper. It was always you. You just... you have to trust me on this.”

you felt a mix of disbelief and something else—a rush of longing you had tried to suppress for so long. The anger was still there, but it was tangled up with something raw. Something real.

“Prove it,” you whispered, barely able to hear their own voice over the pounding music. “Prove that you want me. Because right now, I’m not sure you even know who the hell I am.”

Chris took a step back, eyes wide, then nodded. “I can prove it. I will. Just give me a chance.”

you stared at him for a long moment, your breath catching in your throat. you could feel Harper’s eyes burning into them from across the room, but for the first time that night, you didn’t care.

“Fine,” you said finally, their voice low. “You’ve got one chance to make this right, Chris. Don’t screw it up.”

Chris’s face broke into a genuine, relieved smile. And for the first time, it wasn’t forced. “I won’t,” he promised, his voice filled with determination.

He drags you to the yard, away from all the people, away from the music and the alcohol..

it was just the two of you.

“I was a mess, Y/N. I was so scared to face the truth that I just let things happen. I didn’t know how to break things off with Harper, and I thought… I thought I could handle everything, but I can’t. I didn’t want to lose you, but I knew I was losing myself by trying to keep you around while still being hung up on her. I messed up, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m willing to prove to you that I can be the person you deserve.”

You listened as he explained himself, still not understanding why he chose harper over you, why he did what he did if this is how he truly felt.

“I don’t expect you to trust me right away, but I need you to know that I’m here for the long haul. I don’t want to play games anymore. No more secrets. I’m not perfect, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this right. But I need you to tell me what you need. I can’t fix things unless you let me know what you need from me.”

He tucks a strand of her hair, kissing her cheek before getting up and walking away. you watch him leave, being left alone with your thoughts.. would he ever tell you why he did what he did? should you forgive him? it all came crashing into your thoughts.

A few days go past, you hadnt heard from chris until one night he messages you..

Chris:

“I know you’ve been dying to see that documentary about that photographer you love. I got us tickets for tomorrow night. no pressure. But I want to spend some time with you, the right way. If you’re up for it, I’m here.”

You smile at your phone, quickly responding "sure"

Chris continued to spoil you, not really going into detail abt harper and why he randomly switched up from you to harper back to you but he made it clear that harper was no longer an issue.

you decided to give Chris another chance, but on your terms. you're not rushing into anything—you've learnt to trust yourself first, and now, you need to trust Chris with a more open heart. Chris’s consistent actions, honesty, and vulnerability make all the difference. Slowly, you lets down your guard. you find yourself laughing again in each other’s company, planning things together, and feeling like you can be your true selves with him—no games, no secrets.

you guys take your time. There’s no immediate rush to label things, but trust and communication gradually grow back, until one day, Chris holds your hand and says, “I’m not going anywhere. I want this with you, for real. You’re it.”

you, with a soft smile, reply, “I believe you.”

a/n: this is pretty rushed bc i geniunely had zero of an idea on how to finish the series.

tags: @riggysworld @watercolorskyy @courta13

[sturniololuv08]

TreeHouse Chapter 4

"A gentleman always pays for the date."

Summary: Sienne gets more than she wants from her date with Matt

"The halls of high school may echo with love, but the future is rarely paved with it."

⚠️This Fic Series will NOT be for people with triggers. This Fic Series will have very descriptive moments of abuse.⚠️

Please Read At Your Own Risk.

Sienna's POV:

The basketball game tonight was on the outside courts because the weather was decent. Julia insisted I wear something super cute to impress Matt. I let Julia dress me up, unsure of what would impress Matt. She put me in the most uncomfortable skirt. The skin-tight long-sleeve shirt wasn't as bad, but the amount of cleavage it showed was unnecessary. The best part about the outfit was my black high-top boots. They were comfortable, and they were actually mine.

"I don't see Matt."

"Nick, either." AK was also looking.

"Are you sure you're not -"

"Everyone knows Nick is one inch taller than Matt." Both Julia and I stopped and looked at him with the same expression.

"Everyone?" We both said in unison.

"He's the oldest too. Did you know that?" He ignored our judgment.

"Anyways... Keep looking for Matt." We went back to searching for him. He seemed to be all about me, but Julia was all about finding him. He was cute, and Nick was cute. I didn't know either of them well, though, other than whatever rumors were spread around school that I chose to listen to.

"There they are." The pair walking in was like a movie scene. Almost everyone was watching them, and Nick slowly threw his head back in laughter while Matt had a hot smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The only thing missing was if people were taking pictures and flashing lights on them.

"Matt!" Julia was quick to get his attention in our direction. He head nodded at her, and she gasped.

"Julia, he's not a celebrity." Once he saw me standing in the bleachers next to her, he held up a single finger. I couldn't help but smile. He and Nick stood in the middle of the entryway with the concessions, talking for a minute, and then Nick headed to the stand while Matt headed towards us.

"Hey Sienna," he immediately grabbed me in a hug. His smell was fresh and clean, and I wondered what soap he used in the shower. I quickly reprimanded myself for being weird and broke the hug apart. "You look amazing," he looked me up and down. I suddenly felt self-conscious.

"Thank you." I blushed and looked down slightly, letting my hair cover it.

"Where is Nick?" AK wasn't subtle about his concerns.

"He is getting us all snacks. Might need help carrying them." Matt pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.

"Peace." AK started walking down the bleachers. The three of us sat down.

"So, you like basketball?" I asked Matt, trying to figure out something to talk about.

"Yeah, it's not bad. I could never play, though. I'm the worst." I giggled at his joke.

"I'm pretty good maybe I could teach you a thing or two?" I tried to be flirty. Having thee Matthew Sturniolo's attention was the best way to gain popularity in school. Not that I wanted it or cared but I knew Julia was hoping for a seat at the cool kids table so to speak.

"You play?" He leaned back to look at me.

"Yeah, I play a lot of sports." It was true. Whether I was good or not was a different story. I was pretty much mediocre at all of them except swimming. I have won a few awards from competitions at our school and outside organizations where I competed. Swimming was a freeing feeling. Being under the water, everything stopped.

"That's pretty cool." He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and I saw Julia start to freak out. Nick and AK came back, holding everything haphazardly.

"Drinks. Candy. Popcorn." They started dishing it all out.

"You didn't have to buy us anything." I started saying.

"Of course I did. A gentleman always pays for the date." He smirked that intoxicating smirk.

"Date?" Julia whispered behind us while looking at AK.

"Thank you, Matt. That's so sweet of you." I glared at her since she wasn't very quiet. The game started, and Matt paid more attention to that than me. I wasn't complaining, though; his attention made me nervous. He stood up and cheered when someone's shot went in. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom." I stood up and looked behind me at Julia. She nodded and stood up to come with me.

"He is so into you." She gushed as soon as we were further down the bleachers.

"I know, but... why?" I asked, holding the door for her.

"You are so cool and hot. Maybe Ms. Williams did you a favor." She had a smug grin.

"I still hate you for that."

"Hey, Matt doesn't seem to mind," she winked as she came out of the stall. As we washed our hands, I looked at myself in the mirror. I just didn't feel like myself. I felt like I was forcing it, whatever it was. "Coming?" she asked by the door. I looked down at the water running over my fingers, with no visible soap left.

"Yeah. I'll be out in a minute." I forced a smile. I dried my hands and scrolled ConNext. I let out a sigh and smiled at myself one time in the mirror. Matt was so attractive that there was no point in being with me, but we would see how the night went. I pushed the door open and started walking down between the brick wall and the gate around the sports complex.

"Hey." Matt approached me, meeting me in the middle.

"Hi." I smiled and flipped my hair over my shoulder.

"You enjoying the game?" He looked fidgety.

"Uh, yeah." I lied. I didn't really enjoy watching it as much as I did playing it, and I couldn't stop wondering why he was suddenly showing interest in me the whole time, so I was just distracted all around. "What about you?"

"It's good. Wish we could talk more." He leaned back against the wall.

"About what?" I asked, skeptical.

"Just in general. I wanna talk about anything." He shrugged.

"Okay, let's start with why you are suddenly interested in me." The words left my mouth before I could make them sound flirtatious.

"Oh." He straightened up. "I guess I always kinda had eyes for you. You're really nice, and I like your style." He looked me up and down and wasn't afraid to make it obvious. I felt my cheeks get hot at his actions.

"Really?" I asked, a little shocked. I had no idea I had been on his radar for a while or even at all.

"Of course." He stepped closer to me and tugged me into him. "Why not?" He whispered. He pulled me into him, and I didn't hesitate. I felt his lips press on mine, and I melted into the touch. He was definitely experienced. His motions were swift and sensual. He moaned a little as his long fingers worked their way down into my skirt from my hips.

"No." I pushed back a little. He gripped me and pulled me in. Gripping me tightly.

"No?" He asked, looking into my eyes. His eyes gave me that sense of comfort again, but I knew my own personal boundaries.

"N.. no..." I stuttered. I was sure of my answer but unsure of his harsh actions holding me still.

"Come on." He started sucking on my neck, and his fingers played with my underwear band.

"No, Matt." I pushed myself off of him again. I made it free from his grip and marched back to Julia. Matt wasn't far behind me.

"Hey." She was unaware of what had happened. Matt awkwardly put his arm around my shoulder again, holding me close to him. I didn't want to ruin the mood for the rest of the game, so I didn't say anything then, but I planned on telling her everything tomorrow.

A/N I accidentally posted Chapter 3 instead of Drafting it like I wanted to and then @chriss-slutt was so so sweet tonight I decided why not just post the next chapter for her too?

TreeHouse Taglist:

@trevorsgodmother @mintsturniolo @wysmols @chriss-slutt @middlepartmatt @blushsturns @shadowtheism @fratbrochrisgf @forgottxen

This fic is TAGLIST SPECIFIC, meaning in order to be tagged in this, you HAVE to be on the list. I'm doing this because of TRIGGERS.

REBLOG INSTRUCTIONS: I don't mind just please stress the trigger warnings so no backlash comes back to me!

Enjoy Matt and Si cooking 😏😘

[keepthedelta]

Hi Delta, what do you mean that Lewis was always more weirder about Nico during their careers? Because I totally agree with you. My older brother, who was quite into F1 since early 2010, used to tell me about these two, who were not teammates but were always together. Nowadays, he is not so into the sport anymore. He says there is no passion and the drivers play too much PR.

okay it's a totally personal opinion, but when you look at their actions when they were racing and after nico's retirement, i think lewis is the one who comes across as a bit weirder. it's stuff like the whole "i don't remember when i met nico that's the sort of thing you remember about your lady" thing, even though he had literally already written it in his book. it's the fact that when things first started getting nasty between them, nico's media line was "yes, there will always be a certain level of respect rooted in that friendship" while lewis went "well we're not friends". and after lewis said that, iirc there was a journalist that asked about their history together and lewis got very quiet and a bit lost and a bit emotional and didn't really have an answer. there was a time when lewis was asked by a journalist how he and nico had changed since they were children, and lewis said "well he's married now" (he did also follow that up with and i'm almost married, so i think some of it was about nicole scherzinger, but i think it's interesting that his response was about their personal lives).

and i think the way lewis has defined their relationship over the years is interesting. he's gone from talking about nico in his book to pretending he doesn't remember how they met to saying they're not friends to saying they were best friends to saying they were never friends. the story has changed so many times from him, while nico has generally been quite consistent about it. and although people think of nico as the one who can't stop talking about their relationship now, when they were racing together, lewis was the one largely defining the relationship to the media. nico mostly stuck to pr line "it's complicated" etc. while lewis was telling them that nico watched him swim in the pool and then came down to talk to him. and while this is something that had definitely happened at some point (i think they mentioned it in 2013), i personally have my doubts that it happened in 2016. lewis said that to the media just after baku i believe, which was where he fucked his quali astronomically and destroyed his drivers room he was so annoyed with himself. niki lauda said that they were barely talking and wouldn't even say the others name in the garage, so while it's very possible that they were trying to ignore each other at work and being desperately weird at home, i think it's equally possible that lewis was making the whole thing up to make the relationship seem better than it was (but also in a way that positioned nico as the weird one).

and then there's all the ways lewis tries not to say nico's name or acknowledge their friendship. when he was talking about coming to monaco for the first time on some british tv show he said he came to visit "a frien - someone i used to kn - a friend". like, someone is clearly not over that whole relationship. and when talking about having harder teammates than max verstappen, he can mention george and valtteri and jenson and fernando, all people he's beaten, but not the only teammate to beat him to a championship? and his excuse of "oh i've just had so many teammates" well you managed to name everyone except nico and lets face it that was not an accident. he put effort into not saying nico's name, and not talking about their relationship. meanwhile nico can say that they're neutral and that lewis gives his daughters presents at christmas because he has totally accepted their relationship and their history for what it is in a way that i don't think lewis has.

and i do agree with your brother, there's way too much pr now. i don't need the drivers to be physically fighting each other on the track but i think the way everyone has to pretend to be best friends is frustrating. it's a sport, and these are competitors, and if the fans are expected to have sports feelings about it then the actual athletes are also going to have sports feelings about their own careers. pretending otherwise is both boring, and almost insulting to the viewer. i know it's for marketing purposes, but most of the people watching are adults who can conceptualise people in competition with each other, even if they're on the same team, not being best friends.

[dandelion-system]

Hello!

I’m not sure of the extent of our covert-ness, as a couple of people have said after our diagnosis that they ‘had a feeling something was going on’. But, nobody ever bought it up before our diagnosis, except the occasional snarky comment from my mum that I acted like ‘a 2 year old’ sometimes or I was just ‘not the dandy she knew’

But other than that- im reckoning that we were pretty covert.

I (Raven) haven’t been around as long as some of the others, so I’m gonna go off what they’re telling me. But according to them, when we were physically younger, we would very, very frequently have conversations with, arguments with, debates with ourself using we/us pronouns. As a kid we just told ourself we were using the royal we, and woke did it when we were alone. But we did it. Lots of disagreements over food and clothes and what games to play or shows to watch- and also a lot of ‘mum is gonna kill us’ ‘stop being so dramatic ugh look at us!’ ‘Why am I talking like this?’ ‘I’m just gonna be quiet for a bit now.’

I wasn’t aware back then that these were alters, but it’s the earliest I can say that we have been communicating.

Come our early teen years, and this I remember doing myself because I was a little weirdo as a 13 year old- we got really into spirituality, both the meditation kind and the ghosts kind. I think it was me and Cass, and I was more ghost and Cassie was more meditation. Anyway, I was like, 90% sure we were haunted, and I would talk to the ghosts in my head. I was hanging around some witchy people at the time so I was completely convinced this was normal. Cassie did a lot of visualisation meditation, and she got actual VISUALS! she met up with Sasha most, but saw some others. I don’t know and she’s asleep so I won’t bother her.

Pre system discovery, communication was not exactly easy or something we understood. Post discovery, it’s been a bit better. We’re still covert, except for the people who know our diagnosis.

The thing that started making us think about being a system was actually a psychology class. We were doing a childhood unit and talking about how emotional needs need to be met for regular development, and I started thinking, and I started realising that we actually had a really rough time of it. A bunch of circumstances and bad environments had likely led us to develop a bunch of the ‘irregular’ behaviours we were studying in class. We’ve always been curious, so we started looking at patterns in behaviours.

Eventually, we found that the only things we could see a pattern in was memory loss. This led us to discovering dissociation and how it can cause amnesia.

Fast forward a bit, and we’re looking into things that cause dissociation and consider DID. The host at the time starts noting shifting food preferences, shifting gender, shifting opinions and feeling of what age we were, shifting priorities, likes and dislikes. It’s a while before anything comes of this, but we start noticing patterns. We always feel x, y, z at the same time, for example one of our alters, who we still struggle to distinguish we sorta have a checklist almost? Feels like a boy, but not fully, loves the rain, hates milk, feels 14.

Some alters have been easier to communicate with than others just due to willingness to be seen and heard. Others still try and hide away from front, mask as ‘host’ or pretend to be another alter so they don’t get noticed.

I think I may have rambled a bit so I’m sorry about that. I think overall, what I’m saying is that it’s been a journey to be able to communicate with parts, even after being diagnosed for two years and knowing about the system for three. Some parts still won’t communicate, some that used to now refuse, and some like myself have slowly been able to get more confident in talking. But it’s really fluid. Sometimes it’s like no one is there at all, and sometimes it’s like there’s 5 or 6 of us in front, and it’s so loud then. Sometimes I can see them trying to talk to me, or feel it? But not hear it. Sometimes I can hear it but can’t see it. Sometimes we need to be dissociated to communicate properly. Sometimes it takes a lot of focus to communicate. It’s going to be different for each alter, too. I can almost always communicate with James and the few littles that always hang around, but I’m not so great when it comes to other alters.

I guess it all just comes down to patience. And not being afraid to get it wrong. Anyway, I hope this was helpful and not just a big old ramble haha. I hope you’re okay too!

Any systems who were very Covert before discovery how did you discover/start communicating with your parts?

Anymore resources or personal experience would be helpful to me, whether through this post, or my ask box if you want to remain anon

Note: i do not know any confirmed names or information about them please do not give me resources that only contribute to already established/known parts, thank you.

[buck2eddie]

i cannot see another gifset of that rebar in chim's head please 😭

[silverwhittlingknife]

can we have a hint about what the spring break tim patrol chapter of red letter day contains? (you kept having dick say "if the joker shows up" and tim's "he won't." for me to be convinced that goes off without any trouble)

i'm sure it'll be fine. :D

i am delighted you're enjoying the story <333 i haven't updated it in soooo long but i got some very sweet comments lately so i have been looking at my scribbles again <3